And we drank!

We drank in costume. Most of us drank in costume. In the definite article “us” I do not include myself and am referring to the “us” as in the party of people I was with on Friday night at one determined location from 10pm to 2:30am. Not all of “us” were dressed as well-prepared pop culture references. I found myself adorned in black sweatpants and a Troy Polamalu jersey.

It is of my humble opinion that most human beings and even some animals should be wearing a shirt of some sort commemorating the greatness that is the Pittsburgh Steelers’ free safety at all times or at least 3x a week. The jersey wearing in Jersey was perfectly of a sound mind, but the sweatpants outside and in a social setting of commerce/”maybe hot lady chicks being there” was a crime. This crime was not of an arrest and incarceration nature, but a fine would have be apropos. Sweatpants are comfortable and are a natural fit for all lazy aspirations at home amongst regular players in your life. Sweatpants out in the world can be at times a breaking of the social mores we hold dear in our judgmental hearts and minds.

In many views I have on life, I find it increasingly more acceptable if a woman is wearing said rule breaking sweatpants as opposed to a man. C’mon man! C’mon, Jack. Get some canvas on. Get some denim around those chicken legs of yours. Wrap yourself in fine wool and strut for these chickadees. You know? But terry cloth? Have some respect for yourself. And as you are leaving to retrieve proper pantaloons, do not make a snide comment to the ladies because we need them around. They look nice and more often than not smell nice and bring a pleasing breezing element to the room. The straights men love ’em for sex and stuff; the gays men love ’em as the real life Barbie dolls they treat them like giving them makeovers and dressing them and giggling them; the straights women love ’em to form little gangs and talk make-up and take pictures of each other or to ridicule them when their back is turned and smile when they catch eyes; the gays women love ’em for sex and stuff.

I dressed in my Polamalu jersey and sweatpants and two additional items. My late genius of a thought in the middle of packing away my apartment was to create a “belt” out of rope and a series of “flags” out of construction paper. I also carried an actual not regulation sized “football”. I was a “flag football player”! I became a flag football player. I LIVED the role as a flag football participant. Oh, what a great and hilarious costume. I will allow all to take a leave of absence to laugh with merriment at my sly brilliance, my understated comedy-iery, my absolute bare minimum of a costume.

My true invention of intellect was that when creating the “flags”, I thought into the future and saw what would be happening with grabbable flimsy appendages that hung from rope belt. PEOPLE WOULD RIP THEM OFF! Egad! That will not happen. I have spent good time and money on four sheets of 8 1/2 x 11 red construction paper to create these flags, I cannot have these lovely imbeciles tearing them to pieces. Thuseus, I attached a length of “gorilla tape” to the back of each flag making them infinitely more difficult to rip. One would have needed scissor hands to remove my flags from me. And for those in the not know, “gorilla tape” is “duct tape”, but with super powers.

I know we are all bored with my outfit. What were other people wearing? What were the other actual head-to-toe thought provoking costumes? Well…

Oscar the Grouch, Katy Perry from SNL in her Elmo shirt, Big Bird, Cookie Monster, Snooki from the Jersey Shore, J-Woww from the Jersey Shore, a St. Pauly Girl bar maiden, black cat, NASA space pilot, Pam as a black cat from The Office, Jim as a ream of paper from The Office, Captain Morgan’s wife/gf/lover and/or sexy pirate, Lt. Dangle from Reno 911, sexy cop, Dora the Explorer, Swiper, Marty McFly, guy in a suit, an unconfirmed Sammi and Ronnie from the Jersey Shore (maybe they weren’t in costume and just kind of look like that?), Dr. Roxo, Charlton Heston from Soylent Green, a space cop, a sexy french maid, maybe Marla Singer from Fight Club, maybe a character from A Clockwork Orange (he was big, bald, and in all white and I did not want to question him), a priest with an inflatable erection, a shower scrunchy, a blonde Eddie Van Halen, blonde Eddie Van Halen’s girlfriend who dressed incredibly similar to the blonde Eddie Van Halen, a girl in a green sweat suit maybe trying to be Kermit the Frog, a couple of weirdos in black and a pirate.

Those are what I remember. There were probably a few more that I cannot recall for whatever reason. I do recall playing beer pong against the sexy pirate/Captain Morgan’s concubine and she had a partner who was also a lady and her costume appeared to be normal clothes. I wasn’t exactly sure what she was, but I was wearing an outfit I see people wearing on a regular basis (minus the gorilla tape flags), so who am I to question. Also, remember my comment about not questioning the females so they will not feel an inclination to leave? She was nicer to look at as opposed to looking at another me walking around. Which would have been greatly disconcerting because there are no other “me” in this world. If there is another me then I know the only two actions or recourses to take is to:

A. Question its allegiance and what time period me is from. If you see another me then that me is undoubtedly from the future or has broke from the time space continuum and is from another plane of existence that may be parallel to this one.

B. Attack and kill me, immediately.

No second thought or chance because if you see another me: assassin! They could be a scout from a different dimension or from the future sent to warn you of some event you will need to take a leadership role in. But I question this, wouldn’t it be more alarming to send yourself as a scout to talk to your current self than to send any other person because the most alarming thing in this world would be to see another me or for other people who know you have no other me to see you and the other you talking. And if we go by the rules of Jean Claude Van Damme’s Time Cop, if me and future me touch then we turn to a goo because we cannot inhabit the same area of space at the same time.

So, the only other idea is that a future me or a different dimension of me has gone rogue and is now trying to kill me because they know about our worlds coming together in some regard and there can only be one me and they are planning on killing me to replace me as the only me.

One can take option A and immediately follow it with B. Or one can just go balls the fuck out and kill B. And giving the situation where I was wearing a Troy Polamalu jersey on Friday night and saw a second me, I would have ducked down in a runner’s stance and sprinted at me and crushed my Jack Daniels’ highball glass right through me’s forehead. Game. Set. Match.

Additional notes –

I kicked ass at beer pong. I’m usually pretty good. I’m steady and never rattled and have an off chance of going on a tear every once in awhile. This occurred in the first game when I rattled off and sunk 4 cups in a row followed by another 3 later in the game. My NASA space pilot partner had to carry me in one of the following games as I lost steam, but I came back to being a viable partner in the games after that. It was 10 cup beer pong, but to be precise that is not my favorite beer pong. My favorite beer pong is six cups and two beers to fill the six. No bouncing. One re-rack. “Shoot to you miss” redemption. Gang bang rule. Girls can blow, but only if they are willing to be made fun of for playing from the “white tees”.

I wonder what Kristen Stewart was for Halloween. I imagine it was not a vampire. I also imagine she is not too into Halloween considering her life 365 is dress up. Whatever she was, I bet she kind of shrugs when she says it and there is a hint of question in her voice like she doesn’t know what she is supposed to be. “I’m a sexy firewoman?” Yes, Kristen. You are a sexy fire woman.

It is cool finally outside. It has been warm for easily the past week, so warm that I’ll decide to go out into the city and psych myself into thinking that at some point arctic temperatures will dive bomb me in the middle of my night out and I’ll need to be prepared. Instead, I end up sweating my ass off lugging around my dead weight jacket and maybe even a knit hat. Times they are a changing.

If I had to choose my favorite weather it would be “Kevin Smith”-weather. It is cool enough to wear a sweatshirt, but not frigid enough to wear shorts. Although, no matter what age a man is – wearing shorts and a sweatshirt makes him look pretty juvenile. Sometimes, you have to admit those kids get it – and that “it” is comfort. Shorts and a hooded sweatshirt may be what I consider the most comfortable outfit. But it won’t get you a ton of respect wearing it around all the time and at some point you need to grow up and start eating wheat instead of white and Kevin Smith needs to dress like a normal person and not a second semester Freshman in college.

Speaking of movies… were we talking about movies?… I am watching the NFL channel’s “Top 100 NFL Players of All Time” from last night… does this have to do with movies?… They have been counting down from 100 to 1 in hourly installments revealing 10 at a time. I am in the middle of the 20-11 bracket right now and next week on Thursday at 9pm on the NFL Network they will reveal 10-1… great… I absolutely love the program. They put together highlight packages for each player as well as a personal account of the player’s greatness from either another football player, coach, writer, or celebrity. It is all over the map. Like Billy Dee Williams (Lando from Star Wars aka the black guy who gets to drive the Millennium Falcon) introduces Gale Sayers. Reason being, Billy Dee Williams played Gale Sayers in the classic film Brian’s Song that James Caan was also in. That movie will make you cry if you have a soul in your body. If you don’t cry then you are already among the damned and are trying to destroy all of humanity from palm of the Dark One’s hand.

Movies!?! … RIGHT! So, they just did a profile for #19 – Bronko Nagurski. There are a lot of movies made about former athletes or random events that happen in the world. Most of those stories I don’t believe should ever be made into a movie. Meanwhile, somehow Bronko Nagurski’s life story doesn’t seem to have been told on the big screen and IT SHOULD BE!

– 6’3″ 250+ – he was a beast of a man

– Played for the Chicago Bears as a fullback prior to WWII

– Was one of the best players in the NFL during that period of time

– Because NFL players got paid almost nothing and it was during The Great Depression so he takes on another job – Professional Wrestler

– As a professional wrestler, he becomes the Heavyweight Champion 3 years in a row (I think)

– Ends up in WWII

– The Chicago Bears re-sign Nagurski

– Older, heavier and slower – they put Nagurski in as a Tackle

– In his final game (which was a championship game), with a lack of fullbacks because they were all drafted into WWII – they put Nagurski in as fullback six years removed from his last time playing fullback

– Leads 2 touchdown drives to win that game as a bruising old man


It’s FUCKING question TIME!

What did you do with the unnamed commenters earlier this week? Were they like you pictured them?

Drank. We drank alcohol. Isn’t that what you do with people? We also chit-chatted like the bitches we are. HAHAHAHAHAH… hahah… hooo… They were very nice. Not bitches. They are/were nice ladies.

“Were they like you pictured them?” – Short answer: yes.

But long answer: … a long answer that has nothing to do with the question kind of…

I have joked that people are so much bigger in person than they are on the internet. That is the difference. I am always shocked at how big people are in real life. Think about it like this, before you meet the person in real life, most likely you will have seen a picture of them online or many pictures. All those pictures are infinitely smaller than the person standing in front of you. My computer monitor is 15 or 17 inches and *fingers crossed* the full scale person is bigger than 17 inches*. So generally, I’m seeing this person as a 5 inches tall. Their whole existence is no bigger than my… ahem… finger. But when you see them in person, they are full size! They’re not some miniature key chain version of themselves – they are themselves! It is very interesting. It’s the reverse for movie stars because you see them on a huge movie screen. Their head is 20 feet tall, so in real life they look smaller.

The funnier thing to me is that I’m a big guy. So no matter how “big” the person is in real life, I’m usually bigger than they are. So so, when I met these ladies – my first reaction is they’re so much more than a 3×5 picture and then I’m like I’m a lot bigger than they are, so if this turns into a street fight I can take them. I’m just kidding about the last part. It’s just funny to think about that they seem so real in person because I find the internet wildly fake to begin with.

Will someone PLEASE make a series out of KSWIG & His CommenTater Wives? Please???

Not much of a question, but yes! Someone should make it. I’ll sign away my likeness rights, so please make it. SOMEONE!

So you are a tour guide now? Because I’ll go to New York again in December. Or are you doing the tour guide thing for just some of the commontators?

I would imagine I could act as a tour guide for most of the regular commenting staff. I’m not sure about some of these other people who randomly comment like “DICKS”. I’m on the fence about being a tour guide for “DICKS”. But the rest of you? Sure, why not. I have enjoyed greatly meeting those who I have met, so sure.

Also, why can’t I see your okcupid profile?

I put a curse on your computer… or…

I’ve been told that you might need to copy and paste the url into the url and not click on the link.

I read your OKCupid profile and I want to know who the fuck is calling you a “bad boy”? Or did you use the quotation marks around “bad boy” to indicate that, by “bad boy,” you mean “decent, straight-up, easily-manipulated-through-guilt young man”?

Well… I’ll let one of the other comments explain first…

I think the bad boy thing is an ironic acknowledgment that some girls want the bad boy but won’t admit it. By pointing it out he effectively called them on their bullshit, but they can’t be mad, because supposedly they don’t want the bad boy anyway so it doesn’t apply to them. Or something. I don’t know, I just had a Four Loko and my BAC is like .27.

Minus the last troubling bit about the Four Loko drinking, I would agree with this. It is partly why I did it. It does seem like a lot of girls/women want a “bad boy” type, but I’m not much of one. I don’t think I look like a bad boy at all. I try to make people laugh, I’m generally pretty nice to people especially when I’m with other people, and I don’t “brood” in public. Also, I don’t own a leather jacket. So, yeah, it is a little jab at chicks for liking d-bags because they are “bad boys”. Who the fuck is a “bad boy”? I’m 6’3″ at least and I’ll strangle some “bad boy” with my bear hands and just the rage I have in my body over the second Star Wars trilogy. That’s all it will take. And yes, my hands become the hands of a “bear” when I am provoked. It is an odd super power, but at least it is a super power.

I also did it for the “yucks”. Clearly, it is a joke. I put it in quotes and so forth.

I wasn’t aware you engaged in threesomes with your commenters. Is this open for everyone? Is there an application process? What are your hard limits?

My “hard limits”? I don’t like being slapped or bound if that is what you mean. I would say all applications can be emailed to me. Just fill in whatever details you believe are necessary – physical dimensions, IQ, allergies, et cetera.

I hope everyone has a great weekend. I hope everyone has a great Halloween. If everyone wants to talk about what they’re dressing up as for Halloween then that would be cool. Including visual evidence would be cool too.

I think I am being a “flag football player”. Why? Because I’m in the middle of moving right now and because I don’t like dressing up.


Me? How was my weekend? How was my Halloween weekend you ask? It sucked. Thanks for bringing it up asshole. Seriously, you had to ask me how my weekend was. The gall you have. The GALL! To GAUL with you! I’m so pissed about your “gall” that I’m going to kick you in the gall bladder and then send you to the country formerly known as Gaul! And I’ll bury you next to Charles de Gaulle aka the Snoo Tiger.

Speaking of Gaul, FRANCE! So, my weekend didn’t suck. It was ok, but it wasn’t as cool as laying around in a heated pool that I don’t own in Los Angeles like the weekend prior. Nevertheless, my weekend or more matter of fact my Sunday was full of Gauls or Frenches. But before I get to Sunday, I should start with Saturday and Halloween.

I had no plans for Halloween night, dressing up, or anything. I am not a big fan of dressing up for Halloween. I am pro people being creative and thinking up interesting pop-cultural references for costumes. I am even more pro girls dressing up slutty in Halloween themed costumes or not Halloween themed costumes or in no costumes. So I’m pro the idea of Halloween, but I am not the biggest fan of getting dressed up myself. I hate thinking up a new idea and trying to be clever ….

That’s a shitty excuse. I should just go as a knight every year. A couple years ago I bought one of those costumes in a bag that was a knight. So, I could’ve worn that. I even have a sword and sheath for it. A sheath I made out of duct tape. So, I have no excuse. Hmmmm… I’m lazy? I usually have a good explanation why I do or do not do things. I did have to wake up early on Sunday to yell at French people, more on that later. I didn’t dress up or go out, but I applaud those that did.

I did feel guilty about not getting into the Halloween spirit. While grocery shopping on Saturday I succumbed to this guilt. I fell to my hands and knees because of this guilt. I groveled to the gods of Halloween and paid homage to them. I made a sacrifice. A sacrifice of commerce. I bought a ton of candy, a Halloween bucket (not to be confused with any ol’ bucket, it literally said “Halloween bucket” on it), two fake jack-o-lanterns and some pumpkin beer. So here is what I did.

Make note this next paragraph will greatly help in your “operations”.

I took the jack-o-lanterns and cut a hole in the bottom of each. There is a gate at the entrance of my building. I took the jack-o-lanterns and mounted them on two of the spikes on the top of the gate. I then took the Halloween bucket and filled it full of kahn-dee. I hung the bucket on one of the middle spikes. I don’t think any parents would take their kids through the gate and ring the doorbell nor would I answer any doorbell that was rung. So I put out the bucket of candy and jack-o-lanterns as a signal to the world that I am participating in Halloween.

I felt good about this gesture. The jack-o-lanterns looked good. The bucket was about head and neck high. It was an easy take a couple of pieces of candy and move along situation. I was very nervous though and believed that humanity was worse off than I could ever imagine and that there were shady characters just waiting for me to turn my back to smash those fake jack-o-lanterns and to steal my bucket of candy. I can see the gate from my apartment windows and I was half planning on keeping watch like some crazed frugal elderly hawk. Do you know how much that candy cost whipper-snapper! $10! Back in my day we could have spent an entire summer in the French Riviera on 10 American dollars!

But I didn’t. I trusted in humanity that nothing bad would happen to my purchases. There is a social contract that is formed on Halloween and unattended amounts of candy. Sure they could bend it a little and take more than they are supposed to, but nothing beyond that. I went inside and put away the rest of the groceries. The trash bag was full so I decided to take it out. About 9 minutes had gone by from the moment I hung the Halloween bucket full of candy and when I was back outside to throw away the trash. I immediately noticed that within those 9 minutes the Halloween bucket had been… DISTURBED!… or moved.

The Halloween bucket was now on a different spike. I strolled over to the bucket. I was a little happy maybe even whimsical at the thought that someone had indeed used the bucket. I was partially worried that no kids would even come across the bucket and I would be stuck with 60 some odd Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and Hershey Dark Chocolate miniatures. But no need to worry now, at least someone has used the bucket! I peered into the bucket and someone(s) did take candy from the bucket. Like all of it.

There was at best 8 pieces of candy left. From 60 to 8. Why even leave 8!?! What’s the point? Do you know that your gluttony for candy is satisfied at 52 pieces of candy and you don’t want to overdo it? I find it hard to believe that within 9 minutes there was a cavalcade of costumed chocolate craving children who all got their fair lot of candy. But I do believe one very selfish child, teenager or adult just took a shitload of my candy. I’m betting they gave a shrug when they left the 8 pieces of candy like “Well I’m taking ALL of the candy.” Fuck you buddy and your shrugs.

I was despondent to say the least. I proceeded to cure this ailment with the way one should cure all ailments by drinking. I drank all the pumpkin beers. I also drank additional beers just in case. You know how if you get a sinus infection and they prescribe an antibiotic and after a few days you start to feel better, but the doctor recommends you take the whole prescription just to make sure? That’s the logic I was going for on this. I needed to follow through with my diagnosis and treatment so I drank a bunch of beers and watched TV.

I’m not sure how long the Halloween bucket lasted after the 9 minute check, but it was gone hours later. I didn’t bother to keep tabs on the Halloween bucket after the first rape and pillaging it received. But a few hours later I did happen to notice that the bucket was gone entirely. Fucking savages.

I guess there is the optimistic rationale that this person needed that bucket, maybe they collect buckets. Now they can cross that bucket off of their “bucket list”. I didn’t see that movie Bucket List, but I naturally assume the movie was about Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman collecting all the different types of buckets in the world. Or hopefully who ever took the bucket got hit by a car crossing the street. One of the other.

The jack-o-lanterns are still up and were unmolested. So the world hasn’t completely gone to hell, yet.

As far as my Sunday, I went to the New York City Marathon. I didn’t participate in it although I believe my presence did help inspire some of the competitors to finish the race and finish it with a greater zeal than they had previously entering the race. Dawgz’s girlfriend ran the marathon and we went to support her. So Dawgz and I started the day off in Brooklyn around the 8th mile.

Like much of Brooklyn, the race itself was fairly unregulated in comparison to Manhattan. We did stop twice in Manhattan (83rd and 5th; 24th mile in Central Park) and the cops were in force with barricades and caution tape. In Brooklyn, at points the onlookers had taken over the street to such a degree I thought the spectators were going to tackle some of the runners intentionally or unintentionally.

A lot of the marathon runners have their names written or printed on their clothing. I could only assume it was so random people like me could scream their names as they ran by, which is what Dawgz and I did for the better part of 2 hours on Sunday morning until we were nearly hoarse.

“RON! YEAH!!!!”

“GO GET ‘EM, JOE!!!!”


A mixture of enthusiastically yelling the person’s name out and sometimes adding a motivational catchphrase was not only a crowd pleaser, but a runner pleaser. Most of the runners gave thumbs up or head nods. Most would smile or yell something back equally enthusiastic. Some didn’t hear them because they had headphones on, but just felt the warm goodness of our words wrap around them like one of those tinfoil sheets they all receive after the race.












Add in the occasional, WOOH! or YEAH! and you are having a fun morning of positive reinforcement yelling no matter what. The funniness was only multiplied by the fact there were so many foreign runners. It was ridiculous. Every four people must’ve been from France. Either they had “France” written on them or they had the French flag painted on their face or body or were running and eating a baguette. Whatever they were doing there were tons of French people everywhere. Like everything else in life, second to the French were the Italians. So many people wearing “Italia” t-shirts.

If you were in France yesterday then you should’ve made your move. All the runners of France, amateur and professional, were in New York City. You should have stolen everything your heart desired in France because no one would have been able to catch you in a foot race. Same goes for Italy. My estimates may be a little off, but I’m pretty sure at least half of their populations were represented in the marathon yesterday.

Outside of smelly foreigners, there were also a bunch of people dressed in costumes like The Flash, Batman, a series of clowns, a Native American Indian, a bunch of kilts, a few ballerinas (male and female), bananas, and so forth. There were some flamboyant no t-shirt, but a ton of chest/back hair guys who were all crowd pleasers. Since I was able to see over much of the crowd, I would usually announce when a no t-shirt guy was approaching to make sure everyone paid attention.

After the 24th mile, we tried to get to wherever the finish line was. We then proceeded to get lost in Central Park for an hour. That was not fun. Not only is Central Park confusing, but parts of it were blocked off so you needed to find alternate routes. As far as I could tell, everyone was lost in the park and I think there are people who currently are still stuck in the park. I was getting frustrated and was willing to give up altogether when we eventually settled on never leaving the park.

I started taking note of where I would set up camp in the park and where were the driest leaves and branches to start a fire with. I would have fashioned spears and arrows out of tree branches. I would have set-up snare traps with my shoelaces to catch squirrels. I wouldn’t be proud of it, but I would immediately turn to crime. I would mug people who fell into my realm. I would form a gang of fellow muggers and homeless park people. We would rule all the underpasses and dead ends throughout Central Park.

I would be the leader of this gang because of my vision for the future of the gang: expansion, new headquarters, better weapons, monotheistic religion. I would unify them under the written word of the true lord, obviously Kristen Stewart’s want. We would be a socialist sect and would share all the treasure of our muggings. But I would be the leader and I would secretly hide away more for myself. Slowly I would amass superior weapons and money to the rest of my underlings.

After gaining the sufficient necessities, I would begin my journey back into the good graces of humanity. I would become the Central Park vigilante and dispense justice as I saw fit at night against the vagrants and criminals I once associated with. I would know the inner workings of this crime element because I started it and I would proceed to undo it bit by bit.

Once I rid Central Park of all the evil extremist Kristen Stewart muggers, I would be given a medal by Mayor Bloomberg and hopefully a clear map of how the fuck to get out of Central Park when you are stuck on the West side of the Boathouse!

Thankfully, we did get out. I survived. I survived so I could wake up and go to work today. Great decision. So how was your weekend?

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