a Tasty Pint

Word of the Day: Asshat

2011-01-05T18:39:00.002-05:00

Today, I would like to discuss Asshat. But it is not the primary definition that makes this word great, but rather its second definition. Which, in my opinion, exceeds its colloquial use. Appearing on Urban Dictionary, a clever engineer defines asshat’s secondary definition as follows:

Asshat
2. a unit vector in the ass direction
(similar to i hat, a unit vector in the i (or x) direction, j hat, k hat, etc.)

"Andrew is such an asshat."
"Totally. His unit vector is definitely pointed in the ass direction."

I would like to thank user “c g ball” for his contribution to the English language.

--Chapter H

Lyrical Masterpiece: "she ate my dick like food"

2009-12-06T12:33:00.005-05:00

The pint is now bringing you the lyrical masterpieces of music. There are a number of parts I could have sampled from "Big Booty Hoes" by Biggy Smalls, most of which would include Too Short who chimes in with degrading remarks throughout the song. I picked a particularly insightful clip which demonstrates the depth of his vocabulary. I also like that he snuck in tramp before the verse ended.

Not sure about you, but when I think of someone eating food. I imagine a person masticating a mixture of side dishes, perhaps mashed potatoes, salad, or candied yams.

--Chapter H

How Many Cuts Does it Take to Save a Duck?

2009-11-20T22:03:00.001-05:00

Fun With Google Trends

2009-10-27T18:06:00.005-04:00

It's nothing new to find interesting trends in Google's global search queries, and now it's the Pints turn to have a little fun. A lot of interesting anomalies have been found by others (check out the Cincinatti Bowtie), but while sipping wine to soft music and dim lights me and my two guests stumbled upon two finds worth sharing.

Our first discovery: "tranny cock". We first searched 'tranny' but realized that it could apply to non-sexual things such as a transmission, so we threw in the word 'cock' for disambiguation. What we found was an amazing spike at the start of 2009.

Quite incredible really. Also worth pointing out - if you like tranny cock, it is recommended that you visit Sidney.

The second anamoly: "brazilian fart porn". It appears that this first came on the scene in second quarter 2008, and it happened fast (no puns please). It could also be that this was the first time someone translated this genre into English, in which case they chose a no frills description comprised of third grade adjectives. I like it, makes me laugh (because of the word Brazilian, fart, and porn- all funny).

--Chapter H

Silver Bullet to my face.

2009-10-03T19:23:00.005-04:00

Why doesn't Coors just say what they are trying to do with this new "technology." They have invented a can that gets as much beer as possible out of its container and into my gullet in the fastest way possible known to man. Bravo. Beer me, cause many a slip between cup and lip isn't a problem as long as it slips into my face as fast as a Silver Bullet.

--ChinoMono

White Guy Jokes DOT COM

2009-09-28T23:05:00.007-04:00

With the recent success of white guy jokes, the Pint has given birth to its first child: WhiteGuyJokes.com It will be home for all of the intentionally awful white guy jokes. Some may be more racy (racist) than others, but the Pint does not judge, nor does it claim responsibility for the content of it's first child.

--Chapter H, Big J, ChinoMono, Red Dastard, Jlo McB

VNTYPL8

2009-09-19T00:40:00.004-04:00

"You are driving behind deeeeeeeeese nutzzzzz!!!!"

Encourage others to comment other funny and original vanity plate ideas.

--Big J

1-888-MARGARITA

2009-09-15T20:47:00.003-04:00

A recent trip to visit Big J gave the opportunity for ChinoMono to point out the comedy delivered through the blatant racial stereotyping in this subway ad. Now I don’t speak Spanish (I do), so I’m not going to even pretend what this sign says. But unless it’s legal advice for stolen white babies, I’m not sure what Trollman is selling. But what I do know did a great job appeasing his hispanic audience when he chose the number: 1-888-MARGARITA.

Now I’m sure he was considering 1-888-SOMBRERO or 1-888- PINATA or any of the many other possibilties, but he picked the best. If the jewish lawyers think that Hispanic culture is nothing more than margaritas, confetti, piñatas, and mariachi bands then they would be absolutely correct.
--Chapter H

Truckin’ 101: How to Fuck a Trucker

2009-09-09T12:43:00.006-04:00

Deep Inhale – the smell of meth is in the air. Looking around; surrounded by CB radios, beef jerky, denim cutoff jackets, and a plethora of useless shit (ninja stars, state thimbles, Native American headdresses made in china). Yep, you’re at a truck stop. There are many, and collectively they house a foul, burley, toilet dump of a culture.

Today’s lesson: how to fuck a trucker. I learned this at a particularly rough truck stop in Virginia. After navigating a labyrinth of dimly lit hallways I found an extremely dilapidated bathroom. The lights flickered to a hanging speaker playing music drowned out by static. It was like a cliché scene from a horror film. Then I went to the urinals. What may look innocent enough from one angle (image top left) becomes a trucker’s Craigslist (image top right). And I’m talking about the casual encounters section. At truck stops, the sides of the urinals are bulletin boards for sexual solicitation. They have a clever system for contacting each other, often containing phone numbers, dates, room numbers to an adjacent hotel, and or a call name on a CB.

For example, at exit 133 you can get Headees, just get on Channel 32. For others, sex in room 135, area code 540 gives good head, and anything goes for area code 703.

I hope this has been an informative article. Unfortunately, I’m not in the market for trucker sex, but maybe some of our readers are.

--Chapter H

The mermaid tale

2009-09-06T21:26:00.003-04:00

The mermaid tail, it’s infamous presence can only be accompanied by shame. This is as we all know, the foul stain left on a chair after a furious game of basketball. Like a wet spongy stamp, your sweaty balls, taint, and ass print a unique mark on any absorbent surface. It’s signature shape is that of a mermaid tail and it is common to all of us. The exact details of your taint stain is unique to you, and only the FBI can identify to whom a tail belongs, but most have common characteristics. If you ever come across a seat cushion, flannel sheets, etc with a fresh streaked sweat stain its best to stay clear. If it requires further verification, a distant whiff of its dirty ass-balls odor should suffice. If your friend plays a lot of basketball, I recommend staying off his chairs.

Chino Mono shares his thoughts. “It happens. Like when you are sick staying home from middle school and your sitting on the couch furiously playing tumble sticks with a scrambled tv on in the backround. Then your dad’s truck blows up in the driveway and you scramble up to your room. He walks inside, and he sees it - that mermaid tail stained into the suede couch - and he knows.”

Here is a simulated image:

--Chino Mono
--Chapter H

Thoughts

2009-08-29T09:19:00.002-04:00

Came across an email at work that was pretty funny, basically had a bunch of short, really funny observations/thoughts. I thought I would post them, so I could get the Pint community to start thinking about their own day-to-day issues. Like White Guy Jokes, I'll append the originals as they are posted in the comments or emailed.

THOUGHTS FROM PEOPLE OUR AGE
-I wish Google Maps had an "Avoid Ghetto" routing option.

-I don't understand the purpose of the line, "I don't need to drink tohave fun." Great, no one does. But why start a fire with flint andsticks when they've invented the lighter?

-That's enough, Nickelback.

-I totally take back all those times I didn't want to nap when I wasyounger.

-Do you remember when you were a kid, playing Nintendo and it wouldn'twork? You take the cartridge out, blow in it and that would magicallyfix the problem. Every kid in America did that, but how did we all knowhow to fix the problem? There was no internet or message boards orFAQ's. We just figured it out. Today's kids are soft.

-There is a great need for sarcasm font.

-I think everyone has a movie that they love so much, it actuallybecomes stressful to watch it with other people. I'll end up wasting 90 minutes shiftily glancing around to confirm that everyone's laughing atthe right parts, then making sure I laugh just a little bit harder (and a millisecond earlier) to prove that I'm still the only one who really,really gets it.

- I think part of a best friend's job should be to immediately clearyour computer history if you die.

- A recent study has shown that playing beer pong contributes to thespread of mono and the flu. Yeah, if you suck at it.

- Lol has gone from meaning, "laugh out loud" to "I have nothing else tosay".

- I have a hard time deciphering the fine line between boredom and hunger.

- My brother's Municipal League baseball team is named the Stepdads. Seeing as none of the guys on the team are actual stepdads, I inquired about the name. He explained, "Cuz we beat you, and you hate us." Classy, bro.

- Whenever someone says "I'm not book smart, but I'm street smart", all I hear is "I'm not real smart, but I'm imaginary smart".

-What would happen if I hired two private investigators to follow each other?

- While driving yesterday I saw a banana peel in the road andinstinctively swerved to avoid it...thanks Mario Kart.

- I would like to officially coin the phrase 'catching the swine flu' to be used as a way to make fun of a friend for hooking up with an overweight woman. Example: "Dave caught the swine flu last night."

-When I meet a new girl, I'm terrified of mentioning something she hasn't already told me but that I have learned from some light internet stalking.

-It should probably be called Unplanned Parenthood.

-I disagree with Kay Jewelers. I would bet on any given Friday or Saturday night more kisses begin with Miller Lites than Kay.

--Big J

Oh, the Sweet Sorrows of Cheesecake

2009-08-23T13:50:00.000-04:00

A woman’s journey of self-discovery through dessert.

Because you don't live near a bakery doesn't mean you have to go without cheesecake.

Do you remember when you lost your virginity? C’mon, think back and relive that horrible and awkward experience. Alright, now add a piece of cheesecake to the lovemaking. I don’t care what you do with it – eat it, smear it, roll around in it – just add it to the intercourse and tell me how much better the sex got.

Thought so.

Sex, like relationships, always seems to be lacking. But once you add a piece of dessert in the mix – BOOM – you got yourself a damn masterpiece. Amazing, ain’t it? I mean, let’s be honest, cheesecake is a dessert unlike any other – a dessert that comes in so many different flavors and styles, to compare it to anything else would not fully justify the wonders of such perfection. I myself didn’t understand the power of the pastry until first taste. And man, did it taste good.

Allow me to relive this magical experience. Reader discretion is advised:

It started at The Cheesecake Factory in Cambridge, Mass. I was around fifteen and my naïveté about my surroundings, and the world as a whole was holding me back, preventing me from experiencing “adult things,” or at least that’s what my parents called them. I had no idea what rite of passage awaited me behind the giant oak doors to the restaurant. Sweating with anticipation, I turned the enormous bronze doorknob, only to be met with an aroma I’ve never experienced before. I started to panic. What were these feelings? In front of me sat the handsome suitors. There I was, a cheesecake virgin being seduced by the wooers of all Don Juan’s. It was the key lime that made me break.

It only took me a mere 30 minutes to make me “give it up.” And let me tell you, it was a sloppy one. We were both a little awkward, mostly me. I didn’t know how to start and where to end. I was loud, too. People stared, and I’m sure they knew I was a first-timer. I didn’t care. I loved every minute of it. Really. I became a woman that day.

Yes, a simple “coming of age” story, but simplicity doesn’t mean unoriginality. Still, shortly after my adventure to The Cheesecake Factory, the cheese and I grew distant. Why, you ask? It made me fat. It made me hate myself. My thighs started to resemble cottage cheese. It was an addiction I had to break. So I stopped calling. My visits became less and less frequent. I guess you can say we started to fight. I didn’t exactly “cheat” on the cheesecake, but soon I developed an attraction for carrot cake (those grated carrots did a number on me). All in all, we developed a sort of love-hate relationship. When it was there, staring at me in the face, tempting me to eat and enjoy, I hated it. I wanted nothing to do with the cheese’s provoking seduction and heartless taste that stained my lips and soul and made me want more of it when I knew, deep inside, my urge had to be controlled.

This pattern of self-pity and regret continued until we became acquainted again. I’ll never forget it. It was the first time I came back to The Cheesecake Factory since my confection affinity, and there it was, sprawled out on the dessert tray like some oversexed slut. I didn’t know what to say. I tried to avoid the tart hussy at first, but it made its presence known. We made eye contact. I smiled. And then I broke. We did it right there on the counter.

Soon I accepted the fact that I couldn’t live without cheesecake. With the distance put between us, I craved it more and more. These feelings are still present to this day. Am I weird? Maybe. But that’s beside the point. Cheesecake will always have a special place in my heart, over relationships and sex. I’m just hoping my future spouse won’t get jealous.

--Jlo McB

A new contributor

2009-08-20T19:10:00.002-04:00

As few of you may have noticed, there was a new name that appeared as the co-author in the last post: Jlo Mcb. She played a major role in the White Guy Post and another post of hers will appear shortly on the Pint.

I have given her the name Jlo McB because of the Irish-Latin mulatto baby that she is. Or it could also be because of the movie Gigli.

Maybe it’s the retarded child in the movie, or maybe it’s the Boston raised Ben Aflac (also retarded), or the retarded denim onsies Jennifer Lopez wears. The point is: retarded. Either way, if you package this up into a cute adorable ball, you get the comedic genius that is not only reflected in Gigli, but also in our Female contributor Jlo McB.

--Chatper H

P.S. The plot of Gigli: Ben Aflac steals a retarded child who watches too much Baywatch. With the help of J-Lo they fulfill his dream by taking him to a live recording of the show which the retarded child thinks is reality.

White Guy Jokes

2009-08-13T10:20:00.006-04:00

Wow. So I was told to look up white guy jokes, because there are NONE. That is to say, the very very few that exist are not at all funny. For starters, if you dig real deep you might find ten or twenty. If you look up any other popular minority (black people perhaps) you will find hundreds. I mean, the white jokes are terrible and contain no insulting content. The handful I found was about crackers and snow and not at all amusing:

What do whites like 2 eat? Ritz cuz it's 4 crackers.

what do u call a bus full of white people? a twinkie

Why do so many white people get lost skiing?
It's hard to find them in the snow.

So the white guy goes to apply for a job, and they say sorry your not a minority
we can't hire you...

why cant you look at white people for to long? youll go snow blind

What is white and flies across the sky? The coming of the Lord.

But then I started to realize the comedy. Like experiencing dead baby jokes again for the first time, I started to understand the humor:

Why did the white man cross the road?
Because he needed something that was on the other side of the road.

What do you say when you see a white man carrying a TV?
"Excuse me sir, you dropped your receipt!"

Where do white babies go when they die: Heaven

At this point, if you don’t find this funny, I suggest you keep reading them, because tears are in my eyes right now. I’ve even written some of my own:

How many white men does it take to change a light bulb?
One. It’s a light bulb. He can just change it.

A white man walks into a bar and is served a drink.

A white man gets in a cab.

What do you call a white man who graduates college? Employed

I’m no comedic genius, especially with one liners, but I want to start a home for white guy jokes. I want this list to become The List on the Internet. Send them over and I will append them as they come.

--Chapter H
--Jlo McB

More Jokes Sent to the Pint (thanks Red Dastard)

What does a white guy smell like? Deodorant

I was stuck in traffic and I needed to get over one lane. A guy let me over. He was white.

What does a white guy eat for dinner? whatever he wants

- A guy knocked on my door and I let him in
- was he white?
- Yes.

What do you call a white airline pilot? a pilot

A white guy is driving a cadillac down the street. That sounds about right.

Making urban slang is fun and easy!

2009-07-19T21:50:00.002-04:00

Constructing successful urban slang isn’t as difficult as one would think. By successful, I am referring to hilarious. New words, or word phrases, are cropping up everywhere, many of which find a home at urban dictionary. The new-wave lingo share general rules.

Rule #1: Two Word Limit
You’re new phrase is best limited to two words. Any more than this and it is too complex and any fewer will lack descriptive detail. This rule can only be broken if one is a noun described by two words.

Rule #2: Sounds harmless to mom
Regardless of how absurdly vulgar the definition, the phrase should sound innocent to your mom. They should be common words that do not extend outside of a 5th graders vocabulary.
Examples: “Butter Face” “Cold Jerky” “Angry Pirate”

Rule #3: Locations make good first words
You usually can’t go wrong by making your first word a location, or modifier describing a specific place of origin. Often times, the lesser known cities, states, or even countries make for better comedy.
Examples: “Cleveland Steamer” “Boston Pancake” “Alaskin Pipeline” “Lebanese Bike Ride” “Alabama Hot Pocket” “Cincinatti Bowtie”

I’m already laughing and I don’t know what these words mean. Try it for yourself. Here’s some I come up with:
“North Dakota Grapefruit” “Mozambique Sunscreen” “Mexican Bird Feeder”

--Chapter H

Captain Planet Clip of the Week

2009-06-20T12:42:00.003-04:00

Happy weekend, reader(s). For the clip of the week, the Pint returns to exploring the values of Captain Planet. In our last post of 2007, we explored the basics of the show, concluding the whole show is just a hodge podge of environmental education, the triumph of good over evil, and awkward sexual tension--think Wheeler/Linka or Ma-Ti/Suchi (pet monkey). Ma-Ti's "power of heart" is glorified GHB, and you can comment if you think otherwise.

Youtube description of the clip: While the Planeteers learn about organic farming, Plunder exploits Joe, a man who cannot read, by tricking him into signing a contract allowing the distribution of pesticides on a farm that he manages.

Watch the clip and follow along with my running diary.

1:25 - The look on Ma-Ti's face pretty much proves my point about the "power of heart". 'Nuff said.

1:35 - Why the fuck is Linka jamming on a synthesizer? It's pretty clear Wheeler is only enjoying it so he can get in Linka's pants after they're done saving the farm.

1:48 - "For your information Wheeler, this is not a dumb farm, it is a smart farm." Good one Kwame. Would improve it to say, "...this is not a dumb farm, you're a dumb farm." Much better.

2:39 - Joe can't read! Plot thickening...

3:10 - "Lots of people have reading problems..." Ahhh now I get it, so I guess they're trying to appeal to those kids who are struggling to learn how to read. Ted Turner, you're a genius. But my question to you Ted, is why does Joe have to be a farmer who clearly is of non-white descent. That seems a little bit, well, you know. Follow-up question: is there an episode where Captain Planet and the Planeteers construct a wall along the US/Mexico border?

3:49 - Joe's smarter than he looks. He's managed to grow a fruit that looks and tastes like an apple but has the bouncing capabilities of a racquet ball.

6:02 - Holy shit that squirrel just got smoked! It would be funny if it weren't so sad.

6:55 - "You have a way with words Wheeler." Unless I'm hearing this wrong, Wheeler just got hit on by a cougar.

8:13 - Not sure what's going to happen here, either Linka summons wind and blows the cloud of swine flu away from the kiddies or they summon the Captain, and he sucks all the pollution into his lungs and breathes out pure oxygen.

9:47 - Oh man! A sewage treatment plant! Couldn't have seen that one coming.

Ok good times, can't wait until I waste more time browsing through youtube Captain Planet clips.

--Big J

Get Daggered

2009-06-15T22:56:00.006-04:00

There are a lot of current events, but none so important as Daggering: a phenomena which is sweeping the world (hopefully). If you ever thought the grinding in club dancing wasn't explicitly sexual, daggering will surely satisfy your desires. With the growing acceptance of daggering, you will be able to slam your cock repeatedly against girls vaginas on the dance floor. If you do it fervidly enough, lack rhythm, and perhaps punch her, you will be king of the dance floor. This is a real and growing trend, where adult men are encouraged to run up and 'dagger' girls they see at a club. Unfortunately, Jamaica is cracking down on 'daggering' because men are breaking their cocks [true story]. This is true, men all over Jamaica are breaking their dicks from daggering girls, just google daggering. There is so much to say and so much fun to be had with daggering, but the main purpose of this post is to inform our reader(s) about daggering and an upcoming dagger fest at my apartment.

Daggering Videos:

Backyard Daggering
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mwzXOkBUF5c&feature=related

Club Daggering,
At 2min 30sec, a man daggers off a ladder into a women with her legs held open by two men.
At 4min 0 sec, a girl is put in a headlock, donkey punched, and daggered.
At 4min 50sec, a man daggers a girl who has a bucket on her head. Men then beat on the bucket while she is being daggered. It continues to get better from there.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EjW2Np3Z6so

You're Welcome
--Chapter H

I'll also append this post with any entertaining comments:

Call Signs

2009-06-13T17:14:00.004-04:00

Received this email from the Texan, pretty funny jargon, I suggest we all pick it up.

alright, so here's a breakdown of my most recent call sign directives for handling women:

1) no joy - she's not feeling it. i don't see the signs, or i can't find the girl. i'm out unless i see something.

2) danger close - there might be something wrong with this girl. proceed with caution.

3) weapons free - she's down to get down. take yourself off safety and make it happen.

4) inbound bogie/bandit - unwanted third party approaching. homely colleague or boyfriend. wingman assistance required.

5) call the ball - mission accomplished.

6) bug out - something's gone wrong. i'm out.

7) contact - engaged a female. let's see where this goes. still reading signs.

8) bingo fuel - running out of game. need wingman assistance.

i encourage you all to supplement these directives with some of your own. more importantly, i implore you to commit these to memory (especially 1-3) -- they may just save your life some day.

--The Texan

Girls In the North - The Island Of Misfit Toys

2009-05-11T17:35:00.005-04:00

Girls from the North

I’ve been all over the country and as a young male, a majority of my time in public is spent looking at girls. I have been doing so for over ten years in over forty states, so I’m pretty much an expert. As such, I’d like to talk to you about the dumpy little bridge trolls they call women in the North. I do not think this problem is genetic but rather the result of nurture in the harsh Northern temperament.

It starts at the youngest age. The girls are kept warm near an open fire that crackles as hot embers land on their face, charring any exposed skin. As they grow, they are fed meat gravy to fatten them for the winter months. This of course has great wear on their figure.

Finally, the exposure over the years make them age like a chimney sweep during the industrial revolution. Over the years, the salt from the roads splashes on their faces as cars pass and the cold wind errods their their faces. The skin hardens and cracks like mudd in the desert. It’s equivalent to sticking your face in a strip club while greasy fat bald dudes blow smoke in your face.

In the end you are left with what looks like a pale tubby troll doll that climbed out of a bog in Northern Ireland and has been smoking cigars for fifty years. Seriously, take a girl from the North, clean her face up with a damp towel or wetnap, spike up her hair and dye it any primary color, and put a gem in her belly button. That’s the cutest she’ll ever be. The North is like the "The Island of Misfit Toys"

--Chapter H

-A friend of the pint, Anytime D.H., a former New Yorker and alledged Canadian provided the thesis of this post. Also thanks to Cheestache Jake for his "Island of Misfit Toys" analogy.

Giddyup!

2009-05-04T00:01:00.001-04:00

Time to get back to what the Pint does best, and that's labeling average, everyday normal shit and letting the reader(s) adopt the jargon. We've produced/enlightened you to a whole new vernacular, including such words/phrases as sidefind, the eskimo tip, fecal alchemy, the list goes on.

About two years ago, I worked with a dude who is essentially a self-proclaimed ladies man. Not only was he fairly talented at takin' "it" down, he had a way of referring to himself and his activities that I need to share. Summary of his wordsmithing:

Horse: desirable female who is just askin' to be "saddled."
Horsemen: the jockeys, if you will, who are a-saddlin'.
The Stables: the apartment/home where the horses are fed, groomed, and saddled.

I thought this was too funny, but the language felt a little odd. Horses are big creatures, and without proper care, could seriously f up its handler. Although true of some women, didn't quite fit the bill. But luckily I caught up with the horseman himself a year later, and he had changed it up a bit.

What was once referred to as a horse, was now called pony. Amazing. Woman = pony. So simple, yet so profound. The best part about this is the colloquialisms that arise.

You can use it in a text message: "Stables. 10 o'clock. No brunch." (How could any pony turn down a classy invitation like that?)

You could get medieval: "I dub thee [insert pony name here] the pony."

You can shorten it: "My pone's been actin' up." On that same line of thinking, you can use "pone" in so many ways. For example, you could combine ex-girlfriend, pony, and component to form exponent (nerdy but it passes), and when you get a new pony, obviously you have a newponent. If your pony is mexican, you have a mexi-pone. Or flat out: "I poned a girl last night." Not all that different from pwn-ing.

Would love to hear all the suggestions the reader(s) could create that uses pone-ology.

Anyway, it's been too long time since I have poured a perfect pint for the reader(s). Couple reasons for this lack of tasty-goodness. 1) I work a job that sucks all of the creativity out of my head and 2) I procured a nasty computer virus that left me without internet for about 2 and a half months. So I've been relyin' on CH to provide fresh content, and clearly letting him run amuck with his uncanny observational power. Good to be back.

--Big J

Google Is Racist

2009-04-21T21:30:00.004-04:00

Turns out Google thinks black people look like apes, or maybe just Michael Spix. After testing out the new "Similar Images" feature Google offers, I found the following results.

Here is the full screen shot, as viewed on Apr 21, 2009 9:05pm eastern:

Hey, don't shoot the messenger.

--Chapter H

Word of the Day: Bingo Wings

2009-04-18T16:16:00.004-04:00

Bingo wings are the fat old and disgusting relative of the weenus, but unlike the weenus, no respectable person has them. They are theresult of excess skin and aging between the shoulder and elbow. They are most commonly the result of excessive bingo play or any equivalent sedentary lifestyle. According to Wikipedia, other names for this phenomenon may include: "mooneys arms", "bingo flaps", "auntie arms", "tuck shop arms", "dinner lady arms", "bingo wobble", "nanna wobble", "nan flaps", "bat wings", "barber arm" and, predominantly in Australia, “sugar gliders", in tribute to an Australian mammal that propels itself through the air with the aid of batlike folds of skin. Urban dictionary provides us with its usage in a sentence:

-i fucking love your bingo wings you sexy little minx.
-but i am 58 and you are only 19.
-i know but i have a fetish for biting unnecessary skin.

--Chapter H

Smells of the Third World: Moroccan Bazaar

2009-04-05T14:51:00.010-04:00

Today, the comedy comes from Corporate America. We are accustomed to pleasantly enhancing our homes with the fragrance of lavender, apple cinnamon, or beach vacation. Well, Febreze wants to bring a new smell into the homes of America. That is, the foul smell of a third world Moroccan bazaar. Imagine walking through the poverty ridden streets, crowded with sweaty people and their animals, both of which defecate wherever convenient. Dysentery and Gerardia infest the hanging meat of recently and not too recently slaughtered animals. The smell of chickens, goats, and camels – both dead and alive – burns your nostrils as you dodge the Molotov cocktails being thrown by a small child. This reminiscent smell can be a part of your home with Febreze’s newest scent, Morrocan bazaar. This is new smell campaign is promising for Palestine, which could provide them with their first exportable good.

-Chapter H

Additional remark by Jake: "Does it smell like woman's oppression and Ringly Brothers Barnum & Bailey Circus?"

What does Gatorade say about you?

2009-02-28T19:54:00.000-05:00

Gatorade can say a lot about a person. There are definite associations we all have with regards to flavors of Gatorade. When talking to Big J, he was pretty quick to get into the new overly descriptive Riptide Rush, Glacier Freeze, etc. I’d like to stick to the basics, blue, green, purple, lemon-lime, fruit punch and orange. I’m not sure why people have adopted to call some by their color and others by their flavor.

First off, blue and green are top choice ... if your eight years old. Green and blue are colors rarely found in any natural organic substance, so kids are going to want them. These are the Ecto cooler of the gatorade world. (Big J: ecto cooler was a tasty beverage)

As an eight year old, if your dad walks out of the gas station to hand you a lemon lime, you are going to have a shit fit and stomp your feet. Thats because lemon lime is the most mature of the Gatorades. It's something you grow into, like coffee or masturbation. (Big J: I agree. The funny thing is i started jerkin it before i started drinking lemon lime Gatorade)

Orange is for the young adult or perhaps a youthful older man. And I dont know where fruit punch falls, but I can’t think of a time when I would ever want to drink that shitty flavor. (Big J: I cant stand fruit punch. I’m pretty adamant about not drinking it)

Big J was fairly opinionated about fruit punch’s shittyness:

“I feel like it stains my teeth, and gives me the that red ring that little kids get around their mouth; that red moustache. You get those red stains on the corner of your mouth”

He’s right, red ring is a fucking problem; the stain of a juvenile.

Point being, if you are old enough to read the Pint you probably should be drinking lemon-lime, but I’d guess you like your blue drink (or Fruit Punch, since it’s representative of the content quality)

--Chapter H

--Big J

Who wants a Tasty Pint?

2009-02-15T17:41:00.001-05:00

A lot of Internet drifters have found their way to a Tasty Pint, which raises the question, how and why? With Google Analytics, we can take a closer look at our traffic sources and get a feel for the type of people that are looking for a quick pint of immaturity. A recent traffic spike due to a comment made on reddit, sums up this blog's existence: the word weenus. Among all of the educational content available, we appear to be the authoritative source on the word weenus. Every month tens of people google their way to our site with the word weenus. Some of the search queries are priceless so here is a partial list (the actual list is huge).

First off, anyone reading who is looking for information on weenus. [Visit the authoritative source on weenus]. Secondly, you cannot “eat a weenis”, “elbow weenis” is redundant as there is only one weenis location (per arm), and marilyn manson actually had a bone removed to lick his weenus.

Now, not all of the traffic is weenus mongers. We have also become the home to those who hate pears. Being #1 for anyone searching “I hate pears”, we get the handful of people sharing Johnny K's distaste for pears.

A clump of traffic also comes from fecal alchemy, teleporting vs flying, and more recently, cock to cock perversion. Here are some of the unique searches:

penis to penis rubbing load urethra -WTF?
“penis to penis” aids -Someone should patent that ASAP
docking -station -ipod -protein -Poor guy, should have never added the confusing word, protein

If the Internet was a city and a Tasty Pint was a real place in the city, you would never bring your kid within a hundred blocks. Unless your kid was looking for a pubic beard trimmer in which, he could find our location by searching:

Beard trimmer to shave bush
timmer for ball shaped bushes
use a beard trimmer to trim your muff
best french beard trimmer

--Chapter H

A side Pint

2009-01-18T12:12:00.007-05:00

The pint has been around and is aging quite nicely, like a fine can of malt liquor. A lot of hidden comedic gold is hidden in the comment sections of the Pint. Fortunately, our retarbo readers are a lot funnier than myself. I've sifted through the last year-plus of comments and brought the funnier one's to the foreground.

From: You Just Got Donkey Punched In the Face

[Red Dastard] said...
I just brain-shat in my ass-pants. Sometimes a Pint is not so tasty and it makes you vomit. Well, it was fun while it lasted but I'm guessing this blog will be removed from the internet any day now.

[big j] said...
dastard, don't you mean ass-shat in your brain-pants?

[Red Dastard] said...
No, I meant I shat in my pants...

From: Dog Mouth vs. Opposable Thumb

Red Dastard was able to end the debate using his newly reached “plateau of internet research ability that [one] could only hope to achieve”. This image undeniably ends all discussion.

From: Come Here Often?

“There are no shortcuts in life, only in Mario Bros. 1-3.” --Anytime DH

“mario 2 really was the middle child of those first 3 games.” --big j

From: Word of the Day: Sidefind

Red Dastard attempted to compete with the Pint's urban dictionary by submitting one of his own:

pee pee wad:
What comes out of a prepubescent child when he attempts to masturbate.
When I was 7 I jerked off but all that came out was a little pee pee wad.

From: Get roadFit

In response to: “That dirtball friend will always carry a positive disposition, regardless of the poor sleeping arrangements, the musky film growing underneath his ball skin, and the meals consisting of bologna sandwiches and skittles.”

[Red Dastard] said...
I had never heard of this ball skin film before I met Anytime DH and I'm a film major.

From: Monster Truckin' People's Faces

“Actually, I just had to take a healthy boy piss. None the less, my urethra quivered and a monster truck was summoned and cars were crushed.” -- Potato

From: I Hate Pears

“Go to your local Whole Foods and pick yourself up an Asian Pear. Not grainy, asian and grows on a tree. So, it's right up [Chino Mono's] alley.” --Potato

From: Word of the Day: Fecal Alchemist

[Chino Mono] said...
The "courtesy flush" is a fucking joke. I command the room with my shit and expect that all who enter bathe in its ubiquitousness. "Yeah, thats right, I'm here and I'm taking a fucking shit! If you want mercy get the fuck out! I scouted this floor for the last 3 weeks and it is MINE!!!" (300 anyone?)

That's how you do it.

[big j] said...
In light of chinomono's comment I'm rethinking all the thoughts I've ever had about bathroom etiquette. I'm always proud when I lay down a particularly gnarly shit.

[Chapter H] said...
I like to listen to music and pretend I am alone.

[Red Dastard] said...
When the Swash sweeps the nation the wiping conversation will sound like some kind of primitive caveman exchange. Stock tip: invest in Brondell. Also, I have to say standing to wipe is a novelty where I come from. Might as well just pull up your pants at that point.

Who would win in a fight? George Washington or George Washington Carver

2009-01-12T08:40:00.005-05:00

The Pint would like to introduce a new epic debate of man; one that future academics and historians will address in years to come. The question to be answered is: Who would win in a fight, George Washington or George Washington Carver? That is, a world renowned war general and founder of America, or a black scientist that invented peanut butter. Surprisingly, the people I have encountered are quite divided on this issue.

VS.

George Washington Carver was far from your stereotypical scientist. He was a black man raised during the period of slavery, and a survivor of a night raider kidnapping. His intelligence got him into Penn State at a time when black men were rarely accepted into college. Living 79 years indicates he was quite healthy and most likely agile. Seeing the number of inventions made from peanuts alone, he’s clearly resourceful which can be very useful in battle. An intelligent man of the earth, raised in the south, and survivor of night raiders surely makes George Washington Carver an admirable foe.

It takes more than George Washington’s fame to win a fight. Fortunately, the commander-in-chief of America’s revolutionary army has extensive military experience. In between the Seven Years and the Revolutionary War, he lived a pampered life at the White House Plantation most likely prancing around with wigs and makeup. Perhaps it was the stress as America’s first president, dying at age 67 he did not outlive Carver. George Washington clearly knew a lot about war, and if the fight were a duel with rifles he would win.

It is hard to say who would win in a head to head melee and without knowledge of each individual’s weight and reach, it is not fair for the Pint to intelligently choose sides.

--Chapter H

Talking to teens: What it really takes to be cool.

2008-12-26T19:39:00.005-05:00

What it really takes to be a cool dude:

You're 14 and social life is tough. The days as a tweenie were easy, and the Disney Channel kept you informed. But don't worry, the new formula is simple, and with a little luck you can be popular. For starters, stop drooling, brush your teeth, and wash your scrotum. So what does it take to eat lunch with the cool kids? I'll tell you: early pubescent luck, pogs, and fingerbanging a chick at the local roller rink. Ok, so pogs may not be cool for the newest generation, but before the slammers got out of control, my OJ simpson pog made me popular. Nonetheless, vagina is timeless, and if you touch one, you'll be the most popular 8th grader.

Also, have a couple fatalities memorized. Sub-zero will definitely get you attention.

--Chapter H

Word of the day: Docking

2008-11-29T12:24:00.004-05:00

With bored bloodshot eyes, I blindly stumbled around the internet –reckless and promiscuous browsing, I’m aware. The usual desperate forms of entertainment were failing me. I had already looked for inspiration to masturbate on Facebook. I found none; everyone’s married or too old. Indicating that I’m too old. Numb from Pitchfork’s pretentious reviews, Myspace’s trashy advertising, and Digg’s LOLcats, I finally found my way to today’s Word of the Day: Docking.

Like a retarded kid trying to screw two light bulbs together, ‘docking’ is when two men touch the tips of their penises (peni?) together and pull the foreskin of one around the other. I’m not sure of any context in which two straight men would dock, but I’ve never had a good ‘gaydar’. I know your first thoughts: “what is the transmission risk of dick-docking and penis-to-penis side-along rubbing?? What if one of us shot the load? Would the load shoot right at the urethra during docking???” . Well fortunately, these are the first questions Dr. Frascino, founder of the Robert James Frascino AIDS Foundation, addressed. Although he only has an M.D. he was able to give theoretical analysis of these questions, “Could you shoot a load and hit the urethra? Yes, it's theoretically possible, although not very likely, that the spunk would actually come into significant contact with the urethra's mucous membrane” [1]. Although ‘spunk’ IS legal Scrabble play, and it is a noun, Dr. Frascino’s use of the word is not found in Marriam-Webster.

It is not obvious to me how docking could ever lead to this theoretical scenario, but if people are actually partaking in this ridiculous behavior it must be awesome. I’m not encouraging the act of docking, I just want the readers to be informed. Not only could it happen to you, but in an infinite universe, it will happen.

--Chapter H

Note that ‘docking’, is not to be confused with the uncommon ‘spaceship docking’. The modifier changes the act completely (too offensive to link to).

[1] http://www.thebody.com/Forums/AIDS/SafeSex/Archive/TransmissionSexual/Q194663.html

Big J Strikes Back at Texan

2008-11-16T21:02:00.004-05:00

One more pint for the weekend, and that's Big J ripping back at the Texan for his Yellow Fever.

Yellow Fever – Obama's election brings miscegenation to the forefront of sociopolitical landscape

AUSTIN, TX – There has been a pandemic amongst young American men that is both unusual and perplexing. This condition, know as "Yellow Fever," develops during the college years, and causes its victims to prey on any and all Asian women.

A heightened awareness of the Fever is palpable across the land in the wake of Barack Hussein Obama's election to the presidency. "The United States has overcome a storied history of racial divide to elect Mr. Obama into office," comments Justin Wu, analyst at Wu Qi Cooch Investments. He continues, "I wouldn't be surprised if we saw a large-scale increase in the number of mixed-race couples as these barriers continue to crumble. Miscegenation will be 'in' for the next generation."

None can speak better to the validity of Mr. Wu's comments than the Texan, a troubled young lawyer torn between the nectar of success and the beckoning of Asian sluts. The Texan, known for his valor in the pursuit to defend corporate executives from the consequences of their underhanded dealings, struggles on a daily basis to not succumb to the Fever's wraith.

We were able to sit down for a lengthy chat with the Texan, obtaining all the first person perspective we could handle on this matter.

"I just want to boink all of them," he confesses. "I grew up in a suburban community in Houston, where I spent my time poking my wiener around every white girl who would have it. It wasn't until late in college when my penchant to chase those perky little Asian girls began to develop. At first, I thought there was something wrong with me. Now, I've come to understand the gravity of my desires."

The concern on the Texan's face melted away into giddiness as the conversation continued. One could sense that he has accepted his fate, and that he will embrace the challenges he faces. "It's like discovering your purpose in life. I look at the opportunities now available to me—it's shocking, really. And I think the Asians love me back," he prays.

The Texan's story is one that is being told by many young men just like him. It is one of lust, fear, and ultimately change, the same change that Mr. Obama promised during his election campaign. It begs us to question the nature of this paradigm shift in male desires. Has Obama's election screwed over the white girl?

"Like, ohmygod, no way!" shrieks Kelly Anderson, student at the prestigious Cornell University. "I've just started dating black guys."

It is fascinating to explore this question. Through hours of research, we have discovered a startling fact pattern that the Texan is all too aware of. All the advantages that white girls had over Asian women, fuller breasts, rounder bums, and the horniness of youth, have disappeared as a new generation of girls grow up in America.

Yu So Phat, Vietnamese expert in the physical development of Asian girls, explains: "It comes down to one thing, and one thing only. American milk. These girls growing up in the US are swallowing hormones in their body that traditionally are not available in Asian countries. So now, you have tiny little girls with more 'lovely' features."

Incredible. Who knew that for an entire race of young women, the well known slogan "Got Milk?" could seamlessly be changed to "Got Tits?" But we were not satisfied with all we had learned. We still could not answer the "why" of this whole debate. We sensed there was a broader reason for the Texan's newly acquired fetish.

In a candid interview with Thomas Chang, a star banker with Greenwich Investment Traders out of London, we finally learned the truth behind the mystery. "It's quite simple, you wanker," he barks, condescension dripping from his words. "They're tighter." When he observes our look of confusion, he yells, "Their pussies!"

One could sense the downward pressure on the financial markets was also weighing on Mr. Chang's mood, but we had finally uncovered the answer. These Asian girls possess a tighter grip around the collective dick of young American men. The conclusion of our efforts was a warm sense of gratification. We can now only sympathize for the Texan, for he has a fever, a Yellow Fever, and the only prescription, as it were, is putting his "p" in Asian "va-g."

--Big J

The Texan Strikes Again

2008-11-16T13:45:00.002-05:00

So my buddy wrote another spoof article. This one is about a different friend. The background of the story: we once caught the target of this article in our kitchen with dirty socks covered his vaseline-coated hands. It was out of control, and to put icing on the cake, he was trying to open a can of corn. With dirty socks on his hands! Enjoy.

All Dried Up – the effect of the current financial crisis on the lubricant industry

London – Business has not been good for ****, an investment banker with Greenwich Investment Traders, or G.I.T., as of late. The story has been recited a thousand times over in the past weeks: A promising young financier embarks on a lucrative career, only to find that over-extended lenders have pulled the rug out from under the world financial markets and tossed it over the eyes of investors, leaving bankers, like ****, shroud in the gloom of a struggling FTSE and a sinking Dow.

However this version of the now-cautionary tale simplifies the more idiosyncratic nature of Mr. ****'s troubles, and the similar plight of other ambitious young entrepreneurs like him.

In an industry brokered on personality, there are two types of people. Deal-winners, idolized as good-looking, charming businesspeople reveling in their own success, and, well, deal-losers, who are best epitomized by trolls under a bridge.

Of course, everything in his life indicated that Mr. **** would ascend into the former category. Widely regarded as a man with the body of a model and a graduate of America's finest university, Mr. **** was poised to rise to the top of G.I.T.. Until, of course, the markets crashed and he lost the secret weapon of his success – Vaseline.

Mr. ****, whose hands initially chafed due to excessive exercise resulting in the need for constant lubrication, shares memories of a moister time. "In university, these circumstances seemed impossible. I would sometimes work my way through two, even three tubs of Vaseline a semester without any consideration of what may happen if I were unable to moisturize regularly." He smiles as he recalls using Vaseline not just on his hands, but in his hair and open wounds as well.

Of course, his eyes, vibrant when discussing the opulence of his collegiate years, reveal the truth of his current struggles, as they take on the darker look of desperation. "I couldn't' have been more naïve. I haven't taken my hands of my socks for weeks," he confesses as he breaks into tears, "It's just too embarrassing." "I used to love networking and meeting people, shaking hands and making out with girls, but now I can't even have wank without a pair of gold-toes on my hands."

Thousands of other young professionals likewise have suffered greatly in the wake of a crippled lubricant market. Hand lotions and face moisturizers, which long gave "winners" the smooth, supple appearance characteristic of their success, have all but disappeared. Reclassified by many consumers as a luxury good, purchasers no longer flock to the local grocer's to obtain lotions, leading to a drop in the lube market, as suppliers can no longer afford to produce the goods.

Malcolm F. Paddington, CEO of London-based VasoGen Capital, recently addressed his company's declining profits over the past financial quarter in an effort to bolster the market. "What Americans fail to realize is that it's not a matter of why profits are down, but rather, for how long? We have, of course, encountered some financial turbulence, but we expect an expedient return to profitability forthwith."

Investors have not embraced Mr. Paddington's confidence in the lubricant market. Following VasoGen's November 8th public conference call, the company's stock dropped 12% by week's end. Charles Montgomery, former CFO of VasoGen's largest competitor, Moisture Management Inc., offered a chilling view on the industry's future, "We're bollixed – the whole lot of us – right up the arse."

While opposing investors grapple over the best way to reinvigorate the sagging lubricant market, one thing remains clear: absent a solution, we're all fucked – with no lube for any of us.

--The Texan is a two-time Pulitzer Prize winner and star of the hit BET show "Who Dat Is? My Baby's Daddy!"

Meet the Texan

2008-11-15T21:30:00.004-05:00

Time for another guest writer, and he's good. One of my friends keeps sending out news articles which are usually about finance. The Texan responded with this fake article written while taking a dump. See below, and also, "tui" is the chinese word for what we like to call a "jerk off joint" (JOJ). Enjoy. All names are left out... trust me, it's just better that way.

Analyst **** sees Tui pain ahead

Hong Kong - As global financial markets continue to plunge and consumer confidence declines in the face of crumbling insurance providers, peripheral market economies are starting to feel the squeeze. Nowhere has this struggle to stay afloat been more apparent than in Hong Kong's once thriving "tui" market.

Structured around the pervasive alcoholism and infantile neediness of its sex-crazed patrons, tui providers, long considered masters at seperating intoxicated collegians and Asian businessmen alike from their disposable income, have been unable to maintain their customer base, driving several parlors into bankruptcy.

One analyst, **** of Cooch Investments, recently commented on the bleak prospects of this once thriving industry. "It was like overnight, all of China's massage parlors closed," he lamented. "At first I thought it was because of the Olympics, but with time we've become wiser. It just goes to show how sensitive the market really is." Now Mr. ****, a tui loyalist for nearly a decade, has in his own words been reduced to "beating off like a commoner with [his] own hand."

Given the lack of expendable income among its clients, tui parlors will likely continue to experience falling revenues, if any at all. The declining profits, in turn, will translate into decreased income and tips for tui girls, like Ima Ho. Ms. Ho, known in her professional community as the "Queen of Oil Massages," echoes Mr. ****'s concerns over future of the tui industry. When questioned by the national news service at a recent meeting of the local Tui Girls Council, Ms. Ho opined, "Me no likey."

Although patrons and service providers in the tui industry share a common pessimism regarding the industry's future, China's recent bailout package may offer some hope, as massage parlors scramble to secure some portion of the stimulus package. However, those suffering from the recent tui market collapse, like Mr ****, take a darker view of the government's efforts. "Do I believe in the stimulus package? Honestly, no. We need more than what the government has offered. It's like the world is wandering the streets at 4am hungry, but all the McDonald's and KFC's are closed."

Perhaps after years of rapid growth, the Chinese economy, like tui patrons across the nation, doesn't need further stimulation. Rather, it just needs to get off.

- The Texan currently lives in Texas with his three wives.

Get that man some olive loaf!

2008-11-09T01:42:00.010-05:00

I had a pint-tasm when I was on the phone with CH discussing ideas for this blog. Our conversation had been steered toward something topical, cogent, and of course witty.

Yes, bologna is what had our brains a-buzzin'. I didn't have much to contribute to the topic as I haven't eaten this elementary school lunchroom delicacy in over a decade (probably longer). But the H touched on one facet of balogna that absolutely disgusted me as a little tyke, and that facet is the olive loaf.

Why does balogna, an all around budget meat, need olives baked into the loaf? Who came up with this idea? It's so f'in gross! Look at that picture!! Seriously, stare at it for a minute, no, thirty seconds, and tell me you don't want to empty the contents of your stomach on to your laptop keyboard.

I searched the internet tirelessly (did a wiki search) to find some background info on this tasty treat. Unfortunately, there isn't much. I'm not surprised. All content should be deleted. As far as I'm concerned, this now solves the mystery of what McCain was thinking about when this photo was snapped after the third presedential debate. (See here for the best photoshop contest I found, I suggest looking at the MJ shot)
CH has a thesis that some guy felt the meat he was eating, although delicious, just didn't ooze class. This guy then decides he's going to garnish his fatty balogna with some olives, kind of like you garnish a martini with an olive, to boost flavor and show off a mature palet. Pretty good guess, if you ask me, and the funny part is I received validation of this theory just days later from a coworker!

The group of people guilty? Republicans. Yeah, and for those readers who nearly turned over a table while yelping that I contradicted myself, McCain is a moderate. I'm talking about the right-of-center, old-fashioned, wish-they-were-born-in-the-20s Republicans. Which is exactly how I would describe my coworker. I merely mentioned the term "olive loaf," and he could not stop going on and on about how good it was.

Maybe I got it all wrong, and McCain has indeed turned to the loaf as a post-election refuge from his depressing defeat. That's fine, let him. I'm encouraged by Obama, though, he seems more like a turkey eater.

--Big J

An Awkward Pint

2008-10-31T19:06:00.008-04:00

Whoa, what the hell happened while I was away?? The Pint has put up some interesting (and of course hilarious) material since I've last posted, but I feel like I've lost touch with this space. So I'm back for now, to force feed pints of banter down the collective throat of the reader(s).

While some of you were getting roadFit, others, like myself, were hustlin' corn nuts at work. Yes, New York can be fun for the young finance professional, but that doesn't guarantee any tasty-banter, and it definitely guarantees a lot of hours in the office.

(Side pint on being roadFit: have any of you ever experienced the well documented phenomenon of HABFNAR [pronounced huh-boof-gnar]? Stands for "half a boner for no apparent reason." My thesis is that this occurs all too often in a car full of dudes on a roadtrip, caused by the bouncing of the suspensions and overall gyrations of a fully-packed car. Otherwise known as travelcock, a travelers penchant for developing HABFNAR must be quelled if he wishes to be roadFit.)

So I was thrilled to see good ol' CH come down to the city a couple weekends back. Oh, but he didn't come alone. He brought a newly acquired hipster friend. Don't confuse my tone - I have no problem with hipsters. In fact, we promote them on this blog (read: Cabbagetown Crackwhores).

Our new friend Mozzy was explaining her affinity for the characters played by Michael Cera. You may know him from such roles as George Michael Bluth from Arrested Development and Evan from Superbad. She is not alone, many girls want to take a trip to Cera’s banana stand. Sure, he's had some great roles, and it's a credit to him for sticking to his bread 'n butter, but why is it that his character gets a positive response from the ladies? When did awkward become cute?

Well, he may be cute, as in, "awwwww he's adorable," but in reality the weedy shy-guy act only works on girls in the movies. It's easy to see how he might be desirable when you have an omniscient point of view supplied by an entertaining plot line. The movies allow girls to see past the guy’s quiet demeanor revealing his noble intentions, loyal friendships, and funny banter. With this knowledge, he appears cute, trustworthy and therefore desirable.

In reality, girls would not be attracted to such guys. His bad haircut and poor style would accompany an onslaught of awkward conversation. His failure to make consistent eye contact and nervous squirming would lead girls into thinking he is a chronic masturbator that fears / worships their orifices. Even if a girl did acknowledge the possibility of him being a nice, lovable guy, the risk would be too high. Without any female friend to vouch for him, he is an awkward liability.

So ladies, don't be fooled, the Cera factor is a product of Hollywood, and certainly not something that will make you want to drop your panties.

--Big J

Nothing's Original

2008-10-30T00:30:00.002-04:00

--Friend of the Pint

"OJ in the Slammer" Slammer

2008-10-20T23:12:00.009-04:00

Now that OJ Simpson is finally in jail, does that mean OJ Simpson Pogs are cool again?

If anyone can find the “OJ in the Slammer” slammer please send it to The Pint.
I only wish pogs were still cool when Terry Shiavo ‘peaked’.

--This is too offensive to take credit.

UPDATE (Oct 22, 2008):

Our friend, Red Dastard has found the "OJ in the slammer" slammer, whom's images will now be in the Tasty Pint Archives.

Never Have I Ever . . .

2008-10-08T23:29:00.005-04:00

Never have I ever . . . looked at my butthole in the mirror.

That first time you hunker down, your hands clasp your cheeks apart, and you waver side to side trying to catch a glance over your shoulder. Perhaps you had a reaction of terror and fright, you scream “aghh” and your parents, hearing your outcry, rush to your aid. Or maybe you had a reaction of contemplation and self reflection. Either way, your butthole never looked like you had expected, and certainly not like the bleached pink beauties found in Asshole Paradise (or any current pornography). Nobody is proud of their fecal excreter, but I'm sure Crest will soon try and adorn it with some form of whitening strip. It's been five years since I've taken a gander and seeing what aging has done to the hair around my nipples, I will preserve my self esteem by abstaining from another look.

--Chapter H

Google Street View Rickshaw!

2008-10-01T10:48:00.004-04:00

Google. The multi-billion dollar empire could be considered among the most technologically advanced in the world. Today, they had me convinced. The newest of their Google Street Views employs the highly sophisticated rickshaw! I was nearly hit today while walking through Cornell's campus when the streetview rickshaw cut me off. It would have been an honor to be the first death by Google. Fortunately, I was able to get the nice man to stop while I stood in his way to take a picture. It's nice to see Google has taken the initiative to capture Cornell's “gorges” campus.
This post is a stretch for the pint, and quite honestly a liability. After this gets slashdugg, our identity may be revealed by all of those obsessing over us on Google Street View. We may become our own sidefind.

-- Chapter H

Smile

2008-09-20T13:08:00.009-04:00

Everyone has their talents. Our friend Red Dastard can Paint, a retard can win 14 gold medals (see image), and Magic Johnson can cure aids. This brings us to Big J's equivocal talent. That big nose-less smile above; let's turn it upside down:

Yea, his frowning force almost allows his mouth to curl back upon itself. Keep up the good work Big J.

--Chapter H

Got any spare change?

2008-08-24T14:00:00.004-04:00

Have you ever heard a douche bag tell a bum to get a job at McDonald's when asked for change? I heard this coming out of a mamamule jerseytard the other night on a Manhattan street. What does this tell us about some people's understanding of the world? Do they think a multibillion dollar corporation has the human resource policy of hiring puke stained street people with no shirts to serve their customers with food? Yeah, I'm sure that's the success strategy of the world's most accomplished company.

But don't fret, bums can get jobs. They include sweeping an already clean gas station parking lot for burritos (insert pic of 14th st.), opening the door for customers at liquor stores when not asked to (insert pic of any part of memorial dr.), and becoming bathroom attendants at any local restaurant that wants to make its customers feel uncomfortable.

Beyond that, they can become the superintendent of my new Harlem residence.

--Johnny K

Get roadFit

2008-08-19T00:07:00.009-04:00

Reach out and get a pint, or in my case (see im), a stout 20 oz. I enjoyed this tasty beverage in a district of Charlotte N.C. where unregulated newspaper dispensers have overtaken the sidewalks (see image). It was the first stop of a recent roadtrip that lead to numerous sidefinds and ipod dj disputes (my friends ipod shown left).

Roadtrips can be a good test of one man’s character. Unless your trip is pampered with fine dining and hotels, you are going to share a confined space for extended periods of time. In fact, road trips are the only straight way four men can be packed into 30 cubic feet for six or more hours (I would argue jail is pretty gay). By day two on the road, whether you shared the backseat or a double at the Motel 8, you can begin to see a friend's true colors. Even the chilliest of friends can undergo a menstrual transformation. Throw these crab apples out, they are not roadtrip material.

As a rule of thumb, the dirtball friend that sleeps overnight on your outdoor lawn furniture with an open beer despite the vacancy of a nearby couch or bed, is a roadfit must-have. Aside from a leaky ass, he’ll be a valuable asset (no pun intended, please believe me). That dirtball friend will always carry a positive disposition, regardless of the poor sleeping arrangements, the musky film growing underneath his ball skin, and the meals consisting of bologna sandwiches and skittles. With a good crew of roadfit friends, a trip across the country can become one of the best vacations of your life. Cheers to Anytime DH and Red Dastard.

--Chapter H

You've Been SideFound!

2008-07-22T18:24:00.007-04:00

This wilderness muumuu monster was sighted near the trailhead of a nearby deciduous forest.

--Chapter H
Thanks to Red Dastard for this sidefind.

Word of the Day: Top Dude

2008-07-10T22:55:00.004-04:00

How many times have you had to describe a friendship to somebody, and it's unnecessarily wordy? I've always struggled with this debacle in my head, because I'm pretty sick of saying phrases like:

-"Yeah, he's a good friend of mine."
-"I've known him forever, we're good friends."
-"We lived together in college."
-"We used to shatfist beers on Thursdays."

All four of those examples have completely different meanings, and it's impossible to indicate how good a friend somebody is without a reliable way to assess radness. Well, reader(s), I've got a revolutionary concept for you. Top Dudes. It's so simple, I'm a little upset I'm just finding out about this now.

The meaning of "top dude" is hard to put into words, but I can supply one prevalent usage of the term.

BJ: Yo CH, me and a few of my top dudes are rollin' to this bar, you wanna join?
CH: Oh, you got a top dude group throwin' down? I'm in.
BJ: Sick. Rally some of your top dudes. I'll see you soon.

I'm not going to spend time defining the rules of how to become a top dude, or how to act like one, because there aren't any. Everybody should have their own network of top dudes. If you're a top dude, you're always doing top things. It's that simple.

*Tasty Pint Best Practice*
I got pretty annoyed scrolling through my cell contacts trying to seek out the top dudes, and I'm sure you've experienced the same frustration. Simply place a "TD" in front of your boys to single them out, and the next time you need to rally top dudes, they're all in the same place in your phonebook. Nice.

One more (top) thing before I go. Yes, there is such a thing as a Top Chick. I have no idea what their characteristics are, so I think we need someone to weigh in on this one. All I can tell you is I've met about 1 top chick for every 6 top dudes.

--Big F'in J

You spent your stimulus on what!? Awww yeah, bow chickuh WOW wow...

2008-07-02T23:17:00.015-04:00

(Above: George W. Bush checkin' out Ms. Jenna Jameson's rack from a distance. Shhh, I don't think he knows we caught him.)

It's time to take a page out of the red dastard's style of posting (WeaverBlogging), and talk about a piece of news. Hopefully I beat him to this one.

Now, I'm hardly a fan of President Bush, but as I've just moved to NYC, I have a lot of expenses, and I could use his economic stimulus check. Not surprisingly, most people have the same idea as me.

What is surprising is that some people have chosen to spend their stimulus on something else. You read that correctly, reader(s). Some of you have either been renewing or purchasing a porn subscription.

At first glance, this news nugget makes no sense, so you're probably asking all of the same questions I was earlier today. Who exactly is purchasing these subscriptions? Which websites are getting the most traffic? How much do they cost? What is the line item that shows up on my credit card statement? (No seriously, could somebody help me out here? The comments are a great place for this type of thing.)

After plenty of thought, I have come up with the only logical explanation for this sudden sales boost. Simply put, it's market timing. When Dubya came up with the economic stimulus package, he probably thought he would bring some added joy to honest, hard-working Americans. Unforunately, the key word in that last sentence is working.

A lot of people have lost their job, and when people lose their job at a time when finding a new job is difficult... let's just say there are going to be some lazy turds with a lot of time to kill. By themselves. At home. With internet.

It's too bad government money can't be going somewhere helpful, like education, trying to get our troops home, or subsidizing the cost of porn directly so the money saved on porn can do the job it was meant to do - stimulate the f'in economy.

--Big J

Getting Hard: K-12 School Buses

2008-06-30T21:57:00.004-04:00

Alright Big J, put down your calculator and let our reader(s) relax. Our audience doesn’t have the Ivy mathlete skills your recent posts demand, but that’s ok. Ivy bound private school students don’t learn everything. What they lack is a multitude of life lessons packaged within the social toils of public k-12 transportation.

What I’m saying is: ridin’ the school bus makes you hard. Don’t be misled by the tame morning routes, in the afternoon, you gotta be tough to ride. You can’t expect an alcoholic busdriver to have the multitasking skills to parent 61 children and drive a 30 ton vehicle. Throw bus etiquette out the window, verbal and physical abuse is the only way to work your way up to the back seats. The rigid social stratification prevents even the sharpest kids from acceptance by the backseat 5th graders. Sure you may seat skip your way to the back near the end of a route, but you’re not a top dog (they guy sitting alone in that retarded half seat in the back is). And dare you try and take that retarded half back seat, you are likely to get punched in the face. The school bus will cut you down to zero, and as your soft skin turns to leather, you can rise up and do unto others. As I grow old, I have come to thank this system which socially separates me from the soft private schooled kids drinking Smirnoff Ice.

Note that bullies are not 28 years old (right). See below for a more accurate depiction of a bully.

--Chapter H

The DAB Factor

2008-06-30T01:03:00.009-04:00

When I was growing up, I often heard the expression "a dab'll do ya" when referring to applying sunscreen. Now that I'm living in NYC, this phrase has taken on a completely different meaning. And it's because in New York, as in any major city, there are large quantities of Dumb Ass Bitches (excuse my language, it's the only way to make this joke work).

A resident of a major city encounters many, many DABs each and every day. Most encounters, like most earthquakes, are not felt and have no effect on the environment - or in this case, the brain. I estimate I have about 8,000 of these per day. But sometimes, I have an encounter that is so devastating... it literally blows my mind. This idea leads me to publish the "Big J DAB magnitude scale," so now you, the reader, can help me in recording the seismic stupidity of the dumbest girls on the planet.

Less than 2.0: Micro
This type of encounter is the most common, the most understandable, and the most unnoticeable. Covers such basic female thoughts as: "which pair of shoes should I wear today?" (none of them), "does this top make me look like a slut?" (yes), and "what time is it?" (beer:30). Also covers forgetting to cook me dinner (Whaaaat, I'm totally kidding).

2.0 - 3.9: Minor
This range covers any gaps in common sense. You might notice a lot of these encounters while driving. Men know what I'm talking about. Guys, how many times have you questioned the driving practices of the hooligan in front of you, pulled up next to them at a red light, and discovered it was a woman ~~on her cell phone~~? Well, I've never seen it, but I'm sure it happens all the time.

4.0 - 5.9: Moderate
We're getting beyond the realm of asking stupid questions and driving miscues. From this point on, the DAB magnitude is manufactured. There's just no way of knowing if what was just said is a joke or if it's for real. Example: "I really just want to be one of the guys - I love to watch sports, drink beer, and play videogames."

6.0 - 6.9: Strong
When something is said or done that is ludicrously unintelligent to the point it kills brain cells, you may record it in this range. It's getting difficult to think of examples, because these encounters are rare. I once had a girl tell me she was smarter than me - does that count? Wait, this is my scale. Yes, it counts.

7.0 - 9.9: Major
Ok, we're running out of room, but this range is reserved for those DABs who can affect people around the globe, namely celebrities. I'm thinking on the scale of Tara Reid, Paris Hilton, and Britney Spears, to name a few. To give you perspective, I would rate these ladies somewhere in the 7s, 8s, and 9s respectively.

10.0+: Epic
Never recorded. How would an encounter of this magnitude compare to a natural phenomenon? Maybe a dying star? It's hard to say, but anything is possible.

--Big J

"Game" Theory

2008-06-22T23:29:00.010-04:00

If you think that banter is just something we do for fun, you're wrong. We take this side project seriously. Our debates get intense, and sometimes even a little emotional.

That's why tonight's post is about one relevant social issue that might tug at the heart strings of the lovers in our fanbase.

When I look back on college, one important lesson I learned - besides learning how to takeittothehouse in beer pong - is everybody wants what they can't have. This truth manifested itself in a couple of my best friends; they had, and still do, a penchant for desiring women who are in relationships. Everybody handles this delicate situation differently, but ulimately if the "crushor" (one who desires) decides he wants to make a move for the "crushee" (one who is desired), he is faced with the dilemma of how to go about the task.

I used to laugh at those who tried to be the homewrecker, until I was faced with a situation where I wouldn't at all mind if it worked out in my favor. Unfortunately, when given the opportunity to confess my feelings, I balked, and was left climbing the friends ladder. Just weeks later, this girl entered another relationship. (Please reference Ladder Theory for the rest of this post to make sense).

I was bantering with my good friend - let's call him the "Kabillionaire" - and we were debating how this felt like Game Theory. Well, more like "game" theory. Specifically, we saw parallels in the Prisone r's Dilemma, as the equilibrium happens where both prisoners rat each other out to get the highest expected utility (or lowest expected jail time). Please see the diagram below:

As you can see, the highest expected utility for both players comes when the crushor decides not to display feelings, which is why its so damn difficult to muster the courage to go balls-to-the-wall. Let me explain.

The top outcome is ideal for both players. Unfortunately, it is also the most unlikely. Both players would be extremely happy with this outcome, for obvious reasons in the case of the crushor, and in the case of the crushee, perhaps she views the crushor as an upgrade. Guys, we all know girls who hop from relationship to relationship with seemingly no gap in between. It's best to play this game with them.

The second outcome is disaster city for the crushor. The crushee isn't thrilled about the prospect of dating him, but maybe she's a little flattered, providing minimal utility. The crushor gets no such minimal utility. Remaining on the friends ladder is a crushing rejection, and he now has to keep up the facade of being a friend, when really he'd rather not. But he keeps up this facade anyway just to stay on good terms and ease any awkward situations.

The third outcome is probably the worst overall for both players. The crushor gets minimal utility from knowing that he went for it, got rejected, but at least he doesn't have to face that rejection any more through a friendship. The crushee gets no utility - where she once had a friend, she now has nothing.

The fourth outcome, which is where I argue equilibrium lies, is the easiest outcome to attain. The crushor decides to do nothing, leaving open the possibility for more flirting and a ladder jump. Easy. The crushee is still happy because she expects nothing to change, leaving all the positive friendship feelings and harmless flirting as they will be. No problem.

If only both players could collude before the game began.

--Big J

Skills to Pay the Bills

2008-06-16T18:53:00.003-04:00

Somebody tagged a photo of me on facebook from a party this weekend. In this photo, I was holding a mixed drink and a Heineken in one hand, and using my other hand to make the bullshit spouting from my mouth seem legitimate.

I am very impressed with myself for one reason. I barely remember the night. So if I was so drunk that I can barely remember the night, how was I able to perform the amazing feat of holding two drinks in one hand without spilling or dropping one of them? Drink-holding skills, reader(s).

I had this thought two days later... If one had two drinks in each hand he would be quad-fisting, but what if he had three drinks in each hand? Let's put aside the fact that this is nearly impossible unless the daring individual has the hands of a manbearpig. What would it be called? Let's consult wikipedia for an answer.

Being consistent under the Latin system would yield sexfisting. This was enough to have me laughing to myself, until I realized under Sanskrit it would be shatfisting.

Imagine this conversation between two meatheads the morning after one of their big frat parties:

MEATHEAD #1: Hey bro, did you check out my keg stand last night? A minute thirty, chump.
MEATHEAD #2: Nah man, I was too busy shatfisting all night long.
MEATHEAD #1: Yeah me and my girl tried that once... It was weird.
MEATHEAD #2: Dude! What!?

--Big J

Meet "Girl"

2008-06-04T14:37:00.006-04:00

After CH's last post about... nevermind its gross. Basically, I want to get a way from whatever sick things are going through his head, and take the blog back in the direction of meaningful issues. I want to stray from being feces collectors, and be more like fecal alchemists. It's a noble pursuit.

The only problem with this pursuit is I haven't stumbled upon any pints of banter in the recent weeks. Not only that, I'm busy with my own life. Planning a move to a new apartment and starting a new job are both large pains in my ass.

Luckily, we have no problem letting other people do our work for us. In other words, we like to think outside the Pint by introducing our reader(s) to fresh voices. Johnny K has been a big hit (here, here, here, and here), so why not let a girl have a crack at it. Can't hurt. So let's give a "Thumbs Up!" and a warm Tasty Pint welcome to Girl.

--Big J

There is a boy who is coming to my greater metropolitan area next month and he wants to hang out. Considering my relationship status (perpetually failed followed by chronic restatements of fleeting interest), I have nothing to lose.

I’m sure you’re wondering about his redeeming qualities. Here they are: none.

Now, am I opposed to going out to dinner with him at a generic Italian restaurant, talking the finer points of his no-name med school and my mindless government job over bread, olive oil, and lobster ravioli? Not for any good reason.

Am I opposed to going to a bar - that while earning rave reviews on your typical “city insider” website, may only be enjoyable to its regulars - and having him buy me pink, fruity drinks? Hardly. Given my luck with men this would actually be quite useful in avoiding my talent for self-imposed wallowing.

You may be wondering, then, what my problem is. My problem is what four years of liberal arts didn't teach me concerning this very delicate topic. It is: the courtesy makeout.

I think it's safe to say that this guy would not be talking to me if he weren’t attracted to me, given that all he knows about me are pictures I have allowed to remain tagged on facebook. With this in mind, if he’s trying to hang out with me he probably expects something in return other than my sparkling personality. I'm left with this scenario: we walk out of the bar, exchange a few awkward hugs and “it was great to see you” bullcraps, and then the inevitable moment where he will surely lean forward and kiss me, because he is "just getting out of a messy breakup.” Maybe I should have mentioned this in his (lack of) redeeming qualities.

So I kiss him, that’s fine, maybe I even give him a little tongue, that’s fine. In the morally lenient hills of Sorority-Girl Land, everyone knows making out is really no different than a handshake. We all know he likes it, and let’s face it I’m bored and drunk so I probably like it too. But it begs the question: if he knows I only like it because I’m bored and drunk, will he know that it’s the courtesy makeout?

Boys, how do you feel about the courtesy makeout, especially if you’re aware you’re getting it? To be frank, I do not appreciate you in general because I’m still hung up on my latest lukewarm man. I probably said something pathetic about him while finishing that 4^th drink so you obviously know I’m not geeked to be sucking face with you right now. Do you still want my courtesy? If you’re lame enough to be standing outside the bar making out with me, you’d probably take my courtesy for as long as I would extend it. Let’s just be clear that you won’t be extending anything, and I will be going home alone tonight. But my questions remain unanswered. When to use the courtesy makeout: in direct proportion to number of drinks purchased? Or, whether one should attempt to disguise it: but on the off chance that he isn’t really that into me either, is there now a male version of the courtesy makeout at play?

The conclusion of this post will remain open for answering. Hey, no one ever said girls were smart…

--Girl

You are about to get donkey punched in the face

2008-05-30T13:33:00.008-04:00

Ok readers, get ready. I ‘m gonna shoot my wisdom-wad all over your mind-chest. I have become enlightened. How you might ask? It’s simple. I have seen the magical love between a man and a donkey. By magical love, I am referring to dirty barnyard manimal sex. If you’re not one for dick / fart / bestiality jokes, nor am I. But Tasty Pint will condone this post due to its educational content. This internet gem comes from one of the greatest forms of video entertainment on the web: The Vice Guide to Travel. Now I don’t want the Pint to become a blog which shamelessly leeches all of its content through links and youtube videos, but this post is different. This is a call to educate our reader(s) in worldly affairs. So prepare your brain-mouth for the Pints mind-cock.

--Chapter H

The Beijing Machine

2008-05-22T17:41:00.011-04:00

I'd like to tell the readers about a very small adventure I had while returning from a routine walk to have a growler filled with tasty pints. Before I could enjoy these pints I first had to trek up a forty-five degree grad through the neighborhood's dandelion forest (see image). I don't know if you can understand from the shatty camera picture, but that is the most ridiculous overgrowth of dandelions I have ever seen.

I thought I was home free, that is until I was blindsided by the Beijing Machine (see image). This carcinogenic beast drives around, turning everything in its path into an industrializing Asian city. It was so absurd people were actually taking cover behind houses, covering their faces in terror. I ducked behind an air conditioning unit situated between two houses and clutched the growler against my bosom, anxiously waiting for the third world country to pass. Where is Captain Planet when you need him?

--Chapter H

Word of the Day: Fecal Alchemist

2008-05-13T23:45:00.007-04:00

Before I get into the definition of this word, I'd like to tell the anecdote of how I arrived at fecal alchemist.

It all started on a rainy walk back from a mid-priced sushi restaurant in the Upper West Side of Manhattan. I was introducing my friend Brian to a conversation I have had with college roommates, that there are two types of people in this world: those who sit down while they wipe their ass, and those who stand. There might even be a third type of person who does a half-sit half-stand, like a squat, but I'm not sure about that. Please reference the venn diagram below to clear up any confusion.

The conversation shifted from this topic to an even more cogent topic: the "courtesy flush" in office buildings. Brian claimed that because of the unusually strong flush of corporate toilets, standers are more prone to get up and let the autoflush do its duty, whereas sitters will probably never risk a courtesy flush. Wait a minute, risk a courtesy flush? What are you talking about Big J?

A sitter won't trigger the manual flush on these glorious plumbing devices because as Brian puts it: "That's fecal bits right there."

"Of course!" I thought to myself. Fecal bits. It makes so much sense. No sitter in his right mind would want his own fecal bits to be shot back up at him during a powerful flush. So the next time you're in an office building and think the doucheington next to you should courtesy flush, show some empathy for his situation. He's probably a sitter protecting himself against fecal bits.

I wanted to look up fecal bits at urbandictionary.com, and didn't find it. Then I thought about coining the term, but didn't feel comfortable because I didn't come up with it. I did, however, run into the definition for fecal alchemist. From urbandictionary.com:

One who can turn a large pile of shit into something golden.

And that's what we do here at a Tasty Pint. Turn the large pile of shit that is our ideas into golden posts. Well, they're golden in my opinion.

--Big J

Errata:

Figure 1.a should be replaced with:

--Chapter H

Bed Warz: Bed sharing etiquette 101 - the lessons we've learned

2008-05-09T00:32:00.003-04:00

Today a Tasty Pint brings forth a pressing issue that only elitist ivy leaguers and beleaguered Clinton supporters will care about. Haha, yeah right, you thought we were gonna talk politics? On this site!? Hahaha… Eff you Hillary I don’t even want to give you my Michigan vote.

At the Pint, the real issues (here’s one for example) start with our patented creative process, which is usually begun with a bone of contention between me and Chapter H. Our biggest bone this past weekend has been the paradigm shift in bed sharing etiquette. By the end of college – hell, maybe even middle school - it is nearly taboo for two men to share one bed. Of course this taboo feeling makes little sense, and neither does the math (1 dude + 1 dude = 1 bed?). Why shouldn't one brah be able to help out another brah by offering half of his bed during a weekend of partying?

The reason, faithful reader(s), is brought to you by Steve Martin and John Candy in “Planes, Trains, and Automobiles.”

God, I love YouTube. But this is a serious concern to those who decide to crash in the same bed, therefore we needed ground rules. One of the basic ground rules we had to lay down was that the middle third of the bed is a barrier. No crossing! When you select your bed sharing partner, make sure that person doesn’t stir in his sleep, or he might end up riding you like Del in the above clip. We had a classic moment one night when the beastly CH rose from his slumber, nearly rolled to my third of the bed, and opened his eyes just in time to receive the most crushing look of displeasure from Big J. You can’t apologize for this type of transgression; however, he did utter a resounding “Oh, no.” Pretty much the most appropriate thing he could have said.

Crossing the border doesn’t stop with body parts, fools. Any gases that you may (in)advertently release into the enclosed bedroom space are risky. You cannot wake your bedmate with a fart, it’s such a faux pas. But if you wake yourself, it’s pretty funny and equally uncool.

This whole deal is pretty simple. Bring your own pillow. Don’t share a blanket. Soon you’ll be sharing beds with the best of ‘em.

--Big J

Dog Mouth vs. Opposable Thumb

2008-05-03T15:11:00.003-04:00

So imagine a video game where there is an arch villain and a hero. The hero has the choice between the mouth and agility of a hound; or the dextarity and multi-purposeness of an opposable thumb. What would you pick?

For me, the answer is simple. I would obviously pick the opposable thumb. Make your own choice though...

The thesis for this came while walking in the park and coming to the conclusion that "I could kill a fucking dog"

--Johnny K

It's Rebuttle Time

2008-04-30T00:27:00.004-04:00

It’s time for me to crush CH’s argument that flying is the superior ability to teleporting. But first, the big news this week is that I will reunite with the lazy turd at my alma mater - his present mater - for a weekend of brainstorming. That’s right, reader(s), we’re committed to delivering you the freshest content possible, and doing it while blitzed out of our collective mind.

Now, down to business. Most of my argument centers around the truth that teleporting is the more functional ability. Sure, it’s not as glamorous as flying, and it’s a little bit freaky. Disappearing in a puff of smoke makes you seem more like a street magician than a certified badass. Because of the street magic factor, I would think that most girls prefer flying over teleporting. Also, you can create many more romantic situations. For example, you could fly to the proverbial “Make Out Hill,” or wherever kids go these days to grope each other.

What you lose in relaxation you gain in speed. Shitty mud puddle? No problem, teleport to the other side. No crosswalk? No problem, just monster truck over all the traffic. Oh, whoops, everybody hold on just a darn minute; I’m confusing this power with my #2 desired superpower, to be a Transformer. Autobots, unite!

I’m going to list out a few situations in which teleporting would make things so much easier, and more fun. I guarantee some of these things you, or CH, never thought about. How ‘bout when you’re at the grocery store and you have bags of groceries? How convenient is it to just teleport right to your refrigerator? Very convenient, especially for those of you who get the munchies from time to time. No need to ride dirty - with your Bubble Kush - all the way home.

How about those times when you need to get away for a weekend, and anywhere in reasonable flying distance isn’t gonna cut it? Personally, I’m thinking about going to California to ski in the middle of winter. Flying over the Rockies is just dangerous, yo. Insert your own preferences here, and I’m sure you’ll find a situation where only teleporting will make the trip worth your time.

Sometimes, people just need to make quick escapes. What happens when you wake up in the arms of coyote ugly, and their room doesn’t have any windows? You’re certainly not flying through the roof; you’re not Superman. Teleporting would allow you to get away without a peep, and you would avoid any awkward exchange of contact information.

My 40-year-old coworker in Tahoe brought to my attention a serious issue, and that’s drunk teleporting. When you’re done drinking for the night, there is no need to call a taxi or worry about drunk driving. You’re home, inebriated and passed out, in a matter of seconds. Think about what a disaster drunk flying would be. Better think about purchasing a helmet; head trauma is a real possibility.

Flying is a great power, and I’m not going to pretend that I wouldn’t love to fly. But if I had my choice teleporting opens opportunities that flying can’t even touch. I’m sure the reader(s) can think of more situations; please leave them in the comments. This is an open topic of discussion, and will probably never be settled. Big J out!

--Big J

Flying or Teleporting? Flying, Fo Sho

2008-04-28T23:15:00.005-04:00

Big J here. CH is busy studying for something, which I think most people refer to as final exams. While he winges about how much work he has to do, some of us have to do the important work, like writing for The Pint. He's been such a lazy turd that he can't even find time to post his own writing, so I have to do it. Today's topic is flying vs. teleportation, enjoy:

This is an epic debate of man, to very few. You can define, judge, and segregate people based on their preference for the ability to fly or teleport (back of the bus, teleporters). Months ago, I stumbled upon this classic discussion with Big J while we were enjoying Tasty Pints. From there the discussion grew, snowballing as more people became involved. Still unresolved, I would like to explain the clear advantages of personal flight.

Flight is the more enviable ability, as man has always envied the birds. Dive bombing into parties will be even more enjoyable as girls frantically beg you to Superman them, and crank dat soulja boy.

As with Teleporting, I imagine any girl can be yours, but it is better for her to be yours with effortless flight. Missionary is like doing bridges till your abs and shoulders explode. With flight, one can relax on top, with hands resting behind the head.

The relaxation and convenience doesn’t stop there. Imagine napping anywhere, an invisible hammock you can sleep on anytime. Shitty mud puddle? No problem, just hover over it. No crosswalk? No problem, just hover over traffic. Poverty? No problem, just hover over the swine. Sure you can teleport, but that’s just being lazy, where’s the fun? Flying will let you get places teleporting can’t. Planet Earth will become dirty smut after you give a flying man a camera. Cinematography is taken to a new level.

Let’s get into the biggest weakness of flying, which is time of travel. Teleporters will tell you that they can go anywhere instantly. And I think I have to make a bit of a concession here. It’s the only aspect of this debate where flying falls short, because if you can only fly at the speed of a commercial aircraft you’re not gaining globetrotting abilities, and I’m not talking about the fancy basketball tricks.

If you need more proof that teleporting is for losers, check out the clip below. It’s about The Tomorrow People, a British sci-fi TV mini-series that aired on Nickelodeon in 1992. It makes teleporting look about as cool as… I don’t know, doing dishes. Come on, teleporters, you’re not worried you might get knocked unconscious and mistakenly teleport yourself into the ocean without knowing? It’s a long a clip that recaps most of the first series, but stick with it and you’ll be rewarded. In fact, I wish there was more out there on this ridiculous show so I could write a separate post.

Ground rules to the power of teleportation and flight:

Teleportation works similarly to Nightcrawler’s ability. You can only teleport yourself and a limited amount of mass (about what you could carry on your back). You possess a limited "spatial awareness" which stops you from teleporting into solid objects within an immediate vicinity, but this ability diminishes the farther the distance you teleport. Far distances or excessive teleportation can leave you fatigued.

Flying works similarly to Superman but is slightly more limited. You have complete control over your flight which includes hovering and rotating about any axis. Unlike Superman, excessive flying can become tiresome. Your flight speed is limited to that of a commercial aircraft and you cannot carry anything you wouldn't be able to lift normally.

--Chapter H

Bus etiquette 101 - the lessons I've learned

2008-04-15T21:29:00.004-04:00

I write this post through the jaded eyes of man on a bus. Currently that man is me, and I could not be more disgruntled. Originally my bus etiquette post would have been an upbeat silly post resembling something off of Sienfeld:

The complexity of social behavior and ‘norms’ are intricate, taking a lifetime of observation to master. I was confronted with a new social dilemma while riding the local town transit. The crowded bus left no seat vacant, and fortunately, my seat partner was a nearly par human. Bus Seat Buddies are no fun and after a couple stops I was anxious to move. By the time the bus cleared out, we were not but one, maybe two stops from the final destination. I decided not to move. Why? You might naively ask. Well, this situation is quite complex. With only one stop to go, moving to a new seat would equivocally say: “Hey, fuck you seat partner. You are so disgusting I am going to go out of my way to get up and move from your ugly ass. Even though we are less than a minute from exiting, I can no longer sit next to you.” So instead, being the polite individual I am, the two of us, strangers, sat side by side in a nearly vacant bus, seat partners till the end.

Well, that is NOT my post. My post has taken a turn (or transfer) for the worst. My current state: humiliation. Despite the recommended obtuse angle, my laptop sits at an acute angle, wedged between my gut and the headrest in front of me. For the first time I wish I had the nubby arms of a fetus. Instead my wrists painfully contort like a third grader imitating a retard. However, I can say I have learned a lot.

My situation was not by luck, but rather a lack of “bus smarts”. After downing a quick pint with my roommate, the Ginger Giant, I departed from a lovable American college, alongside fellow respectable students. The next stop was the first sign of trouble. The bus exceeded half capacity and I learned my first lesson.

One by one, seat partners enter the bus. I throw on a grimace and pile my shit in the seat next to me in an act to tell the noobs that I am not open to a seat partner relationship. In fact, I am not even going to give any of these bastards the eye contact they need to pull some shit. The Asian girl in front of me seems to be following a similar protocol. One by one, people pass me by, it’s working. Then I look up, and to my surprise the Asian girl has moved from the aisle seat to the window seat, welcoming the next person to sit! “What has she done!?”, I think to myself. I would later realize her genius. The next person to pass her by was a near copy of herself, another Asian student with a similar style. Without anyone’s knowledge the girl in front of me, my new teacher, has been profiling every individual as they enter the bus. I decided to stay strong as the lowlife townies enter the bus. My strategy had succeeded, until Binghamton NY. “Lowlife townie” should have been reserved for this stop. The Binghamtards and bottom feeders of NYC pour onto the bus. In a panic, I try to sort through the chaotic situation, scrambling to cut my losses. Then, like a poor child in India, I was forced into marriage. Without a choice, I was given a seat partner, our relationship consummated by the perpetual touch of our legs.

--Chapter H

Fortune tellers didn't see this coming . . .

2008-04-14T20:46:00.005-04:00

So, the other night I was on a drunk march around the neighborhood when I decided that I would take a local gypsy duo up on their neon signed offer - it was time to know my fortune. I always pass this place and wonder how the hell they are able to afford the rental space on Sullivan Street in the Village with such an absurd service. Their business reasoning skills, as I soon found out, led to even more confusion for those trying to understand how they can afford to eat (they probably consume the leftover pears no one wants).

I stopped in and asked the two idle women in the window how much a tarot card reading would be. They said "palm reading ten dollars, tarot fifteen." I looked at them with a drunken brow and thought to myself . "alllriight I get to test the negotiation skills acquired in my overpriced law school." I offered five dollars for the tarot reading - which I thought reasonable - and those fuckers said "no," even after many attempts at persuasion. They even got indignant, which is a rare sight - indignant gypsies that is.

Let me get this straight. Indignant gypsies are passing up five dollars to flip cards and tell me I'm going to die young or some other bullshit? (I'm guessing they give bad omens to all the drunk pricks that try to haggle down their gypsy prices).

I didn't feel like teaching the intricacies of the BATNA (or microeconomics) to these two mongoloids, so I continued my march.

Then the other day I saw another disgruntled street walker who decided he wasn't gonna take their irrational non-cooperative bullshit. He tried to kick in their glass box, supplying their door with a gnarly crack down the side. So now the irony-loving among us have something to laugh about when walking down Sullivan Street, as we think to ourselves "you should have seen that coming."

--Johnny K

Come Here Often?

2008-04-06T00:39:00.006-04:00

CH is slacking his ass off, which doesn't make me happy. Listen fool, your order of priorities should be blog first, everything else second.

Thinking about my partner in crime and his slacking reminds me of a conversation we started, but somehow couldn't finish, about what it means to be a "regular" at a bar. We had become regulars at the bar that inspired this site's title, so we really wanted to break it down. The problem was we only got to about three levels, so more research was needed. Well, the time has come for me to poach all of his research, go over his head, and publish Tasty Pint's "Come Here Often?" Levels of Bar Regularity: 1st Edition.

Level 1 - Joey. You're just a member of the general public. Maybe it's your first time, maybe you've been there a few times before, but you definitely don't recognize anyone besides your posse, and nobody recognizes you. You get carded every time you walk up to the bouncer, despite having had a 10 minute conversation about your home state during your last visit. Better start tipping more, you cheap bastard.

Level 2 - Dude. The bouncer finally recognizes you, congrats! Hopefully you're on first name basis with him, but it's not required. You never know what kind of drugs these guys are on anyway, and which of those cause memory loss (probably all of them). Depending on how chummy you are with the bartenders, you may be stuck at this level for a while, although late in this stage of development you can look at the Joeys with palpable pretension. Huge bonus.

Level 3 - Trustworthy. The bartenders start extending you lines of credit that last longer than a night. You're starting to approach the upper echelon of regularity.

Level 4 - Regular. You made it, friend. This level may occur when you're Trustworthy, depending on how many bartenders are employed, and you need a little luck to get one with a good memory. So check it out, you have your drink ready for you as you get to the establishment of choice. My Tahoe coworker Nick explains: "I had my double bourbon on the rocks and a spit cup ready for me when I arrived, and it was the best feeling ever." The spit cup is for chew, for those northerners who missed the reference.

Level 5 - Lowlife. You start getting phone calls at the bar. This is a very difficult level to attain in the age of cell phones, because it means that your friends have your number stored as the bar. Well done, sir.

Level 6 - Resident. You have 1st class mail forwarded to the bar. Your W2s show up once a year as you're sipping your favorite drink. (NOTE: your regularity is so serious that your favorite drink might even have your name.) There is a hint of Lowlife-ness here when the IRS calls the bar to get a hold of you to collect back taxes.

Level 7 - Owner. 'Nuff said.

If you find yourself solidly above Trustworthy, it's time to seek help, unless you're the owner.

--Big J

Update: Elderly Sighted Eating Taco Bell

2008-03-25T22:26:00.005-04:00

An old friend and religious consumer of Taco Bell took on the Tasty Pint Taco Bell challenge. Casey, the elderly bounty hunter, has successfully found an old age male eating fourth meal. “It was really tough. I eat there almost every day and couldn’t spot an old person,” said Casey during a phone interview. A low resolution picture taken on his cellular phone provided a verifiable sighting.

-Chapter H

While looking for synonyms for elderly, I stumbled upon urban dictionaries definition:

CabbageTown Crack Whores No More?

2008-03-15T22:00:00.003-04:00

As you may very well know, Atlanta took a beating even Michael Vick’s dogs couldn’t handle. I think most of us have imagined a 130mph tornado ripping through the heart of a major city, and now our satiated imaginations can rest peacefully.

Many places were hit, among them the Georgia Dome and CNN Center. Was the catastrophe perhaps a CNN conspiracy to boost ratings? I’m just saying, how cool would it be to report a story from your cubicle. With the multitude of tortastic locations this event leaves Tasty Pint with an important question. What about the Cabbagetown Crack Whores? Well, unfortunately (?) Cabbagetown took a big hit last night. With streets covered in debris (i.e. Chuck Taylors, PBR, and chunky black frame glasses) the devastated community of hipsters and bohemian yuppies may no longer be able support its local crack whore population. I can only hope that the temporary displacement does not take from the “charm” of Cabbagetown.

--Chapter H, at Phillthy Airport (on a plane, trapped next to a morbidly obese pizza oven)

Waking up with Neanderthals

2008-03-09T17:26:00.003-04:00

I went to the natural history museum recently. Paid five of the suggested 20 dollars. I learned all about how Neanderthals co-existed with us humans. I think there would be much hilarity if they were still around today. For instance:

"Man ... I really tied one on last night."

"Oh yeah?" What the hell happened?"

"Man ... I got so damn drunk !!!"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah man ... I fucked a Neanderthal. Don't say anything though!"

"Holy shit!!!" "You fucked a Neanderthal last night?"

"Fuck!!! .... Yeah man I did." "Don't tell anyone though."

"Naw man ... I won't."

--Johnny K

Word of the Day: Sidefind

2008-03-06T22:56:00.002-05:00

It's official...

Dude, Where's Waldo?

2008-03-04T01:57:00.010-05:00

Good evening and Happy March! So far, I've had a rippin' month. CH has been holding down the fort at Tasty Pint, keeping the site fresh with content for our loyal reader(s). I'm sorry, bro-han, for not being around and cutting down on your bantering time.

In some breaking news, I finally moved out of the poo-hole I was living in, and upgraded to an even nicer poo-hole.

Now that I'm living in a house, it got me thinking about domestic bliss (scented with ginger and lemon). But I realized that true domestic bliss can't be achieved through soft, moist hands; rather, it can only be achieved through providing top notch reading materials for your house guests.

For this dilemma of reading satisfaction, I submit to you that the Where's Waldo? series makes the best coffee table book. What could be more gripping for a grown adult than trying to find Waldo, Wenda, Odlaw, Wizard Whitebeard, and/or Woof? (Give it a go below)

See? It is excessively fun. There's really not much more to say. This idea is so good I could sell it, although, Tasty Pint always has one more thing to say...

Where's Waldo? inspires an idea for an insult that could make a splash with the reader(s). I call it a "sidefind." In the series, there are bonus finds the reader can look for if they tear through all the main finds. Sometimes these bonus finds are characters that look absolutely ridiculous, like a pirate smoking a long white pipe, with a cutlass hanging from his belt and a bandolier of bullets strapped to his chest.

I think we should start calling outlandish people sidefinds, or really anybody who would look like a cartoon character after a wardrobe change. The fact that we even pay such people attention should require us to name the species.

The colloquialism would be something like this:

CH: Dude, check out that old lady eating Taco Bell!
BJ: Now THAT is a sidefind...
CH: ...Totally sidefindish.

Chapter H better get started on the Urban Dictionary submission.

--Big J

Monster Truckin' People's Faces

2008-02-26T10:43:00.002-05:00

Unfortunately, the distance between me and Big J has critically reduced the amount of stupid banter in my life. I must fill the void with some older humorous incidents:

A-Town is known for its traffic and this past holiday season was no exception. In the passenger seat, my friend, I'll call Potatoe [1], anxiously waits to take a healthy boy shit. His asshole quivers as we sit in gridlock traffic. Under his breath he murmurs something. Then again, only now the whisper has the inflection of a shout: “monster truck!”.

After an inquiry, he replied with something as follows: “I want to monster truck these people in front of me. Give me a monster truck and I will monster truck my way to the mall and take a healthy boy shit.”

He was right. Forget a flying car, only a monster truck could offer the satisfaction I desired. I didn't want to navigate my way above traffic. I wanted to monster truck my way over everyones faces. Why hasn't anyone thought of that? He replies, “It's already been done. It is too great of an idea to have been overlooked. Google it, someone did it.”

Next time traffic has you down, consider purchasing a monster truck.

--Chapter H

[1] He acquired the name Potatoe, because his head looks like a potatoe. Shaving your head is a gamble, most people have ugly shaped heads.

Just For the Record...the Eskimo Tip

2008-02-20T17:35:00.003-05:00

I am embarrassed to talk about this, but...

First of all, since my homie at A Tasty Pint decided to expose and advertise the Eskimo Tip, I thought I should at the very least say a little something about my creation. The Eskimo Tip is a secret / curse I unearthed in the year 2006. Its origins date back to 2001, but back then I was just casually poking my wiener around, all hopped up on marijuana and mom's home cooking - living in a carefree, mistake-ridden, unpolished sexual utopia or lack thereof. I was too naive to realize what I had created. The Eskimo Tip is when you put...well, let's tell the whole story.

It all started innocently enough. One night after work, I gave this...let's call her a...a...Polar Bear a ride home from work. She invited me onto her iceberg and eventually into her home. A few minutes of hibernation talk and I was in. After three strokes, I needed to delay or else it would be too late. So like a dork, I pulled out and amateurishly began to Eskimo kiss said Polar Bear. Fifty-five seconds and two weeks later, I had a problem on my hand. This Arctic mammal kinda liked me. In fact, she kinda loved me and I kinda liked my friends, and weed, and playing hockey, and porn a lot more than I liked her. I just figured she liked me 'cause I was kind of a badass. What a child I was!

So a few years later, I innocently enough thought I would bust the Eskimo Tip out with the sole purpose of making myself laugh. Just like when I bust my old Charlotte Hornets Starter jacket out...a throwback, just to be funny. I mean, the Eskimo Tip IS kinda cute...like Knut. I had been making a lot of "Just the Tip" jokes, and was going through a period where I was trying to acquire comedy wherever I could find it. So one night, I put it in this...let's call her, how about a Black Bear. Anyway, I just barely put it in, and decided I'd say, "Ohhh. Ahhh. Wait...Uhhh...You know you want it," as I simultaneously pulled out and began Eskimo kissing Mama Bear. Then, I put it in a little bit more, only to do the same thing again. I thought this was hilarious. Then I did whatever, giggled, and fell asleep in my basketball / j off shorts. I thought that was that. However, Smokey the Bear must have thought this was the greatest four minutes of her life because she was in love.

I had a feeling there was some kind of trend developing and it could have been due to the Eskimo kisses, but I had to be sure. So again, a few months later I ran into a hot, umm...let's call her an Arctic Muskrat. After much self-deliberation and fearful nightmares, I decided it was time to unleash the Eskimo Tip on Musky and see what happened - for research purposes, of course. So I did it, and I did it good. One stroke - Less than an inch still in. Some hardcore Eskimo kissing and "You want it, don't you"s. And wouldn't you know it, within a few days this...Arctic Furbearer was blowing up my phone and showing up at my igloo. Now that the Eskimo Tip has been tipped, all that I want to say is that you should use it at your own risk. Educate yourself. Know the risks and know the benefits. If you don't want a ManFluid loving Sperm Whale, a Lake Chub, or for you "suspects" out there, a Bearded Seal to fall in love with you, then don't bust this curse out. If you happen to bang Maria Sharapova, you might want to use it.

I know I invented it, but I never wanted this to go public. However, since one of my friends publicized and disseminated a classified item, I thought I would give you a brief history on the Eskimo Tip, what it really is, and how it originated. Sorry.

-Dank

This post comes from a superior blog with a very forgettable name: Candy Painted Cadillacs and Triple Gold. With permission from Dank, I have stolen the quality content.

I Hate Pears

2008-02-18T20:31:00.003-05:00

A good friend and contributer to Tasty Pint, Johnny K, has an unfortunate distaste for what many consider a decadent fruit. I realized, after many beers, a passionate exchange of opinions regarding fruit can alienate others in a bar. To prevent this, we have given a home and outlet to those sharing the feelings of J'K. Here is his story:

Recently, while perusing the produce isle of the low slung shacks
Manhattanites have agreed to call "super markets", I came across the lowest and most miserable excuse for food that man has ever stumbled upon and decided to put in his mouth: the pear.

Now I've never actually seen the source of this damnable victual - the
pear tree - and my only idea of one has a bunch of fucking partridges
in it. I imagine it to be a thorny and twisted mutant of a thing
which throughout history fed only slaves and retarded children
(probably the only reason they weren't all burned for heat).

This fruit tries to pass itself off as something akin to an apple which
you can pick up and eat with satisfaction, but it's a trick. There is
nothing satisfying about it. The irritation at having a mouthful of
grainy pear flesh shift around my mouth is infuriating. When you eat
one your immediate reaction is confusion, because usually you would
attempt the type of pre-digestion called chewing, but, conveniently
for elderly women, this bullshit fruit avoids that necessity
altogether providing you with a sickly sweet mish mash that can just
glide down the back of your throat on its own.

You might be asking yourself the question, "well, if the pear is that
bad, why do people buy it?" I have a theory for this phenomenon.

Usually I always buy granny smith apples which are a delectable treat
full of sweet taste and a satisfying crunch when bitten into. Perhaps pear lovers are simply jaded individuals who have adjusted to the texture of shitty apples; a mushy ball of overripe garbage. Shitty apples in a conveniently shitty shape are called Pears.

--Johnny K

This Valentines Day, give her the Eskimo Tip

2008-02-14T22:13:00.002-05:00

Even Tasty Pint knows a thing or two about love. What could be a
better time to educate / offend people than on V-Day? Ok, there are

various ways to win a girls heart. Complimenting a girls haircut is

an easy ace in the hole. "I like your hair, did you get it cut?" This is
a winner, doesn't matter if she actually got it cut, you still earn
some points. Unfortunately, to get her heart takes more than that;
months of gifts, dinner, and movies (or the more risky work of
slapping her in the face and telling her she is a whore. Only works

for 20% of women, but costs less .. so is an option worth

considering). But, complimenting the haircut is the first step toward
an opportunity to perform an amazing relationship shortcut. My friend Dank

explains a technique he calls the Eskimo Tip.

After you shower her with a bunch of Hallmark bullshit this Valentines
Day, she'll probably be ready to get busy. This sucks. The one day
you are willing to play things slow, be romantic, she is ready to hop
your bone. Well don't cave. The moment you are about break the seal,
stop. Instead, smile and lovingly give Eskimo kisses. Teetering at
the edge of penetration, she'll smile, maybe giggle, anxiously
awaiting your slop. What's really happening is a mental mindrape.
Her association of sex and romance is at a maximum, creating a
biblical consummation of love only to be broken with divine
intervention, or when you get bored of her. When you feel she can't
live without you and her soul is yours, do the nasty. After
successfully completing this maneuver, look forward to a relationship

where you go dutch at movies, have sex during halftime, and find
packed lunches for work.

I suspect Big J had been using this trick to get free pad thai.

-Chapter H

Are You Cubin'?

2008-02-13T19:27:00.006-05:00

One thing I’ve learned since moving to California is that people from the East Coast are so uptight. I think about the life I left behind, the life to which I will eventually return, and I think about how silly concepts like a “career” and “motivation” are. I’ve also lost the ability to write in English, as evidenced by my last sentence.

But I’m learning other important lessons, like how different drugs affect people. All kinds of drugs, too; this education is kicking every Health Class’ collective ass.

My most recent discovery is Snuff. If you bothered to click on the link, you would have discovered that it’s a tobacco product originated in Europe that is meant to be “snuffed” through the nose. As you can imagine, this is a big hit with the cocaine users. The feel is much like every tobacco product, except seemingly better. It kicks in immediately and gives an unparalleled body buzz. See the image on the right to get a visual of what Snuff users look like caught in the act.

What they’re doing in the picture is snorting a cube of the tobacco from the base of the thumb. This action results in the phrase “Are you cubin’?” "No, I’m mostly Polish, but I'll cube."

You can also do a snake bite (two cubes – one for each nostril) or a double snake bite (you figure it out) if you really need to. Your doctor would not recommend either, I’m sure.

It’s pretty funny to see my coworkers use this stuff. We work a job that can get pretty monotonous and frustrating, and the humor kicks in when you realize that it keeps 75% of our crew going for the whole day (I smell a sponsorship deal in the works). For example, about half a can of Snuff was spilled on someone’s skis. This was epicly bad for the new addicts in the group, until one of the guys, 10 feet away, did a massive nose first body slide into the ski, just so he could get a HUGE hit. Most followed suit, which resulted in the crew looking like they had just eaten shit. I suppose they had, in some respects. The highest of high comedy, folks.

If you ever decide to try this magical brown substance, and become a Snuff-leupagus (I would have expected it to be spelled more phonetically), be prepared for a couple of things. First, don’t trust your farts. But if you do and you’re feeling risky, bring a knife, so you can cut yourself out of your underwear. Incidentally, this has been a part of my California education as well. I hear you can do it in two cuts. Quite a mind puzzle, methinks. Second, if you do hold on to your bowel movements and lay fresh tracks down somewhere, be prepared for Cosby to call in and confirm the pudding.

And yes, you will eventually have to blow your nose. Did you expect something different?

--Big J

Re: Baby Boxes

2008-01-31T16:11:00.001-05:00

Good afternoon! It's been a while since I've written for the blog because I've been skiing every day, which makes me too exhausted to do anything except enjoy tasty pints and sleep. No good musings either, because all we talk about at the bar is skiing, and I doubt our readers want to hear all the gnarly lines you could rip at Squaw Valley USA.

Frankly, I need help. This is where my partner in crime comes to the rescue. This is an actual email from CH to BJ.

Dear Big J,

Baby Boxes ™ , a modest proposal which could make every plane ride more enjoyable. A recent encounter with an incessantly crying child reminded me of a brilliant invention I once had. Babies would be stowed away, perhaps as overhead carry-on, in special sound proof boxes. Those bastards can cry their hearts out without disturbing my comfort. I am talking about even the most melodramatic crying babies are capable of, the type of crying where they are choking on their own tears, gasping for breath, but lacking any purpose in their effort to ruin my trip.

These boxes would be equipped with water or milk dispensers, much like that in a hamster cage. We could also occasionally dump mushed carrots, peas, or whatever they eat (perhaps my happiness?) upon their face. With food and beverage they will be getting the same service as the rest of us. Their personal space per pound of human will also be on par with the rest of us crammed adults.

I have two potential pictures. Both made me laugh. Babies are stupid.

-Chapter H

Northside Tavern and Cabbagetown Crack Whores

2008-01-15T17:16:00.001-05:00

Last night I went to an old favorite dive, the Northside Tavern. Like most of the real dive bars in Atlanta, it is overrun with Hipsters. Although Northside Tavern does draw an eclectic group of locals, it is especially appealing to the hipster scene because of its underground jazz artists. These guys selflessly jam without a set-list and manage to win the hearts of listeners, even the DD's. To further understand or summarize this place: it houses a crazy ass who rocks out on a chicken coop with antlers (image below).

Dives are an inspiration and appreciation for bathroom graffiti. The putrid walls foster talent. I photographed one which made me laugh:

What’s the difference between the men’s room at the NorthsideTavern and a Cabbagetown Crack Whore . . . . . .
In a pinch you can take a shit on a Cabbagetown crack whore.

I will verify that this is in fact true. Here is what the bathroom looks like (see image right, notice there is no seat). Even if one attempted such an act, the bowl contains the urine of 40 men and a potential splash back upon your ass could result in a lethal dose of bacteria and disease. With regards to the other part, take my word, in a pinch it is possible.

(Note that Cabbagetown is a small part of Atlanta known only to hipsters and bohemian yuppies. The reference makes the joke pretentiously local to the hipster scene.)

I feel obligated to add a closing remark. We at Tasty Pint do not want our reader(s?) to misconstrue our attitude towards Northside Tavern. For those unfamiliar with the joint, go there. It is perhaps one of the most enjoyable places in Atlanta. Tasty pints and crunchy tunes.

--Chapter H

a Dream Come True

2008-01-08T23:02:00.000-05:00

It turns out my resolution to stop wasting time writing for this blog may be fulfilled. In fact, I won't be wasting very much time at all, because I finally have something to do between now and July.

My dream of becoming a ski bum has almost come true - I have a flight out to Reno tomorrow, where I will probably begin working at Squaw Valley. I'm pumped, but more importantly, I'm going to be sharing Tasty Pints with a whole new set of characters.

What does this mean for your 4th favorite blog (on a good day)? It means I'll be trying to capture into words a whole new set of experiences. My only hope is that they are as entertaining as my musings with CH. Stay tuned.

--Big J

P.S. Does this "thumbs up" look like a normal gesture or does it look like the thumb is at about the perfect angle to go up someone's ass. I vote the latter.

To pwn a girl

2008-01-03T20:31:00.000-05:00

In a recent conversation with my friend John, a discussion about emoticons and internet acronyms lead to the word pwned. What he had to say had me LMAO.

Not knowing the actual definition, he assumed it was an act in which one person puts his penis in any one of the holes of another individual. His sample sentences were also humorous: “I pwned that chick last night.” “I was pwning her and she couldn’t do anything about it.” To his credit, when used as a verb it does sound dirty.

The real origins of the word are dull. If you know them, chances are, you are not pwning any chicks.

--Chapter H

a Resolution for the Rest of Us

2008-01-02T11:34:00.000-05:00

Happy New Year! I had a grand old time partying and procuring myself a wine-induced hangover. But with hangovers, the New Year brings resolutions. What are mine, you ask? First, less Hangovers. A cappella is overrated. Second, I’ll probably resolve to waste less time perusing the internet. Sounds like something you might want to do as well, considering you’re reading this blog. [Editor’s Note: We appreciate your time.]

More importantly, I’m resolving that my time is best spent on women. Specifically, understanding them. It sounds ambitious and cliché, but I think with a little bit of elbow grease I can really crank this one out. Specifically, the research. While perusing the internet, I came across this list from Maxim which provides me with 100 things that I never knew about women. I couldn’t believe my luck. It looks like I’ll finish this resolution early, so I can get started on my fourth resolution: stop wasting my time writing for this blog. [Editor’s Note: Again, we appreciate your time.]

Here are my knee jerk reactions to some of these 100 things:

95. The sight of you in your socks and underwear is the biggest turnoff in the world.

What about just my socks? Awww, yeah, it’s business time.

71. “Women grow hairs in a lot of the same places that men do...”—Katie, 26

Ohmygod, women grow hair on their balls!? COME ON!

68. Eighty-five: The number of males per 100 females in Gary, Indiana, lowest male-to-female ratio of any city with a population of 100,000-plus.

Yeah, according to the 2000 Census. This same Census reports that for every 100 females age 18 and over, there were 78.0 males. So what kind of morals are you pushing on your reader, Maxim? And are you suggesting that a young eligible bachelor move to a city where a quarter of the population is below the poverty line, because the entire economy is based on a fading manufacturing industry? But hey, they opened two casinos on the lakefront. This town is basically a downscaled version of Detroit. COME ON!

67. Kiss her before two dates have gone by or you’ll be “friended.”

Ah, a diamond in the rough. See this link.

19. The more piercings she has, the more places she’ll let you put it.

This is the old adage I was referring to in a Walk on the Wild Side.

3. The one breakup line she’ll never be able to argue you out of: “I’m sorry, but I no longer have feelings for you.”

ANY guy who has ever had a crazy ex knows this is not true. The response to this line? “WHY!? I LOVE YOU, it’s NOT OVERRRR!” I so wish I was just joking about that.

After reading this list I really do feel like I know women a whole lot better. I hope that you have as much success as I did at working on your resolutions.

--Big J

a Hero for the Ages

2007-12-29T02:29:00.000-05:00

Remember when we were young, when if celebrities wanted to become involved in the environment, they would pledge their voice to a character on the defining cartoon of the generation? Yeah, me too. And I miss those days. Today celebrities would rather cough up $20 million for an “eco-friendly mega-mansion” than offer their time for a noble cause.

For those of you who don’t know what I’m talking about, “Captain Planet and the Planeteers” debuted with such celebrity backing as Whoopi Goldberg, Meg Ryan, Jeff Goldblum, Martin Sheen, Sting (!?), and last but not least, Tim Curry (um, you know, the hotel manager from Home Alone 2: Lost in New York. Seriously, you need to get out more).

Shocking, I know. But if creator Ted Turner taught us anything, it’s that entertainment and education CAN mix! The only thing that I’m not sure about is if I would let my kids anywhere near a TV playing Captain Planet. Let’s recap what was usually a ridiculous 30 minutes of quality television.

Each episode would start out with the Planeteers (Kwame, Wheeler, Linka, Gi, and Ma-Ti) somewhere around the globe. These selfless bastards are usually cleaning up some trash or something like that. In one of my favorite episodes they are saving a rain forest in South America. Events would unfold from here, and Gaia would probably summon the Planeteers so she could tell them of how the earth is getting polluted by one of the evil bosses.

In the same episode as above, they learned of a genius professor who claimed to have come up with a way to stop the destruction of all rain forests. Ma-Ti was super-psyched about this idea, and was hellbent on rewarding this professor with a commemorative headdress. Wheeler’s response? “You can give him the headdress, but he’s probably gonna give you the shaft!” I can’t make this stuff up, people.

Chapter H brings up a good point here about the eco-villains. They are kind of the driving force behind the absurdity of the show. Most of the time their goal was to spill trash all over the planet, or something even more extreme, like auctioning off an atomic bomb to Hitler.

Ohhh, the hatred. And don’t ask me how they mastered time travel. In the episode I keep referring to, it turns out that Looten Plunder is the professor, and his plan is to suck all the oxygen out of the rain forests so he can sell it after he pollutes the rest of the globe! Yikes!

The rest of the show is pretty standard. The Planeteers combine their powers and call on Captain Planet to get them out of a jam. Conveniently he already knows the whole situation, despite not being around for the past 20 minutes, and makes quick work of the enemy.

Whew, I’m exhausted! Revisiting the quirks of Captain Planet is tiring work, and it makes me appreciate how impressionable I was at that age. After watching about 3 years of this show, I had stopped littering, and decided to start a recycling center for my community. Thanks for everything, Ted.

--Big J

OK so CH is enthralled with this Captain Planet topic. Here are his thoughts:

I am not sure if there is not a second message Captain Planet is sending out. A message which discourages miscegenation, or the mixing of races. When the Planeteers, a diverse group representing many of the world's continents, powers combine, they create the most disgusting character in cartoon history, Captain Planet. That guy looks like shit. His green hair and flattop mullet is accented by a retarded uncut, gelled curl across his forehead. I didn't know anyone put gel in their mullet. His skin is also blue. What a vile sight.

His uniform is the most ridiculous of all superhero's, including the Black Goliath. Although both characters show off the abs, at least I can see how Black Goliath's suit might actually stay on. The cutoff top Captain Planet wears doesn't even have armholes! How does he keep it on his body?

The message being if you go around and start mixing races, you will end up with a blue and green, mulletheaded retard.

--Chapter H

a Walk on the Wild Side

2007-12-25T02:49:00.000-05:00

We’re taking a bit of a holiday break here at a Tasty Pint, but that doesn’t mean we stop exploring all that the world has to offer! I love how as we grow older, being home for the holidays becomes less about taking a break from a hectic life, and more about drinking ones face off with old friends.

This couldn’t have been closer to my plan of action this past weekend, where I was able to hang out at my new favorite “bar,” Wild Woody’s. I say “bar” because as you can see, Wild Woody’s is a “Chill & Grill.” What makes this Chill so great is the people, but isn’t that what makes any place great? For example, it may be by choice, but I would rarely stumble upon this in my current residence, NYC:

And I would certainly never see PLAID:

Yes, friend, I agree, that is atrocious. Let’s shift our attention to the WW hottie. There is the occasional good-lookin’ broad in the mix, usually as part of a larger group of (unfortunately) single women.

Obviously the one on the left (Lefty) is who I am referring to, who I think was only talking to me because her birthday buddy on the right (Righty) thought I looked like McLovin. Lefty had me asking myself, “Are her eyes really that blue?” and “Are those real?” Righty had me wondering if the old adage about girls and piercing is true.

Finally, there was our waitress.

We thought she was great, and still do, but we were shocked to find out she was 18. This conversation actually took place:

Waitress: Do you want anything?
Female Friend: I don’t know, what’s good?
Waitress: I don’t know, I’m 18!

Only an 18 year old would say that. That's definitely something I might have said when I was that dumb.

So there you have it. I don't know how any one of my friends would not have an absolute blast at Woody's. It is fun, trashy, thought-provoking, and wild. Did I mention that I love this place, and I can't wait to go back?

--Big J

Elderly Cannot Eat 4th Meal

2007-12-21T01:35:00.000-05:00

Amazingly, today I witnessed an elderly woman eating 4th meal. What appeared to be a Crunch Wrap Supreme was undergoing mastication by a senior citizen, clearly too old to consume Taco Bell. It was a unique site indeed. Unfortunately I was not able to take a picture of this marvel, but please take it on faith.

I do not understand why or when the switch occurs, but there is an age which an individual must forgo 4th meal. I doubt there is a drastic change in their digestive system. I would be surprised to find that elderly are actually ruminant mammals; digesting food in a two stage process. Although, they do seem chew for extended periods of time, like that of cows. My guess is, elderly digestion of Taco Bell is somewhat analogous to dogs eating chocolate. In most cases it leads to vomiting and diarrhea. Even I have experienced a Taco Bell explosion or two.

I have to thank a good friend, Dank, for both the sighting and it's appreciation. For those doubters out there, I challenge you to find a picture of an elderly person eating Taco Bell. Google Images provided me with no such pictures after 30 minutes of searching.

--Chapter H

Word of the Day: Weenus / Weenis

2007-12-19T10:05:00.000-05:00

I would like to periodically post interesting finds from Urban Dictionary. I had a recent urge to look up a childhood classic: Weenis.

Weenis (noun): The skin on your elbows. It can be stretched out, and, like a penis, you can compare the size of it to others.

It's funny because it sounds like penis. You can call your 3rd grade teacher a weenis. Like other bodily appendages, it is physically impossible to lick one's own weenis. I heard Marilyn Manson had a bone removed so he could lick his own weenis.

Some quotes,
"My buddy and I are thinking of getting our weenises pierced."
"Hey your weenis is looking a little dry there. You should get some lotion for that."
"Dude show me your weenis."

Origins:
The words origins are elusive. Although it has permeated the English language for many years, it appears that the field of medicine is yet to adopt the word, or any word for elbow skin. It is not found in Gould's Medical Dictionary, and many doctors, such as James Thomas (MD), are not aware of an official specialized medical term for the weenis. As a result, it appears that by default, weenis gets the official title. Eskimos have over 32 names for snow, natives to Hawaii have many names for lava, I think one name, weenis, deserves the title for elbow skin.

--Chapter H

a Look Back

2007-12-17T21:01:00.000-05:00

Today I had to say goodbye to Chapter H, who happened to be the last of my current roommates to leave after the semester. I'm graduating and leaving campus permanently, but CH is a PhD student, which means he'll be staying here somewhere between 5 and 20 more years.

It's sad that we won't have the opportunity to hang out and banter with each other in person, but this blog is meant to keep the spirit alive. The one thing I regret about meeting CH is not starting the blog sooner. I mean, honestly, it's rare to find someone who hypothesizes that beard trimmers have exhibited an increase in sales because the porn industry has shown us little or no pubic hair is socially acceptable. We also spent the whole semester debating what you would and could do with three wishes, which we will formally settle in future posts. Ah, good times.

I'm currently watching "The Hills: Lauren Looks Back" on MTV, which was the muse for this post. Andohbytheway, she should have gone to Paris instead of spending a summer with that loser Jason. Ugh, whatevs, I'm so over it. In true reminiscing fashion, it's time for a question and answer session to recap what was an unforgettable college experience.

Q: Big J, how many times did you skip class?
A: Hmm, good question.
Q: Because college is expensive, it must have cost hundreds per lecture.
A: ...
Q: What was the most valuable thing your learned?
A: This is an easy one. I learned how to open things. I'd have to estimate over the course of four years the average college student learns how to open 4.7 items more efficiently. Heres my list:

Straws. This actually happened recently - CH showed me that its a lot easier to open straws with paper wrappers by putting both hands in the middle of the straw and then moving the hands away from each other. Another reason why I'm sad he's gone.
A large bar tab. Again, a recent discovery.
Beer bottles without twist off caps. This should be on everyones list.
A beer that is about to be shotgunned. Turn the beer upside down at an angle, and then poke the can where the air bubble is formed, creating virtually no mess, unless you're a raging pussy and can't finish the beer.
A can of whoop ass on any beer pong opponent.

Q: How good are you at beer pong?
A: Pretty damn good, but probably not as good as Lauren from "The Hills" is at making bad decisions.

--Big J

Beard Trimmer Sales on the Rise

2007-12-17T01:12:00.000-05:00

Over the years I have made an interesting observation. I feel that the sale of beard trimmers has demonstrated a startling trend. Electric shaving materialized in the 1920s, but was doomed to failure as facial hair was essentially non-existent. In the 70s, beard trimmers boomed with the new found popularity of full beards. Unfortunately this trend has since subsided. From the 80s on, facial hair has been in a recession. Why then has there been a recent increase in electric trimmer sales? Walmart's shelves are stocked, and other retail stores are giving them prime real estate this holiday.

Pubes. I believe that increasing trimmer sales are due to the popularity of pubic hair, or lack of. This raises a lot of questions.

Why? Perhaps it is the media. Since the internet, porn has been available to any individual able to use a QWERTY keyboard. Porn surfing is an ability acquired as early as 6 years old. The industry is no longer pushing extravagant muffs, but rather bald or well primped trims. This permeates into our culture, especially the youth. Prepubescent teens may never desire or learn to deal with a billowing bush.

Have pube trimming styles become more intricate than I am aware? Are a variety of guard sizes and styles used? Are kids running around with pubic Goatees, French Forks, Mutton Chops, or even Hulihee's (see diagram)?! I am not sure I have the time for such care.

If the industry is aware of this trend, I would not be surprised to see new tools included with "beard" trimmers. Perhaps guards that easily shape to the ball sac, to prevent an accidental clipping of one's soft skin wrinkles. This would be useful. The balls are definitely the hardest thing to trim. In fact, I don't even try. If you didn't know, balls move. Go ahead. Look. They are in constant motion. Swirling and contracting.

Anyway, this holiday, pay attention to the "beard" trimmer sales. More importantly, pay attention to those buying them.

--Chapter H

a Shot or Two?

2007-12-16T22:47:00.000-05:00

Some people like to sing songs about the issues.

If we were talented and/or funny we would sing songs too, but because we're not, we just drink. And when you drink like we do, it becomes an issue.

Case in point: this weekend was my final night in college, and we decided to do a bar crawl. After crushing beers for about an hour and a half, I run into a friend who generously buys me a double shot. Of course I'm toasty, so I'm more than ready to ruin the rest of my night.

The next day, I got to talking with Chapter H, who thought I had taken a shot of 151 instead of the double shot. But that led us to the real topic of this post, which is this question: what would you rather drink, a double shot or a shot of 151?

The 151 is a brutal shot, at any point in the night. What you swallow feels like a fire goblin took a 1.5 ounce shit, dipped it in lava, and then sprinkled it with jalapeno powder.

The double shot, on the other hand, is about as risky a drink as you can take. What happens when you don't finish the shot all in one swallow? Just thinking about having to take two swigs of hard alcohol makes me want to boot up the animal crackers I'm snacking on. Other things I wouldn't want to take two swigs of:

my pride

This question is an incredible debate, because it doesn't fuckin' matter. If you're drinking that heavily, you're not going to remember most of the night anyway. But in a quiet moment on your couch, you would definitely prefer one over the other.

I can't even answer my own question, because all I remember about that shot is not being able to put anything in my stomach for the next 15 minutes, and burying my face in two pitchers at the next bar.

--Big J

First Post

2007-12-16T22:00:00.000-05:00

We finally settled on "a Tasty Pint" for our blog name. Other award winners include:

blog eat blog
dookieblog
i just took a dookieblog
dookiebloggin' all over your face(s)
2girls1dookieblog

Kind of far off from the final decision, but we obviously had a great time coming up with the nominees. While enjoying a Tasty Pint, no less.