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I over ate and I am not sure I can do a column this week. Maybe if I go and get some scotch to sneak through it, maybe that will wake me up.
Okay so I found this bottle of Blue Label way at the back of the liquor cabinet, with a pretty good amount left in it. I don't usually dig too much on scotch, as I find it gives me a pretty bad hangover. But what the hell, you only live once, and all that Italian food in my belly is gonna have me down for the count if I don't take some measures.
I added some ice so that it would seem more decent. It's not bad! Got kind of a sweet nose to it.
Hold on...damn, someone is brewin' coffee! I'm gonna go get a mug of that and add the scotch to it, like Irish Coffee. Hey, did I just invent Scottish Coffee?! ?!?
It was Emily. Sometimes she will just drink a whole mess of coffee and sit with her computer for hours, completely concentrating on her ideas about fung shui. So anyway, I sat and had a cup with her and now I'm back, all with my Blue Label and steamin' hot mug of Joe. This is smellin' so good, I just might write my best column ever tonight!
Whew! I just had a blast of that coffee/Blue Label combo and I tell you, that is some kinda rocket fuel. What I said before about how this is gonna be one of my longest, best columns ever - that's definitely true!
So what was I talkin' about? Oh yeah! I had too much Italian food, like I always do. But that ain't no kind of discussion topic. It's not like people can debate whether I had too much Italian food. It is a stone cold fact. I don't see a lot of new ground bein' broken there.
Shit, what do people like to talk about? Drugs? Crime? Sex? Yeah, I guess all those things. I am against Crime, sure, but not in an interesting way. I just don't want to get all robbed by some man at the door. Maybe I should start carryin' a weapon. I've thought about it before. I'm sure everybody has. Mace, gun under the car seat, chef's knife hidden in a part of the wall that is the same color as the rest of the wall but is actually just a thin paper panel that you can punch through in an emergency...we all get these moments of paranoia and start gettin' wild ideas about personal protection. Maybe that is my topic.
I think there are like a hundred armed robberies a day at private homes in America. Imagine investing all that money into building your house, all with the carpet and swimming pool and such, and yet any old fool can just walk up and stick a knife in your face and take it all away! It seems to me like people should be more aggro about trickin' out their house, you know, with like a button that starts a secret lawn sprinkler system that just shoots acid, or an exploding front door that kills whoever is on the front porch. Or how about a little door peephole that sizzles out the eyes? Awesome!
Oh man this Blue Label coffee drink is really messing me up! And I don't mean in that fun way where I dabble at the piano or go jump in the pool. I mean I feel all nervous and sick and pretty unhappy, and like that feeling is growing so quickly that it's gonna get to be too much for me soon.
Okay...ugh...as I was saying, every homeowner should be able to kill burglars with some fun Macgyver-style weapons. I wish I had thought of this idea a few days ago so I could go to the Home Depot and do some actual research. As it is, I'm just sittin' here feelin' completely turned around from this damn screwy drink I thought was gonna save me.
...
Shit, this just isn't happening. I'm just gonna make a list of home-made anti-burglar weapons that I will research for my next column and then I'm probably just gonna go lay in bed.
Jose's list (for next week)
1. sprinkler system which sprays acid (I already mentioned this one)
2. exploding front door (I already mentioned this one also)
3. wear a priest outfit to the door; often times an Italian criminal will not mess with a priest
4. get one of those little chains which just allows the door to open a few inches
5. electrified doorknob - this should be pretty easy - could work off a car battery
6. exploding doorknob (instead of the whole door)
7. I bet there is something awesome you could do with one of those pressurized paint sprayers and a movement-sensitive floodlight
Oh, god. I got to take, fellows. I think I'm gonna die.
until then gentlemen
Jose
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What Is It With Tequila Shooters?
Okay, so in my last column I mentioned sort of as an aside that the right way to do a tequila shooter is to slam the tequila shot, then lick the salt, then bite the lime wedge. Apparently some people think this is not the right way to do it. Man, at first I was all like “who cares, leave me alone” but then I thought maybe I could get five hundred words out of the subject and finish my column for the week, so I grabbed this old bottle of Cuervo I had lyin' around and brought out the limes and salt.
The first thing we got to do is figure out why exactly drinking tequila is so complicated that you would need so many outside ingredients. I mean, you can drink beer out of the bottle, and vodka out of the glass, but tequila needs this special fruit-and-gurney operation just to get it past your tastebuds. What's up with that?
I asked a friend of mine to help explain why exactly tequila requires so much ceremony to be enjoyed properly.
At least, I thought he was a friend of mine. He seemed all chummy when we hung out last summer, but when I called him on the phone just now he totally blew me off! I had even sent the dude the rest of this bottle of Grey Goose that I really liked!
Well anyway, I need to have at least some factual information in this column, so I guess I will look on that “Google” for why people need all the salt and limes when they're drinking tequila.
Okay, so I looked on Google using search terms of “salt, tequila, limes, why, shooter, reason, help” and all I got was like this real messed-up story about a guy who wanted to lick his own mom's nipples. Is that all that's out there? Should I just give up on the Internet now? It seems like every time I try to use the Internet it's all just this garbage, about a weird sex pervert who has dirty ideas he wishes to express. This is why I don't have an e-mail. I had an e-mail briefly in the 00's, you know, all being into the new technology, but I immediately got like seven unwanted letters from someone I did not know named “DJ Pubes.” I quickly realized that e-mail is is pretty much just a whole bunch of garbage, and that people like “DJ Pubes” were actually probably just computer robots designed to sell fake porno passwords that never even work.
Well, at this point I'm pretty far into this Ketel One that I poured myself and I'm not really interested in exploring that whole tequila thing anymore. I mean, tequila is pretty bad business to begin with! Maybe I shouldn't even be exposing everyone to the idea of it. Tequila should basically never be drunk unless (a) you are a young college lady who is trying to shed her inhibitions and become a new person who completely likes crazy sex and then barfing before the sex is over, or (b) you are a young dude who wants to get so plastered that he summons a 12” Pullman Sleeper into his underwear in the middle of the night. Try explaining that one at the laundromat!
So basically I am saying that you should not drink tequila unless you are really looking to get crazy and make a mess of things. That is mainly what it is for. For those of you still looking for whether the salt or lime should come first, I hope you realize by now that no matter what order you put it in, it's all just doing its job as long as you don't taste the Cuervo. I am married and have no business explaining any of this to you.
Until then, Gentlemen,
-=Jose=-
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Column #1
Hello, what’s up doggies. Jose here. Gosh, this is my first column for y’all but I am just so darn tired. I really should have started this earlier in the week. I would like for my first column to have been better but I guess already it is pretty bad.
Wait! I can go pour myself a little Ketel One and be back in the saddle just long enough to bang out my five hundred words! That would help wake me up after that huge Mexican dinner that Emily made tonight. Man...between the beans, rice, tortillas and brew, I just feel like one big gas bubble, on the brink. But anyway, hold on. I have to go to the kitchen for a minute and pour me some diamond juice.
Hello! I’m back. Man, I just had a sip and already I can feel it cutting through all that heavy jive in my belly. Whew!
WHOAH! Alright, I didn’t say this at first but I put a little tonic in the vodka. The bubbles helped me make this massive, incredible burp just now! Oh my God it was like a huge amount of what was bothering me after dinner just came shooting right out. I feel so relieved. It was like what it must be like when the people on death row get that needle in their arm: it was the final release.
I just realized that I might get a lot of hate mail about that last line, the one about death row and comparing involuntary death to the relief I felt when I burped just now. I guess that is pretty bad and I think I could do better. Hold on.
Alright, I think I thought of something. The relief I felt after that massive burp was like the relief you feel when you’re way too turned around on liquor and you know you’re gonna puke, and then you finally do, like in an upstairs bathroom where the party can’t hear, and then it’s like immediately all better. You feel great. You even go back down and talk to people.
Man, this isn’t starting out classy at all. At first I thought I would kind of have this “Playboy” type column—you know, real gentlemen’s stuff, but with kind of a sense of hipness and adventure. Good clothes, good food, high-end electronics and digital cigar cutters, maybe a little bit of etiquette and tips on personal grooming. But here I go, talking about puke. Man, this has got to be the worst “bon vivant” column ever.
What does a real gentleman talk about, anyway? I guess a real gentleman doesn’t do the talking, but rather guides conversation in a clever yet undetectable way. Man, I ain’t no good at that. Plus, a column only has one person talking, so it’s got to be kind of self-directed.
Alright, I’m sorry this has been so pointless. I am feeling a lot better now though and I think I’m ready to get started. It’s kind of like the gassiness has all either blown out through my mouth or is just makin’ its way down through the pickle factory. Maybe it’s time to choose a topic! Alright, I think I’m going to discuss the right way to eat Mexican food and some things you should avoid. Here we go!
GENTLE READER: few things in life are so uncomfortable as the enormous “wind bubbles” one’s body creates after eating some delicious, tempting Mexican food. And just what is it about Mexican food that creates such a troublesome atmosphere within us? The answer: it is a complex system of enzymatic chemical reactions which occur when soft, starchy foods meet the digestive acids which naturally pool in our stomachs.
Oh man, I can’t write like that. It sounds too much like the regular Playboy writer. I feel so phony and additionally I think people will feel like I am just ripping him off. Why don’t I just try to write in my normal style. I think that is the only long-term solution. Okay, here we go! (and no italics this time.)
Look people, if you are going to eat a bunch of Mexican food then you are basically just screwed. You’re gonna blow up like a balloon and feel all disgusting, and you are going to hate yourself. Man, if some jerk-ass friend of yours has a dinner party and makes some cheesy “burrito bar,” just play it cool. Eat a full meal before you go there, so that you aren’t tempted by the hugely gassy foods. This way, you can tuck into a cold Bohemia or Negro Modelo and not worry about it reacting with your dinner, requirin’ all kinds of suspicious private walks on the driveway.
What you’ll find at one of these “burrito bar” parties is that the food is so delicious, all salty and filling, that everyone just fats up on the stuff, getting seconds and thirds of the tasty cheeses and beans. They stuff themselves on tortilla chips and tortillas, plus nice Spanish rice. Then there they are, sitting like powder kegs lined across the couch, trying to ask each other to change the channel from C.O.P.S. to the ball game, but they can barely get more than one or two words out at a time because these real acidic tomato sauce flavor hiccup-burps keep punchin’ back on up their throat. And do you know what the flame is, that will ignite the fuse of their esophagus?
It is a beer. Man, if you were to take the contents of one of their stomachs after that big dinner, and just pour it in a steel mixing bowl and then pour a nice Mexican beer all over it, you’d get one of those little volcanoes like you made as a kid, all with baking soda and vinegar. Now imagine that happening inside a little bloody balloon, and you’ll know what’s goin’ on with your stomach next time you eat Mexican food. You can see why the stomach is so distressed. Play it cool and just just do some tequila shooters (tequila-salt-lime), maybe dip a chip or two with the hottest salsa they have (hot salsa thins the blood, which is excellent for you). Then you will escape the pain of a terrible Mexican food party.
Okay, maybe this wasn’t the best first column a guy could write. I mean, I really wanted this to be about like jet skis, night vision Ray Bans and the double-stitched pebbled leather interior that you can get in the new Hummer. I looked back over this and it’s all just about farting?! Man, I wish I hadn’t signed a year-long contract, goddamn it. Next time I go to negotiate I am definitely not going to get all torched first and then just repeat what anyone says to me right back at them.
Until then, Gentlemen,
-=Jose=-
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I Found An Old Childhood Game
Well, it ain't really a game per se, it's more like one of those dress-up Ken dolls that you can put shirts and pants and stuff on. Actually, it is a dress-up Ken doll. My weird old uncle Alfonso mailed it to me for a birthday present a long time ago. Alfonso was kind of nuts, and I'm not even sure if he's still alive. Anyhow, I found the doll in this old box of stuff I had stored in the garage. I set him up on his little stand and pantsed him a few times, just like I used to do. It brought back a lot of good old memories, so I think I'm gonna keep him out for a while and pants him whenever I'm feelin' bored or blue.
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Sex in the City DVDs
So I ain't never watched too much Sex in the City until I got a job at a thrift store and we get these season DVDs pretty much as if it was store ordered. These discs are pretty funny! There are the main four women who are like a prude, a dork, a hussy and another dork/nerd. They have some problems, but generally there is a cosmo or martini or two to go round. I could definitely hang with ladies like that. I'm gonna try to find some ladies who tell it like it is and like to throw one back, preferably a small group of them.
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Where Everybody At??
Damn, where is everybody? It's a friday night and this place is a graveyard! I was thinkin' of spinning some mellow old Stereolab and maybe just keeping low court in the spa for a couple hours, followed by some 9-ball and Manhattans and Comedy Central, but damned if a dude can scare a dude up. I even called Pat, who fortunately wasn't around. Ain't nothin' lamer than hanging out with Pat and only Pat. If it's just the two of us he always insists on trying to teach me various Kanji and the tricks he has for remembering them. Why does the dude figure I need to learn some Chinese?
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Nagel Died At 39
Oh man, I just read about Nagel on the Internet. Apparently he died of a heart attack when he was 39? How do you do that? Probably it was cocaine, but I don't want to say that until I know for sure. I would hate to think of people making up dumb ways that I had died if I had died innocently of congenital heart deformity.
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