As you all know from time to time I enjoy answering questions for my loyal readers. That being said, I will be taking questions from you this weekend and answering them during the week. Remember no topic is taboo so let's get those questions arollin'.
As some of you may know, not only do I enjoy writing but, I also enjoy drinking. I feel that this puts me in the company of several of the greatest authors in the world. Now, if only I was more talented. I recently founded an organization by the name of the Anti-Temperance League of America. Our main goal, to share the joy of alcohol with people who have similar interests. We do not advocate binge drinking, unless it is competition style. We do not advocate being overly drunk, again, unless it is a competition. We at the League, as do many of you, simply enjoy alcohol. In the early nineteen hundreds our country went through a rough patch as far as booze went. That era, known as prohibition, was what I feel to be the greatest act of government mandated oppression ever practiced on the American people. It is a right of freedom in this country to choose to drink and the government took that away. Why? Because of religious purists that worked their way into public office and used their authority to sway government lawmakers. That is what it comes down to in a nutshell. The American people eventually took back their rights but not until hundreds of people went to jail, needlessly or, were killed, again needlessly. I bring this up because I feel it can always happen again, look at our President. Even though he was busted for DWI in college and was a known cocaine user. He is also a member of the United Methodist Church. With twelve million plus members, the UMC is one of the largest, most powerful churches in America and the largest supporter of the *Wesleyan Movement during the onset of Prohibition (*for John Wesley, who's teachings were a basis for several temperance societies). The UMC supported the temperance movement and prohibition throughout the era and still states that it "affirms our long-standing support of abstinence from alcohol as a faithful witness to God's liberating and redeeming love for persons." Even today, in this modernized so called, civilized society, there are large organizations that believe in abstinence instead of simple self control and that scares me.
Now we have a guy in Alabama named Dan Ireland. A former Baptist minister and honorary chaplain of the Alabama Legislature. I know, honorary chaplain, what ever happened to not mixing church and state? Dan is also Executive Director of the Alabama Citizens Action Program (ALCAP) and, what I feel is the ATLA's truest enemy. Alabama is one of the few states in our country were it is illegal to drink any beer containing an alcohol content of more than six percent. The state is attempting to repeal this ridiculous law, in order to allow sales of craft beers, many of which have an average of more than six percent alcohol. Old Dan, along with ALCAP are fighting the repeal. Here is a quote of the dangers of higher alcohol beer straight from Dans mouth.
"My major concern is that this would be an inducement to teenagers, underage drinkers, to get their hands on it. You know, technically speaking, one beer, that much alcohol, could conceivably get an average teenager drunk."
Idiot, dumbass, moron logic if I have ever heard such. First off, teenagers are poor and want to get drunk fast and cheep. Therefore they are not gonna go out and drop twenty bucks on a bottle of St. Bernardus ABT 12 ( I highly recommend this by the way). They are gonna take that twenty and purchase cheap liquor and a bottle of paint thinner, hoping they have enough left over for a fast food burger at the local Stop -N- Plop. So, Dans reasoning there can be thrown out of any window, preferably a high one with spikes at ground level. I found another quote from Danny boy and I feel this gives a decent bit of insight into his view points on alcohol.
"I'm a total abstainer. I'm 78 years old, and I never tasted an alcoholic beverage. I just don't think there's any good quality about an alcoholic beverage,".
Now there is the gigantic asshole statement of the decade. I absolutely hate it when people tell you the bad points of things they have never done. He knows nothing of the fragrance of hops, the soothing flavor of malt. He has never experienced that fantastic sensation you feel after a sip of a fine whiskey. It is a wrong headed, way of speaking and thinking that the people at ALCAP use and I despise it fully. These people blame alcohol for the drunk driver, the gun for the bullet hole and the vagina for the bastard, never self control. They feel that they have the right to control your freedoms and keep you under their wing so they won't be uncomfortable. Screw these holier than thou crack pots. using religious pressure to control government and thereby, control us.
The big thing they miss is that they cause more problems with their heavy handed control issues than would be caused by just being less repressive. If it wasn't for prohibition, organized crime would not have gotten so powerful as fast as it did. However, rum running became a big trade and big money that really boosted mafia finances. Face it, not letting people have stuff makes them want it even more. Marijuana isn't a gateway drug but ignorance of the facts sure as hell is. The ATLA wants you to, not be ignorant but more importantly, we want to keep fighting the ideals of associations that think we can't handle ourselves. Speaking of handling ourselves. This is another golden moment from Dan Ireland. During an attempt by Rep. John Rogers, D-Birmingham, to strike the 1998 prohibition on the sale of sex toys in Alabama, a law which prohibits the sale and manufacture of items "designed or marketed as useful primarily for the stimulation of human genital organs." No kidding, real law. Dan Ireland said this.
"Laws are made to protect the public. Sometimes you have to protect the public against themselves."
Protect the public from themselves? Wow what an asshat way of thinking. Well, I have a question Dan. If dildos are illegal in Alabama, why haven't they locked up you and everyone that thinks like you? You are by far, the biggest dildos of all.
I believe that I have had about enough of someone and I must put my loathing on record. That person is, you guessed it, Tom (I love Katie Holmes) Cruise. If I have spelled either of their names wrong, I am not sorry, I hate them both, oh so very much. This isn't about Katie Holmes, however, just about the lunatic that is siring her, space cadet, flipper freaks. What the hell is wrong with that guy? I am one of those people that tries to stay up on what is happening in the world and that means I spend an awful lot of time on the internet. Sometimes I find really interesting things and I write about them but usually I just find more evidence of the fat headed, stupidity of the world around me, that tends to get written about more often than not. Well, this time I happened across a video of old Tommy Boy at a party that was, apparently thrown in his honor by that wonderful organization, The Church of Scientology. Oh, did I say wonderful? Sorry, I meant to say by that, elitist, money grubbing, brain washing, vile, deceitful, obnoxious, ill conceived, religion that follows the teachings of a half assed, barely literate, fat headed moron with less writing talent than Ayn Rand after a frontal lobotomy and being dead for over a decade. Sorry, tangent, you know me, when I hate, I really hate. Anyway, back to the jackass. I have and never will be a fan of Tom Cruise. Most of the rednecks in the Mid-West that lie about being abducted by aliens and probed to cover up their late night sodomy trysts with Uncle Grandpa, are better actors. Of course there is all that speculation that he is gay, I don't care about that, it makes no difference to me. I do have to point out however, that he was in the gayest movie ever made, I of course refer to Top Gun. God, that movie was gayer than a German gay bar in the heart of the Castro in San Fransisco. Yes Val Kilmer was in it but it was still extremely gay. Granted the movie did help "out" all those closeted Airforce pilots so they could openly date/ probe drunk, homophobic, yet curious, rednecks from the Mid-West. To this day Toms acting remains as wet and stale as a big box of "Mama Nasties Old Stankass Urine Crumbles", yet somehow people continue to go see his films. I don't understand it, I figure it works like Bushes Approval rating, if twenty percent of the population loves you, that would be over sixty million people in the United States that approve of you. That does work into my theory that one out of every five people is an ass head. Anyway back to the video, so Tom is dancing and singing and flopping around and all I could think while I watched was that he didn't even seem human. It was like watching a person that was being controlled remotely the way he danced all spastically and sang off key, not that I expected him to dance like Gregory Hines or sing like Frank Sinatra but he was moving like an epileptic Stretch Armstrong. That was when it hit me. Maybe these Scientologists are on to something. Maybe Tom is is not their spokesman by choice but perhaps, by force. Makes sense doesn't it? The poor motor control, the weird speech patterns, aliens man from that planet they say that they come from. They got a hold of him, put a remote control in his nervous system and are using him to slowly take control of the elite in the American entertainment business. Then, after they have full control, they will bombard us with ill conceived plot lines and mind numbing story lines until we are but intellectual putty in their hands. That has to be it, either that or he's just and ass head. That seems more believable.
P.S. For legal purpose, this is parody. Asshead.
I was walking through the park with the dog today, a typically uninspiring and non-thought provoking daily mission, when I happened upon a rather large pile of dog feces. This meant little to me at the time but as the day moved along, this substantial heap of canine excrement began to form in my mind as a new ambition. I know this sounds weird but stay with me while I explain. If you have ever witnesses human interaction with poop you find, for the larger part, that people act as though said poop might suddenly leap forward and attack them. Think of the gap you strive to place between yourself and big, steaming, lump of dog guano. People are so cautious around it, they move so delicately over and past it. They do everything they can to ensure that bringing their foot to rest upon the Earth will not, somehow end up squishing into the large, primary fertilizer placement and also avoid any possible misstep into a hidden biscuit. People give dog bombs the amount of respect and fear that one would give to a land mine. So, what is it that I find so enviable about this treatment of poopus? It's the space of course. I am by no means, a small person. I am tall enough, broad enough and have enough muscle mass, that you would think would force people to give me room. Sadly, this is not so. In fact, I am astounded on a regular basis, usually at the grocery store, when people actually walk right into, not only my personal space but my body as well. I have had old ladies hit me with their carts more times than I can recall. People suddenly needing to get to and item that is directly in front of me and forcing themselves into a position that puts pressure on my skin. This is what I envy about the power of poop. Truth be known, poop is far less dangerous at any given time than me. If someone tried to stuff me in a bag while I was laying in my front yard, you can bet that they would be in for one hell of a dust up. I am also sure that the slight case of diarrhea one could suffer from while handling feces would be far preferable to the absolutely horrible bought of constipation that they would have to tend with while having a pair of snow pants and a lawn mower removed from their rectum (damn near killed 'um). You don't even want to imagine what I could do to your ground water supply if pushed. So what am I saying? Just this. I am more dangerous than dog poop. I am far more unstable than dog poop. I am far more mobile than dog poop. So please just give me the space that you would give dog poop. I could just remedy the whole thing by smelling of poop or carrying around a poo stick but, this is about having personal space, not being a stinky freak.
I think today I felt fine shedding a small, manly tear as I clicked the TV over to ESPN. There it was, the press conference every Green Bay Packers fan has been dreading, Today Brett Favre made his retirement official. I guess everyone in the football world was waiting for it but it still came as a bit of a shock. Now, I know many of the people who read this page are either, not interested in football or, more than likely, Vikings fans from my home state but this isn't so much about football as it is about the end of an era. It was the second game of the '92 season when coach Mike Holmgren benched starting QB Don (Majik man) Majkowski put in his back up, Brett Favre. His first regular season pass for the Packers was against the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, it was deflected back to Favre who caught it for a loss of seven yards. Hell of a way to start out a career, they lost that game 31-3. After suffering a ligament injury in the next game, Don Majkowski was again removed and Favre came in struggling and was being booed off the field by the home crowd. Favre shut them up with a touchdown pass to Wide Receiver, Kitrick Taylor with thirteen seconds left in regulation for the win and the beginning of a wild roller coaster ride for Cheeseheads around the word. He was called a "Gun slinger", a loose canon with a canon for an arm. At the age a of 38 it was said that he could still hit the field goal post, dead center from 50 yards. For sixteen seasons he helped keep the cheese, kraut, pork and beer from clogging our arteries by making our hearts beat half way through our rib cages. Watching a really close game was like calisthenics, you could be exhausted from just sitting there, watching him throw sixty yards off his back foot or perform some kind of underhanded, flip pass into triple coverage while simultaneously, being wrapped up by a Line Backer and scoring. Then you would have the days when it seemed like nothing was going right, by the fourth sack, the second fumble and the third interception all you wanted to do was drown your head in a bucket of Leinenkugels and die. Most of all, Favre was tough, cracked ribs, broken thumbs and fingers, concussions, none of that mattered because it was part of the game to him and that is the saddest part of his retirement to me. It not only signifies the end of the Favre Era but, the end of real, hard nosed football. Face it, we live in a world where being tough doesn't count for as much as being famous, rich or pretty. The Ray Nitschke's, Jack Tatum's, Dick Butkus's, the guys with the any day, any weather, any injury, any time mentality are leaving the sport now add Brett Favre to the list. He was tough, he never missed a start in sixteen seasons and if you actually know how hard an undefended QB got hit on a clean blitz you may appreciate that statistic. I get it that now players are worth so much money that they are more of an investment property that a player. There aren't too many guys out there that would sacrifice a finger tip, ala Ronnie Lott, just to get back on the field and hit somebody. Oh there are a few out on the field that won't let a bloated toe bench them for ten weeks and know what ankle and wrist tape is for but they are sadly in the minority. That is what bites me most about the end of Favre's career. It seems to mark the end of the Tough Guy Era of football. The bad boys are gone and the pretty boys are taking over, broken noses are being replaced by metro hairdos, scars are being concealed or surgically reduced, some one has given the warriors Nerf swords and it burns me to my soul. I think I speak for all Packers fans when I say, Thank you Brett, you will be missed but never forgotten. Thank you for the good times and the bad, the ups and the downs. Most of all, thank you for being loyal and tough and making us remember the purity of that old Lambeau magic. It won't be the same without you but we all wish you the best. Having said that, I would just like to add... Go Pack Go!
This sucks. I am a beer lover, not macro brew monsters like MGD or Budweiser, anyone who calls themselves a beer lover and then drinks that leper piss is simply a buffoon. When I talk about beer I speak of the flavors, the aromas, the colors of true craft beer. I adore it in a way that I adore nothing else. Whether it is prying off the top of a Rouge Dead Guy, or popping a cork from a Belgian Triple, I love every part, every moment, of a really good beer. The way a truly fragrant hop awakens your senses, the way the carbonation make the beer taste spicy, I would pour it on the floor and roll in it if I didn't love drinking it so much. Friends of mine often ask me why I love living on the West Coast, well, it's not just because of the ocean, which is nice. Nor is it only due to the weather, which is unbeatable. It is mostly because of the of the beer market, which is the best I have ever experienced. There are over forty breweries in San Diego County alone, which makes for some mighty fine drinking. "But wait, there's more. More? Much, much more!" (spot the movie reference and win my approval) If you travel up the coast of our nation, you will run into countless craft breweries, actually you could probably count them and, if you can fund the trip, I will gladly go on a West Coast brewery census tour with you. Such a huge market for breweries tends to make a bigger market for bars in which you can find a wide variety of aromatic, intoxicating, hopped and malted libations. I am in a beer void now and hurting to my pancreas, my liver having lost all feeling years ago. You see, I am in the Mid-West, not for an extended stay I hope but for long enough. I am without all my old bars, the places I knew I could go for some good beer and relatively relaxed surroundings. I now have to adapt to a situation that takes me out of my canteen comfort zone. Alas, I know I will adapt because I can and I must, not just for myself but for the people that count on me to hunt down beers and drink them. I must be like the U.S. Postal Service and be stopped by neither rain, nor sleet, nor hail, nor dead of night shall I be stopped from my appointed beer rounds. Also, since I am in a state that closes it's liquor stores on Sundays, I will have one more thing in common with the mailing system. just had to blow off some steam, I love you beer, see you soon.
Alright, if you know me you know that Minnesota is my home. I was born and raised here, hopefully I will not die here but if I do, I hope it's warm in Valhalla because it certainly isn't here. I am not going to complain about the weather though and I will spit no venom at the welfare system, not just yet at least, I am saving up. At this time I would like to write about a little phrase that, really has always bugged me but lately it's made my blood boil. That phrase is "Minnesota nice". Why does that phrase fluff my dander? You may wonder. Well, it's because of this. All my life that phrase had one very simple meaning. Being Minnesota nice meant you were nice to a persons face and then, cheerfully talked about them behind their back. As it was and still is, Minnesotans are a passive aggressive sort and rarely just let someone they don't like have it to their face. Minnesota nice was a mainstay of what being a Minnesotan was about and, if you wished to rebel against the status quo, you must begin by not accepting one of it's greatest precepts. This is what my friends and I did. In our high school years, we really started to notice that there was an awful lot of Minnesota niceties flying around. People in a clique would be best friends to one of their own until backs were turned and then, the attack. Friend would skewer friend but never openly and funny as it is, in a repressed system, people would talk behind the backs of people they openly disliked. I will not say that I, nor my friends, were innocent of this sad, stupidity but I can say this. One day we just got tired of being hypocrites and we started to not be Minnesota nice. It was a revolution in thinking, if we had something to say, we would say it and face the music for our actions. Now it is many years later and someone is trying to spin this phrase into something like, "Southern hospitality", which it has nothing in common with. Minnesota isn't the land of,"You can sleep in ma' hay loft but keep yer yankee hands offin' ma' three lonely daughters". Minnesota is the land of," I can't believe I let that low dirty Bill marry my daughter, Oh hi Bill, I was just telling Mary how nice it is to have you in the family". That is the Minnesota nice I know and love because as long as it's around, when I tell a person they can go to Hell or throw their cellphone in a coffee pot because they won't just shut up and order their damned latte, it still has shock value and it wakes people up from the doldrums of their usual, non-thought process. No, Minnesota nice doesn't work as an upbeat phrase. It is a phrase that is used to describe how centuries of Lutheran guilt and Bi-Polar disorders can take it's toll on even the heartiest of psyches. It is a phrase that holds a deep warning about how an ancestry can be broken. Minnesota, being settled, mostly by Scandinavians, sons and daughters of Viking warriors and clansmen, who once would have thought nothing of smashing an enemies face, flaying their skin and, literally, wearing their ass for a hat, are now a people that won't even tell a person off to their face. That is why I want this phrase to be left alone because, as long as it's meaning holds true, hopefully people will continue to fight being Minnesota nice.
