100 Pipers on the Bandwagon

...and that's why you don't cut the line!

Some fool was trying to cut the line at Artichoke last night, and was politely rebuffed in his douchery and made to wait in line like everyone else. When you’re a douche, this is probably the best scenario you could hope for without getting what you want: Make your douche move in front of everybody, see how it works, and if you’re rebuffed, and everybody thinks you’re a douche, what do you care? Let the little people think not so highly of you.

However, this scenario doesn’t always work out. Sometimes, people don’t take well to being surrounded by douchery, and they may respond with violence. I don’t condone violence, of course. But know that as a douche, this is a possible risk you take.

In our current example, the attempted line-cutter was later waiting for the same L train I was. Being a douche, he did some douche things, and two gentlemen did not take so kindly to it. So they started slapping him around and beat him up a little. Police were called, patrons were horrified, and I had mixed feelings about actually trying to do something. But not really, since his earlier douchery had led me to believe, based on no hard evidence, that he deserved a bit of slapping.

So I was basically reduced to yelling, “Hey guys, they’ve callled the cops, is this worth it?” or some variation thereof. Some other riders took a little more in the way of action. After all, he hadn’t tried to cut them in line.

It wasn’t a severe beating, there was no blood spilled, just an ugly shirt ripped. I talked to the conductor in the car, he said help was on the way, and that was that. I went about my business. Did I think some kind of douche karma was visted upon the linecutter? No, not really, the other two guys were probably just assholes who like to fight. But I will admit to having a rather awful twinge of satisfaction. So maybe I’m the douche.

Or more likely, if you don’t want to wait in line for pizza, just take your ass to Hot and Crusty on 1st Avenue!

(Relatively) Moderate Drinking Week: A Recap

Recent events made me decide to try and change up my habits a little, namely, instead of decimating myself and then subsequently hiding out for two days, take it slow and steady. Only have a few drinks, and get to bed every night at a reasonable-ish hour. This wasn’t so much of a plan as the way the week worked out, and yes, some of that did involve a conscious decision to stay away from the usual group and their shenanigans.

Well, the week’s over, so let’s see how I did:

Sunday:Watched the Yankees game at Turkey’s Nest and enjoyed the victory. The lone bad move was accepting the free shot of Jameson. I hate to admit this, but I think I have to cut out whiskey shots on school nights. The only shot that doesn’t seem to wreck me nowadays physically is the stupendously juvenile Jagermeister; I may have to start requesting that (of course at the risk of coming down with a case of the douchebagitis). Luckily, I ate tons of food at my mother’s earlier that day and supplemented it with some San Loco.

Monday: Went to Mug’s Ale House to watch the Jets discover they are not all that and a bag of Doritos just yet. Drank moderately to the point where I had to calm a slightly drunker friend down about the fact that the Jets could not stop the run.

Tuesday: A trip to an undisclosed location for a birthday celebration of sorts. I kept the drinking in check and used the money I would have boozed to excess with for other fun items. Let’s just say that I learned that I may have been underestimating skinny girls over the years.

Wednesday:The taxman put a beatdown on another friend of mine, so I decided to drink with him instead of attending the usual dinner party/karaoke. Which is good, since it’s terribly hard to extract yourself from that scene in good shape at a reasonable time. Instead, I watched regular-season hockey for the first time ever, had 50-cent wings, and was in bed by 12:30.

Thursday:Decided to meet my brother halfway between the Bronx and Brooklyn, since one of them educates America’s youth and had to be up early in the morning. I had no idea there were various other activities going on Thursday; maybe I would have lured them further downtown. But, being somewhat considerate of people other than myself, I compromised and had a fine time on the Upper West Side. Drinks were reasonable, the food was good, and my brothers and I got a handle on just how shady everyone in the family is when it comes to love and romance. I don’t know what was better: The story about my maternal grandfather’s gambling buddy marrying one of his daughters or my paternal grandfather leaving my dad’s mom…for her sister. Good work by my younger brother getting the dirt.

Well, I’m not saying I learned anything or that I am changing my ways, but this was a different style of drinking for me, and with different people. In other words, I’ve just rearranged the deck chairs on this sinking ship. Still doesn’t make it any less fun.

I'm throwing the brown flag...

…on the leaders in ESPN Pigskin Pick ‘Em!

For the uninitiated, the brown flag is an homage to the red flag thrown by coaches in the NFL to challenge referee calls. But instead of challenging the spot of the ball hoping for a correction, the brown flag simply is a civilized way of calling “bullshit!” on that pass inteference that’s not reviewable. So I’m calling bullshit on the leaders in Pigskin Pick ‘Em at ESPN.com. I happen to have joined the BS Report group. (So I guess it’s appropriate.)

Basically, you pick football games against the spread. Anybody who has tried this knows it is a very difficult endeavor and you’re doing really, really well if you’re hitting your picks at say, sixty percent.

So who the fuck are these savants hitting on 64 out of 76 of their picks!!!!!????? Why are they wasting their ridiculous handicapping skills on some crappy ESPN game seeing if they can beat the likes of Cousin Sal, JackO, and, as Deadspin calls him, the Sports Fella? Really? Shouldn’t you be at a sports book in a pink jacket smoking a cigar and hiding your money from a drug-addicted Sharon Stone?

Honestly! Who the fuck are these people and why are they playing Pigskin Fucking Pick ‘Em!?

Oh wait, my bad. I was looking at the leaderboard where you pick the games straight up. I thought that was rather insane of me. Let’s take a look…

So who the fuck are these savants hitting on 56 out of 76 of their picks!!!!!????? Why are they wasting their ridiculous handicapping skills on some crappy ESPN game seeing if they can beat the likes of Joe House, Ric Bucher, and, as Deadspin calls him, the Sports Fella? Really? Shouldn’t you be banned from every legal and illegal sports book operation IN THE WORLD, using local kids and their stripper moms, paying them in cocaine and expensive shoes, to place your bets for you? Not to mention that you should have a short, hotheaded Italian-American friend and “enforcer”? Honestly! Who the fuck are these people and why are they playing Pigskin Fucking Pick ‘Em!?

I am 41 out of 76, by the way. Just like JackO.

In any case, I throw the brown flag and call bullshit!

I'm not dead.

Of course, when I mean “I”, I mean my tumblr, because let’s face it, I am not going anywhere. But I just wanted to drop by and say hello, since I had some time. I’ve become deadly boring, and thus, have not had much to write.

I was in the midst of what I thought was some sort of career crisis, namely, do I want the one I have now? Taking a better job means more of a serious commitment to the balls-out excitement that is accounting and taxes. Not that I’ve made that commitment, but I have, in kind, made less of a commitment to writing. Not writing as a career, even, but as something I do to express myself, enjoy, and identify myself as even, if I make money by saving legal partnerships a few bucks.

I have no answer really, but I guess that’s what I’ve been up to, in terms of a Big Theme.

Does this mean I’m back? I’ve had a lot of false starts recently, so I’m not going to announce any such thing. I will let something called “output” or “lack of output” make that announcement.

Ok , another mishap there. I just wanted to say I haven’t been following you all as much as I should and I intend to get back on the ball! Although I have to admit I’ve said that before on many an abandoned blog.

As long as you know my heart is in the right place.

Hi!

My name is Well Whiskey Friday, and I used to tumble. Then i got an iPhone and a Twitter app and started sending my phone based atupid thoughts and one-liners to Twitter?

I was going to write 1,000 words about the steak I had tonight and the quiet high you get from eating a really well-made and prepared steak. Plus, I was going to go on about the joys of digesting, and having a conversation with your drinking buddies when you’re actually sober. To call it a potentially groundbreaking moment in the insignificant history of this blog would have made a mockery of the word “understatement”.

But someone just texted me to meet them at Redd’s for a couple of beers. So much for that.

Fifteen! If you had the over, you can now reedem your tickets at the window. Please ask our concierge about this casino’s fine dining options.

Letting no one know I still care.

The boss is out and the office mate’s gone for the day now as well. And I am done with actual work for the day. I was going to spend the next hour or so looking for crappy pitchers to stream into my fantasy baseball lineup (it is the playoffs, after all) but then I thought, “No, let me use some of this downtime to pay attention to my neglected Tumblr dashboard!”

I know, contain yourselves. The over under on me saying, “Well, good to see not a damn thing has changed.” and going back to ESPN.com to deliberate on whether or not to bench Jay Cutler for some waiver-wire schmuck is seven pages.

Completely random note

I haven’t eaten today. I am fairly sure that and the fact I can’t get “High Enough” by Damn Yankees out of my head are somewhat related.