CHRIS COEN

A certain person I know just texted me about the spins, caused by excess alcohol (name withheld).  Thankfully, rarely if ever do I experience this, but if you’ve drank, you’ve ran into this.  The first time I drank, my buddy puked and then fished his retainer out of said puke, nearly causing the same reaction from me.  My moment of utmost intoxication came on a bet.  I was talking about another friend of mine that drank 72 beers in two nights.  One of my fraternity brothers then said if I could do it, he would buy me a combo meal at McDonald’s.  Not one to back away from a challenge/being a moron, I took this bet.  After a huge meal, the clock started.  I woke up with “27 down” written on my face in marker.  I later found out my roommate had a great action shot of me expelling the demons – from what I can tell, about two gallons’ worth of evil.  I may have also comandeered the CD player and turned it into a Pantera night, which is never good for picking up chicks.  I was in no state to talk to anyone that night, but I’m sure my frat brothers didn’t woo any ladies to the melodies “Primal Concrete Sledge” or “Good Friends and A Bottle of Pills.”  If a girl likes your heavy metal music, chances are she doesn’t have a strong relationship with her dad or she has Hep C from a dirty tattoo needle.

As the weather improves, most of us think about upcoming vacations.  Vacations are weird.  They usually involve more stress than just staying home and cost a lot of money.  Last time I went to Las Vegas, I lost enough money to feed a Ugandan family of five for a year.  Plus for me, being unmarried my whole life, all my buddies have one question for me upon returning: “Did you get laid?”  I got this question once after returning from camping in West Virginia for a weekend trip of white water rafting.  The only way I was getting laid in the middle of nowhere in West Virginia is if I pulled a Ned Beatty and got found in the forest by toothless hill people.  No, my friends, I didn’t find the magic vagina tree in the wilderness.  I’ve been to Mexico a couple times and once they gave my hotel to other group of people.  I spent the first night guarding a pile of shoes with a chair leg suffering sleep deprivation until my buddy Peterson threatened the travel company with a baseball bat and got us a four star hotel.  Once, I went to Washington DC on a tour bus and got sat by the crapper, which on a bus, is not supposed to be a crapper, but try getting 40 people in their 70’s to hold a deuce for more than hour.  It smelled like a cesspool within 55 minutes of pulling out of Ohio.  Is there such thing as a stress free vacation?  If you have kids, then no.  If you travel, then no.  If you are forced to interact with other people, then no.  My ideal vacation?  Ten cases of beer and a new Playstation 3 game in a bunker isolated from humankind.

Thanks to moms everywhere, especially to mine for working so hard, putting up with my hijinx, and also for helping to craft my sense of humor.  Especially the immature part.  Every time I see a guy get hit in the nuts with a football and chuckle – that’s my Mom.  Each time I hear a fart and tee hee like a six year old – my Mom again.  Love you Mom; now excuse me, I have to watch the neighbor’s dog hump a stuffed animal.

There is a lot of debate these days about whether we should show Osama’s beautiful death mask, the photo of his lanky beak-nosed psycho face with a fresh American bullet in it.  I say yes.  “But Coen, what about the reaction of the Muslim world?”  They hate us already, dummies.  I have NO problem with Muslims.  In fact, I have no problem with any religion.  I have a problem with the ol’ “I’m a Christian – now let me jam it down your throat!” people.  They give Christians a bad name.  Get off my nuts.  Strangely, the PC crowd that despises the “religious right” usally supports speech restrictions on words like retard and gay and whatever is now offensive.  Then they act super pissed when we mention the Middle East in a less than flattering way.  I love individualism.  We should all be free to be “fill in the blank.”  Who do you like to bang?  I don’t care.  What god(s) do you follow?  Don’t care.  Live your life to the fullest and don’t be a dick.  You love Jesus?  Good, then don’t judge.  You’re an aetheist?  Then who cares if people find solace in the sacrifice of their Savior?  Who am I to say anything?  Culture is the key.  There are fine Muslims in this country – doctors, businessmen, family oriented and hard working.  Yet there is a part of the culture in the Middle East – that has nothing to do with religion sometimes – that seeks to eradicate Jews, anyone associated with Jews, and anyone that accepts the premise that a woman’s ankle is sin worthy of death.  No wonder they’re so pissed.  This, in my opinion, is why priests who touch kids crack.  No beating it, no wife.  40 years later…  I went three days without releasing the poison when I was 25.  At this party I attacked my friend with a croquet mallet.  My basic point?  Release the Kraken or suffer the rage-induced consequences.  Do you think Osama’s death photo is a problem?  Ask the 2,977 dead souls bewailing their lost youth from 9/11 if they got a proper burial according to their respective religions.  Is a proper Christian/Muslim/Jewish/Hindu/Buddhist/Agnostic burial involve jumping hand in hand with your wife from the 39th floor of a skyscraper?  Plus, right now in that region those barbarians are burning Old Glory.  Oh God, don’t incite them more!  Pussy ass PC’ers.  Restrictions are restrictions, no matter if they come from a religious stance or a “let’s hold hands and never offend anyone” viewpoint while the evil seek to topple free will.  I stand with all or no religions if you believe that we, as men and women, can make our own decisions within the rule of law and not disrupt the fabric of society.  When in doubt, drink.  Everything gets better.

I heard about a show on O & A today, so I watched it.  It focused on a 29 year old man who, when home, slept in a crib, wore a diaper, and was spoon fed.  Not surprisingly, he was overweight, probably b/c he was spoon fed adult food.  As hate-inducing he was (hims had a bad childhood, boo hoo), I couldn’t get away from the 63 year old woman with the saggiest breasts I’ve ever seen and a middle school goatee.  She did the spoon feeding.  How these two loons made the jump is beyond me.  Does baby boy want to play lego time?  “Actually, I’m off to work.  Let me schedule lego time around sixish, after we change my diaper.”

I have had a few jobs in my day: Stock boy, steel mills, grocery bagger, passing out food stamps to unmotivated people that openly traded them in the parking lot for cigarettes, and salesman (and comedian, obviously).  The worst job in my life happened in 2001.  I was literally living in my parents’ poorly insulated basement after leaving a job in Chicago, freezing, drinking beer, and playing PS2 games.  The cash was evaporating faster than my chances of getting laid living in my parents’ basement.  I got an interview w/ “Gen-X Sports Marketing” on Monster.  It turned out to be a pyramid scheme in which I sold a machine that allowed businesses to save a few percentage points by going to Visa/Mastercard direct upon every swipe or type.  It was 100% commission and my boss, a chain smoking new mother told me we got reimbursed for fuel.  Day one was the next day.  I lived 60 miles away, but we started at 7 am.  As I walked in, they had a team meeting to pump us up for the inevitable failure that would ensue.  A middle aged black man then turned on a boom box that blared out the Chicago Bulls opening song.  “JUICE: Join Us In Creating Excitement!  Who’s got the JUICE?”  These neo-Branch Davidians used JUICE like the Smurfs use Smurf for everything.  He then ran around slapping hands and making people jump up front in an empty office room and tell the other losers how much JUICE they actually had.  I, as the Southerners say, “got religion” and began to quietly pray to my new pal Jesus to use his Jesus powers, despite my lack of goodness to not be picked for the JUICE testimonial.  Well, God is real my friends.  Long story short, I found out from my boss that by reimbursement, she meant I could claim mileage on my federal income taxes the following year.  After 3 days, 700 miles, and 40 hours’ work crammed in there, I quit.  Thank you dollar mug night at Shakers’ in Cambridge, OH for the inspiration.  Four weeks later I got a check for $55.  Even comedy doesn’t pay that poorly, although I once did a 45 minute show for -$5.  That’s for another blog, blog fans!  JUICE by that.  Who’s got the JUICE?  Karen’s got the JUICE!  Karen’s got the JUICE!  Suck my JUICE, Ponzi schemers.