My Quest To Brewery Ommegang

Part II: An Extraordinary Expedition

** Preface **

      I can not, for the life of me, write a coherent descriptive narrative about factual events and make it in any way interesting. Seriously, I was bored off my ass proof reading my own trip up state to the magical world of Ommegang. It didn’t even feel like I was reminiscing as I reread it and I really enjoyed the shit out of the trip. In short, it didn’t look like anything I would write, didn’t sound at all how I would talk and ultimately felt hollow and lack luster. So, what’s going to happen is I’m going to take my original blog, abuse the shit out of copy and paste, cut it down to the important stuff and sprinkle the entire thing with profanity to give it a little kick. Let it sit for about 15 minutes at 450 degrees and shove it directly up your ass… bitches.

Reoccurring themes of note:
   - The leaves were very pretty. (Oooh look at that yellow, that orange is lovely)
   - The people were extremely friendly… almost too friendly. (Note to self: find out what they are hiding.)
   - Trip took 4 hours up and 5 hours back. That’s a total of 9 HOURS for beer. +1 to Awesomeness.

** End Preface **

      We got to Fly Creek (about 13 minutes outside of Coopers town in upstate New York) around 11:30ish and had a much needed stretch and walk around. The place is freakin’ awesome. They have the best apple cider on the planet, I shit you not. Seriously, I want to shower in it. They also have a great gift shop and market type… thing. Let’s put it this way, if it has to do with apples they do it, and better then you’ve ever even heard of. After you go through the shop and, if you’re a compulsive buyer like myself, spend way too much money, you’ll wind up in their quaint sized outdoor eatery. They serve a variety of things derived from apples but also other things to snack on, including pulled pork so amazing I passed out.

      There was more I am sure I missed but my desire for the liquid of the Gods was growing to homicidal levels inside of me so shortly after finishing our pulled pork sandwiches we were headed back out on the main road. The GPS informed me we were only a few miles away and would arrive in approximately 15 minutes. I demanded silence in the car and raised the volume on Beethoven’s ‘Moonlight Sonata’ to set the mood as my inner drunken child shook with excitement. Shortly after, we saw the sign for Brewery Ommegang.

Brewery Ommegang:

(me just entering Brewery Ommegang!)

      It was everything I expected it to be with one exception that we will get to later. The brewery is styled after an authentic Belgian brew house which looks very similar to an American style farm, and is commonly mistaken as such. We took a quick 20 minute tour of the brewery and also joined in on the beer tasting after giving the gift shop a once over. Of course I knew what the beers tasted like but A) I just drove 4+ fucking hours to get there and B) a good practicing alcoholic never turns down free beer. Oh also, we had the chance to sample there new limited edition brew called ‘Cup O’ Kindness’ which they are releasing only for a short time. It is a dark brew that’s origins date back to World War 1 when the Belgians strove to cater to the Scottish military forces stationed in their country. What they came up with was a surprisingly delicious Belgian style Scottish brew that was so good we ended up winning the war.

      There are two facts that I feel must be included in this report: Fact 1: although Ommegang has the license to sell beer to the public, they are currently lacking the license to consume beer on the premises. Fact 2: due to fact 1, we both cried like little bitches. This did not stop me however from spending way too much money on items from their gift shop and still enjoying every single second of the trip.

(me sitting outside on the lawn in front of the entrance)

      To conclude, Keanu Reeves is a terrible actor! Wait, which blog is this… hhmm seems that is actually part of my blog notes for Ommegang… as well as every other set of notations that I have… interesting. If you are within driving distance to Brewery Ommegang it is well worth the trip up to visit them. Their beers are outstanding (try the ‘Rare Vos”, its unbelievably good. Seriously, the lyrics in love songs make sense to me when I think about that beer) the scenery is breathtaking and overall it’s a positive experience that you won’t regret. Check out there website for directions and shit like that and if you are considering going take a look at their events section, they have some pretty interesting stuff going on.

-Tyrant 

The Work Place Survival Guide

Welcome to the first installment of The Work place survival guide.  This informative tutorial will provide you, the poor employee of Shitty-Job Co., a step-by-step plan for surviving the rigors of the daily grind.  Now while many of these tutorials will focus on jobs which are set in an office environment, they can be transferred to any type of work place environment.  Some will require a bit of tweaking, but if you use your imagination I think you will find great success.  I have also provided visual aids that will allow you to perform the complicated techniques of each step in the precise manner which I have perfected.  I hope you enjoy.

Lesson # 1: How to get out of boring conversations. 

We have all been there.  At some point during the work day we are cornered by one of our fellow employees who engage us in inane banter about god knows what.  When cornered by one of these people, many individuals will try several techniques which although may provide a modicum of success, ultimately are ineffective.  The three most common mistakes are:

The polite nod: 

This is when a person just sits back and suffers the stupidity assault of which they have been subjected to.  They nod, smile, and just try and ride it out.  This technique is not only incredibly painful, but it is known to cause brain cancer (due to the amount of useless idiocy that the person’s brain absorbs and as we all know stupidity is cancerous.) This technique is also dangerous because it marks you as a target for future assaults.

The fake meeting: 

The title is self-explanatory.  We try and scurry by our attacker to attend some fictitious gathering, but this too will get you nowhere. Often the attacker will either try to accompany you to the meeting, which they will think they are a vital part of, or if you successfully escape, they will only be waiting for you when you return.  The problem with this technique is that your attacker usually has NOTHING better to do with their time, and they will stalk you until you have submitted to them and hear all about their great aunt Agnes whose dog, Mr. Floofykins, has a brain tumor.   

The fake phone call: 

Again, self-explanatory.  This plan of defense usually follows the same lines as the fake meeting, with a few minor changes.  The results too are often the same. The biggest drawback to this technique is that it is generally known that the second you start pretending you’re talking on the phone, is when the phone inevitably rings, thus giving away the charade.  Also, unless you plan on spending several hours pretending to be on the phone, your attacker will often just wait it out.  If they don’t, you can be sure they will be back later. 

These techniques are no good.   But I have developed a virtually full-proof method of defending yourself in the instances of these attacks.  Just follow the guide below and you will see how effective this method is.

Step 1:

Oh no! You’ve been trapped!

Your attacker has cut off your only route of escape, and you have already been warned about assaulting fellow employees so barreling through them and trampling them is not an option.  What to do!? 

First, remain calm.  There is always a way.

 Step 2:

Your attacker at this point has probably already begun their verbal assault. 

“I love scrap-booking! Don’t you?  It’s so nice to save precious memories.  I have one scrap book that is dedicated to when I had that cyst on one of my ovaries…you remember that right? Well the best part to it is the page dedicated to the operation the doctors did; in the center of the page is  part of the ovary they removed, with the cyst intact and all!

Now you need to act quickly because soon you will begin to grow weak with apathy and you will most likely slip into a coma, or suffer an aneurysm.

See that pen on your desk?  Grab it.  At this point you MUST look your attacker straight in the eye, and appear as if you are giving them your utmost attention.   

Now, quickly un-cap the pen and begin drawing squiggly lines DIRECTLY on your face.  

This may seem drastic, but believe me it will catch your attacker off guard and give you an advantage.

Step 3:

Right now, your attacker is most certainly stunned.  They have never experienced anything like this before.  They cannot process the events occurring directly in front of them.  Soon they will stop jabbering about what ever boring bullshit their fat mouth-holes were spewing out.  

Your attacker will now question you as to what you are doing; this moment is very important.  In order to pull this off you need to put your acting skills on full display.  

First you must act utterly surprised as to what your attacker is talking about.

Second, you must act as if you suddenly realized what you were doing and then follow it with a statement about how it’s a psychological/neurological condition you can’t control, but that you are still paying close attention to them.

Step 4:

Your attacker, although confused, will proceed now in continuing their pointless story.  THIS IS THE MOST IMPORTANT STEP IN THE PROCESS.  The SECOND your attacker begins to verbally assault you with their stupidity again; you MUST begin drawing on your face again IMMEDIATELY. 

It is at this point that your attacker will understand that you don’t give a shit about whatever the fuck it is they are saying.  Most likely they will also understand that you are a total dick, and that you have absolutely no desire to communicate with them EVER again.  Your attacker at this point will storm away very confused, frustrated, and angered and will undoubtedly never consider trying to speak with you ever again.  

So congratulations! You have fended off your attacker and have successfully assured that they will never try boring you to death with their insanely pointless chattering ever again.

I hope you have found this guide useful. Please check back soon for many more tips on how to survive in the harsh climate that is your terrible job. 

~Greazy.

My Quest To Brewery Ommegang

- Prolog -

6 months ago:
      Princess Furiouso and myself had made plans to visit the Brewery Ommegang in upstate New York. We were both crazy about their beers and were very excited to visit their Belgian style brew house here in the states. We had about three weeks to prep for our trip and started looking up routs and saving up some cash for the adventure. I had put in for a transfer at work earlier that month and was told it would be a while before I saw any results regarding my request. Slightly dismayed by the news I just set myself on planning for the trip.

      The trip, in my estimation, would take approximately 4 hours so we planned on heading out somewhere around 7am with hopes of arriving around noon. Knowing myself as I do I was positive I would be to lazy to pack that morning so everything was packed the Friday night before we were to leave.

- Burnt CD’s … Check
- Combo Snacks for me… Check
- Baby Carrots for her… Check
- Bottled Water… Check
- Pants… Check
- Camera… Check
- Awesomeness… Check

      I finished up work on Friday and made it all the way home before I get a phone call from my boss to inform me that I had been transferred (show of hands, who actually didn’t see that coming?) and that I start the next day at my new position. ‘Wait…’ I thought ‘who starts a new position on a Saturday?’. so I said “Wait… who starts a new position on a Saturday?” which, I realize in retrospect, set my boss up perfectly to inform me “you do.”

And that was how I almost made it to Brewery Ommegang… the first time.

5 months ago:
      The new position was great. Better hours, better pay and much closer to home. The only drawback was that I now worked Saturdays. I overcame this obstacle by explaining to my boss about my canceled trip and received permission to take off three Saturdays later as compensation for the short notice. The trip was back on!
So, the Friday evening before I set to packing everything up for the trip.

- CD’s … Check
- Food… Check
- Water… Check
- Pants… Check
- Awesomeness… Check

      Our trip to Brewery Ommegang was a matter of ours away and as I pulled out of my driveway, headed to a grocery store for last minute supplies, I thought to myself ‘we are finally going, its actually happening tomorrow, nothing is in our way now’...

(God Himself could not sink this ship… April 15^th, 1912)

      FuckLump left his shit pen of a house that evening at 5:14 and drove his normal path down to his night job. He called it a ‘job’ but in reality he just sat in a dumpster behind a random 7-11 and shoved crayons up a ducks ass in the name of science. To his credit, he was never late to work and hadn’t missed a day in years.

      Taking his normal rout, FuckLump was deep in whatever shallow, ridiculous thought circled the mind of a dimwitted jackass. As images of ice cream, ponies and questions of how farts work danced through his head he was suddenly stricken with an upsetting notion. He would not be able to sustain his normal level of idiotic behavior without food sometime soon… probably sounded more like “food for stupid” in his own mind though.

      As we are all aware, the most ignorant of thoughts are best fueled by fast food so FuckLump deviated from his normal path in search for the worst possible substance for him to ingest. He emerged from the drive through sometime later and wasn’t hit with the wave of panic, that would ultimately overcome, him until he reached the main road in front of him. Had panic struck him earlier he possible would have noticed the two ’No Left Turn’ signs erected in plain sight directly in front of the drive through exit. Granted, he would not have been able to read them as the sight of even his name in writing brought on devastating confusion, but the picture of an arrow inside a circle with a line through it might have caused that flickering florescent bulb in his head to illuminate for a moment.

      Gripped helplessly in a sea of terror he struggled to retrace his steps in his own mind. Did he come from the left or the right? He could not tell. Oh the horror of being a complete idiot. He concluded, finally, that it must have been from the left because he had never yet been right in his life. So overcome by the fact that he had actually made a decision that he forced himself to focus all of his limited attention on the oncoming traffic. FuckLump blindly darted across three lanes of traffic, congratulating himself on his expert handling of the situation as he crashed DIRECTLY into MY fucking car! Mother-Fucking BASTARDO! Son-Of-A-Bitch!

And that was how I almost made it to Brewery Ommegang… the second time.

3 months ago:
      So… Same basic plan.

- Everything… Check
- Pants… Check

      Everything was all set and as I went to sleep Thursday night I dreamt of the wonders in store for me 48 hours from then. I could almost taste the delicious sweet liquid of the Gods as I imagined all of the marvelous beer related activities I would be partaking in shortly. You know how when dogs sleep sometimes they let out little ‘woof’s and sometimes their paws move like they are running and you know right behind their eyelids they are playfully chasing an unattainable rabbit? I’m pretty sure as I slept I was giggling like a school girl and kept raising an imaginary glass to my lips in excitement.

      Mid day on Friday I received a phone call from Princess Furiouso that changed everything. She had found out about a meeting for work she had to attend the next day. It was, unfortunately, unavoidable and regrettably we had to change our plans again and I ended up eating Combos in my basement watching Point Break with my dog. (People trusted you man, people trusted you and they died… fuck you Keanu Reeves)

And this was blah blah Ommegang Blah… the third time.

1 week ago:
      On the Saturday of October 2^nd of 2010 Princess Furiouso and myself made seemingly full proof plans to head upstate for a special event at the Brewery Ommegang called “Waffles and Puppets”! What an amazing idea! My mind reeled with the possibilities, could the puppets be made of waffles? What kind of waffles? What kind of puppets? Can I eat a puppet if I pay enough?

      The reasons we did not go are inconsequential. It was normal life bullshit. The fact that it seemed the universe was against us at every step was the real motivating factor to make this trip happen. Damn you universe, I shake my fist at you!

Ommegang Trip

Tyrant  / Bullshit

 0     /     4  

Tomorrow morning:
      Written Friday night, the 8^th of October 2010.
Its finally happening! We are approximately 12 hours away from our expedition north to the enchanted land of Brewery Ommegang on the noble quest for alcohol. We will be leaving at 7AM tomorrow morning baring any of the following occurrences:

- Earthquake
- Tornado
- Abduction by drug cartel
- Proof of the existence of Loch Ness Monster
- Alien Attack
- Spontaneous Combustion
- Mauled by a bear
- Taking part in a snuff film
- Zombies (although that probably wont stop me cause if the brewery is infected when I get there then, hey, free beer!)

Wish us luck

-Tyrant

Who doesn't love shameless self promotion?

Well ladies and gentlemen, we here at T&G Enterprises Incorporated (a subsidiary of TeeGeeCo.), are desperate for exposure and for your love and praise.  In pursuit of your undying adulation, I, Greazy, have taken numerous hours of my precious time to create for you this little video advertisement.  Now I am sure that many of you may feel that this video is sub-standard, and that the quality of the animation is quite poor.  But, in an advance response to your complaints….kiss my fat hairy ass.

Do you think it was easy for me to do this? I am an incompetent, inartistic, schmuck who can barely draw a stick figure.  Seriously I am lucky I can find the front door in the morning.  I mean I am so proud of myself that I put this little freaking thing together for you, because it is honestly the most important thing I have done this year.  I don’t really know what that says about me but hey…we all have to have goals.  So my friends, I hope you enjoy the show and remember to check back often for more terrible animation, poor grammar and inarticulate ramblings that may as well have come from the drunk homeless guy who lives in the alley across the street from my apartment.  

With love,

~Greazy

 

People who need to have their faces eaten by Zombies:

Article 1: The Silence Talker

      What, you ask, is a silence talker? I’m positive you know more then one personally and I’m reasonably certain you’ve dealt with at least five today. What? You were unaware?! Of course you were. The subterfuge of the silence talker is to hide in plain sight. They work with us, they work for us, they are with us while we are out and, unfortunately, they sometimes live with us. In most cases a silence talker is completely ignorant to the damage they cause to society which, consequently, makes them harder to track and ultimately eradicate.

      You may be at work, in an office or at home, and happen upon a moment of peace in your hectic daily life. There is something inside all of us, I believe, that can sense these moments, as if we know how precious they are and how fleeting they will inevitably be, so we grab a hold of them. You sit back for the first time today and maybe close your eyes, take a deep breath and just enjoy the… silence…

“OH SO I WENT TO THE DOCTOR THE OTHER DAY…”
(no, this isn’t possible. I’m clearly resting. my feet are up on my waste basket, my arms are clearly dangling at my sides lifelessly and my eyes are closed. the only reason you should be talking to me is for proof of life, not to tell me your day... I’ll just not move, they will go away. might not even be talking to me! I‘ll just slightly open one eye and check if anyone else is in the room…)
“WELL, HE TOLD ME…”
(saw me check! FUCK!)
“…THAT GROWTH I HAVE, THE ONE ON THE INSIDE OF MY BELLY BUTTON THAT BURST DURING THE MEETING THE OTHER DAY…”
(I remember very clearly everything that happened in the past five minutes and NONE of it involved me asking! I couldn’t possibly fucking care any less! no, no cursing. cursing will just make us upset and then they win. calm… calm…calm…)
“…HE TOLD ME IT WAS AN INFECTED SORE DO TO THE FACT I ONLY SHOWER EVER SIX TO EIGHT WEEKS, BUT I THINK…”
(CALM, CALM, CALMdie, CALMdie, dieCALM, die, die, DIE, DIE! DIE!)
“… THAT ITS REALLY MY UNBORN TWIN SISTER, SO I’M GOING TO MAKE IT INTO A KEY CHAIN SO WE CAN BE TOGETHER FOREVER. OH YOU’RE PHONE IS RINGING! TOOTLES!”
(FFFUUUUCCCCKKKK YOOOOUUUUU!)

      That last part is usually only heard as a long frustrated sigh. Oh, if people sigh at you a lot and their eyes look noticeably more dead or saddened with regret, your probably a silence talker. I fell victim myself the other day to a SiTi, as us in the ‘know’ call them. This SiTi I’ve come in contact with quite a few times over the past year or so since I transferred to my new position at work. His name is ShitGuppy and he, at least this day, was my arch nemesis.

      A little background quickly on ShitGuppy. I’ve heard, from reliable sources, that on July the 29 in the year of our Lord, 1974, upon watching the news broadcast that ‘Mama’ Cass Eliot had choked to death on a ham sandwich, he shed but one tear. He then turned to the LSD induced glowing badger that sat next to him eating a baby head and proclaimed “I will never shower again”… and has kept that promise. Apparently brushing his teeth was also a part of that promise (although there is a rumor he had made a similar agreement 4 years earlier regarding his teeth to an albino komodo dragon playing the bagpipes when Jimi Hendrix died) because he has been reduced to roughly 8 teeth. At a young age he was Hippifide and due to a combination of what I can only assume was copious amounts of assorted pills and abysmally low ambition he soon became the worst of the hippy nation, the biker hippy. This walking void’s attitude, still to this day, was exquisitely portrayed by the character Ike Clanton in the movie ‘Tombstone’(Law just don’t go round here law dog) … the extent of this creatures vocabulary wasn’t to far off either.

      I had made sure to finish up all of my work by 4 o’clock that day. I was enthralled with Stephen King's ‘The Stand’ from page one and was wrapping up the end of Book II, hopefully, that afternoon. I sat down after buttoning up some projects and eagerly opened the book to where I had left off. I read about three sentences before who walks in? ShitGuppy. Sparing you the boring details of my job lets just say due to certain circumstances ShitGuppy was going to have to stick around for a while till his boss called him.

      “This isn’t a big deal,” I thought. “I’ll just keep reading and he will clearly SEE that I am reading and everything will be fine. don’t get frustrated, you worked hard all day, this is nothing to worry about”. I turned back to my book and began to find my place again, trying to recall what the characters were just doing before I was interrupted by this human skid mark that plagues my life.

(aa yes, ok, so Stew was just about to… and yea, I remember Larry was headed over there)
“YA KNOW, THOSE DOG BREEDERS, THERE REALLY NOTHING BUT A BUNCH OF CROOKS.”
(…)
“…”
(I couldn’t have just heard that right. There is no chance at all he just opened with the topic of dog breeding like that, out of nowhere. That is completely impossible.)

      And right here is where I made my mistake. Never, ever, make eye contact with a SiTi. Eye contact to there kind is like offering up the remains of your sanity and soul on a silver platter. Its an open invitation for them to continue to waste your time and energy. How do they waste your energy? Takes a lot of energy to keep homicidal thoughts from turning into homicidal actions doesn’t it? Yea, it does.

“YEA MAN, I WATCH THESE SHOWS ABOUT IT…”
(dear god in heaven, I busted my ass all day to give over the remainder of my free time to this tumbling shit gnome?! He saw something once on tv so he knows what the fuck he’s talking about? Guess what, I’ve seen star wars, I don’t fly fucking rocket ships into space though!)
“THEY TAKE THESE DOGS, YA KNOW, AND THEY JUST MARK THEM UP. THAT’S WHAT THEY DO…” ß that ‘…’ isn’t cause we are going back into my mind, he really stopped there.
(I have no idea whatsoever is going on. Maybe he is done, turning back toward my book now… where was I?… aaa, right there)
“THAT WAS A GOOD JOB…”
(mother fucker!)
“VENDING MACHINES… IF YA CAN FIND A GOOD ROUTE, IT CAN REALLY PAY OFF, MAYBE ONE THAT…”
(ya know what, fuck it. If I’m not going to be able to read I’m at least going to have some fun with this jackass. I could …
- Start dancing. Imagine his confusion if, for no reason at all I just… dance.
- Scream. Letting out a long sustained yell should get my point across, especially if I don’t brake eye contact.
- Hum the theme from ‘The God Father”. Starting low and progressively get louder to the point where I’m shouting it (deee de de de dede deee)
- See how long he can keep this up with zero encouragement.
… yea that last one will do.)

      I set my eyeTelephone to stop watch and looked over at him. He had been talking but for the life of me I cant remember anything he said. Never once, in the (ready for this?)… 53 minutes and 23 fucking seconds, did I say a word. I did not nod, I didn’t shift my weight, I didn’t grunt as a sign of approval. I just sat with my hands in front of me staring at him for 53 minutes and a half until he left. There’s no excuse for that, you cant explain that to me. And he’s out there right now, god forbid, trying to figure out how to breed!

      It was that day that I began my research into a solution to this problem. Ladies and gentlemen, I believe Tyrant&Greazy industries have discovered it. It is still being fine tuned in our R&D department (which is pretty much a bathroom with a Bunsen burner and a magnifying glass) but we are very hopeful. I am not at liberty to divulge any details but I would like to take this opportunity to unveil at least the name of what may be the greatest hope of our generation. My readers may I present to you…

         The Heightened Annoyance Time Energy Scale - The H.A.T.E scale.

      Visit us again in the weeks to come for the full explanation. Exciting things are happing here, we are making dreams come true and if the HATE scale lives up to even a quarter of its potential we may be able to eliminate annoying behavior at its source! Thank you for your support. Please enjoy the free refreshments.
-Tyrant

Crimes against humanity.

OK.  This will not be a very long post, but I HAVE to say something about this nonsense.  This excerpt from Yahoo News caught my eye this fine evening. 

Robert Edwards of Britain won the 2010 Nobel Prize in medicine on Monday for developing in vitro fertilization, a breakthrough that has helped millions of infertile couples have children but also ignited an enduring controversy with religious groups.

Edwards, an 85-year-old professor emeritus at the University of Cambridge, started working on IVF as early as the 1950s. He developed the technique — in which eggs are removed from a woman, fertilized outside her body and then implanted into the womb — together with British gynecologist surgeon Patrick Steptoe, who died in 1988.

On July 25, 1978, Louise Brown in Britain became the first baby born through the groundbreaking procedure, marking a revolution in fertility treatment.

So I say, “Oh hey cool, let me check this story out.”  Well as soon as I click on the link I am instantly bombarded by a picture of this guy*: 

My initial response was;

HOLY FUCKING SHIT WHAT THE HELL IS THAT!  IT LOOKS LIKE GEORGE BURNS FUCKED KIM JONG-IL AND HE WAS THE RESULT!!!!!!! MEEEEERRRRRRCCCY PLEASE GOD!!!!!!

Well perhaps that reaction was a little strong, but I have been drinking a bit and wasn’t expecting it. I scolded myself:

 I mean looks aren’t everything and this is a brilliant man who has helped bring children into the world. You shouldn’t be so damn harsh Greazy… I mean that’s a pretty noble thing.  Helping couples have children who don’t have them.  Advancing science.  That’s more than you have done. You aint so pretty yourself ya fat hairy fucker…

So I continue on reading the story (weeping inside now) and I am amazed at the phenomenal things this person has accomplished for all of humanity.  This is the man who was responsible for the first test tube baby. On the Yahoo news page, the term ‘Test Tube Baby’ was a link which brought me to another site about Louis Edwards, the world’s first successful birth of the IVF process.

This Ladies and Gentlemen is what that man helped create:

My response was once again slightly overly dramatic;

HOLY FUCK MY FACE WHAT THE HELL IS THAT!!!! THAT MAN HELPED BRING THIS SHE-BEAST INTO THE WORLD!  WHERE IS MY KNIFE!? I NEED TO CARVE MY EYEBALLS OUT!!!

Well as it is, I still have possession of my sight, and my eyes are still in their proper place, although not from a lack of trying (there are some scratch marks on my face. Look she’s super hideous…I wasn’t able to control myself.) But seriously they are giving this guy a Nobel Prize for THAT.  That thing right there.  That.  This guy belongs with the likes of Dr. Frankenstein and Dr. Jekyll, for he, my dear friends has created an abomination.  If you are going to play god, you should at least create something pleasant to look at.  

Isn’t that the whole purpose of Eugenics? To make hot looking people? If we need more ugly children in the world I am sure I can oblige!  Whatever poor little bastards I spawn (and probably have already spawned) will be stocky, hairy little assholes, no matter how attractive their mother is.  It’s just inevitable. The purpose of science is to advance mankind, and I am certain that THIS foul cow does not help that cause.  

This creature makes me nauseous (like I’m not already queasy from drinking too much as it is) and I feel like I have been visually raped.  It feels as if a big throbbing dick of ugliness has penetrated my ocular lenses, brutalizing me and leaving me feeling hallow and used.  

No my dedicated readers (the whole none of you as of this posting) this man deserves to be strung up and beaten for what he has done. 

I know you may be wondering what my problem with this chick is.  Well she’s ugly no doubt, but it’s not really her or him that has me upset. Reading this article has brought some grave concerns to the forefront of my thinking.  Are all test tube babies this ugly? If so…am I test tube baby? I get the feeling I must be a test tube baby, and I get the feeling that the IVF doctor who jammed my warped  little fertilized egg up my mom’s uterus  used inferior equipment and definitely screwed up the process.

So there it is, one of my deepest fears brought to the surface.  If this ugly cow was created in a lab with a tube, I think I must have been created in a dive bar with a dirty shot glass.   Which is probably the same way my numerous illegitimate hairy children were created, except without the science part. 

People Who Think They Are Funny... And Why They Should Die.

      Not all people are funny, that is a fact and regrettably one we have to live with. I would, therefore first like to make something clear. I have no problem at all with people who are devoid of humor but persevere anyway and make an attempt. Being witty enough to actually achieve a spontaneous funny personality is a gift few are born with that, if encouraged, can bloom into a very entertaining skill. One cannot be faulted for simply being born under the wrong moon as it were and should not be hated for such reasons. Those are not the people I will be talking about today. However, there are those out there, much to my constant irritation and frustration, who truly believe they are a constant source of hilarity to everyone they come in contact with. There are those, my dear readers, who believe so strongly that when the Gods Of Humor looked down on us mere fellows and took pity on us for such a seriously existence, therefore intrusting us with their sacred gift of comedy, that it was given specifically to them. These people should be put down like sick animals and forgotten about like a good Russell Crow movie. (keep thinking, you'll remember it)

      Let me paint you a word picture of a scenario I am sure will be all to familiar. Someone, possibly someone you know and trusted until this fateful moment, grabs your attention and you can tell they already have that twinkle in their eye that announces long before they speak “I’ve got an amazing joke that I can not wait to tell you”. Just brimming with excitement they begin their joke, be it ‘knock knock’ or ‘so-n-so walks into a bar” or even a “know what that looks like…”, and shortly after they start you realize what’s about to happen and unconsciously begin to resist misunderstood natural reactions. Know that little shift you just did of your weight to the other foot? That was actually an impulse to lunge at them and punch them in the chest, hopefully stopping their heart before the joke is completed and the damage is done. Before you know it the inevitable has occurred and your left in the wake of the most asinine, obscene and/or intellectually offensive example of public idiocy you have ever experienced. This affront to public decency washes over you in a chilling wave and your left in such utter disbelief that you are completely devoid of the appropriate emotional response. You stare at them blankly as your mind reboots after the devastating intellectual hit it just took and your subconscious runs down its checklist:

Awake… yes.
Breathing… normal
Horizontal… negative, vertical
Pants… check.
Systems analysis complete…
Reboot successful.
Reconstructing last conscious thought before shutdown…
“What a terrible fucking joke!!”
        …DO NOT KILL!!

      That last part is screamed by your mind as your muscles clench and your hands and move upward slightly, intent on choking the life out of them with the hope somehow you can regain that minute of yours they just stole. As your sight begins to return you can notice that their eagerness has completely drained from their faces and in its absence now resides confusion. I would like to believe it is a look is caused by the amount of emotions they just witnessed pass over you that they will truly never understand, maybe mixed with a little feeling of dread because somehow, subconsciously, they understood that this may truly be the closest to death they have come. This though, however unfortunate, is not the truth. If it were then right now you would be watching their misguided confidence melt gradually into shame and because you’re a better person, you could find those fake words that we all utter in quiet conciliation at the failure of an otherwise good person. Instead of the acknowledgment of a job well failed that would ultimately dissolve your growing animosity, you are pushed further. Replaying behind their eyes, in a temple built in honor of themselves, constructed so deliberately self serving that it in no way represents an accurate account of the event which leaves them with this thought “how on earth could they have not have laughed at my hilarious joke?! With my brilliant comedic timing and my naturally inspiring personality, it was a slam dunk! Whatever, there is something wrong with them”.
                                                    (Virtuosity)

      It is at this point that you, with a sinister eagerness, take it upon yourself to correct and enlighten them to their folly, or so at first you believe. That is before the anger sweeps you like a title wave at the realization of their blatant disregard for your mental wellbeing sets in. Shortly after your calm, which you were so curtain of a moment ago, is completely washed away and your hands now fumble in the dark recesses of your mind for a verbal sledgehammer big enough to shatter the shrine they erected in their own mind in tribute of their self proclaimed comedic genius completely.

      There is an explosion, both internal and external, that is so spontaneous and consuming that your left with only vague recollections of what took place. Your mind, firing molten thoughts of furious anger like a machine gun through your conscious to a mouth so twisted with disgust. Despite any measure of self control you might struggle to implement, any elegant points you strive to make are reduced to the drunken ramblings of a 5 year old who grew up around way to much profanity.

(Excuse me sir, I regrettably feel it is my duty, as a member of an illustrious family of educated individuals, to inform you that your joke was a miserable failure)
“Are you fucking kidding me?!”
(Your comedic timing was lacking and over all I was left with a sense of wanting upon the conclusion of your joke… I feel dirty even calling it that.)
“There was nothing funny about any of the shit that just rolled out of your mouth! Next time you want to try to make me laugh first get me drunk, then hang yourself!”
(Again it is with a heavy heart that I deliver this debriefing, I do hope this will not reflect negatively upon our friendship/relationship. Now please, if you would, pass on into another plane of existence.)
“Don’t ever fucking speak again to anyone fucking ever! Die!”

       You would think an outburst of that magnitude would at least shake some of the pictures of themselves off the walls of their mental throne room, but it didn’t. You’ll probably, as I have, contemplate just how badly you must have over reacted and should apologies, and most likely will. In the end they have completely intruded on your life and there is no way for you to rebound. You suffered a terrible, soul crippling blow, at their hands and in its wake you expressed your opinion, albeit badly, and are still left with remorse. If this was an isolated incident it wouldn’t be worth mentioning and you would most likely have no idea what I’m talking about but if you’ve read this far, chances are you do. There is no ending because until the euthanasia of these sad few is deemed legal in the 50 contiguous, it will never end. And yes, it is euthanasia, they are dying to ease my suffering.

  -Tyrant

Welcome to T&G!

      So here we go.  You dear sir or madam, have somehow, through incredible fortune, stumbled upon our blog, “The Adventures of Tyrant and Greazy.”  I, Greazy, shall be your guide this evening in welcoming you to our disturbed little world. (Full disclosure: I wrote that opening sentence and said “what the fuck am I thinking? I am an alcoholic and I need to be good and ripped when I write this.”  So here we are…20 minutes later and three glasses of scotch deep. YAY BOOZE!) This fantastic little blog will be the home of the ranting’s and ravings of I, and my most hated friend, Tyrant.

      So where to begin?  Well I suppose you’re asking yourself “why the fuck should I read your lame ass blog?”  Well frankly there is no reason besides the off chance you may find our insane little posts to be something which may resembles comedy.  

      Most likely you found us because you are sitting at home on a Saturday night in your underwear, drinking alone, and feebly seeking for something entertaining on the internet.  You probably tried to Google something like “Greased up Hot Babes fighting” or “How to catch a Greased up Hog” but your inebriated ass somehow managed to type “Greazy” and well…now you’re here so you might as well stay and I promise at some point I will give you a step by step guide at how to catch that slipper porker.  

So in the course of this blog, we intend to do…fuck…lots of shit I’m sure.  You think we have a plan for this?  Seriously, you’re asking the wrong people for a plan.  Right now we plan on doing daily blog update and Twittering and all sorts of other crap but that’s all depending on two things:

   1) The amount of readily available alcohol.  I think I speak for Tyrant and myself when I say that alcohol is our muse; we function better when we drink copious amounts of it. We are wittier, sharper, and funnier.  And if you don’t agree with this, perhaps you should pour yourself a good drink or two and try re-reading what’s been said.  

   2) General life shit.  Both Tyrant and I are hardworking, lower middle class American assholes who work full time.  We’re not your typical bloggers.  You know who I’m talking about!  When we gripe (Yes it’s called griping, because we, dear readers, DO NOT WHINE) we are expressing what we perceive as injustices to humanity and insults to our existence.  At some point my friend, life is probably going to get in the way of our blogging, and we may have to stop or take a break from it for a short period.  We have a whole lot going on and while we are very serious in our new undertaking, we are realists.

      With that being said, I should also warn you that Tyrant and I may (meaning most definitely) will be posting opinions, or making statements, that will offend all but the most basic single celled organisms.  Now please don’t take this as an attempt to be “Shock Bloggers©.” (Not sure if that’s a real term but if it’s not I totally copyright it right now ©GreazyTR Enterprises Inc.)  It’s just simply that Tyrant and I have led…well let’s just say seriously fucked up lives, and we may have a few social deficiencies.  I know I certainly lack this thing people call a social filter and I basically just say things without thinking.  Some say it’s a character flaw.  I say its freedom.  

      I’d also like to take a moment to mention once again that we are raging alcoholics.  You may have just laughed out loud and thought “Oh so am I, these guys kick ass!”  While you are most certainly right in the fact we kick ass, I would like you to consider if you are truly in the same alcohol drinking league as we are.  I am very sure you can handle a drink and that when you go out on the town you go crazy with your friends and drink yourself into a blackout.  But that, I am sorry to say, does NOT make you an alcoholic.  Do you have multiple drinks throughout the day? Do you drink enough to get blackout drunk alone? Would you go down to the bar, drink a dozen beers and hit on the fattest chick (or guy, we don’t discriminate here) in the joint? Do you carry a bottle of whisky with you in your backpack? I do.  Why? Because I am an alcoholic and I am fucking proud of that.  

      The term “alcoholic” carries with it the connotation that the person in question has a problem with alcohol and that they are the kind of person who NEEDS a drink…. Let me tell you this; No one on earth NEEDS a drink.  We may fucking want one like nobody’s business, but not a single human being NEEDs one. My life does not rest on a fine glass of Scotch and I will not die without it. Now, I will punch a nun or rob a ten year old of his lunch money in order to grab a two-fer during the happy hour at Applebee’s, but that’s a choice, I don’t need to do it, I just WANT to do it.  

      But just drinking a whole metric fuck-ton does NOT make you an alcoholic.  And also let me tell you this; those ass-hats who ruin their lives because they WANT a drink so badly are just stupid and are actually not alcoholics.  Being an alcoholic is a responsibility.  We have a desire that we have to maintain, and the only means of maintaining this desire is by holding a steady job and assuring a stable income so that we may spend our hard earned money on booze.  We also are responsible enough to keep our finances in order because we need a place to store all of our booze.  Naturally this place is the same place where we may choose to sleep off our last bender, and keep the clothing required to maintain a steady job.  

      Sure, I may have a few drinks at work, but let’s face it…if your job sucks, you want to drink too.  My job sucks.  I want to drink because of my job.  But I know that if I drink too much I won’t have a job, which is needed in able to support my desire to drink.  So I keep it in check, and thus my alcoholism is maintained through my responsibility. (Once again, full disclosure.  I am fucking absolutely hammered.)


      So that’s it.  Here we are.  Bloggin. Tweetin. Drinkin…In no particular order.   I don’t know what else to really say beyond that.  I will leave you now with a quote from one of my favorite films: 

“Charlie don’t surf!!!!”

      You think about that.  Welcome to our world now.  Follow us on Twitter https://twitter.com/TyrantNGreazy
~Greazy

And that is where I would like to take the mic, thank you Greazy. Tyrant here with a quick little note. I second everything Greazy has stated above. At some point in our conversations I am confident you will be offended, its bound to happen because through the wonderful world of blogging that moral or social review board in my mind that holds back what I really mean just long enough to round out the edges of it are completely disregarded due to the intoxicating pleasure of anonymity. You at some point will probably wish you could say our names three times and send us back from the underworld from whence you'll be sure we spawned from but, my fine fellows, if you stick with us I'll bet you Greazy’s left testicle that it'll pay off in the long run. Bottom line, we enjoy the shit out of being ourselves and want to share our opinions and views with the likeminded... somewhat for you but mostly to stroke our long throbbing egos. I too would like to leave you with a quote:
     "Can you fly, Bobby?!"
                      - The father from 'That 70's Show' in Robocop 

Thought provoking... Again, thank you for reading this after your disappointment about 'The Adventures Of Tyrant & Greazy' ending up not being a gay porn after all.
-Ty