The Juice is Loose…on Twitter

Grab the popcorn, folks, cause this is gonna be fun.

PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT: Orenthal James “OJ” Simpson has joined Twitter. (ok, that was a link to my feed – just click “Follow” and we will move on)

 

To follow the REAL Juice, here it is TheRealOJ32

And faster that you can utter the phrase “If the glove don’t fit, you must….” OJ has over 600,000 followers!

Wow.  What does that say about the world?  Simple, we all want to be entertained and I have a hunch ol’ #32 will bring that to the ‘Sphere.  So far, OJ has posted three short selfie videos.  The very first one is most intriguing when he proclaims he’s “got a little getting even to do…”

And what do you mean by that does that mean, Mr. Simpson?

Also, how about the fact he makes this big announcement almost exactly 25 years to the day he was alleged (and I by alleged, we all know he did it) to have brutally murdered two people.  We see what you are doing Juice.

But that doesn’t mean we can’t take a stab (oops) at mocking this new gift granted to our social media lives.

So let join in the revelry with some early ones I have heard,…

“OJ will be using Slashtags instead of Hashtags”

“Surprised he didn’t use the handle @IDidIt”

“His first follower was the LA Police Department.”

“Sure, OJ is on Twitter but that is not gonna drag me away from Judge Ito’s Instagram”

“OJ and Twitter go together like a hunting knife and leather gloves.”

And the jokes could go one forever.  Won’t even begin the long line of Kardashian quips that could be made (yet).

So, highly suggest you give the 71 year old future Hell of Famer a follow.  Its sure to be interesting.

Personally, I prefer to remember ‘the-pre-double-murder-silly-clumsy-Naked Gun Nordberg’ OJ Simpson

 

P.S. Imagine that fact that OJ isn’t even the worst guy in this picture?

P.P.S. My Dad said “he was a nice guy” when he met him earlier this year BUT I am also pretty sure OJ gave him cancer.  Can’t prove it.

Advertisements

CIBF&C POWER RANKINGS: WORST MONDAYS OF THE YEAR

Come Monday

It’ll be alright…”

     -Jimmy Buffet

I’m calling huge bullshit here Jimmy.  Get back to San Francisco and sober up yourself and those Hush Puppies, chief.

Monday.  Just saying the word elicits an emotional reaction; mostly a negative or depressing one.  Monday is that that sadistic teacher that gives a pop quiz on a, well, Monday.  Monday is the overbearing, micro-managing boss looking for your TPS reports before you sit down at your desk.  Monday is the traffic jam.  Monday is the rain.  Monday is that coffee spill on your shirt.

Monday.  Sucks.

But as bad as almost each and every Monday is, there are some especially terrible ones we need to endure throughout the year (today being one of them).

Here are you rankings of THE WORST MONDAYS OF THE YEAR:

10.  Monday after a Screw-off-Friday

You ditched work/school for no good reason.  You may have played the fake sick card.  You may have just played hooky.  It feels so damn good when you are doing it, but you know there is going to be a price to pay.  Start thinking of excuses STAT.

9.  Monday after Thanksgiving

Coming off, what I consider, the best non-vacation week of the year, this one is hard to swallow.  You ate and drank way too much over the previous 5 days.  You need to start thinking about the anxiety of Christmas.  Oh, now you need to wear a jacket everyday.  Shit.

8.  The other 43 Mondays of the year not on this list

Yeah, all of them

7.  Monday with a hangover

While we can not assign an official calendar date these Mondays, we have all had them.  Perhaps you took it too deep at that cookout.  Went a little bat shit at the tailgate.  Perhaps an out of control Bar Mitzvah?  Doesn’t matter, staring down the barrel of a long week, you do not want to be staring down the barrel in your office trying to hold off the pukes.

6.  Monday starting a new job or school

Another date that may not occur on an annual basis, this is one of the worst.  Going into a new routine, new people, new boss/teacher/AA Sponsor….its all a giant ball of stress and now your anxiety has finally arrived.  This hallmark Monday deserves the middle finger and a Stone Cold Stunner.

 

5.  Monday with Guilt

Also known as ‘Apology  Monday’ another, unspecified date on calendar but we have all had these.  Most common in the college era of life, you wake up and know you need to face some demons.  You have a class with ‘that girl’ you made out with like the plane was going down in front of 63 people.  You have to see those dudes from the hockey house whose sink you pissed in.  You have to encounter the co-worker you drunkenly outed at the company outing Saturday afternoon.  It’s a Monday full of embarrassing “I’m sorry(ies)”.  Only remedy is bail on all commitments and just hide in bed. Time heals all.

5.  Monday (AKA Tuesday) after Labor Day

Obviously, this is not a real Monday, but you get the same feeling only worse.  Why?  Summer is officially over.  School is back in session.  All those ambitious projects you have been putting off in the name of ‘it’s summer, everyone relax’ are punching you dead in the face.  Thank God for football; the only thing that takes this sting out (See #1)

4.  Monday after Christmas*

This specific Monday ain’t all that bad.  You still have a few more ‘carefree’ days before the new year begins.  Everyone is faking it today and the rest of the week, but hey, its still freaking Monday and I would rather be in my Jam Jams watching cartoons and drinking hot chocolate/vodka.

3.  Monday after vacation

All vacations come to an end.  As refueled, re-energized and rested as you think you are, walking back in to the office, the classroom and any other obligatory location is the worst.  Insert pit in stomach.

2.  Monday after New Year’s *

This is a really bad (oh and look, it’s today!).  Excuses are gone.  Holiday cheer is dead.  Vacation is over.  Its time to get your shit together, Skippy, and it just plain sizzucks.

And our #1 Worst Monday of the Year is…..

1.  Monday after SuperBowl

Yes, this Monday get the #1 slot in our rankings.  Whether your team is in the Big Game or not, this Monday sucks the worst on a number of levels.  Football season is over. Its is freaking cold and snowy and no relief in sight.  It’s still dark out at 5PM.  There is nothing to do but sit inside and dwell on your misery (insert more of that hot vodka here).  No other sports to really give a shit about at this juncture.  But wait, look its Valentine’s Day!  Double Farts!

6 weeks until St. Patrick’s Day and March Madness.  8 weeks until The Masters.  12 weeks until you can even think about a golf club.  This really is the Grand Daddy of All Suck Ass Mondays.  You, Madam, are a giant bitch.  (NOTE: Add a SuperBowl loss by YOUR team – call the suicide hotline)

*Denotes this “Monday” can be alternate day of week depending on work/school schedule

So, yeah. Happy New Year.  Pffffftttttt.

Happy New Year!  We are all doomed!


And so as we close out half of this decade (am I the only one that thinks 1999 was like 3 years ago?) this evening, I thought I would offer a basic and easy-to-understand overview of the Presidential election landscape.  Politics is really not my thing – at all – but is this not the most bizarre field of candidates you have seen?  It’s more like a reality show than a run for the White House.

Anyway, here is a simple chapter and verse rundown of our future leader….

HILLARY CLINTON

Supporting Hillary is like supporting that stay-at-home, overbearing, bitchy PTO mom everyone hates but no one will say it even though she will ultimately screw you over and give half of those brownies you made away to the lunch lady for free at the annual bake sale.
BERNIE SANDERS

Supporting Bernie Sanders is like recreating Back to the Future. Doc Brown (Sanders) convinces naive Marty McFly (the American people) that stealing plutonium from Libyans in the name of scientific advancement could cost you your life. What does that mean? I don’t know either, but this guy is moon bat, shithouse crazy and needs a straight jacket.

DONALD TRUMP

Supporting Trump is basically sucking up to that snotty, pushy rich kid that had all the best toys, game and parties but you don’t really like him and he will inevitably screw you and everyone else over if given the chance.  HUGE!

JEB BUSH

Supporting Jeb Bush is the equivalent of becoming buddies with the head coach’s son cause you know you will make the team and get some varsity action. Just go along with what Daddy says and everything will be fine for you even if the rest of the team suffers.

CHRIS CHRISTIE

Supporting Chris Christie is like supporting pizza. Always seems like a good idea til you eat the whole fucking thing alone and now find yourself filled with regret (not to mention pizza)

AND….

As for the rest of the field….might as well flip a fricken’ coin. Who “sucks less” in this race is what we have on our hands.

Insightful, I know.

Vote your conscience because logic and reason won’t help you in November.

USA!! USA!! USA!!

HAPPY 2016!

Good night and God Bless, suckas!

I Fought A Dance Mom

Dance Moms.  Gross.  I have always heard bad things about your breed.  Then that eye-popping, nut-job reality show came out and it confirmed those rumors.  However, I have never had an up close and personal run in with you people until this week.  Hold that thought…

To jump into Marty McFly’s Delorean for a few seconds.  My only sibling and sister was big in to the dance stuff when she was young.  I (forcibly) attended more recitals than any boy should  – basically at the threat of violence from Dad and endless Irish guilt from Mom.  It was what it was.  150 girls ages 3-20 frolicking around a pressure cooker of a high school theater in June for what seemed to be days, but that would be an understatement.  The actual average length – start to finish – of a dance recital is a 13.5 days; on the low side.  Tell me I’m wrong?  Exactly.  Families and loved ones broil in their seats for seemingly an eternity to catch a whopping 4 minutes of  scantily clad 6 year old ‘Little Suzy’ spinning around the stage. It’s true, and you know it.

As I type this I realize some of my best friends are ‘Mothers of Dancers’ – BUT that doesn’t make them ‘Dance Moms’ – big difference.

‘Mothers of Dancers’ are just nice women that enjoy watching their little girls have some fun, learn a skill or 2 and have fun.  Did I mention “have fun”?  Women like my Mom and my wife.

‘Dance Moms’ are psychopathic, underachieving, soulless Nazis that are somehow living their “I always wanted to be a ballerina but My Mom never hugged me” dreams through their own kids.  Dance Moms are in it for the show.  Dance Moms are in it for themselves.  Dance Moms are in it to win it.  Excitedly slapping on enough makeup to embarrass Bozo the Clown coupled with an outfit that would make Lady Gaga blush…to a 5 year old.  Yes, you have some serious issues, madam.

Dance Moms are evil devil women.

I had an “encounter” with a Dance Mom 2 days ago.  My two daughters are taking a once-per-week class and having a ball.  It is leisurely and enjoyable.  This week is the Christmas show.  Awesome!  Excited to see them perform.  Wednesday was dress rehearsal.  Wife dropped them off and I was planning to pick them up.  This is when I met my new arch nemesis, ‘Debbie Dance Mom’ with the bad dye job and giant Adam’s Apple.

First off, I pull in to the high school parking lot and there is literally 247,000 cars flying in every direction.  Not only is dress rehearsal happening but every sports team from horseshoes to hockey  is practicing or has a game.  I am totally lost.  After unsuccessfully attempting to get in to about nine different entrances, I finally found where I needed to be.

Walk in and the hall is crowded with parents, volunteers and kids.  I notice the auditorium entrance is wide open and make my way inside to find my children.  Once inside, its total bedlam and I see the stage is flooded with kids including my 2.  Perfect, I’ll find a seat, watch the end of rehearsal and be on our way.

And then….

Here comes my new buddy ‘Debbie’ and here is what our “conversation” consisted of.

“Sir, sir….whar are you doing in here?” (in a loud angry voice)

“Excuse me?  I’m just here to scoop my kids, I…” I politely respond.

“Well, you can’t be in here.  There are girls changing and, and”

“OK, hold on,  I ‘m sorry.  I’ve never been here before.  Just looking for my daughters and…”

“Well, you need to get out of here, NOW.”

“Ok, ok I’m sorry.”

At this point she is throwing me out da Club, Gronk-style as if I had crawled in the heating vent with binoculars, a mustache and t-shirt  reading ‘Level 3, Yup, That’s Me!’)

But my embarrassment was starting to turn to anger.  My patience to frustration.  And her big, fat loud mouth was making matters worse.

As I exited the auditorium feeling like a Peeping Tom, I felt the eyes of these other parents wash over me as if I was headed for the Principal’s office.

I was almost in a state of shock.  What the mother effer was that?  There was no need for her to attack me?  And just as I was wrapping my brain around this episode, it continued.

‘Debbie’ did not realize I was still just a few steps away from her and she proceeded to relay what happened, again in that loud, assholey voice, to the entire atrium.

Do you believe this Dad just walked right in the middle of things?  There are girls changing and he paraded right down to the….”

And that is when I saw red and this slob was going to get piece of my mind.

Hey!”  I quipped as I ducked back around the corner in to her line of sight, “I am RIGHT HERE!”

Without a flinch, she comes back at me with “Yeah, I see you there.”

Oh man, I wanted to morph in to Ike Turner at that moment.

Look, lady (nothing more demeaning than throwing “Lady” at someone), I apologized.  I’ve never been here. The doors are wide open and none of these nice people corrected me.  NO need for this behavior.  Put up a sign or something!”

Well, guess what, I’m the sign!” she fired back.

Now I was having blurry visions of OJ.

BUT, before things got really out of hand, I simply smiled at her smug, ruddy face and excused myself from the building to cool off.  Also, I naturally needed to check my windowless, white van with ‘FREE CANDY, Puppies and Unicorns’ spray painted across it – cause, ya know, I am a pedophile according to this crazy broad.

Called home.  Exploded the story to the Mrs. and then I just let it go.  Went back inside, politely greeted my kids and headed out.

The ultimate validation was, as I was leaving, a “Mother of a Dancer” chased me down and told me how out of line ‘Debbie’ was.  I thanked her and never looked back.

Keep your head on a swivel this season, Debbie.  Christmas may come early for you, if you know what I am saying?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Not Your Father’s GINGER ALE = Life Wrecker

Small Town Brewery Not Your Fathers Ginger Ale

Not Your Fathers Ginger Ale is now available from Small Town Brewery.

Small Town Brewery is owned and operated by Tim Kovac, and made national headlines with the launch of Not Your Fathers Root Beer. The booze meets dessert brand has made millions this year as it has been rolling out nationally.

The next innovation is a ginger ale/addition is now available – Not Your Fathers Ginger Ale. A 5.9% alcohol by volume ginger beer meant to be served over ice. (Or with bourbon if it were us.) This new brand extension – described as “gruit-inspired botanical beer brewed with ginger”, is suggested for use Dark & Stormy & Moscow Mule cocktails.

We like to think of it as a refreshing ale brewed with ginger.

Not Your Fathers Ginger Ale is rolling out in 40 states through Pabst distributors, and nationally by February, 2016. ERP is $10.99/6 pack.

Style: Ginger Beer
Availability: 12oz Bottles, Cans
Release: November, 2015

5.9% ABV

———————————————————–

You may recall the evil and delicious concoction released earlier this year dubbed Not Your Father’s Root BeerI wrote about it last Spring describing its tasty and un-alcohol-detecting awesomeness that was sure to push many of you (fine, me too) borderline drunkos right over the proverbial edge.

And now this?

Are you friggin’ kidding me?

When posed the silly camp fire question of “If you could only have 1 drink for the rest of your life, EVERYDAY, what would it be?”  I have always answered emphatically with “Ginger Ale“.  Ginger Ale is like the Holy Grail of drinks to me.  Its thirst-quenching, stomach-ache-relieving, and just, well, yums.  Christ, it even makes delicious whiskey taste even better.  Its the drink everyone loves from age 8 to 80.  Show me a person that doesn’t like Ginger Ale and I’ll point to a liar or a demon.

And now those Satanic geniuses at Small Town Brewery are clearly chasing a not so small town market with this new development.  Oh yes.  For every one guy or gal that likes root beer, I’ll show you 10 that love Ginger Ale.

I guess the good news (I pray) is that it won’t be commercially available until February 2016 which means I can roll through the holidays and the NFL post-season without having to describe to law enforcement officials why I skated across the Boston Frog Pond pantless singing dirty Christmas Carols or the reason I choked out a department store Santa Claus (pantless again, of course) in front of 1,000 believers.  

But, at the end of the day, its just buying me time.  That’s all.  Come Valentine’s Day when this anti-antidote product is available to me I will surely be found lying in the candy aisle at CVS eating a box of chocolates and writing an incoherent sex poem to my wife on the back of a Tampax box.  Its just simple math.

So, Mr. Kovac and your merry band of Not Your Father’s Assholes….thanks.  Thanks a Yahoo.  This should be the final straw (you can drink it with a straw right?) in my demise.

Merry Christmas!

#onceithitsyourlips #iamfrankthetank

 

Thanks for the memories Scott Weiland


(Dedicated to my moron buddies.  Pouring one out for you, Scotty Boy)

Chris Farley, overalls for men and now another 90s legend has left us behind on this earth.

Scott Weiland, long time front man of 90s rock band Stone Temple Pilots and later (underrated) Velvet Revolver is dead.

Was he an anorexic junk bag that looked like a human rooster most of his adult life?  You betcha! But I am not here to judge the man today; I am here to thank him because this guy was a key player in some of my favorite and funnest days of my life.

You see, the height of this guy’s success was also at the height of my and my jackass friends’ party days. Those care free 90s, baby.  Flannels, Doc Martens, fear of AIDS and Stone Temple Pilots; thats how we rolled.

And Mr. Weiland was a part of two of the best memories of my carefree younger days and so I tip my (sorry, its not filled with smack, Scott) cap to you, Sir.

Summer 1993, Gardener, MA

A beautiful Saturday afternoon in casual central Massachusetts.  A merry band of idiots from Lowell packed up their cars with enough beer to kill the Budweiser Clydesdales and enough weed to choke out Willie Nelson to see this exciting new band, Stone Temple Pilots.  After some “merriment” and tailgating, what of course naturally happens when you enclose a few thousand intoxicated 19 year olds in an area full of drugs and bad decision making?  You guessed it; a fight.  In the parking lot of some random ass park or whatever the modern day West Side Story breaks out between  the drunken Jets and more drunken Jets (The Sharks didn’t care much for hard core rock).  Ah, crazy kids probably disputing something critical like Roger Clemens ERA or who was funnier, Norm or Woody.  The memorable part of this entanglement was not the fisticuffs but rather how it all was settled.  Just as John Q. Law and his ‘friends’ were about to end our day abruptly before hearing one note of Plush, one of our creative friends took action.  Yes, just as we were all about to likely be whisked away to the glorious holding cell in East Bum, our buddy somehow finds a parking attendant vest, straps it on – to his shirtless torso, mind you – , poses as Security, and proceeds to inform the police that our crew had nothing to do with aforementioned disruption.  And, it worked.  An hour later, we were all moshing out to Sex Type Thing and attempting to make out with grungy looking broads.  Absolute Xanadu.

Summer 1994, Worcester, MA

Ah, Summer is here again.  Our STP boys released their second, and seemingly as awesome, album, Purple.  The Pilots were destined for our neighbor to the west – my beloved town of Woo for a couple nights at the former Centrum.  Let’s see, how can we get ourselves to the this show in the most stupid and dangerous capacity?  Yes, you, in the Kirk Cobain shirt  in the back?  Ah, a U-Haul?  Correct!  No joke.  My idiot friends decided to rent a U-Haul box truck to haul our asses 40 miles west to see a concert.  What could go wrong, right?  Well, I’ll tell you.  Number 1, you need to provide your owner driver, fellas.  And what does every 20 year old feel like doing when heading to a concert with 7 other guys?  Being the sober guy.  Sure (wink wink), someone will be the DD.  Number 2, where are we going to sit, assfaces?  There is no seating in these storage units on wheels.  No problem.  Grab the beach chairs.  Genius!  Number 3, picture turbulence on a plane only worse because the ‘pilot’ (pun intended) has a 6-pack and ounce of pot in his system before take off.  What’s better that flying around the back of a box with a bunch of jerk off buddies?  Flying around the back of it with NO LIGHTS.  Oh yeah, except for the lit joint and the crack in the back of the cargo van door, you could not see a damn thing!  Not sure how we survived that one – but what a show! (Look for yourself!)

Anyway, rest easy Mr. Weiland and Godspeed(ball).  Thanks of the music and the bruises.  I hear the smack in Heaven in MINT.