Read this sumbitchin' blog(again)

Last year, yours truly blogged about how to make the misery of modern movies acceptable.

http://drinkingknoxville.blogspot.com/2008/07/functional-drunk-movies.html

Basically, I recommended drinking heavily and investing in a flask. What a fucking surprise. In hindsight I could have reduced that post by 50% had I just utilized booze references and curse words and still managed to get my point across. This year, Hollyweird has decided we need shiny pictures with extreme violence to take our minds off of the crap-laden diaper that is 2009. I'll spare you the tedium of reading titles you were already aware of, and indeed would like to endorse this sumbitchin' blog instead: http://filmdrunk.uproxx.com/

A member of the highly funny and extremely offensive uproxx series of blogging partners such as http://www.withleather.com/ , you can obtain crucial film reviews as well as crotch-camera bootlegs plus all the racist and sexist humor that you laugh about in the privacy of your own home.

I mean, come on...who among us would have known about the NWA biopic if not for http://filmdrunk.uproxx.com/2009/03/nwa-biopic? Hopefully it will harken back to the days of the extreme violence and gunfire that encapsulated Spike Lee and John Singleton films of the day. I'm told you couldn't get a popcorn without some baller trying to jack you with his deuce-deuce in the concession line.

(Nino Brown says you are your motherfucking brother's keeper.)

Uh, yeah

Yes...First Friday was totally the reason I got polluted the other night. Completely. One hundred percent of the reason I ended up at the bar for an eternity after a happy hour-timed arrival.

Certainly I needed the artistic motivation to knock back countless IPAs, double Makers, and the coup de grace of Knob Creek belts straight from the bottle. Otherwise, I wouldn't have felt the need to drink all that shit.

Nothing to see here. Move along.

Many Thanks(woo! Hell yeah!)

I would like to express my appreciation and gratitude to Patrick Sullivan's right here in Knoxville's Old City 'district' for their upstairs digs. The de facto concert or band area for this establishment has served the authors well on several occasions. Strictly speaking, this is not a bar review, although it plays one on this blog.

Many of you have been to Patrick Sullivan's no doubt...decent beer selection, good(if standard) food, and an above average atmosphere. These qualities are to be expected at one of the few remaining veteran Old City establishments, and now the saloon can boast about the great addition of the adjoining BBQ joint as well. Cool, or tits, as they say.

Now that shit is out of the way, lets talk about the 3rd floor as concert venue. First thing the drunkard will notice is the split railing on the stairwell allowing both simultaneous ingress and egress. This is some proactive shit for around here, as most joints would just have a confused mass of morons milling around like a communist country's bread line. While the band area is against the far wall and is otherwise unremarkable, it does have the benefit of being some distance away from the bar...allowing the hot bartender to hear what you are saying. Furthermore my primary bar peeve of idiot shitheads standing around in the queue is also mitigated.


(Unknown Hinson says don't loiter near the sumbitchin' bar)

Anyhoo, we all bought rounds at a time which adds a robust sense of peer pressure and gamesmenship to the affair. The restrooms are also located upstairs, which is a huge plus for the music lover who might otherwise have to haul ass down two floors to utilize the primary facilities. This is manifestly awesome when you are at the Unknown show, which lends itself to extreme beer swilling and party liquor comsumption by nature.

The biggest thing PS can boast about up top is the ease of movement during a crowded show. That's fucking huge for the drunkard's overall comfort...which is the key point that many clubs and venues here in K-town often overlook. The goddamn bar down the street could take some fucking lessons, but that's another post for another day.(Oh and there will be a day of reckoning and a totalling of sums on that score, you trendy and apathetic hipster assholes)

One curious note that was briefly mentioned during some recent comments: the beer pricing made zero fucking sense, causing me to think that perhaps we were being undercharged. It's nice to be on the right side of a billing discrepancy let me tell you, and the general consensus is that even the beers we paid full price for were in fact quite reasonably priced.

In other words, Patrick Sullivan's has the hook in. They will reel us back in again and again until they fuck it up somehow.

Could it be? Party liquor rain?

Tonight, at Patrick Sullivans down in the Old City, we'll be watching the chart-toppin' master troubadour belt out his shit. I suggest that anyone with some free time and a powerful need to drink get "they ass" down there. Sumbitch puts on a show, I'll give him that.

More info can be found at http://www.unknownhinson.com/

Technically he's magnificent. I just hope this time the damn drunk who puked all over the damn bathroom at the last show makes it to a stall this time.

Cathaholics Day

(Not Knoxville)

There was a time, not so long ago, that Mardi Gras stood out on my calendar as a great holiday drinking event that I planned for each year. I would make every attempt to get down New Orleans way come hell or high water. I’d drive 10 hours by myself if I had to, crash on friend’s sofas or floor and eat and drink like the fiend that I am. Most years it would be a few of us piled into a car with enough beer and booze for a small army speeding through Georgia, Alabama and Mississippi on our way to the Big Easy. One year we started in Baton Rouge and drank our way in. Bad behavior was expected and we didn’t disappoint. Some of the most embarrassing moments I’ve lived were during Mardi Gras and I’ve blacked out in New Orleans probably more than anywhere else on this planet. Occasionally we could even afford a decent meal of food but more often we spent our money on booze. Those were kick-ass days.

This year it totally snuck up on me. I just realized that Fat Tuesday was upon us. Knoxville doesn’t have much to offer in the way of celebrating this holiday, not that I’d expect much anyway. One thing I remember was a local jambalaya cook off held downtown but I don’t think they even do that anymore. I’m sure there is a bar party hosted by Miller Lite somewhere around town complete with beads, paper banners and horrible hurricane flavored beer (or is that Bud Light). Last weekend I witnessed the early stages of the 2nd annual Mardi Growl Parade. Great, a fucking dog parade complete with stupid animal/owner costumes and more dog shit everywhere. Excuse me, but I prefer human piss and defecation during my Mardi Gras reveling. The best part about this holiday for me is that I am not Catholic therefore I don’t have to give up anything for Lent. I will continue to drink the same way, day in and day out. Suckers.

Mother of God

Martinis and Chicken Nuggets.

http://thisrecording.com/2008/04/08/in-which-georgia-gives-you-the-mcnuggetini/

I knew the sumbitching commercial with the wedding cake made of those tasty little bastards would spark something like this.

Move the Hell away from the damn bar, shitheads

Christ, was I pissed off last Friday. I've struggled back and forth with the decision to call out the bar where this disgrace occurred. For now, I've opted against it since to smear the business would be somewhat unfair based upon the utter douchebaggery of their patrons...even if the establishment could do more to discourage the bastard practice of standing around a crowded bar after you've received your beverages.

Most decent people know that once you've gotten your drink, you need to allow the patron behind you to belly up to the bar. Unfortunately, with the utter pussification of this nation in the last two decades, someone hasn't been getting the memo...and worse, sentinels of good drinking habits haven't been taking the offenders to the side for a quick word or asswhipping.

No longer.

So I say to you, dipshit college aged turd that wouldn't move after ordering complicated drinks: Fuck you. This little spike-haired bastard further broke good conduct by sticking his arm through my group to fist bump another of his shitface friends. Poor fucking form. I pray to a just deity that your car was keyed and filled with the stench of catpiss and vomit.

I say to you, blondish whore with her whore friends that ordered mind erasers. First, bitch, when the bar is packed you either buy beer or two-part cocktails. Mind erasers? Are you fucking high? Then you and your little collection of STDs had the hard tits to slurp them through the goddamn straw right there. In a circle. In a crowd of thirsty people. You apparently didn't see baleful stares of the staff boring holes in the back of your peroxide hair.(your roots were black as night, harridan)...at least the one poor guy tagging along with your hellish drop had the decency to look around as if expecting to get smashed with a pint glass.

Awful, goddamn awful. I blame your upbringing. You all should take poison and get fucked.