2 Quick Things: Poop Precautions and General Suckiness

THE FIRST THING

There are some expressions that we use to remember certain things to get us through life:
1. Look both ways before crossing the street
2. Beer before liquor, never sicker. Liquor before beer, you're in the clear.*
3. You have to know when to hold 'em, fold 'em, and walk away. And don't count your money at the table, because as Kenny Rogers once said, that kind of greedy shit amongst friends and strangers alike is bound to get you an ass whippin'.

One that should be added to this list, I think, is don't ever start pooing without first checking to see that there is toilet paper readily available. We need a good expression for that reminder. It sounds like something that should be such an obvious precaution, that we shouldn't need a catchy phrase, right? Everyone should have an instinct to avoid finding themselves with a dirty ass and nowhere to turn. One would think it would be clear to most anyone. One would think . . .

AND THE SECOND THING


Friends and I were talking about a real dork. We're talking a virtual tool shed of a man that you can't even stand to talk to. The kind of a guy where he walks into a party, and you say, "Awww, fuck! So-and-so is here. I'm either going to have to leave this place or kill myself with a corkscrew." As we discussed this guy's outright crappiness, someone said, "That guy sucks." I busted out laughing because is there anything worse to say about someone? I'd rather have someone say, "That Gancer is an asshole." Asshole I can deal with. To say someone sucks is to say that they don't necessarily suck at anything in particular, basketball, croquet, or anything else, they just suck in general, in summation. It's so final.

Leave me a comment, Seven Readers, because you don't suck, and due to your foresight and lack of need for catchy phrases, you all have sparkling clean anuses.

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*That one actually has been disproved by most experts (read drunks) because what really matters is how much booze you pour down your esophagus, not the order in which they go in. Either way, if too much goes in there, it's going to come back out. The only thing does make the expression hold true is that if you have 7 or 8 beers in you, you may be pouring in hard liquor without knowing how much you're really boozing. Then again, if you have 3 or 4 cocktails in you, you may throw back beers like they're water. No, I was right the first time: it's a dumb concept.

A Book Review and Some Random Crappola

1. My good friend Jeff Phillips, otherwise known as The Igloo Oven, just published a book called Whiskey Pike. Having known him for around three years now, seeing him steal the show with his knack for comedic timing in the play I co wrote and directed, The Loitering Hole, and knowing what a light-hearted fellow he is in his day-to-day life, I was not expecting such a dark tale. Yes, it's dark, but not just dark for dark's sake; it has something worthwhile to say about strained relationships in a family as they deal with greed, corruption, and alcoholism. I also like the cute illustrations Jeff did on his own that keep such a sad story grounded in the theme: "A Bedtime Story for the Drinking Mankind." So, pick up a copy at the website or at Amazon.com, sit back with a single-malt whiskey, and settle in for all 65-pages of booze soaked enjoyment.

2. Recently I got thinking about a bar that one of my best friends managed that was like my home away from home for around a year. I knew the whole staff, they knew me, and I always felt pressured to be funny when I came in there, coming up with bomb-ass one-liners like Norm on Cheers. There was a gal there who will probably always be my favorite bartender. She'd pour me a drink with like a four to one booze to mixer ratio that I could just sip on for an hour or two, and she'd say, "I put some stank on it." One day my roommate at the time and I were having a few there and helping that very bartender come up with names for a Christmas shot she had concocted. I'll be honest here because there's no other way to say it: It looked like a shot glass full of cum, but it tasted just like Christmas! Because it looked so much like spunk, all of the names we were coming up with were totally inappropriate, but so damn funny that they need to be shared.

I remember throwing out Santa's Baby Batter, and my roommate, always shocking me with the funny stuff he'd stir up in his head, being such a quiet fella, came up with Blitzen Juice. Blitzen Juice! I still laugh when I say it. Telling that story last night, I decided to text him those two words. I woke up this morning to a return text from him: Santa's Sleigh Load. Ha! Forgot that one.

3. I was watching COPS today, and as you know, I've been known to offer little tips here and there to help all of you Gancey Up Yourself, and I think this is one of my better ones: Watch COPS as a means of boosting your self-esteem. I watch losers getting arrested, and I think to myself, "Sure, I have a heaping pile of student loans, my writing career isn't taking off like I hoped, and my actual job doesn't pay a whole lot, but I have all my teeth, I've never smacked my 'old lady' around, gotten handcuffed shirtless on my front lawn with a knee in my back, cursing out cops who would moments later find a few grams of cocaine in my jean shorts. I got it pretty good next to those guys, and so do you, seven readers. Whenever you get down on yourself, just remember, even if your job sucks, be thankful you have a steady one, and you could be somewhere getting dragged out of your trailer and beaten with nightsticks while snarling police dogs bite your ankles.

Updates

1. I've been writing weekly reviews for The Bachelorette over at Starpulse.com. Click over there and leave a comment if you have a second. The show has exposed me to all kinds of unthinkable douchiness, and I'd like to share with you what I've learned . . .

2. Sitting at my girlfriend's place with her brother, both of whom were born in the 1980's, we saw a clip of Mr. T. chainsawing down about 100 oak trees on his estate, angering his neighbors. The following conversation ensued:

Gancey Girlfriend and Gancy Girlfriend's Brother: Who's Mr. T.?
Gancer: Who's Mr. T.? He was on the A Team.
GF and Bro: What's that?
Gancer: It was a show about a bunch of mercenary dudes driving around in a van being called on upon by clients when they had nowhere else to turn, doing God's work with machine guns. The show was so awesome, we used to play it at recess. I played the part of Hannibal, their savvy, silver-haired, cigar-chomping leader.
GF and Bro: (blank stares).
Gancer: Okay, he had a Mohawk. Well, everyone has that hairstyle now, but back then it was really significant, you know? I mean, on his Saturday morning cartoon, even his dog had a Mohawk.
GF and Bro: Okay. Got it.
Gancer: He had like fifty pounds of jewelry around his neck, and I'm not exaggerating. I'm serious!
GF and Bro: So, are you going to order that sushi?


3. Yesterday, as I sorted out my colors and lights for my laundry, I started gangsta' rapping "Colors" by Ice T from the movie of the same name. Every time I'd come across a dark shirt, I'd throw it to a pile, and say, "Colors! Colors!" My roomy must have though I was the biggest laundry hardass ever. Laundry hardass?

4. Okay, I know I've given you some cutesy nephew stories before, but here's one more, so deal with it. I'm going to say his name is Maynard. He was around 5 when he had this conversation with my sister, his mom, so you'll have to excuse his problems with suffixes.

Maynard: I pukeded on Christmas, and I pukeded on Easter. What's the holiday called with the red, white, and blue?
Gancey Sis: 4th of July.
Maynard: Yeah, I didn't pukeded on that one.

Readers, any thoughts on any of these random-ass updates? Who's my reader who's gone the longest without having "pukeded?"