Hmmm.

Whatever twirls your beanie.


http://www.scottishspirits.com/en/whisky_can.html

Free South Africa, you dumb son of a bitch

Invoked a little Murtaugh there. Weird.

Anyhoo, these sumbitches shut down. I remember going there as a punk ass kid with the rents shortly after the abortive World's Fair. Fun note: I did go there two years ago with Mackey's brother. He won't own a red...nothing!

http://www.knoxnews.com/news/2010/sep/30/butcher-shop-closes-doors/

Tag, the former author/brewer here, can grill a steak on par with anyone. I'll be damned if I grill it myself someplace. Still, I am somewhat saddened since I am a huge fan of the old WFP sites. With both this property and the L&N vacant, I worry that some urban traitor will fuck us and sell them to the Russkies or the Frogs. Fuck that noise. That shit's for the birds.

Kegs

As with most of you, we've been enjoying our summer evenings and weekends by getting loaded. We've been bayoneting kegs like The Somme and at remarkable speed no less.

Back in the college days, most young men will eventually acquire a full set of keg materials. Usually, you can get the keg pretty easily. The basin or trash can, for reasons I will shortly explain, can easily be obtained although it should come last. The tap is where most of us dipshit collegians run into trouble, so for a while you have to pay the damn deposit at Pilot.

And it had to be Pilot, because back then the Cumberland locale was the primary keg arsenal for the UTK student. Upon retrospect, I do wish there were more options but there was a reassuring and remarkable simplicity to obtaining a keg on short notice. The big yellow Pilot trash cans represented the epitome of serious drinking street cred, if your kegger sported the obscene yellow and red bastards, you were at a professional party. Utterly bizarre hierarchy. Also, if you had a backup tap(hubris) you were not to be trifled with in any capacity. What kind of rat bastard psycho has that kind of walking around change at 22?

Over the years, my items were passed along to a younger generation...which was good and proper. It also helps that Mackey and HL have kegerators, so I am cheating. They at times seem beset with attractive keg options...what with our fine friends at Woodruff and Bearden Beer Market leading the way. Pilot abides, as ever. Krogers and some of the nicer Ingles supermarkets will sell kegs in some capacity, and we've even seen a quick trip to Wallyworld bear some fruit. With great keg, comes great responsibility so choose your primary provider carefully. I mean, at least as much scrutiny as one's physician, since you'll be needing a score of those(conjecture).

Recently, during our trip to the Thunder Nationals, we had to go back to a fuck ton of bottled and canned beer which brings the usual logistical concerns. How much do we need? Coolers necessary? Of course, we started with a figure-and then doubled it. We still felt uneasy with that seemingly insignificant sum, so we invoked boozer pincet, by which we also buffet that beer with well over a gallon of liquor.

Terrible, terrible things.

Since it was frowned upon to wheel a keg in the grandstands anyway, we took our estimate for cooler ice and doubled it.

Still woefully inadequate, it turned out. Fortunately enterprising locals saved our asses by driving the ice truck from campsite to campsite. We salute this man for his American character and spirit. His timely delivery allowed all eight cases to perish with honor. He and Mackey engaged in a 20 minute conversation for some reason.

So as we return to the free-flowing greatness that is keg beer, we think back to that fuzzy and vague weekend with great fondness. At least kegerators don't require some hoary Norse iceman to pull our nuts out of the fire.

Look here, you sumbitch...

Overheard at the bar tonight. Perhaps I said it:

Rainbow Brite needs to meet Mr. Owl.

I'm not on trial here.

1947-2009

Although I was just a bit young for it, I'm told that this particular poster adorned every teenage boy's room and dorm in America. Iconic.

On the heels of Dom Deluise passing some months ago, I feel compelled to pay respects to another participant in my beloved Cannonball Run hall o' fame. Seeing her on Burt's arm was just as familiar as seeing her with Lee Majors or Ryan O'Neal. This guy...Mr...er...ah...um...Foyt, not so much.

RIP Captain Chaos

While more of a bon vivant than strict lush, we here at DK mourn the passing of Dom Deluise...the fat jolly tub of fun that certainly encouraged OUR drinking when he was on-screen. His role of Captain Chaos, his participation in Mel Brooks' movies were all gems.

Speaking for yours truly, it was his pairing with Burt Reynolds that truly inspired a reckless desire to haul drunken ass (it was the 80's when it wasn't gauche) from Connecticut to California and back again in a tricked-out ambulance.

What do you say Captain Chaos? Are you ready to come back from the afterlife to join us?

UPDATE: Priceless. The outtakes from the Needham films encapsulates his genius better than the actual finished film.

Rooked II: Electric Boogaloo

Twas the Sunday before Christmas, and I was shit-housed,

The room began spinning, and my fun had been doused,

The shot glasses were lined on the counter in disrepair,

In hopes that Holiday fun soon would be there.

(no such luck)

Yeah, it was like that. I managed to use a tiny loophole to drink some gratis Traitorous Jack Daniels that, since I didn't spend my money on it, was technically okay to drink. You've heard the will is strong, but the flesh is weak...well, in this case my constitution rejected this inferior product like a vortex of hatred and pain. It was like surgery gone terribly, terribly wrong. Once again, fuck you poseur Lynchburg pricks. You and your market research can go to Hell.

Rooked!

Why so serious?

Well so far this Autumn has been steaming load of manure. Apart from my awesome rocking birthday, things are going down the rabbit hole in a hurry. Let's review some of the local and indeed, national woes that are getting on my nerves.

First, the Vols are sucking major balls. The completely inept play is a reflection of the coaching staff's baffling stubborness to adapt to the 21st century game. Special teams have been awful(offal) for years. The Vols have given up seven TD's on returns since 2005. Despite reassurance from the staff those problems will be addressed, it never has been. There is no discipline on the field, particularly on offense and the defense is dreadful on third down. Couple these on-field issues with the UTAD's moronic handling of the head coach's contract in Summer and the fan base is in uproar:

Mass hysteria. Cats and dogs living together, as Dr. Venkman has stated.

Also locally, despite oil dropping to a relatively low 90-something a barrel, gas here is as scarce as in Max's post nuclear Australia. Look for bikers, assless chaps, and a dramatic shortage of blowers for muscle cars. This was my morning commute:

Whimsical, no?

Nationally speaking, the body politic reels in the bitter taste of rescues and bailouts of rich assholes and morons that don't understand interest rates and sub-prime lending. Even now, our fearless dolts debate a bill that will give 700 thousand million dollars of our money to these pricks. So, we have economic crises to deal with...plus Ivan and his rusting arsenal rattling his Cossack swords, high energy costs, Lindsay and SamRo, and the always evident threat of alien invasion without the necessary weaponry to repel the ravenous hordes:

Truly these are interesting times, or so the fortune cookie has told me.

Anyhoo, one might ask if there is anything good going on right now. The answer gentle reader is yes. Oktoberfest. Let us all channel the goodwill and drinking karma from Munich...

In short, the authors here believe in one simple and salient truth: When the shit hits the fan, you DRINK YOUR WAY THROUGH IT.