Wednesday, August 31, 2011


Yeah you knew this was coming!

FOOTBALL SEASON IS PRACTICALLY HERE. Truth is, I don't really care about football season as much as I care about FANTASY FOOTBALL SEASON.

Living in Ann Arbor, just outside of Detroit, I know a lot of Lions fans. Haha yeah, sucks for them. Only team to go 0-16. They're on the upswing now though and I see so much hope at the office you'd think Obama was there sewing the seeds of more of the same.

Not the case - no change, friends: both politically and with regards to the Lions. Check this out, how do the Lions compete with this?

Look closely and you can see Aaron Rodgers mouth something right before he steps up to the gun. I think he says, "man who da fugg r these twinkz? Watch dizz shih."

Then he threads the needle from 18 yards out TOUCHDOWN!

And yeah, that dude that got OWNED, the Colt's linebacker, his name is Angerer. ANGERER. That's his name. What a bad ass name.

Only way it could be any more bad ass is if somebody would have thrown an "I" in there to make it ANGRIER.

Sorry you got torched bro.

Had my first (of two) fantasy football drafts yesterday. It was awesome. I don't even know who I wound up drafting because I'm typing this up on Monday and will probably be too loaded on Tuesday to update this. All I know is I have the 5th pick yet I have no clue who I'm taking.

Really tempted to draft a bunch of Lions to spite this kid I work with. Seriously, homeboy worships Matt Stafford.

Speaking of chubby-faced illiterate goofballs in sleeveless t-shirts, watch him get crushed, cough up the rock, then watch in helpless horror as the dreaded Chicago Bears recover.

PUMP levels are high with that sweet shot!

And the creme de la creme of PUMPS, the final seconds of the 0-16 2008 season, at Lambeau Field. GET PUMPED LIONS FANS!

Here's to a PUMP FILLED WEEK, and hey, 2011's gotta be better than 2008, right!??!?


Monday, August 29, 2011

short weekend wrap-up

Hey I hope everybody had a great weekend. I sat inside with the air conditioning on HIGH, the shades pulled, lights off and cried. Was really cleansing.

See, that's the kind of fun married 30 year olds have when their wives are out of town.

In my tear-filled, chilled euphoria, I thought of a couple things that just don't sit well with me: first, the name Doug, and second, pleated pants.

Do you know somebody named Doug? Is that Doug a productive member of society at all? Does he have any socially redeeming qualities? If you answered no and no, you are in the same boat as millions of other Americans that know a Doug.

Please let me list off the few Dougs that I know:

Doug ********* - a fat, worthless schmuck that tried (successfully) to fight somebody bigger than him (my brother). No kidding, Doug pushed my brother's buttons until he got what he wanted, a fight. He wound up getting beat up. Twice.

It's whatever though, if he hadn't instigated the fight, surely his pisspoor name would have gotten him at least a black eye.

I feel like a I knew another Doug, a short, fat kid from elementary school. But he was so inconsequential in the grand scheme of things that I can't even remember. Ha, I bet even his own parents don't remember him.

Second thing that really chaps my assWho besides your dad, and you in 1st - 7th grade, still wears pleated pants? They look like fish gills that aren't functional at all and were added on as a last second embellishment.

Some goober I work with showed up to work with pleated pants one day a couple months back. Yeah. I'm talking the kind of kid that wear skinny jeans, trucker hats and deep v-neck shirts. Then homeboy shows up to the khaki game with pleats. Bush league, son.

Yeah, so another thing, Borders (the Ann Arbor-based book store) is going out of business and all their stores are unloading inventory at insane discounts, like up to 80%. Nothing less than 50%. It's awesome. Went to the first store closing back in March and we made a haul. It was funny, there were tons of Sarah Palin's newest book, "Going Rogue". Not sure why any an Ann Arbor bookstore would stock Sarah Palin-anything; when it comes to politics, this town is primarily made up of quasi-progressive dipshits barely capable of thinking for themselves.

Anyway there were tons of them (the books). Made a casual mention of it to my buddy, and he suggested he'd pick some up and give them as joke gifts. Kinda funny.

That store closed up without him purchasing mass amounts of discounted Sarah Palin books, truly heartbreaking.

This past Friday though, I went to the downtown store to hit their crazy discounts. Told my buddy, and he asked me to grab a couple of the Palin books if they were to be had at a nice discount.

Sure enough, they had a few. I grabbed three.

So there I am, checking out, six books total, half written by Sarah Palin. The same book. Dude at the checkout must have thought I was weird.

It was pretty embarrassing.


This post was cut short because the FUCKING SHITTY GODDAMN INTERNET AT HOME DOESN'T SEEM TO WORK FOR MORE THAN A MINUTE BEFORE CUTTING OUT. I fear that if I continue working like this I'm going to smash this fucking computer.

Friday, August 26, 2011

i don't know where to start

Have you ever heard somebody say they didn't do something because they "don't know where to start?"

OK, as you probably guessed, I'm primarily talking about exercising.


Exercising is not hard; just do an activity vigorously enough to break a sweat or to get your heart rate up. Do it for a half an hour, three times a week. BOOM YOU JUST GOT SOME GODDAMN EXERCISE.

Am I missing something?

The funniest is when someone "doesn't know where to start" at the gym.

I don't think there is a more self explanatory or easier-to-use piece of machinery than a treadmill.

THEY HAVE CIRCUIT MACHINES FOR FUCKING IDIOTS THAT DON'T KNOW WHAT THEY'RE DOING. And most of the time they have directions on them. Yeah, directions. Instructions. Mind blowing.

The machines have a very strict range of motion that guides you with perfect form. All you have to do is set the weight to some minimal amount so you can bang out three shitty sets and feel good about yourself because you pretended to "workout". Even worse, there are pads all over the goddamn things so your wrinkly, fat skin doesn't even have to think about touching that mean, ugly metal.

Oh, that little curl machine is intimidating? You probably drive a car, a fucking deathtrap on wheels, and that's infinitely more dangerous than the tricep pushdown machine HOLY SHIT DO 100 PUSHUPS RIGHT NOW.

Yeah, but I don't want to be around all those meatheads and I'll look stupid. A couple things here. OK, you already look really stupid with that dumpy ass and those floppy arms. By taking initiative to get a little exercise, it's scientifically impossible to look even stupider. And about 75% of the gym inhabitants at my current gym are people that could definitely stand to lose a couple (hundred) pounds. There are some fit people, but there are just as many unfit people.

Just like the rest of your life, blend into the hungry, sweaty masses and refuse to be anything but mediocre (or worse).

I can't even tell you how many times I've been having a conversation with some fat turd about exercising and they give me that excuse.

I can't even tell you how pissed off I am right now and this is probably going to RUIN MY WEEKEND FUCK

Wednesday, August 24, 2011


So normally I wouldn't be too PUMPED about Heckyeahwoman being away, but I need some alone time. And I'm not just talking about masturbating like a banshee all day. Nah, I haven't had a decent goddamn buffalo wing in at least six months.

OK, bad example, cause Heckyeahwoman is always more than happy to eat buffalo wings with me. And by "eat buffalo wings with me", I mean "eat a couple while I inhale the rest and get hot sauce all over my face."



No but seriously, the first night I'll be extremely lonely and bummed, on the edge, needing only a slight push. A lot of sulking, a lot of pouting.

Within minutes, as the endless possibilities of DUDE-GLUTTONY start to sink in, I'll transform into PARTY MODE AND GET LOADED BY MYSELF.

That novelty will surely wear off as I wake up in the morning with a hangover.

Then it's time to get real. Really awesome.

Like driving million dollar cars into lakes awesome, you smell me.

Not sure what's going on Friday or Saturday night, but if nothin's poppin', I may just record a song or two. I imagine it'll be something like this:

After a couple hours of driving the neighbors nuts with my horrible covers of girlie songs, I'll probably get horny as fuck and decide to troll for chicks.

And by troll for chicks, I mean lurk skype or yahoo! chat rooms until I find a bitch that wants to video chat with me.

With my luck, I'll probably come across this slore:

Heckyeahwoman's slated to return on Tuesday, but I'll be at work late doing my office Fantasy Football league draft! Watch as I manage to snag Arian Foster, Aaron Rodgers and Jamaal Charles in the first round while only picking once. How'd I do it?

Only the PUMP will tell.

Anyway, if I time Heckyeahwoman's arrival just right, something like the following three seconds will occur at the perfect time - right as she walks in the door.

I will keep you up dated on Tuesday's FF draft hopefully on next week's HUMP DAY PUMP UP. Let's hope it's PUMPWORTHY.

Until then, keep'er growin.

Monday, August 22, 2011

short and sweet

Busy weekend, partied a lot. Watched a hilarious episode of intervention. #OtherPeople'sProblems

Was shown this amazing video on Saturday night and it was nothing short of life altering.

We'll be back with a mind blowing HUMP DAY PUMP UP on HUMP DAY.

Friday, August 19, 2011

this is determination

8:34 AM, sometime last week.

Heading to work, a short 2.5 mile drive, just outside of downtown Ann Arbor. Stoplight, less than a block from the office...and it happens.

There he is. There it is.

A black Ford Fusion, must have been a base model. Nothing spectacular about it. The car itself is very average - very middle of the road. Very middle class. So middle class he didn't even pop for the leather seats in a goddamn Ford Fusion.

Then there's him. That guy.

The driver. The look on his face. The scowl, the hair, the sunglasses. Nothing middle class about that, nah. That face screams success. It screams "I'm a boss." "I'm a BAAAUUSSS."

I could almost see the gleam in his sunglasses-covered eye. At least that's what he everyone to see. Screaming determination without saying a word. But not the kind of determination you see on the football field or anywhere else that it matters.

This determination is forced. Fabricated.

That determined scowl, almost a sneer, came from hours spent practicing in the mirror in his two-bedroom apartment.

And for a brief couple seconds, I almost bought it.

He's there at the red light, waiting, just waiting for that light to turn, lightly revving the engine on his unsouped-up base model Ford Fusion. Yeah. He knows the game well. Mid-thirties douchebag trying to act cool, in spite of his obvious, obnoxious try-hard gelled hair.

Then arrives the one thing he didn't count on: me.

Yeah, up I pull in my clearly more masculine car, look over with a disgusted look on my face, same as I always do, at anybody.

The light turns, I blast the pedal to the floor, scream into motion and with a wicked tire squeal, and a half block later, fly into the office parking lot. Even though I didn't see it, I know for a fact he continued heading wherever he was heading, one eye on the road, other eye in the rearview mirror, reassuring himself that he's a BAAAUUSS: "Man, fuck that guy, I'm gonna do this shit, do this dog, I'm the fuckin' man."

And I know for a fact that the short smile-filled walk from the car to my office was filled with thoughts of blogs to come.

Wednesday, August 17, 2011


Yeah. I give up. That's why we're gonna eschew the traditional themed HUMP DAY PUMP UP in favor of a diverse PUMP. Even though we at HYM poopoo diversity, we realize that there are myriad different ways for the world, your life, your friends, your family, your job and nature to break you down.

Realize that all these UNPUMPS will be coming at you from all sides at all times. Like I always say: no matter where you are or what you do, there will always be somebody there trying to fuck you. And not the good kind of fucking either.

With that said, sometimes, when you're not talking about people, diversity is essential. One man's trash is another man's treasure.

So let's start with a PUMP coming from somewhere you'd least expect it: Jon Stewart. We're not huge fans of Mr. Stewart, but he has been known to be funny on the rare occasion.

The Daily Show With Jon StewartMon - Thurs 11p / 10c
Indecision 2012 - Corn Polled Edition - Ron Paul & the Top Tier
Daily Show Full EpisodesPolitical Humor & Satire BlogThe Daily Show on Facebook

Get PUMPED as Stewart yells "SANTORUM!?" at around :52.


Holy ROFL at the Huntsman comment about the fire marshal at 1:25.


Kudos to you Mr. Stewart for getting Mr. Paul the publicity he deserves. And for BRINGING THE PUMP THROUGH BRINGING THE FUNNY.

Ok, I know I just PIMPED/PUMPED out a pal's music project a week or too ago, and I hate to be PUMPING (no I don't) my friends' endeavors so much, but this is legit funny. And if you like it, you should DONATE.

I lived with that kid for a year in college and one time he let me give him a haircut. Me. Giving a haircut. Believe it. I was PUMPED

Another time he did a flaming shot of whatever really-high-proof booze we had and his face caught on fire. STILL PUMPED

Then another time I coached him through telling his girlfriend at the time, over the phone, that he was sick and would be going to bed early, while we all had a ROOMMATE DRINKING NIGHT. I think that was the night I wound up cutting his hair.


One time, I woke up in the morning and he's all "hey ****, you remember what happened last night?"

I'm all "no?"

He's all "really?"

I'm all "for real, wahappeh?"

He's all "yeah, last night you barged into my bedroom at like 4 in the morning, looked at me, then curled up on the floor in my closet and went to sleep. I tried yelling at you, but you weren't hearing it, so I just went back to sleep. When I woke up in the morning you were gone. You snored loud."

I'm all "woah, sorry dude."

A lesser man would have had a meltdown. Just wait till the time I tell you about the time I crawled into bed with another dude. Talk about a legit dude-freakout. Imagine how Heckyeahwoman felt when I got up to go potty in the middle of the night, and 5 minutes later, no hym, then all of a sudden she hears a loud "WHAT THE FUCK GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE" in the next bedroom over.

Yeah, sleepwalking PUMP.

So there you have it, a couple unrelated PUMPS on this HUMP DAY PUMP UP to fuel you through the rest of the week in this world that hates you.

Haha OK fine, some heavy rock music to nightcap this PUMP:

Monday, August 15, 2011

you're not me, trust me

Sites like yelp are great. In fact, online reviews are wonderful; they've totally changed my online purchasing/shopping experiences. I'm sure most of you will agree.

But sometimes reviews go wrong. This can happen for many reasons: illiteracy, reviewing on a soapbox, trying to hard to be witty, being way too subjective or biased, among other things.

Here, we have "Heather C" reviewing a motel where we recently stayed in Northern Michigan. Let's see what she has to say about the Foothills Motel & Cafe:

So, I used to have a boyfriend from around here. Being one of the few southeast michiganders who actually doesn't have a cottage up north, I didn't get my first northern michigan experience until I was a college student...

Wait, what? A boyfriend? Complaining about being too poor to have a cabin up north? Nobody gives a shit? And one more thing, I can't stand the use of ellipsises (referred to now on as ellipses) to imply any sort of dramatic pretenses. Because most of the time it's not dramatic at all. What a bitch.

Anyway, Glen Lake has to be one of the most beautiful lakes I've ever seen. And the Foothills restaurant really just helped make my up north experience complete. It's in a cute little cottage, with friendly service and good, fresh coffee. But the food truly is the reason this place shines. I can't even describe how much better the food is here than all the other breakfast types I've been to. Fluffy pancakes (not the just add water kind), amazing bacon, perfect eggs, really good sausage gravy, crispy hashbrowns (I've been here quite a few times)... I'm actually starting to get sad I don't have a northern michigan connection now... Anyway, I've never tried anything from the lunch menu, but I'm sure that is good also. I'm really just not one to turn down a really good breakfast, regardless of the time of day.

Oh we finally get to a review of what's being reviewed, rather than a cloaked dig at her socioeconomic status not providing her the luxury of a cabin in Northern Michigan. Don't worry, she still managed to throw in a little personal pouting about not having a Northern Michigan connection.

To make it even better, prices are damn reasonable, quite a shocker from someone who spends the majority of their dining experiences in Ann Arbor. So go here if you have the chance :)

Love that the prices aren't just reasonable, but DAMN REASONABLE. I spend the majority of my dining experiences in Ann Arbor too, and there was nothing shocking about the prices. Pleasing, fair and low? Yeah. But shocking? Yeah no. When we were there a couple weeks ago, what I found more shocking was the GODDAMN ATM MACHINE EATING MY DEBIT CARD.

What the locals probably found shocking was a pretty woman (Heckyeahwoman) managing to restrain a tall, handsome and muscular dude from smashing the shit outta that goddamn ATM with a hammer.

If you're of the mind where reasonable prices are shocking when you're on vacation, you're probably insane. That's the thing about vacation - there's usually a continuum: expensive stuff for rich people and cheap things for poor people, and then medium priced stuff for the middle class. That's why you have people that can't make their mortgages going on vacation - because they can afford to.

Reviews are not a place for you to rant, preach, pontificate or blog. They are reviews. You review things with the slightest subjectivity. You provide honest insight into your experience with the product or service. You don't water it down with personal baggage or failed attempts at humor.

Here's a much more concise review of that cafe:

The cafe was fantastic - the food was great; the service was quick and it was reasonably priced. Also, the cafe closes at 3, but they have a gentleman, Duane, selling his delicious homemade sausages there from 5-9. I would absolutely recommend eating there for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Boom, done. All you need to know about the cafe.

At the end of the day, leave the wit and creativity to the masters, like me.

Thursday, August 11, 2011

when a pin meant so much

Quick little vacation story here...from our vacation - a couple weeks ago.

The motel we were staying at had an awesome breakfast diner that we hit each of the three mornings. I CRUSHED breakfast everyday. And yet over the past goddamn month I've managed to lose weight. A little backstory: I've been eating like a horse that hates his body.


You know how when you're on vacation, and a quaint little restaurant or hotel or whatever will have a map on the wall, with a bunch of pins stuck in it? You can stick a pin into the map to designate where you're from.

You know what I'm talking about, right?

Anyway, this little breakfast joint, attached to an eight room motel, had one of those maps.

And as we were destroying our b-fast, a middle aged balding dude walked up, presumably to stick a pin in the map.

Only instead of taking immediate action and getting back to the fun part of his vacation (eating shitloads of breakfast bacon and beaching it up), he just stood there. Almost perplexed. Not quite as perplexed as I was.

Dude picked up a pin, looked at the map, kinda confused, looked at the pin in his hand, looked up longingly at the map again. The looks on his faces are just educated guesses, as he had his back to us. But you know how you can tell, right.

Suddenly he was joined by what I assume was his wife. Another woman of a middling level of obesity and age. And judging by the way they quickly huddled together to most likely discuss where to strategically place the pin, she was of average intelligence. This isn't rocket science.

Seriously, it was almost like a huddle, they way they were plotting and planning the sticking of the pin.

First thought was that this guy didn't know where the hell to stick the pin - this could be for one of two reasons - he is just a geographically challenged fuckup or he wanted to make a statement with his pin placement. Being the cynical asshole that I am, well, I don't really know which one would be more cynical. I can just picture the brief conversation.

Him: Honey, where should I put this pin?

Her: We're from Iowa, just stick it somewhere in Des Moines.

Him (sad): Nobody cares that we're from Iowa.

Her (annoyed): We're in Northern Michigan.

Him (clueless): Yeah, but who cares about a Midwestern family vacationing in the Midwest?

Her (getting angry): Just put the fucking pin in the fucking map you impotent little bitch. Jesus Christ you are as indecisive as your stupid mother in law holy shit why the fuck did I ever marry you?

Him (confused): But nobody cares.

Either way, I got distracted by my wife, the bacon, my eggs, her sausage and gravy or whatever. Point is I missed the actual pin stabbing the map. In the blink of an eye, you can miss so much.

I'll never know which of those couple hundred pins on that map belongs to that wayward couple. And even worse, I'm not totally convinced that I even care.

Wednesday, August 10, 2011


First things first: it's HUMP DAY. Leave your cares behind and get ready for the NFL PUMP OF YOUR LIFE. The NFL is back, free agent signings started off crazy but have cooled down a bit, people are signing up for fantasy football leagues, it's a good time of the year.

Before we get to the football, let's let Exhumed kick this PUMP off right. Sick riffs, sick vocals, sick lyrics, just what HUMP DAY NEEDS:

Don't know (also don't care!) if you have any interest in the NFL, but last year's Giants-Eagles matchup had an epic finish that included the Giant's EPIC MELTDOWN. And if you know anything about me, you'll know that nothing PUMPS ME UP like an EPIC MELTDOWN.

How the hell do you get any more PUMPIER than that? By throwing the best colo(u)r commentary this side of this fuckin' Demetry James dude. Watch as my idol narrates the meltdown.

Quick question at 1:15 - "WHO TEAM YOU PLAYIN' FA, MOTHAFUCKA?"

Two seconds later, homeboy drops an N-BOMB! Now he liberally peppers his commentary with N-bombs that end in "a", no problem, but DAAAAAMMMMMMNNNN PUMP AWAY!

2:42 - good shit Kibbles N Bits hahaha as Michael Vick runs that ten yarder in. Hate to see Vick succeed, but he paid his dues and seems to be doing the right thing. PUMP!

3:10, tie game, like a minute left - rookie punter kicks the rock to Desean Jackson, one of the fastest, most dangerous, most arrogant turdthugs in the league. And what does Desean do?

Fumbles the goddamn punt.



3:45 - the billion year old Giants coach, Tom Coughlin has some choice words for the obviously now-UNPUMPED rookie punter that kicked it RIGHT TO DESEAN.


I think this was already used for a previous HDPU, but the PUMP-FACTOR is just too high.

Ready for the ultimate UNPUMP? My wife tricked me into watching the grueling, three hour Bachelor Pad season premeire.

Vacuous sluts on TV PUMP!

Monday, August 8, 2011

weekend wrap-up / an unheated exchange

It's Sunday night, man, and we tubed down the river all day. It was so much fun the first time that we went again. Except the second run took forever.

Beers, sun, water, tubes, turtles, ducks, fish, cherries, fried chicken.

So Sabbath.

Then after almost six hours of tubing, we had to get home, pound out a quick shower, pound a quick one out in the shower and meet our friends downtown for the much heralded Indian restaurant, Shalimar.

Our friend just loves the place. Says it's the best Indian he's ever had, goes once every couple weeks, just goddamn loves it.

I love Indian food too, but my palette is not refined enough to differentiate Indian culinary experiences (read: I love Indian buffets). In a past job I worked almost exclusively with Indians as customers. And let me tell you, Indians are far from ideal customers. Unless you're looking for a customer that will lie, steal, and not pay you. Fucking scumbags.

Cultural swarthiness aside, their food is nothing short of astonishingly delicious.

Just thought I'd share my little Sunday Funday with you, fine readers. Honestly though, I have a pretty funny story from the gym on Saturday and I really didn't want to just PUMP out a couple crappy paragraphs and be done with it. So I added a little extra weekend detail to bulk this bad boy up.

True story.

So yeah, had a great workout Saturday afternoon, and it ended even better. Read on.

As I arrived in the locker room to change, grab my stuff and bust, I noticed two obviously foreign guys having a somewhat heated, yet muted, debate. They kinda had that Eurotrash facial structure, you know what I mean - kinda handsome (bitches dig Eurod00fs), but a fucked up chin here or a fucked up cheek bone there makes you look, I don't know, kinda foreign. Good news though - they were both fully clothed (thank you), kinda sweaty and probably around fifty.

I also noticed some skinny little schmuck slink into one of the shower stalls, but whatever.

Back to the Eurosquabblers: standing so close to each other, literally face to face, I assume both of their faces were covered in cheap-wine-and-workout-breath-spittle. Very unsavory. I was just changing clothes quick, and didn't catch anything specific.

The crown jewel though, as I was heading out, I heard the fatter, balder dude say, in his ridiculously foreign accent, "don't make me say this again". Not sure what it was exactly that he not to be forced to repeat.

Also, not sure what was less intimidating: the overall middle-age feel the little exchange had or the back and forth of two grown men with indecipherable accents. Due to the non-hostile vibe those two Euroturds were puttin' off, I'm gonna hedge my bets with French origins.

Either way, thinking of the blogworthiness of what just happened, a smile spread across my face as I exited the locker room.

Friday, August 5, 2011

how to 1.0: ordering food

Having worked in the restaurant/food service industry, and having been a server for close to nine years, I think I may be a bit of an authority when it comes to ordering food.

For the most part, I think I've seen it all - from people ordering the most insane substitutions, to me actually having to ask the goddamn customer if she actually wants me to eat it for her because she seemed to want the cooks to bend over backwards and make the item completely different from the way it is supposed to be served, to me handing a customer's pathetic tip back, letting them know that they apparently need it more than I do.

But today we're going to focus on just ordering your food. That's right, a couple minute process that you can butcher so bad you may wind up looking like an asshole...or worse, offend the waiter.

And I think we all know what happens when a waiter gets offended: food gets fucked with. Different story for a different time, friends (think blown-nose banana split or booger chicken).

Just three simple rules, let's dig in!

Rule #1 - if it's not on the menu, don't order it. Do you go to a Mexican restaurant and order General Tso's chicken? Some of you shitheads may, but the vast majority of people don't. Pretty much common sense here, but you'd be surprised at the crap the general public tries to pull.

Rule #2 - if it's not on the menu, don't order it. This one is important, that's why I listed it twice. Just one last time to emphasize how important it is, let me put it into perspective: if you were blind, and I was reading it to you, I'd be screaming it in your face, spattering your ugly mug with spittle.

Rule #3 - those are really the only two rules; they just have to be applied to different parts of the menu and ordering process: sides, substitutions and a category I'll call overall tackiness. So let's get started and have you properly ordering food as soon as lunch today!

Sides - order from the goddamn sides they have listed. french fries, side salad for $1.79 extra, mashed potatoes, whatever. I don't care if you really like deep fried artichoke hearts, order the appetizer if you want those. Do you know why deep-fried artichoke hearts weren't a side option to choose from? Me neither, but they weren't, so shut the fuck up.

Exceptions: my wife, cause she is smart, hot and awesome and gets a free pass for a lot of things. And because I'm usually a direct beneficiary of her ordering transgressions - I enjoy the spoils of her ordering transgressions without actually transgressing.

Substitutions - This is the most blatantly, egregiously and flagrantly flubbed part of ordering. You've got sonsabitches trying to substitute veggies with meat (I'm serious, some dumb bitch tried to switch her pickle, lettuce and tomato for another burger patty). Take me for example; I don't like shrimp, but if there's a dish that looks amazing, and just happens to have shrimp in it, I either pick out the shrimp or just forcefully eat the entire thing. Don't like pickles? Fuck you! Pickles are awesome! Hate lettuce? Shut the fuck up! Not a fan of tomatoes? Nobody gives a shit!

And you said you're allergic to peanuts? Haha that's funny, I don't remember anybody asking you!

Many restaurants have professional cooks and chefs prepare their menus. My guess is they do that because these people know a thing or two about food - complimentary tastes, textures, scents and how to make a really great burger, among other culinary talents. Long story short, all that stuff you pretend that you don't like, it was all put there for a reason. Shut the heck up, take a sip of your beer, and enjoy that meal the way it was meant to be enjoyed.

Think of it this way, imagine your spouse saying, "I'd like to order my spouse, but swap his abs with Brad Pitt's, his net worth with Bill Gates', his brain with Stephen Hawking's, and his violent temperament with that of any random spineless liberal pussy". That shit won't fly, so what makes you think it's cool to pull that at the restaurant. Yeah, no question mark on purpose. My blog, my rules.

Exceptions: my wife, some allergies, sauces/dressings on the side, your parents swapping baby you for a stuffed animal.

Overall Tackiness - This one is a little subjective, so I'll just throw out a few situations, and you'll be able to get the idea.

Fat chick in an over-sized NASCAR t-shirt soaking something in extra ranch.
Anybody ordering a meal consisting of only fried food.
Asking the server to essentially choose between two items, and then going with a third, unmentioned item.
Adults ordering off the children's menu.
Having to ask the price (because you can't afford it).

If you have any more ordering etiquette questions, please feel free to post them in the comments, tweet me, facebook me, or hit me on email. In summary, order from the menu, don't be an asshole and well, just don't be an asshole. And order from the menu.

Wednesday, August 3, 2011


Wait WHAT? The favor? A favor?

Yeah, pussybeats, a goddamn favor. Homeboy is trying to make it in the music business, and to make it happen he fired up a Kickstarter project to get his music mixed. Sounds reasonable enough - asking people to front the bill so you can fulfill your Hollywood dreams of making it big.

Dude asked me if I could help him out by sharing his Kickstarter link. So I did him one better; yeah, I'm promoting it in its very own HUMP DAY PUMP UP. Yeah bro, like 35 people are totally going to glaze over this whole post.

For you trivia buffs out there, this isn't the first time I've supported this dude's music. Yes, way back in high school, when he thought he was the skinny white version of Puff Daddy, Puffy and/or P Diddy, I purchased one of his homemade cds. For high school rap, made by white kids from the burbs, it was pretty dec.

And I cruised around our hometown in my whip, windows down, and PUMPED that. I bet I scared the old people with those slightly muted, unthumping basslines.

Anyway, I think he's doing something really awesome, and his first single, "Girl Like You" is one of the most ridiculously catchy things I've ever heard this side of Ke$ha, Maroon 5 and 'Nsync. OK, not as awesome as Maroon 5, but still really catchy.

Don't believe me? Get PUMPED to the catchy sounds of John Fitz:

Good music not giving you the PUMP you need? Well at least appreciate the hot chick in the video, twinks. And unlike most musical HUMP DAY PUMP UPS, there is no yelling, hardcore, death metal or punk rock.

Maybe a little humor is what the doctor ordered. Give homeboy points for making a lolworthy pitch for your unhard-earned money:

Curiously, he posted a "making of" youtube vid, however I couldn't find the actual video. Either way, this song sounds dope, and he's got a sick skinny tie on.

Not really sure why I embedded the Kickstarter widget here, cause I already set up a direct link so you can go donate. Guess it's just cause the novelty of embedding shit and learning basic HTML still hasn't worn off, 3 years later.

So here's the embedded widget.


Monday, August 1, 2011

fuck classy girl cupcakes in milwaukee, wi

See those faces? Those are the faces of turds that have no idea how to run a business. Those are the faces of chicks that learned a Groupon lesson the hard way - by insulting and patronizing their customers.

The one chance they had to win your business, they pissed in your face. They're the type of broads who, after taking a dump, piss all over it. Not knocking that though, cause I totally do it too.

Why am I so angry? Because those slores are trying to arrogantly run a business, under the not-so-false pretense of not knowing how to run a business.

You know how Groupon works: business gets made promises from Groupon sales rep that only an idiot would believe, business participates in Groupon, Groupon offer goes public, and due to lack of working knowledge of how business works, business has negative experience.

This seemed no different with Classy Girl Cupcakes.

Apparently they had some fine, fine print that if you want to take advantage of the Groupon deal, you had to place your order for cupcakes like 72 hours in advance. If you wanted to use your $12 Groupon, you had to give the cupcake store three days advance notice to prepare a couple goddamn cupcakes. Assuming it was a 50% off deal, and with cupcakes costing $2, most orders were for probably around twelve cupcakes. Nothing crazy.

Maybe something we can explore later is why any one person would be purchasing twelve cupcakes for personal consumption, you fat fucks.

I'm honestly shocked that these schmucks actually kinda thought to plan ahead for the projected increase in cupcake volume. But that's beside the point; you want three days notice, you can have it, whatever.

Naturally, some (pretty much all) customers are total dipshits, and like any business, I'm sure Classy Girl Cupcakes has seen their fair share of dipshits. But there were enough complaints (many of them were even deleted from their facebook page!) for them to issue a formal explanation. That's the good news: they addressed the problem.

Unfortunately, it begins with the following sentence:

To our Groupon customers who waited until the last minute to attempt to redeem their vouchers:

Wait, what? For real?

Of course that is followed with a little bit more "it's your fault", some "don't blame us", and finally a little deflecting of the onus to their Groupon rep.

The funniest part of this whole thing, after my brother explained the absurdity of the situation, I asked how much the Groupon was, and realizing the hilarity here, he laughed out a meager response.

In fact, he could barely spit it out before both of us broke into hysterics: "twelve bucks".

About three minutes of solid laughing later, we both realized we were laughing so hard that we were sweating, and that set us both back into rage mode.

And you know what else? It's Monday, just wash your goddamn hair.

Dry shampoo FTW