Sunday, December 25, 2011

From Cap'n Adam Hoden






Well, it's 11 AM on Christmas Day, and I'm already drunk.  Congratulations, world--you win.

Friday, December 16, 2011

A Word

From Shamus (Inches) O'Toole:





Chiropodist.  I've been waiting six years to use that word, and by-god I'm not waiting any longer.

Thursday, December 15, 2011

Give me a Fucking Job Puffery 2

From Cap'n Adam Hoden

Today, the second entry in my campaign to become an ad executive:


As a police reserve officer, I’ve found myself in some hairy situations. The reservesare always called in whenever there’s an event that those cocky career officers can’t handle, and this November, they were screaming for us.


There were some...oh, let’s say ‘undesirables’ in town who had set up shantytown and were causing a minor inconvenience to some of our more well-to-do citizens. When when the rabble started picketing City Hall, the mayor called in the reserves.


As a reservist, I haven’t had the training that the career officers have had (or the experience, dedication, discipline, parking privileges,...). That’s why I’ll only carry the Oppressamatic 7700 Led-Wighted Riot Baton. No other truncheon has the durable mahogany construction combined with the impact-friendly lead end-weight of the Oppressamatic 7700.




Protesters will know you mean business when you brain them with the Oppressamatic 7700. Not even their Guy Fox masks will protect them from its awesome power. Thanks to Oppressamatic, those dirty hippies know that my mayor NEVER uses the back door.




Oppressamatic 7700: When you absolutely, positively gotta break some mother-fucker’s fingers.

Monday, December 12, 2011

An "Editorial" From Jesus M.

In memory of Andy Rooney.

From Jesus Miguel Hernandez:

Call me crazy, but I miss spontaneous erections. I remember a twelve year old Jesus standing in a museum, trying desperately to cover a meaningless, unwanted erection from his family. Nothing in particular had caused it--in fact, in this instance, it was wholly inappropriate.

We were on a tour of the Heard Museum in Phoenix, Arizona. The Heard is an institution that is dedicated to Native American art and culture; so in essence, I had sprung a boner while surrounded by the plight of the American Indian.

Today, this wouldn't be a problem. Were I to sport wood in such an undesirable situation, I would simply take a few deep breaths and perhaps think about Janet Napolitano, and the situation would resolve itself in no time. To my twelve year old body, however, there was absolutely nothing that would deter that unfocused excitement. Except it wasn't excitement, that meat-sword had honed itself upon nothing but the stimulus of--well, nothing.

In today's culture of four-hour Cialis and Viagra hard-ons, I can't help but look back on the innocent erections of my past with a fond nostalgia. Perhaps we will all one day learn to appreciate the spontaneous erections that only our youth could bring.

I'm Jesus Hernandez.

Sunday, December 11, 2011

BGA's Christmas Drink Suggestions

From Captain Adam Hoden and Jesus Miguel Hernandez:

It's Christmas time, and that means that we proud members of the Brotherhood of Gentlemen Alcoholics must make an effort to promote appropriate seasonal booze. Generally, the responsibility would fall upon our honored associate Shamus O'Toole, but he is unavailable--it seems that he's enlisted the Turkish Navy.

Christmas is a season for BGA members can let their hair down and enjoy far less formal cocktails. Normal Brotherhood rules, of corse, require members to abstain from alcoholic beverages that don't taste like liquor--those drinks being designed solely for the purposes of intoxicating college girls--but December marks a time of year during which Brothers may too enjoy drinks with a holiday theme. In that spirit, we suggest that you ask your bartender for any of the following delightful holiday drinks.
  • The Candy Cane: a delightful vodka and peppermint schnapps cocktail.
  • Eggnog: pour brandy, rum, or bourbon into eggnog. What's not to like?
  • The Hot Toddy: basically booze and hot water. Again, what's not to like?
  • Any of the myriad delicious Christmas punch recipes.
  • Hot Chocol-
Actually, you can probably just pour some rum or brandy into any of your children's favorite drinks and call it a Christmas cocktail--who the hell will know the difference?

So from me, Mr. Hernandez, and the absent Mr. O'Toole, Happy Holidays. And try not to fight anyone.


Astsubay Kıdemli Çavuş Shamus "Miktar" O'Toole, TCG Gaziantep
(Petty Officer 2nd Class Shamus "Inches" O'Toole, TCG Gaziantep)
We're not sure which one is him.

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

I mean, Loretta Swit was hot, but...

From Jesus Miguel Hernandez:

I'm not saying I do it, but is it weird to jerk off to the "M*A*S*H*" theme song? Not the one from the movie, the instrumental one...




That can't be right, can it?

Monday, December 5, 2011

Give Me a Fucking Job!

From Capt. Adam Hoden:

A few days ago, I got faced on a bottle of Listerine and watched a season of Bewitched. I do this a lot--not always in that particular combination, of course, I'll occasionally get crocked on aftershave and watch Mad Men.

These shows have quite a lot more in common than you might think. Both are more or less about casually misogynistic functional alcoholics who run ad agencies in the sixties. I consider myself a bit of a renaissance man (in that I do not bathe and rub mercury on my genitals to stave off syphilis), and I feel that I would make one hell of an ad executive, if only somebody would give me a chance.

So, if you'll indulge me, I'd like to submit an open application to any ad agency that would be willing to hire me. To prove it, heres a bit of Peterman-esque puffery I wrote to sell the beverage to which our beloved blog owes its very existence:



I woke up this morning half-naked in the back seat of a driverless taxicab. I had no idea where I was, or even what city I was in. My left shoe was missing, and I had no money, but I was pretty sure that the blood in my hair wasn't mine. Thank you, Night Train.

Any booze will get you drunk, but nothing gets you as fightingly, knee-crawlingly shit-faced as Night Train Express fortified wine. Not only is Night Train Express more powerful than other brands (17.5% alcohol by volume), but it's also dirt cheap and available almost anywhere!

So tonight, why not treat yourself to a good time? Punch a parking meter! Burn down a police car! Pass out in an intersection!

Night Train Express: Come on, it's not like you're gonna remember!

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

The Crimes of Mr. Wonka

FromJesus Miguel Hernandez

I’ve always been really freaked out
and fascinated by Gene Wilder’s portrayal of Willy Wonka. The 1971 movie gave us a confectioner who was utterly indifferent to the parade of children being systematically murdered in his factory. Gene Wilder playedWilly Wonka as a sociopath.

If Willy Wonka was a sociopath, you may be wondering, why would he have rescued the Oompa-Loompas from the horrors of Loomaland? I put it to you that Wonka “rescued” the Oompa-Loompas in the very same way that tobacco farmers used to “rescue” laborers from Africa--in fact, the Oompa-Loompas of the earliest editions of the novel are African pygmies. It is stated in the book, and seen briefly from the glass elevator in the 1971 film, that the now purple-skinned Oompa-Loompas live in a primitive village within the grounds of the Willy Wonka compound. They are well compensated for their labor in their favorite food, the unsweetened cocoa bean. Well, if Boss Wonka freed these heathen savages from the jungle, gives them food, shelter, and the Christian religion, they must be far better off than they were in their homeland. John C. Calhoun would be proud!

The thing is, however, that the Oompa-Loompas themselves are clearly not innocent. The obvious joy that they take in the suffering of the naughty little children is perverse to say the least. Perhaps they have become so numb in their perpetual servitude that basking in the pain of small children is the closest they can come to feeling anything themselves. One cannot help but wonder if these moralizing little heathens are singing to poor Violet as she suffers the pain and humiliation of the juice press.

Speaking of Violet, is there any anatomical or physiological logic that allows a human child to survive a juicing? How much pressure had to build up behind poor Augustus Gloop before he was fired through the factory plumbing like grapeshot? Mike Teevee will never have a normal life. Most gruesome of all, did Veruca Salt’s trip through the Wonka factory incinerator occur on a burning day?

Of corse the the the 1971 film, which did not produce a sequel, left open an equally macabre possibility that the famous glass elevator carried its passengers to their doom. Charlie, Grandpa Joe, and Wonka are hundreds of feet above the factory in a glass box with no visible means of flight control. The elevator--or projectile as we may now call it--is never seen to touch down safely on earth, and we can presume never will. This elevator was not designed with survivability in mind, and given the lack of safety restraints and impact dampening structures--I mean the damned thing’s made of glass--what we see in the very last scene of this movie is the oddly cheerful last moments of the three peoples’ lives.

And it was a kids movie!


Back by Heavy-Handed Coercion!

From Cdre. Adam Hoden

Yes, my friend(s), our beloved Special Needs blog has returned, bringing you the deep insights that you so love! Mr. Hernandez’s upcoming expose of Willy Wonka’s sickening human rights violations, Mr. O’Toole will make us all uncomfortable with reports of his illuminating trip through the California penal system, maybe I’ll eventually find some inspiration and pull something interesting out of my ass, and Mr. Flavour will stitch some of his own unique demented ramblings together into something libelous and incoherent.

So stay tuned, faithful readers, for more than a little of that good stuff that keeps you coming back for more. Our honored associates and a few special guests will be--fuck, I don’t know, just get off our ass! We’ll start writing again!

Something Incoherent

From Woody "Cricketbat-Prison Cell" Flavoure

Editor's Note: Mr. Flavour seems to be be less cogent than usual today. His general point seems to be that LSD is good, or fun, or increases your productivity. As usual, we disavow him.

Acid....Doc Ellis....need I baseball more? The fact that he wasn't on the news constantly before he died is just disheartening, dissapointing, and dibilitating. Disproportionate, devious, and disgusting. Dubious, derivitive, and didactic. Dismal, discourteous, and dissillusioning. Disagreeable, dislikeable, and dickish.


Unexpectedly, this completely bat-shit post from Mr. Flavour gives us an opportunity to promote the music of one of our favorite artists, Todd Snider, who wrote the following song about Doc Ellis.