Cups Runneth Over: The War Against Beer Pong in Time Magazine

Interestingly, Time Magazine posted an article recently, about the 'War Against Beer Pong'.

Now, we're no strangers to the game, having played it at our book launch, and we're certainly no strangers to writing about it:

For those of you who missed it, click here and here.




Cheers,

The Beer Pong Champions of the Greater Toronto Area,

The Shark Guys

Royals Sample Carbon Neutral Beer: Chuck and Camilla Chug Cold Ones

As Canadians, we're grateful for all the Royal Family have given us, namely a holiday in May that coincides with warmer weather, and currency featuring the Queen, whose craggy visage youngsters can fold into creative shapes when they're old enough to earn an allowance.

We've also noted how gratifying it is to find a crumpled twenty in the pocket of a pair of slacks and included only one tale involving royalty in our who's who of drunks, The Man Who Scared a Shark to Death and Other True Tales of Drunken Debauchery, and that concerned a footman who was adding whiskey to the water bowls of the royal corgis – an offense which, although funny, resulted in his demotion.

According to reports, the Prince of Wales and Duchess of Cornwall were in Suffolk recently, sampling 'carbon neutral' beer (there are conflicting reports as to whether it was flat or fizzy) and arriving by helicopter as befitting such an eco-friendly event.

Here are pictures of the couple testing the 'beer goggles' phenomenon they've no doubt heard so much about.

20 Worst City Names in North America: You Can't Beat a Dead Horse, Alaska

At the risk of never being given the keys to the city of Crapo Maryland, where you might not to want to open anything anyway, namely a business, there are some places that are just plain unappealing to the ear---as opposed to say, the state of Indiana*, which is unappealing to each of the other senses as well.
[*Editor's note: It could be worse. It could be farther away from its main selling point---proximity to Chicago]

There are towns that for whatever reason struck 'appeal to tourists' off the local chamber of commerce agendas, watched the Rotarians rotate their wheels out of Dodge and whose mayors are currently in the process of decommissioning our welcome wagons.

These are places where a road sign pointing to them, even with the gas tank registering near empty, would have you lead foot it down the interstate and take your chances getting stranded somewhere while some maniac with a billhook muttering something about 'city folk' chops you into the next episode of CSI.

Now, at the risking of offending anyone outside Indiana state lines (a state so ugly it should be annexed, partitioned and sold off to the highest bidder--perhaps if a sultan in Bahrain needs somewhere to work out the finer points of his Ferrari's 5-speed transmission) we should note that we've never actually been to any of the offending towns on account of never experiencing break pad trouble anywhere in their vicinity, (though one of us sped through Gary quite quickly) but we're sure they're all lovely places.



1. Dildo, Newfoundland The stagette gift that turns party-goers into short-form improvisational comedians, and if the party is held at an upper end restaurant will result in a board of health citation, this device is also the most embarrassing item that can be seized at customs (doubly so if you're a man and with any sort of standing in the community, say the comptroller for Lizard Lick, NC)

2. Flushing, New York, Drain, Oregon Two names that refer to sending something through pipes, like say, E.coli through your intestines or a hole that attracts flies, these plumbing-themed dud names are a plunger and a snake away from causing serious water damage to your bathroom tiles and your psyche.


3. Bald Knob, Arkansas A particular sexual predilection detailed in the back pages of the Village Voice, or an insult hurled out the window at a chrome-dome trucker who cut you off.








4. Dead Horse, Alaska What more could we say about it without invoking the phrase? If your town is a 'one horse' one, better make sure the beast isn't glue factory-bound.

5. Hellhole, Idaho / Hell, Michigan 'Hell' might mean bright in German, but these name choices aren't. If Hell was at a lower latitude, instead of Michigan, at least in the summer it would lend itself to 'It's hotter than Hell", "No it isn't" repartee.





6. Crapo, Maryland Indeed.





7. Asbestos,Quebec Like Fleatown (below), don't make any long term plans to stay. If you can't stand the heat, get out of the asbestos kitchen. Can explain the high absentee level due to incarceration/death at your next high school reunion.



8. Red Lick, Mississippi French Lick, Indiana, Lizard Lick, North Carolina Larry Bird may have put French Lick on the map, but technical fouls all around and a clang off the irons for these burgs.




9. Dismal, Tennessee
1. obsolete : disastrous, dreadful
2: showing or causing gloom or depression
3: lacking merit : particularly bad


10. Hicksville, New York Probably not the most sophisticated center for learning and culture.

11. Boogertown, North Carolina One good thing about Boogertown, is that it's in Gaston County, Cito Gaston having captained the Toronto Blue Jays to back to back World Series wins. This may be a stretch, but why don't YOU come up with something for a substance a construction worker shoots out his left nostril.




12. Fleatown, Ohio Brought in from a curbside mattress. Don't make any hotel reservations.


13. Boring, Oregon Oregon town five-finger discount of Salt Lake's de facto title.









14. Ogle, Kentucky You may want to think twice about using the hotel pool. A creepy uncle at a 4-H jamboree, whose hugs linger on a little too long.

15. Hardup, Utah, Blueball Pennsylvania When it comes to new names, these towns aren't gettin' any and neither are you.










16. Spread Eagle, Wisconsin A city that's tough on crime, but leaves you feeling compromised.




17. Rudeville, New Jersey A ten-cent tip town.


18. Lynch, Kentucky / Swastika, Ontario Not exactly doing wonders for the tourism industry, and hopefully not given to showing civic pride through parades.









19. Downer, Minnesota Dismal, TN's sister city.

20. Recluse, Wyoming Along with 'no fixed address' and 'loner' this term makes up the serial killer trifecta.

Drunks Shooting Stuff: …And God’s Mercy on the Wild Lawnmower Man

Continuing our series on drunken shotgun violence (see Friday’s entry on a moose being sent to that hunting lodge wall in the sky [though the moose was the drunk party in that one]), we would be remiss if we failed to report on the case of a Milwaukee man who engaged in armed combat with that highly tempting target – a gas-powered lawnmower.

The duty to mow a lawn on a regular basis is enough to make anyone, even those who don’t break out into hives at the mere sight of anything green and outdoors, want to permanently live in an apartment. (And the sound of some inconsiderate lawn-loving prick starting up his lawnmower bright and early on a Saturday morning while you’re trying to sleep off a hangover should be a justifiable cause for homicide.)

When your lawnmower is a piece of junk that takes numerous pulls and expletives to get started, it’s not surprising that you might be tempted to do the thing grievous harm. And such was the case with our Milwaukee friend (Editor’s Note: Given its size, Wisconsin is amply represented on this website. See here for more), who had spent the morning drinking, decided in the early afternoon to mow his lawn (the best time), couldn’t get it started, and ended up shooting the thing with a sawed-off shotgun. A neighbor, of the rat-fink variety of neighbor, phoned police and he was arrested, charged with drunken disorderly conduct and also for having the sawed-off shotgun in the first place (the ‘sawed-off’ part makes it illegal).

The weapons charge is likely the one that sees him facing an incredible potential six-year prison term, however the defendant in this case offered a defence that we’d accept if we somehow were unable to dodge jury duty and found ourselves listening to this case. “"I can do that," he told police. "It’s my lawn mower and my yard, so I can shoot it if I want." And damn it, he’s right! It’s not like the shotgun blast ricocheted and fell some neighbor out trimming the bougainvillea. The only victim here was a crap lawnmower that had it coming anyway. And if a man can’t get drunk and disorderly in his own home, then where exactly can he? Being able to shoot up your lawnmower while pie-eyed before the PM is exactly what freedom is all about.

And as a tribute of sorts to our lawnmower man friend for sticking up for everyone’s right to get a bit ripped and reckless, we have compiled here some clips of others doing just that. As any seasoned emergency-room nurse will tell you, drinking and guns do mix and here is video proof of just how often:

First for those of you who need a visual to fully comprehend what the destruction of a lawnmower entails, here it is:

A scenic train ride in the Russian countryside isn’t complete unless you take a moment to fire a few shotgun blasts out the window. Bonus: the guy doing the shooting is a well known Russian politician.

Camping: An attempt to commune with nature while shooting up whiskey bottles and going on drunken wheelbarrow rides.

The William Tell legend but with two drunken buddies instead of the father and son and a stuffed animal in place of the apple. No word on whether this pair of Darwin Awards contenders continued to be as lucky.

And of course, a blog like this would not be complete without a mention of the patron saint of intoxicated people shooting up stuff, a man who spent the last quarter of his life pretty much doing exactly that, the good doctor Hunter S. Thompson. A classic clip from Conan O’Brien:

via videosift.com

Shark-bite DVD Review: Heartbreak Kid: Fleecing the audience like the Patagonia product line

"You should go with the Patagonia. It's made from 100% recycled material."

Nothing will have you have you reaching for a bottle of antacids and chasing it with a gulp of de-fizzed Canada Dry like hammer-fisted product placements, and if you do manage to slip the first punch (a camera shot that lingers on the Patagonia sign in Stiller's sporting goods store) the ringing endorsement above will surely put you on the canvas.

The Heartbreak Kid is recycled material too. Enough to re-pave an LA freeway.

Or San Francisco, in this case.

Stiller plays the role that has lingered in a Hollywood blue box container for years, albeit more often with the fairer sex: the guy, in this case, who just can't seem to settle down/keeps meeting the wrong person, who has numerous character failings that are offset by being a genuinely nice guy (discovered by a 'nice girl' counterpart who at first doesn't take notice but gradually comes to do so---or not so gradually as it seems, as these romantic comedies are always criminally overlong).

Stiller is 'Eddie', the socially awkward, put upon, Bay City hard luck chump who bemoans his single-hood and is dispensed not so paternal advice ('you should be crushing pussy') from real life dad Jerry.

His good Samaritan ways capture the attention of the mugging victim, Swedish knock-out Malin Akerman ('Lila') and after six weeks of whirlwind courtship, an atmospheric event that unfortunately didn't send the pages of the Neil Simon script adaptation flying in a direction away from whoever green-lighted this--they end up in Cabo on a honeymoon.

This is where things begin to unravel. Unlike the charmer he was earlier: 'A UFO is an 'FO' to them [aliens], 'cause they know what it is', she is soon put off by most of his interests, and he by hers especially when finding out she is not really an environmental researcher (apparently, the phrase 'exactly what kind of research are you involved in?' or 'what did you study in college that led you down this career path?' didn't come up in the weeks leading up to their nuptials) but some kind of hippie granola volunteer who hands out pamphlets, and wants to move to Holland.

After suspecting their personalities aren't quite as compatible as previously thought, Eddie finds out this is the case sexually as well (apparently, their six week courtship was an abstinent one), with a painful, in both senses of the word, string of related gags.

Despite his warning that she don sunscreen, Lila suffers a debilitating sun burn and Stiller's Eddie does what any supportive husband would do: leaves her alone, goes down to the beach, drinks himself silly and hits it off with a southern belle and her charming family who he then proceeds to bamboozle in every way imaginable to keep up the single charade, until he's found out and has to make amends with all concerned.

If you've heard all this before, you have, except this time with the Farrelly Brothers stock-in-trade: obscene latrine humor and a really sick donkey sex sight gag with the beast of burden sporting wood.

While a similar gag actually worked in Clerks II, and at this point I can't believe there is a cinematic precedent, it, like all the others gags here, seems to fall flaccid. The camera lingers on for too long (especially harsh in this instance) and the brief bits of physical comedy just seem arbitrary and out of place. It should be mentioned, so does Seth Rogan, who pops his head into one scene for the briefest of cameos, hands someone a beer and seems embarrassed to be there and leaves.

And quite rightly.

Miles away from his San Francisco sporting goods store, Patagonia rears its head again, this time as a reference to a 'bunch of suppliers' Eddie supposedly met on the beach, a gambit to thwart his increasingly leery wife, a half-wit to the beguiling Stiller, but still undeserving of such cruel deceit while laid up in a hotel bed. Pleading with his suspicious bride Stiller blurts: "Patagonia is my biggest supplier. I carry their entire line".

The audience, nor her, are buying it and at the end of the day, are fleeced.

Chris, Toronto
www.thesharkguys.com

Drunk Moose on the Loose! Justice is Swift and Final for Drunken Toddler-Biting Beast

If anyone, Ben Stein for instance, needs proof that Darwin offered more than just creative fuel for the Nazis (a key point in the ironically-titled film featuring one-joke Ferris Bueller prof [and former Nixon lackey] Stein: “Expelled: No Intelligence Allowed”), one need look no further than at how our animal friends seem to enjoy fermented beverages just as much as your second-cousin Murray the Mooch (who incidentally also looks like a stork, thus further strengthening the point).

We did not leave out the wild kingdom (Mutual of Omaha version or otherwise) in our compendium of drunken exploits, “The Man Who Scared a Shark to Death: And Other True Tales of Drunken Debauchery.” Indeed, two chapters are devoted to it – “Man Bites Dog and Dog Bites Back,” (the animals were sober in most of these stories, but the humans – like the guy who broke into a zoo late at night so his buddies could watch him wrestle a bear – were not) and “Crapulent Critters,” which features, among others, a raging drunken chimpanzee, an alcoholic and foul-tempered parrot, and ripped royal corgis. Also in that chapter is a small “Dishonorable Mention” entry about elk (the kind of elk that in North America we would refer to as moose) hopped up on fermented apples and terrorizing a senior’s center.

When you’ve been covering drunks in the news for as long as we have, certain patterns begin to emerge: at Christmas time, drunks in Santa suits will gather en masse and start a riot, and, it’s just as certain, that Swedish moose will never know when it’s time to push away from the bar and go home once they start gorging on fermented apples. The connection between moose and alcoholism presumably explains why the worst themed bars you can possibly set foot in that aren't ersatz Irish places like Mickey Mcfinnigan's Macgregor Pub & Grill are those with “Moose” in their names -- “The Loose Moose” etc. (though we're sure that the place is a first-rate establishment, or at least the best you can hope for so far removed from civilization.)

In the latest case of a drunken moose terrorizing a Swede, a three-year-old girl was playing in a sandpit when a moose, intoxicated on fermented apples, sauntered by and bit her on the arm. Reports were vague as to whether the child had been drinking at the time or had done anything to provoke the beast. Regardless though, any such actions on the tot's part would have to be balanced with the 500-800 pound weight advantage that the moose had on its side. The girl let out the kind of piercing shriek that one images one would (even in one’s 30s) when bit by a giant drunken animal, her mother came rushing to her aid and the moose made a drunken zigzag for higher ground.

Unfortunately for the moose, escaping backwoods justice would not be so easy. A renegade posse of hunters, bent on vigilante justice, waited for him at the site of the fermented apples. When he returned for another intoxicating gobble, the hunters shot his ass. Wildlife officials said it was extremely rare for a moose to actually bite a person, though it would be far more common for a moose to kick to death or trample somebody, basically like a bunch of bikers at a social function. The summary execution then seems understandable given that other unattended Swedish children might have met such a fate.

And since we have a yearly limit of stories about misbehaving animals drunk on fermented fruit -- we keep them to one such story per year (unless by eating the fermented apples the animal somehow gains the ability to speak, in which case we'll blog about little else for a long while) -- here is a scene from the documentary "Animals are Beautiful People" of more than one species getting blasted on the stuff (and yes, as suspected, giraffes do make for dignified-looking drunks).

Happy National Tequila Day! (also, Happy Cheap Marketing Ploy Day!)

Well, today is National Tequila Day, a day whose origin we traced back to the maker of a particular tequila, who, in a recent survey determined that "84% of respondents were interested in learning how to mix easy-to-make, creative cocktails with top-shelf tequila", the same 84%, not coincidentally, who were likely given repeated assurances that a free case of the stuff would arrive at their doors if they agreed to such a sentiment.

Here is a handy '5 Tips on How Not to Be a Jackass' when consuming it, from our friends at www.drinkplanner.com

To mark this festive occasion, and to honor Patrick Swayze's heroic battle with pancreatic cancer, we thought we'd share our Top 10 Coolest Bartenders of All Time for those who missed it the first time around.

Salut!
The Shark Guys

[Editor's Note: Apparently Friday is 'National Scotch Day' but since our Google fingers are tired, we'll leave it to you to track down its similarly suspect press release origin]

Drunk-Dialing : The Light Comic Opera

We’ve blogged on occasion about the infamous drink and dial – that decision to call someone in the middle of the night and share with them the penetrating truths that have come to you after half a bottle of Jack Daniels and three keg stands. Who doesn’t enjoy getting a call at 3am from someone who is ready either to take you for an unwanted drunken stumble down nostalgia lane, or to tell you that they just figured out what went wrong in your relationship and, surprise, surprise, the blame does not lie with the lush making the call.

In our tome of drunken exploits, “The Man Who Scared a Shark To Death: And Other True Tales of Drunken Debauchery,” we chronicle the tale of quite possibly the oldest immature drunk dialer, a 52-year-old Danish man who was playing with his toy ships in the bath when he decided to phone the local sea rescue unit and inform them that one of his ships was in danger of capsizing. They actually sent rescue boats to look for the sinking ship... He had to pay a hefty fine for the lark. We also mention in the book Virgin Mobile Australia’s plan to combat drink dialing by allowing their users to ban all incoming calls from suspect drink-dialers between the hours of 12am-6pm. It’s a good plan.

As much as we’ve written about the drink-and-dial, and as many such calls as we’ve made, we have yet to put the phenomenon to a tune. (Editor’s Note: We are, however, working on a Jerky Boys-like album of crank calls in which we phone up bars that don’t serve food and get increasingly testy with them when they refuse to take our lunch orders. “Alright, ya goof, ya gotta pen? Ok, one pastrami on rye… What? What do you mean you don’t got food?” Recording companies interested in distributing this for us should email either of the authors directly via the contacts page.)

Ed Harcourt, an up-and-coming singer/songwriter (he’s the guy in the photo for those who thought he might be a drunk-dialer we're having trouble with), has found a novel way to get a persistent drunk-dialer off his back. Rather than subscribe to a service like the one mentioned above, he’s recorded, “You Only Call Me When You’re Drunk” (listen to full song here), which should not be confused with the Pet Shop Boys prequel to this song -- before the relationship completely deteriorated -- “You Only Tell Me You Love Me When You’re Drunk,” (or their ode to that uncle who's a little too hands-on for comfort during the holidays, “Your Funny Uncle”).

Harcourt’s been getting some calls from a “deplorable old friend, somewhere in the East end,” and the song is his gentle request for his buddy to screw off and let him get a good night’s sleep because he has work in the morning and his buddy may or may not live in the park. One wonders if Harcourt hasn’t placed a few of these wee-small-hours-of-the-morning calls himself; he writes like someone who knows the challenges: "I guess you have me on speed-dial/for your eyesight is too blurred, to text me any words.”

The song starts off slow and in the kind of mood you'd be in if you picked up the phone while still half-asleep and confused as to who the hell could be calling at such a godforsaken hour, then it picks up in pitch and ferocity and takes on a more operatic quality. This is one call too many and it's time he sobers his buddy up with some home truths. They used to be close friends, cursing the local rich boys and committing acts of costly, albeit righteous, vandalism -- "As dreamers we'd scream all the songs/we'd known all our lives off the roofs of the city bankers/ break in the windows, burn all the documents/Rich daddy's boys!" -- now though his buddy has become an energy drain, a nuisance who is more trouble than the nostalgia is worth. Like many drunk-dialers he's gripped by the wanderlust and when the bars are closed, he picks up the phone to continue the adventure, "You only call me when you're drunk/Cursing down the phone, you can't stand being alone."

But for the guy who has yet to sever all connections to civilized society, it's time to hang up. He tells him, "Give all your sadness a last embrace/Turn up sober at my place, we'll talk about it face to face." And that's one call the drunken friend is unlikely to make.

Loud Music in Bars Linked to Increased Drinking: Health Files from the Drawer Marked 'Obvious'

The presence of a bunch of clipboard wielding scientists blocking access to the bar, is apparently not enough to dissuade people from drinking, according to a new study in which it was determined after much scrutiny of the data (and noting that the sky above is a shade of blue) that people tend to drink more where the music is louder.

Over the course of three weekends French researchers were able to marry work and pleasure by frittering away grant money on what is patently obvious to anyone who's ever sidled up to a bar and thought to themselves, 'you know what? this place would be a hell of a lot more fun if there was a live band, or at the very least, a stereo'.

According to researchers at the University of Southern Brittany, 'environmental music played in a bar is associated with an increase in drinking', and while we're not sure what this means exactly, it might refer to Al Gore sitting in with the house band playing a carbon negative stand up bass.

Now, we've done comparable research ourselves, but had to fund it out of pocket and call it a tab when we came up with our Top 10 Bar Songs of All Time, a list which we highly recommend. And if you're ever in a bar where a bunch of eggheads are trying to spoil your good time, buy 'em a round and crank these to oblivion.

Shark-Bite DVD Review: Iron Man -- Dean Martin meets the Transformers

The appeal of comic books is, of course, in the escape they offer their readers. You might be some nerd who spends the first period of every high school day shouting for your freedom from the locker that bullies stuffed you in, but hey, Peter Parker was a dweeb too before a spider bit him and the resulting mutant powers from that incident gave him the ability to climb walls and swing pretty girls from building to building. You may be some brooding, miserable slob who’s lived in your mother’s basement for longer than society would deem seemly, but Bruce Wayne spends a lot of time in his basement and could also stand some cheering up, and look at all the cool stuff he does as Batman. Many comics offer their reader heroes that are troubled in some way that a teen can relate to -- the socially useless who become unbelievably heroic via their alter egos.

“Iron Man” is a different kind of comic book hero, and is played by Robert Downey Jr. a different kind of actor from the type we’d expect to see fronting a blockbuster. We know from the moment the film opens with Downey, as Tony Stark, motoring down an Afghan highway in a Humvee, with a highball in his hand and the AC/DC blasting that we’re in for a movie that is miles apart from a tale of a nerd getting revenge on that muscle freak who kicked his sand in his face on the beach. We’re in for a rock and roll good time, and that is certainly what the film delivers.

For those unfamiliar with the “Iron Man” story, the central character is Tony Stark, a weapons manufacturer and one hell of a fun guy. He is labeled a “Merchant of Death”, but he seems to be far more of a charmer than Viktor Bout, ending up, as he does, in bed with the female reporter who gives him the moniker shortly after she does so.

He’s more or less casual about his war profiteering, is a genius and seems to enjoy the tech side of blowing stuff up, and, perhaps most importantly, being rich enough to have his own private plane complete with stewardesses who know where the sake is kept and double as pole-dancers once it’s been served.

Stark takes that plane to Afghanistan where he shows American generals Stark Industries’ latest piece of scorched-earth war machinery the “Jericho” missile. Shortly after firing one off into the – hopefully unoccupied – mountains, Stark is on his way back to the army base when his convoy is ambushed and he is shot. He survives, but the tribe that captured him wants him to construct a “Jericho” for their nefarious purposes.

Stark has different plans, and he and his cellmate Yinsen put together the first crude Iron Man suit. Sleeker and benefiting from better paint jobs though the latter suits might be, the spectacle of the first is hard to top: Iron Man makes his screen debut all clanking metal amid heavy guitars and proceeds to flambé every bad guy in the camp.

Once out of Afghanistan, Stark has a change of heart about the evil weapons business. He wants to make love err… Well he does not want to make war. This launches Jeff Bridges, who plays Tony’s right-hand man at Stark Industries the wonderfully named Obadiah Stane, in from the background.

Given the press surrounding this film, it will probably not be revealing too much to say that Bridges plays the heavy in this one, and he plays it well, a swaggering, cigar-chomping industrialist who’d strap his own grandma to a warhead if it meant some more filthy lucre for the pile.

The villains in this type of movie, most of the time, end up being far more interesting than the heroes they torment; who would you rather hang around with for an evening’s drinks (provided your death was not on the menu) – lunatic billionaire Lex Luthor or Clark Kent? What makes “Iron Man” so much fun is that both hero and villain are equally entertaining and played by great actors who are willing to jump into their scenes with enthusiasm, as if they want to do more than just offset the scenes where things get smashed. Likewise, Gwyneth Paltrow, playing a character whose name is the only clear sign of the comic book’s 60s origins, “Pepper Potts”, brings a human touch to a role that could have been pure camp.

We’re in for a long summer of superheroes, and for some inexplicable reason it’s been decided that another “Incredible Hulk” movie is necessary (One more time that we’ll get to here those immortal words, “HULK!?! HULK, HIM SMASH! Editor's Note: For an excellent review of The Incredible Hulk, click here) and there’s the better film prospect of another in Christopher Nolan’s Batman series. But I doubt we’re in for another like this one. There are genre standards in this one – the trial and error scenes, for example, in which new powers get tested, causing significant structural damage to buildings, and, it would appear in this case, killing without remark passersby via traffic incidents – but what we’re left with is unique among the genre: a film for the guys in high school who missed first period not because of bullies, but because they were too hungover from partying the night before.

Noel. Bangkok

Click here for more superhero fun.

Beer Couture: Top 10 Suds Fashion Duds

For those whose "Sunday Best" refers to what's worn at the Piggly Wiggly cashing in those cheesy nacho Hamburger Helper coupons, here are a few beer-themed sartorial suggestions you can run by the missus as she lights a Vantage Ultra Light off the propane barbecue and kicks back in a hammock.

Now, we've chronicled all manner of drunken exploit in our book, The Man Who Scared a Shark to Death and Other True Tales of Drunken Debauchery, from leaping into a stark and stingray-filled aquarium drunk on a bet (the title story) to trying to beat a DUI rap by handing the cops ID belonging to a guy with a glass eye and hoping they wouldn't notice. Our guess is, the type of person who'd get up to such hijinks would undoubtedly have a drawer filled with garments like the ones we're showcasing here that the wife would most certainly try and shrink in the wash or sneak off to a church clothing drive when her man is out of town.

For a night on the town blinding a biker with your pool cue's butt end, beating the snot out of a motel ice machine, and kicking up dust at the state police, nothing says 'I'm not to be messed with' like a good ol' 1) Classic Beer T or Tank Top. If you're the adventurous type, it comes complete with double entendre seen here.

How do you establish territorial boundaries and also alert people to the fact that your name is Dick, and you drink beer? The answer is to the left, though technically the T would make more sense if it were on the actual beer, like a beer cosy perhaps. If you receive this as a gift and your name is not Dick, it's probably best that you reconsider the nature of your association with the person doing the giving. To the right, we have the kind of T-shirt that is a must for anyone who has ever worked out for longer than one week. What use is having the big guns unless you wear one of these to show them off? There is no point in lifting weights, or even in breaking a sweat, unless you have the kind of clothing that can reveal your efforts to the outside world.
[Fashion Suggestion: Best paired with an undergarment of some kind, though for the girl who is looking for instant popularity this is completely optional.]

2. The Coors Draw String Pant. Elegant, stylish, these are words that are never mentioned in conjunction with this item. A comfy expandable elastic waistband, means you're limited only by how many Hardee's Thickburgers can be forced down your gullet and by how many negative triglycerides readings come back from the lab that you choose to ignore before that tingling sensation in your arm gets too worrisome. [Fashion Suggestion: Pair with a sleeveless Stone Cold Steve Austin 3:16 T, Crocs, a frog doing something sexually suggestive tank top or bare-chested if you have errands to run and drive a jeep]




3. Budweiser Tie. For more official gatherings, like say the christening of the neighbor's riding mower, the burying of a beloved family pet or a sentencing hearing, you can get the gavel banger to at least chuckle at your official Budweiser Tie before sending you straight up the river without a raft. Whether such bold haberdashery really constitutes throwing yourself on the mercy of the court (or just a cheap ploy to beat that Oxycontin possession/indecent exposure rap) is up to legal interpretation.








4. King of Beers One-piece/Corona Bikini Top. For a more tasteful statement, such as a backyard grill-off where the neighbor's leering nephews are present, here's a two-piece, left. For wrestling in wet lettuce/impromptu Playboy Mansion badminton, to the right is a sassier version once those same kids turn 17. [Corrupting a minor charges vary according to state]




5. The 'Got Beer?' Combination Belt/Bottle Opener.
Who says style can't be functional? Give your back molars a rest as this versatile product will pop open bottles, hold up your pants, and if a rumble breaks out, you're an arm and a 38 waist's length away from being able to reach out and flog someone.





6. The Beer Belly Pouch Best accessorized with a Corona Draw String Pant if you're asymptomatic after that gastric bypass. With specs including an 80 ounce capacity and able to accommodate up to a 40-inch waistline, this product will fit at least one third of the target demographic. For a similar product we've reviewed here, click [Fashion Suggestion: For special occasions like staff meetings, sales presentations, wear a collared buttoned shirt over top, feed the drinking tube through the sleeve and surreptitiously sip from the wrist. This only applies if you're not the one conducting either meeting, unless you want to call a five minute recess to take a few swigs in the office's handicapped bathroom]


7. Miller Lite Thong Floss that 'junk in your trunk' and show your significant other that your tastes in the boudoir correspond to the case of junk you just stashed in the trunk.







8. Budweiser Beer Hat. Protect yourself from UV radiation, skin damage, good taste and the company of womenfolk with this bona fide Budweiser Beer Hat. Also, prevent sustaining any further head injury of the type that would result in the decision to sport this anywhere beyond the backyard (where it should only be donned if there is a sufficiently tall hedge) or the local laughing academy, where unfortunately, all such beverages would immediately be confiscated.




9. St Paddy's Socks Celebrate St Patrick's Day all year round with St Paddy's Day Commemorative Socks. I don't know about you, but we feel green just looking at them.










10. Pints of Beer Cuff Links. For your first time wearing cuff links, take your cue from the tone of the event you're to attend and what others will be wearing. If those people are completely and wholly unreliable, create a stir with your very own Pints of Beer Cuff Links [Fashion Suggestion: Wow the VIP section of your local Tough Man Contest with these beauties]

Sleeping it off in Seattle: Drunk Attacks Cafe Manager with Fireworks and Headbutt

Having not ever set foot in the place, we've familiarized ourselves with Seattle through Conan O'Brien, who had two guys in tower costumes, one representing the Space Needle and the other the larger CN Tower (both since dwarfed by a monolith in Dubai, leaving our fair cities feeling hopelessly inadequate) duke it out.

We've also learned quite a bit from the sitcom Frasier and though it was filmed in its entirety at a Paramount Studios sound stage, we feel that it's given us a pretty good idea as to what the city is all about. Besides, there was one episode, season 5 we believe, that was filmed there and though we didn't see it, it was probably a solid one.

[Editor's aside: It's a little known fact that Shelly Long did not care much for the Frasier character, and initially wanted him ousted from the show---Cheers that is, she wasn't holding a long-term grudge against him on his own show as her career took a nosedive from Space Needle-like heights]

Seattle, to the best of our knowledge is a lovely place. So lovely, in fact, that we've even agreed to promote our book The Man Who Scared a Shark to Death and Other True Tales of Drunken Debauchery on one of their radio stations, marking our very first public appearance in the US of A!

[Editor's second aside: Special thanks to the posterior-kicking KISW, 99.9 FM, the very same station that, according to some random drunk warbling Livin' on Tulsa Time in a local karaoke bar, helped launch Nirvana and since we have no way whatsoever to confirm whether this is true, have to take him at his word]

Seattle, fortuitously, has come across our radar this week, as one of our parade of ornery, staggering pisstanks calls the Emerald City home.

According to the Seattle PI, which sounds like a failed Magnum PI spin-off without the glamorous Italian automobiles, reports that a man was refused entry to Cafe Amore recently. Not getting any 'love' at this cafe 'when the world seemed to shine like he'd had too much wine' the guy made several failed attempts to sneak by.

When these attempts failed miserably, the guy returned with a Roman candle [Editor's third and final aside: Did you hear about the happy Roman? He was glad he ate her] and struggled with the manager, who tried to wrest the firework from his hand, during which point the drunk head-butted him.

Next time make a reservation, and if the calamari are rubbery, THEN resort to head-butting.

See you soon Pacific Northwest!!!

Tune into KISW Thursday, July 17th at 4:30 PT, 7:30 EST. [Those left coasters are so laid back, they're 3 hours behind us]

25 Horrible Bands Named after Places: Music from Hell and Elsewhere

Much like hypertension or obesity are predictors for cardiovascular disease, geography is a measure for determining whether a band's music will make you want to cover your ears.

Before you start penning a terse letter to your city councilor, we're not referring specifically to where a band might be from, but one whose name is geographic in origin.

Now, there is no question, there are a handful of talented place-derived bands in genres other than rock/pop. These include punk bands UK Subs, New York Dolls and MC5, soul bands like the Sugarhill Gang and the Ohio Players, not to mention traditional acts like the Blind Boys of Alabama or the Clinch Mountain Boys. However, with few exceptions, the vast majority of rock/pop bands at least, whose names reference a particular place are overwhelmingly and unspeakably awful.

There are several reasons for this. First, if you're feeling less than creative when coming up with a band name, say, Julius & the Epileptic Caesars is already taken, the first thing that may spring to mind after a failed bid by the drummer to name the band after himself (The Tommy Hitzenberger Three), is a particular land mass or continent---especially if you were excited about tectonic plates in high school geography class.


Second, some bands are filled with a great sense of civic pride. The Doors, for example, whose version of Alabama Song received kudos in our Top 10 'Bar' Songs of All Time would famously be introduced: 'From Los Angeles, California, the Doors'. If an announcer isn't available, or for some reason your band doesn't believe in loosening up a potentially hostile crowd with whimsical banter, naming yourselves after a particular city works as this removes any doubt as to where you're from for future 'why don't you go back to __________ ?' heckling.

And thirdly, there are several bands, who for whatever reason, likely because they're fond of anything and everything ironic [see the book/site, Stuff White People Like: The Definitive Guide to the Unique Taste of Millions and for Sharkguy Chris's review of said book in this past weekend's Globe and Mail click here] go out of their way to name themselves after somewhere they're NOT from. Perhaps you'll find them on our next list, that is, if they have enough staying power and a big enough fan base to extend beyond Brooklyn or Chapel Hill.

Here, alphabetically then, is an in no way definitive list, (as awful acts sporting geographic monikers are sprouting up literally everywhere as we write this), of 25 of the most notable, and quite horrendous bands with geographic names.

1. Alabama: Not coincidentally, as far as your ears are concerned, this band hails from Fort Payne and brought us Christian Rock-like crossover hits like Dixieland Delight, proving that a taste for piss-poor country translates to a lousy taste in MOR pop.

2. All Saints: after All Saints Road, London. Pure Brit blasphemy

3. America: Their songs have elevated people, but unfortunately only in the context of entering, and pressing your floor. America's big hit 'Horse with No Name' is often mis-attributed to Neil Young--a guy who'd never pen anything like this. I mean, what good is a horse going to do in the desert? That's what camels are for.

4. Asia: A wretched prog-rock outfit whose keyboards were so large they'd likely need to be hauled off by Hercules jets.

5. Backstreet Boys, after Back Street Market, a shopping area in Orlando, Florida. If you name your band after a shopping area, what more can be said, other than your tunes will provide musical accompaniment to mall teen loitering. As far as their Youtube videos are concerned, embedding has been disabled by request, and not by us either. A big thank you to whoever that was.

6. Bay City Rollers: According to legend, the Scottish 'Rollers' threw a dart at a map of the continental US and landed upon Bay City, Michigan. At least they really did put Bay City on the map.

7. Boston : Thankfully, a band that only puts out an album every decade. Right now, a radio station somewhere, is spinning More Than a Feeling and there's not a damn thing we can do about it, though we've mulled over every legal option.

8. Bush, after Shepherd's Bush, a district of London. The best thing this moribund outfit did, was attach itself by marriage to a successful one, Gwen Stafani/No Doubt

9. Chicago, after the city of Chicago (originally Chicago Transit Authority). Touted for their musicianship, horn section, as well as their consummate blandness, Chicago is one of the longest running and most successful U.S. pop/rock and roll groups of all time, something more difficult to grasp conceptually, than String Theory.

10. Chilliwack, after the town of Chilliwack in British Columbia, Canada. Their song 'My Girl', is not even among the top ten best songs called 'My Girl'. They've been 'gone gone gone so long' and hopefully there aren't any signs of an imminent return.

11. Danzig is the German name for the Polish city of Gdańsk, though the band got its name by way of Glenn Danzig. Either way, drift your eyes left, and you'll get a pretty good indication of what you're dealing with.

12. Europe was a living, breathing and sucking embodiment of the phrase 'all sizzle, no steak', and the sizzle in question here was hardly enough to start even a modest grease fire, however striking a match anywhere near any of the band members' noggins might have.

13. Hedley, after the town of Hedley, British Columbia, Canada. Hedley is one of the countless acts featuring songs under 3 minutes, lots of screaming, Major Key power chords, a bunch of skinny guys, spiky hair, tattoos, wallets on chains, and other signifiers of North American suburbia.

14. Kansas: Kansas is known for two epics, Carry on My Wayward Son and Dust in the Wind, that are no doubt being cranked to oblivion in an El Camino right now, somewhere between northern Maine and southern California, with air guitar accompaniment.

15. Linkin Park, after a park (now known as Christine Reed Park) in Santa Monica, California (spelling was changed from Lincoln to Linkin because the domain name lincolnpark.com was unavailable). One of the many 90s bands who merged hip hop and metal, a musical marriage more doomed than the nuptials of Liza Minnelli and that overtly gay guy whose name escapes us.

16. London Beat. When we listen to this, we can't help but think they deserve a good beat-ing. Actually, this could be its own category, as just about every band with London in its title is awful. Due to space restrictions, they're not listed here.

17. The Manhattan Transfer, after John Dos Passos's novel Manhattan Transfer, which is in turn named after the Manhattan Transfer train station in New York City, and this is all you need to know about them, trust us. Disclaimer: some really really bad dancing here

18. Marcy Playground, after the playground of Marcy Open School in Minneapolis. The band achieved success ten years ago with Sex & Candy, middling 90s Nirvana-lite, sans shotgun blast.

19. Mannheim Steamroller, Mannheim Germany. We almost hate to do this to you good people, who were kind enough to stop by and enjoy our list, but here it is. The Steamroller doing a rock instrumental version of 'Joy to the World'. One of us has been to Mannheim, a lovely city, and it pains us to see the musical atrocities committed in its name.

20. Miami Sound Machine. This band helped launch Gloria Estefan, but not in a good way, like out the window of a sufficiently tall building.

21. Nazareth, after the city of Nazareth. Famous for a vocalist, who, like Axl Rose of Guns 'n' Roses sounds like Edith from All in the Family, they were known for this ballad, which is uglier than twinned cow arses, Love Hurts. Listening to this, it's clear something hurts, though it isn't love. They're also known for choice lyrics:
Love is like a flame, It burns you when its hot

The above prompts the question, when is a flame not hot? Is there some aspect of fire we're missing here?

22. O-Town, after a common nickname for Orlando, Florida. Not to be confused with, the Big-O, an experience quite opposite to what you'd feel after having to endure any of this craptacular act's hits.

23. Rascal Flatts, after a geological formation in Oklahoma. Rascal Flatts is an embodiment of what country music, unfortunately, has become: your nouveau riche uncle who's moved out to the burbs and bought a speedboat that he likes to show off and needs musical accompaniment. Rascal Flatts are about as far removed from real country, as The Olive Garden is from a trattoria in Palermo.

24. Styx. Nitpickers might point out that this is a mythological place, but this doesn't take away from the fact that if there is a Day of Reckoning, these guys will have a lot to answer for, musically speaking. [see below]

25. The Village People, Greenwich Village, NYC. One good thing that can be said about them, is that unlike everyone else on this list, they never took themselves too seriously.

'Cover' your Ears! The 10 Worst Bon Jovi Cover Versions of All Time

Bon Jovi's baffling popularity has continued unabated for two decades now, as this weekend's Central Park concert shows, however in our minds, there is nobody more deserving of both a solid punt to the arse, or a safe dropped on them from a sufficient height, than these crap-rock poster boys, whose music is so middle of the road, their tour bus should have its own dedicated lane.

If only we could lace 'em up and kick 'em when they're down, but they're never down, churning out the same Springsteen-lite cacophony year after year.

To honor the band, and also in the spirit of celebrating the worst of everything, we've decided to put together a tribute, of sorts, to Bon Jovi, the world’s most famous Bruce Springsteen tribute band/wimp rock quartet.

Unlike some bands, the core group has remained relatively intact. This has enabled the Jersey boys with Swiss watch- like reliability, to consistently put out unspeakably awful music year after year.

The sole exception of course, the booting bass player Alec John Such (the 'soul' of the group in that he sported soul patch facial hair), because he ‘couldn’t play his instrument’—a requirement obviously forgotten as few of the remaining members actually know how to play theirs (with the exception being David Bryan, the band’s keyboard player, who actually trained at the Juilliard School of Music, and judging by his current gig tickling the ivories with the Jersey dunder-heads, is about as overqualified as the 'Ice Man' Chuck Liddell doing security detail at a Girl Scouts Jamboree)



Their intrepid leader Jon Bon Jovi, of course, is Bruce Springsteen— if Bruce had a tin ear, Meg Ryan’s hairstylist, and penned gems like ‘Tomorrow's getting harder make no mistake, Luck ain't even lucky’ instead of great songs like Born to Run, Highway Patrolman or Thunder Road.

It is not hyperbole to say that BJ represents everything wrong with modern music, or at least, modern horticultural hair band music that became more bankrupt, creatively speaking, than Bear Stearns, and peaked around oh, 1987, unbeknownst to the band.

Bon Jovi is a church-basement rummage sale clearing house version of The Boss. Their ‘rock-lite’ is more sanitized than a trauma burn unit and their Forest Gump libretti induces more projectile vomiting than the elimination round at a chili eating contest. If this wasn't enough, and from our vantage point here it certainly is, their news anchor bobs will guarantee they’re a shoe-in for the next installment of ‘Old Men who Look Like Lesbians’.

The only thing worse than an actual Bon Jovi song, however, is Bon Jovi doing a version of someone else’s, automatically better original. Worse still, would be someone actually COVERING a Bon Jovi song, but to the best of our knowledge, the likelihood of this occurring is about as probable as a meteor the size of the state of New Jersey striking the earth.

Since their own music wasn’t bad enough, here is Bon Jovi doing what they do best—spilling their own REO Speedwagon / Journey / Three Dog Night / Springsteen-lite effluent on some of the world’s most well-beloved songs. Luckily for all concerned, these are so popular that nobody would mistake them for Bon Jovi originals and mislead any future generations. Here, in no particular order, because the pork rendering plant stench emanating from each, is indistinguishable from the other, is our 10 Worst Bon Jovi Covers of All Time:

10. Save the Last Dance for Me, Pomus and Shuman. Among the 'better' song on this list, only in the sense that it's better to have testicular cancer than say, lung. The presence of Willy Deville's voice means fewer verses for JBJ


9. You Were Always on My Mind Willie Nelson. Since his battle with the IRS, legendary Willie Nelson seems contractually obligated to work with just about anyone, and unfortunately this includes the Bon Jovi frontman


8. Rockin' in the Free World, Neil Young. This 'free world' musically speaking, is more like a police state run by a strong-armed military junta


7. Hallelujah, Leonard Cohen. The second piece of Canadiana desecrated by the Garden State purveyors of garden-variety pop rock, that neither pops nor rocks.


6. I Thank You, Hayes & Porter, as performed by Sam & Dave. Debasing the Stax Records legacy




5. Not Fade Away, Buddy Holly & Norman Petty, made famous by Buddy Holly & the Crickets. Contrary to the wishes of music fans, Bon Jovi have been living up to the title



4. Fever Eddie Cooley & John Davenport, made famous by Peggy Lee
A rectal thermometer would fail to detect any heat emanating from this lukewarm version.



3. Twist & Shout by Phil Medley & Bert Russell, made famous by the Isley Brothers and the Fab Four. If the Isley Brothers got wind of this, they'd commit fratricide.






2. Help by Lennon & McCartney. This is beyond 'Help'. If Paul McCartney heard this, he'd pummel Jon Bon with Heather Mills' peg leg

1. R.E.S.P.E.C.T. by Otis Redding, made famous by Aretha Franklin
Bon Jovi's ironic, disrespectful take on Redding's classic

Shark-Bite DVD Review: American Gangster -- a drive-by on common sense

There’s a scene not too far into “American Gangster” in which the eponymous gangster, Mr. Frank Lucas, played by Denzel Washington, is in Bangkok and outlining his plans to his contact here on how he wants to revolutionize the drug trade in New York. He wants to cut out the middleman and buy directly from the source – in this case, the Kuomintang operating out of the Golden Triangle (Thailand, even then, was known for its OEM work). This, his wide-eyed contact explains, would be impossible. Why getting the heroin at its source would require going into the deepest darkest jungles of Northern Thailand!

Sitting with a bottle of Singha in hand, amid the din of Bangkok street life (well the modern day filmed-in-Chiang-Mai representation), Lucas is not to be deterred and delivers one of the movie’s best lines: “I’m in the jungle. Look around. They’re eating roaches and whatever the hell that is.”

As fun as this scene and another brief one set in the Vietnam “R and R”-era or, more accurately by all accounts, the “I” and “I” (intoxication and intercourse)-era of New Phetchaburi Road are, especially for Bangkok viewers, the Southeast Asia drug connection, the logic of it, when considered, sets in a seed of doubt that only grows throughout the rest of this overlong, three-hour film.

It’s later revealed that Lucas arranged his drug shipments by having the contraband inserted into the body bags and caskets of US soldiers killed in the Vietnam War. Forget about the organizational complexity of pulling off something like that and the utter corruption it would require at every level of the process used to repatriate soldiers’ corpses, but isn’t there something just a bit too poetic about this deadly scourge (the strength of Lucas’s heroin was such that many users overdosed on it) entering the country via the hated Vietnam War? With grainy clips of Nixon and soldiers in Vietnam littered throughout the film, there seems to be a muddled political message in there somewhere and this method of drug delivery reinforces that with hammer-over-the-head subtlety.

As the Bangkok Post’s Alan Dawson wrote in a recent critique of the film, there is no proof whatsoever that the alleged “cadaver connection” ever existed. “A few people ‘remember’ it happened,” Dawson writes, “but a few equally credible people also remember they were terribly abused by aliens who abducted them to a neighboring galaxy.”

In actual fact, it was a serviceman named Ike Atkinson who pioneered the Southeast Asia-US drug circuit – Lucas was merely a fortunate buyer who profited heavily from the connection. Dawson sums up his critique by saying that “…right down to the ludicrous scene where Washington drives from the airport to New Petchaburi Road in a pedaled samlor, ‘American Gangster’ is very much fact-free.” (If, by some chance, Lucas did get a pedaled samlor from Don Meuang to Petchaburi Road, one hopes he tipped accordingly).

There’s no obligation for filmmakers to stick with historical facts when retelling a story, but these little flights of fancy begin to unravel the internal logic of the movie, and by the time the closing credits tell us that Lucas’s testimony helped put away three-quarters of New York Drug Enforcement Agents for corruption, we’re left smacking our heads in disbelief. With the possible exception of traffic police in the land of smiles, has there ever been a group of cops more prone to having their palms greased than that? Of course, this fact too appears to be have been made up.

There’s also something deeply unbelievable about Denzel Washington’s version of Frank Lucas. At one point he is in his neighborhood diner – it’s his usual hangout, as he is a folksy, down home sort of New York City gangster – and lecturing a country relative he’s brought in to help him in the drug trade on the importance of family, honesty and hard work. Is he an honest joe selling quality men’s footwear or a vicious gangster pushing heroin that is killing junkies all around town?

The real Frank Lucas, as seen in press for the film, is a course-sounding guy from South Carolina, who pipes up mainly whenever an opportunity arises to inflate his own reputation. (The film likely worked gangbusters in that regard as in real life Lucas’s testimony did put away several drug dealers and one could assume that snitches don’t get much street cred). He bears no resemblance to the refined and noble version of him played by Washington. The performance that Washington gives bears many similarities to the one he gave in the equally bad – and for many of the same reasons – Norman Jewison film “The Hurricane.”

Filmmaker Ridley Scott puts the audience in an uncomfortable position by framing this one too in terms of race, even having Washington invoke the name of Martin Luther King at one point. He outsmarts the Italians, and goes where no black man has gone before in the history of the drug trade. Are we to cheer on Lucas for his successes in hustling heroin, as if we were watching the Jackie Robinson story?

There are certainly enough gangster-movie clichés in this film to give Coppala and Scorsese a run for their money, including the cursory involvement of a long-suffering wife drawn in by the glitz and glamour of her husband’s riches, but left weeping as their castle in the sky falls to shit. How dull and overdone – at least Carmela Soprano had a movie club and some hobbies.

There is another major portion of this movie that features Russell Crowe, giving a far better performance than that offered by Washington, in the role of Detective Ritchie Roberts, the man who would ultimately bring Frank Lucas down. He is an unapologetically straight cop, but without the noble bearing and pretence of the Washington character. When he’s in divorce court for a hearing on custody rights for his kid, for example, he leans over to his female attorney and suggests that they make good use out of an upstairs interrogation room he knows about.

But those welcome bits of character and Crowe’s performance are not enough to save “American Gangster” from its portrayal of Lucas and the damage done by the cock-eyed story it tells. This is the kind of movie that must have looked great on paper. With its two Oscar-winning stars and director and an album released concurrently by Jay-Z to hype it even further, its backers must have surely seen themselves uncorking the bubbly at this year’s Academy Awards. But with two nominations, and minor ones at that, the “American Gangster” table won’t be that festive. It fell apart in the details – from the samlor ride into Bangkok on.

Noel, Bangkok

Shark-Bite Movie Review: Hancock -- A Few 40 ouncers short of a party

In Bangkok, we get the kind of movies that Ignatius Reilly, the hero of John Kennedy Toole’s “A Confederacy of Dunces” used to relish going to see – the kind that were so terrible they would provide him with ample material, for the mocking running commentaries ("A negation of all human qualities") he enjoyed loudly voicing while watching them in public.

It’s an oft-heard refrain here – particularly oft-heard if you’re in conversation with this writer after his editor kindly reminds him deadline IS TOMORROW – that 90 percent of the Hollywood films that are released in Bangkok are pure crapole, but the truth of that statement doesn’t lessen with repetition. And here I’m not talking about the output from that Thai comedy troupe who turns every third film made in this country into a mess of whoopee-cushion-like sound effects and different takes on the “why transvestites are hilarious” theme, but rather the stuff that’s put out so studios can make back the millions they spent financing a movie that will be remarkable in 25 years only for how infrequently it is the subject of any remarks (and they also need to distribute internationally so stars like Will Smith can flirt with cute reporters while on international promotional tours).

That Hollywood blockbusters need to recoup the third-world debt-like sums that it costs to make them explains why when looking at what movie to check out at my local theater in eastern Bangkok, my very best option was a film like “Hancock” – which I would otherwise have only seen while trapped on an airplane* or if I were incarcerated and this was all that was being shown on movie night.

[*Editor's note: For our list of the Top 10 Actors Guaranteed to Ruin your Transatlantic Flight, click here]

The premise for the movie is promising and has some great satirical potential. Hancock does what Superman does, but whereas Superman is free to zip around skies that seem to have been cleared specifically for him, Hancock kills birds in mid-air collisions and has to dodge planes. What’s more, unlike Clark Kent – a character with the piercing depth of a carp – Hancock is a brooder, he hangs around in cheap bars, and when one woman remarks that she can smell booze on his breath, gets pissed off, “That’s because I’ve been drinking, bitch!” After the movie’s opening act, you get the mistaken impression that the whole film might be about a superhero with the disposition and bonhomie of a morning after Charles Bukowski.

We meet Hancock as he’s sleeping off a hangover on a park bench. Bullets bounce off him, he survives having a mack truck dumped on his head, but his superpowers do not extend to hangovers – cheap whiskey, it would appear, is this man’s kryptonite.

When Hancock stops a gang of street toughs from shooting up the freeway, he’s not troubled by hero-worship. If you’re a taxpayer forced to foot the bill to have a bad guys’ car removed from the spire of the Capital Records building, you might be less than appreciative of Hancock’s efforts. Later, he rescues a man whose car is stuck in the path of an oncoming train. He does this by slamming his fist into the oncoming train and causing a wreck. Rather than being applauded for saving the life of a stranger, he’s heckled: “Why didn’t you carry the car up and away rather than stopping the train with your fist?”, he’s asked.

Jason Bateman plays Ray Embry, the guy he rescues from the oncoming train. To pay Hancock back for saving his life, Embry offers him the only thing he can – unsolicited PR advice. He suggests that the first step towards Hancock improving his image would be to answer the countless subpoenas out there for him and actually serve some time in jail once he’s convicted. Hancock does this and the filmmakers get some comedic mileage out of a jail sequence – the prisoners, all of whom Hancock put there, are still inexplicably of the impression that they could take him in a square-go and attempt to bully him in the tradition of welcomes given to all new prison arrivals. He makes them pay for it by using one man’s head and another man’s anus in a way that is probably funny to 14-year-olds, but anatomically hard to believe.

After “Juno”, a deserving entrant in the blog/book “Stuff White People Like”, Jason Bateman it would appear is the face of the white liberal whose heart is bleeding so profusely it no longer circulates anything to important arteries. He has a Woodstock poster in his house and basically he makes Al Gore look like the kind of guy who would pee in or otherwise foul the town water supply. Aside from one scene in which he takes an unexpected and highly welcome swipe at Bono, Ray Embry is a grating weenie. At one point in the movie, Hancock helps a giddily drunk – this guy doesn’t get drunk, he gets squiffy – Embry to his bedroom and after that it seems like Hancock might make a move on Bateman’s wife Mary, played by Charlize Theron. This scene was one of the few in recent memory in which I can actually recall wishing a cuckolding on a character in a film.

The film’s second half springs out of the tensions between Hancock and Mary, and, while it did have the element of surprise on its side, this was tempered by the fact that it this major plot turn was ludicrous, arbitrary and that it came at a point when I had long ago stopped caring about how this film was going to resolve itself.

What we’re left with is a good performance from Will Smith, he makes a good mean-whiskey drunk and that's no small compliment, and some fun goofs on the superhero genre – the best of these being Hancock’s attempt to save the life of a beached whale by flinging it back into the ocean... just his luck that a sailboat would be there to meet it at the landing point. Mostly though, it’s a movie with no concerted focus, one that starts out as fun satire and quickly degenerates into the very kind of film it was making fun of in the first place.

Vincent Ngo is credited with the screenplay and apparently it's been “in development” for the past 10 years. When the film came out, Ngo kept out of the spotlight, saying only that his Hancock money would be used to finance a school in Vietnam. The original script was given the unfortunate title, “Tonight He Comes”, (insert your filthy joke here and swap them with your friends) and reportedly was completely different from what went up on screen. Collider.com tells us though that this was not the case of Hollywood stomping a great artistic vision; their hilarious review of Ngo’s original script ran with the headline, “Original Hancock Script Approximately 9 Billion Times Worse than Hacky Studio Rewrite”.

What we're left with then is a film that was never that good. A fun idea and a solid premise that may have been turned into something satirical from start to finish, but one that's used up in the first half hour of the film. One imagines that Ignatius, him of the sensitive heart-valve, wouldn't have made it through this one.

Click here for a review of a movie that got the drunk superhero idea right.

Beer Pong Video Game Taps Teen Market

There are certain phrases that should be bookended by inverted commas, "Professional Psychic" being one of them. We'd previously thought "Beer Pong Industry", was another, until we ran afoul of one of the makers of a portable Beer Pong table, a slapped-together contrivance we took great delight in mocking until they gave us a stern reprimand. Don't be fooled by their insouciance, as much like the Freemasons, they mean business.

Beer pong, for the uninitiated, un-phased by all the innuendo-laden pics we've posted here, is like billiards if you had to drink a cup of beer every time your opponent sunk a shot, and risked sending pavement pizza all over the felt, and frankly, completely marring the game's inherent gentility (Snooker, that is, not 9-ball, where in less reputable taverns, someone sporting an eye-patch and a denim vest will hustle you out of a week's pay)

Played on a table tennis-like surface with plastic cups, Beer Pong involves sinking a plastic ball into one of your opponents' cups, forcing them to remove the cup from the table after the contents are consumed (typically mass-produced swill that Belgians wouldn't serve to their alcoholic dogs, but any beverage of your choice will do).

The first team that rids the other of their cups, as they get increasingly into them, is the winner, if by 'winner' you mean the team that doesn't immediately strip down to their skivvies, put their head through a glass door or otherwise make their parents resent forking over hard-earned mutual fund dollars so no-goodnick fruits of their loins could get the 'whole college experience'.

JV Games of Las Vegas, like the makers of Grand Theft Auto [click here] have stirred up a giant goulash soup of controversy with their new Beer Pong game for the Nintendo Wii (a game console that allows you to mimic popular sports, without having to go outdoors or have any discernible skill).

After objections from various state law-makers to the Entertainment Software Rating Board, JV Games has had to alter the name of the yet-to-be-released game, Beer Pong, (rated suitable for post tween future booze-hounds), to Pong Toss and is eliminating all references to alcohol, except for, it should be noted, 'Toss', or, for that matter 'Pong'.
Now, we can see the entire beer pong industry quaking in their soiled boots, as instead of drunken participants having to track down a custom table with a bikini-clad woman on it resembling the woman here (everything IS indeed bigger in Texas) for over $200, they can just play virtually, without having to clean up any spills that aren't internally generated.

For anyone who is interested in pursuing this further, the good folks at 'Webtender' have a handy list of Drinking Games (and are not responsible for any related stomach pumpings), which they'll no doubt update once Pong Toss takes the gaming and heavy college drinking worlds by storm.

Of course, detractors of the Grand Theft Auto series will tell you that while the video game is fun and all, nothing can compare with the thrill of actually staging a carjacking or committing vehicular homicide, and the same is no doubt true with Beer Pong, or Flip Cup as it's known to the guys staging the largest tournament of its kind ever in the US in October.

The Flip Cup Guys contacted us about the event, which will take place on October 11, 2008 at the M1-5 Bar and Lounge in New York City and will feature 64 six-player teams and, presumably, an army of mops at the ready. That they also mention "open beer bar specials" means that there is a possibility of a Shark Guy showing up.

Check it out and get yourself registered early at: www.FlipCupGuys.com!

Churchies Ruin Pub: 'Barstool Prophets' Send 'Em Running

“I must point out that my rule of life prescribed as an absolutely sacred rite smoking cigars and also the drinking of alcohol before, after, and if need be during all meals and in the intervals between them."

Winston Churchill during a lunch with the Arab leader Ibn Saud, when he heard that the king's religion forbade smoking and drinking.

Back in April, we brought you the story of an Ohio preacher who noticed that attendance was flagging at his church and wanted to bring the good word to the people in the place they would be most ready, or at least well-lubricated enough, to receive it: the local pub. That preacher booked a pub for a few hours a week and held a service on Sunday evenings.

Presumably there was a sign outside the bar: Thursday: All-you-can-eat shellfish, Friday: Hits-of-World-War-II-themed karaoke. Saturday: Disgraced teen-star look-alike contest Sunday: Vespers with the Electric Padre. Barflies knew what was going on at the pub on Sundays and could choose whether or not they wanted to participate, thus those who weren't interested would be spared that most dreaded of all pub conversations -- the one that begins "A certain somebody died for your sins. I'll give you three guesses."

There is that approach, the odd but restrained kind, and then there's what a couple of Charlie Churches in the UK did to nearly sink a pub that had been going strong for over 30 years. The couple took over the bar promising that they would make it a place where a couple of women could "come into the pub, buy a bottle of wine and feel comfortable drinking it."

By that they meant, "a place where Ned and Maude Flanders could walk into a bar, school the assembled on the immorality of drink, and their sons Rod and Todd could enjoy a round of a biblical boardgame." Stopping short of declaring prohibition, the couple banned horse racing, took down the dart board, and initiated a policy whereby anybody caught swearing faced a lifetime ban. And if that weren't enough, they ruined that most British of traditions, pub quiz night, by gearing the questions to biblical matters, ex. "Who had the most wives in the bible?" A) The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, B) King Solomon, C) Rashomon, D) 'D' is for the devil, who you will meet in hell soon enough you ignorant heathen.

If you've ever had the misfortune of finding yourself taken unawares by a proselytizing effort, you'll sympathize with the plight of these poor pubgoers who were seeing their local turn into the homebase for Brother Love's Traveling Salvation Show.

A smattering of their responses from the ABC report:

A 61-year-old regular at the pub: "Any swearing and you were barred. It was well over the top."

His more succint wife: "You can't run a pub and not swear. If they are Christians, they should run a church, not a bloody pub."

Another regular: "They should have built pews in here rather than chairs. I have no problem with their religion but ... a pub is a pub."

An elderly gentleman whose arse impression was worn into one of the stools: "Those two were almost the ruin of this place. They told everyone who swore once they would be banned. They barred people who had been coming here for 30-odd years."

While religion and drink have gone together ever since someone first figured out how to hide a whiskey flask in a hollowed-out bible, this particular mixing of the suds with the sacred threatened to bankrupt the bar. The pub's owners gave the couple their walking papers and hired a new manager. After being fired, the man and wife, apparently insane, barricaded themselves in the apartment above the bar with three of their six children.

It's all the same to the pubgoers though, as the new manager has returned the dart board to its former glory and put up a sign, "Swearing Now Allowed."

Happy 4th of July! The Shark Guys' Top 10 Shopping Guide for the Patriot Who Has Everything

We are both Canadian, as those who are close to us and those who update our driver's licenses every 10 years know (these two groups are, for now, mutually exclusive... but we're working on buttering up a few of the people who give the eyesight test).

However, we have enjoyed numerous benders throughout the United States, most memorably in New Orleans, Nashville and New York City (Doc Holliday's currently has a plaque by our barstools which we visit on occasion to spit shine), California, and a fair number of ports of call in between. The vast majority of the stories in our book, "The Man Who Scared a Shark to Death and Other True Tales of Drunken Debauchery" took place in the USA and, while that might not be something that McCain or Obama would mention in patriotic speeches while campaigning, it is something that we greatly appreciate.

As such, we'd like to extend our wishes for a happy fourth of July to our American friends, and, going that one step further, we'd also like to offer a gift of sorts on this auspicious day, a Shark Guys look at The Top 10 Fourth of July party gear. It may be too late for this merch to brighten up this Fourth of July, but as with Christmas lights on the house in June, it's never too early to get ready for an upcoming holiday even if it's months off. So here it is...

The Shark Guys guide to Fourth of July Party Gear!

1) Stars and Stripes Guitar-Shaped Belt-Buckle and Bottle Opener: This product, which can be yours for the low-low price of $15.99, is quite possibly the greatest patriotic item in the history of mankind. Are we exaggerating? Short answer: No. This is for the patriotic citizen who is looking to spend his Independence Day kicking ass and chewing bubblegum, but who suddenly finds himself lacking completely in bubble gum. Not only is this item rock n' roll by its very shape -- tell us you don't think of Jimi Hendrix's version of the Star Spangled Banner when you clock your eyes on to that -- but it's also an extremely versatile product. First it will help hold up your pants, and if you're going to be cutting loose on the dance floor this Independence Day, that's a mighty important thing. Two, you can open your beers on it. What's more, you can make friends, and possibly win a future wife, by letting others open their beers on your belt. Of course, any bar where belt-buckles like this are the norm might be the kind of place where a broken nose and a fist-fight are part of the floor show. That is where it's third use comes in: as a weapon. What better way to celebrate your country's birthday then by leaving the impression of Ole' Glory on some idiot's forehead?

2) American Flag-themed rolling papers: While marijuana is still illegal under US federal law, several states have decriminalized in it. In California, you can get a medical permit to access enough of the stuff to make Snoop Dogg want to throw up from the smell. Celebrate the great freedoms in the US that only promise to get greater as the decriminalization of pot continues by sparking up an Independence Day joint that is the size of Shaq's middle finger using these appropriately-themed rolling papers.

3) Budweiser American Eagle Beer-tap Handle: Frank Zappa once said "You can't be a real country unless you have a beer and an airline. It helps if you have some kind of a football team, or some nuclear weapons, but at the very least you need a beer."

America's beer (for now, until the takeover deal with Belgian mega-brewer Inbev goes through), and a surprisingly popular choice in Ireland where there is better beer (like Beamish) on offer, is Budweiser. We cannot trash talk this brew too too much as we have our own similarly shite beers in Canada, thank you Messers Molson and Labatt. This ornamental beer tap however can be put on any sort of brew and you can put a piece of masking tape over the Budweiser name. Drinking draft beer is about the most pleasantly patriotic thing we can think of doing, and what better way to do that then by tapping the symbol of American freedom, and the motif for many a bad tattoo, the bald eagle.

4) Story of the American Revolution Beer Stein: You've sat through hours of history class in school and made a concerted effort to forget what you were learning the moment it hit your ears. You watched the HBO John Adams miniseries and enjoyed it, but couldn't reconcile one of your founding fathers being played by that guy from Sideways who slurped wine out of a McDonald's super-sized cup. So how do you keep up with a conversation on patriotism and the American tradition on this auspicious day? By guzzling beer from one of these handsomely decorated beer steins. Running along the sides of the beer steins are four of the most important battles of the revolutionary war -- the Battle of Bunker Hill, the Battle of Princeton, the Battles of Saratoga and the Siege of Yorktown. Remembering these four names and remarking, "Ah, it really gets to you when you think of the fine men who fought at [insert name of battle depending on position of stein at the time of utterance]." If you're drinking with fellow patriots, and you are drinking in public (the latter unlikely unless you are the kind of guy who brings his own stein to the bar, in which case we salute you) someone may even buy you a round.

5) US Military Pool Cue Set: Americans may not have invented the game of billiards, but they have certainly produced some of its finest champions, invariably dubbed 'Fats' and they most definitely have made the best movies on the sport -- we're talking "The Hustler", not its inferior sequel which Martin Scorsese made to pay off creditors. The cues can be purchased separately and there is one each for the Army, Air Force, Marines, Navy, Coast Guard, and the U.S. Flag. This is the ideal way to support the troops on Independence Day, acknowledge the sacrifices made by past generations so that you could enjoy your present freedoms, and win 10 bucks by hustling some rube who thinks you can't play worth a damn.

6) Stars and Stripes Nunchucks: If you party the way you should be partying on Independence Day, chances are the neighbors are going to get upset. Raising a ruckus and getting all the neighborhood dogs howling in unison is what freedom is all about. The perfect gift for the Independence Day partier who lives on the wrong side of the tracks, these slick-looking nun chucks will most certainly club the nearest beat cop investigating a disturbance into quick submission. They have "don't tread on me" written all over them. It is recommended when rapping someone across the knees with these babies that you say something along the lines of "And that, came from the good ole' U, S, of A".


7) Old Glory Surgical Cap: While in revolutionary times, it's unlikely to have been donned while lopping off a gangrenous limb, you can perform impromptu living room gallbladder removals or, if you're actually a saw bones, atrial septal defect repair in the more sanitary confines of a surgical suite, while winking at the surgical nurses who'd no doubt delight in your youthful exuberance.



8) Stars & Stripes Guitar Pick Earrings. Have you ever been at a party where you're asked to rock out on someone's axe, and you demur with a 'uh, I don't have a pick?' (or even a Mexican peso, famously played by Billy Gibbons of ZZ Top) Well, now you don't have to empty out lint-riddled pockets with your very own, guitar pick earrings. Also works well with Hendrix, playing-guitar-behind-your-head impressions [for a quick tutorial, check out this portly fellow]



9) Red, White and Blue Cat Collar: Make Fluffy easier to find if she makes a mad dash for freedom.





10) A Hat That Will Give you a Standing Ovation: This item speaks for itself, as does the pained expression on the model's face, who looks like she's being asked to 'pull my finger' rather than the string that makes the hands clap.

HAPPY FOURTH AMERICA!

Da Nose Knows! The Top 10 Cocaine Songs of All Time (Part Two)

As we noted in Part One of our Top Cocaine Songs of All Time list, North American productivity would roughly equal that of South Korea if the economy comprised a completely coked out workforce.

The link between nose candy and enhanced productivity was also noted by rock stars of the 1970s, who quite correctly observed that there were only so many hours in the day for bedding groupies, sleeping off an all-nighter, and still managing to stand upright for a few hours while in a recording studio (pianists were exempt from this and could stretch out on their benches during long guitar solos).

With hourly rates for such facilities often costing in the neighborhood of a small to mid-sized sedan and producers with extraordinarily busy schedules (in that there were only so many hours in the day to bed the groupies rock stars passed over), it became imperative for these bands to maximize the time spent in a recording studio so that the 45 consecutive minutes of strumming that F chord just right with a conga back beat could be captured for posterity.

With such a hectic schedule, it's no wonder why many rock stars of the 70s (and right up to the present day), spent their on and off hours planting their kissers in powder. Notably, Steven Tyler and Joe Perry of Aerosmith became known as "The Toxic Twins", not because they were born in Buffalo's Love Canal area, but because their proboscis suctioning rivaled that of your average centrally installed vacuum. [For those curious about just how bad a performer can stink when he straightens out, click here for a sober Mr Tyler yelping his way like a Russian sled dog, through 'Amazing Grace' at a Detroit church].

Candy Cane became the key that unlocked creativity's gates, which some musicians found slammed shut as soon as they went straight, most notably, everyone we've mentioned here. Now, we bring you, the Top Five Cocaine Songs of All Time -- tunes that celebrate the white stuff not referenced on the Weather Channel, and promote the kind of lifestyle that ensured Studio 54 was never late with its rent check.

5) "Casey Jones" and "Truckin", by the Grateful Dead: These Dead songs casually mention cocaine use as part of the average work day for those in two occupations -- a train conductor and a trucker -- and we're hoping this was more fantasy than fiction. Truckers are already not the kind of people that most like to share the road with -- their egos being inflated in proportion to their rigs and requiring no further boost from chemicals. Cocaine use might, however, explain, how train conductors can crash something that sets out on a predetermined track.The Dead themselves were no strangers to being intoxicated in transit, having landed themselves on our equally controversial list "The Top 10 Drinking and Driving Songs of All Time" with their line "She takes the wheel when I'm seein' double, pays my ticket, when I speed'. The 'livin' on reds, vitamin C and cocaine" lifestyle is unlikely to feature prominently in the health and wellness section of your local bookstore alongside "You: On a Diet", or "Train your Brain to Think like a Thin Person".

“Driving that train, high on cocaine,
Casey Jones is ready, watch your speed.”

"Livin' on reds, vitamin C, and cocaine
All a friend can say is ain't it a shame?"



4) "Can't You Hear Me Knockin'", "Sister Morphine", and "Moonlight Mile", (basically the entire "Sticky Fingers" album) by the Rolling Stones: Pound for pound, or more accurately, ounce for ounce, "Sticky Fingers" is one of the most drug-addled albums ever released, with nearly half of the songs on it in some way referencing drugs either obliquely, or quite explicitly with heroin in Dead Flowers, morphine in Sister Morphine, or singing the praises of a nighttime bump in Moonlight Mile. Sticky Fingers, along with Neil Young's "Tonight's the Night" are among the most depressing albums of the 1970s, and together make the Tom Waits song catalog sound like the collected works of the Village People by comparison.

"Yeah, you got satin shoes
Yeah, you got plastic boots
Ya'll got cocaine eyes
Yeah, you got speed-freak jive"

"Sweet cousin cocaine, lay your cool cool hand on my head
Ah, come on, sister morphine, you better make up my bed"

"When the wind blows and the rain feels cold with a head full of snow, with a head full of snow"

3) Cocaine Blues (traditional, composed by Reverend Gary Davis, as performed by Bob Dylan): There are numerous songs out there that go by the name "Cocaine Blues" or a variation thereof, presumably because there was no shortage of real-life material on which to base such ditties. We're slotting two of the more prominent in our third and second spots. The first is a "traditional" song, which means that it's public domain and can therefore be burned, photocopied, recorded, dubbed over, mixed with farm animal sounds, and played over and over again on the street corner to the annoyance of everyone within 100 yards (public noise ordinances notwithstanding) -- all with copyright-infringement impunity. The Reverend Gary Davis, who, unlike Brother Horton Heat earlier in the list, actually was an ordained minister, laid down the definitive version of this one, and a young Bob Dylan added it to his repertoire. This version takes us through some of the less pleasant aspects of cocaine use -- hence the "blues" part -- including:

Any pretense to romance going out the window:

You take Sally, an’ I’ll take Sue,
Ain't nah difference between the two.
Cocaine all around my brain.

Unpleasant physical effects:

Hey baby, you better come here quick,
This old cocaine ‘bout to make me sick.
Cocaine all around my brain.

And one quite bizarre veterinary notion:

Cocaine's for horses and it's not for men,
Doctor said it kill you, but he didn’t say when.
Cocaine all around my brain.

2) Cocaine Blues, (traditional, as performed by Johnny Cash): The second of our public domain songs (go ahead and record this one on YouTube using a butt kazoo and a ukulele for all the record companies care) was first known by the far more ominous sounding name "Transfusion Blues", but popularized as Cocaine Blues by none other than the Man in Black (especially after Labor Day) Johnny Cash. This was one of the songs that Cash sang at Folsom Prison that no doubt had the guards ruining underwear while wondering whether they would soon have a riot on their hands. This super-charged song tells the story of Willie Lee, a "hack", which we presume means either a prison guard or cop, as a reporter for a schlock newspaper wouldn't be as cool, who takes a shot of cocaine and shoots his cheating woman down. He then flees to Mexico, but is apprehended, put before a jury of "12 honest men" and sentenced to "99 years in the Folsom Pen". By the end the convicted prisoner advises his fellows to stay off the cocaine, not to murder, mind you, but to avoid the cocaine; he seems ok about the murdering your wife part.

The judge he smiled as he picked up his pen
99 years in the Folsom pen
99 years underneath that ground
I can't forget the day I shot that bad bitch down
Come on you've gotta listen unto me
lay off that whiskey and let that cocaine be

1) "Cocaine", by J.J. Cale: Don't be fooled by Clapton's fatigued version, this gem penned by J.J. Cale (a man to whom Slow Hand arguably owes his entire career) is in our estimation, the definitive blizzard ditty. Clapton is quoted on Wikipedia as having once said that “Cocaine” is actually an anti-cocaine song. If you study it or look at it with a little bit of thought... from a distance... or as it goes by… it just sounds like a song about cocaine. But in actual fact, it is quite cleverly anti-cocaine.” Being that Clapton didn't write this song, this opinion is about as valuable as the answer you'd get if you asked the Byrds what they were thinking when they came up with "Mr. Tambourine Man". Defending his position, Clapton mentions the lyric, "If you wanna get down, down on the ground; cocaine" to demonstrate that the song is anti-coke. He doesn't mention though that every other lyric in the song could feature in the text of a Colombian drug-runner's spring/fall catalogue:

If you want to hang out, you've got to take her out, cocaine
She don't lie, she don't lie, she don't lie, cocaine
If you got bad news, you want to kick them blues, cocaine
When your day is done and you got to run, cocaine
She don't lie, she don't lie, she don't lie, cocaine
If your thing is gone and you want to ride on, cocaine
Dont forget this fact, you cant get it back, cocaine
She dont lie, she dont lie, she don't lie, cocaine

Honorable and Dishonorable Mentions:

As always with these lists, there were more contenders than there were places in the Top 10. Here we've selected some other songs that could just as easily have made it up with their nostril-thrilling brethren above. Since there are Kid Rock fans out there, and quite possibly a fan of the Libertines might still be drawing air, we will let you determine which of these deserves an honorable or dishonorable badge. Click on the title of the song for the YouTube link:

Never Change by Jay-Z

We run streets like drunks run street lights
We collidin' with life as we speak
We knee-deep in coke, we keep deep in ice
We flood streets with dope, we keep weed to smoke

Snowblind by Black Sabbath

What you get and what you see Things that don’t come easily Feeling happy in my vein Icicles within my brain (cocaine)

Cocaine by The Game

I got the cane and the O’s, dawg
I’m gangsta like Hennesy and Alizay, thug passion
Ride or die ‘til they kill me and put me in thug’s mansion

No Thing on Me (Cocaine Song) by Curtis Mayfield:

Twinkling twinkling grains
They do all sorts of things
While your inner mind is pleased
Your conscience is only teased...

What a Waster by The Libertines

So tell me, where does all the money go? Where does all the money go?
Straight, straight up her nose

Picture, Kid Rock:

Been fuellin' up on cocaine and whiskey
Wish I had a good girl to miss me

CLICK HERE FOR PART ONE OF THE TOP 10 COCAINE SONGS OF ALL TIME