Thursday, November 28, 2013

Happy Stuff Your Fat Face Day

Hey all, and for those who celebrate, Happy Thanksgiving! Right now we're off doing what some of you might be doing as well: pretending you can tolerate "that" side of the family that you only see once or twice a year (and remembering why you only see them this often), listening to godawful stories that you never wanted to hear about your own parents, and of course, eating until you hate yourself.

With that said, we wanted to share a few of the reasons why we're thankful this year.

1. Bryan is thankful that even as he ages, he's still got a keen fashion sense.

2. Brandon is thankful to be alive in a time where quality music is created routinely and revered duly by the general public.

3. And both of us are thankful for Pepto-Bismol. Because if you mix it with a little vodka it becomes the perfect after-dinner cocktail for your volatile gut.

So spare us all the sappy shit. What are you REALLY thankful for this year?

Cheers and stay gracious, friends

Beer: Lagunitas DayTime Ale
Music: Hey Champ

Monday, November 25, 2013

The Truth About Writer's Block

Hi all. Today I'd like to talk about writer's block. It's no secret that Bryan and I are writers, as you might have otherwise surmised from our haggard, half-starved appearances in all of our photos. Or those wordy, papery things we churn out once every 6 months or so. Uh, "books" I think they're called.

Sure, we don't make millions of dollars, but we put a lot of effort into doing something we love. Hell, one in four of our fan letters aren't even death threats. So, we do enjoy it. But sometimes writing can be hard, even impossible. And barring incarceration, the reason for that 99% of the time is, you guessed it, writer's block. But writer's block probably isn't what you think it is, so we thought we'd explain.

First off, writer's block isn't synonymous with "literary constipation." The words are there, sure, but they're not just stuck in some mysterious rectal traffic jam. It's a mental game. Like forcing yourself to poop on vacation, in a strange and foreign toilet. So, here are the top reasons why we believe it happens. And yes, they will probably all be toilet metaphors.

1) Writer, Interrupted - Simply put, while you may have the best intentions of planting your ass at a keyboard, life has a tendency to intervene at the most inopportune times.

2) Fear - Fear is the biggest root of writerly procrastination. At least for those of us with a realistic perspective of our abilities. We know that once a project is done, it's eventually going to get read by actual people (who may or may not be our mothers), and the fear of that far-off judgment will keep us looking for anything to do but write. Mow the lawn? Sure. Change the oil on the car? You bet. Finish that troublesome manuscript in a timely fashion? Fuck no, I'm gonna go watch the mailbox for five hours to see if my Amazon order comes in today instead.

You could frame the stuff we churn out after 12 beers
3) Uh... well, we would have written a number three, but we currently are suffering from writer's block. So... there's that.

You may notice that "Time" didn't make the list. This despite the fact that it seems to be the most common complaint we ever hear from fellow scribblers. Because that's a bullshit excuse, and falls readily under number 2. If you really want to get it done, it will get done. My advice? Drink lots of coffee. Not only will it keep you awake at the typewriter after a long day at your soul-sucking job, but it's also a natural laxative. So, bottom's up.

Any other ways to beat writer's block, aside from lethally caffeinating yourself or drinking yourself comatose?

Cheers and stay productive, friends,


Beer: White Rascal
Music: Passenger

Thursday, November 21, 2013

The Stinky Jersey of Rancid Death

Now that the Broncos don't suck (thanks for that, Peyton), people have been wearing their football jerseys around here a lot more. And that includes my wife's office. Last week they decided to have "wear your jersey to work day," and what started off as a fun idea turned into the most awful experience you could ever imagine.

No, really. And it all started with a kind offer from her coworker.

My wife's a petite lady. She can fit into my jersey, and I wear a size Large in kids. So what she was expecting was this...

What she got was this...

A 3XL in adults, otherwise known as "a two person tent." The sleeves went to her wrists, and the bottom draped below her knees. But no, that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was that it stank. Not just stank, it reeked. It's as if it had never been washed in its entire life. Ever. It's as if the woman's son had worn it while sitting in the hot sun for 3 weeks straight. And then shat himself. And then died. And then was buried. And then his rotting corpse was dug up two months later. And then the rotting corpse shat itself.

Which begs the question, at what point did this woman think her son's jersey would be "just perfect" for my wife?

Second, who doesn't wash an article of clothing that you're going to loan to someone? The above description was not an exaggeration. My wife wore this jersey for 15 minutes out of pity before she just had to take it off, and the Stink Molecules* were so strong that they still clung to her when she came home eight hours later.

*pure science

So needless to say, the wife will never be borrowing anything again from her coworkers.

Has anyone ever loaned or given you something that turned out to be absolutely disgusting?

Cheers and stay hygienic, folks,
Bryan (and Brandon)

Beer: Hop Knot
Music: Hayden James

Monday, November 18, 2013

A Bum Deal: Misconceptions of the Writerly Life

Hi folks. Today we'd like to talk about something close to our hearts. No, it's not the perilous plunder of whiskey dick and its nuisance to the world. Today we'd like to talk about the unfair stereotypes cast over all us slovenly writers. We compiled a list of the most common misconceptions we've personally encountered and hope it helps you to judge us quirky wordslingers a little less harshly.

1) Writers are not recluses. That's just downright silly. Both the liquor store man and the Chinese delivery guy know us by name.

2) Writers are not drunks. We find that label to be slanderous and untrue. Whiskey is a scientifically accepted food group. Look it up on any current dietary pyramid chart.

3) Writers are not apathetic cynics. We really do care about things. Just not politics. Or religion. Or people. Or things.

4) Writers don't write to escape reality. We do it for the fame. And the money. And the unyielding respect and appreciation of the masses. We yearn for the day we can sign things that aren't receipts or parking tickets.

There you have it, ladies and germs. A solid explanation from the mouths of two working writers in defense of our own kind. Which, when we stop and think about it, is sort of unusual. Because we typically hate associating with other writers. Anyway, have mercy on us. If you see a lonely, studious guy (or gal) sitting at the end of a bar by himself, quietly cursing the world and scorning the overhead TV, send a drink his way, won't you? Because he's probably just a writer. Or a mass murderer.

Cheers and stay classy, folks!


Beer: Left Hand Milk Stout Nitro
Music: The Stone Roses

Thursday, November 14, 2013

What Is This, A Hotel For Ants?

As most of you know from our previous post, I went away to Miami last weekend so I could celebrate my 30th birthday on the beach. And relax. What ensued... was anything but relaxing. Today I'll share with you my vacation horror story.

After our red-eye flight to Miami we were looking forward to our stay at the Avalon hotel on Ocean Drive, which is supposed to look like this...

Too bad it looked like this in person...

Thanks to a screw up in booking (not on our end, mind you) it took seven hours to get our room. That's right, seven hours of sitting around in the lobby being told "just another 30 minutes," every hour on the hour. And once we got our room... well, we weren't exactly relieved.

The walls were this wonderful, sickly yellow. Like if walls could actually get cancer. The Keurig K-cup machine was broken. The wifi didn't work. And what the shower lacked in hot or even warm water it more than made up for with ants. Yes, a literal shower of ants, just raining all over the bathroom walls and floors.

Because this is totally normal

So even something as simple as having a quick shower wasn't all that simple.

We tried to talk to the front desk on multiple occasions but it was either unattended or the dude was too busy talking to everyone else for up to a half hour at a time (no, really) about mindless bullshit, because apparently his job description is "tell everyone my life story."

So we gave up on the hotel. At that point, we thought maybe we'd just go eat at one of the local restaurants, which had been touted as amazing. They are not, if only because of the service. You see, 20% gratuity is added to every single check no matter what, so the servers are all dicks. All of them. They're rude, they ignore you, and they come by when they feel like coming by, because hey, they got their money. They don't have to be nice.

I should also mention all of these restaurants and bars only have beers like Bud and Bud Light, and they're anywhere from $10-20 each. Craft beers simply do not exist there. Not a vacation wrecker, but come on bro, total party foul.

So THEN we thought "we should just go to the beach and relax." I mean, you surely can't take mother nature away from us, can you?

...Yes. Yes you can. Thanks to all the overly aggressive homeless people. They swarm the beach and hassle you with every step, wanting to build you stupid things out of palm fronds, or sell you weird looking fruits they picked off of trees, or tell you riddles for money. And if you don't oblige, then they yell at you for being the "rich asshole tourist" who's just too "cheap" to help them out.

And yes, that's right, riddles. More than one told me, "I'll give you a riddle, and if you can't solve it, you have to give me $5, okay?" What is this, The Hobbit? I'm Bilbo Baggins trying to get by Smeagol the homeless beach bum?

Needless to say, it was not the best birthday I've ever had, and I'm pretty damn happy to be back in Colorado with my cheap craft beers, my Smeagol free nature walks, and my ant free showers.

And to the Avalon on Ocean Drive, fuck you. In the ass. No lube. No reach around.

Cheers and stay classy, folks,
Bryan (and Brandon)

Music: Nigel & the Dropout
Beer: Staropramen Lager