Ohio is for Lovers…and Crippling Economic Realities

It’s not often you get to drive through Ohio and bear witness to humanity’s shortcomings.  Who drives through Ohio.  But when you do make it to the state that’s fatter and not nearly as tall as you think, the experiences stick with you like Cleveland and it’s crippling 40 year recession.  However, to begin, one must admit that Ohio does have some interesting shit, namely food.  Last night I ate at Melt Bar and Grilled and enjoyed the Wet Hot Buffalo Chicken:

Oh my gosh, this is one of the best sandwiches I’ve had.  But like any good high, there’s an equivalent low not far behind it.  This morning, I woke up, made it 30 feet to the bathroom in about 4 steps, slammed the “Play Like a Champion Today” sign above my bathroom door, and mounted the throne with unapologetic fury.  What was to come is for my private enjoyment only.  However, I’ll note that you would not be wrong to make the comparison to Moses parting the Red Sea.  Don’t drink the water in Lake Erie for a while.

I’ve always felt that the great people of Ohio suffer from bouts of hubris, although not NEARLY to the same extent as Bostononians.  Fuck you, Boston.  Your city is tiny, your infrastructure sucks, your welfare system is in disarray, your reliance on sports is laughable, and your loss in prominence to New York brings me boundless joy.  You did this to yourself.  Anyway, the whole “O-H…I-OOOOO” thing has to be stopped.  You’re tying your self importance to a FUCKING PUBLIC COLLEGE SPORTS TEAM.  Don’t you have anything else on which to hang your hat?…

Well, add insult to injury because I came across the following the other day:




The people (and unfortunately, voters) of this state manage to find a new way to embarrass themselves each time I visit.  It’s like they’ve hidden an RFID tag on my car and each time I enter beneath the:


the citizens of the state jump in a group chat and figure out how they’re going to humiliate themselves next.  When they’re not shaming themselves, they’re abusing the welfare system like it’s NBD.  Here’s a guy on a rather unique vehicle that had a handicap sticker:


I don’t know about you, but the handicapped people I know tend to not throttle around on the back of a motorcycle in a leather jacket and matching boots.

OH SNAP!!!!  I nearly forgot.  Fuck me, I’m always forgetting to celebrate feminism on this blog.  First the woman’s march, then the woman’s strike, and now this:


They’re called secretaries.  Get it right or pay the price (HUGE throwback to Salute Your Shorts from the early nineties here; I expect a handjob from at least a few of you after making this connection).  Speaking of bad names:

What do we have here?  We have an article on a state senator named Frank Artiles (aka Fart Projectiles) written by a undoubtedly blonde-haired Hitler youth who got her “degree” in journalism from Camp Flowers.  Keep student debt levels exceedingly high, major in journalism.

Thought I bumped into Kurt Russell last night:



Before I forget, to all my bad hombres in finance who’ve begun to create the next generation of financiers, there’s a Powerwheels-like Rolls Royce that you need to get your children, now.  Don’t let your children fall behind in this new global economy.  Buy them the Rolls, forbid them from anything to do with journalism or Boston.  They’ll be better people for it.



And finally, we arrive at the end of this aimless rant.  Arrested Development.  Likely a hair above (Stan Sitwell’s always had a wild hair to buy this business, it’s the only hair he’s got…what, he’s an alpaca!) Seinfeld, and on equivalent ground with the original (but revised format) British Top Gear.  Here’s an Arrested Development reference you’ll all appreciate:


“Your father says he wants me to go all the way to Fallujah.  I thought he meant the sex act, that’s so popular with your generation” – Lucille Bluth

Song of the Day (4/27/2017)

Konnichiwa!  WARNING: NSFW, shitty situation ahead.

I woke up yesterday morning in a foggy cloud of sleep deprivation, put on my breeches, walked to the bathroom, tore off my beeeches, and birthed this beast:

When my initial giggles finally subsided, I realized “holy fuck, is that the symbol for ‘good morning’ in Japanese?!?  Is my body talking to me?!?”  As such, today’s song of the day is Turning Japanese by The Vapors.  Enjoy.

“Maybe, I’ll put it in her brownie” – Uncle Oscar (dot com)

Happy Tax Day! Song of the Day (4/18/2017)

Aloha!  To celebrate Elizabeth G Warren’s favorite day of the year, the song of the day was originally going to be The Man Comes Around by Johnny Cash given some of the lyrics seemed appropriate.  However, Johnny took it the Jesus religion route rather than the Reagan Religion route.  So, today’s song of the day is A Soldiers Pledge by Ronald Reagan.  Now for some gentle stroking for a man who’s smile could disarm a nation oblivious to his government expansion throughout the 1980s.  I didn’t say that…

Ronnie: “He sees an America in which every day is tax day, April 15th. But we see an America in which every day is Independence Day, July 4th.”

‘Merica.  Yeah, taxes suck.  But being anything other than an American would suck a whole lot more.

Song of the Day (4/16/2017) and Arrested Development/Reagan

Happy Easter/Passover everyone!  This week, we take a moment to remember a final supper, a betrayal, and a beard (and the man beneath it) that rose from the ashes postmortem (how’s my Latin?  Do I need to go back to the Roman Catholic Church and do some boning up?).

I’m not quite sure how JC rose from the dead – he really pulled a rabbit out of his ass, and while I have never pulled a rabbit out of my own, I have definitely pulled out my fair share of hares.  Write that down.

Today’s song of the day is May we All by Florida Georgia Line.  Some easy listening for you while you’re searching for eggs, either in your backyard or in your wife.  Your Sunday is your business.

Obligatory Arrested Development references:

…dot com.

…climb that wall, homo!

This blog is looking more and more like it should just be an instagram account; however, fuck tech savvy millennials.  I was at a friend’s parents’ house a few weeks ago – the mother works as a political correspondent for Fox News (fingers crossed she gets a big payday from Bill “Fuck it, we’ll do it live” O’Reilly) – and I came across this epic shrine to Ronnie:

Next.  I walked through an estate sale yesterday and came across the best piece of marketing of all time:

Whatever happened to Amoco?  Ohhhhh, I know, it was swallowed up by BP (no joke).  I haven’t heard of BP since that big oil spill in the gulf.  Wonder what they’re up to these days

we’re sorry.

Alrighty!  Time to go eat dinner, happy Easter/Passover everyone!

(Photo above from Brooklyn last week.  As someone said, when Brooklyn is sending their people into Manhattan, they’re not sending their best).

Today’s bad taste joke of the day comes from a close family member and all around funny guy: I was at the church the other day and the Father was complaining that while the nativity scene out front was beautiful, the local youth kept on stealing the baby Jesus.  Easy fix, I told the priest that I could probably find four roman centurions to nail it down.

Stay thirsty, mis amigos.