It’s funny how things just sort of flow together. Like the post below inspired today’s drink. Black Magic is the drink of the day because, first and most importantly, I have all the ingredients. Second, the name fits the flow of things. The Black Magic is simple. Over ice, 1 shot of Vodka, half shot of Kahlua, dash of Lemon juice. Shake well and enjoy. An alternative method, I like for breakfast, in a mug add Vodka and Kahlua then top off with coffee. Mmmm!
If you’ve never checked out Webtender your missing it.
Glenn Reynolds is to Rush Limbaugh as Samantha Stevens is to Masturbation. Just some crazy analogy I’ve been thinking about lately. The Instapundit is the top dog of the Blogosphere while Rush is the king of talk radio. When Rush mentions someone or some story the effect ripples through the country. Instantaneously the person or news item becomes the talk of the day. The same can be said of Glenn Reynolds. Just one link and the entire Blogosphere hits that website. The term has been coined an Instalanche. Did Wizbang coin the phrase? I don’t know.
If you’ve never seen an episode of Bewitched, Samantha Stevens is a witch who married a mortal. Her husband, Darren, has forbidden her to use her witchcraft. Of course, she uses witchcraft. While watching this show the other day, I happen to notice some sort of guilty pleasure Sam experiences as she casts a spell. She always knows Darrin will forgive her. It’s kind of like the guilty pleasure received from masturbation. You know you just shouldn’t be doing it, (because it kills kittens), but it just feels so good. And if your caught, you know you’ll be forgiven. After all, it is natural for a witch to use magic and it is natural for a mortal to masturbate.
Which brings me back to Glenn and Rush. I receive a guilty pleasure from both. Clicking the mouse or clicking the tuner, I know I’ll get the best information and analysis. And that’s magic.
She stalks her prey. Sitting in a crouched position in the tall grass, the cat waits. Just as the cute little chipmunk scurries past, the pounce. Nabbed in action. But wait! Just because the trap has sprung doesn’t mean the game is over. Batted around like a furry pinball, the chipmunk scurries away only to be caught again and again. From paw to paw, mouth to paw, and back again. Finally… Death! The cat does not eat the slain animal. Death is a game to her. She kills for fun, for sport. Humans are not the only animals to kill for sport. Just look out into the backyard for the cat.
I like these quizzes. I always take them. I don’t always post the results. I like Homer Simpson so here are the results.
"Lisa, if you don't like your job, you don't strike. You just go in every day and do it really half-assed. That's the American way!" Well, you're really really lazy. You manage to get by, but you never put any effort into anything you do. You most likely enjoy watching TV, sleeping, eating, and doing stuff of the sort. Get active. You're a fat, lazy idiot.
I take the day off Blogging due to a splitting Headache and what happens? The Venomous one Links to me. Just Damn! I was going to post, but while reading the Blogrolls, I found Jay Solo’s post on sleeping 14 hours and just couldn’t resist. I forgot how much I enjoy sleeping.
As a young man, one of my favorite fantasies was to enjoy the ravages of a beautiful young woman. A woman more commonly known as a Nympho. I'm old, fat and married with kids now. Although my wife is young and beautiful, Nympho is not a word I'd use to describe her. So in honor of young men's fantasies, and old men's too, tonight's drink of the day is a Nympho. In your drink shaker, add ice, a shot of Grand Marnier, a half shot of Peach schnapps, a hefty dash of Orange juice, then shake hard. Pour the concoction into your favorite shooter glass. Hold on, your not done yet. Add a touch of Chamboard and enjoy! I know you have to jump through a few hoops for this delicious beverage, but wouldn't you jump through a few hoops for a Nympho?
Whitetail season is just around the corner. In Georgia, Bow season starts around mid September, followed by Black powder, and then Rifle season until January 1st. March through May is Turkey season.
This is now what I like to call Fishing season. The only problem, I don’t fish. It’s not that I don’t like fishing. I have the time to fish. I just don’t find it as exhilarating as hunting. I like a good trout though. I can’t think of anything better for a camping breakfast than fresh caught trout. The stockies in North Georgia are Rainbows. However, the Brook and Brown trout, though rare, are quite tasty. For me, Fishing season is Drinking season. Cheers!
In honor of my haircut, a Hairy Sunrise is the drink of the day. I didn’t have all the ingredients for many other “hair” drinks. The Hairy Sunrise is pretty much like a Tequila Sunrise, just add Vodka. Kick back and enjoy this powerful yet fruity beverage. After a couple, you won’t even notice the little stray hairs in your ears, itching your back, or stuck on your bare feet.
Well, I’m back inside sporting my new do. Actually, it’s the same style I’ve been wearing for several years. (And the only one I can manage to do by myself.) If you know about clippers, I use the #5 guard all over then taper in the #3 around the back and sides. I would go high and tight but the Mrs. Doesn’t like it that short.
Someone once told me that they had a theory about hairstyles. They said that a man’s hairstyle stays the same after they reach age twenty-eight. I look at old guys with their hairstyles and figure they have had the same style most of their lives. I don’t think the theory holds true for bald guys.
In a related theory, a young woman told me that you would be the person you are going to be at age twenty-eight. I reasoned that she meant that if you are basically lazy and shiftless at age twenty-eight that you will be lazy and shiftless for the rest of your life. I tend to believe this theory a little more. I’ve seen a lot of changes in people I’ve known and in myself all occurring before age twenty-eight. I don’t foresee any character trait changes in my future. Once a dork, always a dork. Just Damn!
It’s Haircut day at Casa De Montana. I bought a set of clippers a few years ago for about 30 bucks. I figure that I’ve saved enough money on haircuts to buy several cartons of cigarettes.
The only catch with haircut day is that the task must be completed outside. Woman Montana won’t allow me to cut hair inside the house. She doesn’t like the little bits of hair that seem to get everywhere. Rainy days and cold winters limit haircut days. The weather is nice today.
Dawg Fans are more than a little upset at UGA President Michael Adams. Seems President Adams won’t rehire Vince Dooley as Athletic Director. Believe me, I’m not protesting. I’m applauding the non-action.
You know times are a changin’ because the time honored protest march just doesn’t work anymore. This isn’t the sixties anymore. Sure you can parade around some buildings and block streets, but bottom line, people just don’t give a shit anymore. The protest march has been over used, played out like a whore on Sunday morning. Marching is just so passé.
All the marches, and signs, and traffic stoppages didn’t stop the war in Iraq, the G-8 summit, and it won’t stop Vince Dooley’s retirement. Maybe I’m just a little jealous because I have to go to my job instead of standing around holding a sign. I need money to pay my bills and feed my family.
Money, now that’s how you wield influence. Even UGA’s star running back Herschel Walker knows that.
“Also slated for a speech was former running back Herschel Walker, who was so upset with the decision to force Dooley out that he gave the school a check made out for just 34 cents, his jersey number.”
If Dooley gets to keep his job, it’s because people went to theirs. So, if you’re into the protest march, my advice to you. Go to work you fucking Bum!
Being a Shooter fan, and a lover of women, todays pick…The Red-Headed Slut. The second rule of bartending, if you don’t know how to make it…make it red. I have had many love hate relationships with red heads. They tend to be moody, temperamental and quite fiery. This shooter has all that plus Jagermeister. The Peach schnapps adds powerful sweetness while the cranberry juice makes it red. I had the good sense Not to marry a Red head. After a couple of these shots, I quickly remember why. Just Damn!
I received an email the other day asking why Beer hasn’t been the Drink of the Day. Simple, I don’t really like beer. It’s not like I don’t ever drink the stuff, but the really good beer is not readily available. I’ll drink a beer or two at a ballgame or while I’m at the lake. I grew up with Budweiser the king of mass marketed beer. The mirco-brews are more my style. They tend to excite my delicate palette. Maybe when Rich gets settled in, he’ll start home brewin’ again. I think my biggest problem with beer is that it fills me up before I catch a buzz. Just Damn!
I still believe that statment is true. I work many hours a day, stay awake and Blog many more hours. I sleep very little. However, after a weekend of little or no sleep due to the world's slowest bartender and late night inventory, I had to come home and sleep because of the Double shift I'm working now. Just Damn! I have the next few days off...plenty of time to stay awake!
After a full day of BBQ and Sweet tea, I figure a Long Island Tea would make an appropriate Drink of the Day. Equal parts of Gin, Rum, Vodka, Triple Sec, and Tequila, with a splash of sour mix and coke makes a very powerful and quite tasty beverage. Good thing I work in a Bar. Just Damn!
The Great BBQ War is still going on over at A Single Southern Guy. There’s nothing like a good culture clash to propel you through the weekend. In honor of my Barbeque Belt heritage, I went to Dillards for lunch. In addition to great Q, the pit master, makes the second best Brunswick Stew. The first being my own, of course. I use my Grand Pap’s secret recipe.