Dregs of the Week: August 2011 [and what a long week it was]

Click on the Shot for the Wallpaper

Oh. Yes. i. Did. Never let it be said i’ve never posted a collage of drunk girls and their stomach sneezes. The above technicolor burps are dedicated to Caleb Followill of the Kings of Leon, who is the celebrity bit that came up in this week’s dregs.

Floating around in there as well is the unnatural disaster Down Under that you’re no doubt tired of hearing talking heads spew on about and i’m not a journalist (but i play one on this blog) still, how can i not talk about the far reaching, universal implications of the Aussie forklift accident that cost the lives of $1,000,000’s worth of wine? Plus, there’s a skier on a slippery slope after undoing his fly while flying and flying on a plane to pee all over a child on the flight. Oh yes, i’ve come up with with all that and will cough up a lot more dirt in this week’s dregs.

Bar None's artist hallucination of Robert "Sandy" Vietze in a couple years

From the juiced-box and The Kings of Leon – Arizona.

[Press Play for “Said that I’m a fighter / Too drunk to remember / Too drunk to / Shake hands, my face / Standin’ on the pavement / Tastin’ something awful / I hate when that happens”]

Commoner Dregs

July 22: Dropping Off the Wine

Aussies at the Breaking Point

Everyone’s heard of plummeting wine sales but it takes an Aussie to think of this twist. Earlier this month (so early, in fact, that it took place late last month), a tragedy of monumental proportions struck the tiny drinking community of Adelaide, Australia when thousands were shattered in the prime of their lives, taken from us only never to be heard from again. The loss is truly devastating and i doubt the families of those affected will ever again be the same.

i’m talking about, of course, the defective forklift that dropped 462 cases of 2010 Mollydooker Velvet Glove shiraz. Forget for an instant that “defective forklift” is Australian for “drunk warehouse employee”, forget for one more instant that a case of wine holds 12 bottles which means that 5544 bottles of the 2010 vintage were snatched away in their youth, and forget even longer that, at 185 yankee dollar a pop, the total cost of the catastrophe culminates at $1,025,640.

No, now is not the time to concern ourselves with the pettiness of finance and bad Australian English. Now is the time when all of us—drinkers, drunks and alcoholics anonymous—must unite to mourn the tragic emptiness left by those bereaved bottles.

There's no such thing as a "Victimless Crime"

[AlKHallism: i’m here to officially deny that guest poster child, co-tender of the Bar None, and inhabitant of Australia, The Rod, did willfully and with malice destroy those many bottles of beverage to save me, Al K Hall, from drinking them. While the Rod is hot and a very stiff supporter of yours truly, he never drives forklifts while drunk.]

August 13: Urine Trouble

Bar None's artist hallucination of Sandy

Robert “Sandy” Vietze had a lot going for him. He has 18 years under his belt, ranks in the top 75 best skiers in the USA, and knows is better to be pissed off than on. Because of this, in addition to having 18 years under his belt, he also had 6 beers and 2 rum and cokes under there as well, is now a member of the elite 75 best skiers in the States not on the Olympic team, and not only had a lot going for him but had a lot going out of him as well.

See, Undo My Flyboy boarded a plane in Oregon and, underage star that he is, got off on the booze before he got on. He passed out in his seat and came to when he was standing up being thrown around by a guy. Turns out the guy was a dad who was pissed off that Sandy was peeing on his 11-year-old daughter’s leg.

As if that weren’t bad enough, the little girl that Kid-ney was marking his territory on was flying to see her grandmother for the first time since her dad’s discovery that he had cancer.

What happened after the shake? “He was intoxicated and was charged, as it’s against the law to pee on another person,” said a Port Authority spokeswoman.

Here's What This Pussy Really Needs

Celebrity Dregs

July 29: King of Leon Bows to the Throne

Kings of Leon Apologize to Fans

“If you’re drunk and you know it, clap your hands,” is not exactly what Kings of Leon’s Caleb Followill didn’t say to the throbbing crowd in Dallas, Texas but it would’ve worked just as well. Here’s what he really said.

For the record, I’m not drunk, just hot. I’m going to vomit and drink a beer.

Add this to your list of drinking excuses, if you (Follow)will.

Putting the “ass” back in Dallas, Caleb Follow-swill got drunk before a concert and then blamed it on the heat. He promised to come back after puking and drinking more but he didn’t, which meant his brother, Jared Follow-won’t, had to apologize.

Fucking hate Caleb, not us. I don’t know what to say. It’s not our fault. It’s Caleb. He can’t play the rest of the show.

Fortunately, the mob was asausaged (or whatever that word that means “calmed down” is) by free jerked meat and rumors of George Bush running for election again.

Time will tell if the Kings will reign over vomit, or if vomit will rain over them.

Bar None's artist deconstruction of a Kings of Leon Farewell Tour

Bar None Dregs

Looks like i’m back behind the bar again. Miss Demeanor and i had a wonderful vacation, thanks for asking and i’m telling you even if you didn’t. i stayed sober the whole time (bringing me up to over 7 months, for those of you who can count better than me) but more importantly, Miss D and i had a lovely Commitment Ceremony for my family before our official wedding next month. This was so unique, i’m gonna hafta give it a post all its own.

i’d like to give a shout out to Kevin in the UK, who is my latest e-mail subscriber. If you want your name to be read by about 3000 people a day, all you have to do is subscribe. It’s as easy as clicking that little button at the top right.

Finally, i’d like to thank The Rod once more for bravely manning the shit while i was on my hiatus (yes, that means “ass”). His professionalism is only exceeded by his talent and humor, so please be kind enough to leave him a tip, or a simple “Thank You”, in the comments below. And visit his blog.

Didn’t get your fill of the dregs? i keep them on tap right here.

The Hot Rod Unloads: A Good Riot Never Solves Anything

There were a variety of choices for the song from the Juiced-box to accompany this post (high on the list would have been “London’s Burning”, but that would’ve been too obvious) and this was the one which pinged my twisted sense of humor. Enjoy a bit of Twisted Sister. 

I haven’t had a drink – of any kind – in about a month. For me, this is nothing new: I’m not what you’d class as a raging alcoholic, nor am I really a social drinker in the true sense of the word. About the only time I’ll drink (with the exception of my pre-Christmas “I Quit My Job” booze-up) is at home with the wife and maybe a few good friends over a well cooked meal and some nice conversation. I go to the bar – I drink Coke or juice. I go to someone else’s party – I drink Coke or juice. I get home from a hard day at work – I drink Coke, and play with my young daughter and watch the children’s programming on TV. Only on the odd occasion do I pull out a bottle of cheap red from the cupboard and swig it like I stole it.

Ahh, now THAT was an awesome party....

If I was a cop in Britain right now, man, I’d be drunk off my gourd and slumped in a dark corner somewhere, waiting for the darkness of unconscious oblivion to swallow me whole. I’d be as far away from London, Manchester, Bristol and wherever else Sony warehouses are burning to the ground, hiding in a dark corner somewhere, my police badge conveniently left at home. I would be so smashed, the mere thought of entertaining a thought about joining the riot squad would begin with the line “An Aussie, a Yank and an Irishman walked into a bar…”.

What a typical Bar None window looks like after a big night...

We’ve all seen the pictures filtering through the poorly orchestrated media circus of Britons swiping, burning, smashing and stealing their way through most of Southern England. Fuck me if that doesn’t look like a wonderful time, eh? Skinheads, punks, skanks, slags and fuckwits just running about with abandon and destroying property and lives because it seems like a good time. I’m almost disappointed that I can’t join in and steal a few plasma TV’s and Reeboks as well – because if you’re gonna have a good riot, then fuck me, why not steal a bunch of shoes. Pansy ass, lowbrow, jut-jawed neanderthal faggots, if you ask me. No disrespect to all good faggots out there, but if all these feral stains can think of is flogging a few shoes, some jewelry and clothing, then England’s worse off than I thought. I trawled the web a little the other day, and not once did I see a bunch of hoodie-wearing fucksticks clambering out of a pub with a few cartons of beer under their arms, scampering away as the cops arrived.

Typical Bar None patron - focussing on the guy with the camera, not the explosion behind him...

For all that’s been stolen, it strikes me as an alarming statistic that (and I’m just making this shit up, now) almost no alcoholic premises were looted for the booze. There’s a fair bit of damage to property, from what I’ve seen, but nobody really thinks of booze as an expensive item to pilfer. I’m no criminal (at least, not that can be proven in a court of law) but I’ll bet some other rioting wanker will be sitting there next week, when all the shit’s died down, slapping his head mumbling something about stocking up on a nice set of Shiraz or Cabernet, instead of pillaging a quickfix of Harold And Kumar BluRays from Blockbuster. Priorities, guys. I’d rather a good drink than a too-small pair of Nikes.

None of these people feel the need to riot. All of them appear to be regulars at the Bar None.

Maybe if these dopey bastards (here in Australia they’d be called “Drongo’s” or some other colloquially cringe-inducing shit by the media) had bothered to flog some booze, go home and get fucked up, we’d have been spared the sight of London burning, people being killed, and vigilante groups arming themselves to combat the violence. A good riot never solves anything, but maybe a few drinks at the local could’ve.

The Hot Rod Unloads: What kind of world are we living in?

From the Juiced-box, for a reflective mood: 

Hi gang! Your semi-irregular tipple-toaster here, settling in at the end of this poorly lit Bar (seriously Al, ever heard of fluorescent lighting?) to castigate and castrate all the news, views and opinion of the last few weeks of… well, news. You’ll have to forgive my drunken rambling, thanks to Al allowing me such a large tab here at the Bar, but there’s a few things that’ve caught my eye over the last little while I just need to vent on. And when I say “vent”, I mean pull out the long forgotten soapbox here behind the Bar and stand on that fucker. Given the Bar None’s recent Dry Zone policy means I not longer filter the horrors of being human through a haze of Johnny Walker or Galiano, it’s brought things into sharp focus… hence the title of this post.

The worlds biggest chicken house?

Is it just me, or has the world gone a little more shitty than normal in the last month or so? America’s teetering on the brink of financial collapse, while a couple of dozen half-wits in Washington play a massive game of chicken with each other, and the rest of the world watches on wondering if the wall-to-wall coverage of impending catastrophe (really, America goes into financial meltdown…. would anybody else care?) is just a beat-up or actually factual. All of this makes the rest of the world wonder if America truly is the greatest nation on Earth. I tell you what, if they do go down, they’re putting up a fight. Debt ceiling? Really?

Bet you wish you'd gone to rehab now, eh?

Singer-songwriter-drugfucked alcoholic Amy Winehouse plays her last gig in a haze of booze, and then bows out in glorious, tabloid-fodder style, for which now we can look forward to decades of “unearthed new material” much like frickin’ Tu Pac or whatever that dudes name was who got shot, died, and then released a dozen albums of new material like he was saving shit up for a rainy day. Christ, they’re gonna hammer this crap until they’ve remixed, remastered and re-released the shit out of her back catalogue, unearthed some unfinished songs and added guest stars like Bono, Bob Geldof and fucking Bill Idol to make some weird “duets” style thing like they did with Sinatra. And we don’t even get any new trashy photos to counteract this oncoming Winehouse storm. Don’t get me wrong: she was an awesome singer, but every dick with a blog and an opinion seems to think she’s a tragic loss to the world. As a songstress, perhaps. As a person? Well, there’s a hundred LiLo wannabes waiting in the wings.

Jackie Chan should make a movie with THIS guy!!

Then there’s the cop in the UK who, after being hit by a fucking car, gets up and chases down the bitchslapper who sideswiped him. Don’t believe me? Watch this. Now that, my friends, is the very definition of TOUGH. Unless he’s a Transformer. In which case, Optimus Prime would upfuck his shitup.

I can hear my own sperm swimming around down there!

Also over in the UK, is a man who can hear his eyeballs moving. No joke (apparently), this dude suffers from some sort of weird scientific problem which means the noises inside his body are louder than those outside – he can literally hear his internal workings going on. You know that old phrase about “not being able to hear yourself think”? Well, this man’s got that problem licked. Makes you wonder if he confuses his farts with thunder.

In a few moments, there will be tears!

Far and away the most disturbing news of the week, though, at least not related to the US financial crisis, is this report about underage kids drinking to excess in the US. What’s most troubling to me is that the people drinking to excess aren’t even old enough for their balls to drop or their boobs to fill out – kids as young as 12 are getting blind drunk every weekend or so, and not only that, but also sitting back with a bit of pot to go with it. What. The. Fuck. This article/report almost speaks for itself in the question which would immediately form on most peoples lips: who’s buying these kids their booze? What’s scary is that I’ve no doubt whatsoever that this kind of thing is happening all around the world as well; Australia’s no exception to the youthfully drunk, and it’s a major, major social problem.

Will she blow? Will she?

The space shuttle returned to Earth after its last trip to the most expensive hang-out in the world (or, above it…) and the world paused for about, oh, three minutes to reflect on all the Shuttle Program brought us. Can anybody name the astronauts on that last shuttle? Without Googling it? Nope, neither can I. The fact that everyone’s lost interest in the Shuttle missions was probably the biggest factor in deciding to give it up. I mean, unless you’re going to the moon, or sending people to Mars, the whole thing just wasn’t exciting any more. So they packed up, sent the smart dudes home to their parents, and gave the private sector a mission to “capture the flag” – Richard Branson must be near-orgasmic with glee that now he’s got an excuse to burn up billions of dollars in research and development to send some poor sap up there.

Unspeakable tragedy.... impossible sorrow.

Almost overshadowing the news of Amy Winehouse’s death the other weekend was the news that some utter fuck-knuckle in Norway decided he’d had enough of behaving himself and went and a) blew up some shit, and b) shot a bunch of innocent kids at a political camp. What the news services couldn’t get over, though, was how White Anglo Saxon this dude looked – I mean, he wasn’t Muslim, wasn’t any kind of ethnic minority they could easily pigeonhole, and when pressed for his reasons, expressed himself in an articulate and deliberate manner. Sure, he’s a deranged psycho, but he didn’t go out with a bullet to the skull or blowing himself to whatever God he believes in (or doesn’t) with a few pounds of TNT. Goddamit, this guy seemed, on the outside, to be one of us. Which is scary. He had the self-belief to stay alive and hand himself into the police when they arrived on that island. No last-stand suicide, no blaze of glory run-at-the-cops-and-get-mown-down-in-slo-mo stuff. Personally, I don’t even think that fucker deserves to breath the same oxygen as we do – take him out the back, shoot him in the head and bury his corpse in some landfill somewhere, and forget about him. No trial, no fucking circus, just death and that’s it. I’m not a believer in the death penalty, but in this case, no amount of incarceration is ever going to do this stain justice.

BAM! Your'e owned!

The UK reeled after Sauron himself, along with his son Little Johnny Packer, wheeled himself into British Parliament to answer questions about the massive phone hacking scandal, and ended up being smacked with a foam pie by some “comedian” fellow. Rupert Murdoch might be a control freak undead walking corpse, but he didn’t need that. T’was funny as hell, though. In other news, I’m glad the wankers behind that phone hacking crap are getting taken to task about it all. Seriously, who thinks tapping into peoples phones is a good idea? There’s no justification at all for that, and those slimy dickheads thought deleting a few messages on some poor dead girls phone would be a good laff as well. Man, I’d skip the lawsuits and go hire an assassin, if I was one of the victims.

Just how much longer can this all last?

All this makes me ask the Big Question of the Week. What kind of world are we living in? Is it just me, or is shit getting worse? Perhaps those nutjobs gabbing on about the Mayan calendar ending in 2012 are on to something? Boy, I can’t wait until humanity enters some kind of Star Trek styled utopia and all crime is eliminated, or Roland Emmerich gets to actually destroy the world for real. I’m sure he’d love it.

Now, send down another bottle of Scotch, Al. I’m done for today!

Hot Rod is a guest writer here at The Bar None, but you can catch his more serious side over at his movie blog, Fernby Films.

Self Unemployed: I’ll Sleep On It

 Before we get to the goodies, here’s the goods. Straight up from the juiced-box, a brother who has lived there, died from it, then went back to live there again. The man, Warren Zevon. His message? My shit’s fucked up.

[Press ‘Play’ for some fucked up shit. You’ll come for the lyrics, but the guitar part will make you come.]

Here’s the latest photo i’ve added to my Self Unemployed: Help Wanted page.

Another Beer? Let Me Sleep On It.

Bar None Dregs

As you all may or may not care, Miss Demeanor and i are leaving on our annual Sabbatical to Camp David Hasselhoff. The Rod has kindly offered to look after the place in our absence, so here’s to The Rod. Three Beers for The Rod! This also means that i will not be able to respond to comments with my usual rudeless efficiency. Please feel free to look around the site while you wait the 3 weeks it’ll take me to get back and get back to you.

Also, i don’t know if i mentioned it or not but Miss Demeanor will officially become Mrs Demeanor on 09/09, as that’s when i’m making a dishonest woman from her. And there was much rejoicing.

Here’s some more shots of what it will look like when Miss D and i fly away tomorrow.

Also in the news, i would officially like to thank Dana, Shankaripriya, and Mdgnh who are my three latest subscribers. Thank you for your confidence. i hope i can live down my reputation and up to your expectations. And thank you for patronizing me. If anyone else out there wants to have their name read by 3000 people a day, all you have to do is click the Subscribe button up top over there.

Speaking of readership, an important milestone just swooshed right past me and i didn’t even notice. Normally i’d blame my drunk blogging, but you know how that is. Anyway, some time about two weeks ago, i surpassed one million readers served. For proof all you have to do is look at the top of the column over there. Allow me to grovel a bit and to thank each of you who slid into the Bar None for whatever reason, be it the sexy shots of women, my delectable sense of humor, or the sexy shots women who am i kidding? Whatever the reason, you are all equally important in my eyes (especially Miss D, Wayne, The Rod, ITSB, Bats and Paulo the Lurker). Thanks, as always, for patronizing me.

Also, i just know that Saint Pauly kid would get all up in my shit if i didn’t point out that he posted another one of his funny movie thingies over at WTF!? (Watch the Film).

With that, i leave you to your own devices. Do with them what you will, where you will.

Thanks for patronizing me, Barmaids and Beerhounds,

Al K Hall