If you are like most of the country, you have been affected by the monstrous winter storm that toilet papered the country. If you took a look at the weather forecast, shrugged your shoulders and said to no one in particular, "Only in [your state of residence]," then you are seriously under-informed. Just because it was warm yesterday and will be cold tomorrow does not make your state the focal point of some kind of weather anomaly. It means that you should put on a coat.
OK, so you're wearing a coat now. Good. It's still fucking cold, though. It's not exactly go-outside-and-enjoy-the-weather type of weather. Or is it?
Next to my hotel is an empty parking lot covered in ice and snow. Being as how I was given a Dodge Charger for a rental car this week, I thought I'd see how the Hemi-equipped, grocery-getting sedan handled through a few donuts. [For those of you located under a rock, a "donut" in this context is a complex maneuver performed by turning the steering wheel of a rear-wheel drive vehicle all the way to one direction and stomping on the gas pedal, resulting in an impressive display of controlled chaos. Chicks dig this.] I hurried to my cloud white Dodge parked out front and tried to not lose my footing since I couldn't help but skip a little. Closing the door behind me, I sat down in the driver's seat, breathed into my hands and rubbed them together to rattle off some of the cold. Turning the key, my grin widened. The Charger queefed to life. I hadn't really paid attention to the vehicle's underwhelming engine sound until this moment, but I really expected something more thunderous. No matter, though. This is going to rule!
Excitedly, I changed the station on the satellite radio to my favorite rock channel. Nickelback. Delete preset station. Whatever, I'll just find something else. This was a pretty important part of my plan. A proper exhibition of careless driving requires a certain ambiance. I've already conceded to having a vagina fart for an exhaust system, I'm not about to give up my tunes without a fight. I flipped through the stations. Lame, lame, laaaaame, lame, lame, "ALL THE SINGLE LADIES, ALL THE..." I mean, lame. The next station was empty silence and, just before I continued on, I heard the bell ring. "DUR DA DUN DAA DAA DUN DA DAH DUN DAAA" I glared down the hood and cracked my knuckles as "Hell's Bells" began to play. It's on.
With the windows down (ambiance), I crept into the center of the empty lot and put the car in neutral. After holstering my air guitar, I goosed the gas pedal a couple times. "Pffffft. Pfffffffffft." Oh yeah. Forgot.
With one arm hanging out the window, I cranked the wheel all the way to the left, shifted into drive and FLOORED IT!!! The 2011 Dodge Charger responded to this carefully executed demonstration of masculinity by creeping forward like it was being piloted by a nervous septuagenarian driving in the big city for her first time on the way to her grandson's graduation. TRACTION CONTROL!!!
WHAT THE HELL?!
I tore open the glove compartment and rifled through the owners manual, searching for the section on traction control. Turns out, this vehicle does not have the option to turn off traction control. A vehicle sharing its name with the greatest bootlegging vehicle in Hazzard County does not allow tire spin.
Sigh.
Windows up.
Volume down.
Park.
Martini at the hotel bar.
The moral of this story (write this down): If you cannot find something fun to do outside in the bitter cold, drink a couple martinis.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
The end of days
"O-M-G. L-O-L. You are so funny."
Maybe Nostradamus predicted this. Maybe the Mayans were right. Maybe the first of the Seven Seals has been broken and the White Horseman is upon us. Maybe the great titan, Atlas, has grown tired and will toss Earth aside like that time you were helping your buddy move and he told you, "Man, I forgot to hit the ATM, would you mind grabbing some beer?" and you unshouldered the box labeled "collectibles" into the hot tub.
Whether the Frenchman's, Mayan's, Christian's, Greek's or any other definition of the apocalypse fits your beliefs, I might have overheard the beginning: "O-M-G. L-O-L. You are so funny."
The flight from Denver to Omaha on a Monday morning is usually filled with frequent business travelers and a few families heading home. It was in this few that I discovered the person that I have feared meeting. As I waited for the gate agent to start boarding the flight, not unexpectedly, several people began crowding the boarding area, assuming their tickets declaring "seating area 4" meant they would board before seating area 1. In the middle of this particular group, seemingly indifferent to her surroundings, was Kate.
Wearing skinny jeans, blue sunglasses and a pink Ramones t-shirt, Kate was the kind of person that owns a Justin Bieber poster and has no idea that Sheena is a punk rocker. She stood, surrounded by her parents and two younger brothers, talking on her bedazzled iphone and shifting her weight from one Ugg to the other. Teenage Kate spoke to her dad with perpetually rolling eyes and focused all of her attention on the person on the other end of her 3G connection. She impatiently stared at the ceiling and flicked her fingernails as the person on the other end told a story. When the tale ended, she responded, "O-M-G. L-O-L. You are so funny."
Kate neither said this ironically nor sarcastically. And I totally get the "O-M-G" thing. I've watched a total of 6 minutes and 23 seconds of Gossip Girl and know that this is sort of normal...infuriatingly annoying, but normal. However, she was genuinely amused by the story. Instead of giving the courtesy laugh ("hahahaha...'working hard or hardly working.' Funny every time, cubicle neighbor"), she said "L-O-L." Is this necessary?
I understand abbreviation. I abbreviate my own name...awesomely. Many years ago, while working together at Cinco Ranch Golf Course, my friend Jay told me, "Brevity is key." He's right, but Kate is a nimrod. Is she over-abbreviating? Where do we draw the line?
Kate's conversation might just mark the beginning of the end. But maybe not. I think if we start under-abbreviating, it could counteract her atrocities.
Semicolon, close parenthesis.
Maybe Nostradamus predicted this. Maybe the Mayans were right. Maybe the first of the Seven Seals has been broken and the White Horseman is upon us. Maybe the great titan, Atlas, has grown tired and will toss Earth aside like that time you were helping your buddy move and he told you, "Man, I forgot to hit the ATM, would you mind grabbing some beer?" and you unshouldered the box labeled "collectibles" into the hot tub.
Whether the Frenchman's, Mayan's, Christian's, Greek's or any other definition of the apocalypse fits your beliefs, I might have overheard the beginning: "O-M-G. L-O-L. You are so funny."
The flight from Denver to Omaha on a Monday morning is usually filled with frequent business travelers and a few families heading home. It was in this few that I discovered the person that I have feared meeting. As I waited for the gate agent to start boarding the flight, not unexpectedly, several people began crowding the boarding area, assuming their tickets declaring "seating area 4" meant they would board before seating area 1. In the middle of this particular group, seemingly indifferent to her surroundings, was Kate.
Wearing skinny jeans, blue sunglasses and a pink Ramones t-shirt, Kate was the kind of person that owns a Justin Bieber poster and has no idea that Sheena is a punk rocker. She stood, surrounded by her parents and two younger brothers, talking on her bedazzled iphone and shifting her weight from one Ugg to the other. Teenage Kate spoke to her dad with perpetually rolling eyes and focused all of her attention on the person on the other end of her 3G connection. She impatiently stared at the ceiling and flicked her fingernails as the person on the other end told a story. When the tale ended, she responded, "O-M-G. L-O-L. You are so funny."
Kate neither said this ironically nor sarcastically. And I totally get the "O-M-G" thing. I've watched a total of 6 minutes and 23 seconds of Gossip Girl and know that this is sort of normal...infuriatingly annoying, but normal. However, she was genuinely amused by the story. Instead of giving the courtesy laugh ("hahahaha...'working hard or hardly working.' Funny every time, cubicle neighbor"), she said "L-O-L." Is this necessary?
I understand abbreviation. I abbreviate my own name...awesomely. Many years ago, while working together at Cinco Ranch Golf Course, my friend Jay told me, "Brevity is key." He's right, but Kate is a nimrod. Is she over-abbreviating? Where do we draw the line?
Kate's conversation might just mark the beginning of the end. But maybe not. I think if we start under-abbreviating, it could counteract her atrocities.
Semicolon, close parenthesis.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
How to prepare for the drought
The sports fan looks forward to the Super Bowl with impassioned anticipation, not necessarily worried about the outcome, but desiring to watch a popular sporting event. He is most likely the same sports fan that knows the basic rules of all of the major sports (including soccer) and will watch the games attentively. Sure, one of the teams playing might be the home team, adding the much sought-after rooting interest, but it isn't necessary to make him tune in and cheer. Bringing water cooler conversation starters like "Did you see that catch last night?" and "When are they going to fire that prima donna?" are what is expected of one of these fans.
But what happens after the Super Bowl? To the sports fan: a dry spell.
The gap between the Super Bowl (2/6/11) and the start of the NCAA tournament (3/15/11) is a bummer for the devoted viewer. This is the time of year with the fewest televised sporting events. Of course there are games to be watched, but these viewers will be switching back and forth between regular season hockey and basketball. ("But AJ, things could be worse. I like watching...") Shut up. I'm trying to help.
But do not despair! This message was not intended to depress, but to inform. What should the sports fan do with these 37 days? I have some ideas.
Learn to do a handstand - If you already know how to do one, fashion yourself a medal made out of I'M SO PROUD OF YOU. If you're not a braggart, wouldn't it be cool to one day just think, "I feel like doing a handstand" and then do one?! Everyone watching will be impressed and doors will open for you (probably just those sliding ones in front of Walgreens though). [I cannot do a handstand.]
Learn how to do that water drip sound that Cameron makes in Ferris Bueller's Day Off - This will provide seconds upon tens of seconds of entertainment when you unmute your phone during a conference call, make the sound and attempt to stifle your giggles.
Balance your checkbook - HAHAHA! Just kidding, nerd.
Watch The Godfather (all of them) - You know you've been putting it off. Find out what all of the fuss is. Understand more of the jokes on Family Guy. You can't lose here.
Gamble on Antiques Roadshow - I know! There is no way that tea kettle and spoon could POSSIBLY be worth $8,000 but you had the under. Pay up.
Play Guitar Hero - You know people who are pretty good at this game. You've been over to a buddy's house and watched your friend look totally bad ass wielding his plastic axe (not a euphemism...this time). Wouldn't it be rad to join the button-clicking fiesta and not look dumb while doing it? [I suck at Guitar Hero]
Learn to knit - I don't know. This is mostly directed at my wife because I want some fucking mittens.
Master the art of putting on your hat in creative ways - A couple of flips in the hand, a toss around the back, caught on the foot and flipped onto your head?! Instant applause and admiration.
Solve a Rubik's Cube - Nevermind. This is hard.
Peel the stickers off a Rubik's Cube and reattach them well enough to give the illusion of solving the puzzle without cheating - SUCCESS!
Hopefully this will get you through until March Madness. I wish you the best of luck and hope these activities help maintain your desire to live.
But what happens after the Super Bowl? To the sports fan: a dry spell.
The gap between the Super Bowl (2/6/11) and the start of the NCAA tournament (3/15/11) is a bummer for the devoted viewer. This is the time of year with the fewest televised sporting events. Of course there are games to be watched, but these viewers will be switching back and forth between regular season hockey and basketball. ("But AJ, things could be worse. I like watching...") Shut up. I'm trying to help.
But do not despair! This message was not intended to depress, but to inform. What should the sports fan do with these 37 days? I have some ideas.
Learn to do a handstand - If you already know how to do one, fashion yourself a medal made out of I'M SO PROUD OF YOU. If you're not a braggart, wouldn't it be cool to one day just think, "I feel like doing a handstand" and then do one?! Everyone watching will be impressed and doors will open for you (probably just those sliding ones in front of Walgreens though). [I cannot do a handstand.]
Learn how to do that water drip sound that Cameron makes in Ferris Bueller's Day Off - This will provide seconds upon tens of seconds of entertainment when you unmute your phone during a conference call, make the sound and attempt to stifle your giggles.
Balance your checkbook - HAHAHA! Just kidding, nerd.
Watch The Godfather (all of them) - You know you've been putting it off. Find out what all of the fuss is. Understand more of the jokes on Family Guy. You can't lose here.
Gamble on Antiques Roadshow - I know! There is no way that tea kettle and spoon could POSSIBLY be worth $8,000 but you had the under. Pay up.
Play Guitar Hero - You know people who are pretty good at this game. You've been over to a buddy's house and watched your friend look totally bad ass wielding his plastic axe (not a euphemism...this time). Wouldn't it be rad to join the button-clicking fiesta and not look dumb while doing it? [I suck at Guitar Hero]
Learn to knit - I don't know. This is mostly directed at my wife because I want some fucking mittens.
Master the art of putting on your hat in creative ways - A couple of flips in the hand, a toss around the back, caught on the foot and flipped onto your head?! Instant applause and admiration.
Solve a Rubik's Cube - Nevermind. This is hard.
Peel the stickers off a Rubik's Cube and reattach them well enough to give the illusion of solving the puzzle without cheating - SUCCESS!
Hopefully this will get you through until March Madness. I wish you the best of luck and hope these activities help maintain your desire to live.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Why you don't like me
Ever had that person that just doesn't like you? If you're like me, it doesn't happen very often and, despite your best efforts, you cannot change that person's mind. He or she just gives you the cold shoulder all of the time. I have figured it out. Your reason will most likely be different than mine but I have figured out why some people just don't like me. Read no further if you'd care to remain ignorant of my superior abilities.
I just walked into the room. You look over your shoulder and assess my persona. Within a fraction of a second, you have judged my clothes, my hair, my demeanor, my walk, my shoes, my net worth and my hobbies. You have decided not to like me. Even though you cannot describe just what it is about me, your choice has been made. Befriending you will be an uphill struggle for me.
Why? I know.
I'm not better looking than you. That you can already tell.
You've also noticed that I'm married. I am basically an asexual being entering the room. I am in no way a threat to you.
You've sized me up and know that you could kick my ass. I'm okay with this. I have never been in a fight and don't plan on starting with you.
I don't make more money than you. You realize this after looking at my jeans and deducing the fact that I didn't buy them with the mustard stain and missing belt loop.
I need a haircut. This doesn't really bother you, but I totally do.
So, what is it then? Why, upon first glance, do you not care for me?
I've never had a hangover. Ever.
It's certainly not from lack of effort.
Somehow your superior skills of observation have determined that I have never experienced that which you so loathe. The reason you passed on the tequila shots was so you could function tomorrow. Not me. I'll be up much later than you and will wake up before you do. I might sleep on the floor snuggling a traffic cone, but I'll be the first one up, cleaning dishes and preparing coffee.
Please don't hate me for it. I didn't ask for this superpower.
I just walked into the room. You look over your shoulder and assess my persona. Within a fraction of a second, you have judged my clothes, my hair, my demeanor, my walk, my shoes, my net worth and my hobbies. You have decided not to like me. Even though you cannot describe just what it is about me, your choice has been made. Befriending you will be an uphill struggle for me.
Why? I know.
I'm not better looking than you. That you can already tell.
You've also noticed that I'm married. I am basically an asexual being entering the room. I am in no way a threat to you.
You've sized me up and know that you could kick my ass. I'm okay with this. I have never been in a fight and don't plan on starting with you.
I don't make more money than you. You realize this after looking at my jeans and deducing the fact that I didn't buy them with the mustard stain and missing belt loop.
I need a haircut. This doesn't really bother you, but I totally do.
So, what is it then? Why, upon first glance, do you not care for me?
I've never had a hangover. Ever.
It's certainly not from lack of effort.
Somehow your superior skills of observation have determined that I have never experienced that which you so loathe. The reason you passed on the tequila shots was so you could function tomorrow. Not me. I'll be up much later than you and will wake up before you do. I might sleep on the floor snuggling a traffic cone, but I'll be the first one up, cleaning dishes and preparing coffee.
Please don't hate me for it. I didn't ask for this superpower.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
The Four Lokos
I'm a coffee drinker. So naturally, it was only a matter of time before I experienced a Four Loko. [Four Loko, for you Spanish speakers out there, is spelled "Four Loko." Get past your spelling issues and follow along.] Four Loko is a 12% alcohol by volume energy drink served in a convenient 23.5 ounce can. That basically equates to 6 beers and 4 cups of coffee. I know! Rad, right?!
A few weeks ago, Sarah and I listened intently as our friends Jeff and Emily regaled us with the tale of Jeff's first and only Four Loko experience. His story included mystery, intrigue and made-up words like "drizzunk."
"I must try this stuff," I expressed.
"No you don't," Sarah answered.
"You totally should," Emily suggested.
"YUP!" Jeff recommended.
Last Sunday we got home and found a brown paper bag adorned with a hastily tied yellow ribbon resting on our front porch. I tore through the thoughtful wrapping to find a Lemonade Four Loko inside. "This is the universe repaying me for being awesome," I thought. Knowing that Jeff might have been behind the mysterious gift, I elected to not drink the whole thing at 9 am on a Sunday and decided to save the fun until the upcoming party on Friday.
[Friday arrives]
Jeff and Emily came over to our house and I proudly announced with a flourish that my evening will start with a [da da da daaaa] Four Loko! Sarah rolled her eyes, Jeff fist pumped and Emily grinned maniacally. After my first sip, it was incredibly apparent that there actually are four lokos and Jeff was willing to help define them.
The first loko: The taste. Even straight out of the fridge, it burns. The Four Loko hits your palette like the cheap scotch that you found in your garage in August. Then the taste changes. It becomes foot. Perhaps I grew accustomed to the overwhelming sting of alcohol, or perhaps the flavor changes once the beverage has had a chance to breathe. Either way, it tastes like foot. Don't try to read into this and think, "Maybe it's a foot that has just been bathed in lemon water and lovingly toweled dry with Egyptian cotton." It's not that kind of foot. It just tastes like foot.
The second loko: Loss of confidence. Thoughts of "I don't think I can finish this" and "I don't want to drink any more of this footy crap" will begin to overrun your mind. Don't give in, though. You have two more lokos to experience!
The third loko: Disappointment. It didn't taste that good. You've muscled your way through 23.5 ounces of intimidation and the end result was...meh. You're not that intoxicated and the caffeine isn't that strong. What a waste of time. Oh well, just move on to the beer.
The fourth loko: HEY! YOU GUYS WANNA PLAY A DRINKING GAME OR..I KNOW...LET'S GET ON TO THE ROOF!! Dude. It happens and it happens big. Four Loko is the instigator of instigators and the cause of awesome (read: horrible) ideas. My night ended with gambling at 4 am and mixing drinks with stolen oranges.
I plan to try the other flavors soon.
A few weeks ago, Sarah and I listened intently as our friends Jeff and Emily regaled us with the tale of Jeff's first and only Four Loko experience. His story included mystery, intrigue and made-up words like "drizzunk."
"I must try this stuff," I expressed.
"No you don't," Sarah answered.
"You totally should," Emily suggested.
"YUP!" Jeff recommended.
Last Sunday we got home and found a brown paper bag adorned with a hastily tied yellow ribbon resting on our front porch. I tore through the thoughtful wrapping to find a Lemonade Four Loko inside. "This is the universe repaying me for being awesome," I thought. Knowing that Jeff might have been behind the mysterious gift, I elected to not drink the whole thing at 9 am on a Sunday and decided to save the fun until the upcoming party on Friday.
[Friday arrives]
Jeff and Emily came over to our house and I proudly announced with a flourish that my evening will start with a [da da da daaaa] Four Loko! Sarah rolled her eyes, Jeff fist pumped and Emily grinned maniacally. After my first sip, it was incredibly apparent that there actually are four lokos and Jeff was willing to help define them.
The first loko: The taste. Even straight out of the fridge, it burns. The Four Loko hits your palette like the cheap scotch that you found in your garage in August. Then the taste changes. It becomes foot. Perhaps I grew accustomed to the overwhelming sting of alcohol, or perhaps the flavor changes once the beverage has had a chance to breathe. Either way, it tastes like foot. Don't try to read into this and think, "Maybe it's a foot that has just been bathed in lemon water and lovingly toweled dry with Egyptian cotton." It's not that kind of foot. It just tastes like foot.
The second loko: Loss of confidence. Thoughts of "I don't think I can finish this" and "I don't want to drink any more of this footy crap" will begin to overrun your mind. Don't give in, though. You have two more lokos to experience!
The third loko: Disappointment. It didn't taste that good. You've muscled your way through 23.5 ounces of intimidation and the end result was...meh. You're not that intoxicated and the caffeine isn't that strong. What a waste of time. Oh well, just move on to the beer.
The fourth loko: HEY! YOU GUYS WANNA PLAY A DRINKING GAME OR..I KNOW...LET'S GET ON TO THE ROOF!! Dude. It happens and it happens big. Four Loko is the instigator of instigators and the cause of awesome (read: horrible) ideas. My night ended with gambling at 4 am and mixing drinks with stolen oranges.
I plan to try the other flavors soon.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
A Polarizing Issue
You and I are not going to agree on everything.
[What?]
You may feel very strongly about some random political issue that I, before you mentioned it, had always assumed was the name of a store in the mall. "Proposition 28? I think that's between the Urban Outfitters and the Nuts on Clark."
[A possible disagreement]
You and I will disagree on a favorite band. I probably won't ever tell you that your musical idols are tone deaf losers (PROBABLY) but, let's face it, if your favorite band isn't Tom Hanks and Robert Loggia playing the huge piano at the toy store in the movie "Big," you're totally fucking wrong.
[A respectful disagreement]
You and I might disagree on fashion. I think that this shirt matches these pants but I had three nice ladies approach me on separate occasions today to inform me that the pants, in fact, did not match the shirt. It's nice to know that I'm approachable though...hags.
[They were all wrong]
You might not realize it, but during my meetings, I tend to be the one who speaks. The "speaker," if you will. (I prefer "commander of tidings both awesome and informational"). Sometimes, I take people out to dinner. The dinner meetings are great. Loose schedules and a few drinks have proven to lead to extremely productive meetings. I have eaten at some nice restaurants and have had some very tasty beverages.
[But lunch meetings suck]
You and I will have a productive encounter whether it be at dinner, in a conference room, on an airplane, or during lunch at Applebee's. It's the lunch meeting that I do not enjoy as much as the others. Everyone has to get back to the office, right? Tighter schedules and no drinks make the meeting's effectiveness more challenging. The bill will come and I'll glance down to see my grilled chicken salad (with croutons and dressing on the side) mostly untouched. I haven't eaten my lunch for a few reasons: I've been talking most of the time, I didn't even want the stupid salad, and the dude sitting across from me lets fly a double dose of boneless buffalo wing spittle onto my plate each time he says the word "pharmacy." (It tends to come up in conversation).
[Potential disagreement]
You might think I'm being overly irrational and picky. You might think that the phrase "agree to disagree" is something acceptable to say...ever. You might think that this shirt clashes with these pants.
[Whatever. Stop being such a judgemental dork.]
[What?]
You may feel very strongly about some random political issue that I, before you mentioned it, had always assumed was the name of a store in the mall. "Proposition 28? I think that's between the Urban Outfitters and the Nuts on Clark."
[A possible disagreement]
You and I will disagree on a favorite band. I probably won't ever tell you that your musical idols are tone deaf losers (PROBABLY) but, let's face it, if your favorite band isn't Tom Hanks and Robert Loggia playing the huge piano at the toy store in the movie "Big," you're totally fucking wrong.
[A respectful disagreement]
You and I might disagree on fashion. I think that this shirt matches these pants but I had three nice ladies approach me on separate occasions today to inform me that the pants, in fact, did not match the shirt. It's nice to know that I'm approachable though...hags.
[They were all wrong]
You might not realize it, but during my meetings, I tend to be the one who speaks. The "speaker," if you will. (I prefer "commander of tidings both awesome and informational"). Sometimes, I take people out to dinner. The dinner meetings are great. Loose schedules and a few drinks have proven to lead to extremely productive meetings. I have eaten at some nice restaurants and have had some very tasty beverages.
[But lunch meetings suck]
You and I will have a productive encounter whether it be at dinner, in a conference room, on an airplane, or during lunch at Applebee's. It's the lunch meeting that I do not enjoy as much as the others. Everyone has to get back to the office, right? Tighter schedules and no drinks make the meeting's effectiveness more challenging. The bill will come and I'll glance down to see my grilled chicken salad (with croutons and dressing on the side) mostly untouched. I haven't eaten my lunch for a few reasons: I've been talking most of the time, I didn't even want the stupid salad, and the dude sitting across from me lets fly a double dose of boneless buffalo wing spittle onto my plate each time he says the word "pharmacy." (It tends to come up in conversation).
[Potential disagreement]
You might think I'm being overly irrational and picky. You might think that the phrase "agree to disagree" is something acceptable to say...ever. You might think that this shirt clashes with these pants.
[Whatever. Stop being such a judgemental dork.]
Monday, December 6, 2010
Hunting is hard work
I made a trip down to Texas to go hunting this weekend. I'm not going to pretend to know how the mind of a deer operates, but I think that if a hunter is sitting behind a tree a few hundred yards away from a highway, the deer is not going to notice you. With muffler-less vehicles speeding by, a buffoon with a beer chest should have a chance to see some deer. Do I have proof? Well, on Saturday, four of us decided to go hunting together. I immediately became bored and decided it was time to step up the drinking. I drank a beer.
Not satisfied with just sipping a Miller Lite, I devised a plan. "Wanna shotgun a beer?" I whispered. "Fuck it." Charlie answered.
Not satisfied with just sipping a Miller Lite, I devised a plan. "Wanna shotgun a beer?" I whispered. "Fuck it." Charlie answered.
It should be noted that, less than 30 minutes after this lightning round of drinking, we saw a very large deer. A skilled hunter was in direct competition with a deer's ability to not be hit by a bullet. The majestic animal stood completely still as the practiced eye of The Hunter leveled his rifle's crosshairs well away from what could have been a successfully fired round. I drank a beer. The Hunter did not take the initial shot but instead deftly stumbled his way through a pile of empty beer cans and rested his field-tested rifle on a tree limb. The rest of his group snickered in amusement. The deer, being a deer and all, did not pay attention to the four morons giggling behind the tree. The rifled sounded. The Hunter celebrated. Yelling through a whisper he cried, "I got him!" The others watching congratulated The Hunter on once again verifying his manly ability to provide. I drank a beer.
The group remained poorly hidden behind the tree, reflecting on the size of the animal. We discussed which direction he went after being hit by the deadly bullet. The Hunter, hands shaking with adrenaline, stated, "We'll wait 20 more minutes and then track him down." I drank a beer.
With plenty of daylight left, we began what we anticipated would be a short search for a monstrous animal. The initial check of the area the buck originally stood did not show any obvious signs of a wounded animal. I drank a beer. We searched. "Hey, has anyone seen 'Inception' yet?" I asked. The Hunter did not respond. His superior tracking skills were driving his senses to superhuman levels. The Hunter's experience has taught him the skills necessary to find a camouflaged animal. I drank a beer.
After an arduous search, we found something for which we did not know we were looking. "Hey guys," a member of The Hunter's group called. "I think I found something." Winding our way through the brambles and thick brush, the group converged at the site of the discovery. We had certainly found something. I drank a beer.
The discovery proved that The Hunter's bullet had deceived him and not done what he had asked. Instead, the deadly projectile ripped right through a perfectly healthy tree. Someone stated the obvious: "You missed." The Hunter received the news with a heavy heart and admitted that he would take full responsibility for the failure. Then he cleverly blamed the wind, the tree, a jet that flew overhead, and Obama.
The Hunter's group returned to the lengthening shadow of the cooler and drank a beer.
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