A Englishman, a Scotsman, and an Irishman walk into a pub. They proceed to each buy a pint of Guinness.  Just as they were about to enjoy their beverages, three flies landed in each of their pints and got stuck in the creamy head.

The Englishman pushed his beer away from him in disgust.

The Scotsman fished the offending fly out of his beer and continued drinking it as if nothing had happened.

The Irishman too, picked the fly out of his drink, held it out over the beer and then started yelling, "SPIT IT OUT, SPIT IT OUT YOU BASTARD!!!"

If you're looking for an alt-countryish alternative to the St. Patrick's Day bar mess, Justin Jones and the Driving Rain will be performing at the Velvet Lounge along with Chaim Rubenstein (soon to be ex-Monopoli) and Laura Tsaggaris on March 17th.  You can hear his stuff here.

• It annoys me when grown women refer to grown men as boys.  You know, like "there were of cute boys at the party" or something.  You ALL do it, so I don't expect that to stop anytime soon, but it still annoys me that at 29 I would still be referred to as a "boy."  Do you want to date a boy?  Unless you're Michael Jackson, no, of course not - you want to date a man.  So why refer to us as boys?  And I know what you're going to say - men refer to women as girls.  But that's because we really only have two choices, girl or woman, whereas women have three choices: boy, man, or guy.   I know, you think I'm crazy.  You might be right.
• Ever woken up to discover your leg has been partially shaved and the word "bukkake" has been written on it in sharpie.  Yeah, me neither.  But I have woken up to find shaving cream on my couch and a Mach 3 blade stuck in the garbage disposal.  For the record, I did not perform or even condone the shaving.  Hell, I barely even remember it, but I understand there are pictures.
• Viacom sucks the devil's dick and swallows his fiery seed.
• The Aqua Teen movie opens on April 13, in case you haven't been taking your daily dose of Adult Swim.  I'm so excited that my eyes are already bloodshot.
• I saw a new version of the new metrobus "get the fuck out of my way before I run your bitch ass down" lights.  Basically, they were just blinking simultaneously in some erratic pattern.  I presume the purpose is to give other drivers seizures. 

Metroblogging DC already beat me to the Knight Rider reference, but seriously, does Metro really think that a strip of flashing lights is going to do anything to prevent bus-pedestrian collisions?  "Oh, look, a strip of flashing yellow lights and OH MY GOD THERE'S A BUS UNDERNEATH THEM!!!  I'd better get out of the way.  Good thing I saw those flashing lights or else I wouldn't have noticed that 10 ton hunk of metal with a lighted interior."  I presume that Metro is run by a team of baboons, but if not, maybe we should give the baboon idea a try. 

I have a post that may or may not be entirely inappropriate for human consumption, so instead you're getting this little rant.

A couple of years ago I was leaving work and heading for the metro.  This was back when I actually left work at a normal hour, instead of 8 or 9.  Anyway, it was rush hour and of course there was only one down escalator working, and no stairs at this particular entrance.  As I approached the escalator I noticed a woman standing at the top just watching the escalator move.   As I got closer I realized that she was actually trying to get on the escalator.  I don't know if she was retarded or just had never ridden an escalator before, but the look on her face was clearly one of someone convinced that improperly boarding an escalator would result in certain death.  Unfortunately for her, I barreled past her on the left at the very moment she decided to step onto the escalator.  The woman.  Literally. Shrieked.  I'm surprised no one tackled me thinking I was a purse snatcher.  For a split second I felt bad, even though I didn't do anything wrong.  But she was an older lady and the least I could have done is been a little more patient or apologetic.  That remorse lasted half a second, though, because using escalators at rush hour is part of everyday life, and if you can't deal with life then you should just die.

Monopoli has announced that their March residency at DC9 will be their last four shows.  We'll see if that withstands the immense month-long temper tantrum that I'm about to lay down.  Though no reason appears to be given for the break up, outlandish theories and wild conjecture will surely indicate it has something to do with Anna Nicole Smith and Scooter Libby.

I had a rad time at the HH tonight... And I'm glad I got to meet my LNS drinking buddy arjewtino.  And BAL and Scott... I owe you some shots.  Come into the bar, and you will drink for free my friends.  But as for the people who said they'd meet me at the bar and didn't... weak dudes.  Really fucking weak.  I mean.  Just weak.

But to the rest of you, you're beautiful.  Keep rocking out. 

I'm not afraid to admit it - this commercial nearly brings a tear to my eye every time I see it.  Especially the "I just want to go home" line.  If you're interested in information on adopting or donating, please go here.  Hey,  buy a couple bags of dog food and you can get a free Dogs Rule tshirt.  Don't have a dog?   Donate the food to the Washington Humane Society or Homeward Trails. 

ADDENDUM: For those of you without sound or video, the commercial is several shots of painfully cute dogs locked up in kennels, with David Duchovny saying this:

I know how to sit
how to fetch
and how to roll over.

What I don't know
is how I ended up in here.

But I know that I am good dog
and I just want to go home.

...to see what condition my blog is in.  I know haven't been the most prolific blogger as of late, but, you know, get over it.  Couple of notes:

• Monopoli is playing at Wonderland tonight.  I didn't learn about this until yesterday, so sorry for the late notice.  Next Thursday they begin their DC9 residency, playing every Thursday in March.
• Anyone going to the Grand Buffet show at Ottobar this Sunday?  Anyone know who Grand Buffet is? 
• Today is my mom's birthday, so happy birthday mom.  I'm glad you don't know about this blog.
• If anyone has an mp3 of Ted Leo's cover of the Beatles' "I'm Looking Through You" and you don't mind breaking copyright laws, please email me.
• I'll try to come up with something witty for tomorrow.  Don't hold your breath though.

I was hit on last night at The Bar.  I'm not saying that to boast - when you spend as much time in bars as I do, statistically this will happen.  Especially since I was alone at the time.  In these instances, the girls range among falling down drunk, insanely annoying, beaten with an ugly stick, and normal and cute.  This one was normal and cute, so I got her number.  Anyway, the point of this post was her opening line.  She just walked over to my stool, stood right next to me and said:

"Hi."

That was it.  Not "you look depressed" or "why are you here alone" or some pathetic attempt to be cute and sassy.  Just "Hi" and then "what are you up to" followed by "my name is ____."  And even though the ensuing conversation bordered on interrogation, it was a commendable attempt to start a conversation from nothing and without using a gimmick.  I wish more women would approach me that way.  So there you have it - the perfect opening line.

Point-Counterpoint: This Man Obviously Has Substance Abuse Problems And No Capacity To Love vs. But You Love Him!

Woman, 84, Confesses to Sex With Boy, 11

I have to go wash my brain now.

It seems last night the zipper on my Wrangler's window was too complicated for an ingenuitive crackhead to operate, so he cut my window open.  Now I get to join that elite club of Wrangler owners whose Jeeps are held together, at least in part, by packing tape.  Fucking Columbia Heights.  Condo goes on the market this spring folks.  Oh, and what spoils did this clever sprite walk away with after causing me at least a hundred dollars in damage?  As far as I can tell, a lighter with no fluid in it because I cracked it open using it as a bottle opener, and a half pack of gum that had been sitting on my dash in the sun for several months.

February 14 is solitary masturbation day.  Don't forget to stock up on tissues, lotion, batteries, or bowls of jello, and celebrate the fact that you don't have someone giving you shit about the things you like to do.

**Guest post by SigmaSet**

I have become fascinated with this new phenomenon of the my space.  All the kids seem to have their space these days, in fact some estimates place the number of members in the hundred million range.  And Rupert Murdoch doesn't often buy failing enterprises, so one can conclude that it is a valid social phenomenon.   I have my own space, of course, and anyone who has seen it, which is no one, since no one here knows who I am, can attest that it is all a big joke.  For example, in the "about me" section, I remark that "I don't often wear polka dots."  It's true.  My take on the whole thing is that having a my space page is the 21st century equivalent of having your name listed in the phone book. 

 But many people seem to take it quite seriously.  For example, take this girl I am interested in right now.  She has her space, which I have been passively monitoring lately.  (It's not stalking--you place the gory details of your life on the internet not under a pseudonym, what do you expect?)  She updates her space daily, changing back and forth between "default" photos, micromanaging her self-description, approving and deleting comments that other people she knows make about her, changing the song that plays when you visit her space.  I wonder if I can be truly interested in someone who takes their virtual profile so seriously.  I have a friend who will tell you to check his my space calendar to see if he is available for happy hour on Thursday.  Maybe I am too old (29) to really get it, maybe I am an old curmudgeon who is being dragged into the future kicking and screaming.  I admit that a recent break up I went through was announced to many people by the fact that I changed my "status" to single, which is either a modern convenience or a sign of the apocalypse, I'm not sure which.

So I thought I would commandeer RCR's blog to conduct a highly unscientific survey.  Do you have a my space (or its equivalent, friendster, facebook, etc)?  Is it just something you did on a whim that you now feel obligated to maintain, or is it an integral part of your daily life?  Do you expect your friends to check up on you?  Do you care what they or any random person might see about you?  Do you care so much that you have a seasonal and/or mood-based repertoire of photos that you change as events warrant?  Do your parents know about it?   Your ex?  Do you expect to meet new people on there?  I think we are entering an entirely new realm of ethics and social mores, and I would like to find out what people think they are.