Good Times With Good Friends Despite the Piss-Poor Alcohol: A Reminiscence

Good Times With Good Friends Despite the Piss-Poor Alcohol: A Reminiscence

When you reminisce about your personal drinking history, it undoubtedly includes fond memories of enjoying those first drinks with good friends. Those were good times with good friends no matter the drink of choice, right?

Well, thank the Lord for good times, good friends, and short-term memory because if you really think about it, maybe those first drinks consumed during your teens and early twenties weren’t all that great….  

I mean, most folks in their teens and early 20s just can’t afford quality spirits and top-end craft beer. If you’re a typical Southern boy (or girl), cheap beer and rotgut booze were your go-to drinks of choice when you first discovered that booze upped the game of enjoying good times with good friends.

Of course, now that you’re an “adult,” you only drink the finest of spirits and best craft beers, right? As a member of the Southern Drinking Club, your current tastes in alcohol bespeak of the distinction appropriate for our refined Southern culture. The very thought of those early drinking experiences must make your stomach turn or some such. How, given the time spent praying to the porcelain gods and/or battling the next morning’s bottle-flu, did we ever drink that stuff?

But let’s return to those blissful days of our youth anyway and contemplate our earliest drinks of choice.


Probably for a good reason….

OK, so I’ll lead the charge by describing my own earliest dalliances with the refined spirits (ahem, “rotgut” and piss brew) that initially charted my own appreciation for drinking, Southern-style or otherwise.

You could almost treat this as a drinking game of sorts. Yep, you’ve got to chug down a shot of your current favorite for every one of the following not-so-fine libations you are personally familiar with.

Oops—that’s right, we are now mature connoisseurs of fine spirits and craft beer and no longer stoop to such bawdry nonsense as “drinking games.”

My bad.

Moving on, before you join me on my spirit-filled journey, I must confess that my Southern heritage for drinking purposes is somewhat compromised. While I am definitely Southern born—Great State of North Carolina, thank you very much—I am the product of a Southern father and Yankee mother (yeah, that nuptial bliss didn’t last). As such, I spent a few of my formative early drinking years in (gasp!) Massachusetts. But hey, it expanded my nascent experiences with alcohol which in turn helped me eventually better acquire a taste for top-shelf alcohol and beers of distinction.

As an aside, I should also note that I aged through the various state legal drinking age limits right before they were raised from 18 to 21. Thus, I found it easy to procure alcohol at an early age. Heck, I was buying booze with ease at age 16 with or without my fake ID (note to anyone under 21 reading this: the penalties for my youthful transgressions are way stiffer today than they were when I was nabbed—ahem, I mean, “got away” with them).

Also, please note this disclaimer: The following blog describes inane activities conducted by professionals afflicted with delayed-progression-through-adolescence syndrome. The publisher of this blog warns readers not to engage in or try to recreate any of these activities and will not be held responsible for any damages incurred should this warning be ignored.           

OK, then, without further ado, I present you with my initial forays into enjoying good times with good friends with…well, piss-poor alcohol.   

Haffenreffer Private Stock

While Budweiser was the beer of choice during my teen years, Haffenreffer became a go-to one weekend when my Massachusetts buddies and I wanted to up our fun quotient. Known as “Green Death” because of its distinctive green bottle and robust alcohol content, high school seniors claimed that no one could get through a whole six-pack without calling earl.

Hah! Upon hearing that, my merry band of freshman and sophomores set out to prove them wrong. A Saturday night, four six-packs of the Green Death, and—appropriately enough—Ye Olde Burial Ground as our drinking spot, and we were set.

However, it quickly became apparent that Haffenreffer was a different breed than Budweiser, as we were all feeling especially goofy halfway through the second bottle. By the third bottle, typical adolescent restlessness had kicked in, so we started wrestling and beating the hell out of each other. While this was relatively normal behavior for us at that time, the Haffenreffer upped the aggressive factor by several notches. This led to a broken tooth and far more bruises, scratches, and ripped clothes than usual, though with no lingering hard feelings.  

Bottle four represented the beginning of the end. We were sitting around in a circle licking our respective wounds when Blotto suddenly turned to the side and violently spewed out chunks on top of the final resting place of some poor dude who’d passed on some 200 years prior. Naturally, we relocated, and Blotto crawled over to a cleaner spot to rest and recuperate.   

Nickles was the next one to go down, but he managed to verbally warn us—“I’m gonna puke”—and made his way to some nearby bushes where he could offer his absolutions in private. T-Bone and I lasted another half bottle or so, but I’m not sure which one of us gacked first. Needless to say, but none of us made it to number six.

Interestingly, I sampled Haffenreffer again shortly before the brand was discontinued in 2013. I didn’t finish the bottle and can’t say that its discontinuation represents a significant loss to the brewing world.     

Boone’s Farm 

Cut to a hot summer day in Carolina with good friends, a slow-flowing river, and a rope swing. To notch up the good times’ quotient, we tasked Beetle Baily with securing our beer. Not sure how the Beetle ended up with the task, but he failed miserably. When he showed up at the swimming hole on his bike, he pulled three bottles of Boone’s Farm apple wine out of his knapsack rather than our expected beer. As I recall, there was a long moment’s silence, followed quickly by a verbal beating.

Given these politically correct times, I will not repeat much of the verbal thrashing Beetle received, but let’s just say that it primarily referenced his gender and sexual orientation. Those of you who are not easily offended or of the politically correct ilk can easily imagine precisely what sentiments were expressed.

His only defense was that he couldn’t carry much beer in his knapsack and that Boone’s Farm was the perfect drink for a “stinkin’ hot day.” There was talk of stringing him up on the rope swing, but we calmed down, made the best of it, and somehow managed to quaff down that cloying excuse for wine.

That evening I experienced my first-ever wine headache—piercing pain in the frontal lobes—though dehydration and excess sun probably contributed.

As for Boone’s Farm, it hasn’t passed through these lips since . . . and never will.  

Bacardi 151

Picture a beautiful star-filled night sky, a frozen, snow-covered river, three teenage boys, and a bottle of Bacardi 151. Way too frigging cold to drink beer, but we wanted a little something to drink during our cross-country skiing expedition down the Concord River. Nickles came up with the “perfect” solution. As he explained, everyone knows that rum warms you up, so a high-powered 151 proof rum should add twice the heat. Thus, we ended up with Bacardi 151 for our midnight journey, and it did warm us up. . . at least in our minds.

We didn’t get hammered during our trip but definitely got quite silly. The exercise helped keep us warm in those sub-zero degree temperatures, but we convinced ourselves that it was the 151. Feeling so warm, we soon turned to outcompete each other as to who was the warmest. Layers of clothing started coming off and, at some point, we all found ourselves bare chested. Naturally, we each held to our claims of being warm, and it became a competition of endurance—or just idiocy. I don’t recall who broke first, but I believe we lasted about an hour, fortified by periodic hits of 151, which certainly felt warm as it slid down our respective gullets.

I haven’t had 151 since, but must admit that Bacardi was my rum of choice through college, primarily in rum and Coke formation. Blech—talk about sweet-on-sweet! I no longer drink the stuff, even if it’s the only rum available.  

Pepe Lopez

If you haven’t tried tequila yet, I highly recommend that you avoid this particular brand, which is the rotgut of tequilas. Heck, it doesn’t even taste like tequila and, as I recall, has a flavor more akin to acetone infused with burnt rubber.

It’s also the drink that— I’m not proud to say—caused my first black-out. It could have caused far worse but, fortunately, I ended up with a designated driver.

It’s not much of a story, but picture 50 or so high school kids partying at a remote reservoir. There’s a keg, car stereos competing to blast out the “best” music, and seniors celebrating their impending graduation with their own special libations. My small gang had brought several bottles of Pepe, and while we initially started with occasional salt-rimmed shots and lemon, by dark we were chugging it straight from the bottle. By 10:30, we were all pretty much blotto, and by 11:00, I was no longer feeling good and it was time to go home. Most of my other friends had gone their separate ways, and it was down to me and Nickles, who was also pickled and a younger kid we called DoubleT, who wasn’t much of a drinker. Drinking just didn’t agree with him and he didn’t find the thought of me driving us home to be agreeable either. So, he insisted that I let him drive. And, despite his lack of a driver’s license, I did.

Good thing, cause I don’t recall much from that drive home. I do know that I passed out on the back seat, but I don’t remember waking up and opening the door so that I could blow chunks out onto the Massachusetts turnpike rather than in my car. DoubleT rousted Nickles from his own slumber just in time to pull me back into the car; claimed the next day that I was within seconds of tumbling out onto the highway. Don’t know about all that, but I sure did have to contend with a mess in my backseat.

Old Mill Stream

This was my bourbon of choice through university, though certainly not a “choice” bourbon. Pretty much the cheapest bourbon in the ABC store, Old Mill Stream was the perfect low-budget option to cover all those important university social needs, that is excepting those involving entertainment of the fairer sex. Women tend to have far better taste (and sense) than men, and the few times it was offered up as a cocktail, it was promptly rejected after just one sip.

Lots of good times with good friends with the Old Mill Stream, and just the mention of its name today will immediately evoke laughter from my old college buddies. Lots of good stories, too, but I think I’ll keep those between my friends and me.

Old Milwaukee and Milwaukee’s Best


The cheap Budweiser alternatives for broke college students, my friends and I drank these brands by the truckload. Naturally, we’d drink Bud (and even fancier beers on occasion) when not feeling so broke, but because these other brews were almost always half-price compared to Bud, they became staples.

No specific stories to tell, as these brews were always within reach, but not sure how we put up with such crappy beer. Tried one not too long ago and marveled at how insipid the flavor was—carbonated yeasty water, and hard water, at that.  



Not sure why I never ran across this one during my university days, but I only needed to experience it once to know that once was enough. Shortly after graduating, I met up with a friend in Washington, DC, who took me to a Jägermeister happy hour. The shots flowed freely, and the digestif’s 56 herbs, spices, and other ingredients worked their magic to give me one of the absolute worst cases of bottle-flu ever.

Appropriate Options 

Well, kids, those were the alcoholic drinks that launched my appreciation for fine spirits and top-end beers. It’s a wonder that they didn’t serve to make me never drink again. 

If you’re starting to gain an appreciation for alcohol, I’d suggest starting with the good stuff, if possible. In no particular order, some of my personal favorites include:

  • Lagavulin (Scotch)
  • Maker’s Mark (Bourbon)
  • Patron Anejo (Tequila)
  • The Botanist Islay Dry (Gin)
  • Mount Gay XO (Rum)
  • Ketel One (Vodka)
  • Too many craft beers to name (off the shelf, though, I’ll take a Sam Adams)

And remember, drink responsibly. Trust me, nothing ruins the joys of alcohol like a raging case of bottle-flu, a black-out, having to explain yourself to John Law, or dealing with a pissed-off wife or girlfriend who is upset over your alcohol-induced, juvenile behavior.

—Originally not published by The Southern Drinking Club. Publisher loved it, but I guess it was a bit too much for his readers.  

Finding Holiday Bliss Under a Parasitic Weed

Finding Holiday Bliss Under a Parasitic Weed

—December 1, 2020

Christmas has far more traditional elements to keep track of than any other holiday. Think about it, you’ve got your Christmas tree, wreath, ornaments, lights, carols, stockings, gifts, advent calendar, charitable giving, candy canes, gingerbread houses and people, and a dozen or so other traditional food items. And let’s not forget Santa Claus, flying reindeer, and some dwarves—wait, we mean elves.

No doubt we’ve neglected a Christmas traditional element or two, but among the strangest—come on, flying reindeer?—of Christmas traditions must be the hanging of a parasitic weed, under which anyone inadvertently or purposely standing is susceptible to sexual advances from others in the room. And by susceptible, tradition has long held that a woman under the mistletoe is supposed to allow a man to kiss her, with noncompliance leading to potential bad luck, lack of Christmas presents, a life of spinsterhood, future infertility, or some other woe depending upon the country or region.

Frankly, we’re a bit surprised that the “Me Too” movement hasn’t jumped all over this one, with calls to ban its sale or maybe get it regulated as a Schedule 1 date rape drug.

So how did this strange tradition come about? Well, for some reason several ancient cultures, including Greeks, Celts, Druids, and Vikings, associated mistletoe with fertility and used it in fertility related rituals. While historians aren’t exactly sure how these varied folks actually utilized the plant, when the English incorporated it into their Christmas celebrations in the 1700s they couldn’t exactly promote it as “great for fucking” or some such, given the propriety of the times. Thus, it’s association with kissing, which, as everyone certainly knew back then, often leads to fucking.

Anyhow, the hanging of mistletoe during Christmas has endured, and kissing a girl/woman under the mistletoe is almost a rite of passage of sorts. And for those lucky ones among us, that mistletoe-inspired kiss has led to some passionate lovemaking with one’s wife or girlfriend, or, for singletons, perhaps a memorable, all-night fuck-a-thon with a co-worker you hooked up with—Barb from accounting?—at the office Christmas party thanks to a little bit of mistletoe initiation.

But how did this weed become such an enduring Christmas tradition and a harbinger of what can become tidings of great joy? And what is its connection to fertility? 

Perhaps it has something to do with the parasitic nature of the plant. As a parasite, mistletoe latches on to trees and shrubs and then leaches out whatever nutrition it needs from the host plant. Some mistletoe species even go so far as to letting the host plant take care of their photosynthesis needs.

With this in mind, one could posit that the tradition may have evolved to let men act like mistletoe to their host plant women….

But don’t share this bit of intel with the Me Too Movement. Little doubt that plenty of letches have taken advantage of mistletoe to steal a kiss and try for more, but we would suggest that mistletoe has inspired far more sweet kisses, passionate lovemaking, awesome fucking, and overall joy than it has sexual assault. And with that, we wish you a Merry Christmas and tidings of getting lucky under the mistletoe!

—Similar version originally published December 2019 by Sleazy Greetings.

Your Potential Descendancy from a World Conquering Postmaster General

Your Potential Descendancy from a World Conquering Postmaster General

—May 5, 2020

Do you have world conqueror genes coursing through your blood? Let’s consider the possibility:

  • Alexander the Great?—While his only legitimate child died at age 13, it is possible that he sired some illegitimate children during his extensive travels.
  • Julius Caesar?—Same, with no known legitimate children, but perhaps some seed spreading while on any number of expeditions.  
  • Napoleon Bonaparte—while his one legitimate child—Napoleon II—died childless (Napoleon III being a cousin), Bonaparte did have at least two acknowledged illegitimate sons, both of whom have a few living descendants. Thus, there is a slight chance that you could be a direct descendant from one of these Bonaparte trysts.

Look East for Your Possible World Conquering Ancestor?

That all said, Napoleon’s blood line, as well as that of just about all other historically significant figures, has got nothing on Genghis Kahn. In fact, about one out of every 200 men alive today are descended from the Great Khan—that is, about 19.5 million men around the world (though most live in Mongolia and surrounding countries).

With six Mongolian wives and more than 500 concubines, the Mongol terror was a baby making machine. Researchers have identified a Y-chromosome sequence believed to be from the Great Khan that is present in 8% of men in 16 population groups spanning Asia. If you’re not from Asia, there’s still hope, though, as the sequence is found in about 0.5% of men in the rest of the word. And your odds of having that world-conquering blood may be enhanced should you have red hair and green eyes, as a Persian chronicler described Super G with those distinctive characteristics, which were present among the ethnically diverse Mongols of that time.

What Was Your Potential Ancestor Like?   

Born around 1162, young G had a rough childhood that included the murder of his father, his family’s exile from his tribe, and a stint as a slave for a rival tribe. But by his early 20s, he had established himself as a strong warrior and leader, and by 1206 had confederated the Mongol steppe tribes under his leadership. He quickly set about meeting the neighbors, and, up until his death in 1227 introduced himself to people from as far east as Korea to as far west as Kiev Russia (his son, Kublai, would subsequently say hello to Europeans proper).

Not that anyone in his path wanted to say hello to the Great Khan and his horde, as historians believe his world tour may have been responsible for the deaths of up to 40 million people, or more than 10 percent of the world’s population at the time (guess he needed to make room for his offspring). But Super G wasn’t all badness. Those who did not resist and gave freely of their possessions generally kept their lives. An early proponent of religious tolerance, he passed religious freedom laws and tax exemptions for places of worship. He brought order, stability, and free trade to the silk road, and developed an extensive postal system, an early form of the Pony Express.

Of course, any interest you might have in being a Genghis Kahn descendent is likely stoked more by his world conquering creds than that of perhaps being the world’s first Postmaster General.  

How to Contend With Those Dreaded Words—“Winter is Coming!”

How to Contend With Those Dreaded Words—“Winter is Coming!”

—February 25, 2017

It’s winter!

It’s winter, and we don’t really care whether that over-glorified February-the-second rodent saw his shadow or not, because all realistic indications point to winter being with us for many weeks to come. And, as lovers of all things nautical, we at Getting Nauti get kind of depressed during thegroundhog-in-snow-812159 depths of winter because this season puts a damper on maritime fun.

Sure, you folks who live in southern California or Florida pretty much enjoy the nautical lifestyle for 12 months of the year. However, the rest of us schmucks have to endure what seems to be an annual eternity of cold temperatures, freezing water, dark skies, ice, and—for those of us in the northern climes—that white stuff that looks oh-so-pretty-when-it-first-blankets-the-ground but after lingering for weeks on end starts looking like the frozen crust of nuclear fallout.


Just the thought of it in late summer made us quit watching Game of Thrones so we wouldn’t have to images-1hear that annoying catch-phrase “Winter is coming!” That harbinger of winter, that first frost, brings tears to our eyes as it marks the end of the nautical season. And that first snowfall, the one in which just about everyone exclaims, “Oh, how pretty!,” has us envisioning a flamethrower melting the white spawn of Satan before it can touch the ground.

OK, OK, so we’re getting a bit melodramatic here….

But we can’t help it because by mid-February we are so done with winter, and so ready to get back to getting nauti! Not gonna happen, though, because we’ve got endless weeks and weeks to go, no matter how that aforementioned rodent calls it.

So this got us thinking: what kind of nautical-minded fun can we have in spite of winter’s ravages? Lo and behold, after a bit of research we discovered that there are all kinds of winter-time maritime activities one can enjoy. Maybe winter doesn’t suck after all. Let’s check them out:

Frostbite Sailing— Heck, we thought everyone up north pulled their sailboats out of the water in the fall, but it turns out that a dozen or so northern communities from Boston to Maryland engage in sailboat racing all year. “Frostbiting,” they call it with good reason. And yeah, we can just imagine the joys of sailing into 20-knot subzero winds, sleet and snow; moving about on frozen decks while dressed in so many layers one can hardly move; and handling lines so cold that they feel like they’re about to cut through your gloves and into your flesh.

Ice Diving— Everyone pretty much pictures tropical coral reefs when thinking about SCUBA diving, but some hard-core divers take it to the extreme by diving through a hole in the ice during the depths of winter. In fact, some divers are so gung-ho that they pay big bucks to break through arctic ice to explore the coldest underwater environments. Don’t try this at home, though kids, as ice diving requires specialized equipment and probably a bit of training to account for unfamiliar cold water considerations. You know, like how to successfully do it without freezing to death. 

Surf Fishing the Freeze— Many die-hard surf fishermen swear that they can pull in just as many game fish in February as they can during spring or fall runs. On beaches from Massachusetts to North Carolina you can find these brave fishermen facing the freezing onshore wind and sleet while angling for a striper, blue, drum, flounder or any number of other prime catches. If you meet one of these eager anglers try to take note of how many fingers he has as he waxes poetic about the 20-pound striper he caught off Cape May during the height of last winter’s blizzard.

Cold Weather Surfing— Cowabunga! Piping Hot! Surf’s Up, Baby…. Especially in the winter when “gnarly” waves might take on a whole new meaning when you add some baby icebergs. But get amped, because surfers who live in eskimo-like climates swear winter surfing is the best. Just ask the locals who live near Windmill Bight, Newfoundland; Tofino, British Columbia; Lawrencetown, Nova Scotia; Higgins Beach, Maine; Lofoten, Norway; or Punta de Lobos, Chile. They don’t let a bit of snow, wind, ice or frostbite snake their waves.   

Polar Bear Swimming— Those crazy neighbours of ours to the north in the land of ice, moose, beavers, Mounties and Eskimos, have engaged in this traditional activity for more than a hundred years as a fun way to ring in the New Year. And while some American groups have adopted this hypothermic pastime for charitable purposes, those crazy Canucks just do it for the fun of it, to the point where just about any winter holiday or event marks a good reason to jump into the frozen ocean. Heck, they probably jump into the ocean on Feb. 2, to honor that stupid overgrown gerbil.    

Well that pretty much wraps up our research findings of winter-time nautical fun. What d’ya think, can any of these pastimes cure the winter blues for those of us dreaming of a nautical summer?

Yeah, no! Winter still sucks….     

—Written for and published by “Getting Nauti” Feb. 20. And yeah, been a bit limited on my own personal writing of late…. Stay tuned—I’ll rant again, soon. 

Valentine’s Day Special!—Finding “The One”

Valentine’s Day Special!—Finding “The One”

—February 12, 2015

Valentine’s Day is upon us, and you are no doubt already planning how you will celebrate the venerated love saint’s day with your significant other….

That is unless you’re single.

In that case you are likely starting to reflect upon your abject loneliness or perhaps working the inverse with plans to celebrate your single status because you finally dumped that waste-of-bedspace-sorry-exuse-for-a-girlfriend/boyfriend after 18 months of brain fuckery.

Whatever the case, this blog is for you singletons. Because even if you’ve sworn off the opposite—or same, should that be your bent—sex forever, somewhere in your psyche there’s a quest to find “the one.” And if not “the” one, then at least “some”-one to mess up the sheets with.

For those of you who have already found “the one;” “maybe-the-one;” “there isn’t a ‘one,’ but I’m happy with ‘the one’ I’m with;” well, read on, because “life is funny,” “you never know what’s over the next hill,” and “shit happens.”

What we’re going to do here is figure out the best places to meet potential mates. Here goes….

Introduction from friends: Well, if it was all that effective you singletons wouldn’t be reading this, now would you? How many times has a friend said something along the lines of “you’ve got to meet my friend (insert name here)—you two would be great together?” Then you meet the potential mate and quickly figure out that your friend obviously doesn’t know you nearly as well as you thought. (OK, not technically a “place”—but close enough).

Bars and Nightclubs: Again if it was all that effective, you singletons wouldn’t need to read this. That said, it’s great for meeting short-term, recreational playdates, but this blog is more about celebrating the ideals of “Saint Valentine,” not “Saint Trojan,” so we’re not going to delve into that here.

Grocery Stores: I’m not sure about the success ratio of this one, but have heard numerous women describe it as an “ideal” place to potentially meet men. I say potentially, because to the best of my knowledge, none of these women actually met their significant other in a grocery store, and explanations about why grocery stores are ideal have come across more like fantasy than reality. Dunno, but guess sparks could fly while discussing whether there are more anti-oxidants in avocados than rutabagas.

Other Retail Establishments: Bookstores, in particular, offer great potential, as mutual interests can easily be ascertained by the reading material being browsed. And if there is mutual affinity for the reading material then the initial conversation can often flow with ease. Unfortunately, bookstores, like music stores (which served equally as well), are going the way of the dodo. Other retail establishments can also work, but require more creativity, and usually a really good sense of humor.

Weddings: If you’re single, I’d advise going to every wedding you’re invited to—hell, try wedding crashing. Seems to be an especially high success ratio, both with meeting “the one,” and with recreational opportunity (oops, not supposed to go there).

Family Reunions: Creepy! That is, unless second-cousin marriages run in the family….

No, still creepy.

Dating Sites: Yeah, I know—many folks are still skeptical about the concept and reluctant to try to meet “the one” through photos and text on an online portal, but it seems that more and more people are finding their mates via cyberspace. “Ashley Madison” excluded, as it was geared primarily to wannabe cheating husbands and more than 80 percent of the potential female dates were exposed as cyberfakes.

Among the most popular are Match, OkCupid, Zoosk and eHarmony (yeah, how’d eHarmony makeEHarmonyInside the list, what with that weird guy in the bad suit pitching love like an evangelical preacher?). And these sites have a membership base in the multi-multi-millions, so “the one” or an “approximation of the one” has got to be profiled somewhere within those cyberlove portals. The problem is finding him or her. But if you don’t seek, you will never find, so get on it.

Oh, and you don’t have to necessarily go with one of the big dogs in online dating, as there are hundreds of different sites out there, with many catering to a wide variety of distinct groups, whether by race, ethnicity, age, religion, or any number of other parameters. There are so many distinct dating sites that you could probably find one that caters strictly to Buddhist finance workers who follow UFC, if that happens to be what you’re into.

There are probably numerous other places where singletons can meet “the one,” so the above represents the short list. Where are some other prime places for finding a date, of finding that potential significant other?

Hash-It-Out! Where are the best places for single people to meet?

—Published Feb. 12 in Hash-It-Out!

GuyFi Beats Stress by Strangling the One-Eyed Snake

GuyFi Beats Stress by Strangling the One-Eyed Snake

—January 21, 2016

OK, kids, today’s story would appear to be from within the realm of “Are you f—king kidding me!?”

But no, we are not kidding you…. A British sex toy company has opened the first “male stress relief booth” in New York City, “designed to give the busy Manhattan man the privacy, and the high-speed Internet connection, he deserves.”

Or, to put it in layman’s terms: A British sex toy company has opened the first masturbation booth for men in New York City, where guys can slip into a former phone booth curtained off from public view, watch some high-speed Internet porn and engage in a little hand-to-gland combat.

Yeah, whoa!

OK, so London-based Hot Octopuss opened the “GuyFi” male stress relief booth a week ago on 28th Street and 5th Avenue, and company officials reported that about 100 men visited the booth on its first day of operation. According to the company’s Website, 80 percent of Americans say they suffer from workplace stress, and research has indicated that “a remarkable 39 percent of New Yorkers ‘self-soothe’ in the workplace to alleviate stress.” Thus, Hot Octopuss has created “a more suitable environment for this practice and “now invites office workers in desperate need of some downtime to visit the GuyFi booth and find out for themselves how a little break can make a big difference to their wellbeing and productivity.”

Hot Octopuss co-founder Adam Lewis said, “There’s no denying that working a nine-to-five job can be stressful on both your mind and body, especially in a non-stop city like Manhattan. It’s really important for guys to look after themselves so that they can stay healthy and focus properly on the task in hand.”

Yep, nothing beats choking the chicken as a means of keeping healthy and focused on work…. 

While the mainstream press has yet to weigh in on this pud-pulling booth story, the Internet press—such as Mashable and other sites—are posting the news, but also suggesting that the GuyFi booth is just a publicity stunt. For its part, company officials are insisting that it’s not a stunt and that the company plans to open other GuyFi booths around Manhattan, in London and in other major cities.

With a lack of mainstream press attention, public commentary about this five-knuckle-shuffle of a story is thus far muted. There was even a surprising lack of reaction on the comments section of those websites which did release the news, with the relative few comments generally ranging from support for the “great idea,” suppositions that it’s a hoax, questions about legality, and just a couple expressing outright disgust.

For example, a poster named Thomas hit the Hot Octopuss Website message board Jan. 18, with this apparent backlash of disgust:

“No this is revolting. Not only is this absolutely degrading but what about women? I can assure [you] I will not be buying anything from a company that thinks ‘men’ with no self control need to further harass women and children on our street by using MASTURBATION BOOTHS. How f—king ridiculous?! I don’t want to walk my girls down the street and have to explain what the hell these things are, or why some ragged homeless man is moaning and groaning in some f—k booth. Absolutely revolting – shame on you and this whole company.”

Upon reading Thomas’s comment we wondered what he meant by “but what about women?” Is he suggesting that women need their own booth in which to shuck their oysters—ahem, we mean, relieve stress?

We also wondered why Thomas focused on the “homeless.” What? he’ll have no problem explaining to his daughters why a Madison Avenue executive is moaning and groaning in the stress relief booth?

So, Hash It Out! What is your reaction upon learning about this new GuyFi booth?:

You are f—king kidding me….



Beavis-and-Butthead-It-s-A-Miserable-Life-beavis-and-butthead-9406719-720-480What a great idea!

There ought to be a law….

You wrote this blog because you have the psyche of a pre-pubescent boy and it’s giving you the excuse to spout out every masturbatory term you can come up with.

—M.J. Moye

Celebrity Sexual Proclivities for the Sake of Publicity

Celebrity Sexual Proclivities for the Sake of Publicity

—September 1, 2015

Ok, kids, so the big news over the weekend was Miley Cyrus coming out as “pansexual.”

Miley-Cyrus-tongue-twerkingNot that anyone should be surprised by any pronouncement Miley makes about her sexuality, and little doubt that we’ll keep hearing about her sex life for at least the next few years, say, until she gets out of puberty. But it did make us wonder what the heck a “pansexual” is. And no, it’s not somebody who gets off on frying pans and the like….

Pansexual is quite similar to bisexual, but on a broader range as it basically means open to getting it on with any member of the human race. So Miley is proclaiming herself to be about as inclusive as one can get with their sexuality. While we commend Miley for being all inclusive, we would like to remind her that there are laws regarding “age of consent,” and thus, that there are in fact limits to her sexual inclusiveness. We’ll also note that another word for pansexual might be “slut.”

Miley’s coming out as a pansexual got us thinking that this might herald a new trend in which celebrities start outing their sexual proclivities for the sake of publicity. It certainly worked for the rapidly fading celebrity athlete and reality TV star formerly named “Bruce,” and now Miley seems to be working it.

While “who’s next” in Celebrityville to out themselves for their sexual preferences and/or identities will undoubtedly be interesting, perhaps of more interest might be the sexual proclivity that gets named. We don’t consider ourselves to be prudish, and frankly, were surprised that there was a sexual term we were unfamiliar with, but while looking into the meaning of pansexual, came across a whole range of sexual proclivities that we’re not all that familiar with. And we’re not talking BDSM, foot fetishes and the like, because those are so yesterday….

Nope, any celebrities out there looking to create a bit of buzz via their sexuality, should out themselves for one of these:

Abasiophilia–sexual attraction to people with impaired mobility, especially those using orthopaedics. We guess that one would come out as an “abasiophiliac.”

Agalmatophilia–sexual attraction to statues, dolls, mannequins and the like. For the record, a man was caught in 1877 trying to get it on with Venus de Milo.

Acrotomophilia–sexual attraction to amputees. “Nice stump! Wanna get lucky?”

Apotemnophilia–sexual arousal based on the fantasy or reality of amputation of one’s own limbs. And yes, people have purposely amputated their own limbs for sexual gratification. 

Bugchasing–pursuing sexual activity with HIV-positive partners in order to contract HIV. Apparently bugchasers consider this to be “intensely erotic.” 

Coprophilia–sexual arousal and pleasure from feces. “Eew!”

Emetophilia–sexual arousal and pleasure from vomiting. Equally “Eew!”

Dacryphilia–sexual arousal and pleasure from other people’s tears or sobbing. “Cry me a river” takes on a whole new meaning.

Klismaphilia–sexual arousal and pleasure from enemas. Enemas sure are popular with the holistic health movement….

Mucophilia–sexual arousal and pleasure from mucus, whether one’s own or a partner’s. Yeah, “Eew!” 

Paraphilic infantilism (also known as diaper fetish)–sexual arousal and pleasure from wearing a diaper. “What a cute little baby.”pampers-imax-large-38-pieces- 

Troilism–sexual arousal and pleasure from watching one’s partner getting it on with someone else. “Take my wife, please” seems to be quite the popular Internet search.

Urolagnia–sexual arousal and pleasure from urine whether one’s own or a partner’s. And yet another “Eew!”

While outing oneself for any of the above sexual preferences would surely create buzz, in this day and age a celebrity looking for magazine cover buzz probably needs to go totally rogue…. How about:

antisexualism–opposition to all sexual behaviour and sexuality. OK, so perhaps this one might make a better fit for some of those folks running things in Washington…. 

—Originally published September 1, 2015 by Hash It Out!

So There I was….

So There I was….

So there I was . . . staring Death in his unblinking bloodshot eyes, powerless within his unwavering gaze and apparently destined to meet a cruel and painful demise.  As the road-kill stench of his fetid breath began to engulf me in its miasmatic haze, I began a feverish prayer for salvation.  To my immense surprise the incantation seemed to take affect as I noticed an almost imperceptible flutter of the eyelids, a flicker of uncertainty in those malevolent, blood-gorged orbs.

In the blink of an eye, if you’ll forgive the pun and cliché, I slammed my right fist into Death’s solar plexus and threw my other hand forward with two fingers distended—a perfectly aimed shot, each finger pushing an eyeball ever deeper into their sockets, until suddenly, the thick-skinned yet gelatinous orbs burst, and my fingers briefly broke through the membrane separating sight from imagination and brushed against death’s mind.  The foul beast roared with physical pain, the humiliation of defeat, and the knowledge that I would evermore be immune from his deadly gaze.  And there I was . . . immortal.

So there I was . . . looking down a long mist-enshrouded aisle of some vast ancient cathedral.  Throngs of shadowy apparitions crowded the pews, waiting in mute anticipation for the commencement of some sort of sacrilegious ceremony.  An unknown force beckoned me towards the cathedral’s immense altar, and though a deep feeling of dread permeated my senses, I stepped forward into the mist without hesitation, buoyed by my newfound perception of invulnerability.

I found myself before a hoary priest who began speaking ceremonial words in some long forgotten tongue, but the meaning behind the words became clear as the bride to be stepped up beside me.  Paralyzed with abject terror as the priest intoned, “and do you take Edna Hottschlaider as your lawfully wedded wife, to love, to hold and cherish for all eternity?” I turned to look into the mottled and pimple-scared face of my third-grade nemesis—Edna, the dreaded playground kissing girl.  And though my mind screamed a frenzied “No!” I heard my voice calmly state, “I do.”  And there I was . . . wishing I wasn’t so immortal.

So there I was . . . running through a shattered, fire-seared landscape reminiscent of Danté’s Inferno, all 300-plus pounds of Edna fast on my heels.  Evil looking demons, imps and gargoyles kept grasping for me out of the darkness, slowing my bid to escape.  Edna drew ever closer, foaming at the mouth in eager anticipation of consummating our unholy matrimony.  I headed for a bright light in the distance, somehow cognizant that it represented my only possible hope for escape, and as I came within one step of the bright portal, a hideous monster rose up before me with a staccato screech, and Edna was upon me.  I smacked the monster on his nose, plainly labeled “Snooze,” slammed my elbow in Edna’s great girth and pushed towards the brightness of escape and resurrection.

And there I was . . . thankfully awake . . . and vowing once again to never ever mix vodka martinis with sushi.

—Originally published in Johnstonian Sun and/or Kenly News, Circa 1990

OK, so the dream sequence is a bit cliché, but way back then I thought it was fairly clever. 

Will Canada’s New Leader Impact the U.S.?

Will Canada’s New Leader Impact the U.S.?

–October 26, 2015

Well, kids, there’s a new sheriff in town….

Not here. No, up in that vast cold territory to the north of us–the land of moose, beaver, eskimos and ice hockey known as Canada. The country held a national election last week, in which the incumbent prime minister was ousted by a political dilettante.

Today’s Question: Who is Canada’s prime minister elect?

a.) Steven Harper

b.) Thomas Mulcair

c.) Justin Bieber

d.) Justin Trudeau

Steven Harper is the current long serving incumbent prime minister and leader of Canada’s Conservative Party. But don’t let the party’s moniker fool you, as Canada is a left-leaning country and Harper is about as conservative as Bill Clinton. So, Harper, even though not particularly close to either former Republican President George W. Bush or current Democratic President Barack Obama, managed to toe a middle line and helped maintain reasonable U.S.-Canada relations for the past 10 years.

Thomas Mulcair was the third-place finisher in the election. Leader of the New Democrat Party, Mulcair is about as “left” as one gets in mainstream Canadian politics. In fact, this party’s moniker is also suspect as it should be called the New Socialist Party. Had Mulcair won, his policies and governing style would alienate America and probably lead to a U.S. nickname for him something along the lines of “Hugo Chavez of the North.”

Justin Bieber is a famous pop star from Canada, and sure, had he been on the ballot he undoubtedly would have scored some of the youth vote, but this Justin as Canada’s prime minister would be like Americans voting in Tila Tequila for president.

tumblr_mrxqi5CCjn1qze0z6o1_1280Justin Trudeau is the prime minister elect. A member of Canada’s Liberal Party, he is going to be running that cold territory for at least the next few years, and will in part dictate whether Canadian-U.S. relations continue in good standing. The Liberal Party, which lies pretty much left of center, is where it is supposed to be on the political spectrum, and there’s no reason to believe that Justin will not get along with the Democrats in Washington. The Republicans, though, and a Republican president, should one win the election in 2016, might have some issues with young Justin. Though we trust that any such issues would not be enough to thoroughly trash the long-standing good relations enjoyed by the two countries.

Let’s flesh out what promises Justin made on his road to the prime minister’s office and try to determine how America will feel should he successfully implement them as law.

One of Justin’s first acts will be to pull Canada out of active participation in the U.S. led coalition against Islamic State. While having a close ally pull out of the fight might seem cowardly, it’s not like Canada’s contribution–six obsolete attack jets and a few hundred soldiers–was going to tip the scales either way in the fight. And Canada being Canada, will undoubtedly replace its military commitment with an equal measure of humanitarian aid to those displaced by the war. From what we understand, Obama has already forgiven Justin for pulling out, and any potential future Republicans in power will likely have no problem living with it.

And speaking of humanitarian aid, Justin has already promised to take in thousands and thousands of Syrian refuges. This will not have a direct impact on U.S.-Canadian relations, but the U.S. has been concerned about Canada being both a haven for terrorists, and a back-door entryway for them, since the early days of the War on Terror. Thus, border control issues, which are already sometimes painful with tit-for-tat measures between the countries, could become a source of greater contention.

Actually, due to another Justin promise, the border could get downright ugly….

Justin, you see, has promised to legalize the use and sale of marijuana, a promise, that if kept, would put Canada at significantmarijuana_leaf odds with America’s ongoing War on Drugs. We’re guessing that President Obama, who hasn’t sent the Feds into Washington or Colorado with their marijuana legalization efforts, will keep a low profile on the issue when Canada goes legal. However, should the Republicans gain the White House, things could get very ugly, especially given that most Republicans still maintain a zero tolerance stance.

We’re not trying to debate the pros and cons of marijuana legalization here, we’re just pointing out that Justin Trudeau is taking the debate to a new level, as Canada will likely become the first country in the world to allow nationwide legal use and sale of marijuana. Whether America will be accepting of this or whether it leads to trade sanctions or worse remains to be seen.

This issue then, is likely to be among the biggest determinants of the future of U.S.-Canadian relations.

So, Hash-It-Out! Should Canada legalize marijuana how should America react?

a.) Do nothing at all.

b.) Watch and monitor to see if legalization should be adopted by the U.S.

c.) Close the border and impose sanctions until those dumb, pothead Canucks relent.

or, d.) Use it as a pretext for invasion. The Canucks are almost American anyhow and would welcome us with open arms.

—Originally published by Hash It Out! on October 26, 2015

Waking a Sleeping Giant?

Waking a Sleeping Giant?

—September 8, 2015

Comedian Nicole Arbour can be considered this past weekend’s Internet provocateur, as her YouTube video “Dear Fat People” roiled the wrath of America’s plus-sized population. Nicole’s video had received more than a half-million views before being shut down on Sunday morning. In response, Arbour Tweeted that she must be “the first comedian in the history of @YouTube to be #censored.” YouTube reinstated the channel later that afternoon, stating that the suspension had been a mistake. The video reportedly had more than 18 million views by Monday.

In her video, Nicole starts of by saying that fat-shaming was made up by fat people, and that “If we offend you so much that you lose weight, I’m OK with that.” She goes on to say, it’s the “race card with no race. There’s a race card, there’s a disability card [and] there’s even a gay card, because gay people are discriminated against, wrongfully so. The gay card is covered in glitter.”

During the six-minute video rant, Nicole continuously encourages the “35 percent of North Americans who are obese” to lose weight with the use of comedic on liners such as, “Obesity is a disease? Yeah, but so is being a shopaholic, but I don’t get a fucking parking pass.”

Perhaps her most controversial–and no-doubt potentially offensive to those of the wider dimension spectrum–comments involve her descriptions of sharing a flight with the “fatest, most obese–I’m talkin’ TLC Special fat” family. Nicole notes that she had dutifully waited in the security line for more than an hour, and yet the fat family was ushered to the front of the line because their knees were hurting because of their weight. She takes further issue with the special treatment they are provided  when transported by golf cart to the boarding gate, and describes them as smelling like sausages, and sweating Crisco oil. Then she finds herself sitting on the plane aside the fat child of the family and describes having to physical push his fat out of her lap.

All-righty, then….  No doubt that this video fat shames. And no doubt that this video can be considered offensive, especially to the millions of North Americans who might be considered over-girthed. But it’s also comedy. Good comedy pushes boundaries, and perhaps as many people found it hilarious as those who found it offensive.

Nicole Arbour obviously knew all this when she made the video, as when she announces its title, “Dear Fat People,” she immediately exclaims how “some people are already really mad at this video,” followed by, “what are you going to do, fat people? What are you going to do? What, are you going to chase me? Really?… I can get away from you by walking at a reasonable pace.”

Well, Nicole might be able to walk away from the angry mob of proportionally challenged; however, she can’t escape their Internet counter-attack. Dozens of YouTube response videos excoriating the comedian and her video have been posted, led by TLC channel’s My Big Fat Fabulous Life star Whitney Way Thore, who calls the Arbour video “heinous,” among other things. “Fat-shaming is a thing; it’s a really big thing, no pun intended,” Thore says. “It is the really nasty spawn of a larger parent problem called body-shaming, which I’m fairly certain everyone on the planet, especially women, has experienced.”

And now the media is wading into the fray and examining fat-shaming and all sorts of day-to-day problems, including discrimination, that are faced by those in the plus-size club. There’s no such thing as “bad publicity,” so this will undoubtedly help Nicole’s career, as well as Thore’s.

The question is, though, has Nicole awakened a sleeping giant? Will the ensuing backlash lead to calls for the government to get involved and protect the dignity of the millions fighting the battle of the bulge? Will the corpulent become the newest marginalized group to seek out hate speech protection and claim that their civil rights are being infringed?

If you thought the Gay Pride movement was big, keep an eye on the Fat Power movement, cause it could become gargantuan.