friday lunch date with dean martin...

its been a toothy blow job of aweek. so i figured who cheers me up more than my old friend dean martin. every now and then well grab lunch (a bottle of whiskey and an erotic massage). the following is how we passed yet another friday.

{setting: local cafe/dining establishment (with full service bar of course)}

me: so dino, what's new with you?

dino: who do i have to tell that I'm dean martin around here to get a drink?

{collectively pull out flasks and take pulls}

me: beats me dino, but ill tell you one thing, that hostess has got quite the dumpster on her.

dino: i hear ya daddy, I'd spend a nights earnings in atlantic city to get up in her old italian villa.

me: really? I'd probably just get piss drunk and tell her she's got a bangin' rack.

dino: there you go again you old so and so. just running your old flap trap, thinking your ol' charm and 3 inch dictator will get you some jane fonda ass.

me: well, if ill let anyone talk to me that way its you. you bing crosby wannabe cockchugger.

dino: well played bubbala. where in the name of red skelton is our waitress!?
{snaps fingers, flashes cock}

waitress: can i get you gentleman something to drink?

dino: well take a bottle of your most expensive gin, a top hat full of stuffed olives, a bottle of ten high for my miserably hung, would-be jew gentleman friend here and whatever red headed hostess who works here that is married.

waitress: excuse me sir?

dino: {begins singing 'everybody needs somebody' with a bottle of ketchup as a microphone}

waitress: oh! right away sir.

{all requests are promptly met}

me: i dunno dino? this firecrotched hostess doesnt seem to be lucille ball status.

dino: you can say that again daddy. I've seen more game on a marlon brandos boozongas than this red brick wall.

{red headed hostess walks away sobbing hysterically}

me: so what do you think about those patriots dino?

dino: ill tell you this much hep cat. i think that don shula cat has a got a real chance in this american football league racket.

me: don shula retired years ago you old croon-dog you.

dino: {breaks into own rendition of 'mambo italiano' (drinks immediately arrive)}

me: {consumes half bottle of ten high in one quaff} what was i saying? oh yeah, we should totally find some dime pieces to get down on tonight.

dino: {somehow engulfs entire bottle of gin and fornicates with non-lucille bal in her prime-waitress before either reaches the table} ill tell you what you old sunnvagun. joey bishop has some oriental broads over at his bungalow that will give you the "shanghai sundown" before we reach the wet bar.

me: I'm game

dino: the only problem is we would have to hang with joey bishop. ridin my coat tails for decades.

me: yeah. fuck that. {snorts other half bottle of ten high} what was is it like working with john wayne?

dino: don't let the stories fool you sonny boy. i could out drink the duke before happy hour hit, but I've never seen one man lose so many hands of black jack or eat so many humans and corned beef without remorse.

me: awesome. zach braff is a fag. hmm. where's our waitress?

dino: crappin out my 17th child in the breakroom i assume. what say you and me meet up with sammy jew jr. at the palms for some no-limits hooker hold em'?

me: can do. just let me run back into the office, masturbate in the bathroom on the clock and take a shit on my supervisors desk.

dino: already dropped a red fox size deuce-a-roo on fattys work station for ya cool cat.

me: you're the tits dino!

dino: i know, I'm dean martin, and you're my favorite drinking partner. now lets fly my bi-plane to sin city and tag team lauren bacall.

me: cash money daddy cats!!!

{collectively drink every bottle of liqour behind bar, plow all red headed waitresses and dino leaves gold brick and coupons to the golden nugget buffet at table}

yup, just another friday lunch break.

oh? you need a description of how it tastes...

between naps and 10 trips to the bathroom at work today, i was engaged in an online conversation with a buddy regarding how a certain alcoholic beverage tasted. he claimed it tasted like "rays of sunshine", i claimed it tasted like "unicorn orgasms". it got me thinking of how i would describe a few of the choicer scotch's on the market. welcome to what my pallate speaks:

Highland Park 18* tastes like:

- the day the SPICE channel forgot to scramble the station for 45 minutes
- the Angels winning the world series
- jimmy fallon getting hit by a bus

Macallan Cask Strength* tastes like:

- your first handjob
- seeing Blue Oyster Cult perform "don't fear the reaper" live
- a 92 pound asian girl with fake breasts

Bushmills 20 single malt* tastes like:

- wanting to break up with your girlfriend, only to find that she's cheating on you so you get to dump her AND make her feel guilty
- hearing the 2 greatest words in the english vocabulary, "Open Bar"
- nick nolte's roll in "the thin red line"

Knockando 15* tastes like:

- moving into a new apartment to realize the previous resident forgot to put in a change of address on his Playboy subscription
- clean blood work
- finding out "everybody loves raymond" got cancelled

Ardbeg 12* tastes like:

- the fall of communist china
- finding out its NOT your baby
- stumbling home drunk to your grandmas house and her making you a fried chicken dinner at 2am
- whatever erin andrews tastes like

Macallan 20* tastes like:

- the blinding light of god
- being in the middle of making a sandwich and realizing you've run out of jalepeno mustard. promptly throwing the knife, kicking the cat and wondering how you could of let such an atrocity happen. then realizing you bought an extra one at the market just the other day because only fucking tards run out of jalepeno mustard. retrieving knife, petting cat, completeing construction of said sandwich and devouring the sunnavabitch while watching "casino royale"
- bong rips during fellatio

St. Germaine* tastes like:

- when your neighbors house floats away in a flood but yours is ok and secretly you're glad it was that asshole and not you cuz seriously, how the fuck do you start over again when your house floats away down the river? (this description was offered by QLC's good friend William [wshowell.com])

Ten High* tastes like:

- finding out it IS your baby
- your supervisor taking a shit on your desk
- finding out someone ate the last of the smoked almonds
- smashing your junk in a sliding glass door
- whatever Oprah tastes like
- owl cock
- Dodgers baseball

Ultimate Xmas...

how did i become the guy who had to come into work on xmas eve? i could be working a crisp buzz right now but instead I'm finding creative ways to lace my shoes at work. so the following is what i expect my xmas day to look like:

- wake up around 11 am with ZERO hangover

- look down and realize my penis has grown 3 inches (i believe in xmas miracles)

- rip bong that is conveniently placed next to bed

- ride segway from bedroom to kitchen

- mother hands me comically oversized mug of irish coffee and and a plate of "reubens benedict" (this a new creation of mine, how do you make a reuben sandwich better? slather it in hollandaise and a poached egg. that's how)

- check text messages while consuming 3rd reuben benedict helping
TEXT FROM:
-george clooney: "drinks 2night?"
my reply: "maybe"

-george lucas: "can i brrow sum moneyz?"
my reply: "no :( "

-clint eastwood: "u r badazz"
my reply: "k"

-brianna banks: "can i S ur D?"
my reply: "word"

-ride segway to living room, open presents, gifts include :
- unrated dvd collectors edition of 'showgirls'
- bottle of highland park 18

-feeling overly satisfied with gifts, ride segway to bathroom, drop a 2 1/4 lb. deuce while freebasing a dish of smoked almonds

-rip bong

-listen to bing crosby's rendition of "christmas in kilarney", have mother pour me a pint glass of scotch and sing the chorus with me duet style

-collect call jon voight at home and inform him that he is a cock-gypsy

-have mother make me a prime rib sandwich

-check email
email #1: job offer from espn college gameday asking me to be the lead color analyst (need to think about it)

- rip bong (undecided on job offer)

email #2: every single one of my ex-girlfriends contact me to let me know that i was a sexual tyranosaur and no men can compare and that they all are considering becoming lesbians unless i contact them.
consider which ones i should call back.

-rip bong (forget what i was thinking about. something involving college football and lesbian dinosaurs. what do i know? I'm fucking baked! do i smell homemade enchiladas?!!??)

-ride segway to kitchen. i did smell enchiladas.

-eat entire casserole dish of enchiladas

-call up jo rowling to wish her a happy xmas:
me- happy xmas jo!
jo- happy xmas tex! you are my inspiration for everything, this months royalty check is in the mail.
me- word, hugs and kisses, gots to get drunk

-read on espn mobile that the Angels signed Tim Tebow to play third base

-take 1 hour nap next to fireplace with my dachsunds and a bottle of purple drank

-get awoken by burt reynolds and jd salinger dropping off their xmas gifts of pepperidge farm baskets (they both got me the deluxe summer sausage and mustard set ones, gotta love those guys)

-intravenously consume a bottle macallan cask strength scotch

-have an imaginary conversation with frank sinatra and compile a list a cock-gypsys that him and i intend to pistol whip

-dress up like santa and drunkenly ride around the neighborhood on my segway handing out limited edition wwf action figures in original packaging to all the small children.

-get home, watch die hard and have fourth helping of reubens benedict

-rip bong

have a merry xmas friends, i hope yours is as good as mine is going to be.

Stream of Thought...

I'm in a zippy mood today, probably because I'm being fed sugars and various baked goods at work. this is just a splattering of brain matter on a cyber canvas.

- I'm sick of candy and cookies being brought into the workplace. why doesn't someone bring something good? i want to walk into the breakroom and see a catering tray of eggs benedict. not a basket of of rice krispy treats. oh, human resources has peanut brittle downstairs? I'm going to the IT department, i heard they have veal chops and braised parnsips.

- grandma mammy's non-alcoholic rumballs? I'm sorry co-worker, i will decline, would you care to try uncle evan's scotch cubes? they'll get you drunk, and its totally chill because its the holidays. (note to self: begin the patent process for "uncle evans scotch cubes")

- my supervisor eats corn chowder every morning at 9am. cream based soups are a privilege, not a right. "well i wanted to quit drinking so much coffee". i see, so instead a hot mug of clam chowder is what starts your day off. good luck living through the new year.

- greatest xmas movie:
Die Hard and Die Hard 2. now these may just be the two best movies period, they don't need a holiday label on them. if i had to choose between the two I'd have to go with the original. strictly for the fact you get to see boobs in it. either way you pick them you can't go wrong. "now i have a machine gun. ho, ho, ho".

- co worker: "evan, can i ask you a personal question?"
me: "nope"
I'm beginning to see why people at my job dislike me. I'm a total prick.

- my xmas list:
1. a bottle of highland park 18
2. erin andrews wearing nothing but a barry sanders lions football jersey, asking me to treat her ass like a bowl of vanilla ice cream. oh yeah, and she has a dish of smoked almonds. smoked almonds are the jam.
3. a box of uncle evan's scotch cubes
4. an attention span

- co worker: "evan, did you sign up for the company pot luck yet?"
me: "not yet, but its on my list of things to do, just before 'smash my thumbs in a car door' but after 'register to vote'."

- now i must allocate funds for county tax purposes. be back tomorrow with a post that is actually thought out.

should have just politely nodded...

here's how the situation played out:

co-worker- "morning aaron, working hard or hardly working?"

evan/not aaron/me- "suck it"

co-worker- "pardon?"

evan/not aaron/me- "uhhh, software kit. uhh, did you get the new software kit for the aeris billing system?"

co-worker- "actually yeah i did. are you in charge of those?"

evan/not aaron/me- "no, i believe mark is (i don't even know if there's a mark in the company)"

co-worker- "actually would you mind doing the set up report on that?"

evan/not aaron/me- "sure man" (goddamnit!!!!)

a hard lesson was learned. if i would have kept my anger to myself and accepted the fact that no one really knows my name i could be zoning out playing solitaire on my computer today instead of this most cruel of projects.

my san francisco weekend recap:
- haircut
- highland park 18 scotch is pretty much liquified construda. a real party in ones mouth and not everyones invited. only wealthy virgin debutantes and english premier league soccer players. the true A list of scotch flavor.
- triggered a mini riot in a carls jr. (people just don't like the look of me)

- three good quotes:
1. "ahh, come visit the haunted shores of morro bay"
2. "not having sex is the new getting laid"
3. "i want to have sex with a 5 year old boy wearing lipstick. dammit! i mean i want to have sex with my girlfriend"