Rambo Birmingham

Its been a while since my last post. As a matter of fact I haven't really been into the whole "blog scene" as of late, but after some careful reading, I feel pretty well caught up in the world of bloggery. I see not much has changed. Finnie is still Junior Fire Chief or whatever the fuck he is, Scratch is still shitting on Finnie and the Pyramid, who in turn counter attacks. Finnie is now a wife beater much to my surprise so that's nice, and Jack has still yet to blog. As for myself I too have contracted the supercold, of which I am now finally at the tail end of. Thank you Finnie.
So being under the weather, and with the gf down in Connecticut for Thanksgiving, I have been watching a considerable amount of television. One show in particular that I came across was a program on the Science Channel called "Colossal Construction." This episode is about a big subway project in NYC. It's a good show, quite interesting and chock full of stupid New Yorkers doing hard labor. There are plenty of hard hats, excavators, and rebar so I know the Broad Slayer would enjoy it. Anyway, I'm just sitting here kinda half-watching it when suddenly I hear the words "Rambo Birmingham." This causes me to right away perk up and pay close attention. I also had the clairvoyance to grab the remote and push record. Luckily having been watching the show for some time the DVR records the show back from the beginning allowing me to not only verify that such and intriguing phrase has been uttered, but also to keep a permanent record of said words. After reviewing the scene many times, much like an NFL ref reviewing a challenged call, I have come to the conclusion that this is quite bloggable. So without further ado here is the actual dialogue as it can be heard in the show.......
(Narrator) ......."It's time to lay rebar for the concrete flooring. The hole's now so deep that the crane operator can't see where he's lowering the rebar. It's a dangerous operation, he needs a man to guide him.... A man like Rambo Birmingham."
(Rambo...in thick New York accent) "I was a para-trooper I'll tell you one thing. My jump master told me, he says there's one thing you gotta be. Never be afraid, always be aware. So I'm always aware, I'm not afraid by any means, I'm aware and ahh, you know, you dont take nuthin for granted over here."
(Narrator) Rambo and his workmate Tommy struggle to get the rebar hooked up in a sling.
(Rambo...sarcastically) C'mon Tommy the directions are on the side.
(Tommy let's out a chuckle confirming that he's a moron)
(Rambo...directing Tommy as he repeatedly whacks the big bundle of rebar with a shovel handle for what ever reason) Keep comin....it's comin....it's comin.....Do it from the outside Moe!"
(Tommy...with an even thicker New York accent and resembling Joe Peschi) "I can't go out there. Waddayoo crazy?"
(Rambo jumps down and takes over, followed by a quick montage of the two clowns performing whatever the fuck task they're trying to perform)
(Tommy...with pry-bar in hand) "C'mon you want me to get down and do it? Glad I came over n' bailed ju out or yid still be there! You can't do this ya self you need help. Samadda you think you're herkaleez?!"
................................And Scene.....

I considered going out tonight, but boy am I glad I didn't. Personally I think the Science Channel is totally missing out on a great opportunity for a spin-off series here. A show that just taped Rambo Birmingham and his short Italian sidekick Tommy working with rebar all day, now that's TV! Could you imagine what it would be like to work with these knuckleheads? Rambo shitting on Tommy all day and telling war stories. It would be heaven. I think its time I got back to being lazy and watching TV because who knows what gems I may be missing out on, but first I will leave you with something a great man once said, he says..........Never be afraid, always be aware!

A bunch of Beers and Three Huge Balls

Tonight marks the culmination of my inaugural season of bowling. As the walk-on I feel I did an adequate job pulling my weight as they say. It’s true my average started out at a dismal 96, however my 154 tonight I feel more than makes up for my shortfalls. And so, as I sit with my last beer watching the Bills turn the ball over yet again, I shall reflect upon my first season of what some may consider the greatest game of all.
It’s true bowling is not considered the most athletic game. A quick ride up the deuce and a short glance into Lanes and Games on a Monday will all but drive this point home. To most such a place would appear to be quite sad, possibly even pathetic at times. To me however, Lanes and Games might possibly be the most amazing place on earth. And so let me take you on a virtual tour of this great haven of middle-aged virginity through the eyes of none other than your’s truly.
First you enter the ally through a small porch-type entry-way with doors on both sides, complete with faded orange, fiberglass paneling, circa 1974. This area is one of those rare places where Massachusetts residents lay down a rebellious and un-sounding “fuck you” to the state legislature and freely rip heat rods. When you enter the actual complex you are right away slapped in the face by the thunderous clap of balls smashing 10 pins. An overall aroma of sweat, pizza, and shoe disinfectant fills the air. To me this brings back fleeting memories of Off Road games and Bubble Boy Hockey tournaments. You hang a quick right and work your way up the Brady Bunch-esque staircase to the second floor, where the real gamers play. When you reach the top of those stairs right away realize why you came. You walk by the counter giving a quick “what’s happening “ to the fella’s. Two grown men that are so proud of their bowling prowess that you’d think they cured cancer. It’s a fact that arrogance runs rampant in this place. These men wear their averages on their sleeves like crowns. They are good bowlers, and they know it. They may have no hair, wives, lives, money, or chance of pulling tail, but they carry a 250 average. After grabbing a quick brewskie, you make your way to your lane and strap on your shoes. You begin your warm-up as you try to watch the pre-game of the Monday night football game on a small TV that probably didn’t have a decent picture when it was brand new (in 1984). To your left and right you admire the shag-carpet mural consisting of a bowling ball knocking over pins. How original. When the game actually begins time seems to fly by. You bowl frame after frame. A strike here, an open frame 7 there, a knocked down 6-7 split there. You inevitably find that one kid on the opposing team that takes this game way too seriously. You share this info with your team and enjoy a few laughs, and a few beers, and some good frames and bad. Then eventually, and way too soon, you roll that last ball down the lane hoping to make a mark. Your score, if its good, awesome. If its not good, still awesome. That is the beauty of this game, the old saying actually holds true here, “it’s all about having fun”. Winning or losing doesn’t really matter, however if we hadn’t won, and we didn’t somehow come in first in the league and win a bunch of money, then this blog would probably not have been written. But we did win bitches…………..we did win.

A Weekend With A Mustache: A Social Experiment

Part Two: The Plight of Tom Selleck.

Its been a week or two since I first posted my blog about my little stash experiment and now here is the much anticipated second installment of my life as a mustached man. I think it would be good to start out with a little bit about this experiment and what my intentions were in performing such an awesome feat.
When I first decided to keep my mustache a couple Saturdays back, I did so because I wanted a real-life look at what it is to have a mustache in modern 21st century America. Having a mustache to go along with my police uniform for Halloween was great, but I didn’t want such an aw-inspiring thing to be wasted or taken lightly as just some sort of humorous accessory. For this reason I knew I needed a more accurate look at what life is like for these incredible men (and some Italian women). Much like a great actor researching a part for a movie, I wanted to delve into the psyche of the mustached man. I wanted to eat, drink, sleep, drink, shower, walk, drink, talk, drink, and just all out live “Mustache.” I wanted young men to look at me with envious admiration. I wanted women to shoot me scandalous, come-hither looks as if to say “you have a mustache and its not at all creepy.”
Now that you know my purpose, let’s just get right into it shall we? Many people take the mustache for granted, like it’s a simple outcropping which lives above a man’s lip, but truth be told there’s some history there. The word mustache itself comes from the French moustache, which is derived from the Italian mustaccio, from Medieval Greek moustakion which originates from the Greek mustax (mustak-) meaning “fucking sweet”. The mustache has had a rather spotted past with many ups and downs. The first known mustache dates all the way back to 300 BC to a portrait of a Scythian man on horseback sporting a rather impressive stash. Throughout history it has been a sign of nobility, poverty, power, rank, and of course sexual prowess. In many Western cultures the mustache was actually a requirement for military soldiers, serving as a symbol of rank or status. Higher the rank, cooler the stash (see civil war generals).
Throughout history the number of mustache styles has been rivaled only by the number of men who have adorned them. Some of the most note-worthy, and influential (for better or for worse) mustached men include: Joseph Stalin, Mark Twian, Adolph Hitler, Salvador Dali, Albert Einstein, Frank Zappa, Dennis Eckersley, Freddy Mercury, John Holmes, Derek Sanderson, Ned Flanders, Joe Dirt, and of course famed “Mike Tyson‘s Punchout“ boxer, Bald Bull.
Now that we know a little bit about the significant role the mustache has played in shaping the world today, let us move on to my own personal mustache experience. Up until now I have glorified the mustached man, however the life of Stashius Americanus is not all wine and roses. There are many aspects of having a mustache that most people don’t realize, for instance did you know that if you have a mustache the only cologne you are allowed to wear is either Stetson, or English Leather (though we are working on Sex Panther by Odion)? Also did you know that if you go to a bar and order a drink, no matter what you order they will always only bring you a shot of jack and an Old Milwaukee Tall. Its pretty screwed up. Also if you smoke, no cigarette other than a Marb Red will light. I’m serious you go to light it and it goes right out. And you have to use either matches, or a zippo that has the Jim Beam logo on it. Luckily I drive a pick-up, otherwise I’d have to walk everywhere. Or ride a horse who would also have to have a mustache which I’m not sure is even possible. Breakfast is particularly difficult. All you’re allowed to have is black coffee, cigarettes, and the Denny’s grand slam. You’re expected to dip during job interviews. People constantly mistake you for John Oates and ask you to sing ”Maneater”. If you get admitted to the hospital, no matter what ails you, they give you two Aspirin and tell you to stop being such a pussy. Ten AM is too late to begin drinking. No sports involving extensive running will work as you are constantly in boots. Finally you are required to visit a lumber yard at least once a day.
It is true that the life of the mustached man is one riddled with many different challenges, but if you can get by all that, you will find that having a mustache can be quite rewarding. I would be lying if I said I was 100% happy to shave my mustache on that cold gray Monday evening. I knew I looked good. I knew my friends wanted to be like me, wanted to wield such a chick-slaying weapon as I had done with such poise and class the three days prior. However out of fear of getting thrown out by Jule, and in order to avoid constant arm wrestling challenges at work, I knew that my personal stash-bashery, like all good things, must come to end. So in the same way I had brought my mustache into this world three days earlier, I would have to remove it…………with a razor in my hand, and a tear in my eye.

A Weekend with a mustache: a social experiment

Part One: The Creation

On Friday this past, the thirty-first day of October, it being Halloween I tried on my police costume I had rented for the party I was about to attend. Posing in the mirror in my blue garb I realized that it wasn’t just a badge that I was missing. After reluctant approval from my girlfriend Julia, with my beard trimmer in hand, I took my first step down a path that few men have ever dared to.
I made quick work of the cheeks, leaving enough side-burn to be considered fantastic. I then moved onto the chin. I trimmed and clipped, and scraped and shaved until only a small patch of soul remained beneath my bottom lip. Then with a quick rinse of the face I saw for the first time the fruit of my labors. To put into words the joy I felt would be impossible, however in an attempt I would site Genesis and compare it to how God felt on the seventh day when he looked upon all that he had created and saw that it too was good.
After I took it all in, I finished getting ready. I cracked my first beer of the night and awaited Greg’s arrival. Jule was still getting ready when I opened my second. When she finally finished and joined me in the living room it was obvious she was having trouble making eye contact, and who could blame her. Being in the presence on such an awesome sight is enough to make anyone a little timid. Greg soon arrived dressed as a golfer or some retarded thing. When he saw what I had done he too was excited. We had a few laughs, and a few more beers. Then with flashlight in hand, dawning handcuffs, mirrored aviators, and of course that crescent-moon of whiskers beneath my nostrils, I entered Julia’s car and away we went.
We arrived at the party fashionably late. Julia quickly found her girl-friends and the gabbing began. She was dressed as a nineteen-fifties girl complete with her striped shirt, pink poodle skirt, glasses, and the ever so talked about “Ked’s.” She looked great. Greg mostly just looked like Greg, but with a scali-cap and baseball socks. The mustache was a big hit, as to be expected. I was hit with all sorts of comments and compliments. “That’s a sweet mustache!”, or “Sick kid!”, or the occasional “Eww you look so creepy!”, and even “Is that real?” to which I would respond with a tip of the aviators and a confident “Oh yeah.”
It was getting late and we decided it was time to take off. Jule said her goodbye’s, then after a quick trip to Bill and Bob’s for some late-night piggery, we were home. The two of us got out of our costumes and were soon fast asleep. Now I’m not saying it was the mustache, but that night I had one of the greatest, most relaxing night’s sleep that I can remember.
We awoke from Our slumber on Saturday refreshed and ready to take on the world. She looked at me with that “god you look so creepy” look on her face that I had grown so accustomed to the night before. I could tell she wanted it gone. I scrambled and quickly made-up an excuse of why I couldn’t shave it because if I shaved my mustache without the rest of my face being long enough to shave I would risk serious injury from razor burn. She bought it, or else she really didn’t give a fuck, either way I was in the clear.
I walked down the stairs with my chin held high. I felt stronger than a lion, and more confident than John Holmes in a YMCA locker room. I knew today was going to be a great day. I showered, brushed up, and had a quick cup of coffee before calling Jack to see if he was ready to work on our ongoing construction project, the great wall of Fremont St.. After talking to him and coming up with a game plan I realized I had a few things I needed to do before we got started. I yelled up to Jule and asked her if she wanted anything at Dunkies. I then opened the front door and entered the world a new man, a confident man, a mustached man.
………..And so began my weekend with a mustache.

The Unselfish Alphabet

ABCDEFGHJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ



(there's no I in the unselfish alphabet)

Congratulations. You just wasted about 2 minutes of your life.