Things Brits Say

I just finished all the seasons of Peep Show on Hulu, and I kind of miss those Brits. I miss the goofy stuff they say. Here are some of the most fun words I can think of right now:

Snog: To kiss

Fancy: When you like something, you fancy it.

Blimey!: This is what you say when you're surprised about something. Apparently, it derives from when people in the 1800's would say "God, blind me."

Chips: Fries

Crisps: Chips (isn't that werid?)

Bollocks: Balls, as in a pair of balls or like an exclamation, "Balls!"

Have a wank: Masturbate

Pull myself off: An even funnier way to say masturbate.

If you still don't think you want to watch this program, give this clip a try, and "step away from the bum (that means butt)."

Wine Tasting Smart Asses

Well, a while back I posted a project I did where a friend and I drank piss poor winter beers, and now I bring you a wine tasting with mostly similar results, this time with a girl I'm sort of seeing who we will call, Law School Dropout.

First off, from the "silky" category, we had a sip of Heinz Eifel Riesling Spatlese

From: Mosei, Germany

Price: $13.99

Their Description: Full-bodied, flavors of peach, cit

rus, and apricot. Good with sushi and spicy cu

isine.

Dr. Ken's Impression: "This would go good with a sour apple Jolly Rancher."

Law School Dropout's Impression: "Eh, not my style."

Next, from the "bold" category, we tried out Ello Grasso Nebbiolo

From: Langhe, Italy

Price: $25.99

Their Description: Stop sign red with medium intensity and a nose of Maraschino cherries, red licorice and mineral notes. Tart, good acidity, leading to a long, lingering finish.

Dr. Ken's Impression: "He said it has tastes of tar and leather. Is that good?"

Law School Dropout's Impression: "It's real smoove."

And then we had, also from the "bold" category, had a snort of Qupe Syrah

From: Central Coast, California

Their Description: Beautifully balanced, delivering a balance of fruit, spice and tannins (whatever that is).

Dr. Ken's Impression: "That one dries you right out."

Law School Dropout's Impression: "I want some mashed potatoes with that."

Lastly, from the "nectar" category, they poured us Heinz Eifel Eiswein.

From: Germany

Their Description: Rich and flavorful, only the nectar of the juices getting extracted and fermented into the wine.

Dr. Ken: Trying to sound smart, "Is it pears, or something?"

Law School Dropout: "I'm struggling with this."

-----------------

I warned the gal I brought that I would likely be silly in there, not over-the-top like Jim Carrey, more like an understated smart apple like Bill Murray. For instance, I asked if the Heinz one was from the same people who brought us the ketchup. Also, when another gal asked us if we were familiar with the menage a trois in wine, I said, "Not in the wine realm, no." That one was really awkward because it was the gal's first day, and I think she thought we were propositioning her.

So, if any of my Seven Readers are headed to Napa Valley, bring the good doctor along because he doesn't know dick about wine, but he's good for a laugh . . .

Hey. Here's a Letter I Wrote To Oprah This One Time

I'm personally not very interesting, noteworthy, or even that great a person, to be honest, but my sister is the most incredible woman I know. I'm writing you in the hopes that you give her the opportunity to see a taping of the show, and maybe you can stuff some cool free stuff under her seat like I've seen you folks do. She that, and to be fair, she deserves a lot more, but for now, maybe her seeing her favorite show and getting some free crap would make me feel like life is at least a little fair.

She's a single mother, raising three boys, and she works as a full time lawyer. Now, there's loads of folks who are doing similar things, but this wasn't her plan. Her idiot husband started banging strippers left-and-right (it's a wonder I got through the whole thing without punching him), they got a divorce, and she had to go back to work. It's not something she necessarily wanted to do because she loved being a stay-at-home mom, but she had to do it.

She excels at her job and as a mother. Sometimes when I have a long day and come home for a workout or even a nap, I think to myself that she doesn't have the option to just "chill." She has to raise these three boys, and she does a terrific job without much help from her ex, who is a grown man-chilld.

She's a hero. No, she's not running with puppies out of burning buildings, but she's the kind of hero who does heroic stuff all day long, every day, and nobody seems to give a damn. She handles her business, and I can tell you right now, even if I'm a little biased, that her boys are three of the smartest, most well-mannered, funniest little guys of all time.

If you can find a seat for her, I think she would find that amazing, and if there's no free stuff lying around the studio, just seeing the show would be cool for her. Thanks for taking the time to read this, and have yourself a good day.

Regards,

Dr. Kenneth Noisewater

Let's Play . . .

. . . Sober or Not Sober! Leave your guess in the comments section, and I will announce whether or not my buddy in this clip was drunk off his rocker or just really angry. As always, pause the music player to the right if you want to give it a careful listen.

Weekend Update

On Friday, my friend Gung Ho and I went out, and at one point, we found ourselves on a dance floor with a group of straight-up weirdos who just had to be drug addicts. One guy looked like a combination of equal parts Frank Zappa and Rob Zombie, and he was tall enough to fiddle with the disco ball. This guy was fascinated by the thing, probably due to the drugs, and I was just sure that he was going to accidentally knock it down to the floor, shattering it.

+

(PLUS)

While that didn't happen, what did happen is someone letting loose with the worst smelling fart of all time, permeating through the whole bar and having the duration of a good five minute's time. Because these folks all looked like artsy druggies, Gung Ho deduced that it must have been a heroin fart. Neither of us have been around that drug enough to truly know what that might smell like, but it's a good theory.

On Saturday night, I had a guy's night out with my married buddies, and we had a blast. We were at one bar with the punching machine thing where it registers how hard you punch, and I decided to throw a high kick at the thing. I fanned on my first one, luckily not falling down, but my second attempt was a direct hit! It felt amazing, and I'm glad it didn't get me thrown out because I was having a ball in there.

I learned two new moves on this night:

1. If you want to sit down with a table of girls, it can be done without looking like an intruding asshole if you do it right. First off, you have to smile and establish eye contact with all three. Next, right off the bat, announce that you are going to intrude and annoy them for five minutes and five minutes only. That way, they laugh, and they can be relieved that you won't take up all their time. I pulled this off, talking to these young ladies who turned out to be college students. I felt more like a dad, asking them what they were studying in school and things, but still, I consider it to be a successful learning experience.

2. When you're on a dance floor, if you ever see a pair of girls, and one is dancing with a guy, if the other one seems to be looking around for something to do, that's the bomb time to swoop in there. This is a point where they are actually hoping someone will do that because otherwise they're dancing alone and feeling awkward. Of course, you can't go in there grinding away; instead, you must go with a non threatening maneuver, like the standard taking her hand and twirling her around and things. They love that. Well, some do. Luckily for Dr. Ken, the ones twirled last night were responding well to it.

Okay, that's all I got. Have fun out there, Seven Readers, and be sure to stay clear of heroin farts.

One more thing, I centered all of the text in this blog to make it look like a poem. I think that it tricks people into thinking that the crap I write is somehow important, right?

I was on a date with this girl, second date, and I'm going to keep this brief because I'm sleepy and it's a school night, and before she got there I was waiting to get a drink at the bar where this annoying guy was holding court with his poor unsuspecting friend, who was feeling the onslaught of horribleness. Sadly, I came in right at the start of an anecdote where he was saying that Faulkner was holding a lecture in his late seventies, and some guy asked where he gets inspired to write. According to this yahoo, Faulkner gave him some entirely sarcastic response about getting inspired every day around 1PM like clock work, at which time he has a shot of Bourbon and yada, yada, yada.

The whole while the guy with him is throwing in the occasional "yeah," "wow," and "okay," and then without missing a beat or giving the other guy a chance to change the subject, brutal guy says, "Faulkner was saying that he just worked harder than the other guys, he just wrote. It's like if you want to be the best guitar player ever, if you're like (some guy I've never heard of, and that's saying something because I know almost everyone worth a damn), you have to play like all the time. Now, let's say, with you, you want to be the best mixed martial artist . . . "

Now wait just a God damn minute. This guy is an MMA fighter? No wonder he's so damn bored with your Faulkner stories. Holy hell! This guy sucked butt.

However, the date went well. She's super funny and cool and smart. We'll see how it goes, but that guy . . . Yikes. What a doucher.

Good night.

Big Suze

I have been watching a hilarious show from England called Peep Show, you can watch it on Hulu, and lately I'm finding myself madly in love with Big Suze. I'm not sure if they ever say why she's called that because she's quite fit. Isn't she lovely in this shot?

Here she is in a pretty yellow dress. I like how she's brushing her hair back. You know, it kind of looks like maybe she's not so sure of herself. Maybe she's that rare find of a woman who's hotter than all get out, but still has a crap self concept . . .

And here she is doing some stage acting. With terrific boobs. I love terrific boobs. You know, I really think, at the risk of getting a restraining order against me, that we were meant to be together. Sure, she's all the way across the Atlantic, far too good looking for me, and would likely have zero interest in me, but still . . .

Son of a bitch! Who is this asshole! Oh come on! He's got that half his undershirt hanging out look that makes me want to puke. Wait, where's her other hand. Is she touching his narrow ass?! Oh . . . Oh, do I ever hate this limey.

She's married to this doucher? Bloody hell!! Turns out he's a prince. That must be Prince Doucher's castle. Castle Douche Skull. What's this guy have that I don't? Sure, he's a prince and everything and has loads more money than me and probably charmed her in person, going a few steps further than merely ogling her on Hulu and cursing her funny looking husband, but other than all that . . . Come on!

What do you think, Seven Readers? What does Dr. Ken need to do to make Big Suze his new special ladyfriend?

Dump Truck

I had a rather odd house guest come by last weekend. One of my female roommates, we'll call her Schilling, and I decided to have friends over for her 30th birthday.  So, a few guests arrive, and then at one point she lets in a portly Black fellow who she assumed was on of my guests. He gave her a hug that was a little too tender and long, wished her a happy birthday, walked in with his bottle of tequila, and made himself at home. A good hour elapsed before she heard him introduce himself as Dump Truck, and her heart sunk at the realization that she in fact knew this man as an idiot she met at a bar a while back who Facebook stalked her and her friend. As it turns out, Schilling was wise enough to decline the "friendship," but her friend failed to have a working stalker gage, and friended "The Truck." Because he had access to her page, he was able to see the event for our gathering and just fricking showed up!! Who does that?! The Dump Truck; that's who.

His actual name was not Dump Truck, but it was something very similar, and he claims that that is his DJ name and he hosts the midnight shift on a local radio station.

Anyway, for another uncomfortable half hour or so, she was unable to get me alone to tell me that there was a big stalker weirdo in our living room watching the fights with us, and chiming in with surprisingly insightful comments for a guy who was undoubtedly a social pariah and perhaps a menace to society. Finally, she was able to catch me when I got up to go to the kitchen for a beer, and I must say that I was shocked at this news. Shocked, yes, but mostly I just thought it was the funniest thing I'd ever heard. Instead of doing what a solid roommate and friend would do, kicking the nut out of the house before she got brutally raped and murdered, I first thought I should pull at least three of my friends into the kitchen one-by-one to tell them about the Dump Truck situation. Naturally, they all found it as hilarious as I did; Not surprisingly, I have sick friends.

I may not have thought it was so funny at the time had I known that he was creeping out the guests with scary pervert comments:

Creepy comment number one: Grabbing Schilling's arm and looking her dead in the face, he said to her, "Did you get your birthday spanking?"

Creepy comment number two: He said to the gal who played the female lead in the play I wrote, someone I hadn't seen in at least a year, and I may never see again now that she thinks I let nuts like this into my home, "Do you like this violence? Does it make you moist."

Yikes.

Instead of simply asking this wacko to get the hell out of my house, I thought it better to just see if I could get everyone out to the bars because I hate conflict and thought he might stab me if I offended him. I made repeated attempts to get people motivated for the bar scene, but it was tough because only half the people in the room knew that this cat was not a friend of anyone and was here for the sole purpose of stalking the shit out of my roommate. Just when I was ready to burst with frustration, I saw him grab his tequila bottle and head out the door. It turns out Schilling strapped on the pair that I should have and just told the guy that she was uncomfortable and it would be good if he left, and he did, with his tail between his legs, feeling shocked and jilted. This was great news for us because now we could all talk about him and have a laugh at his expense!

And laugh we did, all through the night at the karaoke bar, and I wore the ugly powder blue sport coat that I got from a barfly woman for buying her an MGD. Surprisingly, the hideous coat was money. Everyone was coming up to talk to me all night, and I got a number from a girl after she spanked me at Galaga and met her out the following Thursday for a drink.

Thank you Dump Truck for giving me this story to tell, and please now that you know where we live, don't hide in the bushes and try to rape my roommate. Or me.

Also thanks to the powder blue Mr. Furley sport coat for reminding me that you don't have to dress like everyone else if you do it with some confidence and style, just like Mr. Furley and just like Dump Truck.

I was at my sister's place today because she was helping me with my taxes, and at one point I was looking at my 3rd grade nephew's class picture (his name isn't really Colin).

Uncle Ken: This is a good pic of you, bud. And this is your teacher?

Colin: No, the blond one's my teacher. That's my principal.

Uncle Ken: She's your principal?! She's so young, and I don't want to weird you out, but she's kinda fine.

Colin: Okay . . .

Uncle Ken: Maybe you can get her number for me, yeah?

Colin: I don't think . . .

Uncle Ken: Here's what you do: first thing in the morning tomorrow, get in trouble, something bad enough to get sent to the principal. Then you tell her that you're sorry, but your uncle is a counselor, and he's been helping you with your behavior - and that's when you give her my number.

Colin: Okay, I'll get in trouble right away. I'll walk over to the teacher's desk and rub my butt on it (now squatting) and fart and say, "suck on that!"

Mom: Hey, stop saying that!

Colin and Uncle Ken: Sorry . . .

Metal Up Your Rear

This is a piece I just wrote that will be going on Stay Thirsty very soon. Hope you like it:

When I was either in my God awful sophomore or junior year of high school, I don’t know which because they blended into one collective shitty experience, I wanted to off myself one night while listening to “Fade To Black” by Metallica. It could be that the song moved me to want to end it all or it could be that it saved me from it, but either way, it had an effect on me. That type of music was just about all I liked back then. Sure, I liked some rap every now and again, but only if there were loads of references to shooting people – I was a pretty dark dude back then.

The metal phased its way out of my regular rotation as the years went on, revealing itself again here and there during the occasional metal renaissance, but still, it is the genre of music that got me passionate about rock to begin with – and for that I have Anthrax and the others to thank. Lately, that sound has been getting more and more play as I have been getting into marathons, weights, and the pressure of a looming weakening metabolism. I’m very much a mind-over-matter guy, for better or for worse, in that my brain can quite effectively talk me into quitting something, so sometimes there is no other type of music to keep me going but the likes of Phil Anselmo scowling and yelling at me, reminding me that “no one can piss on this determination.”

I thought for sure that I was the indie rocker type for good, and that metal was all but in the past. As it turns out, in the right situation, something like the drum fills on “Seasons in the Abyss” by Slayer can still move me in any way I thought was no longer possible. When someone hates all heavy music, there is still that little part of me, perhaps that dormant teen angst in me from all those years ago, which says to myself, “What a pussy!” One has to admit that it’s true that people either like that sludgy, distortion, drop-D sound or they don’t, and it’s sort of an exclusive club for those of us who get it. Indeed, when I get a few “pops” in me, there are still times when I’m all about old school Metallica, and even tanked, I can unearth just about every one of the lyrics from the first four classic discs. And I kind of feel a kinship to anyone who knows exactly what I’m talking about.

Sure, if you asked me my favorite bands, I’d likely tell you Pink Floyd, Built To Spill, and Grandaddy, but I will forever be in debt to Megadeth, Testament, and especially Metallica, for saving me from offing myself, or making me want to do it; I still don’t recall which.

Storytelling Podcast 4 of 4: The Stripper

(this above pic will make sense after you listen)

I've always said that LC, a.k.a. HLP (Heterosexual Life Partner) is a funny, funny man and should be on a podcast some day, and he really delivered. All the participants agree that he put down the most entertaining story, and I think you'll agree, My Beloved Seven Readers.

I would not feel comfortable giving anything away here, as that would kill some of the surprises that caught us off guard as well. Yes, I know it's 25 minutes, but it's worth it. Just sit back and enjoy . . .



Remember, click the arrow play button to here it on this site, and click the word play to download it to your iTunes to listen later, which may be preferred due to the length - break it up during your commute! If you play it just now without the download, be sure to turn off the music player on this blog, along the right panel.

Songs Used:
"St. Louis" by Nelly
"Forever in Blue Jeans" by Neil Diamond
"Waiting for the Sun" by The Doors
"Don't Let the Sun Catch You Cryin'" by Not Ray Charles (little help, anyone?)
"I'm In Love With a Stripper" by T-Pain
"Meet Me In St. Louis" by Judy Garland
"Big Hard Sun" by Eddie Vedder

Follow Through, Scheduling, and Punching

I'm sure I've told you before that I have never been in a fight. Sure, I watch a lot of UFC, and I'd love nothing more than to know what it feels like to deliver a flying knee or a superman punch to another grown man's face; But I just never was the fighting type. The closest I came was in the 4th grade when this Asian Indian kid and I decided we should fight after school. The problem was, one of us had soccer practice one day, another of us had cross country, or something on another, and we just couldn't arrive at a day that worked for the both of us. To fight . . .

I've always had trouble with follow through and scheduling, so yeah, it just wasn't going to happen.

Storytelling Podcast 3 of 4: Dr. Ken's First Kiss

In the third section of this podcast, Dr. Ken tells his Seven Readers about his first kiss and, how sucky he was at it and all the embarrassing details surrounding this episode in his 12th or 13th year of life, and in fact, he could not recall if he had ever told anyone this story.

Some notable things that came out of this were, well, after mention of the dreaded sump pump, see previous casts, the guys discuss the rules of Ghost in the Graveyard and the notion of bringing that game to the bar scene. L.C. also tells us about about a popular game near his apartment complex: Tag Around the Shed.

Songs In This Episode:
1. "Then He Kissed Me" by Leslie Gore
2. "Is There a Ghost" by Band of Horses
3. "Suck My Kiss" by Red Hot Chili Peppers
4. And Dr. Ken's chosen theme song for this post is: Skid Row's "I'll Remember You."


Remember, click the play button to play it on the site and click the word play to download it to listen to on your iTunes or on a snow day, or whatever. Just remember to click pause on the music player along the right panel of this blog if this page is still open so that you can hear all the bottles hitting the table (we really need to use coasters next time to muzzle that).