Posted by todd
Wed, 23 Aug 2006 01:10:00 GMT
I'm sitting in the San Jose airport, thirsty, and like everyone around me I'm terrified.
At any moment, some radical bastard is going to bust out an illeagle water bomb and then we will be..... wet! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.. WET!
Unfortunately, I'm a busy guy. I don't have time for all this, "drinking liquids", and "thinking our government is a bunch of idiots". No, I have places to go.
The new airport "security" measures get worse though. An ugly woman behind me had to give up her perfume and lipstick.
Ugly girls with no makeup? Now THAT'S terror.
Suddenly the burquas make sense! Lipstick was banned in the Middle East CENTURIES ago people! I always figured it was just inconvienient due to the sand... but now we know the truth.
The ban on bottled water is understandable. H2O is a notoriously dangerous substance, even leading to the death of drunk people in quantities as small as a puddle or bucket! (but generally lakes) That's why you can't bring puddles or buckets or lakes on airplanes anymore. You know... because now you are safer.
Back before the term IED was coined, my buddy Jeff taught me a neat trick. If you take a glass bottle, say, a Pepsi... and stuff a napkin full of baking soda in it; you can then pour some vinegar in the bottle and screw the lid on before the fizz comes out.... it makes (Terrorists: Please don't read the next few words. Thanks!)... a BOMB. They make loud noises and shoot glass around when they break.
On my own, I discovered that if your bomb doesn't break properly, and you hit it with a STICK... you bleed! A LOT! (Honestly I still have scars from this, and it was over 15 years ago...sorry ma, but I don't like the doctor) Now, you probably couldn't kill anyone with this, but you could really scratch someone up.....BIGTIME!
Ok Terrorists here's your next move. I swear, there is no ulterior motive.
Babies. God I love flying with children. They are fucking precious.
While every other liquid and gel substance is banned on airplanes, baby food, formula, and breast milk are still acceptable and generally unchecked. Because...you know... terrorists could fashion something dangerous out of my plastic Evian bottle, but a glass jar full of peas? They wouldn't DARE!
So, all you have to do is make a vinegar bomb out of baby bottles or food containers! It almost certainly won't kill anyone, but cmon.. work with me here. No baby food on planes, means no BABIES on planes!!! I'll kick a few virgins your way if you work this out.
Seriously, I know some.
Alternatively, make one out of a womans bra... because that would just rule.
Borrowing one from
ZeFrank... This is Bachelor Todd, Drinking, so you don't have to.
Posted in Travel | Tags alcohol, babies, bombs, terrorists, virgins, ZeFrank | 13 comments | 70 trackbacks
Posted by todd
Wed, 09 Aug 2006 20:20:00 GMT
(I wrote most of this a few months ago but never posted it)
A few months back I flew through my old stomping grounds of Raleigh, North Carolina and visited for a day. It wasn’t very well planned as the real reason for being on the East coast was for business in Atlanta the following day. In fact, it was so last minute that instead of staying with friends, I wound up staying in some random hotel in an area I knew was safe.
Safe for me that is. Apparently not safe for April, the alleged day spa owner who came running up to me as I was unsuccessfully trying to get into my room using the ghetto magnetic key card reader.
“Someone is following me. They followed me around the deck twice now.. I don’t know who they are.”
Now, there wasn’t anyone in sight, you can’t exactly tell terrified women that they are nuts. I mean, she probably WAS, but wouldn’t you feel silly if she wound up in a ditch afterwards?
She wanted to come into my room, but since it was a 50/50 shot between setting me up to be robbed or her being a total nut job, I told her I’d wait with her down in the parking lot until her friend came and got her.
She was very clearly on a lot of drugs and was talking incessantly, but pretty much unintelligibly.
Ladies, if you are ever trying to get a guy to save you and gain his trust, do not under any circumstances make the following statement:
“God everyone in this town is on drugs, all these strippers… coke… heroin. You think I’m crazy don’t you… You don’t believe me do you?!”
Well, when you put it THAT way.
I’m a pretty nice guy, but.... work with me here. The best response I could muster was “Well April, I don’t know you… so I don’t know if you are crazy or not. I’ll wait with you here if you want.”. I was still a little bit worried that the heroin van was going to roll up and roll me, but this girl seemed too dumb to set me up that well.
That’s all she needed to become my
insta-bestest-friend-in-the-world ™. “You really aren’t leaving me…are you??” (not so much a question as it was shock) “I’m TOTALLY going to pay you back for this… I want you to come down to the spa and I’ll give you a free massage… your girlfriend too! Do you have a girlfriend?” She rifled through her bags for about 5 minutes looking for her card before I convinced her to forget it.
“Do you party?”
...
...
I was pretty confident she didn’t mean chocolate cake and party hats.
Beyond that I had NO idea what type of “partying” she meant. It seemed pretty much a toss up between coke, heroin, and prostitution at this point.
Me: “Well, what kind of partying do you mean?”.
Her: ”Well, what kind of partying do you do? I’ve got a TON of coke in my purse. Want some?”
Me: “Ummm.. I’ve got a meeting tomorrow, and that might cause some sleep issues. Thanks though!”
It’s hard to imagine why this girl would be paranoid.
This got me thinking. Why was this girl AT this motel, and if she was so scared, why didn’t she go to HER room? This wasn’t exactly the kind of place you hang out at… just a lousy motel.
“April, what are you doing at this motel?”
“A bunch of my stripper friends are having a party upstairs, but I wanted to leave. And this guy was following me, and I didn’t know what to do so I walked around the building and…..blah blah blah blah”
It had been almost 20 minutes at this point, and it seemed clear that Aprils friends weren’t coming to get her….if they existed at all. With her credibility reaching a peak, and my being late to meet my buddy at the bar next door, I did what any good buddy would do.
I told the coked out stripper that I had to go meet my friend next door, and invited her to come with me.
She was rambling on her mobile phone with some chick bur started to follow me, eventually falling way behind. Apparently cocaine makes it difficult to talk and walk at the same time. I waited a minute and she still wasn’t coming.. just standing in the parking lot now talking. So I waved and told her I’d be inside.
My buddy was disappointed that I left the crazy girl out there, but the bartender seemed rather terrified that I’d considered bringing her in and dispatched orders to the staff not to let her in the door. She never tried though… just disappeared.
So all you Raleigh people... if you find a dead stripper in a ditch... check her purse.
Posted in Travel | Tags alcohol, cocaine, drugs, prostitutes, travel | 6 comments | no trackbacks
Posted by todd
Thu, 16 Feb 2006 07:09:00 GMT
Ok fine, I didn't really go to Hong Kong. However, Emily and I *did* go to THE Hong Kong in down town San Diego. By the end of the night everyone was speaking in another language anyway. Either that or I'd had one too many "Mojos"
So many places in this town are geared towards eveyone looking perfect and sipping martini's, so occasionally I like to go somewhere that doesn't even have teeth, yet alone fancy glasses.
Well my friends. Hong Kong was just such a place. Dirty, with a bad juke box and a pool table off in the corner. Navy hat's hanging all over the place, and 3 middle age Chinese women behind the bar. Judging by the pictures of them all over the wall, they had been there for their entire lives.
Oh yeah, and to get into the bathroom, you had to put a WASHER into the door. They gave you a washer with each beer. I kept mine as a souvenir.
Anyway, everything started off pretty tame. Emily made a dive bar mistake and ordered a wine. Somehow it didn't come out of a box and was actually decent. (so she says). I stuck with the beer.
We were sort of looking around behind the bar at all the weird shit you could buy to eat. Stewed Duck Soup (serious), various Ramen noodles, mostly stuff I had never seen before. Then we noticed the sign pictured above.
The next sentence out of my mouth set the stage for the rest of the night. "Ok fine, I'll bite, what's a Mojo". It was the only $8 drink in the bar.
The insane retired navy guy next to me laughed, the Chinese ladies repeatedly said "Mojo make you smaaat!"... and occasionally added in "make you hooorny too!".
After recovering from actually hearing Chinese ladies say horny and making sexual gestures, we signed up for some Mojo's. The navy guy, Daniel, joined for moral support.
Now as far as I recall.. A Mojo is about 5 shots of liquor in a mason jar, with a splah of fruit juice and some Budweiser beer. Somehow it tasted exactly like fruit punch. Fruit punch of doooooom!
This is Emily and I after 1 round of Mojos.
If there's one thing I know about drinking, it's that once you get locked into doing something clearly stupid (such as drinking Mojos), you commit. You can't go in half assed to drinking fruit punch.. that's what I always say.
And damnit we didn't. A few Mojo's later Daniel had finished telling us his story about how he keeps dying (twice so far, once for 45 minutes apparently), and was generally getting on my nerves.
Here is me wishing he would "beat it".
After we escaped from Daniel we stumbled home. I don't honestly recall if we were horny or not, but I definitely felt smart.
-T
Posted in Girlfriends | Tags alcohol, asians, dive bars, MoJo, weirdos | 8 comments | 69 trackbacks
Posted by todd
Fri, 12 Aug 2005 17:40:00 GMT
Last night I fell through a wormhole or something, and wound up being the designated driver.
Actually, let me rephrase that. Last night I was the designated drunk driver (DDD).
It would have been difficult to convince, say, a police officer of the fact. Nevertheless I was the only person capable of driving anywhere. The night had gone tequila, and I was only drinking beer.
In a mark of wisdom, or at least old age, I saw what was coming so I bowed out of the "one round of shots before we go". "One and out" is a game everyone has played... You know the one where you are having one more drink and then going home like a good citizen, only to find yourself sleeping in a ditch several hours later? Good times... Good times.
One and out of course turned into two. Then we attempted to leave, and I drove the now inebriated co-worker to his house, while Gun girl rolled around in the back of my jeep giggling, you know... two shots of tequila style.
At this point it could have been ok. A woman with two shots in her is a good time waiting to happen, but the gods were not looking out for my interests and we wound up in his backyard with them "sampling" fancy tequila. Sampling needs more description.
An interesting thing happens when you drink with people who are connoisseurs of a certain alcohol... They tend to put the drink in a very small glass (which is secretly a shot glass, but much fancier), and then "sample" several different kinds. Of course, what this really means is that my girlfriend and co-worker each consumed about 5 shots of tequila in short order. Fancy or not, that's trouble.
The girl managed to maintain somewhat, opting to play in the sprinklers in her dress rather than taking it off, not that co-worker would have minded. Eventually a neighbor came out and told us to be quiet, which was my only chance to exit before the sun came up, so we left.
Now, unlike with 2 shots, a woman with more than 5 shots in her isn't really good for much. She's a happy drunk though so no biggie, we'll just go home and go to bed. Right?
2 miles after I get onto the highway (the 5, north).. The girl points out that I'm going south. I'm new in town, and have the navigational abilities of a football, so when she stood by her story amid questions, I decided I must have screwed up, and turned around.
In hindsight, taking directions from a plastered woman was a bad idea, even if she had lived in San Diego her entire life. So in about 2 seconds I realized I had been going the right way in the first place, and eventually made it to her house.
Drunk girl doesn't remember the ride home, or most likely the many fun things she suggested we do when we got home. I'll bet she remembers barfing in her bathroom though.
Wouldn't it be great if they packaged alcohol by how sick you want to be afterwards?
"I'd like a bottle of scotch please, mildly retarded size".
Posted in Girlfriends | Tags alcohol, chelsea, drinking, drunk girls, gun girl, tequila | 10 comments | no trackbacks
