Monday, March 31, 2014

Faded Glory Part I: Mormon Family Values

Neither of us are big on reliving the glory days of high school, and that's keeping in mind that the two of us have known each other forever, so for us that would be the same high school, for the same four grueling years.

So today we're going to have a blast from the past and relive a few select memories from high school, because what 20 to 30-something doesn't love remembering the time you were awkward and had no freedom and no money?

Once upon a time, Brandon and Bryan were in high school...

...and yes, Bryan had frosted tips because it was 2000 and that was cool back then (Hey, at least I didn't look like that assclown Sisqo okay?).

So Bryan had a friend who, for some inexplicable reason, introduced him to a very nice, very mousy Mormon girl whose name we've withheld... not because we're trying to protect her, but because Bryan genuinely has no idea what it was (this is important for later).

On their very first meeting, she casually asked him to prom.

In true high school "I don't give a shit" fashion, Bryan said, "Whatever." So the girl told her parents, and her parents... absolutely freaked out. Because apparently "whatever" is the Mormon equivalent of "we're getting married." And Bryan wasn't Mormon.

Her parents specifically said she should date a ton of Mormon guys just to "test the waters," and if she still wasn't satisfied at the end of that, could maybe go to prom with Bryan. Maybe. If he converted.

It's always nice to be someone's plan Z.

The girl relayed this to Bryan, and said it wasn't anything personal. It was just because he was Catholic, so basically it was personal.

Catholic Guilt(TM): It never leaves you, it just lessens each year as you slowly die inside!

Still, Bryan had to give her the boot. Because even at the age of 17 he knew he didn't need that kind of crazy shit in his life.

Bryan told her goodbye, and the two stopped all form of communication. He thought that was the last time he'd hear from her. Unfortunately, it was not...

Meanwhile, Brandon had a hard time deciding who to take to prom. He was an indecisive little whore, and spent most of his high school career joining various clubs in order to increase his...uh, sample size.

First there was the drama club, in which Brandon actually won the role of the Tin Man in our high school's production of The Wizard of Oz.

But apparently girls aren't all that crazy for gray-face.

Then there was the science club.

(Take that, Big Bang Theory! You're not the only one who can crack high school level chemistry jokes in an attempt to make yourself look smarter than you really are. Booyah!)

Finally, he tried the swim team... which was obviously not the best place to find a prom date.

And 4 months later, he wound up going to prom with the state of Colorado's women's bodybuilding champion. No, really. She was a, uh, handsome girl, that one...

But something else happened 4 months later. Because while the two of us were out at prom, Bryan's mother received a very, very angry call... from the Mormon girl's mother. Which was odd, since Bryan hadn't talked to the Mormon girl in 4 whole months, ever since she decided she was going to date a Mormon football team and Bryan decided to cut her loose.

But the Mormon girl's mother demanded to know where Bryan was, because he was... late for prom?

That's right, even though 4 months had passed with Bryan and the Mormon girl not talking to each other, she and her mother still somehow assumed that Bryan was going to take her to prom. And since he did not (...even remember she existed), she and her mother were both heartbroken and furious. And they both swore they'd never talk to Bryan again after that.

...Which was kind of the whole point to begin with, wasn't it?

Similar to those previous 4 months, you should be surprised to hear that to this very day, Bryan and what's-her-nuts still don't talk.

Stay tuned for next week's continuation when we tell you what actually happened at Brandon and Bryan's prom. Hint: for the first time in his life, Bryan got to make someone bleed his own blood.

Cheers and stay classy, friends,
~Brandon and Bryan

Beer: Powder Monkey Pale Ale
Music: Nigel & the Dropout

Monday, March 24, 2014

Shred For Your Dear Life

My mother has a serious problem. No, it's not alcohol or gambling or a nasty, incurable addiction to crack, though it is an extremely neurotic compulsion.

My mother is a serial shredder.

Frankly, it's something that I think has gone a little too far. I mean, we're not just talking about her shredding credit card offers or pay stubs or bills - stuff you should obviously shred to protect yourself from identity theft - my mother will shred anything, and I do mean ANYTHING that contains even the slightest bit of information about her. Or anyone she's related to.

Which always makes it funny when I visit her and collect mail that still comes to her address.

And it's not even just stuff that goes in the trash. No, it's the Internet too, because God forbid anyone know your name on the Internet.

I know she's not alone in this, but my dear mother is of the firm belief that if you put your name or address or zodiac sign anywhere on the Internet, that your identity can and will be stolen by digital hoodlums. And I know she worries for my own safety, now that I'm an author whose books are on the Internet. But to all the hackers out there, I just want to say this: my information has been readily available for years in that thing called the White Pages, and if you really want my triple digit bank account and modest credit rating, then go nuts. Pay off my mountainous school loans while you're at it, will you? Thanks!

Before we go, we wanted to share a cool countdown promotion that we're running through Amazon all this week for our first collaborative novel, Dead and Moaning in Las Vegas. From today, Monday 24th (at 8 AM Mountain Time) through Sunday the 30th this book will only be 99 cents. To our fellow blogger friends, if any of you want to help us spread the word, simply upload the silly animated gif below to a blog post with a link back to the book (we'd be eternally grateful) any time this week. And to everyone, if you haven't already, check this book out. We don't like to brag, but this was the book that got optioned by Random House, and it's gotten some pretty killer reviews from people that are not my mother.

If you should want to help us, just copy and paste this HTML code and it'll insert the picture along with the link automatically (thanks to the very awesome D4!)

<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="" /></a></div>

Dead and Moaning in Las Vegas: Black Elvis, a drunken janitor, and a stripper embark on an epic quest to not become zombie food when the undead apocalypse rocks Las Vegas.

(And we promise Amazon will not beat you up in a back alley and steal your e-wallet for giving them your name and e-mail address... maybe)

So, anyone else here a shredder? Or afraid to put your name on the Internet? We understand, and there's no shame in wanting to wear that Anonymask.

Cheers and stay classy, folks,
-Bryson D. Pinkerton (and B. Mulligan McDonohugh)

Beer: Sawtooth Nitro
Music: Kishi Bashi

Monday, March 17, 2014

The Rage of Aquarius

Welcome, one and all, brothers and sisters. Today we'll be taking you on a New Age journey down the metaphysical highway toward enlightenment (beware, there will be significant traffic delays due to construction). You see, we've recently become astrologers (not to be confused with that bullshit pseudo-science, astronomy) and would like to bestow upon you your weekly fortune.

For those who are unfamiliar, astrology is the science of saying that there are 12 types of people in this world, or signs. Those who share the same sign are destined to all act the same way and will even have the same types of events happen to them, simply because they were born within a particular 30-something day time span.

So let's see what type of person you are and what's going to happen to you this week!

Maybe it's because your star sign owes its namesake to the Greek god of War, but you're a quick tempered asshole. You're known every bit for your mental instability as you are for your arrogance. So sure, you wear a tinfoil hat, but at least you look damn good in it.

This week: You've had a rough go of it lately in the love department, but all will be made right when you get your genitals stuck in a vending machine.

This is an earth sign, which is fitting, because you live on Earth. Like a snowflake, of which no two are ever alike, you are a completely unique, one-of-a-kind personality that could not possibly be duplicated in anyone else... just like all the other Tauruses.

Also, Hitler was a Taurus, so remember you're pretty much exactly like him.

This week: That dream you keep having? The one where you shame eat Fancy Feast cat food while binge-watching old reruns of Roseanne? That's not a dream. That's a late night wake up call that you need to get your shit together.

According to the wisdom of the ancients, Gemini is the astrological equivalent of ADHD. You're an air sign, flighty and whimsical, and will most likely wind up getting hit by a bus.

This week: Fortunately, you won't get hit by a bus. You will, however, get hit with a wicked case of IBS in the middle of sexual intercourse with an Ethiopian sous chef. Ironically, it won't be because of his disgusting cooking, but rather from the parasite you picked up at Jim's Burger Shack last week. Shame on you.

You are the astrological equivalent of a wall. You're there, and you serve some menial purpose, but no one ever notices you because you're mostly unimportant and easily replaceable. Sure, you exist, but at a certain point you have to ask yourself... IS there a point?

This week: You will realize that life is meaningless and in one last act of honor, you will commit the ancient Japanese suicide ritual that is Seppuku.

You have 8 legs and powerful mandibles, and periodically molt your exoskeleton. You prey on lesser insects and primarily are found in warm or moist climates.

This week: You will scuttle back and forth mindlessly hunting for prey, fail, and then eat the egg sacs of your young.

You're a filthy drunk. Sorry you had to hear it from us, but hey, someone had to say it. You do have other good qualities, like good aim in the toilet and heating up a wicked pot of Ragu, but it's often overshadowed by your raging alcoholism.

This week: According to the stars, your alcoholism will destroy a close relationship with a loved one. You really should have picked a better astrological sign.

Pro: You can blame your alcoholism on being a Virgo.
Con: You're a Virgo, so you'll pretty much always be an alcoholic.

You're always focused on your relationships with others. Some may believe you're a good, thoughtful friend, but deep down you're an angry gossip queen who wishes everyone harm. Take pride in that. Wear it like a badge of venomous honor.

This week: Mr. Abernathy across the street will finally get caught with that bimbo mistress of his during lunch hour, so have your video camera and cell phone at the ready for the fallout. Also, your bitch Aunt Trudy will finally get her comeuppance for stealing your grandfather's inheritance by falling down a flight of stairs. Unfortunately, the nursing home is not properly insured and you won't see a dime from her death either.

I know, it's eerie how we know all this, isn't it? That's the magic of astrology.

You are kind hearted. Soft spoken. Gentle. You would never do anything to hurt another living soul.

This week: You will rip the still beating heart from a man's chest and consume it in front of his children to assert your dominance in the workplace.

(As a Scorpio, Bryan is looking forward to tasting the blood of his foes this week)

You are an enigma, wrapped in a riddle, surrounded by mystery, smothered in green chili and roasted to light perfection.

This week: You're going to get a job. Meet a nice man. Settle down. Get married. Shit out a few kids. Send them off to college. Get divorced. Move quietly to Florida. Retire. And then die cold and alone in a third-rate nursing home.

You're the kind of person who enjoys farting in a crowded elevator and then giggling quietly as 20 poor, trapped passengers inhale yesterday's triple-decker chili-cheese burrito. You sick bastard.

This week: You and your significant other are going to finally get that fancy abortion you've had your eyes on.

You're a joker. You're a smoker. You're a midnight toker. Some people call you Maurice. Some people call you the space cowboy. Others call you the gangster of love. But your mother? She still won't call you, not after what you did to her begonias.

This week: You're going to get into a violent police shootout and go out in a blaze of glory. Headcount: 132. Not bad, rookie!

You're a daydreamer. A visionary. Unfortunately, this means you frequently have trouble distinguishing between reality and the dark, sadistic underworld that is your festering inner demons.

This Week: This will happen.

...No one's really sure why.

So there you have it, you know what's going to happen to you this week. Do try to act surprised when these events unfold, will you? The universe always appreciates it when you act like you didn't know what was coming to you.

Cheers and stay classy, friends,
Brandon and Bryan

Beer: Lagunitas SUCKS
Music: Roosevelt