22 reasons why my bar is cooler than ( insert bar name here)

(former doorman bartender striker)



















1) we have a dirty Mexican midget with a mohawk that works there. (that should be enough said)
2) we have a stripper pole
3) even though we have raised prices, we are still the cheapest bar in Scottsdale, and for that price, you get double the amount of product than anyone else gives. In other words, you get twice as fucked up for the same price.
4) We are owned and ran by a pair of Jewish brothers that are some of the dirtiest, vulgar, perverted, Thai lady-boy loving, gun toting men on the planet. Which is exactly why they are so cool.
5) We like guns, and know how to use them.
6) We love our police and military. So much so, that if shit went down inside the bar, there is always a member of a local police or military force present there drinking to instigate " crowd control" ,
7) We encourage full frontal nudity on women, at any given time in the bar.
8) No matter how drunk you are upon arrival, chances are, someone will still serve you here.
9) Our staff prides ourselves on not giving a damn when it comes to telling customers off. In other words, if you're acting like a jackass, we'll tell you to go fuck yourself.
10) We have nearly every liquor available in the US on our shelves. If we don't, we can get it.
11) Our decore is quite like TGIFridays, only in a very sick and perverted way.
12) We have a swing for a seat at the bar.
13) We can wear whatever we wish to work, including shirts that insult you.
14) Once again, if our shirts insult you, we will tell you to pull the string out of your vagina and fuck off.
15) There is no cover charges or dress codes at our bar- in fact, if you are one of Scottsdale's "elite", we will kindly remind you that the current style is to pop your collars up on your shirts and promptly serve you a Zima with some grenadine in it you fag.
16) We have a 16 inch black dildo and a pocket pussy behind the bar and have no problems using them on you.
17) We are NOT a frat bar.
18) If you insult our country in our bar, chances are not only will you not get served, but one of our staff will punch you in the face.
19)We have various "game shows" throughout the week that always involves customer participation involving nudity and some form of nastiness.
20)The tamer or more of an asshole you are, the more we will pick on you.
21)We regularly sexually harass our other employees as well as customers on a nightly basis.
22) Finally, ask the bartenders what a Texas Beltbuckle is, and they will gladly explain it to you.

nothin like soggy baklava

So another version of Sunday fun day. It's the first Sunday without football (my heart is already heavy) and I had planned to spend the day at the Phoenix art museum and at the Tempe Greek festival with Crystal. I had purchased tickets to the Rembrandt exhibit at the museum a few weeks ago once the event was announced, plus I've never been to the Phoenix museum. We showed up there around noon, so as we could wander the other exhibits before our 2:30pm allotted time frame to see the Rembrandts and other Dutch art. It's been a long time since I've been in an honest art museum. The ASU one doesn't quite match up, and it never really draws big events.
Wandering around we saw a lot of wonderful pieces by Picasso, O'Keefe as well as a myriad of other pieces by artists ranging from classical studies to modern art.
At 2:15, we got in line to enter the exhibit and got our "boom sticks" as I call them- our audio tour sticks so you can hear a narrated account of pieces on what looked like a spatula combined with a cell phone.
I've never been much for Rembrandt, even during my studies at ASU, but it was still wonderful to see some gorgeous works by him and his contemporaries. There actually was a better exhibit on the other side of the museum showing a gallery of classical art from Naples. That stuff was simply amazing and moving.
We left there at around 3 and headed to Tempe to hit the Greek festival. I've been trying to get to this festival for 3 years, but I always seem to miss it. I caught wind of it early this year on a whim search of events and found out that it was going to be held in Tempe, along Rio Salado instead of at St. Katherine's church in Phoenix. Cool, some good times, great food, beers and music!



















Not so much. As we rolled into Tempe, so did black ass storm clouds. It wasn't raining yet, so we decided to brave it. As soon as we crossed through the entrance to the park, the sky opened up on us. There was a predicted 30% chance of showers, but not 100% chance of a torrential downpour.We got soaked to the soul. Wearing only t shirts and jeans, it was getting very cold, very fast. Undeterred, we browsed through jewelry tents and eventually made our way to the food and drink courts. I haven't had any Greek desserts in years, and I've been jonesin for baklava, so soaked or not, I was gonna git some. We hit up the gyro tent first, ordering in the rain and Crystal had her first ever gyro, huddled under the tarp tent with all 300 other attendees still determined to have a good time.
Soaked and cold as hell, we were still smiles, ear to ear with full bellies. Alas, everyone was closing shop, so we had no choice but to brave the rain 4 blocks to the truck. Sure enough, one block into our journey, it started raining heaviest all day. Big ol, supersized raindrops too that soaked you like mini water balloons. By the time we were halfway, my white shirt was see-through and water was running freely off our faces. All we needed was a bar of soap.



















We finally got to the truck and headed home drenched and smelling like wet dogs. Along the way, the heater cranked to dry off, we hit up Hollywood video and rented Crank (which I recommend for pure action and ass-kickery), and hit up Sunflower market for groceries for home and dinner.
Got back and cooked up some chicken cordon bleu, stuffed peppers and steamed broccoli with a plentiful side of bottled beers and enjoyed a relaxing night at home.

uuuugh...

I found out today that the best cure in the world for a hangover, is to not get one.
Last night was one of "those" nights wherein you didn't plan on getting drunk, let alone to drink at all, but somehow you did.
Oh man, don't get me wrong, it was a blast while going at it from 9pm to 3am, but you aren't exactly thinking of the consequences while you are doing your 3rd carbomb of the night.
Doug, Chris and Crystal ended up cruising by last night and literally closed the bar down at Casa Demelo. I somehow managed to make sausage,ribs, garlic bread and salsa in an altered state and didn't screw any of them up. Actually, the ribs came out to near perfect, which is a bane of mine, I still haven't mastered the meat. Huh, I said "meat"...
Crystal crashed earlier than the rest of us and that left the boys to chat about manly shit for a few hours til near dawn, all the while shotgunning cans of Budweiser.
I love "time travelling" as I call it. Apparently I only time travel after everyone has left for the night and I am left to my own devices. At some point immediately after Doug left, while Crystal was sleeping, I had cleaned up some of the kitchen, had some leftover ribs, managed to properly shut-down the lights and the surround sound system and left things in a relatively organized state and made my way to the bed, where I promptly passed the hell out.
I had anticipated a solid night's sleep, but that was far from happening. It's really getting on my nerves that its February, which, last I checked was winter, and it's 80 degrees outside.
That ain't right. Well, due to it being 80 degrees, I couldn't sleep in a hot ass bedroom due to sweating my detoxing balls off under, and eventually on top of a down comforter.

I did have a really strange dream though about being nekkid in public and receiving a ton of Christmas presents. If you can translate what that means, I'd appreciate it.

So, I did what any hungover fool could do- Make a quadruple espresso, take a huge crap (and it was-one of the impressive colon buster ones that comes out in one solid tube, going down the pipe and having the other half sticking up out of the water about 6 inches), shower and spank it to high quality free porn before going to work.

BTW- speaking of long black things, to my negro Smitty, happy black history month man.

Peace out

Duck..duck..duck...FrEGgin GOOSE!!!

Before I go into the gist of today's drama, I need to point out a small fact. In the city of Scottsdale, along certain main streets, there are areas called "greenbelts" which consist of long stretches of grass, bike paths, and usually golf courses that line next to the streets. They stretch for a few good miles in some cases and provide beauty and recreation to residents as well as small man made lakes and lagoons for waterfowl and fish.

Most people are familiar with the Hayden greenbelt on the east side of Scottsdale. I cross it almost daily on the way back and from work.

Apparently, and this is the key pretext to remember in this story, the city of Scottsdale has devised a unique way to stem the population growth of geese in the greenbelt areas. They supposedly have allowed residents to apply and receive a limited number of permits to capture or kill one goose for sporting reasons and for food. Obviously toting around a shotgun in the middle of Scottsdale on a busy road and bike path in plain view of small children, pets, cars, buildings and other things that do not react to well to bullets isn't a wise thing to do. I'd assume that trapping or luring the geese would be your only way outside of running up and snapping it's neck. Of which, after today, I'd love to choose the latter.

Pretext premise number two-

A week ago, I spent 3 hrs of my life giving my truck a much needed makeover. After 6 months of neglect, I washed, waxed, polished, buffed and vacuumed the hell out of my ride. It's looking pretty nice now(of course it rains 2 days after I wash it).

Flashforward to today-

So I'm driving to work on a lovely (and uncharacteristic) 78 degree February afternoon through Scottsdale. I'm in a great mood, music is on, window is down, sun is starting to set and I'm eager to get to work and make some cash. I approach the intersection of Indian School and Hayden, where, like clockwork, I cross through that part of the greenbelt almost daily. I cross through, thinking nothing of it, just in my own thoughts- you know, the usual; titties, midget porn, donuts, surfing, more titties...when I hear this really weird sound. It was some strange, "whomp, whomp, WHOMP" like if you had a big wet, wadded up towel in the dryer getting tossed around. I'm hearing this through the radio and an open window in traffic going 40.

Upon the third "WHOMP" I feel a slight impact and in a instant, my windshield, left front end and part of me (from the open window) is covered with a mess of green goo.

I was like, "holy HELL!! What the fuck was that!!?????!!" I'm in an instant state of shock. I feel something wet on my face and lips and instinctively wipe it off. I can't see out my windshield and I somehow am still driving straight and at 40 mph.

In a strained effort to focus on the road, I strain to see through the mess and in doing so realize that I must have driven under the largest goose in all of Scottsdale that just finished eating a half dozen #10's from Filiberto's (the bean & cheese enchilada and carne asada plate) because that fat fucker just shit-bombed my ass.

I had to gag a little just realizing what hit me and my truck. I look down to see small goose doody speckles on my hands, arms and shirt. I know that I need to get this crap off my window so I can see, so I have no choice but to use the wipers. Bracing my nausea for what was to follow, I hit the wipers and the rinse button and Mother Goose's dirty work is now a free Jackson Pollock painting on my window. Finally I pump out enough window cleaner to congeal the mass, and my wipers fling poo off to the sides of my car and down the quarterpanels.

So much for my good mood.

I get to work, park and get out to assess the damage. I saw that initially, Granny Goose had squeezed out a good softball sized dookie and that had impacted on my left side, right above my headlight. Assuming he was coming head on, about 9 mph, and me going 40 in the opposite way, it made for an impressive impact. From the air it must have rivaled all those laser guided missile attacks we so got used to in Desert Storm. The first impact disintegrated the poo-bomb, sending it upwards, covering the side mirror, 80% of the windshield, a corner of the quarterpanel, and whatever got in through the window.

I was impressed. Too impressed to be that pissed. Unbelievable, I got shitbombed by a goose.

I fill a bucket up at work, grab a rag and give the truck the once over to repair the battle damage.

I think tomorrow, on my day off, I may have to research how to get one of those goose permits I was talking about.

Instant karma is still gonna git 'cha!

This is a story that I just couldn't pass up ranting about. I was browsing through the news headlines on MSN and saw this in the back pages.

Associated Press

Feb. 7th 2007
NEW YORK - A taxi driver returned a black bag carrying 31 diamond rings to a passenger who earlier had given him a 30-cent tip on an $11 ride.

Apparently, this Bangladesh taxi driver has an ounce more moral fiber than I do. I would have still returned them to the cheap ass lady, who, in the story is a certified jeweler. In other words, she has money, but is sooo cheap that she tips the guy 30 cents and forgets, say a bag of rocks well worth more than $50000. Then gives the man a $100 reward for returning said thousands of dollars in rings. Damn lady! Give the honest fucker a ring man!!!

The driver said that the $100 just covered the lost fares due to him running around town trying to find your cheap ass, so in effect he made no rewards for helping your miser ass!!

I would have had a real hard time forking over the rings. But I would have done so knowing that above the personal satisfaction of making someone's day, that I would have gotten a fat reward.

Apparently not in this case. Well, I gotta give props to the guy, who has found a multitude of stuff in his cab and has returned them all to their owners, claiming that he is a hard worker and doesn't take what he has not worked for, so he gets great satisfaction in doing the right thing, rewards or not.

Marc's daily kudos award goes to you Mr. Bangladeshi cab-man!

And Marc's WTF bitch smack award goes to Mrs Cheap-o Lord of the Rings Beeatch for not breaking off a little something more to my man.

Past Due

Ah the feeling of a championship! A past due one for Indy on top of that. The colts have waited a long 36 years since their last title and based on the fact that they should have everyone back next season, they may not have to wait too long for their next one. Manning got the choke monkey flung decisively off his back, and coach Dungy got a bit of redemption after a long hard road which included losing his son to suicide a year and a month ago.

Why should I care though? Aren't you from San Fran??!! You have a team!

Correction. I had a home team. I am from a city that boasts one of the 3 teams that has 5 world championship titles. Although I still hold a special place in my heart for my woeful Niners, I am an Arizona resident now, and due to demographics, I want to support my local sports team, in all of the Cardinals embarrassing facets.

However those of you who know me know that I have my favorites. I'm a surrogate Cardinals/Saints/Niners and definitely a Colts fan. Past three years in fantasy football, I've drafted Manning and loved it. Last year I drafted 3 Colts players, and this year I drafted 4, Manning, Harrison, Vinateri and Dominic Rhodes. They are led by a soft-spoken respecting coach who understands not only the meaning of the game, but lives a respectable and wholesome life. Dungy translates this to his players in a non-forced-monkey see, monkey do way of molding his players. Through hardships and drama and definite heartbreaks, Indy kept on picking themselves up and starting over.

All of this is commendable, if not admirable. I like that in a team. They know that they are good, and are professional and humble about it. There's no Terrell Owens gloating or boasting, no New England excessive celebrating, no Minnesota boat cruise.

In comparison, they are like my past Niners, playing with respect. Therefore, they have mine.

Look for the Manning/Harrison combo to last a while and go the way of Montana/Rice or Aikman/Irving, and for Indy to soon reach 4 more titles.

So yes, I am a Indy fan. I'm also a Niner, Saint and ..yes, still a Cardinal fan. See you at the Superbowl next year, here in Phoenix. FYI- This year's odds for the Cardinals to go to the game 100/1, the Colts 6/1. I can't even imagine the odds of an Arizona/Indy superbowl here in Phoenix next year...

Good Girl

Jenny went for her annual checkup at the vet today and came back with flying colors.

She's toned up and had dropped about 4 pounds, and despite a lot more grey hairs showing up and her going to turn 50 this year, she's still in perfect health and as active as a teenager.

Just like daddy though, she likes to be lazy and naps whenever she can in between playtime.

Happilly for me, she's shedding like it's going out of style. That winter coat can be a bitch, as I can vacuum the house and 20 minutes later I once again have wall to wall carpeting.

Where's a flobee when you need one???

Today's special...cock!

Every night at work there is usually a specific theme for the crowd. The majority of peeps there were 40+ for the first half of the night due to the Phoenix Open going on in town. Not that they were bad at all, just old and not gentle on my eyes. What got to me right away was a table of super-cocks that were in around 9. I hate frat boys. Especially boys that act like frat boys but aren't in a frat. I don't know which category these asses fell into, but either way, they weren't on my good list.

Anyways, there were about 6 dudes and 2 chicks. They sat in front of our wheel of booze at a table.

Red Flag number one-

One of the girls was there drinking water, but she had a bottle of "Gatorade" in her purse that she kept sneaking drinks out of. I know that trick well. I loved mixing everclear with Gatorade back in my college days to make "stoopid juice". Whether there was booze in the young cum dumpster's bottle or not, ya just don't do that in a restaurant.

Red Flag number two-

All of them were dead set on spending their limited cash on only the wheel of booze. It's cheap, you get drunk fast, and generally people don't tip on it.

Red Flag number three-

Their "ringleader" as I call it, was some little preppy shit who obviously didn't get the memo that he was in Scottsdale and should have had his collar popped up. Anyways, he is standing at the bar with his purchased pre-stressed and worn out KC hat, waving his wheel spin tickets in the air. I grab em and start to pour his shots. On the tickets, I noticed that Kansas, our server had written out to give him shit, so I did. Two pucker shots and a mystery shot consisting of peppermint, banana and almond schnapps. He asked which one the shit shot was and I told him. He asked what was in it and I said that it was better he didn't know and to give it to someone that he didn't like. He yelled out that I was a dickhead and I walked off.

Red Flag number four-

After the "dickhead" incident, he pretty much sealed himself from not getting service from any staff member the rest of the night. So he's sitting at his table with his boyfriends and the other girl at their table was standing across the way talking to someone. He starts calling out to her, not by name, but by yelling "hey, Hey! HEY!" and then starts snapping his fingers at her. Once he got her attention, he motioned for her to come to him for her to sit on his lap.

I think that was one of the most disrespectful things I've seen in a while. You little preppy shit! This is why you can only hang out with girls with low self esteem who put up with your shit and probably put out regularly to try and appease some dude for the fear that nobody else will like them. You exploit this weakness, and by doing it, show off your own pathetic shortcomings. You will never be as large in life as you act out yourself to be, you sorry $30,000 millionaire who will have a permanent job working at Jiffy lube and a lovely single wide waiting for you on the upper east side of Apache Junction.

Grrrrr! I hate shits like you! Not that I'm trying to make myself out to be better than anyone, but I know that I, as well as most of the other people I know, are BETTER THAN YOU!

Anyways, it got slow and I got cut. Crystal and Drea showed up, so we had a quick drink at work and then left for greener pastures. We tried to go to coach house, but man, it was too packed. We Headed out to Zipps for a beer and food. I ran into a couple of ex-coworkers, Vera who bartends there now, and surprisingly, my ex Vine server Whitney, who works there now too. Super cool. Finished there and headed home.