How can you not like a song that blends Eurelectro with SI's finest Tony Starks, Ironman?
Friday, April 4, 2008
Thursday, April 3, 2008
DiSaronno Poll: Favourite Summer Activity
Well, it was a nail biter this week. It looks like the Yellow Parrot King had to poll out all of his stops to ensure victory for his pastime of choice, but it worked. This week, my hearts do go out to those who voted for shuckin' oysters on the stoop. I too enjoy this activity very much, especially in the summer.
Well, the weather is getting warmer, the cities are beginning to wake up (only to be put to sleep again once people start a mass exodus to the luxurious Jersey shore). So before you head out there, make sure to pack your yellow parrots and tubes, because these two summer activities will be all the rage this year. I guarantee it.
Overheard on a Couch
"This doesn't qualify for an "overheard" piece, because I am saying it directly to you."
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
For the Ladies
It seems as though those crazy Japanese are at it again! No longer content with man's singular ability to pee while standing up, the makers of Super Pi Pi have no extended this wonderful joy to women everywhere. Oh you silly Japanese!! What will you think of next?
From Russia, With Lounge
Finally, something other than vodka [note: still second to gin] that comes from Russia and makes you feel good! Ozone Cocktail is a band that I am surprised have been around for so long and are still so obscure. Their diverse hybridized style leads one source to say "Ozone Cocktail is more than just a fruity elixir—a tasty blend of Amaretto, sweet & sour mix and a splash of beer and Sprite."
Amaretto? Sounds perfect for this blog's readers. New album recently out (see cover below).
Here's a bonus video for their song "Magnetic Power." Circus outfits for the band members? A 1950s microphone? Acrobats? What's not to like (besides when the acrobats screw up at the end)?
Amaretto? Sounds perfect for this blog's readers. New album recently out (see cover below).
Here's a bonus video for their song "Magnetic Power." Circus outfits for the band members? A 1950s microphone? Acrobats? What's not to like (besides when the acrobats screw up at the end)?
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
"Mommy WOW! I've got big tits now."
Winner will not be chosen until tomorrow. Enter today, brainstorm all night, check back in the morning to see if you win!
EDIT:Runner up entry:
"What's your hottest sex fantasy?""Depends.""On what?""Preferably on an obese, bespectacled sack of shit like this guy.""Oh I get it. Yeah that's pretty hot."
For Your Lunch Break
For those interested in getting Lasik eye surgery, I recommend Dr. Lee Feldstein. I had my procedure done a couple weeks ago and everything went very smoothly. He is kind, professional, and Jewish.
And if that doesn't do it for you: JEWISH!!
What, You Couldn’t Let Fourth Grade Go?
This past weekend, I set about on a minor social experiment with Eugene Dick and Luigi DiSaronno to examine the Brooklyn hipster in its natural element. I found my tightest pair of jeans, made sure my shoes had enough holes in them, threw on the nappiest t-shirt I owned, and made sure I smelled sufficiently enough like shit before jumping on the L-train to Williamsburg to track a rare/pathetic breed, the elusive Brooklyn Kickballer. My fellow bloggers and I had heard rumors of an adult kickball league and sought entrance as a way to poke fun at these hapless pseudo-athletes trying to cling to any vestige of their youth. We thought it was going to be quite amusing . . . until we got there.
The local haunt for this sad-breed of humanoid was none other than the Turkey’s Nest, a neighborhood dive bar on North 12th and Bedford. To create an adequate mental picture, imagine high ceilings, a cosmopolitan mixture of dapper patrons, marble floors, courteous bartenders, and a bevy of exotic cocktails. Now throw out that mental image and picture the stench of stale beer, warped wooden floors, denizens dressed from the finest offerings at the local Goodwill Store, flat beer in Styrofoam cups, and the shittiest $6 margarita imaginable. Now fellow readers, I’m all for dive bars and consider myself no snob when it comes to getting drunk, but I usually prefer to have my drinking experiences devoid of dirty dogs trying to hump my legs and washed-up alcoholic has-beens that probably still live with their parents.
Ok, back to the topic. Eugene, Luigi, and I attempt to infiltrate this league to flex our inherent superiority over these grizzled 30-somethings. I approach the organizer, whom we shall call Kelvin Cock for anonymity purposes (think an unattractive Dave Attell (that has to be a paradox by the way)) who immediately takes me to the back of the bar where I think I will begin the registration process. False. Mr. Diamond starts into an incoherent rant (judging by the glossiness of his eyes and bits of Styrofoam caught in his man scruff, he had enjoyed more than his fair share of stale beer that evening) about the ethos of the league, the all-inclusive nature he is attempting to foster, and the community building he is trying to promote. Sounds great, inspirational, compelling. Then he tells me the league is full and that registration is finished. What the fuck? So I just wasted an hour and a half of my Sunday coming to this shitbox to listen to a rambling speech by a guy fellating himself over a kickall league? As a result, Eugene, Luigi, and I rolled out of the dingy nest truly bitter, with Luigi and Eugene contemplating bombing Williamsburg in much the same manner they had blown up Bond Street a few weeks earlier.
As a result, we here at the Dblog are now proposing an alternative to the Brooklyn Summer Kickball League. Instead of commuting over to Williamsburg every Sunday night, our faithful readership will now scour local elementary schoolyards throughout Manhattan on a daily basis looking for kids to push into puddles, administer swirlies to, and generally bully in an attempt to revisit the glory days of . . . 4th grade? We shall be an all-inclusive organization (excluding everyone older than 30, that smells/looks like a dumpster, and takes trivial things too seriously) with no registration window, no sign-up fees, and no rules. The only true pillar of our organization will be our motto: If you make a child cry, everyone wins. We have already begun actively recruiting through our sister-site and hope to expand our current enrollment to 1000 teams (though we may subject our maximum occupancy to arbitrary rules set on a whim depending on how drunk we get). Come one, come all and enjoy a summer of children’s tears, bruised kneecaps, toilet-soaked heads, and swollen egos. Who needs kickball, Brooklyn, Kelvin Cock, overcompensating for our unathletic youths, burgeoning alcoholism, and a general lack of hygiene? Exactly! I’d rather make a child weep sweet, sweet tears.
The local haunt for this sad-breed of humanoid was none other than the Turkey’s Nest, a neighborhood dive bar on North 12th and Bedford. To create an adequate mental picture, imagine high ceilings, a cosmopolitan mixture of dapper patrons, marble floors, courteous bartenders, and a bevy of exotic cocktails. Now throw out that mental image and picture the stench of stale beer, warped wooden floors, denizens dressed from the finest offerings at the local Goodwill Store, flat beer in Styrofoam cups, and the shittiest $6 margarita imaginable. Now fellow readers, I’m all for dive bars and consider myself no snob when it comes to getting drunk, but I usually prefer to have my drinking experiences devoid of dirty dogs trying to hump my legs and washed-up alcoholic has-beens that probably still live with their parents.
Ok, back to the topic. Eugene, Luigi, and I attempt to infiltrate this league to flex our inherent superiority over these grizzled 30-somethings. I approach the organizer, whom we shall call Kelvin Cock for anonymity purposes (think an unattractive Dave Attell (that has to be a paradox by the way)) who immediately takes me to the back of the bar where I think I will begin the registration process. False. Mr. Diamond starts into an incoherent rant (judging by the glossiness of his eyes and bits of Styrofoam caught in his man scruff, he had enjoyed more than his fair share of stale beer that evening) about the ethos of the league, the all-inclusive nature he is attempting to foster, and the community building he is trying to promote. Sounds great, inspirational, compelling. Then he tells me the league is full and that registration is finished. What the fuck? So I just wasted an hour and a half of my Sunday coming to this shitbox to listen to a rambling speech by a guy fellating himself over a kickall league? As a result, Eugene, Luigi, and I rolled out of the dingy nest truly bitter, with Luigi and Eugene contemplating bombing Williamsburg in much the same manner they had blown up Bond Street a few weeks earlier.
As a result, we here at the Dblog are now proposing an alternative to the Brooklyn Summer Kickball League. Instead of commuting over to Williamsburg every Sunday night, our faithful readership will now scour local elementary schoolyards throughout Manhattan on a daily basis looking for kids to push into puddles, administer swirlies to, and generally bully in an attempt to revisit the glory days of . . . 4th grade? We shall be an all-inclusive organization (excluding everyone older than 30, that smells/looks like a dumpster, and takes trivial things too seriously) with no registration window, no sign-up fees, and no rules. The only true pillar of our organization will be our motto: If you make a child cry, everyone wins. We have already begun actively recruiting through our sister-site and hope to expand our current enrollment to 1000 teams (though we may subject our maximum occupancy to arbitrary rules set on a whim depending on how drunk we get). Come one, come all and enjoy a summer of children’s tears, bruised kneecaps, toilet-soaked heads, and swollen egos. Who needs kickball, Brooklyn, Kelvin Cock, overcompensating for our unathletic youths, burgeoning alcoholism, and a general lack of hygiene? Exactly! I’d rather make a child weep sweet, sweet tears.
Product Review: The Quantum Sleeper
If you lie in bed at night worrying about: (1) a pending bio-chemical terrorist attack on your home; (2) rogue winter storm in the dead of July; (3) somebody touching your private parts while you sleep, then there is only one way to ensure a perfect slumber. Forget heavy drinking, prescription drugs, or sleepytime tea. You need the Quantum Sleeper.
With optional features like microwave, refrigerator, DVD/CD player, CB and shortwave radios, and a toiletry system, you may find that you'll never get out of bed again (but at least it won't be because somebody killed you!).
With optional features like microwave, refrigerator, DVD/CD player, CB and shortwave radios, and a toiletry system, you may find that you'll never get out of bed again (but at least it won't be because somebody killed you!).
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
