Monthly Archives: July 2012

Why did I buy that song and why is the Showtime series Californication still pissing me off?

Well, as you might recall from the “10,000 hit’s, holy crap where’s my music” update a few weeks back, Steve Jobs literally engineered things so that all my iTunes purchased music would be robbed from me at about the time I did that update.

No idea why he chose then, he just did.

Now some of you apple savvy folks I can only assume read what I wrote back then and laughed your faces off, cause you realized I’m an idiot.   Some of the emails you sent me were uncalled for though, why bring my mom into it!

Some of you less savvy folks signed and thought, well that sucks.

But as a public service I will now tell you how to restore ALL your purchases on iTunes.

Literally every purchase you ever made on iTunes.  You’re welcome, I’d do anything for you.

Step one:

Approach the computer sober.

Step two:

Follow the very easy to find, very easy to use directions on iTunes.

Step three:

Wait for the downloads to download.

Of all the steps I recommend step one above the others because as it turns out apple DOES have an “I fucked up button”.   They just don’t call it the “I fucked up” button, oddly.

Now when faced with years and years of drunken iTunes purchases I’m realizing that my ‘HOLY SHIT WHAT IS THAT SONG’ desire to ‘BUY IT NOW’, even at .99 cents, when added together is the GDP of Guatemala.

Actually I just did the real math, even if every song literally cost .99 cents (and they don’t cause albums are less, I think) it’s only like $239 or so and hell I’ve been buying crap off of iTunes since at least 2007 or so.

But the list is funny to look at it.  The first iTunes purchase for reasons that prove I’m still 16 and cry at night because I’m a special sensitive flower, or something, was The Cure.   I literally haven’t listened to the Cure for more than five minutes in a row since 1993.

That was a purchase made while drinking.

The next few iTunes purchases are pretty boring, Spoon cause I like them and the CD was scratched beyond use (they make crappy beer coasters) and a few others that yeah, I’d totally see me buying that sober.

Then there’s a weird purchase by something called ‘Teagan and Sara” which I’m listening to now and it’s not bad.   But have NO memory of buying it.

Honey look I have an apple AND a snake, take me back PLEASE

Honey look I have an apple AND a snake, take me back PLEASE

Here’s a good one, guaranteed to have been a purchase made after many beers.   The entire soundtrack to season one of the Showtime series, “Californication”.    You remember that show right?  It’s the one where agent Mulder solves alien crimes and whores his way through a series of totally hot LA chicks in an effort to, well, win back his ex-wife.

Basically this was the show’s entire theme …

Honey, I banged a hot blonde, will you take me back now?

No?

Well I banged a hot chick with tattoos, will you take me back now?

No?  Crap.

Look I just banged two totally hot brunettes, at the same time, will you take me back now?

No?  Look you’re being unreasonable here.

Look the series had a lot of hot naked chicks in it, like in every scene and my wife was deployed.  You do the math.

What killed that series for me (besides that fact that I want to retroactively abort the person that wrote in the daughter) is the scene in season two where he goes down on the wrong woman in a dark room during a party.   Look, take it from me there is no <deleted — legal dept.   See me! – Ed.> and that’s how I know that scene was a bunch of crap.

Shit where was I?

Oh yeah.  Californication, umm season one good, season two bad.  Also purchasing the soundtrack put like a crap ton of artists I don’t know, all of whom have one song listed, into my selection of artist lists on my iPhone.

Fuck you Mulder you asshole, alien encounter that.

I guarantee I was reading SOMETHING by Hunter S. Thompson when I purchased this next song, and NO it didn’t have to be (but likely was) Fear and

I was digging Ralph Steadman before most people knew who Johnny Depp was.  I even had a this on a Tee (and still do) in like 1994

I was digging Ralph Steadman before most people knew who Johnny Depp was. I even had a this on a Tee (and still do) in like 1994

Loathing in Las Vegas.   That song was, White Rabbit by Jefferson Airplane.  And no matter how tanked I was when I bought that song, I stand behind it because the dormouse said damn it, that’s why.

Here’s one I cannot explain and I fall on my sword begging your forgiveness.  I don’t have a clue why I bought California Girls by Katy Perry, I just did.   I should have to give everyone that just read that a .99 cent refund.

But holy shit the Pogues, I missed the Pogues, and then I played them and I wondered if I could just make iTunes forget that little mistake?   The Pogues are okay, I’ve listened to them (sometimes A LOT) but the burn out on the Pogues hasn’t expired yet, back into the vault you go angry drunk Irishmen, you haven’t served your time yet.

I have no clue who the street dogs are, why I would pay money to down load them or even what they sound like.   Chances are I heard one song, liked it and bought the album.  They’re in the download queue and are expected to be next in the year 2044.

Seems I had a ‘rap’ phase.  I did.  In between Skyrim, Star Trek conventions and … Okay I like some Jay-Z.  Screw you he’s cool.

While everyone, sadly including myself, was flogging their penis (peni?) about what a genius Kurt Corbain was Sublime’s, with Bradley Nowell, was doing awesome stuff.    Bradley Nowell died chasing the dragon, I always thought it was a car crash – but you know you learn things here at had a few beers, it was the smack– , and I’m still convinced he was under rated by everyone.   Had they not broke up after his death I think they would have been as influential as the Pixies are thought to be today.  The surviving members I now know, from writing this, have released a new album.

I’m checking it out.

There’s a lot of comedy, which is awesome.

At the age of 14 learning all the dirty words, and HOW to use them, is awesome.

At the age of 14 learning all the dirty words, and HOW to use them, is awesome.

At about the age of about 12 or something I was watching HBO late at night, which was verboten.    But my parents slept well and if I was quiet and had the volume down low, they’d never know.   Then George Carlin came on, and I couldn’t help myself.  I was holding my sides on the couch in the living room laughing.   Mom of course woke up and instead of beating my ass, like I deserved, she sat on the couch with me and laughed a few times, Carlin wasn’t her thing but she appreciated the fun I was having with it.

It’s been a life-long love affair.  I was heart broke when Bobcat Goldthwait took his fatal, fire induced, career suicide on a late night show.   Oddly he was on NPR’s Wait, wait don’t tell me last week and is still just as funny.

I’m now addicted to Lewis Black, he’s funny.  Check him out.

Back to music, there’s a lot of ‘Clash’, good.  A lot of’ Buzzcocks’ which don’t suck and a shit-ton of Dave ‘god I’m so over that’ Matthews.

I’m not at all sure why Sugar’s “that’s a good idea” keeps popping up on every device I own but I can only assume it’s because I want to kill my wife or I just like the song.

Whichever, I’m cool with both.

And who the fuck are the Tune-yards?   Oh yeah that was that band I heard on NPR, what the fuck was I thinking buying that album.

Back to comedy, Jeanne Robertson should be held down while I poo … okay she’s kind of funny.  My mom would have liked her and dad would approve.

Rated G comedy, I have ONE thing they would approve of …

Go me!

Vampire weekend is there and if I didn’t like boobs so much even I would assume I was gay.

When the fuck did I find “Bowling for soup” that great band of suck, to be a great band of non-suck?  They had like two maybe three songs that didn’t suck.   Three albums Todd, what the fuck?

I also have a lot of before mentioned pixies, wait for it, tribute bands.

But no Pixies.  Fuck.

What the hell?  Most of the tribute bands are better than the original Pixies but not as good as the original Pixies, if that makes sense.  Back when I started this, a shocking and ancient 6 months ago, my first update was (going to be) about how the Pixies were a really influential band and I could back that up if research wasn’t hard.  Research IS hard let me tell you, trust me the Pixies were influential, to me at least.

A tale of two documents … yeah ‘documents’, it’s not all beer and boobs here

Look I’ve been TRYING to do a play on the ‘a tale of two cities’ with the headline of this blog since the year of our lord 1935.   No clue why I picked 1935 but’ A tale of two cities’ is an awesome book and I’ve always wanted to play on that title.

Screw you start your own blog and make up your own headlines!

See it’s not so easy it is stupid face?

I’m sorry I got so gruff there and I’m sorry we fought.  Let’s move on past this dark chapter in ‘Had a few beers’, forgive me.

I became aware of the need to send a notarized document the wife and I had to send back to the U.S. sometime in June.   It was an email that said, boiled down, sometime during this process we’re going to have to, no shit, don’t delay, post haste, quickly now, send back a document that was notarized.

This image is here cause I felt like I needed three images for this update, no other reason.   Well one other reason, it has a cute cat.

This image is here cause I felt like I needed three images for this update, no other reason. Well one other reason, it has a cute cat.

Also a hardy ‘screw you legal system!’, it’s not 1786 and no one is wearing corsets anymore in case you haven’t noticed.  I can send the gigabytes of data across the world with a click of a button but your retarded raised seal somehow is too important for all that.  My wife demanded during this process, which I’ll get back to in a moment, that we make ‘copies’ of the documents the notary had ‘notered’ (which isn’t a word according to … well MS word, I should said the notarized documents but this update is also complicated, SCREW YOU START YOUR OWN DAMNED BLOG STUPID FACE, sorry, sorry I’m calm again) but I fully realize that copies of notarized documents were as valuable as photos of copied coins, yeah sure it’s proof I copied coins but the coin is the point.

So my I hate the legal system rant aside and getting BACK to the fucking story at hand — I knew in mid, maybe late June that a requirement to send back quickly a notarized piece of paper was on the horizon.

And I prepared.  I knew where the legal office was, I even found out which floor held the notary.   This would be easy, this would be simple.  It would be with done with militaristic efficiency because as any pro knows amateurs study the tactics and pros study the logistics.

Okay I studied it through the bottom of a beer glass but I knew I could have this thing done and sent back pretty damned fast.  It wouldn’t be a challenge at all!  It was going to be easy.

One potential hiccup, if it came when we were planning to visit Italy, over the 4th of July weekend (subject of this update), it would add, ‘difficulty.’

If you’re a military scholar you are laughing.

Stop laughing I hate you.

I’m sorry I don’t hate you at all, why do we fight like this?

Okay back to the story, we were leaving for Italy on the 4th of July and of course the request, because of the time difference, came while we were sleeping on the night/morning before we left.

Still ha, I got you cold weird coincidence, in your face fates!   I had the document already printed out.  I’d talked to my friend Alex in Italy already about how I would execute the plan if needed and felt we had this shit down.  And we DID have a solid plan but it never included my epic hangover, Dagmar’s desire to spend 3.2 hours getting ready and the legal office breaking for lunch (stupid legal office).

Still though we got it done, we’re troopers.  Maggie drove us around, we got the document notarized, we made a pointless copy of the notarized document at my wife’s insistence and we went to (via mailboxes ect) the UPS office.

Me: Ma’am I need this mailed out with all haste, I need it in America as soon as is possible, spare no expense, whip the pilots if you must, these documents must arrive at the soonest opportunity.

Her:  we offer express service sir.

Had this been a pre-flight year, maybe like the year 1900, I would have charted a ship for the express purpose of delivering these documents.

Don’t believe me?  Read on.

Quickly, I need this document shipped to my beloved United States of American (Oh say can you see ...) and destroyed quickly, cost matters not!

I like how first it’s missing then it’s just fucking destroyed. When I called the WTF help line they were like, Oh it was in THE you’re fucked trucked, lemme connect you.

This was the 5th of July.  In my head I did the math, of course the documents would leave Italy that night, putting them at whatever hub they use in Europe that very night then off to the U.S. for an overnight flight and they would land on the 6th, a Friday. Then with a bit of luck, considering the weekend they would burn up in a fire-filled crash of epic fail.

Wait what?

Yeah somewhere around Philly they were involved in a traffic accident that either partially or totally destroyed (yeah, yeah totally destroyed, suck-it English majors) the shipment.   UPS was kind enough to inform me that they lost the document and then further explained that , “oh shit it was totally burned up dude and we had to mercy destroy it.”

I got this notification on the 11th of July.

Fuckers.

Big, deep breaths, the date the ‘powers that be’ needed the documents had been moved back.  They now needed them by the 25, which is still, as I write this in the future.  By then we’ll have teleporters and I’ll be masturbating like a monkey in a zoo cause the virtual reality will be so good by then that you can basically tell the holodeck, “I want a scene with five Blonde midget chicks, three normal sized brunettes and a blender  …”

Okay that got a bit out of hand, sorry.

Anyway the 25th is still like a few days away.

Aware of the importance of the documents, in awe of the fucking weirdness of “your valuable (to you) parcel was burned to shit message” I executed plan b, which consisted of me asking my wife for advice.

Me: What the fuck, what the fucking fuck?

Her: Calm down.  Let’s just do it again.

Me: The fuck?

I just, I’m sorry I’m crying here, just need this to get to America. WHY IS THAT SO HARD?!?!?!?!?!

Her: We are going to send it again via the U.S. post office, priority mail.  And stop saying fuck.

Me: great fuc …okay.

And off we went to the Notary for part two.   Interstate road fire be damned, FUC … I mean to hell with you UPS, we’re retired SOLDIERS, we’ll use the trust worthy and time tested United States Postal Service ‘thank you very much’.   They rode horses across AMERICA to deliver mail, they rock and you don’t and I was a fool to ever trust your fire-ridden trucks to start with.

Her:  look just send it espress mail, It’ll be there in like a 4 days tops. We can also track it, this is easy.

Me: I’m off to be your hero and mail this IMPORTANT DOCUMENT vial the U.S. Postal service, long may they live, do you think they’ll use an actual horse to deliver it like the pony express did?

Her: Express mail, Todd.   Do I need to do this?

Thus I was off, the first plan had met with a failure that burned but this plan was fool fire-proof.

I marched smartly into the post office and quickly noticed, or was noticed by, one of my wife’s fellow co-workers, she summoned me into her line.

How can I help you she asked, I need this to get back to the U.S. as soon as possible, it’s really important, I replied.

What is it she asked?

A power of attorney, I told her.

HOLY SHIT, she said, this has to go first class and for the love of god we need to add a return receipt.

I agreed, because what the fuck do I know about mail and yes, first class sounds important.  If you fly first class that’s good, if you stay somewhere and are ‘first class’ it’s great.

This first class sounds better than even espress … my wife’s such a cheapskate, damn her.

Me:  Yes, yes, (orgasm voice) yes!  Put me on this first class thing, where the hell have you been all my life?  Return receipt, can I have two? Insurance, hell the first one burned up, 1 million dollars please.  Track it while its standing still ma’am I care not!  Add them all please, damn the price, levy the fines.  Whip the men that are charged with moving, we don’t have a whipping fee? What is wrong with American these days?

Her: So that’s like ($20 bucks) and its ‘first-class, return receipt’.

Me: I have done my family a fine service, honor has been done this day and the gods have …

Her: Here’s your receipt dude is there anything else?

Me:  Well I had more to say about the honor thing …

Her:   I need to help the next customer.

Me: but honor demands I …

Her: NEXT!

Which led to me proudly explaining to my wife how I had sent the document extra insured, if I die honey you get like a billion bucks and it’s first fucking class love, how cool is that?

“I told you EXPRESS mail,” she said

“But your friend said first class, what the fuck am I a postal expert now?”  I replied.

“No but I am, you idiot.”

Had I a dunce hat, I would have worn it.

Adding insult to injury I sent a bottle of wine Italian oil to a friend in Chicago two days earlier and it got there first, it got there in like three days and I sent it “I don’t care when it arrives” mail .  I guess I just gave up the ending.   Yeah the super important document got there.  But not before I considered, honestly priced in fact, flying my wife back to the states on a 2-day see our daughter but mainly deliver the goddamn document (notarized for the 3rd time mind you) to the powers that be.

Baggers, not a race of little people living in the potato aisle … sadly

It's really hard to find a free for use image that features boobs and beer in reference to shopping ... YOU try it.

It’s really hard to find a free for use image that features boobs and beer in reference to shopping … YOU try it.

A commissary, for those that are unfamiliar, is a grocery store that serves U.S. Military, family members, retirees and, when overseas, Department of Defense employees. It sells food and goods at a bit above cost in order to pay its employees, fund new commissaries and for general operating costs. Sometimes the item in question is cheaper at the commissary (no tax) than it is on the economy sometimes it’s not.

Generally all commissaries have one thing in common, they’re convenient as they’re close to where we work.

They’re just like your local supermarket though. They’re designed in such a way as to make you walk past all the ‘snack stuff’ to get to the healthy stuff, they play crappy music from the ‘90s and they have annoying announcements, “mayonnaise spill on aisle five, at least I HOPE that’s mayonnaise.” You also lose your cell phone signal in the back of the store which is a good thing for all my facebook friends. Otherwise, about once a week, I’d have an update from the ‘personal hygiene aisle’ with a photo of a pack of magnums and a ‘heheheh condoms’ as the comment.

As many of you are married you know that grocery shopping can occur in three different ways. From best to worst they are: She goes alone, I go alone, we both go and I end up losing my mind ½ an hour into it.

You see when she announces she’s going grocery shopping I do a little dance. I DO, cause I’m about to get an hour or two of free time to look at porn work on this blog and then, as if a friggin wizard just used magic, a crap ton of cool stuff will show up at the house magically later in the day. I didn’t KNOW I wanted chocolate covered fruit loops but damn these do look good! Wow a new shower squeegee, awesome! Yes more charcoal is always welcome, thank you kind wizard, thank you!

She can leave the house with ONE item on the list and return home magically with a car that’s FULL of stuff.

Taking a photo is better than having to return anything ....

Taking a photo is better than having to return anything ….

The second way, in which I do the shopping, is kind of fun (for VERY small quantities of fun). I sort of enjoy looking at the list and thinking what’s the fastest way to get all of these items into the basket so I can hurry up and get back to beer? If it’s a strange item hell I take a photo of it at home before I depart. The mysteries of the ‘woman’s burden’ remain a mystery (thank god) but I know exactly what aisle said woman’s hygiene product is located.

It’s about speed, it’s about getting into the store and getting out, “no time to talk casual coworker I must secure a package of ‘organic crap muffins’ and escape this evil lair before the good beer queen forsakes me!”

No one’s going to get drunk and post grammatically incorrect and largely inappropriate rants on my facebook feed for me you know!

Pro tip for husbands that cannot locate that special package of Guatemalan cheese flavored hair balls the wife wants for her salad, ask ANY woman in the store.   All women, above the age of 18, have committed to memory the location of every item in every grocery store ever.   Weird but true.  “You need what young man?  Cherry flavored puss cream, oh that’s on aisle seven, towards the end, bottom shelf.”

The commissary and any grocery store could do a lot to make the third option better (namely, instituting a no men allowed policy but baring that at least they could serve beer) but as you already know the worst option is when we both go grocery shopping.  See, as it turns out, there is no wizard that magically fills the wife’s car with goodies, she does it herself. She does it not by making her run through the commissary a timed olympic style event where seconds count but by, and get this, going down every aisle. Yeah everyone, even that aisle filled with yucky crap, she totally goes down it.

Somehow, and maybe magic is involved after all, by staring at a bottle of creamed yams baby food she remembers that we’re out of ice cream … the mysteries of the female mind aye?

It’s during these trips that I become the cheap labor. I push the cart of course, load the heavy crap into the cart and become the runner.

Her: Honey, we’re about to reach the last aisle I know but I forgot something near the entrance, can you run back and get it?

Me: Umm sure, what is it?

Her: 5 cases of bottled water, the big bottles, not the little ones.

Me: Crap, umm yeah I can do that, can I use the cart?

Her: No, sorry I need it to hold the shopping list. Also can you take this 5 gallon can of cat litter with you while you get the water?

Me: Why can’t it just stay in the cart? That thing’s super heavy.

Her: You really don’t understand shopping at all do you?

So yeah I’m convinced grocery stores need a bar. Maybe they could offer a service like they do on the golf course where some cute girl drives up in a beer-cart and sells you and your buddies a cold one. That would really hit the spot as we round the dog food aisle and contemplate which brand of paper towels we need.

“Yes, yes ma’am! Here please, two coronas! You’re out of lime? That’s okay I picked them up back in the produce section … five for a dollar you know! Honey (as we clink our beers near the bacon selection) I love grocery shopping god damn it! This is awesome, we need to do this shit more often!”

Another, key difference between grocery stores and commissaries are the baggers. Baggers, which oddly aren’t a family of hobbits living somewhere near the potatos, are a collection of people that bag groceries at the commissary and then carry your purchases out to the car for you, all for a tip. No wages involved, strictly tips only. It say’s so right at the end of the cashier’s conveyor belt. There’s a sign there that reads, typically in big bold, underlined, authoritative Times New Roman, size 33, font, BAGGERS WORK FOR TIPS ONLY!

Which I’m pretty sure is code for you, ‘listen you cheap fuck, I’m schlepping your ho-hos and twinkies to your car so your fat ass doesn’t have to, I’d appreciate a few bucks’. I’m sure most people do tip, I do.

Tough, tattooed 19 year old with dreadlocks and a Frisbee through his ear lobe, tip two bucks.

Middle-aged slightly downtrodden looking woman in sensible shoes? Tip three bucks.

Obvious military retired person just doing it for the work?  Tip four bucks.

But everyone once in a while there’s that 20 year old home from college and … HOLY CRAP THAT CHICK IS HOT bagger. The one where if the wife and I are together I make her deal with the tip, cause I guarantee you I’m getting in trouble if I do.

But god help me if I’m alone.

best part of this is I was in and out of the store in like 6 minutes! Sadly we now have to take out a new loan cause the bagger was kinda hot.

Best part of this is I was in and out of the store in like 6 minutes! Sadly we now have to take out a new loan cause the bagger was kinda hot.

Her: Okay sir, and where are you parked?

Me: Girl pretty, make pretty talk with pretty. I like pretty. Boobies!

Her: Umm thanks? Where’s your car?

Me: Car make pretty go home groceries home pretty boobs … wow I kinda lost my shit there didn’t I.

Her: Yeah happens all the time, this your car?

Me: Yeah it is, look here’s seven bucks, let’s never speak of this again.

Her: You bought like four things!

Me: Fine here’s ten bucks.

I hate shopping.

Letters of recommend a good rack … I mean recommendation

I was recently asked to write a letter of recommendation.

It happens.

It does damnit.

I had, err have, a serious side.

But boobs are boobs and, well, and this happened.

 

Hire her!

I don't even see any moles ... what the hell?

really hire her.

 

 

Ten THOUSAND views thank you all so … crap where’s my stuff iTunes, I hate you iTunes!

So we’ve hit a milestone, 10,000 hits, which I’m pretty sure, considering I started this crap started on a day I don’t remember back in like February , means that there have been (had a few beers math) like a million hits a day over the course of all those days.

Okay no jokes, but still it’s like 250 hits over all those days.

Most of you coming here, admittedly, are looking for sauna boners but still an impressive number.  Also the big joke there is that yes, sauna boners is still the hottest (get it?) search term here.

I want this update to be about thanking all of you, everyone that reads this.  I mean it, thanks.   The stuff I type here is, while fun, sometimes …

FUCKING ITUNES ATE MY SHIT AND I HATE MY FUCKING IPHONE.

Steve Jobs I curse you sir.

Yeah, no I don’t really curse Mr. Jobs but yeah really I hate iTunes right now.

My iPhone has exactly one band’s album on it and one song by another band on it.    I have an entire album by Mariachi El Bronx and one song by Alexandra Stan (Mr. Saxobeat).

Why, why do you hate me iTunes?   Why?

Why, why do you hate me iTunes? Why?

Both of which I bought while drunk.

Everything else has evaporated into so many digital ghosts.

So, fuck you Apple.

To add insult to injury, Apple kindly provides you with a list of every fucking purchase you ever made on iTunes and HOLY shit there a lot of stuff that never made it off my old iPod to my iTouch to my iPhone 3 to my iPhone 4 and FUCK YOU want that stuff damn it!

While on a business trip  a few months ago, while tanked, I purchased  from my iPhone mind you, three episodes of Futurama and they have been stuck in my download cue since I was born.

Can’t download them, can’t delete them from the queue, can’t stab Steve in the eye with a bar straw.

Just stuck looking at them, never deleted, never watched, never downloaded.

Everything else downloads, not them.   A constant reminder of a night-time decision to watch a video on my iPhone, forever I guess.   Stop judging my night-time video choices Steve!  You’re being a dick!

Also protip kids, never purchase video downloads like this from your iPhone while drunk in Eastern European countries, it throws your credit card into anti-fraud hysterics.

You’ll have to talk the credit card help line lady off the ledge, literally.

“Stay with me, Fatima, I was in the Ukraine on business, I bought a funny video from iTunes, no one stole anything, don’t jump please!”

Some of you Mactarded fanatics are rolling your eyes right now and closing your browsers.   Don’t hit that little ‘x’ or whatever it is you elitist freaks select to close a ‘window’ (yeah a WINDOW, as in WINDOWS based).

It is likely my fault I lost my copy of the songs, “little black backpack” and “I’m popular”.  I’m also an idiot for downloading them I freely admit.   It is my fault though; I did this to myself, somehow.   You see back in the sane and rational world of non-Apple shit you have to manage your content, and I’m VERY comfortable doing that.

Download all your photos to this folder, all your videos to that folder.   Put all your important documents into another folder and hide your porn in a folder called, “totally not porn honey, never look in this folder, only boring shit is in here.”

Then, when you have to change computers you … wait for it … COPY THOSE FUCKING FOLDERS TO YOUR NEW COMPUTER.

Meaning you still HAVE them, computer after computer after computer after …

Retardedly too simple for iTunes it seems.

Which leads me to, Apple hates America.

They do!

They hate property rights too, those assholes.    They want to punch George Washington in the balls, They hate my copy of Lord of two boobs and return of the boobs too, fuckers.

In short they hate freedom.

Why can’t I just go into iTunes and tell it re-download all the shit I ever downloaded and be quick about it?   Because of piracy I know but why isn’t there an “I fucked up” button.

My life needs an “I fucked up” button on SO many levels (shout out to you Dagmar, love you baby!) but shit how hard would this one be?

Assholes.

Sure I know ‘kind of’ how it happened.  My iPhone was full of like a million gigs of “other” which when googled told me that all I had to do was connect to iTunes, do a factory reset, resynch and LOSE ALL MY SHIT.

They left the ‘lose all my shit’ off that helpful recommendation and fuck if I know where my shit is on the old computer.   I have a lot of searching to do in C:\windowsprogramsfuckifIknowshitisitinhere searching to do if I ever want to hear another Pogues song soon.

So once more, fuck you iTunes, fuck you Apple, fuck you Macintosh and Steve, I’m sorry you’re dead but the shit you did pisses me off.

Fuck you my iPhone, really fuck you.

But mostly, really mostly, thanks for reading, assuming you got down here, down this far I mean.   Some of you put up with REALLY low quality, non-entertaining cat videos, plastic toys on a BMW’s hoods, photos of beer cans, rants about the Catholic church and posts about why I … well if you read this far you read it all likely.

Thanks for stopping me in the hallway and telling me you liked what I wrote, thanks for calling me and telling me you liked what I wrote, thanks for emailing me and telling me you liked what I wrote.  Thank you to ever complete stranger, and there are many of you, that reached out.   That’s the coolest, people out of the blue saying “wow I just laughed cause of what you wrote.”  You folks are flattering and scary, I mean I thought I was funny, I thought my friends thought I was funny but … STOP STALKING ME.   I kid, thanks man it’s ALWAYS flattering.

Thanks, honestly.  I’m flattered and shocked you all read, participate and come back.

Thanks.

No bad words, no rants, no jokes.  Thanks, you reading this, sharing it (always share it)  or telling me you laughed is why I will do it again tomorrow.  Maybe it will be popular, maybe it will fall flat, I don’t care.  I’m just glad you’re here and, I hope, having fun.

A few shout outs.   Special thanks to Val Henderson of course, for kicking me in the ass to do this and putting up with my juvenile shouts of joy when a post early on broke 100 reads.   Thanks to Dagmar for calling me out (here and in private – SAUNA BONERS HONEY!).   Thanks to Marni Sandberg for always reading.

moar of these!

Moar of these! Really I need like a million more if the way ahead is going to work.

Thanks to GG for always coming through, well mostly coming through, with the twins.  Thanks to  Lynn Davis for putting up with me.  Thanks to Maggie for telling me, years ago, YEARS AGO, “wow you can really write”.  Thanks to Alex for suggesting I do this 8 million years ago (I should have listened to you dude) and …

Finally, sauna boner hopefuls, I’m sorry there are no sauna boners.  But I’m glad you’re here.

Need help annoying your partner during long drives, this updates for you!

Summer’s here and like many of you Dagmar and I just spent a wonderful, relaxing and nightmarish 20 odd hours in the car together.

Oh what a joy, the things you learn when you’re cooped up in a car with someone are remarkable.

Yes, yes I DO think history pod casts are interesting even after 8 hours!

Yes, yes I DO think history pod casts are interesting even after 8 hours!

For instance did you know that while the someone is exiting an autobahn rest stop, madly working the gears, checking mirrors and judging whether or not that Porsche in the left lane, driving a reasonable and insane 200 mph, is going to suddenly change lanes, that’s the perfect time to ask them to hand you things.

“Honey I know you’re pumping the breaks like a madman because of another of Germany’s infamous stau’s has appeared out of thin air but hand me that water bottle.”

Perfectly reasonable request.

In her defense she was probably close to insanity at this point because I’d subjected her to a collective 15 hours of Mike Duncan’s “The History of Rome” podcast.

Now I Love (yes, with a capital L) me some, “The History of Rome”, I love it so much I’ve listed to all the podcasts three times!   Yeah I’m dork so what, Cato the Elder would have said … oh never mind, sorry.  I should have been clued in though during hour 13 of the podcast when she literally started yelling at the radio, “Shut up, Shut up, Shut up!”

So maybe I missed a sign or something.

Also honey I give you a ‘C’ when it comes to bringing up uncomfortable subjects.    Sure you get an ‘A’ on subject matter, why WAS I flirting with that girl, but a ‘F’ on timing … I mean come on we were pulling into the driveway at that point.

Another point is that yes, maybe I am a male-chauvinistic pig but when I grew up dad did all the driving.  If they were both in the car, pops had the wheel.  I see it as the man’s duty, like mowing the lawn, re-shingling  the roof and looking at porn.   “No honey I can’t go to bed yet, this porn’s not going to watch itself is it?”

You, yeah you reading this, do you keep change in the car?  You know in the divider thing between the passenger and driver’s seat?  Maybe you keep it in the ashtray?  Do you?  If so never, I repeat Never, let Dagmar in your car.    This type of change storage is an affront to the very laws of our existence and it must be policed up, sorted and stored in a proper change receptacle (this little bag in her purse).    Loose change (both the kind in my car and the retarded September 11 2001 conspiracy movie) drive her nuts.  Makes no never mind that the next time I need 35 euro cents I’m screwed, everything has to be organized.

Which leads to another fun game I call, ’round up the trash!’  Now I’m all in favor of having a car that’s reasonably clean and who am I kidding, without anyone else in my car the interior quickly begins to resemble a public landfill.   But I’m not so stupid that I don’t pick up before she, or anyone else, gets in the car but it’s always amusing that during long trips she become litter patrol super captain of the world!    For instance, I’m a filthy smoker and yeah, yeah don’t smoke it’s disgusting and filthy (really don’t), but I’ll often put empty cigarette packs in a little cubby hole on the bottom of the driver’s side door panel.   Heck tons of stuff can go there, empty coffee cups, empty drink bottles, tissues whatever.

These are great opportunities for her to ask me to hand her things during my before mentioned attempts at passing a 1950s Winnebago while someone tries to park their Lamborghini in my ass.

“Todd can you hand me that empty cigarette pack?”

“Sure thing my love, just as soon as I’m done merging into a construction zone surrounded by Italian drivers.  I mean if we live that is.”

This is more of a suggestion in italy, I mean if you want to go right who am I to stop you?

This is more of a suggestion in italy, I mean if you want to go right who am I to stop you?

Which, unrelated to my lovely bride and her adorable passenger habits brings me to crossing international European borders.   Entering Austria from Germany is a yawn, like visiting a sibling, they’re the same as you but different.  Entering Italy from Austria is akin to visiting Charles Manson wearing a shirt that says, stab me please while handing him a knife.

Want to drive 70 KPH in the fast lane, go right ahead in Italy.   Lane changes need not be indicated by signal lights, just change lanes damn it, extra points if you cut someone off and then slow down.   Letting someone merge into your lane means you have a small penis and yes, yes you can slow down to check out the hot chick.

Crossing back into Germany it’s like everyone flips a switch and the rules count again.

“Holy shit, did you see that?   That dude just used his ‘blinker’ to indicate he was making a lane change.  Someone should tell the Italian’s about this!”

I think I’m going to get a lot of support from the men reading this next point.   If the start time, for getting on the road, is agreed upon, say 9 a.m., then 8:45 is not the time to start elaborate philosophical discussions.   See we were visiting our best friends (hey Maggie and Alex) and I guess, the fifteen minute mark is the time to start a discussion about ‘what it all means’ or ‘why are we here’ or ‘are Oreo’s better than Chips ahoy?”.   But Alex I do want to add that I’m in.  In  retrospect, I’m down with the Somalia plan but you’ll have to navigate because …

Listen officer, the GPS TOLD me to drive over this guy's lawn.

Listen officer, the GPS TOLD me to drive over this guy’s lawn.

I confession I suck at directions.  Thank god for GPS.  I failed land navigation as a young soldier at the (then called PLDC) Warrior Leader’s Course.  I failed it AND because of a crap-ton of snow we were doing it in garrison.  Those of you that know what I’m talking about are laughing at me right now, go ahead … dicks.   For those that don’t know what I’m talking about the instructor basically told me, “go four blocks that way, turn left two blocks and tell me what the sign there says.”  Yeah, I fucked that up, repeatedly.So YES honey you DO have a better sense of direction than I do but that’s like me saying I’m better at golfing to a retarded, physically handicapped 5 year old.  It’s not much of a victory.

Four easy things you can do to help Sgt. 1st Class Walter Taylor. Also boobs and beer.

This update is all about four easy things you can do to help Sgt. 1st Class Walter Taylor because here at www.hadafewbeers.com we’re all about the charity. And beer. And boobs.

For anyone that needs a recap about Taylor’s situation here’s the link, because finding new ways to describe the same situation, over and over again, ain’t fun and we like fun here …

So let’s hit it with some easy stuff you can do to help raise money for Taylor’s defense.

1. Donate, duh.

You can go here. It literally takes three minutes. Click the donate now link, select the amount you want to give (for anything over $30 you get a free bumper sticker), add your personal information and bam, you’re a great American.

Seriously, you’re a great American if you do that. Look giving to charity IS a good thing I think we all agree but most charities have a marketing campaign and/or a marketing staff of professionals. Taylor has me, retarded blogger that makes sauna boner and boob jokes, and someone named Diane in Texas that I’ve never met. Hey Diane!

2. You can repost this AND I don’t mean just on Facebook (but totally repost

Hey FB friends, you should totally give money and read this dude’s blog. It’s about a wounded warrior AND boobs.

this on facebook and ask your friends to do that same!)

I doubt it will come as a shock to anyone that the internet consists of more than just Facebook and porn. An amazing four percent of internet content isn’t even related to Facebook or pornography; I know that fact because I just made it up.

Rick, yeah Army guys vs. Dinosaurs on Rick’s BMW hood, frequents a BMW forum. I know this because Rick once told me.

Rick: “Yeah I was on the BMW discussion form and one of the members, BMWBONER09, told us how you can totally reprogram your key to automatically deflate the tires dude.”

Me: “Rick you are so fucking weird.”

Actually that’s a pretty typical exchange between Rick and I, but I digress.

Point is if you frequent an online forum of any sort, mention Taylor’s plight there. Whether it’s the World of Warcraft’s “DROODS RULE DUDEZ” forum or the “Hello kitty super fun time forum” that you frequent, bring it up there … this is all about getting the word out.

Word of caution though I did it on two forums I frequent and got my shit handed to me by some of the more liberal, skeptical posters. I’m a big kid though and I can take it. And by ‘take it’ I mean I cried, literally, like a little girl.

Finally if you do this, post a comment here or send me an email (oliveritay@gmail.com) … I’ll lend a hand if I can.

3. Do something local

HAVE A BAKE SALE! Okay I’m totally fucking kidding on that one, don’t have a bake sale, unless you REALLY, REALY want to have a bake sale and in that case knock your socks off. What I mean by local though is ask a local organization to consider doing something to help Taylor. Ask your local VFW or American Legion if they would consider helping. I’m a member of bowling team, because I hate myself, and I’m going to ask the league for permission to solicit donations. I figure who feels more sympathetic toward wounded veterans facing stiff legal fees than bowlers? Shocked that didn’t come to me sooner!

What this blogs about boobs AND wants money for charity … this is the best idea since the romans put the christians and the lions in the same event. I also stole that, totally, from Black Adder.

4. Give us suggestions about how we can raise money

Look most of my blog entries here are about Dagmar outwitting me, beer, Dagmar outwitting me, boobs, Dagmar outwitting me and boobs. Also I like to talk about boobs, so there’s that.

Point is that there aren’t any cute photos of kittens and puppies that need loving home or videos of vicious 12-year-olds ‘attacking’ grandma ala Karen Klein (I just rolled my eyes) there’s just a brave soldier facing serious charges and a crapton of legal bills.

But if you have an idea about what I, or anyone else, could do to help raise cash lay it on me (oliveritaly@gmail.com). When I started blogging about this less than $2,000 had been raised and today, less than a week later, it’s up to almost $5,000. That’s because of you all! Awesome everyone, have a beer on me! While still short of the goal that’s $3,000 in less than seven days.

Post a comment here or send me an email, let me know what your idea is … Mine is a contest where the highest donation totally get a beer and sweet boobs picture.