Well I'm back from Florida and I wish I had some really great, crazy story to tell but unfortunately I do not. I was only able stay down there for two days so I really didn't have enough time to cause my usual havoc on the community. However, it was still a great time and as you might have guessed, we did a bit of drinking. Actually, all we did was drink. It was pretty much 48 hours of constant binge drinking. From the time we arrived at the Philly airport at 9am until the time we woke up to leave Florida we drank. The only time during the entire trip that I did not have an alcoholic beverage in my hand was when I slept, which was also pretty interesting. Somehow, I got stuck sleeping in an armchair (an un-reclineing armchair) both nights. If I had not had the aide of so many beverages I probably would not have slept very much, but since I was unconscious I was able to contort my body rather uncomfortably across this chair, kinda slinging one leg over the arm of the chair with my head hanging off the other side. I passed out in that position in front of the entire family and all their party guests the first night. Class. The father of the bride then tea-bagged me. He used an actual bag of tea rather then the bag of nuts we are used to, but it's the thought that counts. The second night I found myself in the same position only this time all was not well. Sometime around 4am it happened. The cramp.
For anyone lucky enough not to have had this experience, the cramp is a charlie horse that occurs in the back of your calf, locking the muscle in contraction. It is the worst agonizing pain ever. Anyone that has had this happen knows what I'm talking about. One minute your fast asleep the next your riving in pain and, if your a bitch like me, screaming like a sissy girl. It is really that bad, it feels like your muscle is tearing and twisting around the bone as if someone is giving it an Indian burn. Fuck, that shit is so painful just thinking about it. Apparently it is caused by a lack of potassium and dehydration. Since I'm often dehydrated, this was not my first experience with the cramp. I used to get them a lot in high school when I played hockey almost everyday. One time I was lying on my couch as if it where any normal day. Little did I know it was cramp day. All of a sudden I felt it coming. I felt a little tweak in my calf and if you can get there in time and pull your foot towards your body, stretching the muscle before it locks, sometimes you can stop it. I did not get there in time. As I'm lying on my back in agony, I felt the other leg tweak. Two cramps! Both Legs! That's nuts, unheard of. It was the most painful ten minutes of my life. I was lying there screaming, feeling like Lt. Dan when he got both his legs blown off in Nam. Never a more painful experience. One time I got the cramp during sex. I was on top doing my thing when suddenly the cramp struck mid hump. Not only did it impede the humping, but I started gritting my teeth and pounding the pillow with my fist as I wailed in pain. This chick must have thought I was coming with the thunder. And I had to reach behind my back to try and pull my foot upward to stop it so it looked like I was doing the can opener. What this poor girl must be thinking. I'm screaming, wiggling around and grabbing my ankle behind my back, like that's my finishing move or pose or something. That's how I get off, with a ridiculous dance from 1991. How embarrassing.
The cramp is a sneaky bastard too. It attacks in your sleep. It does give you a second before it attacks though. It doesn't just strike and then you wake, it gives you a moment. It wakes you, you get confused for a moment to wonder why you are awake, and then it strikes. I was lying on this armchair in a contorted position (which probably didn't help) and all of a sudden I woke up around 4am. I was disoriented and had to ask myself "why am I awake, I drank enough booze to not be awake". And then it hit me. The cramp! I remember saying "Noooo" as I futilely tried grabbing for my leg. I then started flailing my arms after it hit and began screaming. I woke up the five other bodies that were strewn across the floor and couches from last nights binge and they laughed at my misery before going back to sleep. I laid there in pain for a good fifteen minutes before it fully passed. It is two days later and my leg is still fucking sore. I am still hobbling around favoring the leg. Fuck you cramp, you are my sworn enemy.
Other than that it was a pretty tame weekend as far as funny stories go. It was pretty funny when we were driving home from the bar and we saw three girls walking down the street so mitch and I made the driver pull over so we could bolt from the car and run after them. That's right, we no longer just roll down a window and harass girls from the car, we actually get out and run them down now. We've upgraded. What a primitive way to hit on girls, you just pull over and drunkenly run them down, like lions in the Serengeti. I'm surprised we didn't pounce on them and bite their necks when we caught them. "Hey look, girls". "Lets get 'em"! We get there all out of breath. We got their numbers though. Sweet. That was pretty funny. So was watching Hess face plant in the street the night before I left. Big boy fall hard. Just once I would like to go on a normal relaxing vacation where we don't go, go, go at light speed the whole time drinking our pickled livers away. I guess this is the business we have chosen.
- Bows
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Friday, March 13, 2009
Hess Cures the Hiccups
First of all, apologies for not writing on this thing for a couple weeks, but my life has been pretty boring. I had a good run there for a while, trying new things, videotaping them, and never putting the video anywhere (you can see the standup on my wall now, finally), but lately it has been school, pub, sleep, repeat. Not too much to elaborate on. I'm really hoping Bows brings back some good material from Orlando (wish I was there, congrats KF) Nothing really has changed, except for the fact that I broke my fall with my face on Wednesday night. I will elaborate.
So, Wednesday night begins like any other..."Yeah, just going out for a couple beers, nothing crazy." I don't even know why we kid ourselves. I'm not sure if any real man has successfully went out for just one beer. Anyway, several beers (and carbombs) later, I was so hammerfaced that I can't even tell you who was all there at this point. Also, at some point I acquired a nasty case of hiccups.
So, I tried everything. The hold your breath thing, holding your breath while drinking, probably tried to scare myself. Nothing, I was totally at a loss. So, we're outside smoking, which really sucks with the hiccups, when LBR3 suggests I do a "head rush" to resolve the problem. For those of you that aren't familiar with the term, a head rush is when you bend over like you are going to touch your toes, take several deep breaths, and then stand up straight. This always results in a lightheaded, high feeling. Now just a sidenote, I should've been skeptical, because I've had problems with this move before.
Back in the day, we were hanging out at the rapids when we all formed a circle and started doing head rushes for fun. Anyway, when it was my turn I came straight up and fell straight back. Didn't even try and break my fall. Passed out. When I came to, my good friends were kicking my lifeless body and yelling wake up as I convulsed on the ground. So, right away, red flags should've been going up...maybe a head rush is not a good cure for the hiccups?
Well, Larry must've been very convincing, cause I stuck my head between my legs and started sucking...air (zing). When I came up I must have been unconscious on my feet, but instead of falling back I stumbled/ran right into Walnut St. and totally faceplanted. Pretty much the last thing I remember is holding a dirty barmop to face while pouring blood and cursing. To make matters worse I passed out on the little couch in my living room and barely woke up in time for work the next day.
The best (or worse) part was trying to explain what happened in school the next day.
"Mr. Hess did you get in a fight"
"Yeah, you should see the other guy"
Until I made up an elaborate lie about playing roller hockey in a no checking league, when some asshole checked me. No idea why I didn't just say I fell, because I spent most of my classes today talking about a nonexistent roller hockey league that I do not play in. Anyway, if you wanna see the ugly mug you know where to find me, or check out FB. I'll try and injure myself stupidly again soon, so I have something to write about. I'm on my way out to watch TU, play with matches and run with scissors. Late
Hess out
So, Wednesday night begins like any other..."Yeah, just going out for a couple beers, nothing crazy." I don't even know why we kid ourselves. I'm not sure if any real man has successfully went out for just one beer. Anyway, several beers (and carbombs) later, I was so hammerfaced that I can't even tell you who was all there at this point. Also, at some point I acquired a nasty case of hiccups.
So, I tried everything. The hold your breath thing, holding your breath while drinking, probably tried to scare myself. Nothing, I was totally at a loss. So, we're outside smoking, which really sucks with the hiccups, when LBR3 suggests I do a "head rush" to resolve the problem. For those of you that aren't familiar with the term, a head rush is when you bend over like you are going to touch your toes, take several deep breaths, and then stand up straight. This always results in a lightheaded, high feeling. Now just a sidenote, I should've been skeptical, because I've had problems with this move before.
Back in the day, we were hanging out at the rapids when we all formed a circle and started doing head rushes for fun. Anyway, when it was my turn I came straight up and fell straight back. Didn't even try and break my fall. Passed out. When I came to, my good friends were kicking my lifeless body and yelling wake up as I convulsed on the ground. So, right away, red flags should've been going up...maybe a head rush is not a good cure for the hiccups?
Well, Larry must've been very convincing, cause I stuck my head between my legs and started sucking...air (zing). When I came up I must have been unconscious on my feet, but instead of falling back I stumbled/ran right into Walnut St. and totally faceplanted. Pretty much the last thing I remember is holding a dirty barmop to face while pouring blood and cursing. To make matters worse I passed out on the little couch in my living room and barely woke up in time for work the next day.
The best (or worse) part was trying to explain what happened in school the next day.
"Mr. Hess did you get in a fight"
"Yeah, you should see the other guy"
Until I made up an elaborate lie about playing roller hockey in a no checking league, when some asshole checked me. No idea why I didn't just say I fell, because I spent most of my classes today talking about a nonexistent roller hockey league that I do not play in. Anyway, if you wanna see the ugly mug you know where to find me, or check out FB. I'll try and injure myself stupidly again soon, so I have something to write about. I'm on my way out to watch TU, play with matches and run with scissors. Late
Hess out
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Shitty Day Gets Shittier, Dawkins No Longer an Eagle
I started my day yesterday at 1:00 in the afternoon when I woke up with a ridiculous hangover. This was no normal everyday hangover, this was one of those rare ones. My unique tolerance for the drink usually keeps my hangovers rather mild and short lived, but since my Rangers once again could not win to save their coaches life, I decided to indulge a bit more than usual. After boozing during that horrific Rangers game and then sitting my ass in the Pub for who knows how many beers, I went home and instead of calling it a night I decided to polish off some shots of 92 proof Sailor Jerry Rum and pop open a bottle of red wine which I drank from the bottle to the bottom. Needless to say I think it was the mixing that did me in. So I awoke completely disoriented and nauseous, and this lasted for most of the day. I did not have to work until 8pm so I had plenty of time to sit around and be worthless. I had been watching season one of “The Wire” for the past two weeks on HBO on Demand. I had watched every episode and only had one to go so I figured I would finish up the season and watch the last episode, but when I had finished watching episode 12 I was just confused. Nothing had really been solved and there were a lot of loose ends that still needed to be tied. Maybe it was just the hangover, but something was missing. It was. Upon investigation I learned that there are 13 episodes in “The Wire” season 1. On Demand only had 12. Still hungover and confused, I tried to find a logical explanation why on Demand would show the entire first season except for the finale. I could not. The only reason I could fathom was spite. Confusion now turned to anger. I had been fully engaged in this season for the past two weeks. I would come home from work at 4am and watch an episode. I would get hammered , watch an episode and then have to watch it again in the morning because I couldn't remember. I was hooked. How the fuck can these assholes not give me the final episode! You motherfuckers! I would have called Comcast to vent if I would have thought those trained monkeys could actually do something about it. I hate Comcast. My entire past two weeks have now been ruined. I finally calmed down and started flicking through the rest of my 500 worthless channels and started watching “There Will be Blood”. Fitting for the mood I was in. This is the second time I have seen this movie and I still have no clue what the fuck is going on. Anger turning back to confusion. The only thing I'm sure of is that Daniel Day-Lewis and the mustache were made for each other. If you're ever making a movie and need to fill the role of mustache, look no further. So the three hour long movie of whatever ends and I am now lying face down on my couch staring at a brown spot on my floor rather lifelessly.
Somewhere in between the confusion and the anger and the vomiting I get a text from Fontiz. Brian Dawkins was no longer a Philadelphia Eagle. Confusion once again. As a fellow fan of the green, Fontiz would know that there are certain things that just aren't joking matters like loss of employment, deaths of relatives, Dawkins leaving the Eagles, so I knew he couldn't be searching for a laugh. Maybe his information was wrong or maybe a little hasty I thought. But no, it was true. Brian Dawkins, the emotional and physical leader of the Eagles for the last 13 years was gone, signing a 5 year 17 million deal with the Denver Broncos. Sadness. Just when my day couldn't get any worse, I lose my and most Eagles fans' favorite player. It is hard to put into words what Dawkins meant to Eagles fans. In a city that loves to hate its star players, Dawkins was never booed, even if he was completely burnt on a play (which rarely happened). Dawkins embodied what it meant to be a Philadelphia Eagle, the passion and the heart to play every down as if it were the last. His on field numbers speak for themselves. A seven time pro bowler, 898 total career tackles (703 of them solo tackles), 34 career interceptions, 21 career sacks. But it was his emotion and leadership we will remember him by. The ability to lead the team by example, on the field and in the locker room. When it comes to defensive bad asses, only Ray Lewis comes to mind other than Dawkins. Whenever the team (or the fans) needed a boost, a big play, a big hit, Dawkins was always there to heed the call. Whether it was lighting up Mushi Muhammad in the endzone or flying horizontally thought the air to strip Ben Roethlisberger late in a tightly played fourth quarter, Dawkins was there.
I cannot believe the Eagles really let Dawk go. Dawkins and most of the Philly fan base had thought he would retire in midnight green and maybe even stick around the organization as a defensive coach of some sort. We do not know what the Eagles offered Dawk to stay but it must have been a pretty low ball move to send him packing from the only team he knew and loved. Especially since the Eagles are a huge 40 million under the cap. Are you kidding me, you can't toss a little bit to Dawk to keep him around! What a slap in the face to him and the fans. I'm not sure what the jersey sales numbers look like either but I'm willing to bet number 20 is not far behind number 5. At 35 we all know his NFL career was near over anyway, but I don't think any of us wanted to see him in another uniform. I personally wouldn't care if we had to designate someone in the secondary to push Dawkins' wheelchair for him while on the field, just as long as he is out there. Who am I kidding, Dawk would wheel himself out there and probably dive out of the chair to make a tackle too. Thats just the player he was and just what he brought to the rest of the team. He made everybody else better on both sides of the ball. Nobody wanted to let Dawk down. During this years improbable run to the NFC championship game, many players expressed the feeling in the locker room that they needed to get that ring for Dawkins. It was Dawkins himself that started the playoff beard late in the regular season as a symbol of what they were playing for, something to remind them every time they looked in the mirror. The beards were soon copied by the entire team including the coach and owner. Asked if he would have grown a beard at the request of any other player other than Dawkins, Andy Reid said “No, just Dawk or McNabb, this things real itchy”. And could you blame him. That beard was awful, all scraggly with white and red patches. Coach kinda looked like a really fat lion roaming the sidelines with a dead baby lamb in his mouth, but since Dawk asked...
Well now Dawk is gone and fuck the Eagles for letting it happen. Now we are left with only memories. I guess my favorite memory would be Dawkins' hit on Alge Crumpler in the fourth quarter of the 2004 NFC Championship game. Sitting ten rows back in freezing Lincoln Financial Field (I mean really freezing, our disposable cameras froze and our beers would freeze if we didn't poke holes through the frozen foam on top and chug them) with two of my best friends. Micheal “who can take a puppy by his puppy ears, fuck him in the ass till he cries puppy tears” Vick delivers a shitbag pass to Crumpler who makes a turn after the catch only to get absolutely drilled by a flying Dawkins. Words cannot really describe it. I thought he was dead. That hit pretty much killed Atlanta's hopes of making a comeback and sent the fans into a celebration that we would never forget. I'm not sure how to post videos on this site yet, but youtube has everything from last years madden intro with Dawkins to this years playoff footage of Dawkins just diving head first into players like a torpedo. Really, how do you get rid of someone that even at age 35 is always looking to run or dive through someone to take them down. There is also an awesome video entitled “Dawkins – Weapon X” up there too.
Every game I was lucky enough to attend, I would make sure we left our tailgate early to be sure we did not miss the player introductions before kickoff just because I'd hope it was the defenses' turn that day. Every home game alternates the introductions from offense to defense. I would always hope it was the Defense just to see Dawkins. The stadium would be buzzing, everyone on their feet because they knew the last player to fly out of the tunnel was always Dawkins. The announcer would shout his name, the fireworks would blast, and the fans would go into a frenzy reminding the opposing team they were in Philadelphia in case they had forgotten. I can't believe I have seen the last time Brian Dawkins will come crawling out of the tunnel on all fours like a crazed animal and sprint down the field sending the fans into that Philly chaos. Dawkins brought a meaning and passion to this team that none of us had ever seen before, and that simply can never be replaced.
- Bows
Somewhere in between the confusion and the anger and the vomiting I get a text from Fontiz. Brian Dawkins was no longer a Philadelphia Eagle. Confusion once again. As a fellow fan of the green, Fontiz would know that there are certain things that just aren't joking matters like loss of employment, deaths of relatives, Dawkins leaving the Eagles, so I knew he couldn't be searching for a laugh. Maybe his information was wrong or maybe a little hasty I thought. But no, it was true. Brian Dawkins, the emotional and physical leader of the Eagles for the last 13 years was gone, signing a 5 year 17 million deal with the Denver Broncos. Sadness. Just when my day couldn't get any worse, I lose my and most Eagles fans' favorite player. It is hard to put into words what Dawkins meant to Eagles fans. In a city that loves to hate its star players, Dawkins was never booed, even if he was completely burnt on a play (which rarely happened). Dawkins embodied what it meant to be a Philadelphia Eagle, the passion and the heart to play every down as if it were the last. His on field numbers speak for themselves. A seven time pro bowler, 898 total career tackles (703 of them solo tackles), 34 career interceptions, 21 career sacks. But it was his emotion and leadership we will remember him by. The ability to lead the team by example, on the field and in the locker room. When it comes to defensive bad asses, only Ray Lewis comes to mind other than Dawkins. Whenever the team (or the fans) needed a boost, a big play, a big hit, Dawkins was always there to heed the call. Whether it was lighting up Mushi Muhammad in the endzone or flying horizontally thought the air to strip Ben Roethlisberger late in a tightly played fourth quarter, Dawkins was there.
I cannot believe the Eagles really let Dawk go. Dawkins and most of the Philly fan base had thought he would retire in midnight green and maybe even stick around the organization as a defensive coach of some sort. We do not know what the Eagles offered Dawk to stay but it must have been a pretty low ball move to send him packing from the only team he knew and loved. Especially since the Eagles are a huge 40 million under the cap. Are you kidding me, you can't toss a little bit to Dawk to keep him around! What a slap in the face to him and the fans. I'm not sure what the jersey sales numbers look like either but I'm willing to bet number 20 is not far behind number 5. At 35 we all know his NFL career was near over anyway, but I don't think any of us wanted to see him in another uniform. I personally wouldn't care if we had to designate someone in the secondary to push Dawkins' wheelchair for him while on the field, just as long as he is out there. Who am I kidding, Dawk would wheel himself out there and probably dive out of the chair to make a tackle too. Thats just the player he was and just what he brought to the rest of the team. He made everybody else better on both sides of the ball. Nobody wanted to let Dawk down. During this years improbable run to the NFC championship game, many players expressed the feeling in the locker room that they needed to get that ring for Dawkins. It was Dawkins himself that started the playoff beard late in the regular season as a symbol of what they were playing for, something to remind them every time they looked in the mirror. The beards were soon copied by the entire team including the coach and owner. Asked if he would have grown a beard at the request of any other player other than Dawkins, Andy Reid said “No, just Dawk or McNabb, this things real itchy”. And could you blame him. That beard was awful, all scraggly with white and red patches. Coach kinda looked like a really fat lion roaming the sidelines with a dead baby lamb in his mouth, but since Dawk asked...
Well now Dawk is gone and fuck the Eagles for letting it happen. Now we are left with only memories. I guess my favorite memory would be Dawkins' hit on Alge Crumpler in the fourth quarter of the 2004 NFC Championship game. Sitting ten rows back in freezing Lincoln Financial Field (I mean really freezing, our disposable cameras froze and our beers would freeze if we didn't poke holes through the frozen foam on top and chug them) with two of my best friends. Micheal “who can take a puppy by his puppy ears, fuck him in the ass till he cries puppy tears” Vick delivers a shitbag pass to Crumpler who makes a turn after the catch only to get absolutely drilled by a flying Dawkins. Words cannot really describe it. I thought he was dead. That hit pretty much killed Atlanta's hopes of making a comeback and sent the fans into a celebration that we would never forget. I'm not sure how to post videos on this site yet, but youtube has everything from last years madden intro with Dawkins to this years playoff footage of Dawkins just diving head first into players like a torpedo. Really, how do you get rid of someone that even at age 35 is always looking to run or dive through someone to take them down. There is also an awesome video entitled “Dawkins – Weapon X” up there too.
Every game I was lucky enough to attend, I would make sure we left our tailgate early to be sure we did not miss the player introductions before kickoff just because I'd hope it was the defenses' turn that day. Every home game alternates the introductions from offense to defense. I would always hope it was the Defense just to see Dawkins. The stadium would be buzzing, everyone on their feet because they knew the last player to fly out of the tunnel was always Dawkins. The announcer would shout his name, the fireworks would blast, and the fans would go into a frenzy reminding the opposing team they were in Philadelphia in case they had forgotten. I can't believe I have seen the last time Brian Dawkins will come crawling out of the tunnel on all fours like a crazed animal and sprint down the field sending the fans into that Philly chaos. Dawkins brought a meaning and passion to this team that none of us had ever seen before, and that simply can never be replaced.
- Bows
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
A-Rod and Bows do Roids
Its been nearly two and a half weeks since the A-Rod on roids story surfaced, so why am I still seeing it every time I turn on the TV? Is there really nothing better to talk about on sportscenter and all the other espn shows that are exactly the same, I.E. around the horn, PTI, and Jim Rome has gonorrhea? I for one am completely sick of hearing about baseball and its steroids scandal. I don't care anymore and I'm tired of hearing about it. After Barry Bonds and his enormous 20 lb melon head broke the home run record it was most everyones hope that a clean A-Rod, on pace to break Bonds' record, would eventually become the home run king. Now that baseballs greatest star player has been outed, I don't think there is anywhere for the sport to go but up and finally put all these steroid stories behind them. Now that A-Rod has been exposed, I don't think I can be surprised by anything anymore. As far as I'm concerned, every player from the late '80s till last year when the Mitchell report came out was on roids, at least every player that mattered. If you were one of the three players not on roids you probably weren't that good. If it comes out tomorrow that Kevin Stocker was on roids I wouldn't be surprised. Everybody was on roids, so I no longer can be surprised nor do I care. And if everyone was on roids doesn't that kinda even the playing field?
Well fuck it. I don't care anymore. Hopefully this whole steroid circus has scared the new generation of players completely away from steroid use and we never have to go back through this annoyance again. I am no longer interested in A-Rod or baseballs steroid problem. A-Rod did however kinda get me thinking though. What I am interested in, actually, is maybe some roids. Anybody, anybody? I kinda think it would be fun to do some roids, don't you? I've been trying to think of a way to get jacked without really having to do all that work for a long time now. Lets face it, working out is hard. And it often sucks. Well fuck that shit, I say lets do some roids. It will be great.
Lets just think about it for a minute before you judge. First of all, I will get jacked and ripped and awesome. Chicks will dig me, like A-Rod. I will become B-Rod. My head will probably grow fatter and oddly shaped but thats ok because it will look proportionate on my newly enlarged, bumpy body. I can now wear those extremely tight tee shirts that look like they are choking my arms. I can even wear those cool tee shirts with the squiggly tribal-looking lines all over them, or maybe even some see-through mesh shirts! Awesome! And then when the squiggly lines on my shirts are just not enough (how can you ever get enough squiggly lines) I can get them tattooed all over my biceps, maybe some barbed wire around my wrists and ankles too. While I'm at it I might as well shave my head and get an ass crack tattooed down the middle of my dome.
My balls will shrink, which I cannot afford, and I hear there may be mood swings. So I guess I'll be stomping around in an angry rage a lot, but that's ok because I'm jacked and will kick anybodys ass I please for pretty much doing nothing at all. God help you if you accidentally step on my new gym shoes. And I guess every time I glance down at my shrunken nuts I will just get even angrier, you know cause they look like soaking wet baby balls. Fuck it though, its gonna be great. You know what, I think we should all do roids. Lets all do roids, all my friends. I'm gonna need a spotter at the gym anyway. I'm gonna need someone to shout inspirational shit when I'm lifting my weights like “Come on!”, “One more man!”, and “Uggghhhh!”. Then we can share a protein smoothie.
After we all hit the gym and eat a healthy dinner of roids, chicken , and eggs (also blended into a smoothie) then we can go out drinking and pick-up chicks. We will all wear the same tight, squiggly shirts and those of us with hair will soak our blowouts with LA looks, the rest of us will just oil our bald ass domes. We will then crush beers at my house. Literally, you must crush every beer can after you drink it, those are universal douchbag rules. Then before we go out we have a flex off. The winner will be judged in the categories of; 1) most obnoxiously abnormal size, 2) overall amount of veins about to burst, and 3) swimsuit contest (speedos only).
Once at the bar we will all gather in one corner and stand there as if we have claimed that area as ours for the rest of eternity. We will crush beers and shots and a vast array of bombs. Most of us will clutch our beers far too tightly and hold them at a right angle to flex our guns without really having to obviously flex our guns. The rest of us will obviously lift our arms and flex our guns. One or more of us will eventually start a fight for no reason and then we will stomp our angry asses down to old city where apparently all the chicks are. However, none of us actually hit on chicks anymore. Instead, we simply club them over the head and drag them out by their ankle. The girl awakes in the morning with a pounding headache and a pounding asshole. She charges me with rape and I must flee the country so I do not get my own ass pounded in prison because lets face it, I'm roided-up but I still can't defend myself. So now I live in a third world country under a bridge. My head is an over sized coconut, my neck has fused with my shoulders, I have a crazy nervous twitch, I eat the village children, and I fuck billy goats, or maybe just a regular goat that I have named billy.
Ok, maybe I'm getting a bit carried away. Anyway, if anyone is down let me know. Fuckin' roids man. In other news it is almost spring time and the new line of GBW is in the works (for real this time). We are finished with the design phase are now planning to buy a printer and start production shortly. Orders will be taken on this site as well as in person. GBW, this is our year bitch!
- Bows
Well fuck it. I don't care anymore. Hopefully this whole steroid circus has scared the new generation of players completely away from steroid use and we never have to go back through this annoyance again. I am no longer interested in A-Rod or baseballs steroid problem. A-Rod did however kinda get me thinking though. What I am interested in, actually, is maybe some roids. Anybody, anybody? I kinda think it would be fun to do some roids, don't you? I've been trying to think of a way to get jacked without really having to do all that work for a long time now. Lets face it, working out is hard. And it often sucks. Well fuck that shit, I say lets do some roids. It will be great.
Lets just think about it for a minute before you judge. First of all, I will get jacked and ripped and awesome. Chicks will dig me, like A-Rod. I will become B-Rod. My head will probably grow fatter and oddly shaped but thats ok because it will look proportionate on my newly enlarged, bumpy body. I can now wear those extremely tight tee shirts that look like they are choking my arms. I can even wear those cool tee shirts with the squiggly tribal-looking lines all over them, or maybe even some see-through mesh shirts! Awesome! And then when the squiggly lines on my shirts are just not enough (how can you ever get enough squiggly lines) I can get them tattooed all over my biceps, maybe some barbed wire around my wrists and ankles too. While I'm at it I might as well shave my head and get an ass crack tattooed down the middle of my dome.
My balls will shrink, which I cannot afford, and I hear there may be mood swings. So I guess I'll be stomping around in an angry rage a lot, but that's ok because I'm jacked and will kick anybodys ass I please for pretty much doing nothing at all. God help you if you accidentally step on my new gym shoes. And I guess every time I glance down at my shrunken nuts I will just get even angrier, you know cause they look like soaking wet baby balls. Fuck it though, its gonna be great. You know what, I think we should all do roids. Lets all do roids, all my friends. I'm gonna need a spotter at the gym anyway. I'm gonna need someone to shout inspirational shit when I'm lifting my weights like “Come on!”, “One more man!”, and “Uggghhhh!”. Then we can share a protein smoothie.
After we all hit the gym and eat a healthy dinner of roids, chicken , and eggs (also blended into a smoothie) then we can go out drinking and pick-up chicks. We will all wear the same tight, squiggly shirts and those of us with hair will soak our blowouts with LA looks, the rest of us will just oil our bald ass domes. We will then crush beers at my house. Literally, you must crush every beer can after you drink it, those are universal douchbag rules. Then before we go out we have a flex off. The winner will be judged in the categories of; 1) most obnoxiously abnormal size, 2) overall amount of veins about to burst, and 3) swimsuit contest (speedos only).
Once at the bar we will all gather in one corner and stand there as if we have claimed that area as ours for the rest of eternity. We will crush beers and shots and a vast array of bombs. Most of us will clutch our beers far too tightly and hold them at a right angle to flex our guns without really having to obviously flex our guns. The rest of us will obviously lift our arms and flex our guns. One or more of us will eventually start a fight for no reason and then we will stomp our angry asses down to old city where apparently all the chicks are. However, none of us actually hit on chicks anymore. Instead, we simply club them over the head and drag them out by their ankle. The girl awakes in the morning with a pounding headache and a pounding asshole. She charges me with rape and I must flee the country so I do not get my own ass pounded in prison because lets face it, I'm roided-up but I still can't defend myself. So now I live in a third world country under a bridge. My head is an over sized coconut, my neck has fused with my shoulders, I have a crazy nervous twitch, I eat the village children, and I fuck billy goats, or maybe just a regular goat that I have named billy.
Ok, maybe I'm getting a bit carried away. Anyway, if anyone is down let me know. Fuckin' roids man. In other news it is almost spring time and the new line of GBW is in the works (for real this time). We are finished with the design phase are now planning to buy a printer and start production shortly. Orders will be taken on this site as well as in person. GBW, this is our year bitch!
- Bows
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Arent we old enough
So I just got done work at 3:3o in the morning in Philadelphia PA. I walk in to LBR's house and Hess is passed out on his couch with painted fingernails and dicks all over his face. Hilarious. However, what the fuck. This guy just fought an MMA pro and did stand up comedy in the last two weeks. Give em a break! Once your outta high school its time to stop writing on your friends. My friend Hess maybe a lifelong scumbag, but hes earned the right not to be writen on.
He left a center city apartment with cocks on his face and dicks on his arms and drove home! What if he got pulled over! Even his silly Hess charm couldnt pull em outta prison (well maybe a white cop). One time our buddy in the frat house left in 8am to go to a mid-term with a huge dick on his face. The prof said nothing, nor did his fellow students till he finished. He handed in his paper and his prof said "son, u need a mirror". He took the whole final in front of 1oo ppl with a big fat dick on his face! And he Aced it. Needless to say he came back to the house pissed, but he was a bitch and LBR punched him in the face. Prob solved. but
What im trying to say is, Hess is old. He doesn't need this abuse anymore, and he gets too drunk to defend himself. As his manager, I feel Ishould. He drove home last week wasted with "I love cock" on his forehead! Fuck! Just a joke, like Die Hard 3! He hit me in the gut and ran away. His roommate was not happy. Tonight, he was drawn on and I felt the need to step in. I took a warm wash cloth and rubbed my Hess. He did not respond correctly. Drunk fuck threw punches and mumbled like a retard. I tried to hold him down but, since his MMA class, has found some new found balls. So he hit me, HARD. I wanted to tea bag him (put my balls on his face), but LBR said no. Then LBR said yes, so I did. Then we tried to clean him with a washclothe. We got most of the shit off his face but he was fighting us in his sleep. Silly Hess, were justg trying to clean you. We scrubbed the shit off your fingernails, the mustache off your face, the dicks off your back. So when you wake up Hess, know that Bows and LBR love you. No more drawing on Hess please. Its far too easy.
- Bows
He left a center city apartment with cocks on his face and dicks on his arms and drove home! What if he got pulled over! Even his silly Hess charm couldnt pull em outta prison (well maybe a white cop). One time our buddy in the frat house left in 8am to go to a mid-term with a huge dick on his face. The prof said nothing, nor did his fellow students till he finished. He handed in his paper and his prof said "son, u need a mirror". He took the whole final in front of 1oo ppl with a big fat dick on his face! And he Aced it. Needless to say he came back to the house pissed, but he was a bitch and LBR punched him in the face. Prob solved. but
What im trying to say is, Hess is old. He doesn't need this abuse anymore, and he gets too drunk to defend himself. As his manager, I feel Ishould. He drove home last week wasted with "I love cock" on his forehead! Fuck! Just a joke, like Die Hard 3! He hit me in the gut and ran away. His roommate was not happy. Tonight, he was drawn on and I felt the need to step in. I took a warm wash cloth and rubbed my Hess. He did not respond correctly. Drunk fuck threw punches and mumbled like a retard. I tried to hold him down but, since his MMA class, has found some new found balls. So he hit me, HARD. I wanted to tea bag him (put my balls on his face), but LBR said no. Then LBR said yes, so I did. Then we tried to clean him with a washclothe. We got most of the shit off his face but he was fighting us in his sleep. Silly Hess, were justg trying to clean you. We scrubbed the shit off your fingernails, the mustache off your face, the dicks off your back. So when you wake up Hess, know that Bows and LBR love you. No more drawing on Hess please. Its far too easy.
- Bows
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Hess Didn't Suck
So, the plan after Monday was for me and Bows to both write our perspectives of my stand-up performance. However, by the time Bows woke up and finished his on Tuesday, I was already out drinking. I signed up for another open mic on Tuesday, but I didn't get on, which is probably a good thing. I will explain, but first I gotta call out Bows. So, I am basically completing my bucket list of things to do before I kick the bucket, which is funny because I'm 30 and not Jack Nicholson or Morgan Freeman (but with my lifestyle, I suppose I could go at any minute). Anyway, in the past week and a half I have gotten my ass kicked by a pro MMA fighter, played with a high school basketball team (which I always wished I was good enough to do (I'm still not)), and did a ten minute stand-up routine at an open mic. Meanwhile, Bows has watched me get my ass kicked (still awaiting video) and watched me kick ass. Other than that, I think he watched a Rangers game. Bows, I may push you out of a plane this week, cause I am running out of ideas on how to embarrass myself.
On to the open mic. I will try not to repeat too much of what Bows already wrote. I know it sounds gay and contrived, but it has seriously been a dream of mine to do stand-up. I always thought I was funny enough, but lacked the balls to actually pursue it. Anyway, after all my other recent exploits I thought, fuck it I need something to blog about. So I came up with a little material, and I must have started drunkenly talking the idea up around the watering hole. I say must have because I have no recollection of doing so, but I have convinced myself in hindsight that it was intentional (tell enough people, you have to do it, drunk Hess knew this). That said I got a post on facebook on Sunday asking if I was still down for the open mic night on Monday. My reaction, "what fucking open mic night". I had no idea, and at that point, no plans on actually following through with this.
Word started getting around though and before I knew it LBR's facebook status said something like "can't wait to see Hess's first stand-up performance" on Monday afternoon. Then I started getting texts, calls, and posts. Then I started drinking. I still thought there was no way I would actually do it, but I figured if I was drunk when I thought of all this maybe it would help if I was drunk again. The more I drank, the more I started thinking that I could possibly pull this off. I have to apologize at this point to the people that I didn't invite, because some of them are pissed. I really didn't think I was going to do it, and I definitely didn't want to hype it up, because it either wasn't going to happen or it was going to suck. So, I pretty much only told the people who reached out to me once I decided that I was indeed going to do it. Also, on that note, I am shocked there were friends in the city who knew about this and didn't go. Seriously? Hess is potentially going to make a complete ass out of himself and you opt to stay home. Its beyond me.
On to the performance. My brotha from anotha motha and I went to sign up around 8, then proceeded to drink, hash out material and hit on the bartender until we went on. He had done this before so mercifully he led off for me, which in this crowd was huge. Bows already touched on the fact that this wasn't really a comedy crowd, so I had no idea what to expect, especially since all my material was about porn and sex. After a few musical acts, my boy led off and did a great job of getting people laughing and into comedy. And then, I was up. Holy shit. I opened with "Hi, my name is Drew Hess and I'm an alcoholic. I skipped that meeting so I'm getting it out of the way here." Don't know if that's funny or not, but I like it and may use it again. Then, I was off. I basically did three bits; two were good and the third killed time. I ended the first bit with "So I ended up blowing this guy named Steve out back". I was told after the fact that there were a couple apprehensive gay guys there that I eventually won over despite another gay reference in the second bit.
I guess I somehow made it through about ten minutes of material and people actually laughed. All my friends assured me it was funny and they aren't the types to blow smoke up my ass. LBR was even nice to me for a day, which is rare. I think that overall it was a success and I am working on some new material now. I said earlier that I went back on Tuesday and didn't get on, I will explain now. Monday night was a completely open mic night at a bar. All acts were welcome. Tuesday was a comedy club with a big crowd and some legit comedians just working out material. I'm glad I got to watch that one before I perform it. I will hopefully get some video up here soon. Until then, I will keep you posted on my wildly successful fake career.
-Hess
On to the open mic. I will try not to repeat too much of what Bows already wrote. I know it sounds gay and contrived, but it has seriously been a dream of mine to do stand-up. I always thought I was funny enough, but lacked the balls to actually pursue it. Anyway, after all my other recent exploits I thought, fuck it I need something to blog about. So I came up with a little material, and I must have started drunkenly talking the idea up around the watering hole. I say must have because I have no recollection of doing so, but I have convinced myself in hindsight that it was intentional (tell enough people, you have to do it, drunk Hess knew this). That said I got a post on facebook on Sunday asking if I was still down for the open mic night on Monday. My reaction, "what fucking open mic night". I had no idea, and at that point, no plans on actually following through with this.
Word started getting around though and before I knew it LBR's facebook status said something like "can't wait to see Hess's first stand-up performance" on Monday afternoon. Then I started getting texts, calls, and posts. Then I started drinking. I still thought there was no way I would actually do it, but I figured if I was drunk when I thought of all this maybe it would help if I was drunk again. The more I drank, the more I started thinking that I could possibly pull this off. I have to apologize at this point to the people that I didn't invite, because some of them are pissed. I really didn't think I was going to do it, and I definitely didn't want to hype it up, because it either wasn't going to happen or it was going to suck. So, I pretty much only told the people who reached out to me once I decided that I was indeed going to do it. Also, on that note, I am shocked there were friends in the city who knew about this and didn't go. Seriously? Hess is potentially going to make a complete ass out of himself and you opt to stay home. Its beyond me.
On to the performance. My brotha from anotha motha and I went to sign up around 8, then proceeded to drink, hash out material and hit on the bartender until we went on. He had done this before so mercifully he led off for me, which in this crowd was huge. Bows already touched on the fact that this wasn't really a comedy crowd, so I had no idea what to expect, especially since all my material was about porn and sex. After a few musical acts, my boy led off and did a great job of getting people laughing and into comedy. And then, I was up. Holy shit. I opened with "Hi, my name is Drew Hess and I'm an alcoholic. I skipped that meeting so I'm getting it out of the way here." Don't know if that's funny or not, but I like it and may use it again. Then, I was off. I basically did three bits; two were good and the third killed time. I ended the first bit with "So I ended up blowing this guy named Steve out back". I was told after the fact that there were a couple apprehensive gay guys there that I eventually won over despite another gay reference in the second bit.
I guess I somehow made it through about ten minutes of material and people actually laughed. All my friends assured me it was funny and they aren't the types to blow smoke up my ass. LBR was even nice to me for a day, which is rare. I think that overall it was a success and I am working on some new material now. I said earlier that I went back on Tuesday and didn't get on, I will explain now. Monday night was a completely open mic night at a bar. All acts were welcome. Tuesday was a comedy club with a big crowd and some legit comedians just working out material. I'm glad I got to watch that one before I perform it. I will hopefully get some video up here soon. Until then, I will keep you posted on my wildly successful fake career.
-Hess
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Fat Hess Does Stand-Up
So I had this crazy dream last night that Hess was doing stand-up comedy at Fergie's Pub on Sansom St. Now normally I would have awoke this morning with my usual hangover and stale beer breath and just chalked this weird dream sequence up to some sour beer, but since we've started this blog it seems anything is possible. So in reality, Hess really did stand-up last night and even more impressive is the fact that he actually did really well. He did not get booed off the stage, which is always a good start, and had enough composure and material to finish out the 15 min slot he was provided and he did it with a comfortable flow. And the jokes were funny, another kinda big element I think.
I cannot go into his actual performance because that will just ruin it for everyone who hasn't seen it yet, but it's dirty, immature and funny so it should work for most audiences. And if you know Hess (which our only two readers do) you need only use your imagination. Instead, I performed the role of observer seated at the back of the room. I was unaware when we started this web page thing that Hess would consistently be opting for the physical challenge. He has already been whooped by a trained MMA pro and flung himself in front a live studio audience for shits and giggles. Since I must ultimately do my part, I will do what I was born to do and swim the Delaware River this summer (date TBD). But for now I am simply an observer.
First off, let me state for the record that this is one challenge I could never go through with. I am deathly afraid of public speaking and even the thought of Hess going up there made me nervous. I couldn't even stay composed for book reports in jr. high. My voice would crack, I would stutter, my hands would shake and I would make virtually no eye contact. Fucking shit was not good. So I already gave credit where it was due just for Hess to get up there. We got to the bar shortly before nine and headed upstairs to the second floor. There was about six or seven tables upstairs with a small stage set in the corner of the room and a small six stool bar in the opposite corner. We took our place at one of the tables in the back of the room and waited for the first performers to go on.
As we glanced over the crowd we both immediately realized this was probably not the best environment for crude jokes. We were the only people in the small crowd of twenty or so that did not have long hair, dreadlocks, fluffy sideburns, weird oval glasses, too many piercings, or silly hats that would even look ridiculous on Prince. Yup, we were surrounded by hippies, yuppies, and homos. The first act took the stage and began their set and only solidified the uneasy feeling of impending rejection. It was a jazz band composed of three young black men, one on the drums, one on the bass, and the other vocals and keyboard. Shit. Hess stood in the back of the room with a classic deer in the headlights look on his face. He already told us all that he was extremely nervous but till this point had not really shown many physical signs. He now was standing quietly in the corner with a look of fear and possibly regret in his eyes. He was drunk but at the moment had no drink in his hand, which is a sight I have not seen in a long time. He must have been really nervous if he stopped drinking. His adams apple had swollen to the size of a grapefruit and was beginning to bob up and down like a fishing lure with a small mouth bass on the other end of it. And to make matters worse, the band was actually really good. All the weirdos in the crowd were bobbing their heads, swaying with the rhythm. This crowd was obviously used to quality performances. I was beginning to overhear some of the conversation in the room. I heard words like "righteousness man", "peace and love", "let me get two hoegarrdens with extra fruit please". Shit! This was not good. You could cut the fear in the room with a knife. The smell alone was intoxicating. I had to go to the bathroom just to get out of the room for a minute. That bathroom by the way was one of the creepiest places on Earth, about the size of a broom closet, dimly lit, broken window patched with a board of wood, perfect for some fag out there to sneak in behind me and get his rape on.
Apparently we may have been more nervous than Hess because he got up there and killed it. Very impressive Hess, especially for a first time. I think we all prepared for the worst too. Public humiliation, a room full of crickets, Hess knocks the mic stand over as he runs from the room sobbing. That would have been awkward. And then how do we, his friends, react to the situation? "I guess we'll take the check" I say to the bartender from across the sad and quiet room. When this blog site inevitably fails maybe we should concentrate on writing you some material and get you on a circuit. I could be your scumbag manager, wear a lot of guido suits and get myself some gold rings, much like your Jerry McGuire but much sleazier. Anyway, for those of you who haven't seen the act Hess has no reason not to do it again so get in touch with him for future dates. Good stuff Hess.
- Bows
I cannot go into his actual performance because that will just ruin it for everyone who hasn't seen it yet, but it's dirty, immature and funny so it should work for most audiences. And if you know Hess (which our only two readers do) you need only use your imagination. Instead, I performed the role of observer seated at the back of the room. I was unaware when we started this web page thing that Hess would consistently be opting for the physical challenge. He has already been whooped by a trained MMA pro and flung himself in front a live studio audience for shits and giggles. Since I must ultimately do my part, I will do what I was born to do and swim the Delaware River this summer (date TBD). But for now I am simply an observer.
First off, let me state for the record that this is one challenge I could never go through with. I am deathly afraid of public speaking and even the thought of Hess going up there made me nervous. I couldn't even stay composed for book reports in jr. high. My voice would crack, I would stutter, my hands would shake and I would make virtually no eye contact. Fucking shit was not good. So I already gave credit where it was due just for Hess to get up there. We got to the bar shortly before nine and headed upstairs to the second floor. There was about six or seven tables upstairs with a small stage set in the corner of the room and a small six stool bar in the opposite corner. We took our place at one of the tables in the back of the room and waited for the first performers to go on.
As we glanced over the crowd we both immediately realized this was probably not the best environment for crude jokes. We were the only people in the small crowd of twenty or so that did not have long hair, dreadlocks, fluffy sideburns, weird oval glasses, too many piercings, or silly hats that would even look ridiculous on Prince. Yup, we were surrounded by hippies, yuppies, and homos. The first act took the stage and began their set and only solidified the uneasy feeling of impending rejection. It was a jazz band composed of three young black men, one on the drums, one on the bass, and the other vocals and keyboard. Shit. Hess stood in the back of the room with a classic deer in the headlights look on his face. He already told us all that he was extremely nervous but till this point had not really shown many physical signs. He now was standing quietly in the corner with a look of fear and possibly regret in his eyes. He was drunk but at the moment had no drink in his hand, which is a sight I have not seen in a long time. He must have been really nervous if he stopped drinking. His adams apple had swollen to the size of a grapefruit and was beginning to bob up and down like a fishing lure with a small mouth bass on the other end of it. And to make matters worse, the band was actually really good. All the weirdos in the crowd were bobbing their heads, swaying with the rhythm. This crowd was obviously used to quality performances. I was beginning to overhear some of the conversation in the room. I heard words like "righteousness man", "peace and love", "let me get two hoegarrdens with extra fruit please". Shit! This was not good. You could cut the fear in the room with a knife. The smell alone was intoxicating. I had to go to the bathroom just to get out of the room for a minute. That bathroom by the way was one of the creepiest places on Earth, about the size of a broom closet, dimly lit, broken window patched with a board of wood, perfect for some fag out there to sneak in behind me and get his rape on.
Apparently we may have been more nervous than Hess because he got up there and killed it. Very impressive Hess, especially for a first time. I think we all prepared for the worst too. Public humiliation, a room full of crickets, Hess knocks the mic stand over as he runs from the room sobbing. That would have been awkward. And then how do we, his friends, react to the situation? "I guess we'll take the check" I say to the bartender from across the sad and quiet room. When this blog site inevitably fails maybe we should concentrate on writing you some material and get you on a circuit. I could be your scumbag manager, wear a lot of guido suits and get myself some gold rings, much like your Jerry McGuire but much sleazier. Anyway, for those of you who haven't seen the act Hess has no reason not to do it again so get in touch with him for future dates. Good stuff Hess.
- Bows
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