Phil, Naughtalie, You're Wrong. [Edit]

Maltese v. Jones

--

At poker last week, Drunken Phil and I had a heated discussion about just what the hell type of hat Indiana Jones wears. It was shocking to find out that Phil was not the only one with us who didn't automatically know that Jones wears a fedora. I figured saying that information out loud would be met with lines like, "Well, duh!" or "No doy!" as was the custom when we were young. I was wrong to assume that.


Several people, however, insist that I am a moron for calling Jones' hat a fedora. AMANDA MACKENZIE glares from DRUNKEN PHIL to SULLEN SELF as we exchange beats of disgusted, saliva slick comments about hats.

DRUNKEN PHIL
No! No! It's a... It's a...

SULLEN SELF
Fedora.

DRUNKEN PHIL
No. A... A...

SULLEN SELF
Fedora. Dude, you know Eller is nuts
about this stuff. He's got an entire
post just about Indy Jones' fedora.

DRUNKEN PHIL
A... A...

At this point, the proverbial light bulb in his head, the mighty muse, shoots forth such lumens that Phil's head holes are as beacons of light, shining in the dark drunken night for lost sober thoughts to find their way home. The shaft of idea light blazing from Phil's left ear burns a disc of flesh in Art's right cheek. Art squeals in pain and calls $2.30 with 8-4-off suit because he's a dumbass and not because of the pain. The other players in the room pause like whitetail before Phil's oncoming light, waiting to either be halved by a F150 or to be halved by his naming prowess.

DRUNKEN PHIL

It's an Adventure Hat.

As if to say Indiana Jones' Sioux name might have been Adventures with a Hat.

I am slain inside and no amount of logic wins this battle for me. The night continues with others rallying under Phil's Adventure Hat banner, me losing more money and becoming even more sullen, Phil pouring beer in his eye (again), and humping his table until it collapses in an Alice in Wonderland blizzard of chips, cards, and white rabbits. Pretty standard, really.

"Adventure hat" my ass.

Mace...out

An Awesome (Lazy) Excuse for a Post

I enjoyed this post over at the CNN of gaming, IGN.; but I loved the picture. It strikes me as a perfect template for SomethingAwful's Photoshop Phridays. As in, that pickle could be interchangeable with just about anything and be funny. If you follow the link to SA, you might as well visit Cliff. "Crotchety" is just another word for "honest."

Hey, Mario loves pickles too.

Mace...out

I Get Mean When Blogger is Jerk-Offy.

I wanted to post Part One of the Boner Bus Midwest Tour but, as Machine Gun said it best, Blogger is being Jerk-Offy. It won't let me upload any pics of surpassing quality due, I'm guessing, to how badass awesome cool they are. Either that, or their megabytes are too big for Blogger's pants. That's probably it, since I was allowed to upload pics that are less bulging in the storage area. Until Blogger gets its shit together, keep an eye on BZ's Natro n00dz, for he has had some success uploading some of our pics. Most of the pics I had planned on using were taken by him anyway. And they all look like this. Notice the shoes. Yes. Do you feel it? Mhmm. Another New Shoe Post looms.

For now, it appears that the flood gates are open:

--

Let's talk about air conditioning. Don't even bother trying to stay cool, dear solitary reader, unless you have this cherry model:

It's OK; the jealousy you're experiencing is only natural. Some aspects of this fine instrument are beyond even my comprehension. For instance, the faces of most air conditioners I've ever come across usually fit snuggly over the unit's body. This air conditioner, however, seems to employ some kind of technology that defies popular, hasty assumptions. In the following picture, notice the curious gap between body and face.

There! I don't know why there's a gap, but I'm confident that some new devilry is afoot, some revolutionary technology! All my feeble brain can assume is that this gap allows air to enter into the body so it doesn't overheat. Indeed, this air conditioner itself is so advanced, it itself has an air conditioner... for itself!


INT. PDQ CONVENIENCE STORE
It's like when I was a kid and had holes in my jeans, and some GROWNED-UP would take note of my holey jeans.

GROWNED UP

Hey, kid. What's with them
holes in your jeans?

And I as Kid would beam with pride at the upcoming cleverness, the witty metaphor no growned-up could ever predict!

ME AS KID
It's air conditioning!

The whole contraption must be of alien design, or made by an advanced, ancient civilization like the Mayans or The Smurfs. I'd tell you the make and model of this stunning appliance, but few if any markings remain on this husk. Case and point: Mystery Buttons!

I wonder what function is now missing along with its dial. Perhaps it was a dial that helped its clueless user understand how and when to use this rondo among air conditioners. I would guess that any user who is unfamiliar with this advanced technology could simply apply common air conditioner protocol. Ahh, the point!

Air Conditioner Rules for Idiots, Morons, and Greater Dumbasses:

Do not turn on air conditioner (commonly referred to as an AC) in any of the following circumstances:

!) If it's not hot outside.

@) If there are windows wide fucking open in both bedrooms.

#) If the AC is a piece of shit--regardless of how advanced the Mayan/Smurf technology.

$) If you aren't even in the goddamned apartment while it's !) not hot outside, @) the windows are wide the fuck open, and #) if the AC's a piece of shit.

%) If especially circumstance $).


I am not a frugal man. There are plenty of things on which I "waste" my money. But I've always lived by the rule that if I'm enjoying what I'm "wasting" my money on, then I'm not being wasteful. So there's "wasting," actual wasting (like strip clubs and church offerings), and weaving a cherry bomb's wick out of a twenty dollar bill. Poor AC protocol is somewhere between strip clubs, church, and twenty dollar bill cherry bombs.

It's getting hot in here, but no AC will hold the heat of hell from reaching me.

Mace...out

It Grows

...

Chuck Norris Doesn't Sleep; He Waits.

Props to Muthachucka for this find.

The Post to Rule All Posts (Update)

The good news is that I have collected and ordered all the pics I'll use to illustrate The Adventures of The Company of Seven. The bad news is that the number of necessary pics is over 120, meaning the story must be told in three parts. I'll get to those ASAP. As another snack/tease, here's a sample of what several of the pics are like: me pointing at stuff, like rock formations. Those are pretty cool, right?


--

In other news, I came home from Jake's tonight to find in sink #1:

Not-my-dishes filling the sink isn't a shocking sight anymore. It's old hat. It's desensitized violence. It's Wednesday--nothing special. Sink #2, however, was a new sight and far more disturbing than any ol' pile of dishes:

Yup. That's the water-filter-jug standing an inch deep in greasy burger water. The pan and water have been there longer than my memory reaches, but the water jug was new. When I got home from work and saw the scene, I kinda just stood there awhile. I snapped a picture and left the jug there because fuck that. I'm not dealing. Besides, it was time for a test.

Notice the available counter space to the left of Sink #2. Please, don't try to figure out why someone would place the jug an inch deep in burger water rather than on available counter space. If you try to figure that out, your head a splode. Let's just deal with the facts instead of the mysteries.

Like I said, I left the jug there because I figured whoever did it would eventually realize what they did and do something about it. Now, I'd hope that something-about-it would mean, oh I don't know, washing the entire filter contraption and--just maybe--the greasy burger pan in which it stood, inch-deep in coagulating beef bi-product?

Several hours after leaving the jug in the burger water, I went back to the kitchen to check up on it. I didn't really want water. I wasn't thirsty. I just wanted to see, to test. I was filled with hope that things were set right; and when I saw that the jug was no longer in the sink, my hope was satisfied--the pan was still there but, c'mon, let's be realistic: I'd be happy with baby steps.

When I saw that things were fixed, I even became a little thirsty and decided to check in the fridge to see if Ol' Juggy was doin' OK.

Oops. Fuck you, Hope:

Yup. That's an inch of greasy burger water residue around the bottom of Poor Ol' Juggy. And yup. That's my finger smear to check, to test.


INT. KITCHEN
MASON inspects greasy rim around bottom of POOR OL' JUGGY.

MASON
Aww, man... No. It can't be.

Mason smears a finger over grease rim, hoping against all hope that he didn't just put it back in the fridge. Alas Mason's finger slides greasily over Poor Ol' Juggy. It is as he worst feared.

MASON
Aww, man. Juggy, man! No!

Juggy's filter is probably two months expired. That doesn't bother me. I treasure Juggy not for the false sense of filtered security that most people feel for their filters. I just like my goddamn water cold goddamn it, and I don't like my jugs rimmed with goddamn burger grease.

I won't say who did this. It could have been any of my roomates. [Editor's Note: The Author only has one roommate.] For the sake of anonymity, I'll even claim that the culprit could have been me. [EN: It wasn't The Author.] But I won't name names--so stop asking. [EN: It was Reed.]

Mace...out and missing Colorado

Snack Attack, Motherfucker!

The Boner Bus Midwest Tour 2006 was a complete success: I didn't die! But I didn't kill anything either--anything provable in a court of law, that is. What's with all this interrogation?

I feel a massive [Picture] Dump comin' on, but there is much to report about The Badlands, The Black Hills, Seminoe National Park in Wyoming, The Rockies of Colorado, and Tolkien. That post will take all my skillz, abilities, and power to complete. It may almost destroy me.

Until that post is done, I offer this pic as a snack to tide before a meal--although after now having seen the mountains of Colorado, I'm filled with a Mountain Hunger that no picture will ever satisfy. After a sentence like that, you'd think I'd post a mountain teaser pic. Nope. You get Cowboy Macestache instead.

Mace...back but out