Archive for Humor

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?

Celebrity Hit Parade

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on January 22, 2009 by boozecoma

There is always one whack job whose head forever spins around what celebrity you would have sex with. Anything will serve as stimulus to start this conversation, which always commences with the name of a hot celebrity, a pause, then the question: “Would you do her?” As if popular and beautiful women bolt directly from the Golden Globe Awards to Jerkwater USA, in order to give some putz with a neck beard the fuck of their sad lives. What kills me is Dr. Daydream actually waits for your answer! Even more ridiculous is the ass-munch that thinks he has a choice and says NO! In reality, only movie stars and guys with enough money to make the size of their sperm tube irrelevant get to truthfully answer that question yes or no. If you work at Jiffy Lube, you don’t get to make a choice because Jessica Alba is not driving down Fuck Street to have you “change her oil.”

Most of us are back in the celebrity love line behind not only George Clooney, but Donny Most and Aldo Nova as well. I don’t want to crush your dream, but it is just that, a dream-and it needs to be downsized to have the slightest chance of it coming true. We also need to consider that for the most part, the more A list the girl is, the more of a life siphon she is. Now before you bullshit me about not caring about verbal chemistry and metaphysical well being, just remember Charlie Sheen can have any woman he wants, but chose to bang call girls. Why? So he wouldn’t have to interact with them. With this in mind, our fantasy dates need to have a skill set that provides additional street credibility. So for all of the stiffs at work, the bar and in the car trying to stay awake on the long ride back from Atlantic City, here is a list of celebrities that I would nail, that I actually might have shot with.


Britney Spears-

britney-spears-bald-400a03020723 years ago this girl was untouchable for anyone who worries about how much F.I.C.A. is taken out of their paycheck. The downward spiral taken by this woman has brought her within reach for any guy that has $95 for a nighttime limo rental. I know she is a train wreck and the score of the game is out of hand at this point, but I don’t mind doing mop-up duty just to get my name in the box score.


Serena Williams-

serena-williams-picture-12Besides being quality backup if I get boxed in by some punks, I should be able to count on appearing on television during the matches when they get sick of showing her father. Whether you find her attractive or not is moot, for having carnal relations with Serena is a caper big enough to make Henry Hill dance in the shower like you just robbed Lufthansa Airlines. Expect to hear your name in conversations like: “Did you hear about Tommy? He’s Fucking Serena Williams…” Followed by pride powered headshakes of awe and approval for going down an uncharted road to instant credibility.


Diane Sawyer-

diane-sawyer-is-drunkDiane Sawyer is an attractive woman, however when she appeared on Good Morning America hammered on a bottle of Malibu Rum, she became the magnetic North Pole of the skank bank. Your mission is much easier when the booze is talking. Everybody has issues, and after 9 sidecars, her issue is most likely not getting a pony for Christmas when she was 11 years old. Job and career conversations take too much time and require you to actively listen. The clock is your enemy here, as you want to leave the bar with her while it is still full so everyone sees you leave with your trophy.


Dawn Wells-

dawn-wells-gets-pinchedI know she is 70, but she was FUCKING MARY ANN! She also has a police record… When you do the math you will realize it is not too late.



Kathy Griffin-

kathy-griffinHow can you not want to be with a girl that screams and cusses on live national television but doesn’t lose her job? Griffin appears on Bravo TV often enough to make it cool. Her show “My Life On The D List” ensures being surrounded by non-threatening Metro-Sexuals who wont try to mack on your girl and lots of other women that will nicely keep you company while she signs autographs. Anyone that works this hard to stay in the outer circles of the public eye is never home, leaving you free to watch ball games and come in at all hours without having to hear all the bullshit.


Dear John

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , on December 29, 2008 by boozecoma

Anything can be funny, but not everything is. My aim on my internet postings here on this blog, and on the Twitter feed that also appears here, is to sift through the shit that comes at me and spin it in to humor using a selective memory, salty language and an extreme hatred of the entire Billy Joel music catalogue. After a recent Twitter post highlighting the most likely enlarged vaginal size of some Arkansas cum-bucket that just had her 18th child, I received a note from a “offended” reader.

According to my fan turned critic, I was guilty of “locker room mentality” in describing “the lord’s greatest gift”. This person also felt that I need to get my ideas from somewhere else other than the “bottom of a whiskey bottle” and should attempt to find new guidance by discovering the Bible. There is additional consultation, but at the risk of looking like a Zagat review, I will pull the plug on the quotation parade.

What stuns me is that it took this long to agitate someone. Jokes, punchlines and comedy are in my mind, confrontations-much in the same way punk music confronts-to inspire action. In effect it’s laugh or walk and I am under the impression that all of my followers on Twitter and my readers and subscribers to this blog find what I have to say pretty fucking funny. Humor, for the most part, should hurt somebody. This bullshit about not laughing at someone, but laughing with someone is only for the axe-wounds who obey the speed limits in construction zones, give-but never take-a-penny and our puritan objector protagonist. Humor is a force, and the momentum and inertia established by something funny has to leave a mark- physical, mental or metaphysical. I want to leave a mark.

Although my naysayer had the tact to contact me about their dissention privately, I feel I owe it to myself and everyone else here at the rodeo to ride this bull in front of all the paying customers:

Dear Sniveler,

I don’t need your help, but if you insist, let me respond to your revisions to my idea of what is humor by saying that ALL good things come from the bottom of a whiskey bottle, most importantly the top of a new bottle. I broadcast under the title Boozecoma, so it is whiskey, scotch, rum, tequila, vodka and cough syrup that we have to thank for my comedic clarity brought about under cloudy conditions. That point that you seem to be missing is you cannot have 18 children without the magic of booze! Using it to grease the wheels of love or to drown out the everlasting din of enough children to complete the 2 full baseball teams, alcohol is a friend here. As far as the birth of a child being a gift, I can say that a gift becomes a doorstop after you get the same one 7 or 8 times in a row. After 18, you need to think about re-gifting or possibly changing some items on the gift registry from “babies” to “condoms” or “vasectomy.” I will not cower to your Bible suggestions and threats. The Bible and “The Eagles Greatest Hits” are the same thing in my mind: They are the top sellers in their medium and they consist of mythological imagery that you would only buy into because you are too afraid to think for yourself. However if you wish to live in a world where religious and puritan finger pointing take the place of facts and logic, I shall be forced to go to the town elders and report you as a witch.


I hope you can float.


Yes Is Not An Option.

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , on December 11, 2008 by boozecoma

I was recently turned down for a writing job. At least I think I was… This was my third of 3 interviews with the agency (#1 with HR, #2 with the creative director and #3 with the partner) and on its conclusion I was told that they would be in contact. 10 days and several emails and phone calls later I was as confused as the audience watching a Tom Cruise Nazi war film. Do you want me to work for you? How hard is it to give a yes or no answer? In my effort to understand this bullshit, it occurred to me that this dillhole was incapable of telling me “no”.  The difference between human beings and a disposable lighter is that a human being needs to know when you are done using them, yet most people would rather toss you aside than deal with the commitment of yes or the freedom of “no”. Freedom? Yes, for a swift prompt no will do you a great service. If this company in question had told me honestly why I was not to be part of their plans I would have been able to spend the following week more productively pursuing other writing work and slashing this fucker’s tires. 

The fact is that we need a little more “no-can-do” spirit, and I am offering here some reasons to be positive about being negative.

The first thing I want to offer is if you feel you just don’t have time to say “no” then you are denying yourself your greatest job perk. The absolute instant erection power of deciding the fate of people is intoxicating to have, let alone use-so PRACTICE. On the way to work, don’t look the other way upon refusing to yield to an other car. Look the driver in the eye and tell them- no, wait your turn. If someone wants you to lower your voice during a cellphone call, tell them you can not and please do not interrupt while you are speaking. If your girlfriend asks you to explain the strange email address written in lipstick in your coat pocket, tell her you will not and you question whether you can have a relationship with someone who violates your personal space and belongings.

The key in offering “no” as an answer is to not get cute with your vernacular. “We decided to go in another direction” should only be used if you are casting a film-if you are not with a movie studio when this comes out of your mouth, then the only direction you should concern yourself in going is away from the fist that should be moving toward you rapidly. “I just need to run this by some people first” means you have no juice and should “run” the phone over to someone that has the stones to make a decision. “We should get our ducks in a row” is a metaphor used by people that put a slice of cheese on apple pie. It is a term used in hunting and for you it means you have been shot down and they are looking for the solution elsewhere.

If you attempt to offer a valid explanation along with your rejection for it, that will help the other party understand your position. Just dropping “no” and nothing else gives people the vibe that you are 1 tracksuit away from completing your Jr. wiseguy exam. In addition to giving an explanation, be aware that the other party will try to overcome your objection, and this will be your opportunity to close the door efficiently. Don’t use your rebuff as an opportunity to get cruel. If someone inquires what you ARE you looking for, answering ” Your most current photograph to place at the security desk in order to keep you from coming in here again” is on par to stealing a pair of crutches. Remember, the 5-day waiting period for a handgun expired a decade ago…

Feel free to leave your comments on this-just remember, I have to approve them first.

How to save the 11 o’clock news

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 30, 2008 by boozecoma

I watched the post prime-time news the other night. It was purely accidental, similar to when you call your parents, expecting the answering machine and they actually pick the phone up, it stuns and confuses you. In both cases, by the time you figure out what’s going on, you are talking about the weather.

Local news is no longer a real source of information, it’s a de-briefing for people that just came out of coma. There is too much competition from 24/7 cable news and the internet. Local news is based on an old model that went out of date before drinking at work became “wrong.”  With a few augmentations I think we can bring this stale doughnut into the 21st century.



In my neighborhood, if you are an eyewitness on Tuesday, your photo is on a telephone pole with the word “missing” under it on Friday. Change the title to “Didn’t See Nuthin’ News” and have reporters whisper the stories with their hands cupped around one side of their mouth. More people will tune in every night to see if the anchor that gave out a little too much information ever comes back from their “vacation”.

Anchorperson 1: “Here’s the latest on the fatal shooting that occurred downtown tonight…”

Anchorperson 2:(Whispers into Anchorperson 1’s ear)

Anchorperson 1: “Really? (Looks around and under the news deck nervously) Sorry folks… Umm… Turns out nothing happened…  (Stares at camera uncomfortably for 10 seconds) Nothing at all…”



Being live on the scene of a news story that happened 5 hours ago is a waste of time for everyone involved. The reporter feels like they have been sent to nail a 63 year old prostitute (all the action happened a long time ago and so many people have been through it there is no telling what happened). Those mixed up in the doings are either at home, in jail or on their way to a new life of changing hairstyles and learning Portuguese, so an interview is out of the question. The viewers at home are wondering why the station sent some tool down to City Hall in the rain at 11:15pm when even the cleaning crew is 2 hours gone OR, why in the name of imperial FUCK any one cares what is going on at the State Fair. If these reports have to happen, let’s give the reporter a chance to give a quality answer.

Anchorperson: “Let’s go to Bob Phillips who is live at the Fairgrounds. What is going on down there?”

Reporter: “Well it seems they have actually found someone with a full set of teeth! But as it turns out, they were not attending the fair, they were lost and just stopped for directions out of this cesspool. I pleaded for a ride, however the car was full. Back to you.”



In a effort to get you to watch the news, the stations will pepper the daily broadcasts with gems like: “Deadly radiation levels in a local neighborhood. Is it yours? Tune in at 11 to find out.” RADIATION? You need to tell me that information right fucking now! I don’t want to have sit through a Cloris Leachman dance routine to find out if I am going to die or not. Don’t pimp me-if the shit was that thick you would break into Dr. Phil to give me time to evacuate. You want me to watch your show? Entice me the same way Maxim magazine would-showing stuff I want and articles about how to score it. Spin the news to help us achieve our goals. Don’t promo that an elderly woman died from the heat-let us know a desirable apartment just opened up. Guy dies in a car wreck across town? Who cares? Newly widowed MILF needs a shoulder to cry on? You just got my attention over the west coast ball game I was thinking of watching.



We are led to believe that everyone on the newsroom set gets along. BULLSHIT! This is a job and people who work together don’t get along because they don’t get to choose who they work with. Everyone bites the bullet on the broadcast since time is short and no one wants to hear what some old drunk with too many face lifts cries themselves to sleep over. Let’s let the anchor decide who the on-air team should be. Bringing in a team of friends may not be the most professional thing to do but hearing a story about how the sports guy lost his pants on the subway en route to job interview would be far more interesting than a report on the local lunch moneyless spelling bee champ.



The weather. That’s the only reason we watch this 30 minute time siphon anyway, so bring it on! To be fair don’t give all the time to the “Meteorologist” (BTW if anyone EVER tells me that is their job title-they get their head snapped back on the spot.) let the other newspersons toss it in as well. No need to interrupt the flow of the broadcast. High and low temperature, sunny, cloudy, windy or rain. Do a story then the weather. Another story and the weather again. Give the weather while doing the weather. Anyone that gives the barometric pressure gets tazed.


And lastly:


If you did a good job, come back and take a bow. What should you do for an encore? The weather, dumbass.