Mean Rubber

Photo by Grenade

You know, a few years back, I used to write what I called The Hangover Update, a random posting sent to various friends that enlightened all about the current state of my brain and rectum after a night of spirits.  Consequently, when the film The Hangover came out, everyone felt the need to contact me first and tell me how hilarious it is so we could compare favorite parts.  Unfortunately, I’ve yet to see it.  Everyone repeatedly seems disappointed.  I’m not sure why.

It’s not that I doubt its inevitable hilariousness or the endless amounts of quotes I’m sure to expect, but rather, I just didn’t have the same initial level of excitement.  See, movies are supposed to have a certain level of escapism.  Which is why I like James Bond movies.  That is some over the top stuff I can’t even dream of living.  For most people, this is true.  With The Hangover, for me, not so much.  I’ll get around to seeing it, but man, I’ve lived it.  Ya’ll act like I’ve never woke up in a room at a place I don’t really know wondering who the guy passed out on the couch with the funions is. Read more…

Photo by amerune

Awhile back I had one of the most surreal experiences of my  life. Being a life long Bruins fan, and the fact that they managed to make it past the first round of the playoffs, I decided I needed to see at least one playoff game before I die. I sure as hell wasn’t going to let that little thing called a ticket hold me back.

After spending hours at work failing to convince my alleged “diehard friends” to accompany me, I decided to fly solo and figure it out. Roughly twenty minutes before the puck dropped, I found myself without a ticket amongst scalpers willing to split up pairs.

I did what any diehard fan would do. I went to the infamous Penalty Box across from “the gahden”. Probably one of the few cash only bars left in Boston and the last refuge of the real fans. The ones who can actually name players behind Orr, Neely, and Bourqe. Gottta love a place where the door to the bathroom stall ends approximately ten inches above where the toilet seat sits. Women’s room too, but that’s part of another story.

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Photo by Alex E. Proimos

I’m 27 and I spent the better part of my life in an upper middle class home surrounded by the rich and middle class alike. So it was with much chagrin that I embarked on this project known as adulthood, bill paying, and technology sales.

I had spent the first several years of my post-college freedom having a pretend college isn’t over pity party and I was left without the all important safety net.  I had traded a foundation for booze, bud, and adventure. Read more…

Photo by timbrauhn

After graduation the last thing you think about is health insurance. That is, until you get sick. I’ve been working without health insurance for over two years and it has taught me a few tricks. Fortunately, the only pharmacist I see these days has his office on the corner of a shady block while hanging out with girls whose first names end in “iqua.”

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Photo by pusgums

Well, apparently Part 1, despite its overwhelmingly successful response, was unsuccessful in landing me a pad. You’d think people would be a little more caring to a guy whose current neighbors consist of an eighteen year old girl that runs her boyfriend(s?) over about once every other week and an old drunk that pretty much routinely bangs every party gal in a one mile radius in the back of his Caddy. I’m guessing his wife knows, just doesn’t give a shit. When I jog past her and she waves, somehow I feel an urge to get the fuck outta there and run Forrest run. Read more…

Photo by fergusonphotography

It was a mere two years ago that I was enrolled in a state university. Although I could punt a medium sized animal farther than the distance between my parents’ house and the campus, I was legitimately making attempts to grow the fuck up.

I survived one year. Consider that claim lightly stated. No more than five days stood between each panic attack and I spent the equivalent amount of time at home as I had when, well.. when I lived there my whole life previous.

Upon erratically informing my parents I was moving to New York City they smirked and bid me farewell. Read more…

Photo by Jacob Botter

Hello, my name’s Sax, and I have a Facebook addiction.

Like oh so many of my Internet brethren, I spend far too much time on the ‘book. I don’t even know why, but dozens of times a day, I feel compelled to peruse the site. Sure I’m creepin’ pics a good deal of the time, but sometimes I’ll just go into a daze, staring blankly at status updates of people I don’t even remember. Five minutes later, I’ll do it again. I often find myself clicking on the Notifications button, Read more…

Photo by D Sharon Pruitt

Nothing is more enraging than environmentalists today. As some have fought the war on terror abroad, these “green soldiers” (hippies, vegans, general lame asses) have taken it upon themselves to fight the war on global warming. They have been pushing their crappy agenda and lifestyle on others for years now. Along with recycling and saving the environment, they want us all to get along and be nice to one another. That’s where I draw the line. Being green shouldn’t have anything to do with being nice. You can save the earth and still be a jerk!

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Photo by Lovelee Dae

Another monday, another kick in the fricken nuts.

Trying to make my peace with the fact that this, like all mondays, royally sucked. I drove home through an extra half hour of stop and go traffic, only to take five minutes to park when I got to my place. This is primarily because the fucking Yeti that lives across from me needed a whole five minutes to waddle her giant ass across the street. There I sat, my car idling, burning off more gas as her two cheeks ebb and flow against each other with the biggest series of retreats and advances since D-day. At $2.79+ a gallon, that bitch owes me at least an ice coffee. And I know she likes Dunks.

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Photo by Glennharper

The bar scene changes nightly, but you can always expect to run into one of these five people. They can either enhance or ruin your night.  So whetheryou’re a guy or a girl, we’re here to  provide you with a short summary of what each one of these people will mean to you should you decide to partake in the pleasure of your their company.

Striped Shirt Guy

We’ve all read about the striped shirt but with today’s crazy fashions, the striped shirt guy might be the type to rely on when things get ugly or the night gets late.

To Guys:
If you aren’t wearing one yourself, you can always rely on these guys to act civil. Some of them might be cock blockers, but on the whole they are always down for random commentary/cheers. You can expect striped shirt guy to get cozy with you by the end of the night. This signifies he has struck out and it looking for any company. If you feel you’ve gotten too friendly, you can always throw in a “no homo” for your safe measure.

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