If you read that guy’s story, it mentions he has a fiancee. A fucking fiancee? He has a fiancee that doesn’t mind the fact that this nigga comes to bed smelling like stale cheese every fucking night? Doesn’t mind that, when taking him to family barbecues, has to explain to her aunt that “Justin only eats Pizza” and ignore the fact that her aunt is fucking judging the shit out of both of them? Has to open the motherfuckers mouth when he’s asleep and stuff kale down his throat? Jesus god, truly an American tragedy.
Look, flying sucks. Not so much the flying part, but all the hoops you have to go through just to get on a fucking plane, ick. Like, your vacation, or your trip home, can be ruined by a TSA agent in a bad fucking mood. That’s awful.
But like, have your shit together at least before you board. Doesn’t it behoove you to like, look into whether or not your A-list status applies to family members? Like, there are a lot of people who probably qualify, and they don’t want their seats taken by two other people and shit.
Which isn’t defending the gate agent, who went on a complete power trip. I can’t imagine that I’d ever be mad at someone for so long that I’d retrieve them from the plane, threaten them, then make them delete a fucking tweet. I mean, cooler heads and shit.
Something about the guy rubs me the wrong way. Flying is stressful enough without some person jumping in front of line with his shitty kids and acting like membership in the elite “A-List” means he can do whatever the fuck he wants. Also anyone who says “I’m sending you a very nasty tweet!” deserves to be flayed.
“He’s an “A-List” passenger, which means he gets priority boarding. But a gate agent wouldn’t let his 6-year-old and 9-year-old board with him — so they’d all have to wait to board later.
“In leaving I said, you know, ‘Real nice way to treat an A-list. I’ll be sure to tweet about it,’” he said.”—I’d like to be on this guy’s side, but then I read “Real nice way to treat an A-list. I’ll be sure to tweet about it.” and I erupt in violent fantasies about what I’d do if someone ever said that to me.
Yo, Cardinal player Yadier Molina left two bags of crackers on home plate for his brother, Tampa Bay Ray Jose Molina, and it’s literally the most exciting thing to ever happen in baseball since Cal beat the streak
my number one piece of advice is drink water and stay hydrated. we are made out of water. everything in us is made of water. and u are sitting there drinking a diet coke tellin me that’s all you’ve had to drink today. please get up and drink some water. for the love of god.
Not sure if this is another unpopular opinion or not (maybe it is and I’ll make it my theme for the day) but I think Erin Andrews is actually really good at her job. It’s kind of a dumb job (being a sideline reporter, that is; I’ll fully admit I’ve never watched more than one minute of her college football halftime coverage), but in the grand scheme of things she has to be in the top 10 or so sideline reporters.
It really pisses me off when douchebros get mad an say that she only has her job because of her looks because not only do dudes not have to fall to that critique, but she is also really good at her job.
I think so too. I mean she’s at least as knowledgable as all the douche bags on sports radio. But honestly she could be the Lester Bangs of sports reporting and people would still think she was some airhead pair of tits.
Erin Andrews is a fucking pro. Kirk Minihane is one level up from the sacks of shit who go to Hooters on a bottomless wings night.
Like, anybody who’s had two dozen crabs and a case of beer before gets what Flying Dog was going for, it’s just like, not an experience that you can bottle. The experience is eating crabs and sucking the Old Bay Salt off your thumbs, and drinking Keystone because you came down to Ocean City on a holiday and all the underage kids bought all of the Natty Boh. That’s awesome.
But like, drinking a salty beer just fucking sucks. Christ, I can’t imagine what it’s like to drink it with crabs. Your heart will fucking stop.
Also, nobody calls it “Dead Rising.” They say “Ya’ll got that crayaab beer?”
We’re not going to sell Apple Ritas. Putting my foot down.
True story, a Bud Lite distributor came to our bar and was buying people Lime and Strawberritas. She was killing it. Just going up to old douchebags, who would say something gross like “I’ll drink anything you give me.” and winking and smiling.
I was tasked with making sure she had everything she needed, and to take account of how many she sold. As the pre-game rush died down, she turned to me and said “Hey, try one.” I tried to defer, saying “I don’t like to get drunk during work,” Which is a boldface lie, but whatever. She finally convinced me. I had one of the lime ones. I winced.
"Fuck that’s awful." I said.
"I know. It’s like, lime flavored syrup."
Then she smiled and gave another one to some lecherous old dude, probably in a Red Sox hat, I can’t remember.
Landshark is disgusting in a way that I can’t fully describe. It tastes like your typical generic beer, but I’d take any beer in the refrigerator over it. Do they sell it in small cans? Maybe I could drink it if it came in 12 oz. Wait, that’s a lie, because once I see Jimmy Buffett’s fucking autograph I become death, destroyer of beer cans.