For All You Smart Dumb Cats

"'Ay yo, this rap is like ziti, facin' me real TV/Crash at high speeds, strawberry kiwi'' - Ghostface Killah

Cream Chipped Beef
Breakfast of Champions, yo

MIA

Yes, I have been absent from these aforementioned shenanigans. Absent from Jack. Absent from tailgating. Absent from bull dike dates.

I have been molding my mind around new, sustainable technologies that will allow us to reconquer our energy supply and continue to rule the known natural world. Yes, boys and girls, I'm talking about biodiesel. I learned how to brew it this weekend and what a wonderful trade.

INGREDIENTS:
100 parts vegetable oil
10 parts alcohol (methanol or ethanol)
5 parts catalyst (sodium or potassium hydroxide)

INSTRUCTIONS:
Kiss back of hand. Pour catalyst on hand so that it absorbs all water from kiss and burns the shit out of it. Think Fight Club. Next, mix alcohol with catalyst in jar. Swirl until dissolved. Add mixture to vegetable oil. Shake. Let settle. You will be left with biodiesel and glycerin. Which you can make soap out of. Think Fight Club.

Don't try this at home.


In other news...

Got a call from drunk Jason on Saturday night. Hanging out with 18 year old girls. Getting them hammered. Irresponsibility. What we've come to expect from our youngest brother.

In other news...

Freddy and I need to record our new hit rap song. Nothing's going to stop us after President's Day.

This is Not a Game

Friday night was a busy night. Jason and I met up with some friends, at a local bar, to wish our friend happy birthday. Afterwards, we met up with some friends at a beer tasting alumni event (I've use the word "friends" a lot). We drank many beers, brewed at a local brewery, out of our commemorative glasses, which looked like the children of beer and shot glasses.

Then we went to a concert performed by Wale ("famous" for the song Nike Boots) and Carbon Leaf ("famous" for being from Richmond). During our trip to the new venue, one of our friends (I said it again) dropped his glass. Broken glass was everywhere. Authorities were concerned, we were not. Wale made fun of Soulja Boy (Haters made 'cuz I got me some Bathing Apes).

Afterwards we made our way to our friend (can I please find another word) DK's party. DK is famous (I use that term loosely) for wearing interesting shoes. There was Rock Band , there was beer pong, and there were crackers. We came, we saw, we conquered.

Fast-foward to Saturday (what is this TiVo?) The crew (There I did it, I used a new term) tailgated for the homecoming game. We grilled, we spilled, and we chilled. We tapped the Rockies. We saw Uggs (wack). We even pitched a tent (TWSS). We made it in for half the game. We Lost (What do we have two Sawyers on this island?).

Afterwards we went to a Jeremy's house and Jason and his entourage went their separate way. We then switched locations to another cohort's (What up SAT prep classes) homestead and a large group congregated. We watched some Zoolander (I use the word "watch" loosely). We did a lot of loitering in the kitchen. I was tired and I made my way back to my residence. I washed up and went to sleep. Overall it was a decent time.

chalk one up for Jeremy

So the blind date with "dog" never happened. My guilty-conscience'd friend hooking me up realized it would have been a disaster and called the whole thing off. Whew, dodged that bullet, right?... but what about date with bombshell? How would I get a good practice run in with a poo-poo-hurting before the real deal? Drats, foiled again it seems...

The answer, my beloved Gaines family, has and always will be found at the bottom of a bottle. Jack Daniels to be exact. Summary is as follows:

I arrive early... call her to check in. Shes in route, will meet me at the restaurant's bar.
I says to the bartender, I says "Jack and Coke please"
She arrives, IMMEDIATELY orders ginger ale and Jack. I think I'm in love already!
Go to the table, have a really, really great dinner, order drinks throughout.
Pay, then go back to the bar to have a good talk. It gets late, we say goodbye and go our separate ways.

All in all a really good, un-awkward blind date. Not bad at all. The moral of the story isn't so much getting hammered to have a good time or to act yourself... In fact, even with drinks-a-flowing, some dates will still always result in flaming wreckage. Being nervous about unforeseen events is normal, and will always happen to a certain degree. That being said, the moral we can all take away with is that a little jack and coke icebreaker never hurt anyone.

Cheers, bitches.

So what can you expect from GainesFamilyBlog...

... now that the writer's strike is over?











Better jokes.

Yes, our writers have finally returned from the Hollywood picket lines, and we fully expect the quality of the blog to seriously improve as they trickle back in. Let me introduce the first member of our award winning writing staff:


Franklin Shivan 'McLovin' Shepards- Franklin is a math expert, and his main duty is to make sure that Freddy repeats every joke at least 12 times. He has also served as the intern coordinator for Scott Baio is 46 and Pregnant. He moonlights as a bagger at Food Lion, which is reportedly where he gets most of his material.

You Hate Me, Well I Hate U2

There's a pizza place near my work which is "Home to the 20 inch, biggest in Northern Virginia", TWSS. They debatably make the best New York style pizza in the whole DC metropolitan area and the ambiance is very palatial. The portions are so large (9.5 Courics to be exact) that just one slice is enough for an entire lunch.

The only catch is that one of the guys that works behind the counter is a Bono look alike, and is a complete douche-bag. He yells at customers telling them to hurry up, the pizzas aren't labeled and he's surprised when you just point at the pizza you ordered rather then calling it by name (Yes I realize this sounds like a certain episode of the Seinfeld, but I'm not going to make the obvious comparison).

After our trip there last week he pushed me close to the edge of retaliating back to his rude customer service, but I decided the pizza was too important. I've never been a fan of Bono nor U2 and despite the fact that he wears sunglasses inside, Bono knows how to make a great slice of pizza.

How I feel about the Super Bowl

I'm not sure if my previous post implied anything about how I felt about Sunday's game, but i feel like it can be summed up thusly:

I feel like the fucking kid in the candy store. The collective look from the Patriots sidelines reminded me of the look on any female's face between the ages of 12 and 55 when they heard that Heath Ledger had died. (Another HL joke. I know, too soon, too soon.) Quote from my friend Selina, "People just streamed out of the bar with 2 seconds left [like Belichick, that classless asshole -JG]. One guy just laid right down on the sidewalk and didn't move." Let me tell you something, as much as I like Selina, I don't feel one bit bad for the Patriots or their fans. Sorry Randy Moss, sorry Junior Seau. I'm sure you didn't feel bad about running the score to 52-7 against the Redskins, so I'm not gonna feel bad about the Giants beating you. Plus I'm a Steelers fan, and I remember you ending our 15-1 season in the AFC Championship game.

My personal feelings all boil down to something Black Bird said yesterday. "I could watch the clip of Eli escaping that tackle and Tyree making that catch forever." Lets look at what that catch represented.

• Bill Simmons likes to write about the 'Eff-you' game, both the games that the Patriots played for 2 months after Spygate, simply annihilating everyone, and the innate requirement of the electronic Madden brain to destroy your perfect Madden season. Greg Easterbrook likes to write about the football gods, karmic beings of the gridiron. Sunday's game proved them both right; the football gods, deciding that enough was enough of The Hoodie's smugness, Tom Brady's love life (seriously? Tony Romo gets Jessica 'One-backup-dancer-away-from-Brittany-status' Simpson and Brady gets Giselle, and this is fair how?), and that little thing called Spygate (screed alert) , delivered a swift 'Eff-you' into the collective Patriot groin. Let it be said that karma exists.
• Defense wins championships. Defense wins championships. Defense wins championships. High scoring offense DOES NOT win championships. Thank you Michael Strahan and Justin Tuck for making that rule relevant again.
• Boston fans: You. Cannot. Win. Everything.
  

Given Sunday's result, I'm totally satisfied with the fact that I've been delirious on my couch for 3 days with the flu, hocking up what looks like little black pieces of Bill Belichick's soul.

Blind Dates

Having recently taken the dating world by storm, some friends and co-workers have been dying to set me up on blind dates with "the perfect girl". Apparently there is more than just one "perfect girl" in this world, as I'm going on not one, but TWO blind dates this week. Technically neither are "blind", as I've seen pictures of both. One is dog-ugly (but apparently GREAT personality), and the other is a drop-dead bombshell hottie. My plan is to use the date with the dog as practice for the date with the bombshell.

Seeing as how I've never been on a blind date, I did a few google searches on what to expect and found this great quote from Seinfeld. Needless to say, I'll bring my cellphone for emergency purposes.

Jerry: "Elaine, what percentage of people would you say are good-looking?"
Elaine: "Twenty-five percent?"
Jerry: "Twenty-five percent?"
Elaine: "Um-hmm."
Jerry: "No way! It's like four-to-six percent. It's a 20-to-1 shot."
Elaine: "You're way off."
Jerry: "Way off?"
Elaine: "Yeah."
Jerry: "Have you been to the motor vehicle bureau? It's a leper colony down there."
Elaine: "So, basically, what you're saying is 95 percent of the population is un-date-able?"
Jerry: "Un-date-able!"
Elaine: "Then how are all these people getting together?"
Jerry: "Alcohol."

What am I doing with my life?