Substitute post. Not to worry. I often lie but my intentions are always good at the time.

Dear reader (or "readers" if there happens to be two of you today):

I know I promised to continue my sermon series on cognac in this slot today, so if you are here expecting the second installment... tough shit. I have tired of cognac. Especially after I reread yesterday's post and discovered the stuff was French. Kidding. The truth is my second lesson on cognac never arrived in the mail from the Merde Correspondence School in Bakersfied. I can only teach you alkies after I learn it myself, K? So, maybe tomorrow.

Anyhow, left without a post (which has never bothered me in the past - I just don't post for a month when I can't think of anything) I will instead substitute an incredibly humorous comment I made last night on my friend Chica's new hip "sarcasm" blog, written by a lady, and called, inventively, "Lady Sarcasm." Which, since she thought she was too hot shit to answer on her blog, I feel free to reproduce here. Might as well get SOME mileage out of it.


Incidentally, I have been hearing some snickers from you lesser bloggers about my comments to your blogs being much too long, and that is why you don't read them, much less answer them. And that, further, you could survive if I didn't comment at all. Screw you. I won't mention any names, because I have no desire to embarrass you, but one of the primary culprit's initials is C.A.N.U.C.K.L.E.F.U.C.K.I.N.G.H.E.A.D. and it is only because I don't really give a royal rat's ass that I don't stop writing right now and remove him from the blog buddy list in my sidebar. That, and the fact that you have already paid me to run you for a whole year and I have already spent your crappy Canadian money. Goddam beer swilling hockey watching Fat Bastard fan llama loving pervert. You are lucky I have too much class to just give out your name publicly. If Princess didn't think your blog was funny I would do it anyway.

So, Chica has apparently run out of sarcastic ideas already, so yesterday she wrote a post about the first time she got drunk enough to throw up. Classy blog, classy broad. I think she said she was, like, 9 years old when it happened. And, like a true friend, I faked interest in her post and tried to empathize with her in my comment:

"Oh, the stories I could tell you of youthful ignorance. Have you ever thrown up in a taxi? I have. One of those big first-puke-of-the-evening 2-gallon gushers. The fucker threw me out on somebody's front lawn in a really bad neighborhood at 1 o'clock in the morning. And they had a dog. Then I had a sort of blank space in my memory and the next thing I knew, like a bad movie, I was crawling on all fours fully clothed into the Gulf of Mexico. Then the movie of my memory just sort of stops there. Freeze-frame. I'm sure someone must have pulled me out. I mean, I'm not dead, right? I remember thinking I was the next day. Dead, I mean.

"I am proud to know you now that you are a humor blogger. I know three people there now. I will follow you over there and read your stuff. Thank you for reading my drivel - I know you didn't really invite people to tell their own stupid stories on your blog. Your story was pretty cool. Sort of like Toad in American Graffiti. Only you are a girl. Ah, well."

But do you think she cares? I spent over 11 minutes composing that marvel of nature and she won't even acknowledge it. If any of you reading this - and I truly doubt any have bothered to read this far down - please don't be afraid she might read this and be offended. Like Claire, Chica only reads the blog titles and then tries to come up with a 2 sentence comment. She will be out of here faster than a Pinoy Entredropper on speed. So don't worry. She will probably comment something like, "Sorry you couldn't think of anything to blog about. That often happens to me, too. But please don't lie! (smiley face here.)

Sigh. Not to worry. I am beginning to wind down now. Humor-Bloggers eat your hearts out. More on cognac tomorrow if it comes in the mail. I have already drank the sample they sent to the pub anyway. Straight from the coffee cup. Bet you can't tell.

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Here is today's example of a blogger who writes much better and funnier than I, just so I don't get a big head and start thinking I am god's gift to humor:

"...Alcoholism: Anybody looking to slander your behavior will always bring up that you drink too much, regardless of the frequency or severity, instantly putting you on the defensive. It's just like when you make a crack about a gay person, are accused of being homophobic, then scramble to pretend you're a big fan of men fucking. A relationship counselor once hinted that drinking eight beers during Sunday football hints at a problem — that's less than a beer per hour, plus it was a lie; it was more like 18. When did alcoholism suddenly become applicable to everybody who drinks enough alcohol to enjoy a hint of its effect? It used to be an affliction proprietary to Irishmen who drank varnish; now if you reach for your fourth beer, you can hear high horses whinny from all directions. .."

As usual, I can't remember where I stole this from, but, trust me, the guy's blog was fantastic and I would link you to it in a New York minute if I had thought to keep a record when I stumbled by it. So help me God.

"...creating the space for change..." Oh, kiss my ass.

Its All About Max

I am sure like me you are by now very fond of the lovable pub dog... what lovable pub dog am I talking about you ask? Surely I can't be meaning that mischievous max? Well I most certainly do.

He's been keeping us entertained both here and over at Britishspeak for quite some time now.

As he occasionally has some nice things to say about us, be it on our birthday or to mark some other event, I thought perhaps we could repay the favour. Why not comment with your favourite Relax Max quote?

To get us started mine has to be

"Still not sure why y'all would bother to actually go to the trouble of saying something so complicted when a simple American "Fuck this shit" would do the trick."
from More Football, More Words, More Confusion (I kept his typo there on purpose, I was going to correct it, but then realised it would not be a correct quotation if I did so - sorry Max.)

Happy Birthday!

Happy Birthday to our busy friend Claire.

We know this is not exactly the best of times for you, but we are all with you. Hope you have a party. We are having one for you today. Drinks are on the house. But then they always are for Claire. Many happy returns to a classy lady who has always been there for everybody I know. Cheers!

From your pals at the Slap and Tickle.

Stop by her blog and say happy birthday to Claire. Keep your other compliments sparse, please. She already knows.  Just leave her a kiss. That'll be okay.

Some Zombies for Petra

I have a friend who reviews B movies and blogs about zombies. Go figure. She writes pretty good poetry, too. She is weird. You may know her. If you do, you must be weird too.

I chose a few photographs at random of people who sort of look like the living dead. Only they are not really dead. I don't think.

Here they are. For Petra. I hope they will cheer her up.



(Top to bottom: The Algore, HelenThomas [world's oldest living Whitehouse press zombie and bushbasher extraordinaire]; Mick Mars [of some 80s band called Motley Crue]; Amy "Blow" Winehouse; Aerosmith's Steven Tyler. Note: there is an outside possibility that the photo of Tyler may belong to something called Bruno Press. I can't be sure.)

--------

I once knew a redhead named Paytra
Whom all the boys wanted to daytra
She would bury them alive
Mumbo Jumbo and jive
Then roaming the earth was their faytra


With apologies to my Princess. She knows she's first.

Canucklehead update

If you follow this blog, then you know that one of our best supporters is my pal Canucklehead. He is always there for me.

And, if you follow his blog too, then you know he recently became a father again. We ran a photo of his second son as a newborn not too long ago. The above is an update. What a good-looking young man! Second in line to the Canucklehead dynasty!

Canucklehead cracks me up. As always. I was reading his blog today (and stole this pic of his son while there) and, as always, enjoyed some of Canucklehead's choice humor. He said he was thinking about putting the baby on Jenny Craig, that he had more chins than a Chinese phonebook. But the pride was showing through. We're proud too, for Mr. and Mrs. Canucklehead. My buddy Linc.

Canadian breast milk rules!

Caroline heads home

Caroline, Slap & Tickle landlady, is off for a visit home on Thursday. She will be gone probably a whole month. We all wish her a good time.

I am a little reluctant to call it a "holiday" since Caroline is from England, and that means it is more of a homecoming than a holiday. But since she has been away for quite a while now, it probably qualifies as a holiday.

Caroline has her own blogs, Song Of Happiness which I will probably run into the ground while she is gone, and Caromie. But she has always been at least the "honorary" landlady here at the pub, and has always been a staunch supporter from day one. Caroline designed the Slap & Tickle logo with the hand and the feather on a black background. As I write this, it occurs to me that some Americans who read this blog don't know what the words Slap & Tickle mean.

(Hint: read this old post on BritishSpeak by Claire, and you will learn what Slap & Tickle means, along with a whole lot of other British filth.)

Caroline is from the Northeast of England, where I presume she will be spending most of her holiday time, or a good part of it, anyway. Nothing says "party" like a visit to a small town in Durham in August, right? Right. Rumor has it they have erected a bronze statue of Caroline in the village square with a plaque on it that reads, "The One Who Escaped." I'm kidding, of course. I myself grew up in a small town. In Michigan. The big difference between Caroline and me is I'm not fucking going back. Her small town is also the birthplace of actor Rowan Atkinson. The Bean. No monument to Rowan I don't think. He escaped too. Seriously, I loved my small town when I was growing up, and I know Caroline does too. I only joke with her.

I've heard they talk funny in that part of England. Well, to an American, you ALL talk funny. But especially so from there. Caroline doesn't talk like that though. In fact, to me, Caroline sounds Aussie. Go figure. A kangaroo chick in Durham.
Have a good time, Caroline. Send photos and Twitter. Be safe. We will miss you.

[Slap & Tickle definition and Doodle by Claire. Click image to enlarge. Used with permission.]

It's a new Canucklehead!

Congratulations to Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln McCardle on the birth of their new baby boy.

Lucas Alexander came into the world at 9:30AM on July 11th, 2008. He weighed in at 7lbs - 14oz and is 17 inches tall. Mother and baby are both happy and healthy.

http://www.canucklehead.ca/blog/