Friday, April 30, 2010
What, was Marcy Playground busy?
I moved to Henderson, Nevada in the fall of 2002. I secured a job at a place called Organized Living and often walked there from my apartment. On the way I'd cut through a shopping center, and someone had written in cement, right in front of a Borders bookstore, "Candlebox Rules". By reading this I immediately knew one thing: The shopping center was built in 1993. Oh, and I knew that the person who wrote that was a complete tool. So two things...

I mention this because last night, which I believe was April 29, 2010, Candlebox played in Louisville at the Kroger Fest-a-Ville (see what they did there? It was a festival in Louisville, so they called it Fest-a-Ville).

"Great name, boss. How can we make this event even better?"

"Let's get that band the kids are nuts for....what's their name? Candlebox. They're one of those grunge bands you hear so much about."

I was there last night. I wasn't really paying attention to Candlebox, though. Every year as a lead-up to the Kentucky Derby, they set up a bunch of food and alcohol vendors by the riverfront and people gather to drink a lot and eat fried dough. I was there for that. Candlebox was just a "bonus". And I mean it was a bonus in the same way that getting herpes would be the bonus of fucking a hot chick. Candlebox still sucks, is what I'm getting at.

At one point I heard the lead singer say, "It's been a long time, Louisville." A long time since what? Since he showered? Since someone PAID to see them perform? Since the bass player could finish a show without his hip aching? Since teenagers didn't routinely ask "Candlebox? Who's that?"

I wanted to walk to the front of the stage and shout "PLAY SOMETHING FROM YOUR POORLY-RECEIVED SOPHOMORE ALBUM!!!" but I resisted the urge.

Sunday, April 25, 2010
A Day at the Revolution Islam Offices
The other day the group Revolution Islam issued thinly veiled death threats against South Park creators Trey Parker and Matt Stone. How thinly veiled were these threats? You wish a condom was this fucking thin. That's how thin.

Funny enough, the group is based out of New York City. You may have heard of the town: Largest city in the United States, site of the deadliest terrorist attack in our nation's history, etc. These guys get to enjoy the fruits of NYC while praising the people who tried to destroy it; and you know what? That's free speech, as much as it may piss us off. But death threats meant to censor through intimidation the men who invented Eric Cartman? Fuck that shit. I decided to send a member of the vaunted Death Wore a Feathered Mullet news team to the Revolution Islam offices. He recorded the following conversation:

Extremist 1
"Have you tried the new Dark Cherry Mocha at Starbucks? Very tasty. Death to America."

Extremist 2
"Yes, it was quite delicious despite being assembled by an infidel."

"I am going to the strip club tonight. The tall blonde daughter of Satan is performing."

"I can only think of what a godless pig she is as she thrusts her taut breasts in my face."

"She will not be one of the 72 virgins who pleasures us in the afterlife, that's for sure."

"Ha ha. Good one. Enough small talk, though. We need a scapegoat for our irrational hatred."

"I was watching South Park last night. They mocked Mohammad."

"No they didn't!"

"Yes they did."

"Well...since we're based in NYC we can't openly threaten the lives of the creators. What can we do?"

"We can post a picture of the corpse of someone killed by Islamic extremists and suggest that the same thing could happen to them if they don't play ball."

"Brilliant idea. Let's order a pizza and celebrate."

"At least if we get a pizza we'll know it was not made by Jews."

Flunky extremist
"Hey guys, good news! Our jhad snuggies were just delivered."

NOTE: Hi, my name's Dane Cook and I guest-blogged on this post; so if any Muslim extremists are mad about this, I'm the guy you need to kill and cut up into tiny pieces.

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Yeah, so they named the new arena that's being built in downtown Louisville. The powers that be ignored my suggestion of "Downtown Arena" (it tells you what it is and where it's located) to go with The KFC Yum! Center. No, really. And yes, that is a Taco Bell logo on the roof. *sigh*

I realize someone has to pay for this money-sucking albatross, but corporations always go the extra mile when it comes to hucksterism. I'd have absolutely no problem if the arena was simply called The KFC Center. I was hoping Dad's Muffler Shop (where there's "No Muff Too Tuff") would win the inevitable naming battle, but since they didn't, why not KFC? It's the Yum! part, complete with exclamation point, that annoys me. For fuck's sake, do they have to beat us over the head with the worst company name of all time? Does there have to be Pizza Hut and Taco Bell logos on the roof? When has Louisville ever been associated with a double melty crunchy-max gordita? Worst of all, it just doesn't sound like a place where you watch basketball games and concerts. "Hey, let's skip on down to the Yum! Center and eat gummy bears sprinkled with fairie dust."

With naming rights come concession rights, which means we won't be able to get anything decent to eat at the arena. This is good news for all of the local restaurants that are popping up near the construction site. If I'm a restaurant owner and my main competition for dining dollars is a heat-lamp-warmed personal pan pizza, I'm leasing a Rolls Royce and auditioning trophy wives. Well, maybe not...but I'd buy a new pair of jeans and a jaunty hat!

I'm sure the arena is going to be a state of the art facility blah blah blah; it just has a stupid name. Locals are already calling it "The KFC Bucket" so I guess it doesn't matter what our corporate overlords want. The people have spoken.

I probably won't go to a lot of basketball games there. I love the University of Louisville, but the last game I went to at old Freedom Hall just plain got on my nerves. Every timeout was sponsored by someone: "This season-ending knee injury was brought to you by the Norton Hospital Bone and Joint Center." At one point, a camera panned the crowd and fans were encouraged to "act crazy" to win a Kroger supermarket card. As people whored themselves out for free groceries, I wanted to take the courtside microphone and scream out "ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?!" all Russell Crowe like.

Friday, April 16, 2010
"That what you fear the most, could meet you halfway..."
Let's look into the future, shall we?

911 Call, November 3, 2011

"My house is on fire! Please...please send someone."

911 Operator
"Could I have your address, ma'am?"

"2368 Edmond Way."

"I have a truck headed there right now. Oh....wait a minute...."

"What? What?!"

"Says here you're a member of the Tea Party."

"How do you know....uh, what difference does it make? My house is burning down! Everything I own! My cat is in there!"

"Yeah, well Tea Party members are no longer eligible for 'socialist' services such as police, EMS, fire department, etc. We wouldn't want to compromise your deeply held beliefs."

"Is this some kind of a joke?"

"Well, I'm laughing on the inside, but I'm not joking. The government you hate so much is going to let your house burn to the ground."

"This is Obama's fault!"

"Oh, totally. It was his idea. And tomorrow he's going to fly in on Airforce One and personally take a piss on the charred remnants of your dwelling. Then he's going to put his black cock in your daughter and/or younger sister."


"Not really, I'm just playing on your worst fears. If he has time he might piss on your house, but he's not going to rape anyone."


"Why don't you get Sarah Palin to help you out?"

(hangs up)

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Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Retail lies
The biggest lie of retail is, of course, "The customer is always right." That saying, regardless of who it is falsely attributed to, was almost certainly uttered by (A) a customer; or (B) some rich suit who never had to deal with the general public. I can assure you that the customer is frequently wrong and is getting "wronger" every day.

If you want to reinforce your belief that society is getting dumber, crueler, less patient, and just completely insufferable, ask someone who has to wait on the public. They'll tell you that the public can get ass-fucked with a broomstick. People want diamonds but they only want to pay for coal. And you'd best get it to them yesterday, with a big ol' smile plastered on your face.

I want to own my own business so I can tell assholes that they are, in fact, assholes. The other day I took this neck brace-wearing douchebag to our well-marked selection of South African wines. Did the man say, "Well, thank you for allowing me to go through life never reading signs"? No. He scanned the wines for a second and proclaimed, "This is it? This is a rather incomplete selection of South African wines. In fact, it's pathetic."

FUCK. YOU. Buy your own liquor store, you snotty prick. When I offered to summon our wine manager for him to belittle, he sneered, "I know more about South African wines than he does."

"Oh, I don't doubt that," I said as I took my absence of his annoying presence. And by "Oh, I don't doubt that" I meant "Someone put you in that neck brace for being a piece of shit, didn't they? I hope it spreads to your brain, dickhead. And your wife looks like Ernest Borgnine."

Another closely related big lie of retail is this: In this recession, you need to kiss every customer's ass. They are all valuable.

Wrong. Some customers are more trouble than they're worth, especially in the liquor business. Twenty-five-year-old dudes want to bring their Hanna Montanaesque teenage fuck-buddies to a liquor store and then throw a fit when asked for her I.D. These people are worthless and should be drowned in the river on local television.

In most cases, service is overrated. It's all about price-point and convenience, with product a distant third. Don't believe me? Look at Wal-Mart. Have you ever asked one of their glassy-eyed employees for help? You might as well try to get a decent South African wine where I work!!! It ain't happenin'.

In short, go fuck yourself, America.

Wednesday, April 07, 2010
Corporations suck
Our small 6-store chain of liquor stores was recently purchased by a large Canadian conglomerate that owns several stores in Canada and Alaska. Our stores are their first venture into the continental United States. Hooray. Lucky fucking us.

Since this is the second time I've worked somewhere that has changed ownership, I can say this without hesitation: When a small company is purchased by a larger company, the employees are about to be fucked straight up the pooper, be it by greed or gross incompetence or a deadly combination of both.

Both times we, as employees, were told the new company has "deep pockets". I assure you those "deep pockets" NEVER result in more money for anyone other than upper upper management and stockholders. Do you honestly think a corporation will give you a shiny penny if it doesn't have to?

To put it bluntly, corporations don't care about you, your loved ones, your health, your happiness, or your miserable fucking existence. The only thing they care about is squeezing as much work out of you as possible while paying you as little as they can. And they will never, ever be satisfied. Ever. If you work seventy hours FOR FREE someone will complain that you aren't working eighty hours. And the guy complaining will be a dull, dim-witted, fake asshole in a 37-piece suit who makes more in a month than you make in a year.

When I worked at Organized Living the first thing new management did was change our dress code to make us all look like complete fucking tools. It wasn't enough to leave work at the end of the day poor, exhausted, and frustrated. They wanted us to leave WITHOUT A SHRED OF HUMAN DIGNITY. Mission accomplished, fuckers. Want to go to an Organized Living and laugh at the poor bastards and their insipid clown outfits? Too bad, because Organized Living was driven to bankruptcy by greed and gross incompetence, less than a year after it was taken over by clueless shits.

At the liquor store we had a modest dress code based on common sense: no open-toed shoes due to safety reasons, no nut-hugging short shorts, no t-shirts that read "Cum Dumpster", etc. The new company is making us all dress alike, just like employees dressed alike at Circuit City and Linens n Things and Sharper Image and all of the other soulless corporate cesspools that have gone out of business recently. Yes, I know they have uniforms at successful retails chains, but this isn't Target; it's a god damn liquor store. We sell alcohol to people who can't function without it. They aren't going to notice our matching polos! This policy was put into place so some overpaid, underworked, worthless piece of corporate garbage could justify his outrageous salary.

We are no longer allowed to wear shorts, no matter how hot and humid it gets this summer. This won't affect those of us up front, in the air conditioning. But I used to work upstairs in the warehouse. I know how hot it gets up there. So now, because of a random decision by some nancy-boy who has never lifted a heavy case of liquor in his life and lives in a place where the temperature never rises above seventy, our warehouse guys have to be poor and exhausted and FUCKING MISERABLE every day. For no reason. For no reason other than to satisfy the whim of a man who has never known a day of physical labor. The company won't make one extra cent because our warehouse guys are wearing jeans in ninety-five degree heat.

Oh, speaking of unconscionable stupidity, we are never notified of price changes. REPEAT: WE DON'T KNOW OF A PRICE CHANGE UNTIL IT RINGS UP AT A REGISTER AND A CUSTOMER (almost always a grumpy old man) YELLS AT US FOR TRYING TO STEAL FROM HIM! Nothing makes me happier than being yelled at by a bitter, quasi-senile skinflint over twenty cocksucking cents. Will this change in the foreseeable future? Fuck no. Why should it? What do the corporate vipers care? They're being fawned over by a gaggle of boot-licking toadies and sniveling yes-men. No problem there.

I really appreciate and envy people who work for small, independent businesses; or those who start their own business. They don't have to play the pointless corporate games. I know every job is kind of a hassle in its own way, but it would be nice to work for someone who didn't intentionally make it worse.

Thursday, April 01, 2010
This bottle is the bane of my existence

This is the limited edition Maker's Mark John Calipari bottle. It will be released to the general public tomorrow at 9am. It is truly the work of the devil.

For those of you who don't follow sports, John Calipari is the head coach of the University of Kentucky men's basketball team. He just completed his first season in that capacity, so of course he totally deserves to be immortalized on a bottle of bourbon.

When I first saw this bottle I was pleasantly surprised: I thought Maker's was honoring Al Pacino's work in the Godfather trilogy. But then I read the "Calipari" part at the bottom, and I threw up for a solid hour. On the bright side, I can now fit into the shorts that were too small for me last summer.

Others, namely University of Kentucky fans, are extremely excited about this bottle. Outrageously, obsessively, ANNOYINGLY excited. Every five-point-two seconds, the phone at work rings, and a voice dripping with coal dust and moonshine screams "You gonna git that Calipari bottle?" It is a relentless army of people who won't/can't read the ten million press releases telling them the exact day and time of the bottle's release, but somehow have our phone number committed to memory.

I'm no proponent of stereotyping, and it would be truly unfair to suggest that all University of Kentucky fans are stump-stupid hill people, but I say without fear of contradiction that a fucking lot of them are, and this bottle is the best thing that has ever happened in their heartbreakingly empty lives. Even people at work who are UK fans are tired of talking to this lunatic fringe.

Tomorrow morning, before we open, people will line up outside of our store for the privilege of buying the bottle. These people don't work, it seems. A lot of them also live in dry counties, because they think alcohol not cloaked in UK blue is Satan's elixir, so they'll have to drive to a reasonable city. When we finally open the doors they'll stampede toward the bottles like Lindsay Lohan attacking a cock covered in cocaine.

I had hoped there would be frigid temperatures. And gale force winds. And a cold, stinging rain. And hail the size of medicine balls. And a plague of locusts. Unfortunately, the weather is supposed to be perfect, which proves the old saying "God protects fools."

I started playing the lottery a few weeks ago, hoping to strike it rich and purchase our entire allotment. I was going to stand in the middle of our parking lot and smash every single bottle, cackling maniacally as they shattered against the pavement. The corn-fed masses would be powerless to stop me, for my elite special forces security team would savagely beat anyone who'd even dare give me an awkward glance. I didn't win, of course, so the regularly scheduled tragedy goes on.

Note to people who don't live in Kentucky: This is NOT an April Fool's Day prank. There are actually grown adults who are going to get up early and wait in line for a bottle of whiskey.