Goulet; Countdown to Mexico

RIP Robert Goulet, who with the exception of a random cameo on The Simpsons, I wouldn't even know existed before Will Ferrell took on his persona on SNL

(that skit still has the funniest use of the n-word I have ever heard.)

And later on Conan O'Brien

RIP, Goulet. Here's hoping for many a diablo martini for you, wherever you are.


In two weeks from right about now, I'll be hoping a plane for our neighbor to the south, el mejico. Back to my old haunt of Tulum. Is it odd that all those little guys down there keep trying to come up here and I keep going down (thats what she said) there? Maybe, whatever. Mas mojitos, tiny guy with a nice mustache mi amigo.

Anyhoo, it will be ten days of sunning, swimming, boozing, carousing, eating, drinking, playing, and imbibing with 46 of my closest friends and family members (if my estranged adopted brother David ever gets out of that Turkish prison, it will be 47. I told you not to open mouth kiss a man over there, Dave, but did you listen to me? Of course not, you never do). Also, I will be getting married. No big whoop.

Anyway, as expected, myself, The Lady Friend, and our cast of dozens are rightfully jazzed for this whole excursion [you may remember some of the cast from my second previous journey south of el bordero -- not to be confused w/ last Novembers -- however, we will be sans Zeus, Injury McProne, and Willie Tripod Johnny Dangerously (damn adulthood and it's stupid careers); but plus longtime friends of the show Nasty & his GF Sarah, Sarah #2, K$, JaqE, Just Plain E, Joshtastic, Gallo, Elimidate Will & his wife Haley, and Daryl & his wife Laura.] Holy god shit, that's quite the fucking crew.... and that's not even including the family.

Tito, or as he was known on the previous journey, "Lionel Hutz" -- here's a picture of him humping a passed out Nasty after Cookman's wedding! -- has asked for me to starting priming the ol' blog up for the Mexico trip, mainly b/c he was jealous of my orange peeling skills and thought that this post sucked (it did).

So, in order to appease the hairy, drunken Peorian, I will begin doing a top five things I love about Mexico.

Coming up tomorrow: Sushi.

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Saint Louis Soccer United

There's a major push to build a new soccer only stadium outside of St. Louis on the Illinois side in hopes of luring a Major League Soccer franchise to the area. Seeing as how The Lady Friend would really like me to watch even more sports and drink more, I think this is a fantastic idea. If we get a franchise, I'm getting season tickets as soon as they become available. It'd just be dumb not to.

They (it seems as if they're going to be going by "St Louis Soccer United" which I don't hate, per se, but I'm not in love with, either. We just need a cool nickname. Suggestions?) have a website set up for information and support, including stadium plans (it's no St James Park, but it should do) and bizarre testimonials from soccer luminaries like Mike Shannon and Kim Tucci, the owner of the Pasta House. There is also this quote from the St. Louis Post-Dispatch's Bryan Burwell:

"If you know anything about the history of soccer, you know about the young men from The Hill that beat England in 1950 at the World Cup in Brazil. It only seems logical that MLS would eventually find its way here."

I'm not sure if Mr. Burwell understands the concept of logic or not, but I have no idea why a game played 57 years ago (which was later made into one craptastic movie staring that brat from Home Improvement) should award the St Louis area a pro soccer franchise, but whatever. I disapprove of his means, but approve of his ends. Or something.

So if you're interested in being a drunken hooligan with me, head on over to the site and register. I'll buy you a beer at the new park if you do.

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1985 Dwight's Gift For 2005 Dwight

While priming myself to get ready for tonight's epsiode of The Office, I stumbled across Dwight Shrute's "blog." It is, as you probably expected, the awesome.

"Hello internetizens. I have returned from my web logging hiatus. You may be asking yourself, “what happened to Dwight all summer?” Shut up. It’s none of your business. Just focus on the present. In this case, the present has two meanings. In its first usage, it is temporal. The present is the here and now. It is also being used to mean “a gift.” This web log is a present from me to you, the reader, because you do not pay for it and I am giving it to you. Enjoy your present (both meanings).

This weekend, while my cousin Mose was aerating the soil in the East Field, he came upon a metal box labeled “For Dwight. DO NOT OPEN UNTIL 2005.” Luckily, Mose is not nosey and brought it to me unopened right away.

As it turns out, the box was a time capsule that I had left for myself in 1985. It was quite interesting to see what 1985 Dwight had left for 2005 Dwight, even though 2005 Dwight forgot it was there and had to be reminded by 2007 Mose two years later.

These are the contents of 1985 Dwight’s Time Capsule:

1. A dehydrated beet sculpture of myself holding a very small metal box meant to represent a miniature version of the time capsule. I was very much into beet miniatures when I was teenager. I did not, however, know my “BeetDwight” would shrivel into dehydration. That occurred because of science, not intention.

2. A friendship bracelet. They were all the rage amongst agricultural teenagers in 1985. I was susceptible to fads back then. This has since been corrected.

3. Half of a Twix Bar. It must have fallen in.

4. A letter to myself. It said: “Hello Dwight. If you’re reading this, then you are not dead. Good. If you are not Dwight and you are reading this, be aware that this letter is cursed and the ghost of me will haunt you forever. Dokken Rules. Dwight.”

5. A letter to my wife. This is a sensitive subject as I am unmarried and have obviously disappointed my former self.

6. The carcass of a vole. At first I thought it had either fallen in or been trapped while attempting to retrieve the Twix bar. After careful thought, however, I remembered that this was the skeleton of my neighbor’s pet. I despised him and kidnapped one of his voles. Unfortunately, the vole perished before I could return her, so I threw her into the time capsule so there would be no evidence. This serves as my confession. If any authorities are reading this, I willingly accept any punishment bestowed upon me, although I believe the statute of limitations on vole manslaughter has run out.

This “blast from the past” has cast an interesting shadow over my week. It has provided cause for great self-reflection. In truth, however, I am proud of who I have become and regret nothing. Now I must make a time capsule for 2025 Dwight. I hope he is alive when he opens it. And married. And running a large paper company. And a beet magnate or mogul, whichever is most powerful in 2025. Additionally, I hope he has created a way to keep miniature beet sculptures hydrated over long periods of time, thus making himself very rich yet unburdened by the pressures of being overly wealthy.

That is all,
Dwight K. Schrute
2007 Version"

Truth be told, anytime I hear "cousin Mose" I laugh, so I just might be a sucker for this whole thing.

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Dane Cook is Hilarious!!!


Dane Cook is not funny. I've said this before and I'll probably say it again, if Dane Cook were to go out for beers with my friends, he'd be the least funny guy in the bar (excluding myself, of course). He being considered "funny" is the dumbest thing which has happened to America since people started putting those "No Fear" stickers on their cars.

For a while, I just didn't care, though. Other morons can find him funny, that's fine. I just know well enough to not turn on one of his specials when they're on HBO and to steer clear of his "movies." I don't see him, he doesn't annoy me. Simple as that.

But now with his relentless ad campaign for the MLB playoffs -- which are dumb in and of themselves; why do you run an ad for something that the viewer is already fucking watching? -- I can't take it anymore. Avoidance is no longer an option; annoyance, however, is. He's a gigantic asshat. I hate everything about him, and I just want these playoffs to be over so he goes the fuck away from my tv screen.

On my way back from Indiana this weekend, I stopped by the Christian pilgrimage site which is Effingham, Illinois and had a little talk with God.

Turns out, He hates Dane Cook, too.

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Fall has Fallen

I'm off to the lake for a weekend of baseball playoffs (go indigenous peoples of north america), chili, football (go indigenous peoples of north america located in the upper Mississippi River valley!), and of course:

(Man, I wish I was old enough to have drank beer brand beer. That stuff always tantalized me as a young boy shopping with his mom at Krogers back in the day. Alas, in was nothing but Big K and Shasta grape sodas for me.)

But when I get back, there will be a special message to the person I hate the very most in the entire world (besides terrorists, the blind, and Carlos Mencia of course). So hopefully that will get you through the weekend.

[have a great one, ya'll. get out there and be somebody!]

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Let Those Of You Who Have Not Got Into A Fight,Taken Off Your Pants, Led A Dangerous Drunken Police Chase, And Been Tazered Cast Thy First Stone

Wow.. A ridiculously funny crime took place in Peoria this week! What are the odds of that happening?

Woman strips down, leads police on high-speed chase

PEORIA - It took police from two different agencies to arrest an East Peoria woman early Monday who allegedly caused a ruckus at a bar by taking off her clothes then drove her minivan drunk, fleeing from an officer.

Stacey S. Nelton, 35, of 1180 Upper Spring Bay Road was arrested on charges of driving under the influence of alcohol, aggravated battery, aggravated fleeing and eluding, reckless driving, resisting arrest, disorderly conduct, criminal trespass, driving on the shoulder and two counts each of speeding and improper lane usage.

According to a Peoria County sheriff's report, a deputy was dispatched about 11:30 p.m. Sunday to Aberle's Bar, 5721 W. Farmington Road, to investigate a naked woman, who had just left in a minivan after earlier fighting with bar patrons and slapping the bartender.

As the deputy approached the bar, he spotted the van heading east on Farmington Road driving at a high rate of speed, reports said. The deputy noted the driver, later determined to be Nelton, reached a speed of 78 mph. The speed limit on Farmington Road is 40 mph.

The deputy, with his lights and siren activated, pursued Nelton as she turned north onto Sterling Avenue. He clocked her at 96 mph at that point of the pursuit.

Nelton took Sterling to Interstate 74 and headed east. While on I-74, the deputy said she struck a guardrail and passed a motorist on the right shoulder. When she left the interstate at the North University Street exit, Nelton almost collided with a Peoria police squad car.

She turned onto Main Street, followed the curve which turns into Western Avenue and headed down the hill where she drove through the yard at 1913 W. Martin while negotiating the turn.

The pursuit ended in the parking lot of Mount Zion Missionary Baptist Church, 305 S. Madison Park Terrace, when her van got hung up on a cement parking block. Police used a Taser on Nelton, who was not wearing any clothes from her waist down, when she refused to get out of the vehicle.


Well then. Sounds like one hell of a night, really. Three thoughts:

1. The word "ruckus" needs to be used much more frequently.
2. I wish this was on tape.
3. My bachelor party really should have gone to Aberle's Bar, apparently.

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I Am The World's Greatest Orange Peeler

Yes, That's Right. And I still gots game. I can peel an orange in one peel. If anyone wants to challenge me, go ahead. But you'll lose.

(Man this is a slow night.)

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Bachelor Party -> Sports

So the bachelor party was just about a complete and total success. We grilled some man meat from the Peoria oasis which is Pottstown Meat & Deli, rode around greater central Illinois on a bus, rocked ass at three different redneck bars, and ended up in downtown Peoria around one. Shortly thereafter, I went black and was asked to leave a drinking bar for the first time in probably five years.

From there I was denied entrance to world famous Big Al's (for being too drunk, natch), thrown in a cab, and may or may not have passed out on my buddy Tito's back porch for an undetermined amount of time. I woke up in his guest bedroom around 11 and how no idea how I got there. Neither did Tito.

Neither did anyone else, really. Nearly everyone blacked out.

A group of 28-27 year old guys, and the majority of us all blacked out? Real mature, gents, real mature. (And awesome.)

So the brain cells I killed Saturday night and the fluish symptoms I developed from sleeping outside for [scene missing] have left me with a good case of the bad week. Luckily the weekend is here with a veritable smörgåsbord of sports:

Baseball playoffs, Illinios v. Wisconsin (not on the Big Ten network!), Mizzou v. Nebraska, more baseball playoffs (go Indians!), and topping it all off with a Packers v. Bears Sunday night game.

Which leaves me to a whole weekend of recharging my batteries on the couch, eating chili, wings, and burgers, and killing even more brain cells with vodka and wine. Then next week, I can complain of being sick and poopy all week before rinsing and repeating next weekend.

It's a vicious cycle.

[have a great weekend, everyone. i hope youre as bonerly inducing excited for illinois game as i am; this could be epic.]

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"I'll be dead in the cold, cold ground before I recognize the state of Missouri."