Scream Dream

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , on December 14, 2010 by boozecoma


The Boozecoma Humor blog is on the move! I am merging the blog with my website because quite frankly, it’s a fuck of a lot easier for me. Look at it this way: it’s not last call, we are just moving to an other bar. Thanks for your support here and I think you will like the new site.


I don’t want to hear about anybody dreams anymore. The current trend is to take the most ridiculous unrealistic bullshit and title it your “dream” so everyone around doesn’t pimp slap you. Why is the economy is such bad shape? Dreams. “My dream is to own a home but I work as a port-a-john mopper.” Wow, I can’t believe they lost their house!  “This high end garden hose boutique has been my life long dream!” The store is closed and now you’re sucking on the hose to get by. Dreams are many things but they should never be a business plan. Do you know the difference between a dream and a nightmare? Who’s having it. For every girl who wakes up screaming from a fire nightmare there is a broken hearted guy daydreaming about that very thing happening. Your dream job is a real sleep time traumatic experience for somebody with “fuck you ” money and the thoughts that cause my rapid eye movement are the things 12 step programs are made of.


What I dream about at night would make Eraserhead look like a coloring book. So who is the warlock that can clearly lasso in what is actually happening when they sleep to the point that they can get direction from it? If I lived my dreams, I would be down at the car wash covered in Play Doh talking to girl that sat next to me in 11th grade English class. Dreams just come to you at night and require no work other than cleaning up after the scary or good ones…



What we need to do is replace the word “dream” in our language with words such as “far fetched plan” or “crackpipe idea” not to ridicule but instill the need for a FUCKING BACKUP PLAN. All successful people have a plan “B”. Richard Nixon’s “dream” (ironically) was to work for the F.B.I. Lars Urlich of Metallica aspired to be a pro tennis player andWhoopi Goldberg wanted to pretty and funny. Do you know how I know dreams are bullshit? Because they need to be interpreted. What a fucking scam! Who does this? It’s the same douchebag that tells you what your used car is worth. Living the dream, dream job, dream vacation… if your dreams come true, all I can say is run for your fucking life!


Garbage Out

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 27, 2010 by boozecoma

As I walked past the row of recycling bins at my local market, the corner of my eye catches something that pushes me to the brink on this recycling bullshit; a receptacle for recycling cork. CORK! What kind of drunk do you think I am? If you are drinking enough wine to be able to recycle the tops, you’re a screw top man. Additionally, what self-respecting landowner or local merchant is willing to drop more than one cork at a time in front of a crowd of neighborhood snoops with Facebook equipped smartphones at their fingertips?
Recycling has spun out of control and no one wants to be the ironic one to “trash” the subject. We got hooked on the “Be good to the Earth” jazz when sandal-free people with regular bathing habits began to chirp off about the magic of spinning straw into gold by separating your plastics. The less than “groovy” but simple fact is we need to start throwing some shit out. Why do we hang on to old crap like grandma hangs on to the handrail after 3 scotch and milks? We are 10 years into the 21st century and it is time to slash and burn the sentimental junk that we never should have carried into this decade. What do you think they did with the gumball machines that once stood where the recycling bin with the special cork hole is currently? Now as part of my continuing service to the brilliant citizens that read the humor blog, I have compiled a list of extractable items still with us that combined aren’t worth a pint of piss and need to be washed out of our memory 1950’s C.I.A. style.

This is the drink your mom bought when she was mad at you. Still on the shelves at grocery stores around the country because no one drinks it other than the Amish looking kids you went to school with whose name your teachers could never pronounce. This powder produces a liquid so bad mixing it with booze will not improve the flavor. The big “O” (as in “Oh noooooo…”) has been around way too long, and with nobody drinking it will not go away on its own, so the only way to bring it down is to actually buy it, drink it and vomit all over YouTube.

Candy Canes
These tasteless red and white striped sticks are a popular Christmas tree decoration because they are the only food bad enough to try to put back onto a tree. The candy cane people blew it by not having that shotgun blast flavor that modern candy punches us in the face with and therefore appealing only to the small section of the God fearing public that find oatmeal a bit aggressive. These things are better used as weapons than treats. File down the end to make your own holiday prison shiv to wave around when you get a present you don’t like.

The Unicycle
This contraption might be the hardest to wipe off the map as most unicycle operators are only seen in public wearing clown makeup that conceals their identity and making them harder to track down. And get this; Unicycles offer a reverse gravitational pull-the very unique ability to suck to cool out of anything (strippers…cool, strippers on unicycles…fuck you). Need more proof? You can’t use a unicycle for transportation, as it takes much longer to get where you are going as a result of getting knocked down by all the people who think you are a dork. That, of course, would be everybody.

Bar Soap
If bar soap really worked why do you have to wash it off after you used it? Do you honestly expect to clean yourself with something touched by so many dirty people? Now days everything has instructions and the ones on bar soap should read: “Use water to make lather. Have slip out of hands. Repeat.” Here is the bottom line: Bar soap is so far down the cleaning product ladder they wouldn’t even use it to wash oil covered seagulls during the recent Gulf spill crisis. If birds could speak they would have taken one look that foamy hunk and said: “Get that the fuck away from me! Are those pubes?”

Groundhog Day
I will believe animal weather forecasts when animal sports scores and animal entertainment news follow it. Hundreds of morons standing around with cameras waiting for a creature to come out of hibernation and when it finally happens, he gets pissed and ducks back inside. This is the hillbilly equivalent of asking Sean Penn for the 5 day forecast. This stumblebum parade is not only loosing a coin toss by being only 39% accurate there are 9 whole fucking years of the “Whack-A-Mole” bullshit unaccounted for. Crackheads keep better track of their affairs.

Brandy is not an after dinner drink-it is an after Civil War drink. Brandy should have died out when they invented anesthesia but it keeps hanging around like that creepy guy outside the Laundromat. There are quite possibly more men and women out there that could give you the basic rules of squash than could name a brand of brandy. If you don’t believe me consider this, when you go to a restaurant with an old codger that looks to have a glass of this swill, they just ask for a brandy so as not to get the blank stare from the service staff. The bonus comes when your waiter knows not only how many brandys the place offers, but the names of the choices… Here’s a fucktard who has given up on breaking through in regional dinner theatre and has decided to take his job way too seriously.

The Family Circus
What century was this shit circle comic strip funny in? I really would like to have something funny to say about how unfunny the chodes that act as the creative force behind The Family Circus are, but I can’t. What happens every time I try to put pen to paper, the thought of these worthless asshats cashing a check on a Boston Pancake this bad makes me want go out and fight the ice cream man. Die in a fire.

Checkers… the official game for recovering victims of head-on collisions and hobos. The good news here is that all 3 are on their way out. If you are reading this and have recently played a game of checkers, welcome first time Internet user! Checkers only uses the dark squares on the board and is so unpopular; it has failed to even place a porn banner ad on the unused squares. If anyone cared about this game there would be a Wii version of it.

Now as much as I would love to get rid of this stuff, there is far too much to bag up at the curb. So what do we do? The same thing we do with everything else that has out lived its usefulness…it becomes a Ryan Reynolds movie.

Leprechaun Pussy! It Really Works!

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , on April 5, 2010 by boozecoma

I am great at ignoring things: instructions, bills and girlfriends are top examples. Any health issues that a bottle of vodka can’t cure are deemed expensive luxuries and also ignored. My hearing is shit but I refuse to wear a hearing aid in part because of the vodka rule and the ability to listen to EVERYTHING being said would drive me insane. I don’t feel I am missing out-I think the opposite is true. Consider the following interaction to prove my point:

Idiot: “I just got the cutest sweater for my dog!”

Boozecoma: “What?”

Idiot: “I just got a sweater for my dog.”

Boozecoma: “I didn’t hear you.”

Idiot: “Forget it.”

It’s not only like it never happened, I get to lean over in a way that looks like I am trying to listen when in reality I am getting a closer look at this girl’s rack. However, when the vodka cure doesn’t take, things get jammed up.

A while back I had a thing on my back that grew from “messy pimple” to “could you look at this?” I broke down and scheduled a visit to a dermatologist. A few days before the office visit I was explaining matter-of-factly to my girl at the time that the thing on my back was cancer and I was going to die. The middle of a dive bar was most likely not the place to spit this jazz out because she starting bawling like I just told her that I was fucking her mother… After I calmed her down with an Irish Car Bomb (A dangerous choice-yes the mechanics of drinking it act as a distraction, but she now has a glass AND a shot glass for weapons.) I explained that I don’t really know what the fuck was going on but I need to prepare myself for the absolute worst so I can react like a man and not some junior high cunt that got her cell phone taken away. My callous preparation paid off days later at the doctor’s office. When the old guy looked me over he said “There’s cancer and then there’s cancer…and you don’t have cancer.” Translation: You are not going to die; I can cut this thing out here in the office and stop dating girls 15 years younger than you.

Vodka it seems is not a toothache cure either. I found this out about 3:30 in the morning awoken from a good sleep in writhing pain. I quickly went to the hypochondriac’s best friend-the Internet for advice on how to cure this thing. There are lots of suggestions-quite possibly from people that practice voodoo. There are many other useless cures involving natural herbs and plants like peppermint oils and neem sticks (what the fuck is a neem stick?). Worthless because nobody buys this shit let alone keeps it in their house. One site recommended vanilla extract and I tried it because I had some. It worked! How? It has a small amount of alcohol in it to numb the pain and it tastes so god damned bad you forget about the pain you are in…

As I retold the story of my rotting teeth the next day I was greeted with a series of “sure-fire” cures from my day jobless crew. Every sentence started with “You know what you should have done…” or “This really works…” and ended with the most UN-BE-LIEVE-ABLE idea imaginable, such as igniting a fire in your mouth or eating leprechaun pussy followed by a bystander substantiating the claim! “Leprechaun pussy-I heard that works.” Just like the ‘tards that tell you to “be careful” right after you trip over a curb everyone is an expert after the fact and while I don’t have a cure for hiccups, headaches or heartburn, I do have the cure for this Monday morning problem solving: A 3:30 AM phone call the next time I have a problem. Still want to help?

Super Blow

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 7, 2010 by boozecoma

The heavy snow on the East Coast caused my weekly “Unsportsmanlike Conduct” segment on “The Fighting Ungers” Fox1370AM sports talk show to be postponed. Now since this week’s offering was on how the Super Bowl was going to suck-I can’t save it until next Saturday so I thought I would offer it to you here.

There are signs in today’s society to let you know if something is going to suck. Dan Aykroyd is the kiss of death for a movie, you need to hightail it out of a restaurant that has Salisbury steak on the menu as well as any date where a grown woman mentions her stuffed animal collection.

Super Bowl XLIV is going suck hard. All you need to do is look at the prop bets for the foreshadowing proof. The props (short for proposition) are those unrelated-to-the-game crazy bets that are the gamblers equivalent of ordering from the kids menu. The crazier the bets offered-the more boring the game is going to be. The wealth of dumb-ass prop bets on the board for this year’s Super Bowl lead me to believe I will be flipping over to Telemundo for wild Latin police chases by the 2nd quarter.

Joining the normal point spread and over/under bets are the chances to flush your money down the toilet with the ridiculous “how many times will they cut to shots of Kim Kardashian.”  Really? Did The Bravo Channel outbid CBS for the game at the last minute? My guess is instead of dropping green money on this foolishness most sports fans will use their betting roll for chicken wire to protect their big screens from the beer bottles they chuck at the screen every time this happens. You see, with a real football bet there is a real threat of things not happening due to forces on the field that don’t affect these crazy prop bets. I would be more likely to make a celebrity-based wager if a 240-pound linebacker was blitzing them to keep them off the television. Gamblers are always looking for an extra edge but if you are reading InStyle Magazine for it, then you probably think Jimmy The Greek was in that fat wedding movie. Face it… if there was real money to be made on these bets, the cameraman would be getting a visit from some guys named Jimmy Circles and Shoehorn Franchaizi before the game to let him know the appropriate number of shots they need for the Kardashian “thing.”

There are other stupid bets like wagering on the “coin flip.” The more ridiculous the bet; the more ridiculous the payout should be if you win. You bet the “Heads/Tails” option on the coin flip and win: you get paid in coins like the old tracksuit wearing scooter jockey that works the nickel slots.  Instead of betting on what color Gatorade gets dumped on the winning coach I would rather text money to a fund that would stop that from ever happening again.

These bets are actually a small part of a larger problem: the game has become a distraction and the distractions have become the game. This game is going to suck so bad they want you to focus on the halftime show and the ads! Watching the Super Bowl for the commercials and half time show is like getting a lap dance because you’re cold.

As I said to a friend of mine who wears hideous shirts: “If you keep buying them-They’re going to keep making them” and it’s the same with these prop bets. As long as there are degenerate gamblers and people that watch “The View” you will have a chance to win big money if they douse the coach with blue Gatorade…and a little bit less if it’s orange.

So here is my advice to anyone that wants to put money on the game-take the over. It’s the over on the National Anthem. The current betting line is at 1minute and 43 seconds for Carrie Underwood to sing the “Star Spangled Banner.” Bet the house that she takes longer… Reader’s Digest or The Ramones couldn’t burn through the song that fast.

Save The Tiger

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , on January 13, 2010 by boozecoma

Tiger Woods is on the cover of Vanity Fair magazine. Is he pregnant? Is he in a new Melanie Griffith movie? No, Tiger Woods is on the cover of a women’s monthly because he is a pussy. How did he go from a badass with his own video game to Bravo Channel gay in a few short weeks? That is what the Boozecoma humor blog is here to explain.

Tigress Woods wrecked his car less than 100 yards from his front door-but that does not knock you down the manhood food chain. Hiding in your house and not speaking to anyone like a 7 year old girl that wet her pants at the mall does. Cowering out of sight is what wussies afraid of losing their lunch money do. His wife came out and got him out of his car by using a golf club-what she should have done, is hit him with a pool cue to get some English out of him. When you fuck up like this you don’t need a lawyer, you need a story. When bad-asses get in situations like this they respond by telling a good story then go out to eat a raw steak. All Tigress Woods had to do was tell the reporters: “The car wreck? I sliced it… I must have lifted my head while driving and it tailed off to the left.” There would have been some laughter and some applause and that would have been the end of it.

Tigress Woods made a huge error with the kind of women he cheated on his wife with. These bimbos were “StarFuckers” and StarFuckers don’t want to fuck you-they want to be famous and they get that by talking about fucking you. That kind for free publicity backfires when your wife isn’t “cool” with it and those sexting messages come back to haunt you like that mysterious new dent on your mom’s car that appeared when she was out of town. If Woods were smart he would have fucked married women. Sleeping with a married woman is the closest you will ever get to having sex with a ninja. Married women are on a schedule, pay for trysts in cash, delete text messages right after they read them and most importantly THEY DON’T TALK!

Tigress Woods could have become Tiger again by telling ESPN to shut the fuck up and stop detailing his life like some bullshit reality show. ESPN seems to have dropped the S-P-N from their name and become the E Channel with emphasis taken away from real sports and focusing on what could be mistaken for what housewives call “My Stories.” Instead of calling ESPN and telling them to take their dresses off and put the god damned game on, Tigress is on his way to explaining himself on Oprah. That’s no cakewalk either. I am sure everyone in Oprah’s audience thought they were getting cars the day Mackenzie Phillips announced she had sex with her dad, so you better bring some fudge with your tears.

Tiger Woods has succeeded in reminding us that golf is for dorks. And as a dork you have 2 choices: fight back or change schools…

How To Read An Online Job Posting

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on October 30, 2009 by boozecoma

Every job, no matter how high paying or prestigious makes you grab your ankles every so often. Even the most lollipop job on the planet; sucking the Austrian pipe (AKA First Lady of California) doesn’t get a pass. Employers are so eager to start shoveling bullshit on you; they can’t wait until you actually begin working to do it. Online job ads on Craigslist and are loaded with hidden garbage disguised as positive messages that try to trick you into thinking that THIS job is different. As the workingman’s friend, the Boozecoma comedy blog cracks the code on what some of these shiny buzzwords really mean if you see them in an employment ad.

Nothing says “The guy that runs this place is a micro-managing douche bag” more than dropping the passion bomb in a job ad.  Passion is something you need to be a senator or an artist, not to make sandwiches. If you take a job like this be prepared to be stretched out like the elastic on a crackhead’s last pair of underwear because your new boss spends so many of his waking hours developing new ways to cave in your dignity that he doesn’t notice his wife is blowing all the guys in the Home Depot tile department.


Idiots that get swept up in jargon from InStyle magazine overrun the company that posted this ad. Rock stars don’t work for a living therefore wont be reading your job ad dumbass. Apply to EVERY job posting that mentions they want a “Rockstar” whether you are qualified or not then show up for the interview an hour late and drunk to call their bluff. Make sure you arrive with a cast of unsavory characters and mention you require that all the brown M&M’s be removed from the vending machines or you won’t be on the conference call.


Smiling Faces-manson_smiling_boozecoma
When someplace is hiring “Smiling Faces”, you can guarantee that this company is a sewage filled foxhole where no one is happy and the place is too cheap to buy clown makeup. Be prepared for needless drama, backstabbing and hours of excruciating boredom. It’s like being at the Tony Awards without the gift bag. They want everyone to smile so it doesn’t look like they are laughing at you when you ask why the company ironically refuses to provide dental insurance.


Core Values-hitler_boozecoma
You are going to be re-programmed. If that doesn’t work, you will be yelled at in German. This company has codes, standards, scripts and a handbook that no one has ever read all the way though because it comes in 3 ring binder allowing them to continually add pages. Anyone that thinks independently is rewarded by being tossed in a sack and sent to a South American chalk farm.


Flexible Schedule-flexible_hooker_boozecoma
Flexible means don’t ever make plans. You will have no idea when you will be working other than the days you really need to have off. When they say flexible they mean you are going to get fucked in more positions than a circus hooker.

Finally, if you respond to an ad with misspelled words, just know in advance that your check will NEVER be right.

Video Killed The Video Star.

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , on September 20, 2009 by boozecoma

With the release and all of the press surrounding the new music based video games, a lot of other music based video games are falling between the cracks. Here is a synopsis of what you might have missed:

The Beatles: Glock Band-


The surviving members of the Beatles hunt down and kill everyone that has co-opted or owns the rights to their music. Undertake single-player missions, or share the terror of war with a friend in local split-screen or as many as three additional players online. Each character has their own special skills: Paul McCartney-Jibberish, Ringo Starr-Super ninja powers, Dhani Harrison-Hare Krishna and Yoko Ono-Performance art.

 “Kill whitey over and over!”  4 out 5 stars:    Charles Manson’s Prison Gamer Magazine

 “Ringo won’t DIE!”    1 out of 5 stars:  Pete Best




The Gears of Whore-


In a Pokemon style game, Gene Simmons attempts to collect each and every product on the planet in order to put a Kiss logo on it. Go head to head with copyright lawyers, music critics and finally Simmons’ own inflated ego in an effort to distract the world from discovering you are promoting a band that died when they recorded a disco song. This is a single player game that ends when Gene either bores you to death or kicks you out of the band for not thinking up a new Kiss iPhone application.

 “Buy it right now!”   Gene Simmons

 “The MUST have game for 2009”  G. Simmons

 “Goes great with a Kiss snuggie!  Gene S.





Left For Dead-


You find a famous rock star near death in an alley from booze soaked drug relapse. From here the story line is yours to choose: Mentor a misguided Amy Winehouse through rehab again to clean up enough to play nine holes with Darius Rucker and Alice Cooper! Send Aerosmith back on the needle to give them the power to create the album that makes us forget they played the Super Bowl Half-Time Show with Britney Spears! 100’s of artists to pick from and the gameplay is different every time. Give Slash a new lease on life, then send him spiraling into a lonely and tragic death in order to get some great keg party music! Meth lab sold separately.

  “This makes me want to fucking vomit!”  9.5 (Rad)  Tommy Lee

  “I’m sorry” 8.0 (Sippy Sippy)  Kayne West