OK, I think Kate (now HRH Princess Katherine) Middleton is a smashing little dish of porridge and that Prince William is the most "normal" Windsor I have seen in my lifetime. As Patsy Stone was want to say "Oh, yes, the Royals. Every 4 or 5 generations they're forced to shag a commoner just to maintain bone structure!!!" It's true! That clan is more inbred than Mexican street dogs. But I digress...
She had three completely different custom designed wedding dresses. Two as backup in case the main one got leaked to the press. I don't even want to know the cost of that fashionista debacle...
This wedding is big. BIG!!! Westminster Abbey. 1600 guests. 600 of which are invited to the reception at the palace. 300 of which get to come to the dinner that follows. How the hell did the Queen narrow that down??? Hey, thanks for filling some seats at the Abbey, don't want to see most of you at the reception and then we are "escorting" half of you out afterwards. Thanks for the gifts but don't expect dinner??? Oh well, so much for Royal etiquette...
Speaking of Royal etiquette... guess where Kate's parents are staying at right now??? A hotel two blocks from the palace. Yep. Buckingham Palace has 58 full bedroom suites and 78 bathrooms and the soon to be inlaws are at a hotel??? That's rude!!! Even for the Windsor's. Your Majesty, the Clampett's are here...
Did you see the "foliage" inside the abbey? Four TONS (yes, TONS) of flowers and a double row of trees 300 feet long up the aisle. Estimated cost: $150,000 US. That's a freaking house!!!
The cost of security (all of it double time) and cleanup in the streets is staggering.
The Windsor's are pulling out all of the stops on this one to be sure. This is more than pomp and circumstance, this is more than the GNP of Sri Lanka for god's sake. Security has to be insane. What were they thinking of when they invited the Ambassador of Syria??? Ahh, yes, former British possession. Yet, the Obama's got snubbed by protocol. I hope they send an assorted basket of goodies from Family Dollar and a $50 gift card from Target. Which, BTW, has no outlets in England. BITE ME!!!
I was up at 4 AM watching the live coverage from London. I wanted to see that dress!!! If it involved 8 million dead silk worms and a hectare of dead oysters worth of pearls I would puke. I wanted to see something new. Something contemporary. Something PERSONAL!!! Something Kate!!! And I'll be damned, she did it. That girl has style!!!
The reception is destined to be a bit of nightmare and David Lench in a blender. The dinner for 300 "select" guests afterwards is rumored to be costing about $100,000 US. Do the math, that's over $300 per guest. WTF are they eating??? Gold??? I wonder if this was an open bar thing... The bash after dinner had to be a hoot. It was held in the throne room and was organized by Kate's younger sister. She actually managed to hang disco balls in the throne room!!! I LOVE IT!!! Ya think they danced to "YMCA"??? Prince William fought for this because in his words, they both needed a place to properly let their hair down. Have you seen his hairline lately???
Oh, yeah, BTW, after some number crunching a lot of reports are coming in that say when all is said and done this little soire is going to end up costing somewhere around (hang on to your hats. And lord weren't there some UGLY ones of those at this wedding???) $6,000,000,000 US. Yes, you heard me right, 6 BILLION!!! Sri Lanka is just shrugging it's shoulders...
Friday, April 29, 2011
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Hot Dawgs!!! Amour Hot Dawgs!!!
I hate this company!!! Even more than Oscar Meyer. And that says a LOT!!! Yes, I LOVE hot dogs. Hell, who doesn't? I've long said that I sleep better at night once I've had a bit of sausage in me... Oh, just get over it!!!
But their theme song was dreadful. And sexist. And a bit creepy.
"Hot dogs! Amour hot dogs!
What kind of kids eat Armour hot dogs?
Fat kids, skinny kids, kids who climb on rocks,
Tough kids, sissy kids even kids with chicken pox
love hot dogs, Armour hot dogs,
the dog kids love to bite!"
What the bloody fuck was up with that??? FAT kids??? SISSY kids??? Chicken pox??? Yeah, nothing sells a food item faster than incorporating obesity, sexual orientation and disease!!! Especially disease. Hey, these things go great with pickles and penicillin!!!
Hot Dogs bring more than just awesome phallic jokes- they bring smiles from Hayward to Beloit. Since Chicago is to Hot Dogs like Boston is to obnoxious Sports fans or Baltimore is to critically acclaimed but under watched HBO shows; I feel very qualified to preach the virtues of the Hot Dog. Here is a very brief timeline of the Hot Dog.
But their theme song was dreadful. And sexist. And a bit creepy.
"Hot dogs! Amour hot dogs!
What kind of kids eat Armour hot dogs?
Fat kids, skinny kids, kids who climb on rocks,
Tough kids, sissy kids even kids with chicken pox
love hot dogs, Armour hot dogs,
the dog kids love to bite!"
What the bloody fuck was up with that??? FAT kids??? SISSY kids??? Chicken pox??? Yeah, nothing sells a food item faster than incorporating obesity, sexual orientation and disease!!! Especially disease. Hey, these things go great with pickles and penicillin!!!
Hot Dogs bring more than just awesome phallic jokes- they bring smiles from Hayward to Beloit. Since Chicago is to Hot Dogs like Boston is to obnoxious Sports fans or Baltimore is to critically acclaimed but under watched HBO shows; I feel very qualified to preach the virtues of the Hot Dog. Here is a very brief timeline of the Hot Dog.
- 1000 B.C. The first semblance of a Hot Dog was made in Ancient China. Called “Honorable meal for an elder to eat by the reeds of the river” it was rumored to be dragon meat on a rice patty sprinkled with Opium. Soon they got rid of the meat and patty and just kept the Opium- people were fine with it.
- 1894- Hot Dogs were introduced at the Chicago Worlds Fair by Eli Whitney as a means to combat consumption. Its medical side effects were later discredited but 9 out 10 ten doctors agreed it was delicious
-1908 President Taft makes the Hot Dog the “The official food of the President” (Although to be fair he gave pretty much every food that title..fat jokes!)
-1945 Normandy Beach- General Eisenhower feeds his troops Hot Dogs because of their convenience and nutrition. After their victory Eisenhower proclaims it “Hot Dog Day” which then changed to “Dog Day” then finally it was come to known as “D-Day”
-November 3rd 1948 The Chicago Tribune accidentally prints the headline “Dewey gives Truman a Hot Dog”
- 1964 Martin Luther King gives his inspiring “Hot Dog at the top of Mountain” speech in Alabama. The next day LBJ signs the Civil Rights Act.
- 1998- The Starr Report’s Clinton/Lewinsky Hot Dog excerpt provides a year of punch lines for SNL, Letterman, and Leno.
I know you most of my readers can't read or write but History speaks for itself. Here is some more proof of Hot Dog’s greatness
Meals on Wheels: The Weiner Mobile. The coolest car on the road- when you see it- it makes your day. Plus it runs on dreams and dreams don’t emit any carbon dioxide. And it's based here in Madison. I've been inside it. I have a Weiner Whistle!!!
Star Power. Kobayashi is the biggest star in the world. In 2004 he made more money than Tiger Woods and Jennifer Garner combined. According to this poll I just made up he is 40 percent more recognizable than Secretary of the Interior Kenneth Salazar.
Personally, I am a fan of Hebrew Nationals. The all beef ones. They're Kosher. They plump up. I love a sausage that plumps up. Sorry, Sea Squirt, but I was born into the faith and I love nothing better than a bit of kindred spirit slipping into my buns. It's nothing personal. Think of it as my heritage. Granted, a weird heritage but a heritage nonetheless. Hell, what else do I have to hang onto except a sausage???
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Maotai!!!
This is SO my kind of liquor. It's not smooth. It's not mellow. It's not kind. And it's certainly not in the least bit palatable. It has a "nose" somewhere between turpentine and cat urine and a taste bud and mucous membrane factor close to kerosene. But my god, this shit will not only knock your socks off it will actually dissolve them!!! It's China's version of Everclear. Only better. Sort of... This stuff is distilled from fermented sorghum and then flavored with soy sauce. Yummy!!! That alone is enough scare Grannie Clampett back to the hills. Hell, she could have used this stuff to scour the cee-ment pond!!!
I first discovered maotai while in Quilin, China back in 1988 at a small "tourist" restaurant I was having dinner at. My waiter was so impressed by my having eaten an entire plate of the "Four Divine Goddesses Ascending Into Heaven" without hurling that he suggested I clear my palette with shot or two, or three of the local liquor. (BTW, the Four Divine Goddesses consisted of snake, cat, field rat, which is less gamey than city rat apparently, and black dog. EWW!!!) Of course I naively think, what the hell, why not. When in Rome, right? Shortly he brings a fifth of maotai to my table. Oh, yeah... I was in serious trouble. And I knew it.
The Chinese love this stuff. In large amounts. If it's a special occasion then rounds of shots get consumed in rapid succession. Remember back in 1972 when Nixon went to China? Remember that famous photo of him at a banquet with Mao Zedong? They had just finished a toast and the look on his and Pat's faces where frightening, even for the Nixon's. Yeah, they had just knocked back a big shot of maotai. Dick turned blue and puffed up and Pat's perm went limp. Ah, such is diplomacy...
Now, the Chinese are crafty with maotai. When you crack open a bottle it is meant to be consumed. Completely. The bottlers have managed to figure out a way to put a cap on the bottle that does not fit back on after you open it AND to make the bottom of the bottle rounded so you can't set it down again to save your life. Initially I found that sort of annoying but after shot number 5 me and maotai were BFF!!! Half an hour later I had two other tables drunk on their asses and we were all happily toasting everything we could still manage to focus on. Lamps, napkins, the dragon mural behind the cash register and even a urinal as I remember. Then the "singing" started. My rendition of "Three Little Maids From School Are We" from the Mikado was so well received I was given a somewhat standing ovation by my drunken compatriots. Though the highlight of the entertainment, I have to say, was when two guys got up, grabbed a less than willing bus-boy and valiantly tried to make it through "Boogie-Woogie Bugle Boy" by the Andrews Sisters but kept mixing it up with "Bad Girls" by Donna Summer every so often. Needless to say, the maotai was flowing like xiangshui. Around about 1 AM we were all finally forced to vacate the premises. I can't imagine why. I happily stumbled out into the parking lot with an order of the "Four Divine Goddesses" to go and two fresh bottles of maotai in my camera case. I woke up my driver in the back seat and soon found myself snug in my bed back at the Glorious People's Republic Holiday Inn. All was right with the world...
Well, not quite. No one had managed to inform me of the "sucker punch-curve ball-blunt force trauma" side effect that maotai is famous for. About 4 AM I was literally kicked awake by the most obnoxious smell I have ever experienced and my bed looked like someone had dumped a kiddy pool onto it. Yes, I was experiencing what the locals commonly call the maotai "sweats". I was l oozing the stuff. Along with snake, rat, cat and black dog. HFS!!! I smelt like a factory farm of dead chickens in Arkansas in August. Coupled with a small fire just to add the stench of burning feathers to it. I staggered out onto the balcony, puked down into the swimming pool and then showered for two hours. None of which, BTW, did any good. I freaking reeked!!! I actually stained the towels!!! It only gets worse...
Later that morning on my way down to the lobby to catch my car everybody got off of the elevator when I got on, guests in the lobby parted like the Red Sea as I approached and my driver kept all of the windows rolled down the entire time he was driving me to Reed Flute Cave. This was starting to get embarrassing to say the least. And, yes, I did say Reed Flute CAVE. Yes, CAVE. Those of you out there that know me well are very aware of my total, complete and other-worldly fear of enclosed spaces and of being underground. Yeah, this was going to be fun. Reed Flute Cave was one of my bucket list things and come hell or high water I was going to see that thing. No matter how much my psyche was shredding my frontal lobes and asking me what the bloody fuck are you thinking dude!?!?! Me and a cave? Not a pretty picture. Me, a cave and the stench of the aftermath of Gettysburg? Can you say "enclosed space"??? With the gentle prodding of a ten-foot pole I crawled into the cave. The guide with the pole behind me was gagging. Oh, hell, I was gagging. I smelled like road kill. Last Monday's road kill.
About a half of a kilometer later I finally emerge into the cave. I'm covered in mud, I look like Swamp-Thing and I smell like the Taliban just took out a sewage treatment plant. Half of a guided tour of Austrians collapsed, the pond began to congeal, a couple of millennia old stalagmites gave up the ghost and most of the accent lighting exploded. Which by the way only served to plunge me into darkness. Underground. In a cave. Bottom line, I started shrieking like a little girl and proceeded to wet myself. Great, let's just add another unappealing component to my fragrance... Oh, yeah, I was pretty.
Upon exiting the cave my driver refused to let me get into the car unless I wrapped myself in a large plastic tarp that he had in the trunk. Again, the trip back to the hotel was with the windows open. Which thankfully sort of dried me off. But that only made me look like one of the Mud Men from New Guinea. As a courtesy I took the stair back up to my room. My god, I looked like the character Gimme from the "United States of Tara"!!! I threw my clothes off of the balcony into the pool, hosed down in the shower, grabbed the "Four Divine Goddesses" out of the fridge, sat down on the floor naked, cracked open another bottle of maotai and started to cry. What can I say, I was in need of some comfort food...
I first discovered maotai while in Quilin, China back in 1988 at a small "tourist" restaurant I was having dinner at. My waiter was so impressed by my having eaten an entire plate of the "Four Divine Goddesses Ascending Into Heaven" without hurling that he suggested I clear my palette with shot or two, or three of the local liquor. (BTW, the Four Divine Goddesses consisted of snake, cat, field rat, which is less gamey than city rat apparently, and black dog. EWW!!!) Of course I naively think, what the hell, why not. When in Rome, right? Shortly he brings a fifth of maotai to my table. Oh, yeah... I was in serious trouble. And I knew it.
The Chinese love this stuff. In large amounts. If it's a special occasion then rounds of shots get consumed in rapid succession. Remember back in 1972 when Nixon went to China? Remember that famous photo of him at a banquet with Mao Zedong? They had just finished a toast and the look on his and Pat's faces where frightening, even for the Nixon's. Yeah, they had just knocked back a big shot of maotai. Dick turned blue and puffed up and Pat's perm went limp. Ah, such is diplomacy...
Now, the Chinese are crafty with maotai. When you crack open a bottle it is meant to be consumed. Completely. The bottlers have managed to figure out a way to put a cap on the bottle that does not fit back on after you open it AND to make the bottom of the bottle rounded so you can't set it down again to save your life. Initially I found that sort of annoying but after shot number 5 me and maotai were BFF!!! Half an hour later I had two other tables drunk on their asses and we were all happily toasting everything we could still manage to focus on. Lamps, napkins, the dragon mural behind the cash register and even a urinal as I remember. Then the "singing" started. My rendition of "Three Little Maids From School Are We" from the Mikado was so well received I was given a somewhat standing ovation by my drunken compatriots. Though the highlight of the entertainment, I have to say, was when two guys got up, grabbed a less than willing bus-boy and valiantly tried to make it through "Boogie-Woogie Bugle Boy" by the Andrews Sisters but kept mixing it up with "Bad Girls" by Donna Summer every so often. Needless to say, the maotai was flowing like xiangshui. Around about 1 AM we were all finally forced to vacate the premises. I can't imagine why. I happily stumbled out into the parking lot with an order of the "Four Divine Goddesses" to go and two fresh bottles of maotai in my camera case. I woke up my driver in the back seat and soon found myself snug in my bed back at the Glorious People's Republic Holiday Inn. All was right with the world...
Well, not quite. No one had managed to inform me of the "sucker punch-curve ball-blunt force trauma" side effect that maotai is famous for. About 4 AM I was literally kicked awake by the most obnoxious smell I have ever experienced and my bed looked like someone had dumped a kiddy pool onto it. Yes, I was experiencing what the locals commonly call the maotai "sweats". I was l oozing the stuff. Along with snake, rat, cat and black dog. HFS!!! I smelt like a factory farm of dead chickens in Arkansas in August. Coupled with a small fire just to add the stench of burning feathers to it. I staggered out onto the balcony, puked down into the swimming pool and then showered for two hours. None of which, BTW, did any good. I freaking reeked!!! I actually stained the towels!!! It only gets worse...
Later that morning on my way down to the lobby to catch my car everybody got off of the elevator when I got on, guests in the lobby parted like the Red Sea as I approached and my driver kept all of the windows rolled down the entire time he was driving me to Reed Flute Cave. This was starting to get embarrassing to say the least. And, yes, I did say Reed Flute CAVE. Yes, CAVE. Those of you out there that know me well are very aware of my total, complete and other-worldly fear of enclosed spaces and of being underground. Yeah, this was going to be fun. Reed Flute Cave was one of my bucket list things and come hell or high water I was going to see that thing. No matter how much my psyche was shredding my frontal lobes and asking me what the bloody fuck are you thinking dude!?!?! Me and a cave? Not a pretty picture. Me, a cave and the stench of the aftermath of Gettysburg? Can you say "enclosed space"??? With the gentle prodding of a ten-foot pole I crawled into the cave. The guide with the pole behind me was gagging. Oh, hell, I was gagging. I smelled like road kill. Last Monday's road kill.
About a half of a kilometer later I finally emerge into the cave. I'm covered in mud, I look like Swamp-Thing and I smell like the Taliban just took out a sewage treatment plant. Half of a guided tour of Austrians collapsed, the pond began to congeal, a couple of millennia old stalagmites gave up the ghost and most of the accent lighting exploded. Which by the way only served to plunge me into darkness. Underground. In a cave. Bottom line, I started shrieking like a little girl and proceeded to wet myself. Great, let's just add another unappealing component to my fragrance... Oh, yeah, I was pretty.
Upon exiting the cave my driver refused to let me get into the car unless I wrapped myself in a large plastic tarp that he had in the trunk. Again, the trip back to the hotel was with the windows open. Which thankfully sort of dried me off. But that only made me look like one of the Mud Men from New Guinea. As a courtesy I took the stair back up to my room. My god, I looked like the character Gimme from the "United States of Tara"!!! I threw my clothes off of the balcony into the pool, hosed down in the shower, grabbed the "Four Divine Goddesses" out of the fridge, sat down on the floor naked, cracked open another bottle of maotai and started to cry. What can I say, I was in need of some comfort food...
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
The Anniversary From Hell...
So, a couple of weeks ago Sea Squirt and I got together with his older sister, his younger sister, two of his nieces and one of his great-nieces for an early dinner. I was seated next to his great-niece, who by the way is a total knock out and very nice, who was texting her fingers off on her cell phone. Finally, it sunk in to me... GREAT-NIECE. Holy shit, she's not even 20. GREAT-NIECE??? Of course I started to giggle. Out loud. When asked what I was so happy about I eagerly retorted that I was happy as hell to know that Sea Squirt was a GREAT-UNCLE. Her mother then happily informed me that that would make me a GREAT-AUNT. She laughed. Sea Squirt laughed. My aged shoulders sank... They are both dead to me now.
Then, without warning, my brain began to do the math. It only got worse from that point on. I quickly flagged down our waiter and ordered another pitcher of margaritas for myself as the gears began to grind in my head. This May will mark my 40th anniversary of graduating from high school. Chunka-chunka-chunka... If I had married after graduation I would now have adult children in their late 30's. Chunka-chunka-chunka... Which would mean I could have adult grandchildren hitting 20 and starting their own families. Chunka-chunka-chunka... GREAT-GRANDPA DONN!?!?!? Oh, hell, no!!! I'm barely 57 and a half years old!!! OK, I admit I love playing connect the dots with my liver spots. My favorite one is on my arm and it sort of looks like Greenland. But GREAT-GRANDPA DONN is a sentence I'm just not ready to be convicted of yet.
Can you see me with children??? Grandchildren??? GREAT-GRANDCHILDREN??? Hell, I wouldn't give me last weeks newspaper let alone a child!!! Yet I still manage to have a looney set of friends that insists on giving me their pets to watch, their car keys, wallets and house keys and YES, their children. And in some instances their ONLY children!!! WTFAYPT!!! Why are you surprised when you pick that poor child up on Sunday night that they have a tatoo, can spit tobacco, have fake ID's and know how to drive me home while they are drunker than I am. While still in diapers!!! Both of us!!! There is VERY good reason Child Protective Services has low-jacked me with a GPS monitor. Think about it!!! I have less responsibility than Hitler, Stalin and that Palin woman in a blender on frappe. Hell, just toss in a
Bush or two for good measure and you get the picture. Add a floater of hand grenades and a tsunami or two and you call only imagine what is bound to happen...
Then, without warning, my brain began to do the math. It only got worse from that point on. I quickly flagged down our waiter and ordered another pitcher of margaritas for myself as the gears began to grind in my head. This May will mark my 40th anniversary of graduating from high school. Chunka-chunka-chunka... If I had married after graduation I would now have adult children in their late 30's. Chunka-chunka-chunka... Which would mean I could have adult grandchildren hitting 20 and starting their own families. Chunka-chunka-chunka... GREAT-GRANDPA DONN!?!?!? Oh, hell, no!!! I'm barely 57 and a half years old!!! OK, I admit I love playing connect the dots with my liver spots. My favorite one is on my arm and it sort of looks like Greenland. But GREAT-GRANDPA DONN is a sentence I'm just not ready to be convicted of yet.
Can you see me with children??? Grandchildren??? GREAT-GRANDCHILDREN??? Hell, I wouldn't give me last weeks newspaper let alone a child!!! Yet I still manage to have a looney set of friends that insists on giving me their pets to watch, their car keys, wallets and house keys and YES, their children. And in some instances their ONLY children!!! WTFAYPT!!! Why are you surprised when you pick that poor child up on Sunday night that they have a tatoo, can spit tobacco, have fake ID's and know how to drive me home while they are drunker than I am. While still in diapers!!! Both of us!!! There is VERY good reason Child Protective Services has low-jacked me with a GPS monitor. Think about it!!! I have less responsibility than Hitler, Stalin and that Palin woman in a blender on frappe. Hell, just toss in a
Bush or two for good measure and you get the picture. Add a floater of hand grenades and a tsunami or two and you call only imagine what is bound to happen...
Saturday, April 9, 2011
If You Can Lay Face Down On The Floor Without Hanging On Then You're Just NOT Drunk Enough Yet...
Oh, lord, I just LOVE this part of the ride!!! Tits up. Tits to the wind. Hell, even tits caught in a door. Especially revolving doors. Or perhaps even so gone I can't even remember what I named them. Which, BTW, is Patty, Maxine and Laverne. Remember, I have three of those puppies... Laverne is the small one. Enough on that...
I have been so bloody drunk in my life (on multiple occasions) that I have puked just about everywhere and stuff has come back up out of me that would surely have scared Linda Blair. Under picnic tables, on picnic tables, back seats of cars, exits, car consoles, car floor boards, punch bowls, front yards, out of windows of cars, houses and the occasional cruise ship, mail boxes, shoes (mine and others), sinks, toilets, garbage cans, both above and below the equator, both sides of the International Date Line, most of the worlds oceans, my shower, your shower, a safety deposit box, the women's shoe department of Nieman-Marcus (don't ask!!!), on several domesticated animals, the Lourve (oh, hell, just FUCK France!!!), an elevator or two (NOT pretty) and my highlight, on an emu in Australia. Which, BTW, was indeed projectile. I blame that one on the six-pack of Black Swan Lagar tall-boys. I didn't even know that emu's could go all deer in headlights but that one sure did!!!
Hanging a leg off of the bed to "steady" yourself is one thing but grabbing the floor for dear life brings a whole other dimension to "just how fucked up am I???". I was so gone in Hong Kong one night I actually thought the wall was the floor. No wonder I couldn't find a decent center of gravity to lie down with. The hotel actually charged me for the nail marks I left in the wall. OK, and the puke stained lamp and carpet as well. Yeah, the bedspreads too. What can I say, I really am the ugly American when I set my liver to it...
How I make it through Customs and Immigration amazes me. I have pulled some of the strangest shit out of my luggage imaginable. What is up with the six bottles of Mexican ketchup, the dried squid from Macau, that "thing" from Korea (yes, that is the only way I can describe it. I still don't know what it is!!!) and that jar of stuff from Panama that is still slowly congealing in the back of the pantry. Hell, I'm surprised monkeys and reptiles of unusual size have not oozed out of my suitcases. Thank god the TSA has finally started to limit me to less than three ounces of weird shit in my carry on!!! It's probably for my own good...
I have been so bloody drunk in my life (on multiple occasions) that I have puked just about everywhere and stuff has come back up out of me that would surely have scared Linda Blair. Under picnic tables, on picnic tables, back seats of cars, exits, car consoles, car floor boards, punch bowls, front yards, out of windows of cars, houses and the occasional cruise ship, mail boxes, shoes (mine and others), sinks, toilets, garbage cans, both above and below the equator, both sides of the International Date Line, most of the worlds oceans, my shower, your shower, a safety deposit box, the women's shoe department of Nieman-Marcus (don't ask!!!), on several domesticated animals, the Lourve (oh, hell, just FUCK France!!!), an elevator or two (NOT pretty) and my highlight, on an emu in Australia. Which, BTW, was indeed projectile. I blame that one on the six-pack of Black Swan Lagar tall-boys. I didn't even know that emu's could go all deer in headlights but that one sure did!!!
Hanging a leg off of the bed to "steady" yourself is one thing but grabbing the floor for dear life brings a whole other dimension to "just how fucked up am I???". I was so gone in Hong Kong one night I actually thought the wall was the floor. No wonder I couldn't find a decent center of gravity to lie down with. The hotel actually charged me for the nail marks I left in the wall. OK, and the puke stained lamp and carpet as well. Yeah, the bedspreads too. What can I say, I really am the ugly American when I set my liver to it...
How I make it through Customs and Immigration amazes me. I have pulled some of the strangest shit out of my luggage imaginable. What is up with the six bottles of Mexican ketchup, the dried squid from Macau, that "thing" from Korea (yes, that is the only way I can describe it. I still don't know what it is!!!) and that jar of stuff from Panama that is still slowly congealing in the back of the pantry. Hell, I'm surprised monkeys and reptiles of unusual size have not oozed out of my suitcases. Thank god the TSA has finally started to limit me to less than three ounces of weird shit in my carry on!!! It's probably for my own good...
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