Nine millimeters of Luger

Let me just say I don't care for these electronic cigarettes. Not because I think those who use the insipid things are trying to skirt the smoking laws, rather I have found every single person who is using them in a bar setting to be a screaming douche.

I'm no smoking prude. In fact, among non-smokers you will find me the most pro-cancer stick. I lament the passing of smoking sections on planes and trains, and you will still see me frequent 21 and over bars that still allow smoking. This is America, and you should be able to kill your body however you please.

So last night I am downtown, and this older fellow was indulging in this tripe. He finagled his way to the center of his table, overpowering conversation and gesturing like a madman with his stupid damn stick. It lacks the couth and class of a pipe, sir. Worse, when your friends attempted to get your attention you would quickly pull your tiny Freudian cockstitute to your mouth and exhale a small amount of vapor into said friend's face. Feh. They really need to kick your ass.

Look, if the droat-wearing girls can stand outside in scarves and hideous boots to smoke during the cold January nights then you can too. I recognize that everyone probably doesn't engage in this low-level visual cocktardery when they activate their e cigarette. I beseech someone to step up and lead these misguided souls.

Not all smiles und sunshine

Mackey's last post, coupled with a less than impressive trip to a local watering hole, has reminded me how fortunate I have been with the general quality of overall service I receive in this town. I'm not really even talking about places where I'm a regular, or even merely a familiar face for the most part. Just another thirsty hooligan in a new place, off the street like a common mendicant type stuff.

Some places around here fail because it was a bad idea, bad location, bad service, bad management...you name it. We as customers can bitch about a lot of things, and if you actually want the place to improve sometimes we need to speak with management right damn now. Constructive remarks delivered with a rational(and if you worked in the industry-sympathetic) tone can really help.

Recently, I've encountered two separate instances where service was both slow and apathetic. That's a rotten experience that will kill off a return customer pronto. I can overlook a lot of things like mechanical failures(shit happens) or being out of a beer/menu item. Hell, I even expect a small pour from time to time. You can talk with management without delivering a reprimand to the over-worked server or the short-handed kitchen. Many places that have a successful vision in place will welcome the chance to improve...if not, well then those joints aren't long for Knoxville in any case. Wade confidently into their midst and f'em.

Friday Rage

Apologies for the unusual negative vibe here but I have to vent for a moment. Maybe it’s the extra stress of work lately or just a case of manstruation but I’m over the edge with a few things this morning, mostly traffic.

Drivers who stop at green lights. I may have mentioned this one before but it bears repeating. It’s a simple fact of driving you learn from the start: Red means Stop, Green means Go. Not tap your brakes a dozen times as you approach in case the light changes (that’s why we have yellow lights), not ease through at 4 MPH thus backing up a line of cars for no reason, and definitely do NOT fucking stop at the Green light, look both ways multiple times, then make a last second decision like you’re taking a risk into the unknown. Fucking idiots.

Gay St. is not a drop off / waiting area. Cars parking along Gay St. when I first moved to town years ago struck me as a bit peculiar, but I got used to that rather quickly. Now more than ever it seems as though drivers take their sweet-ass time loitering in traffic as spouses, friends, etc. go about their business. I can deal with the quick 5 second jump in/out and moving along, but that’s the least of it. I don’t want to see PDA as you kiss and coo over one another like you won’t see each other for months, this isn’t the airport. Likely you’ll be back at 5 PM picking them up and reliving the whole process again. Going to the KUB express payment box is one thing, but don’t idle in traffic while your passenger picks up their cleaning or opens a checking account at the bank. Move your fucking cars people!

KAT rules downtown street traffic. Just look at those buses next time you’re driving downtown. Count the number of buses then count the riders, you can usually count them on one hand per bus. One weekday afternoon several weeks ago I counted 9 buses on Gay St. from 1st TN Bank to the visitor’s center, many with only 2 – 3 passengers. KAT is a public service that I don’t really have a beef with but I can’t wait for the new transit center to be completed. I don’t know if it will reduce traffic congestion or not but let’s hope so.

Ok. I’ve had my Jameson-laced coffee and biscuit so I’m relaxed now. It’s Friday, the weather is warming up and a fun holiday is just around the corner. I feel better, really, thanks for listening.

Cling to your pathetic fable of "Red" marketing

I'm not talking about Ivan here, although the upcoming stupidity seems right out of the dipshit commie playbook. Little Red Book indeed, Chairman Mao. This farce of shit is so puzzling, that I'm going to forgo my usual method of distracting you with pictures/shiny objects for a straight-up bitch session.

Jim Fucking Beam. Once I venerated you as have many college students. You were my constant companion in Neyland Stadium and a cheap gift for friends at Christmas time, and that frothy mess on a mixture of Beam and Coke was a panacea for young and inexperienced taste buds. Even if you are pissed off because my palate has evolved to better whisky that's no reason to vex mankind with your latest abortion: Red Stag.

Oh where to begin. The marketing campaign on the website screams hipster assholes with no taste dancing and frolicking about...oh, but they are hipster assholes that like to be outdoors in the snow and they listen to Kid Rock. How very edgy? How very damn trite if you ask me. Every booze cliche in existance is peddled over there. Winter landscape? Check. People who look cool, but are paid models? Check. Washed-up smelly pitchman? Fucking check, in the aforementioned Rock. Who from the early 2000's culture can we recycle next? Please, please say Limp Bizkit so someone can stake this poorly concieved vampire booze to eternal death. Meh.

Beam tells us that this vile drink is four year old JB(four whole years you say?) that has been 'reimagined' with a black cherry finish. Jesus tap-dancing Christ, that sounds terrible. The last thing I think of when I crack open my Makers or Knob Creek is wondering how it would taste with some Cherry Coke. Get the fuck out of here.

Yes, I know it's not in our creed here at DK to shit on something without trying it. Then again, I don't need to drink turpentine to know it's going to suck.

Finally, does anyone remember (circa 93 or 94) the dreadful beers named Red Wolf and Red Dog? Yeah, that's what I thought. Make room on the shelf for another ill-conceived product with a shitty name, because it's only a matter of time.

Off Topic – Comcast Sucks II

A while ago I expressed my dissatisfaction with Comcast. Late this summer as football season approached I reluctantly signed up for internet and cable TV service. During the three months I’ve been back with them I have had at least three HBO outages (they cut me off), zero correct bills and woeful customer service. I should disclose that internet service has been good, so that’s nice. The worst part though is dealing with inadequate customer service. It isn’t the rep’s fault, the organization keeps a pool of phone jockeys to deal with routine technical and billing issues, then keeps the customer at arm’s length when it comes to more complicated problems. It’s similar to the phone-hell switch board process you go through just trying to reach a live person. Once you get through you have to explain every detail only to be told that a supervisor will have to be advised of the problem and they will work on it. Bullshit. Once I did speak with a supervisor and was promised a follow up call about my issue but I never got the call. The latest billing error doubled my monthly bill and the rep told me there was a note in my record stating that a supervisor had been contacted to authorize the correction but guess what, the supervisor never made the authorization. I have no doubt that I’m on their “black list” of people to fuck with. Die Comcast, just die.

Cash Only

A big peeve of mine at the bars these days is the bastard practice of pre-authorization of credit cards for a set sum in advance of the tab. Most banking institutions will count this as a pending charge on your account, and heaven only knows what rotten practice each individual credit card company will pursue. In short, long after you have left the bar you still feel like you haven't paid. Days after the final beer, last call, and the hangover you haven't yet finished the ordeal. I realize this practice is not new, nor is it illegal or unethical. You are after all, making a decision on where to drink and part of that process is the style of management said bar utilizes. However, just because a bar has a legal leg to stand on doesn't make it "cool."

It's not unusual for a bar to hold a card for the tab, I grant that. Even fine with it, although my regular bars would get crucified if they asked me for a card. The truth is that some places get ripped off on a frequent basis and creativity with opening and closing a tab can keep the place in the black and won't make the employees unhappy. We as patrons deserve some of the blame for running out on tabs, miserly tipping, drawing arrogant birds on the receipt, etc. However, if I give a card and then opt to pay cash when leaving-that should be the end of it. Instead I've got an uncomfortable hand in my wallet for a few days even after I should be in the clear. Two places that I visit on a semi-regular basis have this misguided policy.


What relevance does the photo have with the post? Absolutely none, but I've wanted to use it for some time and have zero idea how to work it in to a usual topic. Maybe some loose connection to the Governor of Colliefornia and their credit/cash woes? Whatever.

I thought about whether or not to post this...complaint is the term, since the offenders are two bars that we have reviewed positively. I'll not identify them since I really enjoy both establishments and realize I am coming off as a nitpicky bastard. Just airing a grievance in advance of Festivus. Looks like I'll be taking a Adam Jones-ish wad of cash* and make it rain after each beer.

*No more than 20 US dollars

Ok, I Get It

There’s a stencilled image plastered all over downtown that rivals the number of Travis Henry's offspring.

Who the hell is this broad?

After seeing this image so damn much I can’t help but notice it constantly. For months now this thing has lurked around the next street corner to the point where I think it’s stalking me. From Market Sq. to the Old City I see it everywhere and I'm more than a little tired of it.

Is it legit graffiti if you use a stencil, and is this a person I'm supposed to know? Doubtful on both, but you can't lock her up in a cage...

...she always escapes:

Trust me, there are plenty more of these images all over downtown. Lucky for you my camera batteries ran out when I was taking these.

Death take me quickly

Mother of God. Fox Sports, what hath thou wrought? It's bad enough that the shithole lizards won the national title, but must you seek out this stereotype for the public? Look, we all enjoy the now famous pictures of Husker and Buckeye children tearing up, but this is just in poor taste.

A pox upon thy house.

Awful. Ghey.

UT just lost homecoming. This sucks. Thanks Phil and supporters. Thanks a metric fuck ton.

We're going out for shots. Eat shit and die. Or not.

Off Topic - Comcast Sucks

I could go off about how Comcast has stuck it to me personally over the past 10 years since I've lived in Knoxville. I'm sure most of you have a similar opinion, or at least a story. I'll spare you my whining, bitching and moaning and keep this brief:

Any time there is a significant rain storm passing though town it totally ruins our Comcast connection at work

• Good if you don't want to get any work done
• Bad if you want to fuck around online and ignore work
• Doubly bad if you have work to do in addition to fucking around on the Internet
  

I hate them

Some things that suck

Damn you Knoxville. Splash pads and fountains may play well with the average dolt of a citizen that blindly looks at parks and greenways on face value as signs of culture. Meanwhile, those of us with a basic understanding of filth and disease shake our heads in disgust. Since this sign was clearly a post-poop afterthought, no one in a position of authority dared think that degenerate parents would allow their Hellish drop to prance about non-treated water in diapers. Just fucking awful.



Damn you Fulmer. A common refrain these days in Big Orange Country, made all the more relevant given the lackluster victory over a lackluster opponent. The collapse of the college football season means ill tempers and a social epidemic of drinking away one's sorrows. Though we here believe in 'drinking our way through it' as described last week, it would be pleasant to have a reason to celebrate. Instead, the evenings following a UT game are not the festive events like they were during my college days. Saturday night was like a leper colony sans the hope.



Damn you wine hangover. Look, since the dawn of civilization and grape-stomping, people have grappled with the dehydrated headaches of drinking too much vino. Following last week's WOTW festival on the river, my head was pounding like a full-on artillery barrage. I've been to three of these things and nothing goes totally right for me. As an event, it's a great deal of fun. A varied selection of wine and food from local and regional vendors, plus its for charity so you can fool yourself that you are part of something better than swilling wine on Friday(which you would be doing anyway, drunkie).



Damn you Cleveland Browns fans.

Mother of God, look at this asshole. While I endorse pelting non-performers with rotten vegetables and C-cell batteries(similar damage to D batteries, but lighter) I cannot help wanting to become the biggest shill and program homer when faced with the likes of this 'fan'

Damn you local schmucks. While walking through the World's Fair Park Saturday I once again lamented the lack of a rocking bar in the former L&N. When I was a boy, it was the first place I really can remember people getting plastered. I wanted to be one of those patrons and eagerly looked forward to drinking there on my eighteenth birthday. Two things prevented me from doing so: The utterly capricious decision to bump the drinking age to twenty-one, and the asshole jerks that seem to have their fingers in everything. Sure, nothing escaped the financial turmoil after 82 down there, but gradually business and life has returned to the Park, be it in the Sunsphere or Convention Center. The meddling historic assholes and nebulous power players in this town can't agree on what to do with the place. It's a shame. Sitting on that enclosed patio looking over the Park would be a capital locale for casual boozing.

Come down to the Brewer's Jam this weekend and see if you agree about the L&N. Failing that, you can at least get some sweet beer action. That, at least, will not suck.

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.

Monday Hangover

We already know that the Vols shat the bed on Saturday. We watched with anxiety and angst as they almost snatched victory from the jaws of defeat, which would have put us in a position to possibly have a decent season since Florida and Georgia both decided to lay down. A win would have really put us right back in the thick of things, even with our inept QB. And now it appears ole Phil is opening up the competition - only 4 games into the season too late. Great.

To make the weekend of sports worse, my NFL team got their asses handed to them by Brett Favre. So much for that 2-0 start. Way to let an ancient QB who has been in the league a million years reach another milestone with an inferior team. Not to mention those terrible uniforms of the real Titans.

All this suckeration and disappointment tends to make me think something good is about to happen. Things can't stay so shitty for this long. Something great is just around the corner. A new dawn after a long, dark, scary night. What we need is a new bar to rise up from the ashes and shake this town up:

Shit. Goddamnyouhawkeyesforeverclosingyourfuckingdoors!!!

Weekend Options

Now that UTAD and Fat Phil have let down the Vol Nation the weekend just doesn’t appeal to me as much as it should and I’m pissed. Back when we were relevant the weekend took care of itself during football season: Friday nights were social occasions to meet up with your buddies and have some after-work drinks, make final arrangements for the game, and make it home at a decent enough time not to ruin game day with a hangover; Saturdays you tailgated (drank a lot) went to/watched the game that we won on most occasions (even against quality opponents) then you celebrated the night away; Sundays you didn’t mind the hangover so much and eased into the afternoon by watching glorious NFL football on TV.

Shit, things change. Now I have to come up with plans on my own. Tonight I’m considering hosting a Russian Dinner with a few friends. Eh comrades, eh? (Not to be confused with a Russian Sip). I have a ½ drank handle of Vikingfjord that needs to be disposed of properly, so I figure why not get a few drunks together at my place? The idea is to gather around the table with said liter of vodka, have some genial conversation, and drink shots until every drop of vodka is gone and dispose of the bottle underneath the table. I figure that should be a good start to the weekend. Any takers?

No Thanks

This morning as I stopped by the local convenience store for a fix of my latest addiction, coffee, I took a second to browse the beer aisle to see if there were any new brands on the market I should care about. In short, no. However I did notice a couple of products that need to be shat upon.

Twisted Tea

These malt-flavored farces of shit never stop hitting the shelves. Hearkening back to their introduction in the 80's, products like Bartles & James, Le Croix, and Matilda Bay wine coolers ushered in a new wave of alco-pops that unfortunately stayed with us. Novice drinkers are the only people excused from drinking this mess, and it is only a temporary pass. If you're in college or 22+ it's time to move on. I guess I'll give a break to some ladies out there that just don't like the taste of beer, but no man should ever be caught drinking these. God forbid you show up at the lake with a cooler of this swill amongst all the lake beer. Do the words "Man overboard!" mean anything? Man up and drink an ice pick, pussy. Vodka, tea, ice, done.

Bud Light Lime

This shit is the beer equivalent of Tostitos corn chips with lime. I'd be surprised if they didn't share the same exact seasoning. It's crap, we all know it's crap, and if you don't you should have your drinking privileges revoked. Know what? If you want lime flavored beer do like everybody else and get a goddamned Mexican beer: Tecate, Corona, Dos Equis, Negra Modello, etc., stick a lime wedge in it and STFU.

Crunk (not Crunk Juice)

This isn't alcohol, but there is a cocktail called "crunk juice" I'll address in a moment. I'm not hip enough to be part of the rap, gangsta, hip-hop, etc. scene and probably never was, but I think I've been crunk before. If it meant "cranky-drunk" then definitely. This product may as well have the word "Dogg" labeled all over it since they are trying to identify with their target market in da 'hood. I guess this is the answer to Rock Star energy drink; who cares. As I mentioned there is Crunk Juice, a cocktail made with cognac and Red Bull. I'd give it a try at least once, it couldn't be that bad. May as well sub Crunk for Red Bull for some extra props, yo!

Gawful

A little while ago, I was reading a sports message board I frequent in preparation for the UT shit-the-bed party this weekend.

One of the side threads I read with great amusement was a question about so-called "man laws" regarding BYOB protocols. Some of you may remember the dreadful Miller Lite commercials a few years ago with Mike Ditka, Burt Reynolds, and other paid shills that most likely wouldn't drink a Miller product if it was the last alcohol on Earth. The disparity of entertainment value from beer commercials these days is quite sad when compared to the glory days of alcohol advertisement in the early 80s. Ed "Too-Tall" Jones and Dick Butkus shit on the booze spots of the 21st century...and I dare you Captain Morgan pose making faggots to tell them otherwise.

Anyway, the specific question was whether or not it is okay to leave a party with any unconsumed beer you brought with you, or if said beer becomes property of the host. Technically the question is valid...and according to the clearinghouse that is Modern Drunkard Magazine, beer brought to a party transfers ownership at the end of the festivities. In short, buy more beer you cheap rube.

Here's my take however: This question is only partially valid. The proponents and chest thumpers that think it is cool to codify what a "man law" is fail to see the forest for the trees. A real man won't have to ask this question because a real man will DRINK EVERY DAMN THING HE BROUGHT WITH HIM. Moreover, if the party is really righteous he will also raid the fridge for booze that isn't his. The professional mercenary drunkard will also comb through cabinets in both kitchen and bathroom, utility and linen closets, laundry hampers and the garage for hidden booze. Trust me, find a bottle of premium vodka one time in a dresser drawer and you will sort through panties and boxer shorts for the next ten years hoping lightning will strike twice.

In short, make all the cute laws you want...I'll be too busy chugging your Newcastle Brown Ales to care.

NFL in 2 Days!!

Looking ahead to Thursday when we'll have a real season of football to follow. Let's try to forget we're coming off a holiday weekend - a weekend that also featured college football 5 straight days from Thursday to Monday. That's some serious drinking time, but it all amounts to crap when your team lets you down right before you have to return to work the next day. No amount of booze can change a loss to a win, but it can help you forget at least for a while.

Next time I may skip all the fancy snacks and just stick with the booze...

Olympic Drinking

Fucking China. I was debating on maybe trying to capitalize on the ubiquitous and nauseating amounts of coverage NBC and their whores will hoist upon us beginning...well today actually. To be honest, I am not sure if I should punish my liver for the sins of the orient.

I'm on record as stating this Olympics will have some sort of calamity written all over it.(No I am not referring to the shit paper ripped from a teletubbies episode) Many blogs that I read are of the same opinion, although you wouldn't know much of it from the so-called regular media. These asshats can't grovel fast enough to the Chicoms, while giving lip service to freedom of the press yada yada yada. Being born on the day of the Munich Massacre, I claim clairvoyance on this esoteric and narrow project. There have been the standard reports of pollution, violence at checkpoints, and general commie fuckery. I'm still pulling for some exotic disaster, perhaps a dragon war or the appearance of Zombie Genghis Khan, you know...a real fuckup of Jovian proportion.

Anyhoo. I thought I might try and enlist the group into some of sort of drinking game for the Olympics. Not the faggotry that some locals think of as drinking games, this is strict power boozing and low-key jackassery. Perhaps a beer or shot for every gold medal the USA brings back( I believe that was around 36 or so for the 2004 Summer Games) at the conclusion of ceremonies. Then again, my heart really isn't into it...and to be honest, I'll probably drink that much anyway. So, to close this pointless entry, I've included an image of mostly humorous drunken acts that might be construed as athletic competition. Well, at the Delta Tau Chi house.

An Open Letter-

to the wretched androgyne wading amongst us last night at the pub. Oh, is it a boy or a girl? How clever. How very 1990's Imperial Drag.

Look, you would repulse me enough based upon your mannish attire, worn in such a way to obscure any potential mammaroid sightings. Your walk is indicative of the chain-wallet crowd, and your fake tan is baffling given it is summer and you could obtain some shade via natural means. Most stunning at all is your choice of hairstyle, known to all as the Horn of Aggression. Get a load of these examples:
















Sweet merciful Jesus. Death take me quickly. You realize, sexless man-woman, that this particular abortion of style has unsophisticated roots long documented in cave drawings?
Get the message? No? I will elaborate further, you shame yourself and worse yet everyone around you as every bar patron is forced to contend with your personal choice. The beer tastes flatter, and no one knows which bathroom you are going to use. It's extremely poor form.

If being compared to a Cro-Magnon, Neatherthal, or Australopithecines doesn't motivate you to change, allow me to also point out you resemble the douchebags of Jersey or Long Island. I mean, we've all seen these cliched pics circulating around Al Gore's internet for years now, but since you didn't get the memo:


I weep for the future. Until nuclear artillery is an option, please stay the F out of my bar.

Monday Hangover

Goddammit I’m kicking mad!! Today was supposed to get off to a great start. Monday hangover was going to cover all the fun I had getting pissed drunk all weekend. All the beer I drank Friday starting at lunch. The beautiful new keg of IPA I have in my kick-ass kegerator. The 2nd drunk Friday evening going into the early hours of the morning. The cookout/bonfire Saturday night complete with whiskey drinking. And even further drinking Sunday afternoon at Sidestreet Tavern.

But no. No. Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooo. My laptop has crashed. Again.

Computers crash and burn all the time, but mine was just fresh from the repair shop for less than two weeks and it apparently has the exact same problem as before. So instead of typing my worthless, drunken account of the weekend on my private laptop I’m limited to my work PC. I’m so pissed off about it that I could really use a drink….