Monday, June 6, 2011

The Patriot

I don't want a drink named after me, too much pressure there. Instead, a comrade named Todd and I came up with proper titling for a Jack and Coke.

It's not a Jack & Coke, it's The Patriot.

Like any good capitalist, we have conditions. The Patriot is only the Patriot when there's more Jack than Coke.

If it's equal parts Jack and Coke, it's 'the Communist.'

If it's more Coke than Jack, it's 'the Traitor.'

That is all.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Hallo Hundt!

It was a summer afternoon in Hamburg, Germany. A gorgeous brunette was walking her German Shepherd along  Alstor Lake.  I had just learned hundt meant dog in German, so I couldn’t hold back from saying “Hallo Hundt!” The woman, once bouncing along the lake walk, was now staring me down as she power walked past.

Then, my friend who was fluent in German broke it to me by saying “Grim. You idiot. You just said 'hello bitch.'” 

Friday, January 28, 2011

Apocalypse Cakes

I stumbled across this little gem from Shannon O'Malley. Awhile back, this copywriter phenom decided to start crafting cakes in the tune of armageddon. Rock on Shannon. When the fallen angel's given the key to open the abyss, I hope Shannon caters the event.

To get a taste of the end, check out these pastries of hopelessness.

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

The radar flashed 215

Between Milwaukee and Chicago is a ninety minute stretch of boredom.  A lone officer spends the early hours of a fall wednesday parked next to the highway. His radar gun haphazardly scans the road.

When 3am came around, his radar gave off a digital squeal and flashed "215 mph." Nothing was there, and everything went back to dull. Random fluke. What else could it be? He forgot about it and returned to a boredom induced coma.

One week later. Same time, same radar, same problem.  He swaps the radar and writes it off as a new fangled failure.

Two weeks later. Same time, new radar, same problem.  It's beyond him.  No-one else is having this problem.

Three weeks later.  Same time, two squad cars, new idea.  Something must be setting this radar off.  Since no cars come by between 2:45 am and 3:15 am, let's spread tire spikes across the highway and see what happens.

3 am comes and goes. Nothing happens. 3:04 am, 3:05 am, nothing. But at 3:06 am, two explosions rip across dullsville and sparks fly on the highway like a Rammstein encore in Berlin. The officers stumble out and run onto the road to find a Lamborghini Diablo with shredded tires perpendicularly spread across the road.

The windows were blacked out, all lights, blinkers, license plates, and anything else reflective had been stripped or painted black.  Inside the car were two men wearing night vision goggles, black body spandex hooded suits, and .50 caliber hand guns.

And inside the trunk, they found sixty pounds of cocaine stashed between the trunk lining and car frame.