HNY!
12.5.2k5

Secret Meeting!

Tonight - Owl Tree.

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

Special Guests from outta town!

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

Merry Xmas!
12.4.2k5

Yr on yr own. Vacation mtg next week!

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

Oops.
12.3.2k5

I know how much it would suck to be friends with Brittany Spears.

It would be Thursday night and Alan would be in LA and the rest of us would be standing around having beers and trying not to stare at the TV behind the bar and Spears would walk in and we'd buy her a beer or mebbe she'd refuse because she got plenty of beers paid for by Lovely List Members the week before and she'd pony-up funds for beers and we'd stand around and drink beers and talk. SOON ENOUGH she'd say something like, "Hey you wanna hear the song I'm working on?" and before anyone could say HELL NO she'd launch into an a capella (loud a capella as she's singing over the din of the crowd and likely the juke) version of her shitty new pop song so awful you want to take a hostage. Some times she'd rough-out the ridiculous dance she'd eventually do to the song onstage. It would be embarassing. "Yeh, she's with us. Yeh, she's drunk."

Or mebbe it would a Saturday night and we'd be at the bowling alley eating crappy pizza and drinking pitchers of Bud and rolling Turkeys and SOON ENOUGH she'd say something like, "Hey you wanna hear the song I'm working on?" and before anyone could say HELL NO she'd launch into an a capella (loud a capella as she's singing over the din of the strikes, spares and gutterballs and likely the juke) version of her shitty new pop song so awful you want to take a hostage. Some times she'd rough-out the ridiculous dance she'd eventually do to the song onstage right there on lane 22. Some times she'd step over the foul line. It would be a scene.

Or mebbe it would be a beautiful afternoon when my brother and I are indoors watching the Cubs play the Pirates while we enjoy snacks and a shitload of beer. We'd be laughing or crying at the poor play of our shitty teams and she'd come over and within a few minutes she'd say something like, "Hey you wanna hear the song I'm working on?" and before we could say HELL NO she'd launch into an a capella (loud a capella as she's singing over the din of the TV) version of her shitty new pop song so awful you want to take a hostage. Some times she'd rough-out the ridiculous dance she'd eventually do to the song onstage right there next to the couch. Sometimes during commercial breaks we'd have to watch her. It would be excruciating.

Or mebbe it would be a beautiful afternoon when my brother, wife and whoever else would be in the backyard, barbecuing burgers and dogs, drinking beers and enjoying the day. She'd come over, have a beer, enjoy a dog and soon enough she'd say something like, "Hey you wanna hear the song I'm working on?" and before we could say HELL NO she'd launch into an a capella (loud a capella as she's singing over the din of the firestation next door) version of her shitty new pop song so awful you want to take a hostage. Some times she'd rough-out the ridiculous dance she'd eventually do to the song onstage right there on the lawn next to the Weber. At times we would fear her wild gyrations would knock over the grill. We hoped she wouldn't spill any more beer. It would suck.

Tonight - Annie's.

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

WARNING: This may be a very sparsly attended meeting as many regulars are out of town or booked. Go say hi to Annie and Tess if you can anyway.

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

Fe

12.3.2k2
Thursday, 19 December, 2002

I've been honored and humbled by the award I've received from some very close friends and notable professionals: "Best Shirt-Ironer (Non-professional), 700 block Taylor Street, SF." Winning caught me by surprise, really, as I didn't have a thought of winning the thing at all. Founding Member Alan J. Chimenti nominated me as a joke, or so I thought. "No, man, I've noticed the crispness of your collar and your paper-smooth sleeves for some time. And to think you don't use any starch at all! My goodness!" Alan blows smoke up my ass all the time, so his news of his nomination of me didn't rile me. "Uh huh," I said, "that sounds great. I'll share my prize with you." I didn't know there was a prize. Alan gets one of the cufflinks (iron-shaped sterling-plated pure pig-iron (the prize-determination committee was not without a keen sense of irony, it seems!)). We'll roll up the other sleeve.
Then the reporter the Chronicle sends over is a bulldog! I thought I'd answered all the relevant questions in the first five minutes, but this person had other ideas. She wouldn't take "no more questions," or "no comment," or "I'm forbidden to speak about that," or "remember the gag order," for an answer. Whatever. Stay tuned to the Chronicle for the write-up. Meantime, stay tuned to Annie's for this week's meeting.

Go and wish Mathias a HBD. Go and wish yr fellow List Members a MC. Drink a few MHLs. Bring yr Ps. I know I W. See you T. bye-E!



whrr ... clik!

Teacup
12.2.2k5

Growing up I had a friend whose folks were very, very wealthy and the things they bought and did, and indeed the house they lived in, showed it. Their house was more like a palace: It had a four-car garage, a pool with a slide built into the mountain they lived on, a shooting range in their basement and - best of all - a two lane automated bowling alley. IN THE HOUSE. Holy shit. Well, like I said, I was pals with this kid and when we were little, the Mexican maid would make us after school snacks and when were a bit older we would take a couple of the horses around the mountain preserve. Yeh. Some places have wetland preserves, others have forest preserves and the desert I grew up in had mountain preserves. Fulla cactus, dust and rattlesnakes. And certain days after school in 1985 or so, a couple dorky teenage kids on horseback.

I wasn't a total stranger to horses. I got kin up Oregon with a big 'ol ranch and they got plenty of horses. On vacation to the ranch my brother, sister and I would coax our cousin into saddling-up a couple of the horses and we'd ride. Fun. This rich friend of mine's horses were not ranch-style work horses. More like "prance around fancy-like" horses. Beautiful, well-fed and meticulously fawned over by their trainers if not their owners. All I did was learn how to saddle them, ride the mountain trails and brush 'em down after. Calm.

For a while.

1985 woulda made me and my pal 15 and being 15 woulda made a guy wanna smoke ciggys and drink slushys and horseback or no, we'd get it done. If it weren't for the Cubs cap, OP shorts and Black Flag T-shirt I woulda looked like the frikkin' Marlboro Man up there. Oh, and for the 15 yrs old part. And for the fancy horse. And Vans. And $5k saddle. And no guns. OK. I think you get the picture.

Invariably two 15 yr olds would run out of ciggys and need a neon green slushy and need to get them some so they'd ride them horseys off the mountain and down the road to the 7/11. Horseback riders were not an uncommon sight in the desert city back then. We'd get a lot of stares, a few honks and lots of room: Them pansy drivers didn't want anything to do with a big 'ol horse - prissy horse or no. 7/11 didn't accommodate horses anymore as they'd removed the hitching-posts a few years back when folks began to use the motor car. So either my friend or I would stay there in a parking space with both bridles while the other would go in for smokes and slushys. Twice, TWICE I tell you, when I had horse duty, my horse took a huge dump in the parking space.

The first time was the best: My pal goes in and I wait. A few seconds later my horse let 'er rip and I started laughing my head off. There was a small group of people gawking at the horses and they too began to laugh. My pal came out with the goods and the 7/11 dude came out too, initially to look at the horses but immediately noticed the giant pile of horse shit and his look of amused wonder became that of rage. "You - you - you clean that up!" he stammered. "What? No way," I said. By this time my pal was on his horse and he said the same. "No way, man." The 7/11 dude was pissed and took a step toward us and thought about it but quickly assessed his chances against two jerky teenagers on horseback and decided against it. "You never come back!" he yelled as we put the spurs to 'em and trotted on out of there. Ha! Well we did go back, often, and by the time he'd forgotten about the poop my horse pooped again. Makes me laugh 20 yrs later.
Tonight - Aces.

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

Best juke in town? Find out. Parking blows but so does sobriety.

DO NOT DRINK AND DRIVE. EVER.

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

Deluxe Funnel!
12.1.2k5

Well I quit my job. I had it up to here with the jerks at the plant, the tasteless lunches, the fatty snacks, the lousy (read: NO) coffee situation, the soul-sucking commute, the dangerous walk, the rickety bridge, the viscious dogs, the rabid beaver-squirells, the agressive panhandlers, the corrupt cops, the way-too-friendly street whores, the sub-average watering holes, the human, dog, and pidgey-widgey poop, the stiff toll, the "going-up-again" bus and train fares, the broken bike racks, the terrible wind, the ever-present clouds, the frozen mini-KitKats (which I like, mind you) and the stultifying conversations. I heard about a sexy new career on the radio, called the number it listed and showed up that day for my interview. I was hired on the spot! Hot damn that does a lot for a guy when he's havin' "One Of Those Days." I got a clothing stipend from my new boss (a sexy, silver-haired, 70-something granny), hauled ass to the Oakland Uniform Supply on Broadway, scored a sweet deal on what's known in the industry as "Car Salesman," WORE IT OUT OF THE STORE and hit the fuckin' bricks sporting my new gig: Reputation Consulting.

You read it right: Reputation Consulting. The multiple-choice test I took in my interview indicated that I was a natural, so I wasted NO time. My walk took me by my favorite Donut & Things and I ducked in and told Pebbles (his real name is Hsiung, but he makes everyone call him Pebbles (Why I do not know)) I told Pebbles he has the reputation of having the best goddamn donuts and things this side of MLK Drive and he said no shit Sherlock. I asked him if he would like to talk about it and he asked if I would have my usual dozen glazed and mebbe a couple 52" duck-brown replacement shoe strings or some replacement cheap-o plastic dominoes or some various waxen numeric birthday cake candles or some really crappy dish towels or some likely toxic crayons or a shitty hand-held pinball game, or a grab-bag of toy barnyard animals or a flawed German-made coloring book or a pinata buster (with blindfold) or a Dick Tracy-themed 2-pack party hat or a 4-piece fruit magnet set or a 32-piece Jesus sticker set, or a garden knee pad or a 10-pack sponge hair roller or a metallic car dashboard sun shade and I said no! I was here to consult with him about his reputation and not donuts and, well, things. He said his reputation for donuts was great and I agreed. He said his reputation for things was great and I agreed with that too and so I set my sights on another couple peeps I knew needed a little reputation consultation: Linkey-Loo Coordinator, Porn Title of the Week Coordinator and, you guessed it, Lee, Lee The Musical Bee. They did not return my phone calls.

Tonight - The Homestead.

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

NOTE: The above link will link you to Dylan's pub. That joint is gone and The Homestead is in its place. The new bar is owned by a Lovely Longtime List Member in good standing. C'mon out! Fok all that rain!

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!














(josh is STILL a dumbass)

No official meeting tonight ... heppy Turkey Day!

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

No Pepper
11.2.2k5

The demolition and rebuilding of the Bay Bridge's on- and off-ramps is, to me, a constant source of amusement and frustration. I try to avoid the frustrating parts by not being behind the wheel when stuck in traffic snarled by the mess, but even as a passenger, I'm reduced to a fireball of foul-mouthed fury when I find every ramp closed when I have to cross the goddang bridge. On my wife's and my return from vacation, we traveled from Athens, Greece, to Frankfurt, Germany, to Chicago, Illinois, to San Francisco, California only to be stopped not a 15 minutes highway speed from home by a closed Bay Bridge ramp. That, friends, is torture.
When I'm not forced to wade through traffic I find the long lines of cars really fun to watch. The drivers are half-mad and very angry. They run lights. They block intersections. They blow their horns. They descend into the pit. I prance around on the dance floor of their pain singin' hallelujah.
I pass under a few of them ramps in various states of destructio or buildio on the way to and from my McJob and another fun thing is to see the neat little shacks and shanties the industrious homeless folks build for themselves with the scraps the crews leave behind. I seen a fort under the 2nd Street overpass that made the Swiss Family Robinsons' tree house look like a shoebox. Awesome. It had running water, a hot tub and satellite TV. Super sweet.
I saw a sad reminder of our society's position on thomeless problem under the 3rd Street overpass: A padlocked chain link fence with a placard declaring sanctions for every activity associated with homelessness, and then some. It started with the obvious No Trespassing and I feel could have stopped there, but figure that some rascally thomeless-rights lawyer got around a trespassing conviction for a client once ("he's not trespassing, he's CAMPING") so the placard continued: No Loitering. No Camping, No Lodging, No Alcoholic Beverages. No Cooking, No Bathing, No Facilities and No Dart Throwing. Now I find all of the above, with the exception of No Dart Throwing, to be THE MAN'S way of calling BS on any excuse a homeless fella might have for shackin' up under the 'pass. Why No Dart Throwing was included must be something only the "authorities" and the homeless know. May the reason be ever a mystery to all Lovely List Members.

Tonight - Alpha Bar SF.

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

HBD to Founding Member John "Cold-EZE" Metsker and Jeremy "Giant Drag Pretty Little Neighbor Hearts & Unicorns Kickball" Johnson.

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

It's a Jelly.
11.1.2k5

Ya hear that one about varying yr routines so yr enemies don't know where and when to find you? I used to live like that. I used to exit the back door from work, ride a different bike to the bus depot, snag one of many routes that come near my place and then skitch a ride on a garbage truck. Or recycling truck. Or a cardboard-collector truck. See? Varying the mode can be easier than you think. If you say, "I have to skitch to work," I say, "so be it." Yr enemies will know where to look for you. UNLESS you vary the vehicle you skitch from. Skitch off that beer truck. Skitch off that Mission Uniform supply truck. Skitch off that UPS van (always a good skitch, that brown van), skitch off a bicycle, fer chrissakes (I done it.) Yr enemies will miss you if you skitch home off a Safeway Home Delivery van if they're looking for you skitching off a Entemen's bakery truck.

Tonight - Hemlock Tavern

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference! Hint: I'm not looking for the name of a movie.

Coming next week: Thomeless.

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!









(josh is a dumbass)

Ska ... ?
10.4.2k5

When I lived in Chicago the city's professional basketball team, the Bulls (perhaps you've heard of them), were very good and won the championship several years in a row. Back then I gave a crap about basketball and it was really exciting to watch the games and feel the tension mount in the city and be rewarded with a fun, city-wide celebration.

The day that the Bulls won their second straight title I was sitting in a bar (surprise) hours before gametime having a cold beer. In walked the neighborhood's plainclothed cops came in and asked the big Serbian bartender when he was closing for the night. He told them 5 a.m., which is the normal closing time for Chicago bars. The cops said, "No, what time are you closing tonight?" The barkeep looked confused. "5?" he said. The bigger of the two big cops said, "You don't understand the question so I'll say it again: What time are you closing TONIGHT?" Something dawned on the bartender. "3 a.m.?" he said. The cop leaned in and said, "What did you say?" "Um ... I think I'm closing at 1 a.m. tonight," said the bartender. I nudged my roommate and said, "We need to stock the fridge cuz all the bars will be closed." I thought about it. "Probably a good idea," I said, looking at the cops. They were satisfied and said to the bartender on their way out, "see you at 1." I think Mil closed up at midnight.

Later that night my sister and I were saved from an exploding M-80 by a stranger. My ears rang for weeks.

Tonight - Lone Palm.

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

Play "Find the Reference." The title of the Venue Announcement refers to something in the rant. Find the reference and win a prize.

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

Batter up!
10.3.2k5

I seen some pretty neat things while away in Greece and had time to reflect on things over there different from things here in the USA. As I have copious notes on this subject and will share some with you today, I know you all hate to read and many of you can't read at all so for those few who care (if that's the right word), I've picked and will limit this to three things.

1. Americans in America are retarded. (Note: Americans abroad as you all well know have and deserve the reputation as being utter retards - loud, obnoxious fools with no manners, big mouths and shitty taste. I'm talking here of Americans at home.) Americans in America are retarded because they drive huge fucking cars and don't have any use at all for that much machine. Really! I didn't see any Suburbans, Escapes, Exploders, Escalades ... uh ... any Lux'ry Japanese SUVs, Korean or German SUVs. What these people got by with were scooters, motorcycles and ittybitty little cars that can circle the islands they live on a hundred times on a tank of gas. Even downtown big city Athens, nothing but two-wheelers and tiny cars. We can't even buy a midget car if we wanted cuz thar ain't any demand. I spell that RETARD.

2. Americans in America are retarded. They are because they are afraid of titties. No titties on the beaches, none on TV and, oh yeh! the former Attorney General of the country had the exposed titties on the STATUE of Lady Justice in the Dept. of Justice building covered up. What is the problem here? Tits are fucking great. And if you go over to Europe and see 'em all over the place you might wonder what the big deal is back home and come to the same conclusion I did: RETARDED.

3. (This is the observation that hit me the hardest) Frito-Lay makes a shitload of different flavored tater chips! My god I had no idea! Sea salt flavor. Garlic-salt flavor. Celery-salt. White pepper. Red pepper. Black pepper. Black pepper with sea salt. Ketchup flavor. Mustard flavor. Tarragon-mustard flavor. Oregano. Olive oil and oregano. Pickle. Cabbage. Cheese. Sizzlin' Bacon flavor. Mushroom and spring onion flavor. God damn the variety makes Kettle Chips' catalog look like child's play. And then there's the most compelling flavor of all ... the flavor that at once made me laugh and cry, made me salivate and gag, made me dance and flee: Prawn flavor. I gave in and scored some, and as I wasn't too peckish, I snagged a can of local brew and called it dinner:



Tonight - Annie's.

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

There IS a reference tonight. Play the game. A real prize will be awarded.

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

God, schmod....
10.1.2k5

...I want my MONKEY MAN!!!! That's one of my favorite Bart Simpson™ quotes.

Linkey-loo™ Robot stepping in again. I often think about how gods and deities are often called upon to "seal the deal", or as the final say in an argument. It's a very ancient and underhanded persuasive measure, in my mind. It's the cause of wars, and worse.

For example, I received a very special request for tonight's venue. It is in honor of TNSC members (and founders) Christi and Josh, who are still celebrating their honeymoon in Greece. So, for that, we are going to Bacchus Kirk.

What the ROMAN god of wine has to do with Greece, I do not know.


See you there!! I know I'll be!!!

bye-ee!!

Linkey-Loo Robot -
AJC

No Quarter
9.2.2k5

I stepped in gum on the way to work today and guess what? It had not yet been chewed so all was okay! Sonofabitch!

Tonight is a very special TNSC as we bid farewell to our beloved Bobo who has taken a gig down South in L.A.
If you come to ONE MEETING this year, come to this one and toast/roast Bob.
He has chosen the venue tonight ... I swear to god. I had nothing to do with it. He called, said he wanted to go to the Drift-In and I said it was totally up to him.
Come on out and send our pal out TNSC-style.

Tonight - Eagle's Drift-In Lounge.


whrr ... clik!

Beat it!
9.2.2k5

Pls enjoy drinks tonight in the Mission:

Tonight - The Attic.

Go Cubs!

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

Here I am!
9.1.2k5

I have but a couple things for you this week. The first and most important is that as far as I know all Lovely TNSC List Members' family and friends affected by the Hurricane are safe and accounted for. I'm very happy for that.
The second is "McIlhenny Company is operating normally and the production of TABASCO® brand products are unaffected by the recent hurricane. Our New Orleans office employees are all accounted for and have been relocated to our Corporate Office on Avery Island, Louisiana." (From www.tabasco.com) I'm very happy about that.
The last thing is that no one can say "Misty Mountain" without me saying "Hop." I'm very curious about that.

Tonight - Eagle's Drift-In Lounge.

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

The goddamn Control (Ctrl) button drives me crazy.

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

tse-tse
8.4.2k5

My grrrl and I went camping a short ride outta the Bayarea and found us some nice weather. No fog bank anywhere in site. Turns out the little town nearby didn't have a fokkn GROCER in site. I don't really consider the "$0.99 Super Mercado" a store that I would even buy a can of beans from, and it turned out I was in the market for a can of beans because, like I just now mentioned, my grrrrl and I were camping and ya gotta eat beans for dinner when yr camping.
We circled around for quite some time and asked three different people where the goddamn Safeway was and each one of them said similar things like, "Oh yeh, Safeway ... It's down the block, two-three stop signs, hang a left, go up Henchy Point and there she is." And it was quite like that: Folks didn't know the names of the obvious things, like streets, that anyone can read can find, but insisted on giving directions specifying locally-known landmarks. You will, my friend, find hayseeds any damn where you wanna look.
Didn't ever find the Safeway. Ended up at TastyPop's Grill. Ordered a burger and just for fun, asked the guy behind the counter where the Safeway was. He said take a left at the second stoplight (see?) and go about a half-mile and she'll be on the right. "Big 'ol parking lot," he says. I don't believe him.
So we're waiting for our takeaway burgers, nearly starved, and in walks this scuzzball w/ a box of small things wrapped in plastic. He sets it on the counter and asks the guy if he wants to buy some sunglasses, two bucks a pair. Countrman paws through the box and finds a winner. "Two dollars, that it?" he asks. Scuzz says sure. Frycook comes over. "Two bucks? Really?" and starts looking through the box. Then the shake girl and the fountain lad. Everyone is fascinated by the box of $2 sunglasses. Then a customer, a big gal w/ 14 kids (all w/ ice cream cones, dripping everywhere) comes over and, "Woah! Two dollar sunglasses? Really?" Scuzzy guy has hit the jackpot. Big gal says, "Hey Murray! Get over and check out these TWO DOLLAR SUNGLASSES!" The customers stampede the box. The counterman says, "I need a mirror. Can I check these out in a mirror?" Scuzz agrees. I propose that we bail on the burgers, try the latest Safeway directions and get the hell away from the sunglasses. We do.
We never found the Safeway. He directed us to a Home Depot. There were five Home Depots, two OSH's and the biggest Lowes I ever seen in this one-horse town and no grocerys that had items over a dollar.
We ended up going back to the campsite. We had brought a cooler of beers and some spray cheese, Slim Jims and Triscuits, so we could tough out a college-style dinner out doors.
We did almost score a tasty bug that we found and thought about barbecueing, but as we pursued the fuzzy orange-and-black thing, this little toehead saw us and yelled, "What are you looking at" as he was running toward us. "Bug," I said. "Right there," and was pointing when the kid SLAMMED a net over it. He trapped it, then picked it up, shoved his face in real close for a look, then shrugged and said, "I dunno what it is." Then he opened the can he had with him and dropped in our dinner- er ... bug and left. He ran off without a "hey thanks," or "suckers" or nothing. I hate theives.

Tonight - Dylan's Pub.

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

Sorry I'm late. Mind the raccoons.

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

Hijacked!!!
8.3.2k5

Being a freelancer, I tend to have a lot of "vacation" time between jobs. Technically, it isn't REALLY vacation, as I'm actually getting paid for doing nuthin' (but still learning new software, updating my demo reel, networking for future gigs, and stuff like that). But sometimes, a REAL vacation comes along. One that involves travel to far away places, like Costa Rica or Greece. The kind of vacation that takes planning. Vaccinations, passports, stopping the newspaper, making sure someone is lined up to feed the cats.

But I got the last one covered as I usually have the same person feed my cats for me while we're gone. He has a key so all I have to do is call him and relay the dates I'll be gone. I was thinking, it would be a really terrible thing if I didn't tell him. Fats and Po'kchop would be livid...not to mentioned starved. I'm sure my friend, being the good friend that he is, would just normally check in if he had an inkling that I was going away, but forgot to tell him. He basically knows the routine, and, as I mentioned, has a key to my place. That also got me thinking that if that were to happen, I hope that he would never be pissed and ransack my house, or throw Mazzola Twister™ parties, or generally go through my stuff while I was gone. Then I thought, "He's a really great friend, he would NEVER do that."

I just wanted to add Happy 15th Weddin' Anniversary to Mr. and Mrs. Linkey-Loo Robot. Now THAT is something to celebrate!! Come on out and join them at The Orbit Room!!!!

Spot the reference!

Kiss my grits.

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

Souled Out
8.2.2k5

My brother once said, "You are all Jimi Hendrix assholes."

I don't have the slightest memory whatsoever of what he was talking about or who he was talking too; I can only guess that I was part of the party he addressed as "Jimi Hendrix assholes." I only know he said it because while cleaning my guns this week I found a scrap of a reciept for Kleen-Bore Formula 3 Gun Conditioner that on the opposite side said, "You are all Jimi Hendrix Assholes. -JAJ" Those would be my brother's initials. The handwriting was mine, but I don't remember anything about it.

Anyone care to guess what a "Jimi Hendrix Asshole" is? No "Find the Reference! tonight ... Clik on the link to 'splain "Jimi Hendrix asshole and I'll post yr ideas next week.

Tonight - Annie's Cocktail Lounge.

Explain "Jimi Hendrix Asshole."

Party on, Wayne.

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

Santa's Little Helper
8.1.2k5

I was thinking about 50 bucks and how I wish I had 50 bucks because I could get me a few things I figure I really need: Beer, ice, Blue Diamond Smokehouse Almonds and some Coppertone Sport Ultra Sweatproof Spray-on SPF 15 because I got a backyard, a lounge chair, a sunny day, an early Cubs road game from Philly and No Fucking Job to get in the way of drinking ice-cold beer and watching the game out in the back. 50 bucks would do it just fine.

I scored 50 bucks at the track one day. I had my racing form and handicapped the shit out of a Tri in the 4th ("Old Dad's Dingus" to Win, "Monkeyballs" to Place and a ugly horse named "Horseboy's KickAz Riding Crop" to Show, boxed). I was confident and went to place my bet. I stood in a long line and inched forward as Post Time approached. Most people around me were doing last minute handicapping: Circling, underlining, scratching things out, calculating and divining the winners. They were all occupied and I wasn't. I was looking around the joint, at them, at the tellers, at the clock and at the line I was in. I happened to look down at the floor and there was that Yankee looking back at me. U. S. Grant. He stared at me from the floor and I swear winked. I quickly checked to my left and my right and everyone was still frantically choosing their bets. So I bent over and snagged the $50. Sonofabitch! My Tri paid off and I hadn't even make the bet. I looked around me again while holding the fifty with both hands in front of me. This time there was an old dude in the line to my left looking right at me. I said, "Whatcha gonna do?" as I thought he saw me pick up the bill. I don't know if he saw me pick it up or not but he saw me standing there holding a fifty dollar bill like a moron and he said the best and only thing that he could. He said, "Race."

Now then, in case you are wondering, it was a horse track. I don't go to dog tracks because those motherfuckers treat dogs like shit. Torture and murder and shit and I don't cotton to treatment of dogs like that. So I boycott dog tracks. BUT! if dogs are running at a horse track, I'm game. And so when the Police K9 competition and exhibition was held at Golden Gate Fields a few weeks back my grrrrl and I were there. It was awesome. We sat in the grandstands, drank beer and watched the police dogs do obstacle courses, swim and best of all, put the BIG BITE down on these geeks in fatty suits. There was a wide range of experience-levels in the dogs and the younger, inexperienced dogs would jog up to the geeks and bite 'em okay but the older, experienced dogs would HAUL ASS up to and HIT the geeks at FULL SPEED and HANG ON. It was totally awesome. These doggys were cops and they knew it. After the exhibition they were lined up at the Happy Donut truck. I swear to god.


Tonight - Doc's Clock.

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

Oh yeh ... in case you are wondering ... my Trifecta results from that day: Triple-Dead-Heat. They tied for last.

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

OTIS, My Man.
7.4.2k5

My pal's dad just turned 80. I've known my pal and his dad since 1978, and while we haven't lived in the same city for a long, long time, we've remained close. I had a nice long chat with both of them a few weeks ago and I was vividly reminded of the dad's flair for telling stories, as he was goaded into telling some by his kids. He told a story that reminded me of a nutty thing I once did, and even though these rants are FULL of lies, Linkey-Loo Robot was there and witnessed the event, so he can authenticate if you like.

The dad's story: He (his name is Bill) worked for a time in a thirty-story building in Phoenix and took the elevator to the 18th floor. He's always been a very friendly man and was apparently feeling very-very friendly one morning riding the elevator, because when an attractive, well-dressed twenty-something gal remained as the last passenger in the elevator once the rest got off, Bill turned to her and said, "I cannot help but notice how nice you look. I know I shouldn't say anything, but you look great. I thought I'd let you know." The girl beamed, Bill said, and blushed slightly while modestly thanking him.
Insipred, Bill complimented another lady a few weeks later. She was the sole remaining passenger on the elevator and when he said she had an awfully sharp-looking suit, this thirtyish lady TURNED HER BACK on him. Sense came back to Bill and he shut the hell up and was glad she didn't pepper-spray him for his trouble. He didn't say shit to any more hotties.

Upon hearing this story, I recalled one night standing in the rain at Spaz's place, huddled around the fire with a lot of beer and a few strangers. We'd been there for hours; throwing shoes, drinking beer, barbecueing meats and we'd had so much fun that when a light rain began to fall, no one abandoned the giant fire Spaz had built in the pit. I had had enough domestic light beers to let rip an unsolicited comment to a niceish lady standing next to me. I told her she had beautiful skin. I swear I didn't have any ulterior motives and I had simply noticed that she had perfect skin and, well, told her so. She was surprised and said thanks. Her husband had been standing right next to her and had heard the entire thing but he didn't say or do anything except look at me a little sideways from then on. Alan had to sit down he was laughing so hard. True story.

Tonight - Bender's Bar and Grill.

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

Never been to this joint, but Linkey-Loo Robot says it rules. He also shamelessly plugs this event:
Sat, July 30 10 : 00 pm (doors at 8:30)
$8
The Lord Weird Slough Feg
Acid King
Floating Goat

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

Retardy
7.3.2k5

Sorry I'm tardy today but here's why:




Tonight - Tunnel Top.

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

Fire in the disco!

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

Jim
7.2.2k5

So, once again, "Summer School" is in, and your "regular teacher" is out... leaving you with the ubiquitous "substitute teacher". Heh.... I said "ubiquitous"....heh...heh. I can think back to my school days so many years ago and recall, with great detail, almost EVERY substitute teacher that I've ever had. I'm talking from elementary school right up through college. Well, in college, if a teacher didn't show up, you just didn't have class...so I guess I really meant through high school. I believe that I remember them all for two reasons:

1. It was a break in the daily monotony
2. Every one of them was a freak with some odd character glitch that kept them from becoming real teachers

That said, this "substitute" brings you this evenings venue announcement.

Since my wife's name is "Julie", and I've worked SOMA for 18 years, we WERE going to the original SOMA "retro" bar, but my wife informs me "Butthead... it's no longer open". So, that said, we'll hit another SOMA "theme" bar BUTTER. PBR on tap!!! The tater tots are on me!!!



Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

See you there!! I know I'll be!!!

bye-ee!!

Linkey-Loo Robot -
AJC

Rock over London, Rock on Chicago.
7.1.2k5

I don't know what they want us to do. Surrender?

Tonight - Bloom's Saloon.

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

I won't be there tonight and LinkelyLoo will be there late. Keep the faith.

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

Annie's
6.4.2k5

Annie's is a great bar so we should go tonight!

Tonight - Annie's Cocktail Lounge.

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

Time off between payin' projects rules! I've been so busy with shit around the apt that I ran outta time and wasn't able to finish tonight's deluxe Venue Announcement ... so's yr gonna have to wait for next week for deluxe-ness.

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

Thousands standing around.
6.4.2k5

I'm jetting outta town to see Phil for his birthday and when I'm fixin' to leave work I notice the traffic is a goddamn mess. I called and then begged my grrrrl to meet me on this side of town so I didn't have to go through the bad traffic to get her and come back again, as she was gonna drop me at the airport. She agreed, and when she showed up, we got into the Jeep and waded into the jam. What a pigfuck! EVERY intersection approaching the bridge was jammed such that one or two cars would get halfway through per light. These cars would then block the oncoming lanes. No one let anyone in. Nowhere were the SF Traffic pigs. It was sooooo fun.

However, our plan to have her meet me as close to the bridge as possible paid off and within a mere half-hour we went the 200-or-so feet down the street to the ramp and when we got onto the bridge, curiously traffic was moving rather well. So well, in fact, that I felt confident that I had time enough to stop at home and get my Southwest Airlines drink tickets.

I ran in and got the drink tix and as an afterthought, I grabbed a wondrous snack that I felt I would need because of SWA's peanuts-only food policy. I snagged a Deli-style, pepperoni-flavored Slim Jim that I bought at the next-door liquor store a week or so before. I was looking forward to eating it with a drink-ticket-bought Miller Light on the plane. It never happened.

I lost my Slim Jim. When I say "lost," I mean TSA "confiscated" it. Here's what happened:

My grrrrrl dropped me off and I went into the terminal. I determined my gate and made my way to the security check-in. When I finally got through the line to the scanner, I chucked my backpack in and threw all the rest of my junk, including the Slim Jim, into a plastic bin and sent it through. My sac came through okay and but one of the genius TSA goons took the plastic bin containing all the rest of my junk to one of the exam tables.
"Whose is this?" he asked.
"That's my junk," I said.
"What is this," he asked, holding up my Slim Jim.
"THAT is a Deli-style, pepperoni-flavored Slim Jim," I answered.
"It looks like a club. Can't bring clubs. It's on the list: No clubs, baseball bats, blackjacks, lighters. It's not allowed."
I was stunned. "It's not a club, it's a spicy, beefy, deli-style meat stick! It's not a club!"
He was not deterred. "Can't even be close to a club. This thing is close to a club. I can't let you take it. It's long and thick like a club. It's a forbidden item."
Thinking this jerk was going to steal my meaty treat I made a desperate proposal. "How about I bite it in half ... right down the middle? Maybe chew on the ends a little? If it's long enough to be mistaken for a club, I'll make it less long and take the rest on the plane? What do ya say?"
"Violation," he said. "No eating near the scanner-thing. I'm going to have to confiscate it. Please take the rest of your things and move along. And PLEASE put back on your shoes." Then he returned to his post - with my Slim Jim.

That fuckin' jerk. He stole my dinner and implied my feet stank. They didn't. I checked.

Tonight - Bigfoot Lodge.

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

Be there and meat people. heh.

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

test post!


whrr ... clik!

HBD AJC
6.3.2k5

What's the best thing about birthdays? Why the best thing about birthdays is when they are on or around a Thursday Night Social Club meeting! It's even better when it's yr pal's birthday and he is the Linkey-Loo Coordinator! So ... Happy Birthday Alan! Geez ... too bad yr birthday shipment of extra-extra-extra virgin olive oil is held up in customs or we'd have a right fun party! It is SF and oil's the key! Huh? Party on sans oil here:

Tonight - Edinburgh Castle Pub and Theatre.

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

Enjoy fried fishy! Ply AC w/ drinks! Be kind. Start smoking.

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

Today the van broke down.
6.2.2k5

I like to drink, yes.
Sometimes I drink too much, yes.
The other night I drank too much and felt bad the next day, yes.
Sometimes I drink a lot and skip eating, yes.
I seen a gal once, yes, who was wasted. She was brought to the TNSC meeting by a lovely list member. She had clearly drunk a lot and did not skip eating: She snagged my snack! Ya see, this bar has no kitchen, but it does serve up a great snack in the form of a big hunk of cheese and a mess of saltines. Cheese and saltines and beer. Yum! So I meet this drunk grrrrl, order myself and MY lady a couple beers and cheese/saltine snack and the barkeep serves it up. I had a beer to my grrrrl, pick up my beer and this OTHER grrrl I just met, drunk, snagged my cheese/saltines and then ... and then ... proceeded to eat 'em as if they were free or hers. It was awesome. She was so drunk and so helping herself to my snack that I found it not totally unacceptable, but totally fascinating. I looked to my grrrrrl to see if she was witnessing the spectacle and indeed she was, but to my calm wonder of the situation, she was furious. Her blood was clearly boiling and was about to boil over. It was as fun to watch as the grrrl who snagged my snack.

Soon, though, the grrrl tired of my snack and stopped mowing it down. "Ugh," she said, "I can't eat another bite." "Are you sure," I asked, as I slid the snack over to my grrrrrl, "you won't have another? There's some left." "No," she said, "I already had two of them baskets and I ain't supposed to eat that much cheese."

HOLY SHIT, yes.

Tonight - Specs'.

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

This joint Specs' is where a guy or gal can get a basket of saltines and a hunk of cheese. Keep yr eyes on 'em, though.

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

Dingus II
6.1.2k5

Which of the following statements is true?
A. I quit swearing
B. I quit drinking
C. I started going to church
D. I root for the Giants
E. I quit smoking

Let's consider each option:
"A. I quit swearing." If you know anything about me, you know that I love to swear. I mean I really love it. I love putting together new swear-words by cramming old ones together. "Shitass buttpuppy." If I were guessing truth I would rule this one out.
"B. I quit drinking." Let's see ... Republicans. War. Republicans. Garden pests. Republicans. Traffic. Republicans. Shitty baseball teams. Republicans ... if there weren't reasons to drink in the first place, there's always "drinking sure is fun." Nope.
"C. I started going to church." If 'church' means 'bar' I'd question whether I ever stopped going. But since 'church' is 'church' and I have no time, energy or rational, emotional or logical commitment to organized religion, it too is out.
"D. I root for the Giants" My corpse will rise from the grave and root for whatever team is playing the Giants. Least likely of all.
"E. I quit smoking" Guess that's the only one left. Since all the others are out, it must be true. Also submitted as evidence is the extra fifty bucks I got in my pocket from not buying smokes for a month. So far so good.

Tonight - The Orbit Room.

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

Orbit Room is brought to you by popular demand.

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

Right.
3.4.2k5

I won't even tell you why I'm totally grossed-out but I am and I'm off my feed. I had been looking forward to breakfast and lunch today but now I'm more concerned with not straining something with my dry-heaves. So totally foul. I won't tell you how morbidly disgusted I am. I had a giant cup of coffee and donuts were provided by the workplace but I learned something and I upchucked both coffee and donut. I feel seasick. Goddang. I feel like a hangover after a three-day drunk. Oh wow. I love gory movies and disgusting bloody effects in them but real-life things like footage of medical procedures is icky to me ... until now. Now I think I could enjoy a hotdog while watching some liposuction or eyeball surgery ... because of what I learned. I won't share the horror with you. I won't! Okey, I will. This fruitcake I fight with at work told me that there are ladies that cook up and EAT their placenta after birthin' a baby. Like the animals do. 'Cept the mama goat won't cook up the stuff into a pizza-pie or a stew or a lasagna. There are real ladies that do cook it up. It's such a totally fucked story that I believe it.

Tonight - Eagle's Drift In.

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

Gotta drink so's I can eat.

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

A 'quick' fella.
5.3.2k5

Safety has been on my mind since a few weeks back when this ittybitty earthquake woke me and one of the cats up. I have an "emergency kit" near the door with yr basic survive-until-the-choppers-get-here shit: A deluxe First Aid kit, heavy leather gloves (for removing shattered houses parts from neighbors), several pair of latex gloves (for you-know-what), Strike-anywhere matches, foil blankets, flashlights, radios, road flares, powerbars, boxed water, several pistols (various caliber) and roughly $500 in gold. Near the kit is more of the MadMax variety necessary items: Leather jacket, old jeans, couple t-shirts, boots, brass knuckles, knives, concussion grenades and a case of molitov cocktails. There's a HIS and HER setup, of course, ya can't rebuild civilization w/o yr gal.

Tonight - Annie's.

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

Upcoming venues: Aces, Crowbar, Spec's, Orbit and more! Stay tuned!

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

The little sneak!
5.2.2k5

If it were not for the deluxe lady I got my life would be sadly devoid of thrills these days and I know it. I can easily imagine my day-in, day-out if she weren't around to yell at me and it would be MONOTONY: Get up, go to work, come home, water lawn, have drinks, go to bed. Repeat M-F, throw in a few Cubs losses and that's it. yep!
Have discovered a small, almost insignificant treat that kinda rules, and I'm gonna have to remember it next time she's outta town.
A couple weeks back I told ya a couple storys about the Electric-aire restroom hand dryers. The storys aside, I got a love-hate relationship with them when I'm forced to use one. I hate that they take so goddamn long to dry one's hands, but I love the magic moment when the warm air so perfectly dries the last, minute amounts of water and leaves truly dry hands - not towelled, not 'moist' - dry. That's the only benefit of the hour it takes to use one them things.
So ... the thing that I've discovered that kinda rules is this: Lately, after washing my hands in the restroom at work, I paper towel-off the water, chuck the soggy nap into the trash - AND FINISH WITH THE ELECTRIC-AIRE. It's like cutting to the front of the beer line. It's like getting something for nothing. It's like having yr cake and eating it too.

Tonight - Hemlock Tavern.

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

Chicken balls.

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

Lemon
5.1.2k5

What do you think about camping food? Do you settle for dogs and beans or do you make elaborate camping meals ahead of time for reheating outdoors like my mother used to make? I'd love to go fancy like that but more often I snag a mess of dogs and brats, buns, beans and corn. 'course ya got bacon and eggs in the morning but dinner is cooked over flamin' logs.

I was campin' years ago when I was in college. A few us fucked off down Southern Illinois town called Carbondale. Home of Southern Illinois University and Marion Fed. Pen. Got Gotti? Marion does. Had Gacy. He dead now. Anyway, Carbondale is a wonderful place to camp. Took a newbie camper with us (or he took us as he had the wheels) and boy was he un-fun. Fucking complained about the cold, the scary night noises, the rocks we threw at him and on and on. One night we were roasting some smoky links squewered on sticks over the fire when this fuckwit allowed his link to fall off stick and into fire. He quickly snatched it out only to make like he was going to heave it into the brush. Another pal stopped his hand, "What do you think yr doing," he asked. "It fell. It's got ashes all over it," he replied. I said, "then what are you going to eat, dummy? That's all you get. Wipe off the ashes and cover with mustard. It will be fine." He resisted, but realized it WAS his only dinner and complied. No big deal: I've eaten floor food many times.

So fast fwd to about a week ago when I'm on the patio of this bar w/ this babe enjoying some afternoon sun and an icy-cold adult beverage. The barkeep and some of his helpful pals were BBQing burgers and dogs for the patrons. Real nice. Then barkeep whips a pan of marinating chicken breasts to the grill's work area, only to place it badly and have it D R O P it on the pavement. Marinade, chicken breasts and pan. Barkeep's pals howled with laughter while barkeep visibly held back a full-on rage. Thinking quickly I yelled, "FIVE SECOND RULE!!" and barkeep's pals laughed a confirmation. Barkeep winked at me and picked the chicken off the pavement, paper-towelled off the 'bits' and threw 'em where jebus intended marinated chicken breasts to be: On the grill.

We don't eat at this bar.


Tonight - House of Shields.

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

Happy Cinco de Mayo!

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

Megastore
4.4.2k5

Ya like the sound of a diesel engine churnin' away? I sure do. Seems the crazy old aged hippy at the street end of my courtyard don't. When we were movin' in she asked the mover-boys if they would shut down the diesel engine on their mover truck. They said no fucking way: The lift needs the engine to be on to operate. She made a stink. I told her to go to the movies and come back later, as them movers - if left to MOVE - would finish up and scoot. She a idiot.
She's the one who tried to get the corner liquor store shut down. I think I mentioned her before.
She bugs the shit out of me.


Tonight - Route 101 Bar & Beverage.

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

I love the word "Beverage."

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

Yahweh
4.3.2k5

I knew my friend Jamee was going to throw out her decades-old boom box and I had an idea and then asked her if she'd heaved it yet. She said she did only to recover it from the bin moments later so to tune into the radio. But she did give it to me. She brought it over and explained that it wasn't just the radio program that compelled her to save it, but her odd habit of anthropomorphizing inanimate objects. I knew just what she was talking about.

Ever since I was very young, I've been assigning human characteristics to non-human and often times non-living things. As a child I had a gingerbread man that I named Oscar and kept for weeks. Every one of my bikes have had names, the two most recent being Sir Francis Gary Powers and the aptly named, "Chuck." The cars, hats and sunglasses have had names. My hot sauces, the steadfast soldiers they are, have names. My charcoal Weber grill is named, "Fireball." It's slightly compulsive, I know, but I don't give a damn. It helps me sort shit out.

So Jamee bid farewell to her trusty boom box and I gladly accepted it. She asked why I wanted the old thing. I told her I was going to tear it's bits out and Frankenstein me a outdoor speaker-system for my iPod. She was horrified. But she let me have it anyway.

Tonight - Eagle's Drift-In.

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

Beer is good on a warm day.

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

No Touch
4.2.2k5

When I was in my senior year of college, on Thursdays I had an afternoon class at the so-called "Lake Front" campus and an evening class 13 miles south at the downtown "Water Tower" campus. There was a dude named Dan that had both classes with me. He had a cool last name that I forget now but better still, he had a SHITBOX 1978 Olds Cutlass that despite being held together with duct tape and was nearly rusted out was FAST and chewed up southbound Lake Shore Drive like it was nothin' at all.
He gave me a ride downtown every week and on the way we'd swill coffee, smoke cigs and shoot the shit. He was a local suburbanite and had never been West of the Mississip. I blathered on about Idaho's Snake River Canyon, Washington's Snoqualmie Falls and Hollywood's Sunset Strip Hookers, many of whom tried to tempt me on my way to/from work at Tower Video that weird summer I lived in Hollywood. Dan was a big dude, a tough dude five-ten years older than me but my stories of The Wild West kept him enraptured the entire minute thirty-five it took to drive the 13 miles.
One Thursday Dan told me he was gonna have some pals over and grill meats for Da Bears game the following Sunday and invited me to come. Suburban Chicago kinda made me itch but he said Berkeley, Illinois was so goddang close to Chicago proper that it hardly felt like da suburbss. I figured I'd give it a go.
Following Dan's directions I got to Berkeley, Illinois and figured what he said was true: The place was closer to Chicago than O'Hare. Danny grilled up some fine meats, provided a cooler full of the good stuff and we ate the meats, drank the good stuff and watched Da Bears lose. His pals were good guys too. All of 'em were childhood friends of his and were his age - a little bit older than me. They all worked - Dan had worked with them but quit to go back to school - at the World Dryer Corporation, headquartered right there in Berkeley, Illinois. I said hot-fucking-damn! I knew Berkeley, Illinois meant something to me, it's where them hand dryers are made. Here are two micro-stories about the hand dryers made in Berkeley, Illinois:

Some models have a chrome nozzle that swivels. In grade school it was fun to swivel the nozzle to point up and then fill the nozzle with water. Then hit the button and laugh as electrified water sprayed all over the room. Ha!

At the gym I dutifully go to 3x times a day ... um ... at the gym in the men's locker room, near the shower there's a wall with 4x World Dryer hand dryers on the wall. Three right next to each other in a row and one roughly two feet beneath the dryer on the far right of the row. I wondered if that one was for midgets and thought that wwas a nice thing to provide those little fuckers when I WITNESSED this dude come out of the shower and blow-dry his NADS with it. Long as I live I never want to see anything like that again.

Tonight - Sadie's Flying Elephant.

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

You know where KQED is?

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

Stupid!
4.1.2k5

Ever since the 1997-98 El Nino weather events I've been in LOVE with the definite article 'the.' During El Nino, most every weatherman and news anchor referred to El Nino as 'the' El Nino. This had me howling with laughter every time because the Spanish word 'el' is 'the' in English. Duh! So these lunkheads kept repeating 'the the nino.' I couldn't get enough of it so when the event subsided I began to use the definite article 'the' in front of every Spanish noun preceded by 'el' or 'la.' For example, one of our favorite bars 'el Rio' became to me, 'the el Rio.' That former NY Yankees-now-Chicago White Sox pitcher 'el Duce' became 'the el Duce.' With so much Spanish being bandied about these days, there is plenty of opportunity for me to chuck 'the' in front of 'el whatever.'
I started thinking about 'the' in other terms the other day when, searching through DVD's at The Borders, I seen the De-lux edition of "Passion of The Christ." Why the hell is 'the' in there? I get 'The Christ Child,' but 'The Christ.' That's just dumb. I thought about asking everyone to start calling me 'The Johnson' just for kicks. Then I figured that in one way or another many of you do already call me the equivalent of 'The Johnson,' if you catch my meaning. So I scrapped that. Then I did the obvious and said aloud while laughing, "The Passion of The Johnson" which CLEARLY treads on Tama's territory. If you catch my meaning.

Tonight - Crow Bar.

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

The tour of North Beach continues!

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

Short and Sweet.
3.5.2k5


Wow, we actually had 5 Thursdays this month!! Now that's something to celebrate. Here is something else: A party for longtime list memeber and all-around great guy, Ceddrick Jonae.


See you guys at StudioZ. Though the main entrance is on 11th St., please use the alternate entrance on Folsom St. In between Paradise Lounge and The Holy Cow (right by "Cafe V"). More info here, if you need it.

It's a private party, but all are welcome, so come on out and wish Ced the best as he embarks upon the next phase of his incredible life. Starts at 6pm and goes till 12am.

See you there.

Linkey-Loo Robot -
AJC

Juan Valdez and His Faithful Goat.
3.4.2k5

If there are two things I love they are Coffee and Mexico.
I was sitting there, thinking on this recently when I considered: Why not combine the two? I looked into it. The best part about drinking Mexican coffee is that one is usually in Mexico when one is drinking it. I had Mex coffee in the States; it lacks a certain, special something. Oh yeh! It lacks the general feeling of vacation. Drinking vacation cofffee while not on vacation is like getting drunk on egg nog on the Fourth of July. It don't fit.

Undeterred, I continued my quest for satisfaction. And as is usually the case in my life, I plucked success from abysmal failure. I combined my two favorite things. Coffee and Mexico. Mexico and Coffee. Oh yes. I won and here's how:

There's a wee little cafe across the street from work. In the morning, the staff are a buncha Mexicans. I ordered my standard espresso drink, the venerable four-shot large Americano. I paid a Mexican and a Mexican made my drink. I took it and drank it. I noticed that the man wrote my order on the side of the cup. "X X X X Gringo." Translated from the barista-spanish, that is "four-shot Americano." Shit yes.
Tonight - Mr.Bing's.

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

Bing's and Bobo start w/ the same letter! "B!"

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

Morimoto
3.3.2k5

Ya seen the "Iron Chef America" yet? Predictable spinoff of Japanese TV's "Iron Chef" that so captivated me years ago when public access TV was good. Last night's episode of ICA featured Japan's Iron Chef Sakai against ICA's Iron Chef and total fuckson Bobby Flay. The outcome was rigged because Flay won. I say it was rigged because Sakai beat the shit outta him but it's American TV and nobody wants to see Sakai win. 'Cept for me cuz I hate Bobby Flay.
Anyway, last night's battle was Battle Trout, and that got me thinking about ... well ... trout. I remembered a classmate in high school who had a dream: To 'trout' in his own home. I googled 'trout' to see if anyone used the word in the verb sense anymore and it seems to have lost that meaning between now and high school, but 'trouting' used to mean smoking a LOT of crack and passing out and convulsing like a fish out of water ... like a trout, if you will. So yeh! This idiot had a dream: Not simply to own his own home, but to trout within it. Wow! He also told me once that he wanted to get the world's biggest rock of crack and have a master craftsman sculpt it into a bust of David Hasselhoff. NO LIE. I had a vision of him trouting on the floor of his home, the crack-bust of David Hasselhoff looming majestically in the background. Strange the things the memory holds.
The guy and I lost touch, thankfully, as he was expelled from school - I shit you not - ONE WEEK before graduation. Not for possession of crack, as one might suspect, but from ... uh ... repeated unexcused absenced. World-class dumbass.

Tonight - Annie's.

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

Annie's is home to us, you know.

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

Do me baby!
3.2.2k5

That little monkey on my shoulder wears a fez. He wears a fez and says, "oooh oooh!"
I always answer that with, "Oh yeh, huh, little monkey-man?"
Monkey says, "oh oooh oooh, ee-ee!" Then he turns up his favorite music: Anything by Digital Underground.
I like Humpty, you ladies know him, oh how he likes to funk thee. And all you rappers in the Top Ten, please allow him to bump thee. He's like my monkey, he's really spunky and he really likes his oatmeal lumpy. But more about my monkey: You can meet him in person TONIGHT!

Tonight - Eagle Drift-In.

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

Not nearly enough SOMA peeps at the Drift-In a few weeks back so we go again. Learn yr lesson!

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

Making Plans for Nigel.
3.1.2k5


The "Boys of Summer" have finally arrived - and I don't mean 1980's Don Henley. True, Summer is several months away (hell, Spring hasn't officially "sprung" yet), but yet many folks are flocking South to warmer climates, seeking beer, Polish Sausages, and, of course, Baseball. One of those fortunate few happens to be our beloved TNSC Robot. The only UNFORTUNATE thing is that he's there to see the Chicago Cubs. When will their fans ever learn? Granted, you can get a delicious "Old Style" served right at your seat in the venerable Wrigley Field. Mmmmmm......beeeeeeeeeeeer. And in true San Francisco Giants form, at the time of this posting, they've blown their early lead. But I digress. On to my true task here:


So stepping up to the "TNSC Venue Annoucement Whell", I spin........and.............the destination for this evening is............... Doc's Clock!!!! Where everyone always has a "good time"!!!! Urgh....that was bad.

Please join us in a round of well-wishing for several out-of-town (and out-of-country) guests who will be departing again for the "Great White North". Don't forget your mittens.


Spot the reference!

See you there.

Linkey-Loo Robot -
AJC

Seattle YOU.
2.4.2k5

If someone says the words, "I've been thinking about suicide lately," most people will assume that the person is thinking about committing suicide and not merely about the act itself. I say this because I started this very Venue Announcement with those words and I know that some of you ... well, a lot of you don't read much of the Venue Announcement except for maybe the first sentence and the venue itself and THIS PAINS ME but that ain't my point right now. My point is that I didn't want you all to read the words, "I've been thinking about suicide lately," and think that I'm thinking about committing suicide and not simply thinking of the act itself. I have been thinking of suicide since this past Monday's news item that Hunter S. Thompson blasted his brains out.

I've been a fan of HST since I started reading his work while still a lad in high school. Both my folks were English majors in college and they held onto a lot of their books and so we had literally (heh) a wall of books in one of the rooms in the house. In addition to being an invaluable resource when required to read the classics, as our collection usually had the book in it, once I became both interested in reading for fun and interested in reading things I wasn't supposed to, the collection made good on this, too. For example, we had a great book on Greek mythology. Fun stuff. Also found in the stacks a book called, "Stories of Scarlet Women." Sweet! It was published by Esquire Magazine and had stories about whores by famous authors, notably among them Ernest Hemmingway, himself a suicide victim.

After finishing the Book of Sluts, I peeked around and found a little green hardcover called "Hells Angels." I hadn't ever heard of Hunter S. Thompson, but I became an instant fan and sought out and devoured as much of his work as I could find. So it was with sadness that I greeted the news of his death.

Then I heard that he had some kind of disease and figured, what the hell. I can't fault a guy whose been given a death sentence from his doctor for choosing the quick way out.

So thinking about suicide, I recalled the time many years ago that my sister and I witnessed a suicide. It was pretty dramatic, as it was that special kind of suicide known as Suicide-By-Cop. Here's what went down: We spent the day at my dad's place in rural Lake County Illinois, barbecuing meats and drinking beers. After the fun and games, we bid farewell to my pop and drove toward the highway home but only got to the end of the drive when we saw a fox. A real fox! I like foxes so I got kinda excited and yelled something like, "Holy fucking shit, there's a goddamn sonofabitch FOX!!!" Sister was driving and hit the brakes. Foxy sat there by the side of the road and let us admire her. Sister and I were all smiles until we realized something weren't right with the fox. Foxy didn't seem to see us and, well, didn't move much at all. Kinda had a glazed look about her. Blasting the horn of the car didn't scare her off. She only slightly turned her little nose toward us. Yep. Something was wrong. We turned the car around and went back to our dad's to use the phone to call ... what were we thinking? The pound? We called the pound and they sent the cops. We met the cop, a giant, corn-fed dud of a trooper, near where we saw the fox and pointed her out, as she was still there. The cop chock-chocked his riot gun and my sister screamed, "FUCK, you're going to shoot her?" Cop said you bet yr ass I'm gonna shoot and with a gleam in his eye, leaned out the window and with a mighty blast, turned the fox into pudding. I had to console the sister as we sped out of there. "Ol' lady foxy was sick, ya see? And like them weirdoes that wave their pistols at cops so they'll get shot cuz they're too scared to pull down on themselves, ol' foxy knew she was sick and needed to die. She prolly thought suicide by cop was easier than runnin' under some truck."

Ol' foxy was prolly right. Still, the look on that little face still haunts me ...

Tonight - Lone Palm.

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

What's not to like? Alan will be attending tonight after two consecutive weeks away on biz.

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

Zoom
2.3.2k5

Direct from the part of my pea-sized brain that holds what seem like million-year-old memories comes this gem: Oh how I loved getting a new pair of shoes and wearing them out of the store. While a new pair of shoes usually meant a new school year and we all know that new school years totally sucked, this fact did not diminish my pleasure with wearing my new pair of shoes right out the doors of Buster Browns. The second wearing of the shoes was forgettable and mundane but not the first and here's why: Because the gentleman who worked at the shoe store tied the laces oh so perfectly tight with much eclat; a performance of great elan, sophistication and grace, and a professional know-how that is largely dead today except for such vocations as harpsichord repair. I could not duplicate the perfection of the zapateria clerk's skill, no matter how I tried. And try I did.

Only later in life did I learn the shoe store employees were losers and perverts.

Tonight - The Edinburgh Castle.

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

Don't forget that while at the 'castle to place an order w/ yr server for Old Chelsea's Fission Chips fr supper!

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

No AND!
2.2.2k5

If you don't eat fast food very much and then one day you do because you remember from your youth that KFC ExtraCrispy is fucking yummy and you find that it ain't as yummy as you remember it don't blame me because I recently did just that. My home is about 40 and nine steps away from the Colonel's and if even if the chicken turns out to be bad the smells from that joint sure are good (Sorry Bobo). I resisted the smells ... the delicious KFC aromas for about as long as I could take it and coughed up a handfull of bills for a boxfull of bird. Took it home and yuk. The cat went crazy, of course, and even though I told him the chicken was kinda gross he still wanted some. I've recently made several attempts at frying chicken and while I'm not completely satisfied w/ the results, the chicken I made was better than the KFC.

Tonight - Specs'.

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

I can kick the shit outta biscuits.

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

The Hour of Chaos
2.1.2k5

Got an apartment and in a couple weeks it'll have been a year since moving in. It's a townhouse in the corner of a nice little courtyard that's got three pastel-colored bungalows on either side toward the street. Shoulda known the day we moved in that the lady at one end of the courtyard was whacked because she asked our movers to turn off their truck because the diesel engine was bothering her. The movers said that they couldn't turn it off due to it powering the hydraulic lift - the lift they needed to unload our furniture from the back of the truck. Didn't satisfy her, though, and she asked if they really needed the lift. You've ever met a mover you know they've likely done time somewhere and they don't cotton to foolish requests. You've ever met a guy who's done time somewhere you know they're likely not to stomp flat some dumbass lady who's askin' stupid questions and get sent back to the hoosegow. Anyway that there was how we met our neighbor.

Since then she has tried to get the local liquor store closed because the parking lot of said liquor store was right out her kitchen window and she was done fed up w/ the store's lesser-advantaged patrons hanging out in said parking lot, pissing on her chainlink fence and being general nuisances. She got a petition going with the neighborhood and got the city involved in her proposed cleanup-or-leave campaign. I said I agreed that no one should be peein' on her chainlink, but I'll be damned if I'm gonna vote for my next-door liquor store to be shut down. Turned out she and the owner came to an uneasy truce after the owner installed some lights and 'no loitering' signs.

Well the dingdong is up to it again: Got a letter from the town government the other day, opened it, read it; it said they were suckers. They said they got some complaints that the courtyard's various tenants were leaving their trash bins in an 'unacceptable location.' I thought, hmm! I only seen them bins on the ... uh ... CURB. Where the fuck we supposed to be putting them and come on! Don't you town government jerks got anything better to do than worry about the goddamn trashbins? Some people don't realize they be part of the problem.

Tonight - Irish Bank.

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

Brave fecal alley and join us for the freshes Guinness in town and chow-down on some blue cheese fries. yes ok!

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

Meadows
1.4.2k5

I started a new J O B this week and I swear to god it felt like the first day of school. 'Cept the chair was comfy.

Tonight - The Eagle Drift-In.

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

Remember ... The Eagle DRIFT-IN. Not the ... uh ... "other" Eagle.

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

Penny-stealing ... criminal ... man.
1.3.2k5

A Christmas tradition that had taken a backseat to getting smashed on NOG for me was enjoying the Christmas Stocking. My Ma was a champion at stuffing the thing with really great stuff back when I was a wee little Robot. And I ain't talkin' about "fillers" like oranges and such. Everything was precious and well thought out.

This past Xmas the small circle of Fam and Friends and I resurrected the tradition in Grand Style! We went as far as decorating our own homemade stockings (the 'blanks' deftly crafted by a crafty Delp) by cutting up bits of felt and glueing them on. This Robot, looking for inspiration thought of the things he liked most ... and came up w/ Nachos and Margaritas! Both rendered in felt quite well, if I do say so myownself.

So on Xmas morning I dissassemble the bloated stocking and much to my delight I find little booze bottles and cigarettes, a false moustache (and spirit gum), some lottery tickets, a Daily Racing Form, a bottle of dishwashing liquid, a pad of Post-Its and a small round pin - some folks call them buttons - that said in a crazy typeface: COFFEE SLUT.

I affixed the COFFEE SLUT button to my fleecy, warm sweatshirt and proudly wore it, as I am, indeed, a COFFEE SLUT. There the button remains and whenever I don the fleecy, warm sweatshirt I remember the joy of the Xmas stocking.

FAST FORWARD to last Saturday when the grrrrrrrl and I are on our way to a weekend in Yosemite and we stop in a grocery store. I'm again wearing the fleecy, warm sweatshirt and it indeed still has the COFFEE SLUT button on it but I don't really see it anymore because it's always there. All at once, in line to check out, I see the COFFEE SLUT button and laugh quietly to myself. Then the nice lady starts ringing up the beer, beef jerky, dry-roasted peanuts and, without looking up, says, "So ... you're a COFFEE SLUT." I said, "heh, okay." She said, "Your button. It says COFFEE SLUT." I looked down at the button and said, "Oh! That’s, uh, that’s uh, my piece of flair. I'm, you know, required to wear a certain amount of flair. ... uh ... I didn’t actually choose this. I, uh, I just grabbed a button and, uh, I don’t even know what it says! Y’know, I don’t really care. I don’t really like talking about my flair."

The nice lady looked me with sad eyes and said, "okay, fine. Sorry." I paid and left.

Tonight - The Il Pirata.

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

Why don't no one Rant in the Rant Section? It's fun, goddamnit.

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

Alan's got clients ...
1.2.2k5

And I'm busy!

Tonight - The Attic.

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

We'll both see ya at the bar, though.

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!

Woodstock
1.1.2k5

I got a pal that surprised me one day with, "y'know, you sure seem to be 'into' scatology." I asked her what the fuck she was talking about. She said that I talk about poop and pee rather often. I told her that it was because I live in San Francisco (I did at the time) and it smells like piss everywhere and furthermore that it's not uncommon to see someone pissing in any given vestibule and when you do the odds you got a fifty-fifty chance that that shit-pile you nearly stepped in was passed by an actual canine and not ... uh ... some dude.
Anyway, I thought of her saying that the other day when I had finally had enough of the GIGANTIC poop-piles that I had to dodge along the path to the liquor store and called the cops. I told the 911 operator that they needed to send some cops over to investigate a hazardous substance.** (**You want some response from the 'authorities?" You gotta be dramatic. Don't lie, but be dramatic. I learned this lesson a while back from my dear Auntie who, while performing ranch-related duties in her Hughes 300 was buzzed by a couple of Idaho National Guard F4s and nearly crashed. She got on the horn to Mountain Home Air Force Base and after getting the run-around from the receptionist, she calmly asked who she needed to speak to regarding a couple of downed Air Force jets. A full-bird Colonel picked up the line and frantically asked her which downed Air Force jets and she replied the ones that would be brought down if his jackass flyboys wouldn't stop buzzing her ranch. Got ... his ... attention.)
So a couple cops show up and the tall one says, "If this is a hazardous substance we gotta call the HazMat team." I said, "If I wanted HazMat I'da called 'em. I wanted cops. Cops need to do something about this menace." The fat one says, "Okay. Where is it?" I walk them over to the enormous mound of plop and say, "Here it is, boys." They said, "What? That pile of shit?" I said, "Hell yeah, that pile of shit. It's as big as a house." One of them said, "Well what do you want US to do about it?" I said, "I'm glad you asked. Ya see, whoever shits there shits there often and I think it's a dog. I say that because while it's big enough to be a human's shit, there ain't a piece of newspaper with a shit-smear on it that indicates the asshole wiped his asshole after shitting on the sidewalk." They both looked at me quizzically. I answered their look, "I lived in San Francisco. Half of those fuckers shit on the sidewalk." They nodded in agreement. Then the fat one said, "So it's a pile of dogshit. So what?" I said, "Whoever lets their dog shit here lets it shit here all the time. He's a pattern shit-menacer ... pardon me: Shit-menacist." The tall cop: "So?" "So," I said, "so set up a fucking surveillance. A dump that big, the dog's gotta be huge. Stop the big dogs and get a sample. I been watchin' CSI Miami and I know you cops can get a poop-type off a sample. Match that sample with what ya got here on my path to the liquor store and fuckin' throw the cocksucker in jail for creating a illegal toxic dump!" I didn't even see the tall one haul off and hit me with his night stick. He fast.

Tonight - Annie's.

Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!

2005 already! I figure this will be the best year in years! Hot damn! We start at the TNSC Headquarters.

bye-ee!

whrr ... clik!