The Ex Girlfriend Witching Hour

Dear cockmongers; how's it going?
I realize it's been a while and for that i make no apologies, I've been doing shit.  Belly button lint doesn't pick itself y'know?
I worked at The Ship tonight, and it was murderously slow.  The high/lowlight of my night was a ground of freshly 21 year olds ordering "well's whiskey and cokes" as if well's was a brand of liquor.  Oh that and they kept talking to me about Jersey Shore, tipped like shit, and then one of them had the nerve to ask if we were hiring.  A few terrible customers aside though, tonight was pretty fun.
So since I haven't updated in a while, I'm gonna share a funny story with y'all.
A while ago on the day in which daylight savings time kicks into effect I experienced what I'm going to refer to as the ex girlfriend witching hour.  What might that be you might ask, and might or mightn't you ask I might explain via this tale.  I was at home, laying in bed fucking around on Facebook, much as I am right now.  All of a sudden a girl I dated pretty seriously a long time ago started up a chat with me.  This was odd, as we weren't exactly on good terms, and hadn't spoken in a few years.  I won't lie to you gentle reader, it was a strange and awkward conversation.  She was clearly in a very lonely and vulnerable spot, but as kindhearted and loving as you all know me to be, I had a hard time being empathetic with this girl cuz hey, she did cut me pretty deep years back.
So in the midst of this out of the blue conversation that I'm having a hard time processing, another ex girlfriend calls me.  This lady hadn't spoken to me in roughly 6 months or so, but was drunk at the bar across the street from me and needed a ride home.  Being the great person that I am, I hop up and head over to the bar.  After a short car ride and some slurred thank yous I arrive back at the house.  Here's where shit gets fucking strange.
Hanging on the front door is the same black canvas Sailor Jerry purse that I bought for the first ex I mentioned.  She was as far as I know, a 2 hour drive away at the time, so I don't think it's a stalker in the bushes getting a chubby over my panicked expression type scenario.  It's fucking bizarre though right?  I mean, let's recap:  Exactly as the extra hour in daylight savings time kicks in, 2 of my exes start talking to me, and then a present I bought 3 or so years ago shows u on my door with no explanation (to this day) who put it there or why.  Bizareness though, am I right?
That's all I've got for you today my children.
Go huff some paint and beat up a CVS security guard
-Pretzel

I Have Altered The Deal Pray I Don"t Alter It Any Further

Well hello there turds, didn't see you come in.  Might I be so bold as to say that you all look rather dashing this afternoon?  What's that, you want to hear me ramble a bit?  Well I suppose I can squeeze that into my busy schedule my cupcakes.  

Sometimes I like to think of places it would be awesome to play a show/shoot a music video at.  I think a show in the back of a semi truck would be pretty gnarly, possibly with a side cut out of it, and probably in a sketchy looking industrial parking lot type of setting.  Another of my favorites is rooftops, any show on a rooftop is automatically at least twice as cool in my book preferably with a bunch of gnarly beat up lookin' punk kids.  I feel like nighttime shows are also pretty badass especially when there's floodlights or fire involved as a lighting agent.  Shows and videos in pools are bitching too, whether it be a full pool with a platform in the middle or an empty bowl (preferably with kids skating around the band in it.)  But my ultimate venue choice, wait for it.... motherfucking Cloud City! 

BOOSH!

No sirs and madams, it does not get any fucking cooler than cloud city, it is my life's ambition to play a show in Cloud City and get drunk on Colt 45 with Billy Dee Goddamned Williams.  Think about that shit,  freaky Bespin broads with head tentacles dancing around, that cyborg guy overseeing everything, those weird siamese twin space ships flying around, and Boba fucking Fett lurking in the corner nodding along with the music.  

In my head Boba Fett is a big Involuntarys fan

That my friends would be bad as shit.  I don't want to hear your "Pretzel Cloud City isn't a real place" talk, or your "you're a little to old to fantasize about your band playing in a fictional universe" mumbo jumbo, and certainly not your " the only band that can make it in the Star Wars universe is the cantina band with those dudes that have weird crab vagina mouths" nonsense.  

Fuck all you dream squashers, and fuck all Mos Eisley musicians, I can have dreams too you bastards!

Eh, I'm gonna get drunk and watch return of the Jedi

Wipe front to back!

-Pretzel

Vkings! Wizards! Demon Lizards!

You ever have one of those mornings? You know the kind of morning when you wake up and the cuffs are a tad too tight cuz they're not the fun fuzzy kind, you can't get the taste of burritos and gin out of your mouth, and the portly guard is yelling about the illegality of your bootlegged Dora The Explorer DVDs?  Yeah me either. I mean don't get me wrong I've totally had bootlegged bavarian burrito mornings in my day just not many recently.  No sirs and lady sirs, I'm pretty stoked on life nowadays.  My stokedom is due to a number of factors (awesome friends, awesome job, the Bruins are number one in the northeast[suck it Joe, suck it Kevin] etc.) but the reason I'm gonna focus on today is motherfucking cornhole!  If you're unfamiliar with the game, cornhole is a game in which two people team up against another two and throw beanbags at a slightly angled board with a hole cut into the top.

If your bag goes in the hole you earn 3 points, and if you merely make it on the board you get 1 point, however whatever the other team scores that round will offset your score, and your opponents can knock your bags off the board and null that point. It's one of those awesome games where you can play with a beer in your hand, in fact being a bit tipsy is a good strategy.  So far as I know, "cornhole" is a regional term for the game, apparently in Chicago it's known as "beanbags."  Fuck that though, it's goddamned cornhole and I will address it as such you windy city cockbags.

I said it, do something Chi Town, come at me!

It's recently become cornhole weather at the bar, and let me tell you I could not be happier.  I'm a member of team Pussy Lickers and we're pretty amazing, I mean we took out the Weird Beards the Hoorayhole Lickers, and the Substance Abusers, that's a pretty impressive record right?  We weren't always the devastating force that causes grown men to weep and women and children to flee in terror.  Nope, we were once mere mortals just like yourselves but then we solidified with a team name.
Unity's a great thing, Op Ivy wrote a song about it, and I can see why.  I mean, in a team mentality you're not just looking out for yourself you've got other people you don't wanna let down.  I've got that going on in a number of facets of my life, the band, the house, the bar, and most recently team Pussy Lickers.  There's been numerous times when I just don't wanna play a show, but if I don't give it my all the band's gonna be let down and that'd bum me out pretty significantly.
Meh, I'm rambling and that means it's beer drinking time for uncle Pretzel
Stay sassy y'all!
-Pretzel
P.S. Don't tell Chicago what I said, they're kinda scary sometimes

My Hips Sure As Shit Don't LIe

Whattup you mother fuckaaaaaz!?  Today's rambling shall be tattoos, as I had an excellent and lengthy conversation whilst on a nature walk (yeah, that shit happened bro) about tattoos and the stigmas they entail.
My generation has embraced tattooing with a vengeance.  More and more 18-19 year olds are getting very conspicuous (think throat/hand area) pieces.  Now that's cool and all, I'm obviously all for personal expression, however when you have no career and no marketable skills a throat tattoo is a very big strike against you in virtually any market you can think of.  I've met countless kids who very early on, tattoo stretch scar and implant themselves all to hell with no idea what they're gonna do down the line, and it bums me out.  I'm being a complete hypocrite here by the way, I've got my hands, throat, and even ears done, and I was a dumb fucking kid for doing it.  When I was still piercing I wanted to go back to school for mortuary science, but when you work at a funeral home you not only have to embalm, but double as a funeral director, and lets be honest children, nobody wants a funion eared fuck like myself dealing with bereaved families.  So yeah, I screwed myself out of a career because I wanted to look how I wanted to look, and it's sad watching other kids doing the same thing.  I hear a lot of these same kids bitch and moan about how they're being discriminated against for their tattoos and heres the deal: getting tattooed is a decision that you consciously make.  A deli owner not hiring someone because they're black is discrimination,  a P.R. firm refusing to hire someone because they're gay is discrimination, but not hiring/ firing someone for a tattoo is absolutely not discrimination.  The best explanation of this I've heard is this, jobs have dress codes, if your gnarly sturgis 96 neck piece doesn't fit into that, than sorry bout your luck broseph, you fucked yourself out of a job back in 96.
That lengthy discourse out of the way, tattoos are undeniably awesome so get those ass antlers, get the Godsmack sun on your bicep and absolutely get that sweet hatchet man with juggalo lyfe underneath in old english, just don't bitch about it when your sweet tatties kill your dream of selling used Hondas.
Tip your servers (especially Alicia, she's fuckin rad) and drive safely my peeps
Oh and as always, send nudes
-Pretzel

I Disposed Of 7 Hooker's Bodies For My Boss And All I Got Was This Lousy Blog Entry

Well helloooooo there my children, how's life?  Alright that's enough outta you, it's my turn to babble.
I've been reading Scar Tissue by Anthony Kiedis from the Red Hot Chili Poopers recently and it's fucking excellent.

The more I read about his zany exploits (heroin, coke, more heroin, banging his dad's girlfriend at age 11, more heroin, and some speedballs for good measure) the more I catch myself yelling at the movie screen of his life. "No Anthony Kiedis!" I'll say to myself, "If you OD with that chicano gangbanger you're never gonna live to record Under The Bridge!"  It's a semi fucked up dynamic really, because though I sit and curse Mr. Kiedis for almost throwing a brilliant career away, I do it with enough caffiene, nicotine, and alcohol coursing through my bloodstream to kill a miniature pony.

I find myself wondering from time to time what would happen if tortured artists with fucked up childhoods would have equally brilliant output, had their pasts been a bit more normal.  Take Rene Magritte for example.

He's the dude that painted this

His mom killed herself when he was a kid.  She jumped off a bridge and when her body was found her nightgown was draped over her face like a veil.  Magritte had a recurring motif of covering his subject's faces.   For example, one of my favorite paintings by him is called The Lovers.  It features a couple kissinng with a veil draped over both their faces.  This brings us back to my thesis question here.  Magritte was an enormously talented artist, and probably would have been a phenomenal painter regardless of how he grew up, but would his work have been as good had he not suffered the pain of his mom's suicide?  I like to imagine that he (or any other example you can dream up really) would simply produce equally amazing work with cheerier themes, but I guess that's a hypothetical I'll never know the answer to.
Eh, I'm getting a little to highbrow here for my taste.  Dicks, farts, bajinas, anal bleach and queefs.  That's right turds, queefs, now there's a topic that needs addressed.
Queefs, in day to day life are rather hilarious and should be giggled at.  However should queefage occur in a sexual situation it must be approached delicately.  You can either: A.) ignore it, power through and hope the moment hasn't been spoiled, or B.) acknowledge it giggle together like schoolgirls.  I've used both methods before and I've found that option B. works a little better.  I mean, you both know that shit happened, no reason for an unspoken awkwardness, and hopefully you've got enough chemistry with your partner that you can laugh at yourselves.
So to summarize, Belgian surreal artist, and pussy farts.
Talk amongst yourselves douchebags, I'm gonna go read on the front porch cuz its beautiful out today.
-Pretzel

2011; Year Of The Granny Panties

I was awoken this morning by NOFX playing "The Agony of Victory" through my phone.  Someone no call no showed at the bar today and due to my room's proximity to Damon's it's slowly becoming my job to relay messages to him when he's unwakeable by text or phonecall.
I hate waking people up, I really do, mainly because I hate waking up.  I hate it so much in fact that I have friends at the coffee shop that had no idea I had a personality until they saw me in the evening hours.
Anyway, after I played harbinger of waking hours, Damon trudged off to the bar which left me here bored and car-less which means it's been a day of watching youtube videos and hanging with the puppies.

Jabba and Betty getting their cuddle on

The dogs are kinda weird.  They're stoked on life first thing in the morning, they want to run around, play, poop, eat, and get petted right when they wake up, but then they pretty immediately switch into nap mode.  Around 7-8 or so they're up and all energy for a while and then it's right back to nap mode again.
I mean I guess I'm kinda the same there, aside from work or band hours all I really wanna do is sit on the couch, still I find their energy fluctuations strange.

I'm working 9-close tonight, and tonight, douchebags, is Jameson Night.  Jameson is always on special at the bar but tonight there'll be some sort of schwag being passed out, and the Jameson Girls will be on hand to (presumably) pass out shots, which should be fun, plus I'm working with Rusty,so there'll be shenanigans a' plenty.

We've got a show in Dayton this Saturday, I believe the venue's called O.E.  so if you're in Dayton, cancel your saturday plans and come get fucked up with us instead!

I'm out, lather rise repeat you cockmongers!
-Pretzel

Drunken Gas Station Shopping Spree

Yup, there was a storm out there, no denying it. Little rain never hurt anybody though right?
I covered my friend Rachel's shift at work yesterday.  We were fairly slow today, so I just got to fuck off, make up some drinks and hang out with my customers for a while.  After work as a reward for my fucking off, I bought myself a cosmic brownie, and a Fanta in a glass bottle.  Soda never tastes better than it does out of a glass bottle and you can take that shit to the bank.
Today I plan to:
1.) Take a poop
2.)Get some coffee
3.)Go to the bank
4.) Go hang out at a bar I don't work at
5.)Actually answer my texts and phone calls for a change
6.) I mentioned poop right?
7.)Maybe buy myself some dope Rocawear jeans and be fly for the ladies, hoooollla!!

Later douchenuggets!
Pretzel