Monday, July 31, 2006

gotta an ass like a loaf a bread, you want a slice

OMfugginG. There’s this guy who’s originally from the Cleveland area (Akron, if I understood my friend LeBlog correctly) who writes a hilarious blog on the state of all thing NBA called YAY Sports. (by the way, how aweseome are the new Red Stripe commercials? Hooooraaayyy Bobsled! Hoooorraaaayyy Handsome!)

If you are fan of basketball and Photoshop, you should check this site and then sit back and keep your eyes peeled for his upcoming movie that may or may not feature music from the four and only Travis McGee and The Revelers.
Well this guy, The Cavalier, this dude among dudes, being the writer that he is, also writes a ton of other stuff, including this little Jem (like the cartoon!) that I came across this morning. It basically outlines the guidelines for lining up hilarious blog posts one after another after another.

So go read this, its funny (shit, I give up this is hard) Then read my post to see if I’ve actually followed the guidelines correctly (Warning: again, read this first. failure to do so will result in confusion, on your part. so show some love and take a few minutes to read. trust me, its worth it.)

(right. done reading this? lets begin.)

I went ahead and screwed up already. You might have noticed that, or you might not have and are going back and reading that again and thinking, ‘how could I have missed that?’ Right, but I’m still on track because what I’m aiming to do here, still, is extrapolate on these rules and I have no doubt that this will still be funny if I can do that. Alright, here we go, number 2…
2.) So this weekend I went to this bar called brauhaus on Avenue C for beers with a friend and her two friends. This Bavarian bar specializes in huge mugs of beer and pretzels: so many pretzels you wouldn’t believe. But I didn’t eat any pretzels. I just drank, and drank and drank and then started slurring my speech, fell off my barstool, stumbled blindly out of the bar and home again. I’m lucky I didn’t get Broccoli Rabe’d on the way home! Then I saw a homeless guy eating a hot dog with carrots and hamburgers.

3.) I know all about…the Photoshop

4.) On Saturday I woke up feeling hungover cause I’m a drunk. I went to Starbucks cause I love to support gentrification, had a bagel with cream cheese cause I’m a hate monger, met up with Travis at Epsteins cause he ruined my life but I still feel indebted to him for saving my life that one time when I overdosed six times in one night, met up with L-Ren and her family at Sea cause I’m bulimic, and then spent the rest of the night with Tom, Brian and Eddy because I have a shoe addiction and I cheated on a math test one time in the eight grade. Don’t judge – I’m a product of society.

5.) The real reason I hung out with Tom and Brian is because I thought I was gay for the night.

6.) Done

7.) Hmmmm, this is a tough one because I’m not entirely sure when the last time I saw an animal was. Um, well last night I had a dream that I saw a hammerhead shark swimming in a lake. It was a weird dream and the water was all dirty and the shark was like eating fish and then spitting them back out again. Does this mean that I’m gay? Or just insecure about my job title?

8.) Whoops

9.) It’s a pretty well documented fact that we drop the word fuck like it’s our job on this site. Its what makes me feel better about myself and it helps me feel important, so I’ll pass on trying to just go cold-turkey on the swearing.

10.) The one problem with this is that you’ve read the other post and now you know what’s coming in this post, like you’ve been to the future or you can fly or something. So you know that when this post starts going off on a random tangent about the joys of gardenia gardening

11.) This has proven to be a much more difficult task than what I thought it would, but I think that if there is one bit of knowledge that I can impart on you, dear reader, in parting, is that the most important thing is to prove that something is a much more difficult task than what you think it might be so that you can impart on me, dear reader, in parting, something that is very important and that you’ve learned from proving that something is indeed very difficult to do over.

12.) Ahhhh, the closer. Here’s where I come with a big finish and really seal the deal and skeet all over the icing on the cake. But admit that I’m a loser? Wow. I mean, this is like funny boot camp. Just break me down until I’m nothing and then build me back up again, a lean, mean, killing machine. Fine, I’ll do it. I’m a loser. Back in the early 90’s, I started a blog called Handsome Bobsled, Captain Commando and now I have a job that affords me some time to play on the internet during the day and I still lack a life so that means I can go home and play on the internet all night, and yeah, I’m a loser who constantly goes to Motor City Bar and points to the I-75 sign and says, “That freeway used to run right by where I lived at” cause my Midwest grammar learned me to end sentences with prepositions. I also partake in Self-Loathing Sundays on a regular basis, except for yesterday when I helped L-Ren move a fucking sofa fuck bed up four fucking flights of stairs and watched as stars formed in my eyes and heart nearly fucking exploded. But, whatever: at least I know I’m a fucking dork, unlike that dude at Harvard who reads our randomness as soon as his/her roommates go down to the courtyard to see if they can drink a gallon of milk in one hour. Losers. Go study some algebra, bitches! Allez bobsled.

sing the theme song: lists are great and lists are good/ i'd make a list every day if i could and would/ should you happen to read/ the yay sports page/ you might find my post funny/ or you might think that its gay

Friday, July 28, 2006

When Bobsled Commando used to do PR for the White House........


"Yes, yes I read Handsome Bobsled Captain Commando! What's the big deal America...Those Bitches are Funny!"

Sadly, days later Bobsled Commando was relieved of his duties in the White House Corps. It was not long before Captain Handsome too found an end to his political tie's as White House Wardrobe Consultant.....

Thursday, July 27, 2006

bust a nut inside yo eye, to show you where i come from

yesterday your man bobsled went swimming (yes, okay, swimming. it is not suitable weather to participate in a winter olympic right now, nor is it healthyy to partake in any activity with a nickname derived from such a sport every night) ahem, anyways, i went swimming...INA PUBLIC POOL. i guess there's nothing really that spectacular about that, except for the fact that the water was kind cloudy and it was really warm, like a bathtub, or like after a million little kids peed in it not just an hour beforehand, AND SOME OF THAT WATER WENT IN MY MOUTH. (have i succeeded in grossing you out yet? no?) then as i was swimming A LONG BLACK HAIR GOT STUCK IN MY MOUTH. and i tried to keep swimming while getting it out, but finally i just stopped, stood up and pulled the hair out of my mouth...IT WAS TOUGH TO DO CAUSE IT WAS KINDA STUCK DOWN THE BACK OF MY THROAT!! then, once i got that out, i realized i was standing ON A BANDAID! howard, canadian cupcake team, handsome and mad mike from california who just got hooked on our site last night: don't go swimming in a public pool! i am immune to such disgustingness having first learned to swim in a little place called oak park michigan where we would routinely dive to the bottom of the diving well and do battle with the epic sized hairballs that only exist where the light can not reach them. but you my friends, should just read about here instead.

(by the way, if you read this and you're from michigan and you happened to swim with the uss club, the stingrays, then you might know what i'm talking about. you might also remember the kick ass water slide that pool had. readers: if you ever find yourself in charge of a really, really big waterslide, i'm talking like at least three turns and a true water pump system that you can regulate the flow of water: run the water really hard to get the slide wet, then turn it down to a trickle. lay down with your back arched so that your heels and shoulder blades are the only thing touching. careful around the turns, cause you might go flying out, but seriously, you will fucking CRUISE down the slide. what we would do then at the bottom of the slide was see who could hit the turn so fast and so hard that it would actually shoot them upright and then try to 'skate' barefoot for the very last little straight part of the slide and into the pool. i've seen it done people. and its awesome!)

now granted, its free to go swimming in and the view is nice and its nice to be outside after a hot and humid day like we had, and the people who work there are all very nice and all that good stuff. there was just a few random moments of disgutingness that i wanted to share with you, hopefully before you're about to go eat a meal, like spaghetti, which is comparable in length to the hair that got stuck on my face.

sing the theme song: summertime/ the livin might be easy/ but the swimming is greezy/ hahahahaha/ stay handsome!! allez bobsled (i think i totally ripped that from iron chef, but whatever, that new head iron chef guy they have is such a let down compared to the original guy. americans suck at some things i guess, i'll concede that.)

Monday, July 24, 2006

SLS: My Story

Please read Bobsled's post below before reading this follow up piece. By piece i mean piece of crap.......

Self Loathing Sunday (SLS) luckily begins around ohhh 4 - 5pm when you wake up from last nights/this mornings slumber. Usually your eyes come crashing open, then immediatly turn red, burn, and finally are usually closed and buried under a pillow all the while moaning like. That is before you realize your mouth feels like a litter box and you go scrambling to the kitchen for a drink. That is before you realilze you have no drinks. Then, and only the have you entered a self loathing sunday. I have found only one thing that can make me feel any satisfaction on a self loathing sunday. Well 2 things but I don't want to talk about the porn. Shit. I digress.
Follow these steps and you have done all that you can do to feel better on SLS:
1) Gather every single food menu in your house/apartment.
2) Look at each one with interest and become highly excited about the only thing that can make you feel better (food).
3) Get angry because you don't know what the fuck you want to eat.
4) Call one of your other SLS suffering friends, complain, find out how you pooped on a bum's foot the night before, flirted pathetically with a girl that you will inevitably have to shamefully face again, and ask for advice on what country's edibles might save you from suicide.
5) You make the ulitmate decision. Order food from two different delivery places. A twinge of feeling better will be felt.
6) I usually prefer a Carl's Cheesesteak with extra Wiz then some mashed potatoes and buffalo wings from Manchester pub. Another favorite combination is Taco's and chips from Blockheads with cheese sticks and chicken nuggets fro Jimbo's hamburger pit. (Carl's: 3rd Ave @34th St. 212-696-5336 )
7) Always get a dessert. Milkshake recommended.
8) Realize that you ate too much and feel like shit again.
9) Porn
10) That didn't work eather cause there is no beating Self Loathing Sunday's you ignorant bastard! See you next week.

Captain "Eat Me SLS" Handsome

so deep its picked up on radios in tunnels

[A note before we get under way with this little shorty: the inspiration for much of this came from one of the funniest radio shows that I’ve ever listened to – The Gay Beach. Look to the right there and you’ll see a link for it. If you have iTunes, you can get the podcasts and listen to them at your leisure or you can spend part of a Saturday afternoon listening to it live. Anyways, some of the disc-jockey stereotypes from DJ TedWard are just spot on. My favorite was the Super Bowl Weekend and the The Blizzard ’06 weekend that followed immediately afterwards. Favorite quote: “Me and Paul Hardcastle are gonna be out at the Queens Guitar Center tonight handing out bumper stickers. Paul’s gonna be making pancakes. That shit, is gonna be…the bomb.” It’s a lot funnier when he says it though, but you get the point. Anyways, one Saturday was being dubbed ‘Self-Improvement Saturday’. DJ Tedward: if you made that up yourself, you are brilliant. If you didn’t, it’s still really damn funny and it has forever changed the lives of my friends and me.]

Since, oh, March of 06 now, Self Improvement Saturday has been our battle call come Saturday. The ironic twist: Since adopting said battle call, we have never spent a Saturday actually improving ourselves. The very first self-improvement Saturday involved a boozy brunch, drinks at DBA, including a $25 glass of the Glen Livet aged 18 years, a rejected credit card at West Elm and, of course, copious Eddie to end the evening/morning. Satrudays since have sort of fluctuated in terms of intensity, but they've all been pretty much days filled with much drinking and debauchery. Of course, its all well and good on Saturday: sitting at the bar, laughing way to loud about everything and raising multiple toasts to all the self-improvement that we were engaging in.

But as I sat on the couch the next morning with a throbbing headache watching infomercials and sipping a Budweiser (cause someone once told me that alcohol in the morning will help take some of the edge that I say: yeah right), I found myself cursing Self Improvement Saturday. More so, I found myself repeating the phrases, “I hate myself. Why did I do this to myself? I hate myself. Why? What was the point? Why not just go play in traffic and get the same experience in a much shorter amount of time and having spent far less money?” Basically having an Urban-Iccarus-like fall of the old Serotonin levels. Anyways, it dawned on my after a few hours of cursing myself out: I was bound to spend the whole day hating myself, aka self-loathing, aka Self-loathing Sunday. With that, I realized that with any stellar Self-Improvement Saturday, you will almost always find yourself in the grips of a Self-Loathing Sunday. (for all you retired Phish fans out there, i'll annotate that setlist style for you: self-improvement saturday>self-loathing sunday. phatty brah)

And it doesn’t get any better. As I lay in bed yesterday during yet another Self-Loathing Sunday furiously typing on the computer and eating Advil on the half-hour, I tried really, really hard to ignore the sunlight and beautiful weather outside. And the phone calls of people inviting me to do fun things in Brooklyn. And the phone calls of one L-Ren mildly annoyed cause I had been drinking for near on 48 hours and then was too drunk to pass out in bed with her the night before. But I couldn't ignore all that and I ended up hating myself, once again, all day long.

So, um, our advice…no, no, wait this isn’t really advice. Um…our warning…no, no, not that either. For what it’s worth (hopefully your enjoyment) live the HBCC way: Self-Improvement on Saturday and the realization that you’ll be holed up in your bedroom all next day for a fun and exciting Self-Loathing Sunday. Your body and brain and especially your self esteem will at least feel a little better than when you didn’t know about Self-Loathing Sunday and you spent all day trying to rack your brain and remember why the hell you feel so guilty about the excessive amounts of booze, drugs, rogan josh, bobsledding, sex, drugs, booze, partying, pizza, shoes, Sparks, booze, rock n’ roll, guns n’ roses, booze, and sleeping you partook in the night before. (Of course, if you have suggestions for how to battle the self-loathing, feel free to leave them in the comments section. We'll be glad to read them and loathe ourselves even more for not having thought of it them in the first place.)
sing the theme song: SIS is the way we roll/ we choose not to think about the partying toll/ wakin up the next morning/ with no memory at all/ of why we’re in bed naked/ with half eaten garlic rolls/ disgusting disgusting/ I hate myself/ loathing loathing/ where is my clothing?/ yeah

Sunday, July 23, 2006

how i spent my summer

ALERT: The HBCC has just received what is thought to be the first and earliest documented video footage of a typical Saturday night of awesomeness at Stanton and Orchard. Ladies and Gentlemen, without further ado, The HBCC presents: 23 seconds of awesome. (warning: what you are about to witness is in no way actually awesome.)

my style stays fat like roseanne

A Hipstoric Night (or, how we got the boots and conquered the LES one night in July): And so, this weekend the exciting drama comes to an end. It started with $180 dollars and a dream a little more than two weeks ago, and now it all comes down to this: the unveiling of the Nike Delta Air Force 3/4 Deluxe with Aubergine, Yellow and Zebra print color raceways. How exciting?!

First, a shout out to If you have not already checked this site, you betta do so immediately as this place certainly delivers on their promise. They also carry some crazy rare shoes that you won’t find anywhere else, for all you collectors out there. And, even though I live just around the corner from arguably one of the better known shoe stores in the whole shoe-love community (Rivington Alife), is just another necessary facet of my life that I can simply have delivered. (For those of you keeping score at home, that means I can now get food, laundry/dry cleaning, (although I have yet to try this), sex (again, haven’t had to resort to this) shoes, and, er, other things delivered right to my front door. Next up will be an MBA in bobsledding, two cans of Sparks, and, other things I’m sure I’ll think of at a later time.) So, yeah, Cause this ain’t Trading Spaces n*gga, this real fuckin life. Protect ya god damn neck. Step your kicks up to the next level.

Seriously though, order processing was prompt and delivery was on time. And the shoes are fresh out the box, as they say. What more could you ask for? Definitely a legit operation that deserves your consideration.

Handsome was vacationing at his Lower East Side Hamptons House this weekend for his birthday festivus. He chimed in with his thoughts on the shoe saga, saying,

“First off, a big sideways piece to Bobsled for all his hard work putting this thing together. Let me just take a minute and give you a tour of my feet. Who they were, where they were and where they are going. They were stuffed into some hot ass red puma runners from some warehouse in Wisconsin. But know what…..2004 and it is now what…..yeah, thanks bobsled for bringin me up to date. I rolled hard and comfortable but didn’t take down any b-var in those baby’s. So where am I now and where am I goin. Anywhere the fuck I want and you better check your cortex cause I am gonna be struttin. You all know the feelin’ when you get some new article and you forget you are a fat lazy loser. Not me, you.”

Check your god damn cortex! That’s an instant classic.

Another snippet from the weekend is this convo:

CH: “So what’s the plan tonight?”
BC: “I don’t know, nothing, I guess.”

CH: “What do you mean nothing? Just once I’d like to have a plan for the night.”

BC: “We have a plan every night.”

CH: “We do? What is it?”

BC: “Sit around and wait for someone to call us and tell us where to go.”

Anyways, an exciting two nights in the LES to say the least. Friday included the shoe unveiling, Indian food, Ace bar featuring Charlotte and her friend, the closest talker in the entire world, then the LES summer home for a second, Thor, a bench in front of the bodega on Ludlow with a Heineken can, and finally my bedroom. Saturday was lunch and margaritas at Barrio Chino on Broome Street, the apt, a ridiculous amount of food and drinks at Epsteins, the apt, L-Ren’s arrival, Iggys featuring my throw up in the bathroom, the apt, some random free booze magazine party featuring the one and only Powers and some rooftop drinking, the apt, Rosarios, the apt, L-Ren’s departure and finally my passing out. Today: self-loathing. (I have a whole post on this topic already set up. Keep your eyes peeled)

So, in conclusion -, check your cortex, lemme hold that, forget the plan, and happy birthday Handsome. You’re a good American who brings out the best partier in all of us. Some photos for your enjoyment:

L-Ren loves America
America boots help you throw down peace everywhere
Handsome gets a taste of his own aubergine

sing the theme song: we rolled hard/ we rolled deep/ we hipstered down/ and knew no defeat/ we kicked a lot of ass and took too many names/ we couldn't be bothered to stop and play games/ self-improvement stizz becoming a full time biz/ and if you don't recognize soon youll be like soda without the fizz/ flat

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

The Bobslead Trail

Remember that game Oregon Trail? The one you played on your Apple in the computer lab at lunch instead of playing with the other kids outside at recess because they would beat you up? Yeah, that game. Nerds.

Anyhow, it seems that the Commando blitzkreiged some Regon (O) Pinot and set forth upon the trail. He loaded up his wagon and named a leader for the long journey in Regon (O). That leader, according to the illustration to the right was "Penis". What Mr. Commando, like all 20 something American Men, d
id not know was that you should never let your penis be the leader. You either get laid or displayed. I don't think I have to describe what getting laid means. Or maybe I do you losers.....ha ha ha. Ok I am lonely and taking it out on you...

Back to the tail of the trail. So what did I mean when I said you might get "displayed" on and find out: [Actual letter from Mr. Commando in the Regon (O)] -- so last night we went to the winery which was all well and good. until i got a bit too drunk. then i passed out and sort of puked on the bus then came back to the hotel room and threw up all over my hotel room floor.

i bet the cleaning ladies will be all happy to clean up after me when i check out. plus, nothing makes a person look more stellar than throwing up on a bus, albeit i was in the bathroom. still my favorite rapper, mf doom, put it, "oh and i know, ya'll wanna see a whino, bring the wine out." -hotness

Wow, Commando really put on a display! Get it laid or displayed. So I have changed my mind. I encourage all of you to please, please, please make your penis the leader so that you can either get laid or displayed. If you get laid you are happy. If you get displayed then I am happy and will laugh at your misfortune.

Look at this guy fallen over. It looks like a photo-shop picture or something. This jackass actually fell down in the perfect still standing position. Displayed!!!!!

Oh, ok one more picture. Ever want to know Bobsled Commando's life story. Who is he? Where did he come from? Was it a good home? When was the first time he got displayed?

Go gettem Bobsled! Then have yourself a milk chaser! Ok now its time to sign off....till next time!

Stay handsome


i used to read word up magazine

[side note: this photo has nothing to do with today's post. but isn't it awesome?! bone suckin baby back ribs. ::shivers::]
Well, I guess the typical person might write about how hot it is outside right now. But what can I say that hasn’t already been said? I mean, the bobsled is up on cinder blocks right now and the captain has been sent running for his AC everyday and no one (no one) looks good in all this heat and humidity. Especially not I (or me). I love doing the universal sign for, “I’m sweating balls” which basically equates to pulling the sunglasses up and running a hand down your face to wipe away the little beads of sweat. Kind of like those things at the end of a car wash that super dry your car. Except, I’m no fucking dryer after having done it. So why is it that everyone feels compelled to do this? I don’t know, I’m not about to go into the reasons and psychology behind this maneuver. In fact, I don’t think I want to think much at all today. So I’ll tell you two short stories, one presented in a theatrical performance setting and the other in a first person account.

Conversation in Newark Liberty International Airport this morning:

Spanish-speaking colleague: My friend, you can help us?

Me: Sure what’s up.

SSC: how far it is to New York? We do not usually fly to New-ARK.

Me: Um, its like a 50 dollar cab ride

SSC: oh this is it? It is not, say 100 kilometers?

Me: No no, just got outside and get a yellow cab. It should only take like 20-30 minutes or so.

SSC: (relieved) ah yes, okay okay, so they will not be, uh, fugging us?

Me: (laughing out loud) nah, you’re cool. Bobsled or die motherfucker!! (high-fives)

Okay, maybe I stretched the truth with that last line, but the rest is a true story. And shout out to the guy driving my car who had no idea how to get around Manhattan, somehow dropped a $100 worth of cash somewhere outside of Newark airport after having dropped off a passenger and who’s most favorite diner in all of Manhattan (somewhere on 43rd and 11th) recently closed so that he now doesn’t have a diner to go to where he can and get free parking while he eats his ribs and stew in a clean diner setting. To top it off, he had to drive my miserable ass home who, in my attempt to get him to my apartment, got him lost in Chinatown. All I can say is: Karma’s looking out for you man. Keep your head up and you’ll find another diner soon. And I guess that photo above is dedicated to you: get your ass to VEGAS my man!! Allez Bobsled!

sing the theme song: tired of thinking/ tired of drinking/ hot as fuck and the temps aren’t sinking/ maybe get some lemonade/ maybe get some tea/ maybe try to stop the sweat from pouring out of me/ heading to UPS to pick up the boots/ senor sexy the hombre/ and sniffling kitties in shoots/ freestyle for the love of the style ya’ll/ everybody ping-pong

Monday, July 17, 2006

we on award tour with mohammed my man

Snakes and inspiration at 35,000 ft. Doesn’t anyone remember the last time Sam Jackson starred in a cheezy horror film? A shark ate him. Spoiler alert fools. Go see that Wayans movie instead (aside one second here: travis went to see plan nine from outer space last week at the sunshine movie theater midnight show. He said it was terrible in an awesome way. It begs the question: are the wayans bros. the Ed Wood of our generation? Aren’t our kids going to look back and say, “duh dad, its obvs they aren’t white girls, what the hell?” to which I’ll slap my child and say only dad gets to say what the hell, now go get me another beer and go to your room and put $25 on the NASCAR race for me…”)

Your bobsled is on the move ya’ll. Well, actually I’ve got my feet up and I’m just soaking in the Portland hotel fever, thinking about that NYC humidity that I’ve escaped. Sup now hotness.

Anyways, flying out here I had a nasty looking flight attendant. I always love to play that game where you look at the stewardess and think, ‘Maybe she’ll give me one of those I’m only in town for one night’ kinda things. Except, my stewardess had some kind of weird facial hair goin on. Like really weird shite. So let me state with confidence that, despite the fem-mullet coming back in style, the Fem-manchu is not coming back in style anytime soon.

More people need to ask themselves, WWHBCCD?

Shout out to THE boots have arrived in NYC. Of course I’m in Oregon (of all the fucking places) this weekend so their glorious arrival and unwrapping will have to wait until next Wednesday. When that happens, expect photos. And drinks, in fact I plan to take my shoes to the bar and get them drunk as hell, probably on 1.50 PBRs at the skinny on Thursday nights (don’t everyone show up at once tho). I just want to give my new boots the home eva, is that too much to ask?

sing the theme song: snakes on a plane/ and i can't complain/ cause the boots have arrived/ and you'd be insane/ to call sam jackson whack son/ portland loves crack/ gotta get me some/ thinking what would handsome bobsled do/ maybe get online/ maybe buy some shoes

to be continued...

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

the back of the club sippin moet

So it dawned on the Handsome-one and I while watching all that hot nation-on-nation action during the World Cup: they call the cleats boots! BOOTS! What the hell. We went to Epsteins this weekend and ate chicken fingers drenched in BBQ sauce (we asked buffalo-wing sauce asshole!!) to contemplate this strange phenomena and also to get really, really drunk and see if we could use our mind powers to make girls’ skirts blow up above their heads. We double killed some burgers and argued about the fact that the modern hotel sucks because your key always de-magnetizes and forces you to go down to the bell desk and say shit like, “I don’t usually complain….buuuuttttt” to which Handsome told me that I was such an asshole he couldn’t believe that we were actually friends. The absurdity and irony of said comment is worthy of its own post anyways, so I think I’ll just let that one go.

Where was I? Ah yes, Epsteins. We ate burgers and drank beers and watched Germany laugh in the face of Portugal and then we decided that maybe our mind powers would be stronger in La El Sombrero drinking Margaritas (with a capitol M, no doubt). Well they weren’t. But our drinks were stronger, and our fondness of all things hipster also grew much, much fonder as we sat the faux bike gang gather across the street. (PS, La El Sombrero, also known to some as the hat on the corner of Ludlow and Stanton, sup tourists, still serves to-go margaritas. Just now they come in Coca-Cola cups instead of Styrafoam.)

Our fondness of all things hipster grew to be so great, we gathered up enough nerve to move forward with purchasing what might qualify as the two most horrendous pairs of BOOTS on (lemme hold that). Whoever the hell reads this…I present to you:
Nike Dunk High Seersucker Edition (white / varsity red / midnight navy)
Size 13 (*yes, ladies, I know all about, the secret garden) (**also dubbed, America Boots)

Nike Delta Force 3/4 Deluxe (aubergine / metallic gold / black)
*This is a limited release in 2005!!! And do I need to tell you what the fuck. You. Can. Do. With. Deluxe?! DELUXE!! Better recognize deluxe when you see it bitches. Plus, you can't even fathom the power that someone has wearing shoes with Aubergine on them.

So, yes, the HBCC consists only of the manliest of men. (way above man laws) The kind who get together, have a few cocktails…er, drinks…and then get online and order shoes. And then fart about it. Don’t say shit cause when these boots arrive, as my friend so eloquently put it, "Naaa, holla and watch yo ass cause these Nike Delta Force 3/4 Delux's...are gonna rumble over, on, and through you".

(Just a short aside here: Bobsled does indeed have a bigger foot than Handsome. As big as the distance from the foot to the knee of Brooklyn’s own L Ren Ishii/Hubbard (the absurdity of our nicknames will soon only be rivaled by that of our secret handshakes which we will make known to the world via the power of cassette tapes…and videos. Straight oh-sixin ya’ll))(handsome: inside jokes, holla atcha aubergine mountain's majesty)

Anyways…god, what the fuck else did we do with our weekend? Um…oh that’s right…

sing the theme song: Friday at eddies then julep then thor/ and howard got us through the lotus door/ Saturday morning starts at two PM/ then we head down to epsteins to do it all, again/ Saturday night hadsome, straight up drank his drank drank/ Sunday belonged to Italians/ and I thought that stank/ singing: ohhhhhhhh what the hell/ ohhhhaahhhh no really what the hell

Friday, July 07, 2006

AHHH The Weekend. Long Nights and Wasted Days

I love the weekend! The two days where night and day switch place. Sleep till 6pm stay up till 9am. Great stuff! Livin' life in Puff Daddy's city (fuck calling him p-diddy)......For now. My goal is to have nyc called "The Big Handsome" by 2008. Get on board................

Or maybe I'll go to the beach...

Or maybe not....I'll just stay in the hatten and find one of these....

And if that fails, maybe i'll just entertain the cat......


vibrations good like sunkist

Hard to miss all those fancy beach bags on the subway this morning, usually being toted around by girls who weigh about half of what the bag does and usually holding up everyone while they struggle to get to work before they spend a glorious weekend getting tanned up drinking mudslides and slow roasting like a rotisserie chicken at Kennedy Fried Chicken on 14th Street between Avenues A and B (read: HBCC elks lounge).

But we sympathize. The beach is fun and sandy and we inevitably find our fat, pasty white beer guts jiggling up and down as we frolic in the cool waves of enjoyment and then slather sun tan lotion on each other so that we don’t not get good looking by getting all nice and tan.

So, in an effort to help everyone have a better time at the beach this weekend, or any weekend, we’ve put together the following chart that is chock full of important information that you should refer to anytime you are even thinking about going to the beach.
There are a few very important things here to note. First, this chart is 3-D. Now what that means is that it is three-dimensional and it’s going to appear that each of the lines has depth and width, when in reality they only have height. Second, since 1989 when we started doing our research (shout out to all you 9-year-old HBCC fans, get your research on kidz!) you can see that bobsleds have just never really caught on at the beach.

For the first few years we were seeing a staggering amount of Fritos being consumed at the beach, but that has since dropped off and has even been surpassed by the number of bobsleds on the beach.

Third, the level of d-bags who frequent the beach seems to vary based on a number of different factors including leap years, El Nino, transportation strikes, gas prices, hair product prices and the world supply of gold jewelry. We saw a significant spike in 2000 and 2001 just after George W won the election, but in 2002 East Timor became a new nation, so we think a lot of people skipped town on vacation that year. 1991 was the worst infestation ever due in large part to the popularity of such amazing pop music like ‘Good Vibrations’ by Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch (c’mon c’mon, feel it feel it)

This leaves us with Rogan Josh and Handsomeness. Rogan Josh was all the rage back in ’89, but people soon realized that spicy Indian food at the beach just isn’t as enjoyable as in a dimly lit restaurant on 6th Street (Spice Cove, what? Shout out to the most relaxing bathroom in the world). Plus, the hazards involved with eating Indian food in a bathing suit…well, we don’t need to go into detail here. Let’s just say that you can’t do an explosive number two in the water and think that no one will notice.

Finally, Handsomeness. What more needs to be said about this? 1999 was a bomb-ass year for it, but then again, what year isn’t a bomb-ass year for being handsome?

So, in summation: bobsled-o-rama, leave the Fritos and Indian food at home, watch out for douchebags, and always be handsome!

Sing the theme song:
Sometimes when I am lonely/ And my Rogan’s not in reach/ I head on down the turnpike/ make a quick stop at the beach/ Bathing bodies/ and sandy crabs/ And somewhere in the madness/ My bobsled’s getting mad/ Sooooooorrryyy bobsled/ We’ll hang together soon/ Soooooorrrrry bobsled/ I think of you when I sing this tune ::teardrop::


Wednesday, July 05, 2006

who's world is this?

Good morning AMERICANS (f*ck yeah). It’s Wednesday, July 5, 2006 and all over this fine country, two questions are being asked: how was your weekend? And what did you do? (and then: what?! You did what, where? Oh my god, is that legal?)

Well, the HBCC was up to no good, as usual. Even though the Capt spent the last two days working, he made up for it by being a complete drunk on Friday and Saturday and probably Sunday and definitely Monday. So don’t judge, asshole.

Er, right, so the weekend. Right, well, I’m not sure there’s much more that can be said that isn’t in the picture above. (BTW, Sparks sponsorship? Lemme hold that) Sure there was some Mexican food being eaten and some yelling of “God Bless America” and some world cup action that featured some
of the best hair in the world, but mostly there was drinking. Sweating, and drinking, sometimes at the same time, sometimes separately, but neither in any quantity that resembled moderation.

So here’s to you, U S of A. And here’s to another 230 years of Nike Air Force Deltas and everything else that we hold sacred.

And props to Handsome, just for being born. Seriously, you can not front on the last three posts that have come from his hand of genius. You are all not even worthy to look at his photo, but you can try if you want…

Tuesday, July 04, 2006

Entrepreneur Am I

4th of July. What a great, great day my fellow Americans. Happy 230th Birthday America! The celebration has been 4 days long now. I am definintly a fan of major holiday's occuring on a Tuesday! The distruction is everywhere. Crazy eyed ex-frat boys mobbing the UES looking for their 50th beer pong win. Yuppies and hipsters alike delve into the night as thought it were a 9 - 5 shift at the Bed Bath and Beyond Corporate Offices. 2 Piece Suites? Naaa, holla and watch yo ass cause these Nike Delta Force 3/4 Delux size 13's with the interchangable black and red shoe laces are gonna rumble over, on, and through you if you say suite again. This is Fourth of July 4 Day Fucking Weekend.

That said, I am lying. I worked today. But the last 3 days that seemed to be pretty much like that. Instead I did something even more American on this hallowed birthday of a Nation overrun with bullshit politics, Hummers, and Holla Back........Wait, I like the Holla back. Lemme hold that. I digress, so what was this great American thing I did today. I went to work hungover, sat at my desk reading sports online, ordered tacos, watched world cup (nice work Italy - Basta Germany!!!) and generally was a waste of shit. Now that is American! Well, now I am home just wasting time. I mean getting wasted. The Macy's 4th of July Fireworks are going on about 200 feet away from my apartment and I am not even going to leave my miniscule apartment to see them. That too is a Testiment to Americans. But wait. I have come up with my sure bet way to live that American Dream you are always hearing about. Thanks to my business partner, Mr. Powers and his "dream for esteem". Entrepreneurial side......GOOOOOOOOO (for Bobsled ----> Mmmmeeeeeaaaaaallllllllllll).

Yes that is right losers. Like every good 2.0 GPA graduate of the James Madison College of Business, I did my market research. There are a ton of you Self Esteem Spa needing people out there. These ordinary, kinda geeky, people are now going to have their day. Tired of seeing all those hot ass botox bitches strolling around getting facials (not that kind HBCC reading audience......I was thinking it too :) he he he) and Spa Treatments. Well, now you will have your own Spa too. One that will leave you feeling just as confident, handsome, fresh, and inwardly happy as those uppity bitches who go to spa's to pamper her physical self. Come and Feel your inner beauty at the Self Esteem Spa. With many specialized treatments incuding our:
No Loathing Lounge - Our Esteem Servers make the smoothest Sherbert Smoothies with no less than 3 compliments while you enjoy your beverage or the smoothie's on us!
Breakdonw Booth - Not for beginners, this high intesnsity breaking of your "self" will leave you sucking your thumb like a little baby giraffe. We have hired a crack team of Ex-Marines to crush the pathetic person you have sadly grown to be. Then Get Ready.....
Fake Date Dinner - A favorite for the mid-lifer's! Our personalized staff of retired "Tide" and "Sunny Delight" Commercial Actresses' will really build back that self esteem you were looking for. How much is this service you ask? Whatever the cost of dinner, the more you pay at dinner, the more self esteem we pile on.
The Shame Chamber - Modelled after a Native American Sweat Lodge, this esteem treatment yeilds results for both body and soul. Sweat out the old you as we pump in Rod Steward Classics. "If you think I'm sexy...."
Solid Fucking Gold People. Isn't this the best Business Idea that you have ever heard of. And the best part is, I know it works. I am not only the co-founder and President, I'm also a client! Happy 4th of July My Fellow Americans!
Ohhh, I almost forgot.....Congradulations Bobsled! This fine American completed 2 complete Mexian Restaurant Dinners with sides and all last night at El Sombrero around 1:30 am. And chips and salsa! Great work Amigo. I guess the Macy's show tonight won't be the first Fireworks You Have Seen (experienced) Today. Ziiiinnnnggggg

Monday, July 03, 2006

2 Times The Love (In Your Heart): A Lionelle Richie-esque Love Song

When the seads of your love
Grow From My Heart
I can feel the beating of desire
Heavy Metal love from the start

When the rain from heaven
Comes down cold and hard
I flash some courage and handsome
If yer a short bus, I'm your retard

Cause you got 2x the love in your heart
take me to the car you will staaaarrrrt
With the love gas.........from your heart!

Cause you got 2x the love in your heart
My dreams a reality in truth-------
God you're the Whinny Cooper of my yoooouth
Thank you, thank you for my troouuusser dart.....

When will the passion grow old
Its when time builds a supernova
Of love dense in the space of my heart
Racing through like Tony Soprano on a Vespa

Oh kitten scratch on your post
Drop your Iams in the litter of my love
Your love and droppings i'm proud to host
Oh kitten sniper drop your bullets of love from above....

Cause you got 2x the love in your heart
take me to the car you will staaaarrrrt
With the love gas.........from your heart!

Cause you got 2x the love in your heart
My dreams a reality in truth-------
God you're the Whinny Cooper of my yoooouth
Thank you, thank you for my troouuusser dart.....

OK, SO THATS MY FIRST LOVESONG CONTRIBUTION TO THE SITE. $20 TO THE FIRST PERSON / BAND THAT ACTUALLY WRITES MUSIC TO THE PIECE. I WILL TAKE A LIVE PERFORMANCE OR DIGITAL RECORDING FOR ACTUAL PROOF. So do you think it kinda trails off in the end. Did it go a little wierd? Damnit. Love is crazy. Like a kitten in a cow store.