Chicago: More Than Just Windiness, Toll Ways, and Steve Urkel

So I got kind of this running theme of visiting cities and making hilarious references to early 90’s sitcoms and Chicago will be no exception.

My reason for this excursion was to see the exhibition soccer match between the number one ranked futbol team in the world, Brazil, versus the not so much ranked team in the world, the United States. More on that in a bit.

My Chicago buddies are classic. We tend to regress to a state of high school-ness when we hang out which is awesome, especially since we didn’t meet each other until college. It just sets a great tone for the weekend and this one was definitely a top-fiver.

One keen observation I had and maybe this was just a fluke in Chicago but it’s never happened to me before anywhere else and that is this: I was a Barley Corns on Friday and the Hange-Uppe on Saturday and both nights I cut a rug with a girl that seemed to dance at a noticeably faster pace than everyone else at the bar. Don’t get me wrong, they were both incredibly good dancers and they kept a rhythm with the beat, it was just like a double-time rhythm that was rather off-putting.

Has this ever happened to anyone else? Give me a call, we’ll talk about it.

To make a long story short, I got scared of the girls and ran away on both occasions. It was my primordial flight instinct at work.

Barley Corns was fun but rather standard fare. This bar Hange-Uppe though was something else. My buddy told it was impossible to frequent this bar without getting violated and he was apparently right. If I was a Steve on Friday, I definitely became a Stefan on Saturday. Within about a half hour this one chick grabbed me and made me make out with her while her friends were in hysterics taking pictures. It wouldn’t have been so bad except this girl was a real lunker.

I was more pissed at myself because I made an oath after my 26th birthday that I wasn’t going to embarrass myself at bars any more and I already fell off the wagon after three weeks. In my defense, I’m not acclimated to these 4 am bars and the make out jam only lasted about 10 seconds but it was still definitely 10 seconds too long.

Not a lot of other stories to tell except I’m going to go on the record and claim bean bag toss game as my new favorite waste of time, which will effectively knock Guitar Hero off it’s long-seated throne. Also, I managed to get gum stuck on TOP of my sandal, which I am still trying to figure out, given I wasn’t personally chewing gum at all this weekend. Gross.

The soccer match was sweet. Soccer is very fast and very violent. People were getting checked and slapped and tripped and there were fast kicks all over the place. This was mostly coming from the Brazilians who are a bunch of thugs. The Americans played with class, but they also played like a bunch of suck asses so I guess playing dirty is what it takes to be number one.

The best is when there is a penalty kick and the dudes have to line up and get their nuts get kicked at by a soccer ball going a 100 miles per hour. It’s pure hilarity. Especially when you look around and every dude in the stadium is holding their junk while it happens. You gotta feel for those guys out there.

So that’s that. You know, I was never that big of a Family Matters fan, to tell you the truth. Although, I still wonder what happened to Aunt Rachel and her kid and also that middle sister who all just seemed to vanish to make room for more Urkel antics. The producers of the show must have thought Family Matters actually meant getting rid of family matters so Urkel could start a short-lived novelty dance. I think those assholes marketed a line of cereal, too.

Whatever happened to Urkel-O’s, anyway?



This is the reason I became a Marketing major.



“You’re firing me because you want to make time for Urkel to invent a machine that makes him a womanizer so he can seduce my cousin? Well, I guess that’s show business!”

PART 2 BELOW: San Francisco – More than just Trolleys, Sourdough Bread, and Tanner Family Situational Comedy

So many clichés and stereotypes to work with here…I could just have a field day…oh I might as well start with my debacle of a journey on the way to San Fran.

Wake up at 5:30 am, drive to Milwaukee in a torrential downpour, sat next to the quintessential obese person whose love handles basically spilled into my shitty aisle seat and talked my ear off while I was clearly focused on dominating the sudoku puzzle before me, five hour layover in St. Louis…all…ALL of these things I was willing to overlook on the onset of my odyssey. Why?

Because I had a first class ticket for the remainder of my trip to San Fran.

(The ticket was a gift by the way, there's no way I'd personally that kind of money on something so frivolous.)

That’s right, a ticket to the good life, a ticket to pointless pampering, a ticket for ample foot and elbow room, and most importantly, a ticket for free booze. For once in my life, it was going to be ME that was going to give smug looks to all the incoming peons riding coach, instead of the other way around. It was going to be sweet.

But American Airlines had different plans for me. Apparently they thought it would be hilarious to cancel my flight and reroute me through Dallas and as an extra jab, make me wait an extra couple of hours in St. Louis’s crappy smelly airport.

I mean, I get it, that is funny, but I was starting to get anxious and goofier. I’m a great person to travel with because the more shit that goes down, the weirder and funnier I become. Kind of like when Clark W. Griswold does anything. Or when I start drinking.

Anyways, my plane finally arrived and I was ready to booze. I was hoping to enjoy some sophisticated conversation with my fellow upstanding first class passengers while mulling over champagne and caviar but everyone around me looked really lame so I proceeded to slam as many Bud’s down as I could before touching down in Dallas.

A few Shiner Bock’s later at Dallas International and I was back in the skies again. I caught a little nap initially which was a poor idea because it made me groggy and I think I dropped ass a few times, which may be perfectly acceptable in coach, but is generally frowned upon in first class judging by the looks people were giving me when I was yawning/signaling the flight attendant for a Jack and Coke as I woke up.

Three cocktails later and I was definitely getting in the mood to talk to someone, anyone at that point, you know how it is when you’ve had a few drinks in you. Unfortunately the chick next to me was watching The Guardian, or as I am now calling it, Shitty Top Gun. All I could think from the occasional glance at her notebook screen was that if the Coast Guard wanted this film to be used as recruitment propaganda, then they shouldn’t have used fucking Kelso as their poster boy.

I thought this was pretty clever so I told her what I just said above in so many words but it must not have came out right because she gave me a dirty look and went back to her suckfest movie. I was forced to remain in sitting in silence until we landed in California, which I did not particularly enjoy.

But alls well that end well. I made it to my destination even though it was 12:30 Pacific, 2:30 Central, or in other words, the longest traveling day ever. But at least my luggage wasn’t left behind in St. Louis. Oh wait…

American Airlines, you have zinged me again!


The rest of my trip was far more exciting and will contain numerous references to Full House when the narrative continues. This much I promise you.

8/31/07

Sorry to drag this one out, it was not deliberate, once again, more of a timing crunch for me but, alas, here is a quick wrap up of the rest of San Francisco.

Since I missed out on a party night on Thursday and my luggage whereabouts were unknown, I was a little bitter and pessimistic going into the trip on Friday which is why I didn’t start off with the right perspective.

For instance, I wanted and expected to see a lot of hippies walking around but all I saw was a lot of bums and homeless people. Ditto for Chinatown. I was expecting to see a fight break out between Lo Pan and Kurt Russell any second but all I saw were Chinese people there. At least the homosexuals didn’t disappoint. That stereotype seems to ring true.

Was that last paragraph politically incorrect? I am not trying to be an asshole here, just trying to get down my travel notes.

Anyways, the only thing of note on Friday was Cody’s attempt to start a San Francisco Fight Club chapter and by that, I mean some drunk ass frat boy type took off his shirt for no particular reason and jumped my friend. It was not much of a fight, though. I would compare it to more of a spat between DJ Tanner and Kathy Santoni at lunch hour.

Saturday was sight seeing day for us. Alcatraz, Fisherman’s Wharf, that stupid road that’s really curvy all the way down, Full House Mountain; we did everything you’d expect from some jackass tourist.

One thing I found odd about San Fran is that everywhere you go is up hill. Everywhere. Even if you turned around to retrace your steps, the city would somehow still make you traverse on an incline. My calves are still hurting me.

Nightlife in San Fran is kind of weak. Everyone clears out and takes off at bar time faster than you can say, "How Rude!". I presume everyone goes home to bask in their own farts but that's not for me (sorry, this is an obscure South Park reference, but I had to work it in here somehow).

Sunday was capped with our second Brewer game, where the Brewers performed a stunning display of athleticism by losing their third straight game to the last place Giants. It made our heckling of the fans much more difficult. Since we couldn’t defend the Brewers, we had to yell politically charged statements into the crowd.

I think we represented Wisconsin proudly with, “Global Warming is only a myth!” and “Ronald Reagan was our greatest president!”

I’m only kidding. The fans might have gotten hostile and started throwing their plastic wine glasses and empty sushi platters at us if we would have yelled that kind of stuff. We were good representatives of Wisconsin with our heckling, which was both thoughtful and thought provoking, which I feel was unexpected and appreciated by the Giant fans of AT&T Park.

We spent the rest of the afternoon down at Haight and Ashbury, the neighborhood famous for the summer of love back in the 1960’s. We settled into a quaint little hippie coffee shop, where we discussed such timeless topics such as heredity versus environment, the origin of species, and whether we wipe our asses sitting down or standing up. That last one quickly escalated into the age old “wad or fold” debate, which meant it was time to go.

Thank you for the interesting weekend, San Francisco. However, I left my heart back in Green Bay, Wisconsin.


That's the Golden Gate Bridge in the background, however, I found the bridge going into Oakland far more impressive. All they had to do was paint that cocksucker bright yellow or orange and the citizens of San Fran would have had another icon on their hands.


Oh yeah, forgot to mention, Kimmy Gibbler came with us to Game 3. She wasn't as annoying as I thought she'd be.

Brain Litter Sabbatical is Over!

The absence of Brain Litter reign of terror is over. All is well with the Internet again.

Let me explain:

I just got done pulling off an all-campus rager at my place last Thursday (more on that later) so I decided to take it easy Friday night. I had a craving to see the movie Camp Nowhere so I went to Family Video to get it but they don’t even carry it for some reason so I ended watching the entire Band of Brothers mini-series this weekend instead.

I found a lot of similarities between these two masterpieces of cinema. They both deal with the trials and tribulations of a ragtag group of misfits, overcoming insurmountable odds to accomplish an impossible goal. In fact, the leadership qualities and management style of Lt. Dick Winters of Easy Company and that guy that Christopher Lloyd played are strikingly similar. I guess the only real difference between the two is that one was about a bunch of middle schoolers tricking their parents into going to an imaginary summer camp and the other was a true story of 101st Airborne Division surviving nightmarish conditions in WWII, but other than, like I said, the differences are negligible.

I just thought the above analysis would make for some good blog material so there it is.

Now I’m going to steer this ship into a different direction and talk about my wicked awesome birthday party last Thursday.

The thing about birthdays is that they just usually stop getting cooler after about 23. Turning 25 was tough and turning 26 (this Tuesday) is going to be just as bittersweet.

Say, that gives me an idea to pitch to MTV. Instead of My Super Sweet 16th, they should have a show called My Bittersweet 26th. Instead of featuring a bunch of teens in the prime of their youth getting spoiled to the core, it could a feature a bunch of underemployed twenty-somethings lethargically playing beer pong in some dank basement and talking about what went wrong with their lives. Now THAT is compelling television!

I kid; my party was far removed from a depressing state of affairs. I attribute this to six main factors:

1. Tap beer from a barrel is way more conducive to drinking heavily than cans.
2. Taco Dip
3. The climbing rope tied to a tree branch in the back yard
4. Lawn mowed in diagonal pattern instead of usual straight-across pattern
5. Chips
6. Chicks

Most of the items above are self-explanatory (especially if you've seen the movie PCU in the case of items 5 and 6) but I never would have guessed the raving success of the rope tied to a tree. I swear to God, total strangers from two towns over were stopping by just to see “the rope”. It just goes to show that, whenever throwing a drinking party, you can make up any hosting shortcomings by bombarding your guests with as many novelty games of coordination as possible.











The party was really fun and to make a long boring short, I just didn’t have a whole lot to write about over the last month but things are starting to pick up now in a good way. I’m going to San Francisco next week, I’m seeing the US National Soccer Team play Brazil in Chicago in three weeks, and I’m challenging my old roommate to a series of strength and endurance contests to determine once and for all who is the most ultimate between the two of us (date undetermined); all of which should be interesting subjects.

More to come in the months ahead, people…

Brain Litter Vacation

Hey everyone, I haven't posted in awhile and I don't plan on posting again for another few weeks. I've got a ton of stuff on my plate right now and I just need a little time to regroup and recharge. Thanks for reading, I'll be writing again soon.

Summer Movie Round Up Thus Far

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

This one ain’t bad. All the Harry Potter movies to come out so far (including HP OotP) have been very adequate outings and fairly faithful to the book, however, none of have yet to be spectacular stand alone works of cinema. They act more like supplements to the books, especially in terms of casting, which has been eerily realistic and now the characters are damn near impossible to imagine outside they’re motion picture counterparts.

However, with the release of this film and the final book coming out, I suggest we all celebrate the occasion by doing the following:

1. When dropping your next fart in a public venue, either saying, “Did someone step on a Blast-Ended Skrewt?” or alternatively, “Something wicked this way comes.”

2. Instead of taking shots of your favorite Tequila, Patron, ask your bartender for shots of Patronus. Useful for attempting to pick up chicks as well as warding off dementors.


The casting for Harry Potter has been fantastic with the exception of a noticeable lack of screen presence from Brett Favre. Can someone say Fenrir Greyback?

Transformers

I give this movie a C- for plot but an A+ for robot on robot violence. There was this one part where this huge robot was fighting this other robot, and they were punching and tackling each other, and then the one robot was like, Fuck You!, so he formed this sword out of nowhere and then he stabbed that other stupid robot in the chest, and that robot died and there was circuits and shit everywhere. It was sweet.


I also have to tip my hat to the product placement in this movie, which you knew was coming so you just had to put up with it, but once the main robot transforms into a shiny new Camaro for the first time onscreen, you just had to laugh and smile and think of the Ford marketing executive banging his head on the wall with each passing syllable, “Why-did-I-let-G-M-C- get-this-con-tract-with-Michael-Bay-I’m-so-stupid-stupid-stupid…”

Live Free or Die Hard

This Die Hard was way better than Die Harder but not as good as Die Hard or Die Hard with a Vengeance. Live Free or Die Hard was a very entertaining movie, but it lost a ton of points with me when Die Hard yells Yippee-Ki-Yeh-Mother... *Gunshot Bang* to edit out the F-bomb because of its PG-13 rating. Weak. Have no fear though, I have come up with several Die Hard titles for Die Hard 5 which, coupled with an R rating, should put Detective John McClane back on track:

1. Die Hard or Go Home
2. Eat Shit and Die Hard
3. Only the Good Die Hard
4. Live and Let Die Hard
5. Between a Rock and a Die Hard Place
6. Die Hard 5: Die Hard Kills a Bunch of Bad Guys and Something Else Happens
7. Die Hard 5: Back To Another Building… But Taller
8. Die Hard 5: The Return of Hans Gruber



Do you think when Die Hard first debuted in Germany, that people initially thought it was a porno?

Ocean’s 13

This movie thinks it is sooooooo coooooool. It’s not that cool actually, but better than the suckfest that was Ocean’s 12.

Knocked Up

Hilarious. Anything with Judd Apatow’s name on it is comic gold. Proceed with caution if you bring a date though. You’ll know what I mean if you see it. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Pirates of the Caribbean 3

This movie pretty much sucked ass. There was too much convoluted mythology and not enough Captain Sparrow swashbuckling around his ship and saying clever one-liners. I never thought it would be possible to screw up a pirate movie but look no further than this tripe.

28 Weeks Later

This movie is about zombies and by definition, zombie movies rule, so logic dictates that this movie rules. I didn’t make the rules here, people. While not as good as its predecessor, I still think this movie makes a great addition to the genre.

Spiderman 3

By far, the biggest let down of the summer so far. Boooooooooo!

Apparently I Had Low Self Esteem in Middle School

When going through my Joey Wollin entries, I noticed a couple of gems in my journal that really summed up my middle school experience. And luckily for you, the reader, what I couldn’t describe in prose and narrative, I more than compensated with illustrations and diagrams.

To give a little background, Zak Mott was my best friend at the time of these entries and I guess his approval meant more to me than anything else at that time. Even more so than Kyle Nelson, the most popular kid at Parkview Middle School (In Kyle’s defense, his approval came in at a very close second even though he constantly sabotaged my prospects with Katie Knott…so many times).

I always remembered getting along with Zak growing up and he's a good guy now, but he sounds like a real mean bastard in these journal entries. We used to read each other’s journal too, so maybe I was just trying to reach out to him at the time. In any case, to maximize the impact of reading this post, I recommend listening to The Offspring’s Self Esteem in the background.



I used FAT letters to write the word ‘FAT’ to show that I meant business.

Wow, I really sound like not a man in this journal entry. I remember being kind of chubby in middle school, but, man, I was really hard on myself. Well I guess my raging hormones at the time had to be hard on myself for something besides my high pitched cracking voice, startling new body transformations, and my newfound interest (and crippling fear) in the opposite sex.

I just like, as a side thought for that day, I might as well add an appendix in the margin of who I hated at the time. Well not hated per say, apparently hate was too strong of a word. What’s really funny about that sidebar and amongst the many other angst ridden rants from my adolescence is that many of the people that tormented me throughout puberty became really good buddies with me in the years to follow. In fact, if I had to make a list a definitive list of people I didn’t like in middle school, it would be eerily similar to a list of people that I was roommates with in college.

But wait, there’s more:



Stink Lines! I drew the stink lines to signify that I smelled bad. In case there was any question as to the true meaning of the stink lines, I also labeled the stink lines as “stinky smell”.

Those stink lines are bullshit too. There was nothing wrong with my personal hygiene in middle school. I remember smelling so fresh and so clean clean throughout my youth which is why I didn’t need to use deodorant until my senior year of high school. Even then, I still felt like it was an elective toiletry.

I wish I could say the same about my gigantic elvish chin and my obnoxious laugh but sadly, to this day, they remain both Jay Leno-ish and donkey-like respectively.

I kept the top part of that journal entry, solely for the great The State reference at the end. Who doesn’t love Louie, that lovable Italian who was always dipping his balls into things. My favorite Louie sketch was when Louie crashed the Last Supper and Jesus had to take him aside and calmly explain to him, that although he loved his-dipping-his-balls-into-things shtick, it was interfering with him, you know, giving salvation and eternal life to all mankind. That’s just great comedy, anyway you slice it.

As you can see, puberty and I were not best friends growing up. Luckily my friends discovered my great sense of humor and wry wit later in high school and life has been one great thrill ride ever since. Coincidently, this “discovery” occurred right around the time I turned 16 and got a car before everyone else, the summer before sophomore year. My personality sparkled like a shooting star as I designated drivered my drunk friends home every weekend, yes sir, it did.

Just for kicks, I thought I’d show schematics for that Water Balloon Bazooka I briefly mentioned in a previous post. Not so much anything to do with surviving puberty, but more so because I still really want to build this thing. I can’t explain my fascination with projectile weaponry, but let me tell you, it runs deep.



Who wants to build this with me!? It sounds like a recipe for a pretty fun afternoon at the Home Depot, if you ask me.

His name...is Joey Wollin (Updated Below)

Joey Wollin. Joe Buds. Broey. Weapon X. Joseph Jamer.

He goes by many names but know this: Joey Wollin is my brother. I love him dearly. Right now, Joey Wollin is riding a gravy train with biscuit wheels. He just graduated from college, he got a brand new job, he just bought his first new car, and people are blogging about him. Some might say, everything’s coming up Joey Wollin, for Joey Wollin.

But where did all this success come from? You might speculate that growing up with wonderful loving parents was the reason. Others may say his dedication to athletics instilled the discipline and work ethic that got Joey Wollin to where he is today. All probable hypotheses, but I think the Joey Wollin owes his true success to the steady of regime of tormenting and random brotherly beatings I subjected him to growing up on the east side of Green Bay.

That came out wrong. I make our childhood sound dysfunctional but the occasional spats we had growing up weren’t THAT bad. Certainly no different from any other brotherly relationship out there.

Well….I guess I forgot to mention the game my cousin Jason and I invented when we were in grade school. The game was called Joey Germs. The premise of the game was simple albeit cruel. The object of the game was that whenever Jason and I were doing something like playing video games or shooting hoops or whatever and Joey Wollin came over to play with us, we would scream, Joey Germs! Joey Germs! and then we would run like hell away from him until he started crying and Mom made us play with him. Then Jason and I would make him do stuff for us under the threat that we would play Joey Germs again.

As I was typing that last paragraph, I was both simultaneously laughing out loud and feeling sick to my stomach with guilt about how absolutely mean that game was.

Bro, if you are reading this, I am really sorry about that. And readers, in case you are wondering, Joey Wollin and I have a great relationship now. I think it was a combination of our love of ping pong, frisbee, and NHL Hockey 94’ for Sega Genesis that brought us together for good. Once thing is certain, the end of his tormenting from yours truly had NOTHING to do with him joining wrestling his sophomore year, and consequently becoming a lean and disciplined fighting machine. Yup, it was definitely me deciding to mature and not that other thing I just mentioned.

For the rest of this blog post, I want to celebrate all things Joey Wollin. I am going home to The G.B. this weekend and hope to recover some Joey Wollin artifacts to help finish this post.

Did I mention that we’re calling Green Bay, The G.B., now? Good, I’m glad we’re all agreed on that.

To be continued…


The game that spawned a million friendships and a million rivalries. I always liked the Quebec Nordiques unless of course Joey Wollin picked them, in which case they became the Quebec Nor-geeks.

6/26/07

So I thought I had a lot more Joey Wollin material to present this evening but most of the stuff I found were us getting along and having a great time, which I know no one wants to see, so I had to dig deep into my archives to find interesting stuff.

The first item we have on the block is a tourney from the first annual Ben Wollin Invitational Ping Pong tournament. You will notice that Joey Wollin took second place, which is no small feat given the FIERCE competition that showed up that day. Nice job, Joe Buds, you defeated many people several grades older than yourself at the time but – ahem ahem – not myself as I was the clear victor in that heavily publicized match. You know I didn’t make it up either because that’s not my handwriting and also, I know how to spell Joe Barrie’s last name, which sure as hell ain’t B-e-r-r-y.



The second items I would like to display are the remnants of a comic book I created in 8th grade. It was called Joey and the Computer and it featured my absent-minded brother making hilarious puns with computer terminology I gleaned from the Sunday Newspaper Best Buy ad that I would obsess over weekly until my parents broke down one Christmas and actually got us a computer. Anyways, it was my dorkiest venture to date, to say the least. I display it now, more so to make fun of me than to my intended target at the time.

This is not unlike the shame I felt when I sarcastically yelled, “Way to go, Miyamoto” when Van Lieshout messed up for the umpteenth time against the Koopa boss on the third pirate ship in Mario 3 one particular Saturday afternoon in the dorm Freshmen year. What I thought was a clever insult at the time was more of an affirmation of my true nerdstromess.



He was trying to get into Windows and he actually went through a window! Get it!? Get it!?



What’s really sad here is that there are over 20 more of these and these three were the best.

This next thing is a post-it note left behind by my brother when I must have left my Stuff: Journal uncharacteristically out in the open. I find it just as reverent now as I did back in 1995.





Joey Wollin, shirtless, at a club in Cancun. Priceless.


Another great pic of Joey Wollin dressed up like a Leprechaun. Funny for so many reasons...

This Things I Have Invented

Last Friday, after bar time, I stumbled into the kitchen with a hankering for a grilled cheese. The problem was that I was hungry enough for more than one grilled cheese but I did not want to eat two grilled cheeses. So that’s when I got creative and invented the triple-decker grilled cheese.

You simply make a grilled cheese normal style, but when one side is done, flip it and then put another layer of cheese and buttered bread on the top part that is done cooking. Then flip it one more time and cook the new third layer. Here’s the secret though: in addition to the second cheese slice, put in a layer of pickles so you effectively has three pieces of bread, two pieces of cheese, and one layer of pickles.

The bread to cheese to pickle ratio is phenomenal. I would even go as far as to say that it the perfect distribution of said ingredients, at least if you are using Kraft cheese singles.

I am really proud of my invention and am happy to add it to my laundry list of other inventions, which include:

1. Peanut Butter and Jelly and Bologna sandwiches

I owe my mother some of the credit for this one but I am definitely the one that made it popular. Anyone that says Peanut Butter and Jelly and Bologna sandwiches are gross has a. never tried it before or b. is lying to you. It’s like eating a PB & J sandwich but with better texture and more protein. They’re awesome, I swear, the shit eats like a meal.

But Ben, you can’t mix sweet and salty, those are two competing sensations on the taste buds! Well, I’ll leave the rebuttal to this argument with our good friends in Hershey, Pennsylvania.

Boo Yah!

2. The Poor Man’s Mocha

When you can’t break away from your cubicle for a gourmet coffee shop run, go for the next best thing, the poor man’s mocha, compliments of me. First you pour a glass of crappy Folgers, then dump in a hot chocolate packet and like four creamers and mix that shit up good. Voila! You’ve got instant Starbucks-grade mocha and four extra dollars in your wallet. You’re welcome.

3. Scrambled Eggs mixed with Stove Top Stuffing

I think this one is pretty much self-explanatory

4. Putting oregano and extra shredded cheese on frozen pizza.

No one ever thought of doing this until I popularized it my Junior year of college. Jack’s pizza has never tasted better since.

5. Ben’s Hamburger Helper

Who needs a fancy schmancy Hamburger Helper kit, retail price $1.79, when you can make macaroni and cheese, retail price $.33, and just add the hamburger meat to that instead? I like to add extra elbow macaroni in my mix, which is great way to turn two meals, into three meals.

These are only a few samples of the many culinary masterpieces that I have created over the years. I'm basically the Rachel Ray of broke ass dudes. I’m actually thinking about opening my own restaurant that caters to the I like to get super full for less than a few bucks crowd, which every master chef aspires to cook for because of the challenge of appealing to clientele with such a sophisticated taste palette.

Oh yeah, when you see somebody playing with fire in some capacity and they burn themselves and someone yells sarcastically at them, “Way to go, Gandalf”, I invented that phrase.

Ditto when someone steps on a piece of broken glass and someone yells sarcastically at them, “Way to go, Die Hard.”


"Ahhhh, I hate running on this broken glass, Professor Snape, Ahhhhh, I mean Hans Gruber!!!"

The Legend of One Night Stand

Why, why, why do I put myself out there like this?

I don’t know but this sordid tale needs to be told, not because it’s anything extraordinary, but quite the opposite actually. This one night stand was so stereotypical that it warrants an entire blog post. I would even go as far as saying that the event was something beyond the control of the two of us, it was entirely in the hands of the one night stand Gods who happened to bless us (or me at least) last Saturday night.

The tale begins like so many one night stand stories go: I was out of town and so was the individual in question. Her name was Kristen and she recently graduated from a prominent law school, which I think makes this story more interesting since I was clearly dealing with a woman of superior intellect. How she ended up with me is still a mystery but maybe rehashing this out will help jog the ol’ memory brain here.

I wish I had some awesome reason how we initially hooked up with each other, like I pulled off some incredibly poignant pick up line or I accidentally knocked over some textbooks out of her hands and our heads serendipitously bumped into each other as we bent down to pick them up, but it was simply a case of me ponying up to the bar and striking a conversation with the cute blonde and her friend next to me while the bartender poured me a round of double 7&7’s.

Note: My original attempts at spelling the word serendipity went so poorly, that my spell checker wouldn’t recognize what I was trying to do, so I was forced to search imdb.com for John Cusack because I knew he starred in that crappy rom-com with the same title. Sad, I know.

Normally, I start off conversations with chicks in bars with banter such as, “are you excited about the new Harry Potter?”, but like I said earlier, I had a muse with me that evening that allowed me to become uncharacteristically charming with just a hint of asshole in there for good measure. I had some really good wing-manning going on that night too.

For one, it sort of helped that my buddies and I were buying rounds for each other all night, which conveys a real positive image if you’re meeting someone new. If I was a chick talking to a dude who was just generously handed a drink by his friend mid-conversation without making a big production out of it, I would probably think to myself, “wow, this dude seems really non-threatening; I should give him my phone number later.” It’s the little things, as they say.

Secondly, a good wingman will set you up without even knowing it. In my case, my buddy jokingly commented to me that I should take it easy so we would be ready for a volleyball rematch we planned the next day, at which point, I nonchalantly told these girls that we were organizing a match tomorrow at the park and that they should come. BAM! – phone number. Who’s going to say no to that?
Okay, so now the drinks have been flowing, shots have been poured, laughs were had, and we were all getting to know each other fairly well. The meet and greet was over and now it was time for somebody to make a move. I inadvertently made the first move due to circumstances beyond my control.

You see I had been awake for the previous 22 hours or so and had a pretty grueling day up until that point. Everybody gets a little one-eyed as it gets closer to bar time but I was way past that point of exhaustion. I started getting a little two-eyed, which I think she interpreted as an eye gaze. Body language is funny. From one perspective, you have someone desperately squinting to keep their eyes open and from another perspective, you have someone longingly searching for someone’s soul.

Either way, I knew she was down after the eye gazing incident because about five minutes later she started leaning into me while talking and she casually touched my arm. Being conservative in nature, I gave her the benefit of the doubt that she was just being friendly, but again later, she casually touched by arm, as if to say, hey dummy, are you not getting this body language?

So I shot her this glace, a glace that summed it all up: yeah I get it and I too am down. Let’s plan on tastefully making out here in about a half hour.

“Bartender, another round of tequila over here!”

To be continued…

6/1/07

I know the difference between tasteful and non-tasteful bar make out jams because, admittedly, I’ve been on both sides of that equation at one time or another. You know it when you see it. That’s all I’d like to say on that subject, but for the record, last Friday was in the tasteful category.

So things were going really good between Kristen and I, but bar time was fast approaching and that whole “should I stay or should I go debate” started going back and forth in my head. Well I looked around and my friends were gone so that pretty much settled that question.

I knew how things were going to end up that evening, but I still had to go through that song and dance of feigning an interest in finding my friends and getting a ride a home with them. I know, I’m a total gentleman. I think the phone call was something close to this:

(ring ring ring)

Me: Dude, it’s me, I need a ride.
Buddy: Where are you?
Me: I’m walking towards the bar we were at earlier.
Buddy: Okay, I’ll be there in five minutes.
Me: Hey, dude.
Buddy: Yeah.
Me: Nevermind about the ride. I’m still with those chicks. See ya tomorrow.
Buddy: Oh man, you dog!...

(click)

There was a fair share of heavy petting going on during the taxi ride home. When we got back to Kristen’s friend’s apartment, we all had one more drink together before the friend left us alone. It was getting really late but that’s when the night first got interesting. We walked into the guest bedroom where things started to get

and I was like, "Stop biting me!" but she wouldn't

brings out a yo-yo, a nine iron, and a turkey sub so I

and THAT was the wildest night I ever had.

Obviously I’m taking a cue from Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriquez and having a little fun with you guys here. You didn’t actually think I’d delve into those kind of details, did you?

When I woke up the next morning, I systematically went through what could be easily described as the five stages of one night stand morning afterness: shock, the giggles, panic, acceptance, and finally, remorse.

The shock first comes when you first wake up and you feel that first pang of awkwardness:

“This isn’t my bed! Where the hell am I?”

This stage is immediately succeeded with a quick glance to the right or left of you followed by a small fit of the giggles:

“oh, yeah, that’s right.”

More often than not, this stage is also accompanied with a quick peak underneath the covers:

“hmmm, alright, nothin’ wrong with that.”

Once I had time to assess the situation, panic started to kick in:

“Dammit, how am going to get out of this? And where the hell are my boxers!?”

At this point I actually fell asleep again. When I woke up again, she was gone. Rather than wait around and force a painfully awkward conversation, I decided to grab my things and head on out. I don’t think there was anything wrong with this course of action, I’m sure she wanted to avoid that dialogue just as badly as I did. I call this acceptance. I guess shame would also be applicable here, but let’s not go there.

On the way out, I saw she was sitting on the couch, checking her e-mail on a laptop. I knew she was concerned about her law finals the night before and I know she mentioned the previous night that her grades were supposed to be posted at any moment.

“Are your grades posted yet?”

“Nope.”

“I’m sure they’ll turn out fine. Well, see ya later.”

Thank God I had sandals. I don’t know if I could have handled any more small talk than that while furiously trying to tie a shoe.

Anyways, it was such a relief to hear that door click shut behind me. It was now time to figure out a means of transportation back to where I was supposed to be staying at. I had money for a taxi but that would ruin all the fun of taking the walk of fame. Yeah, I’m sorry, when I said remorse as the fifth stage before, I actually meant pride.

I think I actually messed up my hair more than the bed head that I was sporting at the time when I walked out of the apartment. Then I took a few laps around the block, waving at the neighbors, sheepishly grinning like I just got caught with my hand in the cookie jar.

Okay, I’m kidding about that last part, too. I admit that there is a double standard though for you ladies when taking that walk home, which is unfortunate. If I were you, I’d hold my head high as I strolled back home in my high heels, short skirt, and messed up make-up, as the neighbors are mowing their lawns or getting their families ready for church on a beautiful sunny Sunday morning. That’s tough, I’m sorry about that.

To sum up, I don’t think there was anything morally decaying from which transpired last Saturday night. I had a really great time with Kristen and I think she did too. I didn’t tell any lies, I didn’t make any false promises, we weren’t so drunk that we didn’t know what was going on, and we were both smart about the whole thing. No harm, no foul. I’d even go as far as to say that if I knew there was some chance I’d ever see her again, I would have slowed things down a little and got to know her proper.

Well…that’s probably not true either. It is very ill advised to dishonor the whims of the One Night Stand Gods. If they grant you a muse to pull one off, you just gotta run with it.

What I think I really need is a sign from the Gods of steady girlfriend. Where the hell have they been lately?

The REAL Brett Favre Mini-Camp Controversy

It’s weird that you mention Brett Favre, stranger, because I was just hanging out with him and there is a perfectly good explanation for his erratic behavior.

Our story takes place last Tuesday, once again in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. Brett Favre was indeed celebrating the high school graduation of his eldest daughter Brittany. If you could call it a graduation party; it was really just a bunch of folding chairs set up in his garage and Brett Favre’s hunting buddies passing around a bottle of Kessler while Brett Favre spun tales of Packer yore.

He called it a “pre” graduation party but I knew he was just looking for an another excuse to tell us the time he crushed the defending AFC championship Raiders with 399 passing yards and four touchdowns on Monday Night Football in December of 2003. Christmas really did come early that year.

As I sat there entranced with Brett Favre’s epic battle, I glanced over my right shoulder, to see Brittany yawning and tapping her fingernails impatiently on a card table by herself. I decided I would go over and cheer her up.

“Hey, you look visibly bored,” I said to her.

“Yeah, sometimes I get a little annoyed with my Dad, he never pays attention to me,” she pouted.

“Sure Brett Favre does,” I said, but as I was trying to console her I could see Brett Favre was in his own world, still entertaining his friends. I could tell the story was getting good. Even though I couldn’t hear what Brett Favre was saying, I saw him dropping back to pass, then making a throwing motion, followed by wild cheers and everyone giving each other high-fives. It looked like a lot of fun.

“Look, if you ever need anyone to talk to, you can always facebook me or something, I’ll probably get back to you within a few days,” I said in my most compassionate tone of voice, even though I was longingly reaching out to be part of the party again.

Then things got strange. Brittany gave me this huge hug. I hugged her back but she wouldn’t let go. I looked around for help but then something even stranger happened. Instead of seeing Brett Favre go through the motions of another immaculate touchdown, all his buddies disappeared and he was just standing there side-by-side with Deanna Favre. They both smiled at us, then they gave each other this look that said, yep, our work here is done, then Brett Favre put his arm around Deanna and they sauntered off into the house together.

Apparently the “pre” graduation party had just been an elaborate ruse to set me up with his daughter. Brett Favre was then planning us a possum hunting trip for Friday and Saturday, kind of a father/future son-in-law bonding adventure, which was the real reason he wanted to skip mini-camp last weekend.

I told Brett Favre that I was very flattered but I think missing mini camp would send a bad first impression to the new rookies on the team. I also told him we should get Brittany though college first before we made any major commitments towards creating an heir to the Wollin/Favre NFL dynasty.

Brett Favre was disappointed, but ultimately knew in his heart that I was right and there would always be possum to hunt with me in his vast acreage of land but the time for him winning another Super Bowl in Green Bay was limited to the next four or five years.

You know the rest of the story. Brett Favre eventually made it to the first mini-camp and everything went swimmingly. So that is what all this controversy has really been about.

That, AND because Brett Favre really wanted the Packers to sign Randy Moss so he would have some decent receivers to work with this season but Management really screwed him over even though he was willing to give up part of his salary to do so. His frustration and disillusionment with the Packers organization had a MINOR role in the controversy, but I like said, it’s mostly all the stuff I said earlier.



A picture of Peyton Manning, upon receiving word that I would NOT be attending his annual barbeque before the Colts mini-camp last weekend.

Aaron Vanlieshout is POOR.

Many of you may remember that I kept a journal throughout my nightmarish middle school experience, which is now one of my most prized possessions. Lesser known of my chronicles, but not to be discarded lightly, is my old chemistry notebook from my sophomore year of high school.

This chemistry notebook contains an assortment of useful equations for constructing molecular compounds from the periodic table, exhaustive definitions between covalent and ionic bonds, and a series of crude sketches featuring my future college roommate whom I apparently thought was very poor in high school and lived in a cardboard box.

Here is one such rendition:



The above is the one that really started it all. I think it all started because Aaron used to wear this really dirty and tattered White Sox t-shirt and Zubaz sweatpants in gym class and then it just snowballed from there.

I kind of feel bad about in retrospect since I got to know Aaron’s parents fairly well while we shared a dorm room freshmen year. Had I known they were such nice people, I probably wouldn’t have drawn this:



I guess that one isn’t so bad either. After all, that house is kind of huge in comparison to the people and the sweet ride in the foreground. But then I got grandma involved:



In case you can’t interpret my ultra masculine handwriting in that last box, one of Aaron’s relative’s exclaims, “Oh no, all of the houses are on fire!” but then the other relative casually remarks in a deadpan delivery, “well, it was better than last year.”

Inappropriate. Inappropriate is the word you are looking for. Especially since Grandma looks more like Ms. Pacman than a human being.


But what can you do? Chemistry was boring as hell and I have a short attention span. Things must have REALLY gotten boring for me after my first midterm because the Aaron character in my notebook started getting involved in more elaborate plots such as him becoming imbred and him having an affair with someone named Old Man Brinclhof, which I must have found hysterical back then but has little meaning for me to this day.

Aaron, if you’re reading this, I apologize. I hope I did not make Chemistry 101 with Mr. Kropp a terrible experience for you. To make it up to you, I want to post a more recent picture of you to let the world know what a fine man you have become.



My God, it is just too easy!

Chicks and Kickball

It’s been awhile since Brain Litter has said anything controversial, and I know many of you are sick and tired of my fast food tomes, so here’s one for you:

Chicks just-don’t-get the concept of tagging up.

Let me back up for a second. I joined a kickball league this summer and the subject is just RIPE for blogging (thanks, Monarch, you charismatic bastard). It’s a co-ed league, that’s purportedly non-competitive but that’s kind of an oxymoron since drinking is encouraged and I’ve never met anyone who gets less competitive as the beers start flowing.

My team, the Bayside Tigers, have been playing for about three weeks now and I’ve had to ref two games as part of the league rules. That being said, I bet I’ve seen at LEAST a dozen chicks or so get thrown out for not tagging up after a caught fly ball. It’s easy to point the finger at inattentive base coaches, but I think this problem is deeply rooted in our mismanaged physical education programs in our crumbling public school systems.

Don’t get me wrong, guys forget to tag up too sometimes, but in general, I think it’s safe to say that 78% of all women find the concept of tagging up completely foreign. Keep in mind, there is no scientific reasoning behind the aforementioned statistic; I just think ideas are easier to digest when anchored to hard numbers.

Even though it’s awesome to get a double play against the opposing team for lack of tagging up, I just shake my head and smile when it happens to my own team. There’s no point in getting frustrated, like the rising of the tides, this is just the way world is and there is nothing you can do about it except hope and pray it doesn’t happen to your team in a clutch inning.

Ladies, please don’t be upset about this post. Our ability to tag up is one of the last things we have as men besides opening up pickle jars, setting up stereo equipment, and math. None of us have any doubt that you will be the primary breadwinners in our families and pretty much call all the shots going forward, you just have to let us take solace that we inherently know exactly how far to lead off of first base when there’s a short pop up to the third basemen.


I googled the word "kickball" and this is the second image that came up besides an actual pic of a kickball. Funny for two reasons: 1. - well, isn't it self-evident? 2. - He kind of looks like you, Monarch.

Spiderman 3

I know I know, I'm getting lazy with my posting, I'll have more and better content soon but in the meantime, chew on this, it's a review of Spiderman 3 by Brain Litter's very own Tom Jane:

Here are my initial reactions to Spider-man:

1. Everything to do with Harry – Excellent.

2. Everything to do with Venom – Boooo.

3. Everything to do with Sandman – Huh?

4. Everything to do with Peter Parker – Excellent.

The Peter Parker-struggling-with-his-dark-side-plot was done very well. I’m glad they had a good actor for this one more than either of the other two. If these movies have done anything well (besides giving Bruce Campbell awesome cameos) it is giving Peter very gripping personal plots to drive the rest of the movie. I don’t understand, though, why he was becoming such a dick before he even got the black suit.


James Franco was very good, and the movie was better any time he was on the screen. The entire movie should have revolved more closely around Peter and Harry, with maybe a little Sandman thrown in for good measure. But, like we discussed yesterday, they didn’t need to make him look so much like a snowboarder – even his mask looked like he was out braving the fierce winds on a double black diamond at Ski Brule.

The inclusion of Gwen Stacey made no sense. She’s too big of a character to waste the way they did.

And Venom – I personally found myself not knowing why I should care about Venom. He was too small, and his face looked ridiculous. They also did not make it clear how much Venom hates Peter Parker. That is the defining characteristic of the villain – he hates Spider-man more than any of Spider-man’s other villains. He hates him as Eddie Brock for the wrongs he feels Peter Parker has caused him, and the symbiote hates him even more for his rejection. And the symbiote is a fully cognizant entity – I never got that feeling from this movie. In summary – I think Venom needed to be louder, angrier, and have access to a time machine… I mean refer to himself in the plural, or royal “we” more. However, I didn’t think that Chris Grace was terrible with what he was given. He just seemed like a sad little boy rather than an angry man.

I know we discussed this before, but I still think that Harry should have been the focus to wrap up this trilogy nicely – then the symbiote could have been the focus of the next trilogy. When will Hollywood learn to listen?

So that's his review and it's quite poignant. I called him out on the bungling of Topher Grace's name and his response was just as witty:

If I wanted to be called “Seph” because my name is Joseph and too many people are called Joe, would you oblige me? If you said yes you are a dirty liar. I don’t care if he thinks Chris is too common. His name is Christopher. Chris is short fro Christopher, not Topher. Wanting to be called Topher makes him look like a douche. As far as I’m concerned his name is Chris.

So I'm going to have a real controversial post about chicks and kickball real soon so stay tuned.

BK and the FBI

So I am sure many of you are sick of my lack of content lately, but no one is more upset than me. Seriously, I have been ridiculously busy lately but I will patch you in on a few humorous quips that have happened to me lately.

Early last week, the FBI wanted to stage a practice raid on an old abandoned house that belongs to the company that I work for. Naturally, I wanted to see our nation’s elite crime fighting unit in action, so my buddy at work and I made the property management team ask the FBI if they would let us watch them stage their raid. They had to do background checks on the both of us before they allowed viewing permission, which came back negative for the both of us. Or is clean the word I am looking for here?

In any case, you can bet I breathed a HUGE sigh of relief that they didn’t have any evidence of that time I accidentally caught a whiff of smoke from a marijuana cigarette that was passed to me my freshmen year in college. Whew.

The practice raid was set for dawn so I figured since I’d be on a stakeout so early in the morning, I was probably going to need some BK. And BK has that new dollar breakfast menu so the day was off to a good start, right? Wrong.

I was hoping the croissan’wich was going to make the dollar breakfast roster, but unfortunately, it did not make the cut. But they did have something called a Hamlette, and being the adventurous soul that I am, I got two of those and a large coffee, the perfect combination of saturated fat and caffeine to help me fight the imaginary criminal element in the town of Middleton, Wisconsin.

Little did I know that when I arrived at my destination, waiting for the G-Men to come and save the day, I would be un-wrapping what can only be called the sorriest excuse for a McGriddle that I have ever seen.

If you think it’s impossible to screw up ham, eggs, and cheese, well, my friend, you would be wrong. First of all, the thing is served on a Whopper Jr. bun. Like they are really saving a bunch of dough by not using biscuit batter, pun intended. Second, and I am not making this up, the goddamn thing is drenched in syrup. Gross. I can only imagine the BK executive decision to green light this monstrosity.

I imagine a bunch of nerdy guys in white lab coats, squeamishly trying to explain their dilemma to a boardroom full of suits.

“Sir, we’ve tried EVERYTHING, but we just CAN’T figure out they got those little pockets of syrup into the pancake bun. It can’t be replicated, it just can’t be done.”

The CEO then throws a bunch of pens in the air and buries his head in his arms in sheer frustration, emerging a few moments later in a clear state of resignation.

“Fine. Let’s just throw the shit in between a whopper Jr. bun, pour some fuckin’ syrup on the cocksucker, and call it a day. Gentlemen, I’ll be on the golf course for the rest of the afternoon if you need me. Good riddance.”

Heads are going to roll for this debacle. I could barely finish the second one, that’s how bad they are. For now on, I ONLY eat McGriddles. Even though they cost twice as much, you just can’t put a price on quality.

To finish up, the training mission was a success, despite the disastrous breakfast affair. Oh, and the special agent in charge let me hold his sniper rifle. It was awesome.


Nothing says wholesome like a pancake pun with pockets of syrup and a big arch stamped on it. It's what mother nature always intended when She gave us grains.

Hercules Has No Friends

Sometimes I wish the dog that lives with me would get a life. Seriously, the dog has ZERO friends and no prospects on the horizon. His popularity is waning every day. I’ve been charting his popularity since his inception and the results are clear: Hercules has no friends.



I guess it is unfair to compare Hercules faltering popularity to my sky rocketing popularity but these are the only popularity charts I’ve been keeping tabs on since October 2005. Note: The friends mentioned in the above chart are of the take a bullet in the chest variety, not of the happy-go-lucky, I only added you as a friend to boost my social stature online via facebook and/or myspace variety.

To break down the analysis, you’ll notice Hercules made steady progress making chums as an adorable puppy, but his shtick wore thin as he grew older. His habit of constantly biting people’s feet, pooping in my bedroom, and dropping silent but deadly farts all over the house has brought his popularity to an all time low. Two friends to be exact. And those people own him so they have to like him by default.

Another reason why Hercules has no friends: He is a sexual deviant. I have conclusive photographic evidence to prove my point:





The face humping is NOT cool. Why can’t he just do it missionary style like the rest of us? He is showing no respect for Dexter in any of the above pictures.



Hercules and Dexter in some kind of erotic embrace.



I took this photograph sitting in a shadowy corner with my legs crossed, smoking a cigarette. Apparently Hercules enjoys a little voyeurism as well.



I am not even entirely sure if Dexter is a willing participant in these wild unbridled trysts. At least half of these photos look like Dexter is under some kind of duress.



You’ll also notice that Dexter is a MALE, not that there’s anything wrong with that.

Well Hercules is moving out soon so hopefully he’ll get his act together. He’s going to be living in a big apartment complex, so he’ll have lots of opportunities to make some new pals. It wouldn’t hurt if he tried to salvage some of the relationships he has now but I’m not going to hold my breath.

Hercles, if you are reading this, I have six words for you: Bee Bop Bop. Bop. Bee Bop. (It’s an inside joke.)

Vegas Part Deux

I think it would be hilarious to be playing craps and then on your turn to roll, while shaking the real dice in your right hand, quickly throw a set of dungeons and dragons die across the table with your left hand. The reaction of the pit boss would be priceless. Since you’re going to get kicked out of the casino for pulling this stunt, you might as well go down in style. Instead of calling out something cliché like, “c’mon, baby needs a new pair of diamond earrings!” (or my case, “baby needs a Playstation 3!”), yell something like “Slay that dragon!” or “Vanquish that elf wizard!” I guarantee you would be the talk of the strip for years to come.

Someday…

If you have the means, I highly suggest getting your ass a plane ticket to the Disney World for twenty-somethings, a little town called Las Vegas. It is hands down the most fun you can pack into 72 hour period of time. I recommend you don’t go longer than that because I assure you, you’ll be running on fumes around day two from the sensory overload. But right around that time is also when things will start getting goofy and your mind will start playing tricks on you. You’ll start dropping things and bumping into stuff for no apparent reason and entire trains of thought will get completely derailed, sometimes in mid-sentence. Being aloof is fun.

I wish I had some amazing stories to tell but they would only be interesting to my posse of friends that went on the trip so I’ll just offer a little piece of advice that you might find helpful if you are ever in Sin City.

Wait, I do have one story that’s pretty good. On our last night out, we went to Body English, the club at the Hard Rock hotel and casino. Lines to get in were horrendous but a $100 tip to the doorman ensured we got in right away. This club is decked to the nines with a phenomenal DJ and some of the most gorgeous women you’ll ever see in your life. Paris Hilton was there and she sang one of her crappy songs from her crappy album to give you a picture of how la-ti-da this place is.

Anyways, my three buddies and I were out on the dance floor when all of a sudden a dance circle formed, just like in the movies. A couple of chicks started grinding in the middle but they weren’t doing much to get things hopping. Then my buddy jumps in the center and starts doing his thing, but the crowd was definitely not having any of the moves he was throwing out there. But then he pulled the greatest dance move I have ever seen.

First he did this fake sulking-off-the-dance-floor thing, like the club got the best of him so now it was time to drown his sorrows in booze kind of sulking, but right when you thought he was done for the night, he pulls the old “Marty McFly at the Enchantment Under the Sea Dance” which entailed him grabbing his leg and playing guitar riffs with it while hopping around on the other foot. Textbook. The crowd went wild. I expect to see Paris Hilton pulling this maneuver in her next music video.

My piece of advice though is this: respect the force that is luck. Luck exists and you can make it out of nothing, and I’m not talking in a Billy Zane Titantic “Real men make their own luck” corny way but in a practical objective way. It doesn’t matter what game you are playing, all you have to do is be as loud as possible, laugh at everything, give high-fives to every around you, tip the dealers well, make a spectacle out of every turn of the card or the roll of the dice, and most importantly, never forget that at this very moment, you are living it up in Las Vegas, Nevada. I promise you the Gods of fortune will smile upon you if you do all these things. It’s weird but true.

Another good piece of advice: avoid the rides on the top of the Stratosphere. They are absolutely terrifying. They’re not terrifying in a FUN terrifying kind of way but in a TERRIFYING terrifying kind of way. Getting left out to dangle 108 stories above God’s green earth is not as cool as advertised.

More Great Games I Have Known

Back in the day, before the advent of Speed Stacking, there were other great games that the kids used to play. Here is a list of games I used to play growing up that made me the man’s man that I am today:

Nerf Wars

What is more fun than launching yellow foam projectiles at your friends’ faces? Nothing, nothing is the answer to the previous question. The Blaster was classic, the Slingshot was weak at best, and the Sharpshooter was everything the name implied, but any Nerf War veteran knows the Bow and Arrow was the only weaponry you ever needed on the battlefield. The Bow and Arrow’s range and reliability were unparalleled to any Nerf gadget out there and probably still is today.

Super Soaker Fights

The only thing that could possibly rival shooting your friends face with a yellow foam projectile is a highly pressurized stream of water. I remember the feeling of power I wielded when I first got my Super Soaker 50 after playing with those cheap fifty cent squirt guns that I’d get every year in my Easter basket my whole life prior.

Then my next door neighbor doused me with his Super Soaker 100 and the feeling of power vanished. That lucky bastard…

Ducktales

This wasn't so much a game as it was a really great TV show. I just thought I'd mention that.

The Race Track Thing Where You Pull The Trigger And The Cars Go Around a Weird Track

You know what I am talking about, right? I don’t know the technical name of that game but it was fun. Those cars went in the craziest loop-de-loops and on the sides of walls and shit. All of them had the one track piece that criss-crossed so there was always the possibility that your cars could hit each other and go flying off the track.

I remember putting a penny on the track when my friends weren’t looking so they would start crying after I lapped them for the tenth or fifteenth time while their car stood idle. Hilarious.



NASCAR would actually be watchable if they threw in a couple of loop-de-loops in there. A glow-in-the-dark track wouldn't hurt either.

Matchbox Cars

Taking your two favorite cars and hurling them at each other was always a blast. Kids love car wrecks. See crazy race track game above.

Remote Control Cars

This game would have been a lot more fun if my parents would have bought me that one truck with the wheels that became claws. That thing was badass. It could go anywhere. I think it was called the Claw, actually.

I don’t think my remote control car was technically remote control because it had an eight foot cord, which defeated the whole purpose of having remote control in the first place. You couldn’t turn it at will either, it only turned left in reverse so you had to make a full 360 degree circle if you ever wanted to hang a quick right.

Buy you could crash it into shit so it was still fun.


I wish my Civic had claws that came out of the tires. The engineers at Goodyear need to get their heads out of their asses.

Dungeons and Dragons

Some of my fondest memories growing up were when I assumed the avatar of Bron Wolfbane, a Level Five Barbarian from the ancient tribe of warriors known as the Deathlites. I used to play this game for hours on end with my older brother Chris and his friends Nick and Pat.

Wait a second, these aren’t my memories. These are the favorite memories of everybody’s favorite communist, Joe Daniels. I have Joe’s collection of 27-sided dice to prove it.



Joe still makes major life choices based on the outcome of rolling dice like these. Why doesn't he get a magic eight-ball like everyone else?

And speaking of dice…

Craps

More on that fantastic game and my trip to fabulous Las Vegas last weekend in my next post.