Tag Archives: boobies

HAFBs store now open for business. Discount Russian orphans, beer mugs and panties now for sale.

I’d like to first tell you that every dime we raise here at Had a Few Beers with our new Café Press store goes to a charity organization …

OK, I can’t even finish that sentence without laughing.  All profits go to beer, porn, gambling and to drinking beer while watching porn and gambling.

That’s actually not even true.

What is true is we’re now selling stuff.

By stuff I mean beer mugs, shot glasses, golf balls, undergarments, human organs, Russian orphans, beer coaster and that kind of stuff.

All of these things are proudly sporting the, “Had A Few Beers” logo and URL. Even the kids! I took the time and effort to have the logo and the URL tattooed right on their cute little orphan faces.

They’re sure to be a hit at your next dinner party.  I can hear your guests now, “Oh, did you get him from that Had a Few Beers Café Press store?  How cute!”

No children were tattooed during this blog.

No children were tattooed …

All jokes aside, a few months back with the help of the author of the blog Oh God My Wife is German, we unveiled our new logo and banner.  He, Fran and I were talking and decided to set up a Café Press store because the logo was that cool.

I insisted we include panties in that store because nothing makes me laugh like a guy picking up a chick at a club only to find my logo just above her sweet spot once he gets her home.  Even if the chances of that happening are .0000000000001% over the course of my lifetime it’s still a chance and the humor bar for me is sort of low.

    Totally not made by Burmese street urchins.

Totally not made by Burmese street urchins.

I want to be clear, the decision to include panties in the Café Press store was mine and mine alone but at $10.79 a pair, I mean come on, who wouldn’t include that deal?

Anyway, no joke, I promise not to keep a cent of the money earned. Not a dime. I won’t spend any of it on this blog’s upkeep or cost. All profits, however small or large are going back to the people that run this place.

Writing jokes about porn, beer and boobs really is pretty easy, I don’t need money for that shit.

It’s its own reward.

If we end up making a million dollars with the Café Press store the above statements are all null and void.

So, I’ll try not to mention the store again, well much anyway. It’s right there to the right of these very words after all. Check it out. Buy it up.

You needed a new set of beer mugs and shot glasses anyway.

Aren’t the playing cards in your house worn out, covered in buffalo-wing grease and shame anyway?

If so I have you covered .

I’d write a ton more, but I have to go buy 20 pairs of Had a Few Beers panties because nothing says Merry Christmas like this blog’s logo on a loved one’s vagina.

Guest Blog: Orange Banana Hammocks Are Not Sexy!

I don’t understand why Hooters restaurants, as a concept, work.

OK, I can’t even write that with a straight face – of course I do! And that is because men are visual and like to peek at a little T&A. They feel like they are getting away with something a little naughty in their relationship (if they have managed to find a girl to be in one).

Men have an insane ability to see past the shimmering “nude” nylon-encased legs with scrunchy socks. They manage to ignore the ’80s-style bright-white sneakers and the ’70s-style orange shorts. They can look past all of these things because ALL they are looking at are the servers’ tits.Nothing else matters. Food? What food?

I'd like to order a half dozen tits. Oh, wait, I mean, chicken wings.Photo credit: www.simon.com

I’d like to order a half dozen tits. Oh, wait, I mean, chicken wings.
Photo credit: www.simon.com

I love the excuse that men often use to justify the trip to Hooters.

“But, they have such great wings.”

Um …. nobody is buying it. NOBODY. Just like no one believes dudes read Playboy Magazine for the articles. Pfft … for the articles my ass.

It would be refreshing, for once, to hear a man just OWN it and truthfully announce, “Shit, the only reason I go to Hooters is because the chicks are serving me HUGE cans … and I don’t mean cans of beer!”

What would happen if we flipped it and there was a place called Schlongs? The servers would be comprised of ripped men with eight packs, zero body fat, and ginormous penises packaged in tight orange briefs or boxer briefs? But, why is it we don’t see Schlongs restaurants popping up in strip malls across America? Oh wait — because that is just gross. No woman wants to see a giant penis coming at her, followed by a tray of food.  Not many women are going to wolf down a plate of fries and chicken wings in front of a man who looks like he just jumped off the cover of a romance novel.

Exhibit A - Even Sean Connery can't pull this off!

Exhibit A – Even Sean Connery can’t pull this off!

“Hey, Schlongs guy, thanks for delivering my food.  I am now going to ingest a month’s worth of calories. I hope you are a chubby chaser, because that is where I am headed (if I am not already there).”

You know what women want more than a hot guy serving her food? Women want a nice guy cooking her dinner at home and cleaning up the dishes afterward. Or she wants him to vacuum the carpets (for you male readers … that is NOT a euphemism). How about a man painting her house or cleaning the toilets or ANYTHING other than being in a strip-mall chain restaurant wearing a tight, orange, banana hammock and serving her food?

Besides, we are NOT stupid. Any man with all the above-listed physical attributes working at a place called Schlongs is probably gay.  And this is the reason why Hooters works and Schlongs is just awkward and gross. One is grounded in fantasyland and the other is based in reality — fundamental difference between men and women.

Look stop yelling at me, I’m not pro-gun control — mostly. Also I was only a pinko commie for like 3 days back in the 90s.

Look let’s clear the table okay?

Let’s get rid of the newspapers, the unopened mail, your key chain (which doesn’t belong on the table in the first place), the magazine you were reading this morning and that retarded salt and paper shaker you bought while on vacation to Niagara Falls in 2002 (I’ve always hated those anyway).

Is the table clear?

I have to be honest here, the image selection for 'clear table' left a lot to be desired.  It was mostly images of clear tables.  So here's a semi-naked chick saying fuck off.  Win, win right?

I have to be honest here, the image selection for ‘clear table’ left a lot to be desired. It was mostly images of clear tables. So here’s a semi-naked chick saying fuck off. Win, win right? (Photo credit: I found this while drunk and forget where)

Good.

Now to be clear myself (because I guess I wasn’t very clear) I’d like to state clearly the following.

I do not support gun control.

There I feel better.    Does that clear anything up?   Maybe not because if the comments and emails I’ve received are any indication, I can’t make a point to save my life.

That last update, the one made in the wake of the school shootings where some deranged madman killed 26 people, most of them children, hit a nerve it seems.   Which struck me as odd.  I expected pro-gun control people to call me out but the majority of the feedback, let me be honest here all of the feedback, I received was from the gun rights advocates.

What the fuck?   The, poorly penned perhaps, update was me saying to the pro-gun control people, ‘gun control’ shouldn’t be on the table and even if it is you cannot win the argument.

If we assume (and it’s a bit of  leap I grant) that pro gun control people are, for the most part, liberal and also favor such things as equal marriage rights for LBGT individuals, better nationalized (Obamacare) health care and every other left-leaning, ‘suck at the state’s tit while hard working Republicans pay for it program there is’ then that blog update was a plea for all of us to collectively shut the fuck up about gun control because to argue for it expends political capital in the manner that a problem gambler spends money in Vegas.

kids with gun equals fun

I really need to do a better job with photo credits. Not idea where I found this …

You’re not going to win the argument and you’ll spend vast resources trying to the defeat it all the while giving away the things you could have here and now.  It’s pointless, stupid and hurts only you in other words.

To anyone still in favor of current gun control policy that is still with me, I repeat, we should leave guns alone.

To anyone desiring stricter gun-control laws stay with me please.

Here’s part of my point lefties, and I’m with you on like 99% of our ideals, I just break away on this one.   I don’t break away because I think it’s a good idea that America be an armed society but rather because I see that this cannot be stopped.  Even if it is stopped, as I said before, with 220 million guns out there the minute you outlaw guns in America, only outlaws will have guns.   It will be, at a minimum, 50-years of chaos that will make24 dead kindergartners look like a Sunday morning bake sale.

This next part kind of sucks, and I honestly thought long and hard about writing it, but at the end of the day it’s 24 kids and it makes a good news story.

What’s the tired phrase, if it bleeds it leads?

It’s a kind of a popular defense for gun-right activists to say, “if the media would stop reporting these tragedies the way they do they wouldn’t happen.”  Indicating that the psychopaths that do them wouldn’t end up being infamous if no one talked about them and I guess at a base level they’re right but the media is a business and I for one cannot fault them for pushing what sells.

Hell that’s been the norm sense the Romans pitted the Christians against the lions and sold out the Coliseum.

Right or wrong, it sells.

And who are we to fuck with business, free markets always being ‘right’ and all.

Which leaves us with, it’s us.

Perhaps there is some Westborough Baptist Church solution here?  Maybe we all, pro- gun control and gun-rights advocates, could organize and collectively pee on the graves of each shooter on their death day as a sort of ‘fuck you, you’re not famous’ protest’.    Would the media cover it and if they did how cool would that be, news footage of all of us peeing on graves of mass-murderers, I’m laughing about the blurring they’ll have to do right now.

But that wouldn’t work either, not really.

This is a stupid argument unless it isn't.

This is a stupid argument … Unless it isn’t.

I also had this great, I mean it was great, argument about why the ‘ban cars because they kill more people than guns’ argument was stupid.

But as stupid as it is, it’s not really that stupid at all.

Damn it.

What those on the gun control side of the argument think their hearing when the gun right advocates say that is, “well this thing kills more people than guns so let’s ban it even though we know no one will!”

But the reality of the message is, “both of these technologies are here to stay, banning one is as pointless as banning the other and again, neither are going anywhere.”

Because, as I said before, 220 million fucking guns, that we know of.

Let me end this as I (tried) to start it.

Leave gun rights alone.    I have friends that own guns.  I have family that owns guns and I even enjoy shooting guns.  Ninety-nine point nine percent of gun owners are lawful and responsible gun owners.    A general ban on guns will only tear this country apart in a way not seen since the 1860s and gun ownership is a pointless point to do that again.

My next update, I promise, will have much more to do with boobs.

Life without my wife, a diary — with goats.

Here’s an actual photo of the fridge on a random Saturday when Dagmar was gone for 15 months. This is an actual photo, I was hungry too.

Dear Diary,

As you know Dagmar started work today in Wiesbaden and will only be home on the weekends.   I thought this dairy would help me deal with the freedom pain of our being apart.

Day 1:

Ate lovingly-made breakfast and lunch prepared by the wife and spent an extra hour at work because why go home to an empty house?

The boss said he appreciates the extra effort!

Once home I drank a beer, undressed in living room but will totally take those clothes upstairs in just a moment. Prepared a well-balanced meal while drinking beer, prepared coffee for tomorrow, while drinking beer, and watched the Daily show while drinking beer.     This is sort of relaxing.  I’ll get the dishes tomorrow.

I also became a super-user at ratemyrack.com!

What an honor.

Drank beer, surfed the web and drank beer

Fell asleep on the stairs.

Day 2:

Awoke in the morning with stair carpet imprints on my face and with back-kinks.   I have vague recollections of telling the cat we will not be discussing the remote control incident from last night.

I have vaguer recollections of the cat agreeing with me.

Every internet wired device in the house has porn loaded.   Even the printer.  Who drank all this beer?   My coffee tastes bad because I’d added more water but not changed the grounds.

I must soldier on.

No matter I have to get ready for work.  I’ll pick up the empties, along with the clothes and the kitchen tonight when I get home.

Getting ready for work I pick an awesome combination of gray slacks, with a striped shirt and a plaid tie.  I look dressed to the nines, oddly though it hurts my brain to look at myself in the mirror.

No matter high-fashion is its own reward.

Man the boss rode me at work today.   Why does that dude always ask me to DO stuff?   Damn man.   He also asked me if my wife had already moved.

How did he know?

It was totally hungry by like 11 a.m.   I mean seriously hungry.  I bought a box of pop-tarts, a bag of Doritos and some cheese dip.

I ate it all for lunch.

Co-workers seem odd, distracted.   Some of them whispered when I ate.

They don’t understand awesome like I do.

Quitting time!   Totally going to bed early tonight, I’m tired!

Drank beers when I got home.   Something smells funny in the kitchen and I don’t remember there being this many flies when I left this morning.   After a few beers I decide to play Skyrim but decide my character will always be naked.

Playing Skyrim with a naked character is stupid.

I lose interest after 5 beers.

I am offered and accept a position as “administrator” at ratemyrack.com.

I declare that ‘Juanita’ has won ratemyrack.com ‘for all time’ and that no further entries need be supplied.

I am fired as an “administrator” at ratemyrack.com.

I eat cold baloney and cheerios over the sink.  I think I drank catsup because I once read you cannot ‘drink’ catsup.

Fact: you can.

The cat is avoiding me.

Day 3:

I awake to discover South Park on replay in the bedroom and that the sheets during the night have been pulled off the mattress.   I’m actually cocooned in bedding and it takes me 15 minutes to extract myself.

It’s a painful 15 minutes as I really have to pee.

Why are all these empty beer cans on the floor?

There are a herd of goats in the living room.  Leaving the back patio door open for this long now seems a bad idea.  Closing it now seems a worse idea.   The cat is nowhere to be found I doubt she would be much help were she here.   I fight for a seat among some kid and turn on the TV.    Nothing happens.   I discover that the goats have eaten through the cable.   They’ve also eaten the coffee and most of the food in the kitchen.

Yesterday’s twice brewed coffee is a distant memory but my headache is here and now.

A goat just butted me, with its head, and it hurt.

Guess I’m going to work.

The closet has been ransacked, I’d blame the cat but I know it’s the goats.   I’m reduced to shorts and a collared polo for work.   I convince myself flip-flops work in this situation and go with it.   If you believe in it enough, it’s true.    After showering I’m reduced to drying off with the bedding … the towels were eaten by the goats while I slept.

Down to the garage I discover pimp Iceberg Slim’s ‘ride’ in my garage.  Confused memory’s come back.   Something, something, “let me keep my ride here,” something, something, “and I don’t kill you” comes to memory.

Seems I made the right choice.

There are a lot of words at work, “appropriate”, “business-like” and “you smell like a goat”.   None of them matter because I smell like goat.   Googling goat extermination is more complex then you might think …

Once back home I discover that a family of indigenous Germans have camped in my basement, tents and all.  That would be weird but for the fact I never knew there were indigenous Germans.

When challenged they confess they’re just a bunch of drunk dudes.

These guys, no matter what they tell you are not a protected tribe of indigenous German people. They’re drunken college kids. Never let them camp in your basement.

I wouldn’t mind them but their cooking fires have blackened the ceiling and walls.  They’ve taken care of the goat issue and invite me to share in their grog.   I partake willingly and am happy to discover they consider the living room to be ‘sacred hunting grounds’.    They’ve somehow convinced Iceberg to relocate.  Between this and the goats, I am happy.

They also have Grog.

Day 4:

Good news!   The boss sent me home early from work.  I don’t know why.   He told me not to come in tomorrow either.  FOUR DAY WEEKEND PEOPLE!  The German tribe has migrated, or at least that’s what the notes they left me said.   It also mentioned a lack of beer.

Whatever.

The damage is massive, I begin searching online for “chicks that clean your house naked” only to discover, after a few phone calls, they really don’t do goat poop removal.   They dust and crap.  My dust has dust on it at this point.

I wrap myself in a rug and pray for death for tomorrow, SHE WHO MUST BE OBEYED, returns.  I have failed.

Day 5:

HOLY JESUS DAGMAR WILL BE HOME TODAY WHAT THE HELL AM I GOING TO DO?!?!?!

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.

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.