Tag Archives: booze

#64 The Karaoke Superstar

I've never wished for AutoTune.  Except for right now.

I've never wished for AutoTune. Except for right now.

As the saying goes: there’s one in every party. There’s always one person or group intent on ruining a good time. In the past, I’ve seen it in the form of police at a house party, or police at a wedding, or police at a soccer riot, or police at the bar. But at karaoke bars, it’s never police. It’s the Karaoke Superstar– that one person who looks at the beer-stained machine and microphone in the back of the bar as their window of opportunity to get discovered by a record executive.

And why wouldn’t they? It’s common knowledge that all music industry moguls spend their Tuesday nights outside their mansions, in the back booth of a sketchy Irish pub drinking $3 tall boys of Naddy Ice. The Karaoke Superstar truly believes this and uses it as a mantra for what he or she will do on Tuesday night for the rest of his or her life (for the sake of misogyny, let’s use “she” from now on).

Karaoke Superstar is the embodiment of the insecurity associated with the female gender, specifically middle school girls and all aspiring actresses. She believes that by using the esteemed principles of her grade school voice coach, she can impress that one person at Sonny McLean’s Publick Drinking House who has “contacts” to the music biz. While other folks are throwing back pints and belting out their favorite Elvis Presley or Three Dog Night song, Karaoke Superstar is sticking solely to what fits in her range, specifically LeAnn Rimes’ “Can’t Fight the Moonlight.”

For a moment like thisThe Superstar comits their acts of “kareokicide” under the dodgy pretense that she’s a good singer. And maybe she actually is alright. But instead of cutting her chops at a local live venue or at the “Dress Like Susan Boyle Night” in the Rec Center, she finds the Tuesday bar crowd less critical and easier to appease, which isn’t hard considering most of the male bar attendees looking at her imagine the microphone as their penis.

In fact, it’s quite common for K.S. to undergo a minor sexual encounter with a bar fly after he tells her he once worked in the same office as Russell Simmons, a half-truth, in that he mopped the floor 2 hours before Russell walked on it in Fat Farm sneakers. These sexual encounters can become a deadly game for Karaoke Superstar, as she’s bound to have a sore throat or oral herpes for a few weeks, both malaises causing major damage to her social life and her karaoke career (both one in the same).

If you come across Karaoke Superstar, be sure to not buy her a drink and not compliment her until she tries to sing something by Queen. There’s no way she’ll reach Freddie Mercury’s pitch, and it will be fun to see her get down on herself. It’s during this point of low self-esteem you’ll be able to go down on her. Even if she’s not into the whole cunnilingus thing, you’ll sleep nicely knowing she’s probably going to binge and purge tonight due to her un-Mercury-esque rendition of “Fat Bottom Girls”.

By Scott Glockholder
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Also Known As: Fiona Crapple, American Idle, Amateur Hour, Stage Fright, Karaoke Dookie, Karaoke vs. Bukkake: The Showdown, Microphone Fiend, the Middle Child, Chris Snornell

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Filed under annoying people, awful, chicks, entertainment, friends, music

#62 The Flatso

I think she knows the Muffin Man.

I think she knows the Muffin Man.

The Flatso is a rarity in the female gender — a concave specimen swimming in a gelatinous pool of convexity. Truly, Flatsos are a unique bunch, combining the 2 core qualities deemed most unattractive by superficial males: little-to-zero breast surface and a rotund body. Where as most chubby chicks are granted their one golden asset (bulbous titty balls), the Flatso is unfortunately denied such an amenity.

It is worth pausing to clarify: this is not a reference simply to small breasts; these are awesome. It is instead a specific niche who’ve chosen to let themselves grow wild. Still confused? Follow this simple “Rule of Plumb”: If the gut protrudes farther out than the breasts, then those ain’t breasts. That’s Flatso territory. And a man could accomplish the same feat (and many, many men have).

In turn, this lack of boobage forces the Flatso to evolve a very sour, unfriendly attitude towards everyone. How bad an attitude you ask? Ironically, their attitude is equivalent to that of the snobby modeling hoes that most men admire and get chubbies for. Nature is one ironically cruel motherfucker, ain’t it?

Pregnant Man or Flatso?  The world may never know.

Pregnant Man or Flatso? The world may never know.

Similar to the moon, the Fatso can be seen from far away, usually gravitating towards the nearest corndog stand or Carls Jr. They may also be seen standing in line for a nightclub, or later, sitting outside of said nightclub with their shoes off.

Their most visible characteristics would be their infamous belly and A-cups, with the former sticking out much farther than the latter. Typically, an underlining quality of alcoholism may also be present. Her constant consumption of beer coincides with her Yodels appetite, but more importantly, serves as a primitive tool — a modern-day arrowhead — used to spear down potential male mates. If there’s alcohol present, odds are an inebriated soul might get stuck in her gravitational pull, and indulge. The booze also serves as an invisible lube, making it easier for her to straddle herself on top of victim # 5’s penis.

Flatsos are located all over the USA, with a heavy populace (pun intended) in the Midwest, especially Wal-Mart parking lots and Ponderosa buffet lines. If one is to meet a Flatso, try to remain sober throughout your experience with them. If one chooses to drink, it’s recommended that you aim for heenan. You wouldn’t want to leave a night with a Flatso empty handed. Well, on second thought, that’s probably impossible.

By Scott Glockholder
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Also Known As: Lady Lumps, Flattop, The Grand Manyon, DJ Belly Bell, The Gutman, Hefty Flat Bag, Flatbed Dump Truck, Jezabelly, Dick Van Flatton, Flat-Broke-n-Busted, The Drew Carey Chestbump

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Filed under body, boobs, chicks, food, slow

#56 The Drunk Girl Horror Show

She just needs someone to talk to.

She just needs someone to talk to.

Wow, this chick’s kinda hot. She says she’s Jill’s best friend from college…huh, I wonder why I’ve never met her before? Damn, she’s chugging that vodka like a champ!! Wait, she keeps giving me that firey-eyed look…What the hell is that? Maybe she likes me?? Maybe I’m gonna score!!!

And thats when you realize that you’ve unwittingly just been invited to the Drunk Girl Horror Show. Cancel any plans you had, and tuck those horny dreams away for the night, because all you’re getting is an earful of shitty stories, and a face-full of tears.

Have a few drinks with her, and you’ll soon find out everything. Everything. Stuff you didn’t want to know, and stuff you shouldn’t know. Keep an ear out for her endless stories about her ex-boyfriend, her terrible fight with anorexia, and if you’re lucky, you might even get the “I was raped” roller-coaster ride. Oh, you just wanted to have a chill night? Well, fuck that — you’re getting a rape story, and you better fucking be there to support her.

Drunk Girl Horror 2Forget the fact that you don’t even know her. She’s all yours tonight. In fact, be ready to be her shoulder to cry on, as well as the shoulder to put her miserable weight on all night. Be warned, after midnight, she surrenders the use of her legs, and will need to be carried around. And if you’re lucky, she’ll cap the night off with a fresh vomit on your couch. It’s a lot of fun, especially since you just met her four hours ago.

You can find the Drunk Girl Horror Show at any bar, club, or place where alcohol is served without a psychiatric test. However, you should be particularly wary of the “friend of a friend”. If you’ve never met her before, there’s probably a good reason why. Other girls can’t stand DGHS either, and will typically only hang out with them when the Horror Show is particularly needy and “just wants a girls night”. This is a horrible situation to be involved in.

But there are warning signs. Typically, the DGHS will begins with stories of her Ex-Boyfriend or will chug massive quantities of alcohol in disproportionate time. If you say, “Wow, how did she drink all that??”, get out as quickly as you can. The show has already begun…
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Also Known As: Beer Tears, The Drunk Succubus, I Thought You Said “Ape”, Close Talker, Buzz Killington, I’ll Never Drink Again

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Filed under annoying people, awful, booze, college, friends

#37 The Political Buzzkill

Having a good time?  Let's talk Politics!

Having a good time? Let's talk Politics!

While everyone at the party is getting drunk and having a good time, the Political Buzzkill has only one objective in mind: find that buzz and kill it.

There are two unspoken rules in the world of drinking: Don’t pass out with your shoes on, and Don’t talk about politics. The rules are simple. They’re here to keep order. The shoe rule establishes “writing on” criteria and the politics rule is there to keep out belligerent arguing in a jovial atmosphere.

But that’s what the Political Buzzkill feeds off of. Arguing their views at the expense of others. “Who are you voting for?”, “Gosh. Hilary was SO much more qualified.” “I don’t know about you, but I can’t take four more years!”

They are the quintessential annoying drunk. They don’t understand that drinking is about fun and escapism, or that people don’t like them. Like an Abortion Doctor speaking at a Pro-Life convention, they seek out arguements and insist on fighting them. They’re divisive. They don’t bring up politics to discuss it, they bring it up to tell you what’s “right”.

A minute ago, we were all having a good time together. But with the help of the PB, the room is now miraculously divided into Red, Blue, and Mexicans. It’s like Moses parting the Red Wine Sea, only no one’s having any fun.

“Did you hear what Palin said? Oh my god, she is so unqualified!” No, I didn’t. I was macking it to this hot chick until you rolled over here. And now my game is dead because she thinks I’m friends with your ultra-liberal ass.

You can find the Political Buzzkill at any party, bar, or social gathering. Much like their cousin the Carlos Mencia, they are part of the Succubus Family, and feed off of harshing people’s mellow. They may appear to be normal and even-keeled — they may even party like it’s Spring Break. But when they open their mouth, make sure you have an extra sock to stuff into it.

As we get closer and closer to the November election, the prevalence of the PB will increase to epic-ly shitty proportions. You may want to just lock yourself in your home with a bottle of Jack. If you are so bold to venture out, carry an extra pair of cotton socks. Just in case they bring their Fiancee.
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Also Known As: Assholes, Drunky McRepublican, The Political Talker, Palin’s Proverbs, Buzz Killington, Jehova’s Witnesses Meets Whiskey, The Political Party Party, Annoying Drunks

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Filed under booze, douche, friends, los angeles, new york city, parents, politics, rich people, work

#27 The White Trash

Whats wrong with this picture?
Somewhere between patriotism and a 30-pack of Busch Lite lies the social anomaly known as White Trash. Yes, this is the American wasteland where pulling out is birth control, pregnant women have belly button rings, and the mullet is king.

You’ll know the White Trash by their signature “inbred” look. This is not to say they actually take their sister to bed. But their cousin, definitely. Maybe it’s the powerlines they live under, their commitment to staying in school until the 7th grade, or the lead in the paint chips they eat, but they just look stupid. That straw in their mouth doesn’t help either.

Yet, among the White Trash, being “trashy” is a point of pride. They’ll smoke Marlboro’s, eat spam, and cheat on their wife with her sister just like their Papy, and his Papy before him. America is king, evildoers are terrorists, and Bush just makes sense. Oh, and if you don’t drive an American made truck, you’re a terrorist as well.

I bet she\'s a virgin

I bet she's a virgin

And why not? Life is simple for the White Trash. They keep their aspirations low (“When I grow up, I want to be a waitress”), keep their bills minimal (“This trailer home practically pays for itself!”), and they keep their women in line (“I don’t care if she’s your sister, I love her.”) In fact, there’s pretty much only one rule they live by:
No Shirt, No Shoes, No Problem” Everything else is just unAmerican.

So grab a confederate flag, tighten up those overalls, and grab your gun, because there’s a hootinanny at the waterin’ hole and Uncle Skeeter’s about to shoot off some homemade fireworks.

You can find the White Trash concentrated in the Southern/Central regions of the United States, with pockets of trashiness scattered throughout the country. Most likely, you’ll see them in large concentrations at NRA meetings and Kenny Chesney concerts. It’s important to note that the “white trash look” has at times become hip and popular, such as during Cyndi Lauper’s career and during Derek Zoolander’s “Derelict” campaign.

If you find yourself in the midst of a rowdy group of White Trash, and you’re nervous that your Abercrombie shirt might tip them off, simply say “Get ‘Er Done!”. They will embrace you like their cousin.
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Also Known As: Trailer Trash, The Redneck, America’s Got Garbage, Confederate Kids, Constable Cockeye, The Mullet Men

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Filed under booze, the south, trashy

#2 The Over-Encouraging Parent

It\'s so good when it hits your lips
If you’ve ever smoked weed with your friend’s parents, than you know the Over Encouraging Parent.

They are eager to push their child to experience it all, no matter what the age or maturity level. They want their kids to be the first and the best — the trailblazer among their peers. The Prom Queen and Party King.

This type of Parent is ready, at any moment, to scream “Don’t tell my child what they can’t do!”. And don’t you dare. Because they will throw up fisticuffs and fight you on the spot. In front of their kids. They’ll break your nose and chalk it up as “positive reinforcement”.

Smoking BabyAt the core of every Over-Encouraging Parent is the internal struggle with their own deteriorating age, and the burning desire to “stay cool”. You will find them buying beer for their teenage kids and their friends, often allowing them unrestricted use of the house to throw parties and “score chicks”. The only catch: Dad might come downstairs and have a few beers. Well, he actually might get drunk. But again, positive reinforcement.

Unfortunately, said Parents tend to be generally laughed at by their Child’s peers, and are used solely to procure alcohol and for an extra hand during kegstands. They are similarly scoffed at by fellow Parents — regarded as “those folks” or “shitheads“.

And often, the Child that has been so dearly encouraged — so fervently pushed towards maturity — turns out to be an drunk, age-fearing moron. Just like their Parents.
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Also Known As: The “I’m Still Hip” Parent, The Drinking Dad, Bad Parents, The Old Age Sage, The Buy Me Beer Parenteer

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Filed under booze, drugs, kids, parents