Archive for ‘Recreation’

October 28, 2011

Cardinals World Series Memories

by ANDREW HICKS

David Freese ties the game for the eighth time in Game 6 of the 2011 World Series.

I was 4 when the Cardinals won the World Series in 1982. I have one vague memory of being babysat by my grandma while my mom and grandpa were at the game. We spent all nine innings trying to spot them in the audience shots.

When the Cardinals played seven games against the Royals in the ’85 World Series, I was 7. I have spotty, nonspecific memories of that matchup. I barely remember the infamous blown Don Denkinger call at first base in Game 6 and the drama that ensued when Denkinger was home plate umpire for Game 7. Checked out some Wikipedia just now. Turns out that, after Denkinger ejected pitcher Joaquin Andujar and manager Whitey Herzog were from Game 7, Andujar “smashed a toilet in the Cardinals’ clubhouse.” Herzog smashed a dozen White Castle sliders.

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October 12, 2011

My 5 Most Abused Forms of Alcohol

by ANDREW HICKS

I used to drink so much the labels looked like they were on backward.

Next week, it’ll be a year since I quit drinking. Though I am extremely grateful and proud that I’ve been able to do it, I feel like it might not be commonly known to the people in my life that I used to drink a LOT. This is a list of the top five alcoholic substances I abused during my decade of hardcore drinking.

1. BEER
To give you just a tiny idea of how much beer I used to drink, this is what my Mondays were like 9 months out of the year: Wake up around 4 pm, hungover/still drunk from the night before. Eat about ten bucks worth of Panera. Go to my men’s bowling league, where the other members of Team Ramrod and I would take turns buying pitchers of Bud Light for the next three hours. Then, it was off to the shithole bar up the street for three more hours of cheap draft beer, jukebox songs, shuffleboard games and loud, obnoxious laughter. Then we’d go to the casino, where I’d drink more draft beer until the bar closed at 3. This was something like two gallons of beer every Monday. And I didn’t take the rest of the week off or anything.


2. CHEAP WHITE WINE

Wine didn’t really enter the picture until my wife got pregnant with my oldest child. I took that old doctor’s cliche about, “One glass of wine won’t hurt you,” and ran with it. I’d buy the magnum-size bottles of chardonnay or sauvignon blanc — cheap stuff like Liberty Creek, Crane Lake, Turning Leaf and other brands that sound like names of bad apartment complexes.

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September 7, 2011

’80s Shoulder-Pad Dance Party!

by LOLA TUCKER
edited by ANDREW HICKS

Are your shoulder pads a Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte or Miranda?

Laughing at yourself is fun. Laughing at others is even better.

Now, before you skewer me and throw me over an open flame, let me explain. I am not talking about the kind of laughter that comes from watching another suffer at the hands of cruelty or mean-spiritedness. I am talking about watching your dearest friend, clearly over-served by the bartender, bump and grind on the dance floor with an equally over-served stranger. Or watching someone you adore emerge from the ladies’ room with her skirt tucked neatly in the back of her tights.

I had one such embarrassing incident back in 1988 or so. I was about 24 years old, living in downtown D.C. and running around with the world in my back pocket. My best friends and I spent many a night hitting the club scene, drinking cheap champagne for hours before pouring ourselves into a cab to head home.

Our favorite hangout was an upscale spot along the Georgetown waterfront called the River Club. We owned that joint. We were dressed to impress.

Now, I know not all of you will remember the miracle of shoulder pads and remember them with quite the fondness that I do, but believe me, I thought they were THE BOMB. No fashion ensemble of mine was ever complete without big hair, a short skirt and the biggest shoulder pads I could find.

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August 26, 2011

From the WNF Macro-brewery…

by ERIC DOHMAN with ANDREW HICKS, EVE VENTRELLA and J.MIZ

You know about our official line of We’re Not Funny T-shirts. Now get crunk WNF-style with our new product roll-out of eight beer brands, ranging in price from “dirt cheap” to “rigoddamdiculous.”

Miller Low Life: The Over-40 40!

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This genie has been stuck in this bottle since 1979.

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Australian For "Irrational Multicultural Adoption Fetish."

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When "The Best" Is Just Too Damn Good...

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Blue Poon: The Perfect Companion For Blue Balls.

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Goes Down Like Milk.

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Isn't it Time For Your Pabst Smear?

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Lance Bass Pale Ale: Lighter Than Loafers!

August 4, 2011

9 Demons of the College House Party

By PAUL LAO and HIS UNFORTUNATE EXPERIENCES
edited by ANDREW HICKS

"If you're white, lemme hear ya say 'HOAHH!'"

At its best, a party contains abundant drink, music, laughter, possibility, magic, literal fire, humor and conversation. But parties are more often destructive than constructive, and they’re like a storm — you can predict the time, the size and the location, but you can’t predict the severity until it’s too late. These are the nine demons of the college party:

1. The Host
You cannot have a parasite without a host. The Host is essentially the brood mother or party summoner. One thing The Host doesn’t have to be is the owner of the location. Simply, The Host is the walking green light that says, “Hey guys, it’s okay! Come over here, and we are going to fuck shit up!” And if The Host is renting the house or apartment, rest assured he doesn’t care about getting his deposit back. The deposit could be his life and that of one innocent person. It doesn’t matter — as soon as he has the keys, they’re both gone. To the party host, a deposit is just the cover charge for some good home demolition.

2. The Libation Peasants
In the old Warcraft game, you have these little peasants who collect resources for your army. They are the work horses who drive the campaign, much like the beer runners at a party. Often, these alcohol hunters will settle for the cheapest and least-passable sensory-dulling libation to pour down the mouths of babes. But, surprisingly, what they lack in beer sense, they make up for in the quality of their hard liquor and weed. Nothing’s quite as strange and glorious as the party combo of Johnny Walker Blue, Arab Diesel Kush and a 30-pack of Natty.

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July 6, 2011

This Week in J.Miz, Volume 7

by J.MIZ
edited by ANDREW HICKS

A Hispanic Fourth of July celebration includes ornate costuming, delicious carne asada and absolutely no gunfire.

TUESDAY

  • My name is Jennifer, and I am addicted to introductions.
  • Anything over six degrees of Kevin Bacon would be entirely too hot.
  • Modern vernacular has made it so I cannot be merry and carefree without being homosexual.
  • My new boyfriend kept yelling out other girls’ names during sex. I FINALLY sat him down and said, “Look, What’s-Your-Name…”
  • I considered formally calling myself “agnostic,” but I’m still on the fence.

 

MONDAY

  • This July 4th, I will remember our forefathers and all those who have died in the name of pyromania.
  • Spending the day barbecuing, enjoying the sun and drinking good wine makes me grateful for the little things, like being white.
  • Fourth of July reminds me that I truly am free… to dress like a proud American slut.
  • I love living in a Hispanic neighborhood during Fourth of July! The smell of carne asada, the mariachi music, the knowledge that those noises in the distance are fireworks, not gunshots. Because Mexicans stab each other.
  • If I ever started doing heroin, I’d go to rehab immediately. I don’t know of any other place so full of people who would help me get more heroin.
  • There are times I have to dumb myself down or, as I like to call it, be a man.

 

SUNDAY

  • I’ve decided to keep a safe distance from my boyfriend until he can love incommunicably.
  • Every time I wish on a star, I realize how insignificant it is to wish on stars.
  • I like my boyfriend like I like my coffee: First thing in the morning, hot as hell and then out of my sight for the rest of the day.
  • I have yet to fuck the couch in my new place, but it seems like a nice enough couch.
  • I finally decided to say yes to my boyfriend’s marriage proposal! That’s how much I love open bars.

 

SATURDAY

  • At Walmart, I was next to a guy in a riding cart. Mentally, I began to race him. I won. Nice try, Americans with Disabilities Act, but functioning legs are still better.
  • According to the CDC, unprotected sex may result in chronic, terminal acronyms.
  • My boyfriend is a real stickler for me using forethought in my word choices. So I always stop and think seriously before I call him a bitch.
  • My younger boyfriend gets sick over the age difference. I’ve learned nothing helps his huge headache more than two “big boy” asprins.
  • I will not say “fuck you,” but I will say “fuck thee.”

 

FRIDAY

  • I’ve thought about getting a second cat, but I don’t want to be known as the “lady who loves cats.” Instead, I got a rooster.
  • I don’t know about you, but techno music speaks to me. It’s in my ear, saying, “I’m an awkward, middle-aged white guy in a suit, drinking vodka and Vitamin Water.”
  • My boyfriend and I have opposite sleep schedules, but we accept it. A small thing like that isn’t enough to break us of our respective cocaine and Xanax habits.
  • A career in stand-up would greatly interfere with my current one, which is fundamentally based on “lay-down.”
  • I completely understood my boyfriend’s Oedipus issues the moment I saw the way he interacts with his mom as she blows him.
  • Have you ever smelled so bad you had to admit it publicly on the Internet?
  • I haven’t heard from my boyfriend today. Duct tape is AWESOME!

 

THURSDAY

  • I always wanted to date an amputee with a speech impediment so he could tell me he “nubs” me.
  • The only issue I have with my childhood is them calling it “rape.” Do you know how long it took me to seduce my uncle?!
  • Society sends too many mixed messages to women. We are pressured to have children but are arrested if we borrow them.
  • Like a sand through the hourglass, a teeny tiny grain of cock. #GuysIDoNotMiss

 

WEDNESDAY

  • Einstein proved that elevated clocks move faster due to less gravity. Addicts have proven that, when they are truly higher, gravity has flavor.
  • To those who don’t find humor in scientific jokes: I’m sure Jesus loves the shit out of you.
  • Friends do not let friends buy coke at full price.
  • My boyfriend’s bachelor’s in theater direction was useless until he found work in the porn industry cock blocking.
  • No matter how many times you change the lie, it still doesn’t become the truth.
  • My boyfriend is so dumb and naive, I have him convinced < 3 is a math equation I post on facebook to my gay best friend Steve.
  • My boyfriend commited suicide on my last birthday. I know, I know. You’re thinking, how will I EVER get a better present than that?!
June 24, 2011

The Margarita Machine

by LOLA TUCKER
edited by ANDREW HICKS

Lola Tucker's divorced female friend doesn't have time to shave her arms since she got ahold of the Buffett margarita machine.

Last night, as a gift to myself, I trekked across town to the home of a friend who just finalized her divorce. She lives in a bachelorette rental paradise where she doesn’t have to deal with anyone else’s laundry, mess, hairs in the bathroom sink or unflushed toilets. Best of all, on the counter of her perfectly decorated kitchen bar area is — drumroll, please — a JIMMY BUFFETT MARGARITA MACHINE.

I found myself coveting it, longing for it. It was huge, nearly large enough to drown every ounce of stress that is currently plaguing my life. It shaved the ice instead of crushing it, and it even had a cool compartment that drained off any water that had melted from the ice, so it wouldn’t water down your drinks.

What an engineering marvel. I mean it. If any nominating member of the Nobel Prize committee is reading this, forget about that scientist who figured out how to self-replicate life with synthetic DNA, and give some props to the inventor of the Buffett margarita machine instead.

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