Thursday, August 31, 2006


The Ten Commandments. The Bill of Rights. The Spanish Armada. The NY Post Top 25 Sexiest New Yorkers. Seems like everybody these days has a got a list. So, seeing as how we're never ones to let the bandwagon just roll on by, we put our heads together, met up with Travis America, got drunk, forgot what it was we set out to do, and then came up with the idea to put together a list of our own. A list of things in this fine city that have either crossed our paths or given us inspiration to write vapid posts that aren't about how miserable our lives really are and hopefully keep you preoccupied from realizing that you’re reading a blog with the dumbest name ever.

Ladies and Gentlemen:
without further ado, the HBCC is really fucking proud to present (we actually worked kinda hard on this for like a day or two) Part 1 of HBCC's FIRST EVER, 25 MOST HANDSOMEST NEW YORKERS.

25. Tim Robbins –
What a sweet, politically-opinionated, Greenwich Village Roller Hockey Star. He made the list cause he is cool enough not to marry Susan Sarandon and somehow convinced her to be his mythical non-married life partner. If you think, "Oh Susan Sarandon, who cares?" You are obviously one of those straight edge assholes that hasn't seen Rocky Horror Picture Show. I would land that in a second.

24. Vlad –
If you want to be Handsome, you need to employ professionals that will help you become and maintain Handsomeness. Enter, Vlad the Barber. Located on 49th between 1st and 2nd Avenues, he is a third generation barber and truly doing his family name a great deal of honor. I think the Captain sums it up nicely with this concise review: "Most care ever given. Will laugh cockily at customers who ask for a quick hair cut. A smirk that would give Val Kilmer a run for his money. Soft hands. Warm heart." Nuff repect.

23. Jason MulgrewWell, we alluded to this earlier this week, but now that ole boy isn't floating through the middle stratosphere of 200lbs., and since People Magazine were such assholes to leave them off their eligible bachelor list this year, and since he's friends with one of our friend's friends' friends (check out that apostrophe use) we figure, eh, what the fuck. He is an eloquent writer, which is kinda the same as being a handsome person. And having the guts to live in the cultural nightmare that is Chillita, well that’s handsome enough to be number 23.

22. White outfit guy in the LES Anyone who has spent an extended period of time in the LES has seen this guy. Middle aged man, super skinny, usually rocking the handsome scruff facial hair, and dressed, from head to toe, in all white. Fuck a season, dude's got all white gear for any time of year. Summer? Cut off white denim, white t-shirt and white Chuck Taylors. Winter? White knit hat, white long sleeve t-shirt, white gloves, white sweat pants (or jeans, I can't tell) and white Chuck Taylors. And dude even goes so far as to accessorize with a plastic bag full of stuff that I’m sure the safety of our nation depends on. White outfit guy: don’t ever change. The hood just wouldn't be handsome without you.

21. Todd, the Saturday afternoon bartender at Schiller’s
1.) Schiller's makes the most handsome drink in the entire (dare I say?) city. The New York (Fucking) Sour. When Self-Improvement Saturday rolls around again, do yourself a favor and get your head to the corner of Norfolk and Rivington before it explodes, sit yourself at the bar and meet your new best friend for the next three hours. 2.) Dude makes a GREAT drink. What better way to cope with VineyardGate '06 than to make a Whiskey Sour with Wild Turkey 101. It's like he knew that I was having the most miserable day of the summer. Seriously, story: Senor Sexy joined us at the bar. Senor has been known to do a fair share of partying and drinking. He finished one sour and asked, “What's the big deal?” I said, “Ask me again when you're halfway through your next drink.” Needless to say, asking again was not necessary. And then dude bought us another round. A Handsome drink poured by a bartender who knows the meaning of the word, Handsome.

20. David Copperfield – Park Avenue homeboy who's just handsome enough to bang supermodels. Handsome up, ho's down as you mothafuckas bounce to this. And poof….he's gone. Fucking Magic. Awsome. Handsome. Bobsled. Captain. Commando.

19. Melky Cabrera –
For any youngsters out there who took the SAT exam last year, you may recall seeing the following “Analogy” question:
Melky Cabrera : Defense = NASA : __________

For those scoring at home, the answer was (B) Not Having Pieces Of Space Shuttle Land In Texas. That's how bad a fielder Cabrera was during his brief call-up from Triple-A Columbus (O-H!) last year. Who knew that less than 12 months later, t
he guy would be a Studly Stopgap for the injury-riddled Yankees, making fans quickly forget the names “Matsui” and “Sheffield?” This is more a statement on drinking habits of Yankee fans than anything else, but let the record show that Melky has proven his mettle as the Yankees are coasting to yet another division title. And he's not a bad-looking guy—I think there's some Asian in there somewhere. Asian is the new Handsome.

18. James the Bouncer @ Motor City – Bouncer's are usually just huge piles of shit. At least, that's what the Germans would have you believe. But we here at the HBCC realize they are a necessary part of preserving our societal structure that is a 21-year-old drinking age limit. So we're cool with all bouncers and we love to give them a pound when they let us in the club like we just got dropped off in an armada of Range Rovers and we're on our way up to the VIP booth to hang out with Jay-Z. But, being that Motor City bar has only extra large bathrooms instead of VIP lounges and…..never mind that. This guy is nice and courteous even though Handsome wears red shoes that match nothing else he is wearing, usually a biker bait kind of outfit. He accepts you for who you are (moment). And that's Handsome.

17. Frank the Bodega Indian (49th and 2nd ave) $1.00 snapples and $5.00 cigs in the city. He even has a cat to bring the lady's in….where he proceeds to stare at them with an intriguing smile as if he is thinking of eating cotton candy at the circus. Handsome, playa!

16. Lillo Brancato –
A Bronx Tale. What a good looking kid. Nowadays, not so much, although those stripes might end up looking okay on him. This native New Yorker knows exactly how to stay big in the apple: Crack. Nice work Jaggoff. Still got that beautiful little baby face though. You handsome New York Crackhead! P.S. Captain Handsome bought his first leather jacket shortly after seeing A Bronx Tale at age 13. This guy might even be partly responsible for the celebrity we now know as Captain Handsome. Sadly, Handsome's crack habit did originate from a chance meeting with former NY Handsomeboy Nominee Daryl Strawberry.

15. Foxy Brown –
"Ladies is pimps too, go on brush your shoulders off." Look, first off, Wikipedia says that she is of Trinidadian descent, and you know that the HBCC is all about Trinidad & Tobego. Second, girl put out an album called Ill Na Na. Just imagine your dad saying, "I got to hit that Ill NaNa last night" and then try to stop laughing some time this century. Third, ole girl is in and out of probation and court hearings because a.) she assaulted her manicurist (who was probably some little japanese woman) and b.) she then, while on probation, went to a Greenwich Village store, yelled at an employee and then stole a bunch of shit. Wreckless regard for the law is so Handsome right now.

14. Robin Byrd – Travis America would still hit it, as this would fulfill some strange desires from his pre-adolescent days when he would stay up past midnight and watch her show on Channel J (remember letter channels?) Sure, she's terrifying now, but back in the day — well, she was still hideously handsome. But she was almost naked, and that was enough. All you little whipper-snappers think you're slick with your remote controls and your "Last Channel" and "Guide" buttons. Imagine the anxiety of hearing your dad's footsteps down the hallway and know that you had to somehow turn the dial (THE DIAL!) back to Nick at Nite and return to your seated position on the couch in less than 4.3 seconds. Thanks Robin – you taught a generation of youngsters about the secret garden and the good life that being Handsome can get you.

13. Joe Bendik –
We've never met this punk-rockin', sleeveless shirt-wearing, leathery-faced, runaway-banging staple of the East Village, but Travis America constantly sees him on 14th Street on weekday mornings. However, Joe Bendik never seems to be walking in the same direction, which would lead one to rule out the possibility that he's headed to a day job. So props to Joe for having the initiative to get up in the morning for no apparent reason, and more props if it's for a drug fix. Even further props to Joe for being constantly spotted on weekend afternoons with buxom, women half his age (Joe himself is probably somewhere between 35 and 60). He's been blowing the roof off the Sidewalk Café with his ear-splitting rock outfit ever since Travis was in college, where he drunkenly happened upon Bendik midway through one of his not-so-legendary performances. Travis doesn't remember much from that evening except a friend turning to him and saying, "I don't know if the joke is on him or us." Travis also remembers that Joe closed the set with a tune called, "People Suck," a prescient anthem for the East Village if there ever was one.

12. San Loco register workers at Stanton St. location –
Because despite the lightning fast gentrification of the LES over the last year, you still manage to take the orders of hundreds of B&T douchebags accurately and then call out their orders with an ever-so small amount of TLC that I'm sure the tourists just find to be, "Sooooo New York." So dudes, and dudettes: keep playing that crazy death-metal, rockabilly, freak folk and keep slinging that silly sauce until 4AM, because we wouldn’t be handsome if we just went staight home after the bar without having stuffed ourselves balls deep with cold refried beans, extra sour cream, taco's, lettuce and shitty ‘vegetables’.

11. Andre Agassi – Dude might hail from Las Vegas, but every time about this year ole boy is NYC’s own as he stands for life, liberty and freedom on the hardcourt. Plus, dude is the “Image is Everything” dude from way back. You can’t front on that. PLUS Plus, you can only imagine his marbles are as well groomed, shaved, and handsome as his marvelous dome piece of late. And if they aren’t, his super German wife probably takes a straight razor to them while he’s sleeping and he doesn’t even feel a thing. ADVANTAGE: AGAHANDSOMASSI!!



I am about to go to sleep but flip the channel just one last time. It is at this moment that I catch myself eye to one of the last shows that I have even allowed myself to view. I was kind of panicked at first. Could I watch this crap? what would it be like? Most importantly, can my neighbors see in my window and know That I am watching DOG Bounty Hunter? Yes I said it. Whooooooaaahhhhh. Hilarious. This guy has some cajone's on him. Not really, referring to him being tough and all but more.......more about the feathers he has braided into his long long hair. Only the truly greats can get away with this kind of move. Keith Richards, Johnny Depp, Swiss Family Robinson. You know, legends. This guy is no legent. Not more than the guy with the Quick lunch cart on 46th and Park and the long line of suits from the 12pm - 2pm rush. But don't tell him.....or god. Evidently they are close. He told me so.

So the basis of this absurd little A&E number is that Dog, his 22 years past her porn day glory wife, son (actual badass) and redneck brothers all go chasing bums who run on bail. They have these "suiting up" scenes like it is Rambo 3, and all they end up doing is catching some 55 year old methhead outside of a Jamba Juice. I listened to the second episode of the evening while writing this reactionary piece and from just listening you would swear they were Navy Seal Team 6 breifing 2 miles off shore of Beiruit. Down with Hezbolla! Sorry, just came out. Actually I don't even have an opinion but Fox News tells me that the above comment is correct.

I really don't want to say too much more. I mean, I could go real deep on this Dog character. However, I will just kind of intruduce to you the idea of chiefing some crons and watching just a bit of this real life drama. By drama I mean the production of Cabaret that I co-starred in during the 10th grade. Incidentally, I am not telling you to watch this crap either. I am just sayin' it's out there.

Evidently he is also a drinker......

I was thinking about starting my own NY spin-off: CAT: HBCC Hunter....

Ok, I'm done. Goodnight America!

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

let me clear my throat...

two outs. top of the 9th. one run lead...
bwaahahhahhahahaahhaahahahahahahahahahaha suck it Yankees

look, i know it was just one game, but damn that was awesome seeing the Yankees bite it like that. and i know that the HBCC isn't some sports blog for kids who can't read good and wanna learn to do other stuff good too, but it doesn't mean that the Yankees can't not let up a game winning home run cause they didn't give the best team in baseball any respect. guess that was a pretty big GAMBLE bringing in PROCTOR like that. ZING. okay, okay, i'm done. sorry.

besides, as the kids who graduated from Our Lady of Sorrows would say: "The Tigers are winning?! Quick! To the bandwagon!"

Yay Bobsled, Beautiful Memories.....A favorite:

Tom Cruise Agrees!!!!

straight up and down it's all good

i need to wax sentimental for two seconds: remember gary larson's 'The Far Side'? sure, we all do. that shit used to rule my life. of course, trying to tell people what was actually happening in your favorite sketch was a little like trying to recreate your favorite SNL episode: "...and then, in the background, there's all these other cavemen, and they're like, 'aaaiiiirrrrr speeeaaarrrr.'" usually it finished with you waiting for a reaction, the other person looking a little confused, everyone feeling a bit awkward, and then you saying, "um, uh, i guess you had to see it." [quick aside: this weekend, billy madison was on tv. now, its no secret that i haven't come far since, what?, 8th grade when that came out. billy madison still cracks me up. that scene in the academic decathalon when eric plays the shit outta the violin and then billy tries to play the oboe and only noise comes out and he looks at the judge, laughs, and thens says, "hehe, he's good." that's what i usually say when i try to recreate a funny scene from a movie or SNL skit and people don't find it funny...what?...ah, ah, shit. i guess you had to see it. hello tangent city. anywayssss.....]

but somehow i wasted hours of my life at swim meets just looking through page after page after page of this. well, this and calvin & hobbes, that was a good one too. but far side, whoooweeeee. good stuff.

the HBCC salutes you, Mr. Gary Larson and your insanely funny funniness that we can only hope to asspirate to.


Monday, August 28, 2006

I wanna introduce you to my peoples

I stole this photo from It’s hilarious though, right?

  • First off, a big congratulation to one Mr. Jason Mulgrew. Ole boy decided to go on a serious diet, did it, dropped a lot of weight, and has written about his experience, especially the whole ‘it changed my life part.’ Mulgrew has always written great posts about a veritable plethora of different subjects (although his fantasy football previews are a bit verbose and a little too Bill Simmonsy for me) and the new addition of photos to his sight are a welcome change, so go read what he’s got to say.
Speaking as someone trying to make a few changes in their life AND get ready to run a marathon here in a few months, I thought Mulgrew's story was great. Our bobsled helmets off to you sir. And this is in keeping with the theme of the HBCC: Self-Improvement. Of course we preach the bible of Self-Improvement Saturdays, but we’ve been known to preach and not heed our own advice. So here’s your chance to actually witness some serious Self-Improvement.

  • Lately SlamXHype has just been blowing up my laptop like a Sony battery these days. It’s no secret around here that Handsome and Shoes get along together. Well this site has the low down on some of the absolute most amazing shoes, as well as (god I almost said hott) fucking sweet clothes. Also, if you love the most amazingest shoes you’ve ever seen, also check out KickBack If you want to see some other great gear, also check out 10 Deep, and Cream. But keep your eye to SlamXHype, cause the recon they get here is just out of this world.
  • My buddy Burgoon who I am insanely envious of his music collection has kicked The Ohio LeBlog back into OD has they say. If you like Ohio Sports, specifically of the Cleveland variety, you might want to pop in from time to time and say hello. If you’re just more interested in the NBA in general, may we suggest FreeDarko and YAYSports. FreeDarko for the very serious, discerning reader and YAY for lighter side of basketball.
  • Last, but certainly not least, Captain Handsome has been loving the music of Kieran McGee lately and I have to say that I couldn’t agree with him more, although I knew about how cool it was way before he did. If you’ve got a few minutes, have a listen.
  • AND if you're eating and breathing awesomeness like us, be sure to have a look at SpinachDip NYC. Gonna have a funky good time...

Saturday, August 26, 2006

Here I Sit Broken Hearted

So I am on Hour 30 at work. I have not left this building since 7am Friday morning. If you have ever read this site before you may not believe me. I don't believe me. This fucking sucks. Wait, wait, i got something.....Benefit: I am starting to hallucinate...purple. PURPLE. Whoops. And I worked through the overnight on a Friday. So what is it I do? Who would employ the man of stories such as the ones on this site and a name of Handsome? Why would I work all night? Finance baby! Making the greenbacks. Ummmm, no. Maybe I am in P.R. Ha ha noooooooooo.

I work in a hotel. I work in a suit and have everyone around me believing in my respectability (I think, well that's what I tell myself). I get yelled at by rich people. I command an army of immigrant workers (fun shit, try it sometime). I pretend I know what the fuck is going on pretty much every second of every day, meanwhile I am daydreaming of avalanches, crono's, boobies, booze and just about every lazy subject known to man. I have met celeb's. Shit tons of them. Most of them are pretty boring. I tell girls when I am drunk and they like it. I get free drinks and have connections at Scores. Fuck all that. I work in a goddamn hotel. This is what in monkey hell I am dealing with at hour fucking 30! Below is an actual letter I recieved and had to respond to...

Dear Handsome,

Thanks for your response, regarding the air condition, it was reported to the front desk, and they told us that it was as cold as it could be, the thermostat at our room didn´t control the temperature of the AC it was all controlled from the front desk, being the manager you should now this or your staff lie to me. (I'm thinking about how his mother must have beat and fondled him as a child ....)

Regarding the change of rooms, you change my brother to the same floor I was , and the AC didn´t cool their room as well so nothing change . So you didn´t solve his problem. (I am sure your hut in Mexico has central air ass whipe (he is from mexico i am not a total douche bag you know))

Never the less , now I understand that to be attended and consider at your hotel I have to go down stairs ,complain and maybe yell at somebody and this way you will do something about the problem or at least give a discount. (ahhh here it is...gimme the freebie - knew this was coming. die die die)

I feel offended because you acted as if you solve my brother problem and you didn’t, and now your telling me that a change of room would have help , maybe you think your clients wont feel the temperature just because you change their rooms. (Die)
We are not idiots. (Of course you aren't....die)

We only felt robbed and now we feel robbed and ofended. (did he fondled.....I knew it! check the spelling johnny high class....i bet you know abour border jumping too you litte bastard (ok so i am a douchebag but in a Dave Chappelle / Bob Saget let me get away with it kind of way))

If you think a complementary stay will make me feel good after I paid more than 2000.00 usd, for your bad service you are so wrong. And Im not maria Eugenia Im david her husband , the one who paid you for a bad service. (this guy is really a piece of shit huh? Can't wait to get smokehouse wasted tonight...oh Eddie...)

Thanks for the warm regards, that’s the way we felt the during our stay…..WARM.
ETHIER YOU PAY ME BACK ALL THE MONEY YOU TOOK FROM ME , OR DON’T WORRY ABOUT ANSWERING THIS EMAIL. (Easy fucking answer there you sick bastard! Ok, everyone.......should I respond? What would you say? Dude, I am really hallucinating right now....)

-Pedro Javier Gonzalez

Please respond with your suggestions on how to handle Senor Gonzalez. I need your help!

Ok I am at 32 hours......Time for Epstein's! Maybe I should sleep....I need to sleep........Epsteins! Enjoy your weekend.

San Loco a Go Go..........Right Through You

When I first decided that I would no longer be known by my given name, I almost decided to go another route than Captain Handsome. I was really torn between my present moniker and the barely less accurate "Captain Taco". I know what you are thinking, floppy taco. Well, that is true, however I am talking about the crispy delight that is know throughout my bowels as the Crispy (or Crunchy) Taco. Probably the most perfect creation in all culinary history. Well, that and Funnel Cake. No Taco wins. Oh taco vs. Godzilla? Advantage, Taco (silly sauce is much more distructive than that bitch ass breath he has....keep reading)

Do I have to tell you what the fuck the food pyramid is? It is the fundamental building block of all nutrition, let alone the modern taco. Read me here, Tacos are to nutrition as King Tut is to the food pyramid......hmmmm even lost myself there. Ok, regroup.....think about Old El Paso. Whew, I am back wicha. Taco has the perfect combination of all ingrediants....kind of like The band "The Who" before the pedofillia and drug infused deaths. Focus!: Grains? Smile at your cruncy delight of a shell. Meat? Spice that cow carcus up and stuff that shell baby. Veggitables? Lettuce, Tomatoe, and all that good shit in salsa. Dairy? Sour Cream like a Mexican Dream. So now you can convince anyone that taco's are healthy. Courtesy of Capt. Handsome.

They really are the perfect food. I have eaten these little bitches since birth. For all meals: breakfast, lunch, dinner, and most certainly drunk as hell. I might just be the leading Tacoteer in the Northeast. Some highlights from my taco resume:

- Spending over $20 at Taco Bell......only on 99cent taco's
- Eating over 20 taco's in a sitting
- Eating taco's for 13 straight days
- Presently have had taco's for dinner atleast 4 out of 7 days a week for the past 4 months. (not
even counting the late night San Loco Runs......ha ha ha I said San Loco Runs....get it. more on this later)
- I have written to the Old El Paso taco company on multiple occasions asking to be the face of Old El Paso. So far the shitty ass postal service seems to have lost my mail before it reached my future employers at the Old El Paso Mud Hut in Brownflow, AZ
- Mr. Fantastic / Urban Iccarus, I know I must be missing some special occasions here....can you
help me out here?

You folks ever heard of San Loco? It is a tocoery(made the word up....Word Up!) located on the corner of Stanton and Ludlow St. You know, the one that UES Izod lovers get cursed at by the tattoo'd non caring hipster ass that inevitably works the counter (actual picture of the type of humans found in San Loco ala 4am to the left). I know, don't say it....there are a couple other locations but they are all shit. Frankly, let me tell the goddamn story. This is probably my favorite late night taco joint in the city. Are they good? Let me put it this way "The nigga tried to kill my fatha!!!!! With stupid sauce. I am never there sober so I actually don't really know what they taste like but alas I know the shells are crunchy, they are cheap as balls, i can get them late, they are across the street from Bobsled Headquarters, and alas they are slathered in some toxic shit called "Stupid Sauce". This stupid sauce is really fucking stupid. It tastes good but holy ballsweat is it hot. I have what they call the "Monitor Stomach" (think early cival war, iron clad, battleship royale). I once ate refried beans that were still in the can and pooped out a nickel. My stomach is Sssssooolid son. Anyhow, I am baffeled at the way that this Stupid Shit....errrr Stupid Sauce permeates my defenses. I feel like Zqi Xu Quain of the Cambodian basket ball team that just laced up my size 8 (womens) shoes to play the Dream Team (real dream team folks) when I eat this shit. Last weekend I did it without a sip of water at 4am.............

I love taco's. End of story! Who has money I eat one tonight. Who? Who?

-Captain Taco

Friday, August 25, 2006

Avalanche Rock

So as I sit in my cube preparing for what will be a very tame weekend where I have no plans except for running through the streets of Manhattan at 7AM on Sunday (with my clothes on) (oohhhhh, the intrigue!), I'm contemplating how to start a post. Cause I've got some things I need to share with you, but I can't think of a clever lead in, or a punchy headline that might make you say, “damn, what is this all about? I must read on.” What I decided to go with is that age old question, “if the world ended tomorrow, what sort of knowledge would I like to leave behind for the next race of people who procreate and rebuild civilization?” (what the fuck? Just go with it.)

Anyways, one bad thing and then a couple good things:

1. Never mix in Crown Royale if you haven't finished all the Jameson's you put in your glass before. “That shit is just not kosher.” – Rabbi Bobsled Goldberger

2. (start of the good things) Right, so I thought to myself that if the world were to end tomorrow, I'd like to be on record as having sucked a few dicks in admiration before I died. These include:

a. Ronald of Ronald’s Pizza (74 Orchard St., 212-533-4052) Every time I order dinner from this place it is fan-fucking-tastic. Last time I blasted through a Chicken Piccata with a side of Spinach Al whole bunch of Italiano wordsiosos. Oh man, and when I finished eating I remember just sitting on my couch in my shoebox apartment with no AC feeling like I just won the World Cup and having visions of your man bobsled zipping around the Big Apple on a Vespa. And that was after only one glass of Crownesons. So do yourself a favor and get some food from this place if you're in the hood.
b. Biolage hair care products – ladies, you know what I'm talking about here. And lemme tell…I know all about, the secret garden (what the fuck is he talking about? Get a copy of the first song from the album White People by Handsome Boy Modeling School. One day I'll upload it to the site, but now all I have is a recommendation. Funny shit.) Anyways, if the Virgin Mary ever farted, I imagine her fart smelled like Biolage shampoo and conditioner. And if I were ever to run my hands through the hair of a unicorn, I imagine it would feel something like what my hair feels like after washing with this stuff. In fact, my arm usually gets a bit tired from running my hand through my hair so much. So ladies, if you ever want to stay over, you know I've got superior hair products for you in the morning. And fellas, you gotta get with the Biolage.

c. And last, but certainly not least: The Avalanches. (A quick aside here, again, before I get started: Last summer, my boy burgoon hooked me up with an amazing CD from one of my favorite groups in the last five years, the Avalanches. The Breezeblock mix. Hotness. I was rolling around Indianapolis bumping this in my Taurus rental car and getting my tradeshow on. Then one day after bumping the mix CD, my old boy Wes called to tell me that he knew about my, er, substance abuse problem and that it would be wise for me to lay off the avalanches. He said this literally like two seconds after I had flipped off the Avalanches mix CD. Needless to say, that lead to some confusion, but let me assure you fair reader (narc) that we are in fact talking about the band and not extracurricular activities.)

Right, so anyways, the Avalanches. If this band comes out with a new CD soon or decides to finally tour the US, I want to be on record as being solidly on their collective jock. Fuck a Flatbush avenue mix CD with some stupid 50 cent remix or some whack ass hipster mashup with Biggie and Gnarls Barkley (I’ve heard it. It's whack). This group puts together mashups of epic proportions and you know the HBCC has got the back of any band that wants to rip up Daft Punk AND Hall & Oates. For real, check it, soon. The first album, Since I Left You, is the perfect music for people on acid (I’m just making assumptions here) and their rare mix CDs that ARE out there, are just 30-60 minute amazing jam sessions that will take you all over the map, from George Michael to Missy Elliot to Queen. WTF man, double-U tee eff? Seriously. Its just that sort of randomness that we like to model our bullshit after. Let us know if you want some tunes. We’ll hook it up. On our way home from the hilly hills of PA and one hell of a rafting trip, we threw this on (pre-Colossal Burger at Fridays) and rocked out. I also once made a car trip from Vegas to LA with only one CD, an Avalanches Mix Tape. Approximately an hour long. I listened to it four times. And then again that night cruising the Sunset Strip in my Pontiac Grand Prix rental (hotness). Anyways, the post rafting trip revolved around us freaking out about the Trinidad and Tobego song which one day I will upload to this site. In the meantime you can read here to get a little idea of what kind of craziness they produce.


Thursday, August 24, 2006

93 million miles away from came one to represent the nation

This one’s going out to you little guy. Hey listen, sorry to hear the news man. C’mon, chin up. It’s not so bad. Who wants to be a planet anyways? I mean, talk about a glass ceiling. Except for that whole, “Let’s let Pluto not be the last planet even though he is” bit that those other planets pulled on you, you were never going anywhere. Look at where you’re at now? Next time a satellite comes out your way, everyone’s gonna be like, “There’s Pluto, the first thing you come to outside of our galaxy.” Granted, they won’t call you a planet any more, but at least you’re first at something now.

Besides, who needs those non-PC bastards? “Dwarf Planet?” That’s some cold shit right there. Couldn’t they have come up with something a little nicer, like “Smallest planet with a heart of gold” or “Did the best he could for as long as he could but we had to cut him loose planet?” It just ain’t right.

Now, look, I know you’re probably super pissed right now, and that’s understandable. But don’t going taking out this aggression on Earth by crashing in to us or something like that. I think I speak for the rest of us when I say that we don’t mean you any disrespect like those know-it-all scientists do. I mean, you and me: we’re boys. Remember back in school when I couldn’t remember who you were, and you were all like, “C’mon dawg, it’s me. Last planet? Outer belt? First name starts with a ‘P’?” Eventually we were like best friends cause I knew you knew what I was going through, out there, all cold and alone feeling like no one ever came to visit you. Granted, soon there after I found out about girls and masturbating and all that stuff and then you and me weren’t so close any more, but it wasn’t just you, I shut out all the other planets at that point, and all my science subjects for that matter (cept anatomy, OH SNAP!). Even when Jupiter went on that whole ego-trip thing cause like a couple big rocks were getting all up in her shit. I didn’t care. After you, Pluto, how could I love another?

So, dude, Pluto, cheer up. This isn’t the end of the world for you. (Well maybe it is and its just taking like 5 gazillion light years for the images to get here.) Everyone who went through elementary school before today and didn’t eat too too much LSD in college knows what a stud you once were.

Maybe you and Tom Cruise can get together and whine about getting dumped.

Here’s to you Pluto. You made a damn fine run at it -- HBCC

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

in my dreams i'm drowning all the time

There’s nothing fucking funny about it.

[That actually has nothing to do with the post that I wanted to sit down and write today, which coincidentally I ended up ripping off yesterday. I just thought that to myself while I was sitting on the V Train this morning waiting for us to take off. It was like my brain had a momentary lapse of Tourrettes Syndrome and just screamed that out. Thank God I still had control of my inner monologue. That would have been a really difficult thing to explain to the other people in the car with me. YAY]

I’ve been doing a lot of writing elsewhere these days, although not on the InterWeb. Mostly just on my laptop at work while I’m supposed to be doing work, but that’s for my boss to discover on his own time. IN the meantime, I’d love to entertain you with hilarious stories of how I’ve been gallivanting around the city saving people from tragedy and courting hot bitches on the hour. Alas, my ego is stretched so thin these days, I can’t even get up the nerve to do that shit in my dreams. For instance I had a dream last night, and the only hot and steamy courting I could get done was on the Internet. Seriously. I had a dream that I was looking at porn on the Internet.

I mean, when people (usually girls) tell me, “In Your Dreams!” it’s usually cause I just suggested something amazingly outrageous [Like I invented the question mark. Who’s with me on the joke, huh? Huh? Nobody? Fine then]. But seriously, there was one time at a graduation party in high school where I (no joke here people) stopped making out with a girl and suggested she go get her friend to come over and make out with us. That’s the kind of moment where people say to me, “In Your Dreams!” cause that’s the kind of shit that only happens in dreams. See what I’m getting at? The best stuff you can imagine is supposed to happen in your dreams. Me. Kate Moss. Motor City Bar. Alone. Naked. Chocolate Ice Cream. Shooeessss, so many shoes you wouldn’t believe. That’s the type of shit that needs to be happening in my dreams more often.

But what do I get instead now? Internet porn. WTF. Wake up to the feeling like someone punched me the in the gut and the realization that I’m lying on my stomach choking the life out of my morning wood. “Gee, I’d really like wake up every morning wrapped in a down comforter of misery!” “In Your Dreams!” “Actually, funny you should mention it…”

Ever seen the movie Waking Life? I recommend it. I also recommend a gigantic collection of nugs for it, but it can also be done in segments stone cold sober. Anyways, it’s a very trippy movie by Richard Lankletter done using a technique called rotoscoping that gives the whole movie a very surreal feeling, as if you’re trapped in a dream, cause that’s what the main character is: trapped in a dreamlike existence that he can’t escape. But the various characters that he interacts with argue that someone can, by practicing, learn to control what happens in their dreams and take control of their dreams. I mean, maybe I was just a young, impressionable, stoner, college student when I first watched this, but I think there is some great dialogue in here and some really interesting points to consider. (and this is about as far in depth as i can go with a movie review. "big words and nice pictures. cooool")

Why do I recommend it? Cause it’s a cool movie and it talks a lot about dreams and some really philosophical topics that will tickle your medulla oblongata. Check it out some time. You won’t be sorry for long...

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

my boys warned me you were poison like BBD's first cassette

warning: obligtory subway rant from an NYC blogger. Every morning I hit up the 2nd Avenue Subway Station, I opt for the V Train. For those of you not familiar with the subway station…(bear with me those of you who are, you impatient fucks)…you can catch two subway lines: the F and the V. Now the V Train ends at 2nd Avenue, which is always something I take great joy in, seeing multiple tourists get really really confused when they find out they have to exit the train, or that one guy who knows it ends there but wasn’t paying attention and then gets really pissed off. To those people (but more to the guy who got pissed off): hahahahahaahahahahaaah.

Anyways, in the morning there is usually a V Train just chilling in the station, cause it’s the end of the line. It’s never crowded. No one needs the V Train at 2nd Avenue. They all need it further up the line (like at 14th St., jeez, have you seen the throng of cattle that fucking comes pouring up at the back of the subway platform there? It’s like someone just screamed free blowjobs at a Porn convention…or is that just me?), or they need it in Queens to get into Manhattan. Most people just don’t need the V, so they wait on the F.

But sometimes (particularly in the summer time) its hot as fuck on the 2nd Ave subway platform. I don’t need to reiterate how much I love hot, steamy, swampy places, but the 2nd Ave stop is particularly lovely because I think a LOT of homeless people use it as a bathroom at night. So its hot and it smells, and you have this hell hole of an environment with all these dressed up yuppies (including myself) heading off to work. And then you have this cool, acclimatized subway car just chilling out, right there on the platform, with (relatively clean seats), welcoming you to just come take a load off.

Here’s where it gets tricky, and funny. When you sit on the V train, you have to be ready for the fact that it can take off at any time. You also have to be aware of the fact that the V actually services parts of Manhattan that the F train does not. So to ensure (somewhat) even service, they have to stagger the Fs and the Vs. Its never consistent across the board, but I’d say its usually on a ratio of 2 Fs to every one V.

Well, so people come and sit on the V, then they see an F train and think, “Oh fuck the V, this shit is never going anywhere” and so they get up and walk over to what I usually the insanely crowded F train, squeeze inside, hear the F train conductor make the announcement that the V train will be leaving first, then run across the platform back to where they just came. What I love is when the F train conductor decides to not make that announcement and the V train just “PING PONG” closes its doors and all those impatient fucks feel like idiots for trying to get to work faster. (The fuck is wrong with you people anyways?)

So I usually just queue up the iPod and watch people get all indecisive, try to decide what train is leaving first, realize they’re wrong, try to go back, rethink being wrong, consider getting on the F after all, hear the V train announcement, sprint back across the platform, throw an arm in the door, delay all of us who have been patiently waiting in our seats, look around embarrassed and become the target for a postal-service-like killing sometime before the end of 06.

See? Funny right? RIGHT?!

Look, the point I’m trying to make is this: don’t hate on the V train. Sit down, enjoy the extra space and a seat and don’t worry about things that are relatively out of your control, namely the F and the V trains. Because once you’ve made a decision, be it right or wrong, you should stick with it. Whoa, bet you weren’t expecting that, huh? Some so-crates (think Bill & Ted) shit, and it’s only Tuesday. Tomorrow we’ll talk about the dreams I’ve been having as of late. Until then…

sing the theme song: fuck it/ running late/ can’t wait/ there’s the F train/ that’s great/ wait/ now they’re telling me the V train’s leaving/ that can’t be right/ shit looks like the doors are closing/ I better take flight/ back across the platform/ close the door on my forarm/ damn dog I made it/ could you please open up?/ fuck everyone else waiting/ my indecision is of greater importance

Monday, August 21, 2006

there's a million MCs who claim they want some

Whew, what a weekend. A weekend that we were greatly in need of after f(cking up (and getting f)ckedup) big time and feeling like a miserable loser last weekend (everyone in the crew - Capt. Handsome, Mr. Fantastick, Travis and Bobsled all called off work on Monday. WTF?!), I think we all needed something to kind of get us going again, and I’d say this weekend was a good remedy. I hesitate to say perfect remedy cause things don’t ever work out the way you plan them to, but I have to say that it came pretty close to working out like that. Allow me to run down the highlights:
  • As I alluded to in my post last Wednesday, Friday night we saw the motherf*ckin wu-tang clan at Webster Hall. I had high, high expectations going in (at least 12 years of expectations) and this show did not disappoint, in any way shape or form. I’m still a bit hoarse this morning from having ‘rapped’ along with just about every song they played which included just about every song of of 36 chambers, the good ones off of Triumph, a few Liquid Swords tracks, some Raekwon and Ghost (Ghostface is gigantic by the way) and of course, a few ODB tracks backed by every single person in the room. But when, at one point, all of them were lined up on the stage, shoulder to shoulder, the, dare I say, legendary Wu-Tang Clan…well, that was something special. What else was special was the $3 Champagne of Beers that Handsome and I went to town on before the show, running into the Gotti Bear at Nevada Smith’s after the show (the most miserable bar in the world BTW. That and the super overpriced drinks at Webster and the really terrible, gay bartender at Webster were the only low points of the night) where she proceeded to buy me drinks and charge them to her clients, and then back to San Loco for a completely dangerous amount of Stupid Sauce and Chili Loco before calling it a night.
  • Saturday Saturday Saturday. Had to ditch a party in Hoboken (shucks) for a calm night with my roommate and Wisconsin. Couple things from that night: girls love DJs or any guy with musical prowess. Case in point? My roommate and Wisconsin falling all over themselves for someone with questionable (at best) taste in music. Yet that didn’t prevent me from singing at an obnoxious volume with the roommate to songs that usually make me cringe, like Mr. Brightside. And probably a Madonna song, I’m not sure. Jack Daniels was singing very loudly in my head at the same time. His song was something about buying two packs of Ramen noodles and retiring the night college style. The SkinNy though man, what a great chill place for like five nights out of the week, and then Friday and Saturday its filled with d-bags. Such is the miserable decline of the LES. We did apparently have sightings of a very very drunk Handsome running around the LES sometime around 4am, but those rumors are yet to be confirmed.
  • Sunday Sunday Sunday. Monster truck rally? Nah, dodgeball. Oh man, if the Wu-Tang hadn’t been so amazing this would have easily ranked as the highlight of my weekend. If I could, I’d give you a detailed video recap of how I pulled some Matrix-like move to get out of the way of a few shots. But alas, my digital camera is still not in my possession. Anyways, playing dodgeball on a beautiful day with James Brown as the background music was just out of control fun. Of course, my arm feels like its going to fall off this morning, but the satisfaction of the memories of pegging hipsters with balls…er…using the balls to peg hipsters…you get the point…was TOTALLY worth it.
Pretty busy weekend huh? Funny how it basically covered off on nostalgic points in the last 26 years of my existence. It goes:
- Dodgeball:: Elementary School

- Wu-Tang Clan:: Middle School

- Cheap Miller Bear and Jack Daniels:: High School

- Getting Drunk and passing out while eating Ramen:: priceless…I mean…College

So what happened this weekend that best represents where I’m at now? SNAKES ON A MOTHERF()CKING PLANE MOTHERF()CKERS!!

F*ck the naysayers, this movie is hilarious. Worth the $11 ticket alone: Samuel Jackson, a snake biting a titty, a snake biting some woman’s tongue and ::lights go out:: SNAKES!
Just go see it. Its ridiculous. Forget about being serious for just two short hours. You’ll be glad you did.

Friday, August 18, 2006

Definition of supervillain: a killer who love children

Happy Friday. Know your limits this weekend and be sure to do whatever it takes to just go way the fuck beyond them. Good luck. Godspeed. Allez HBCC!

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

Allow me to demonstrate the skill of Shaolin

Alright, it's up to me to get this started again, to pick the HBCC up by its bootstraps and get this shit set off again like that whole VineyardGate '06 never even happened and like the self-loathing week from hell finally blew over. Howdja want me to start this though, a little a cappella? "I can see clearly now the rain is gone"? Fuck nah. "WU TANG CLAN AIN'T NUTHIN TO FUCK WIT/ WU TANG CLAN AINT NUTHING TO FUCK WIT". This ain't tradins spaces, so protect ya godamn neck.

Right then. Let me set the scene. 1992 was it? 8th grade was the grade. The jackets were Starter (University of Miami, What!). The skin color was white bread. The suburb was Farmington Hills, Michigan. And the chambers? Wellll, there were 36 of them. One acronym, five little letters. That was all it took to turn me on to rap and hip hop forever. At that point in
my life I was just learning about the birds and the bees and the bees of music, you know: dark side of the moon, stairway to heaven, bloodsugarsexmagic, foghat, flanel, ten, maybe some OPP, whateva. And then my buddy grabbed me one day and said, "hey man, have you seen that video for that song where those guys go cash rules everything around me and then this guy goes CREAM!! That shit is awesome." Of course I hadn't seen it cause my parents never let me watch TV on school nights, so I was immediatelty fascinated. Cream!? What the fuck could it mean?! Well my friends, I soon found out.

Enter the Wu-Tang. Oh man. From the moment that old dude first comes on: "Shaolin shadowboxing/ and the Wu-Tang sword style/ if what you say is true/ the Shaolin and the Wu Tang could be DANGEROUS/ do you think your Wu-Tang sword/ can defeat me?!" Homagawd. Nothing that had ever entered my ears up until that point ever made me feel more bad ass than that intro. And what was it introducing? Why, a song by the name of Bring da Ruckus. At that point I had no fucking idea what Ruckus was, but you can believe me I tried to bring it every single day. I wanted nothing more in life (except maybe to get to third base) than to bring the ruckus so fucking hard and be like my heros, The Wu Tang Clan.

The RZA, the GZA, Ol Dirty Bastard (RIP), Inspectah Deck, Raekwon the Chef U-God, Ghostface Killa and the Method Man. Some people think John Wayne or Clint Eastwood or Bono were some bad-ass dudes. In my book, they can't hold a candle to the fucking Wu-Tang clan. Even Biggie Smalls (RIP) who I thought was the most amazing, just didn't grab hold of me and shake the shit out of me the way the Wu Tang did with 36 Chambers.

So, it is with a huge amount of anticipation that I finally snapped out of my self-loathing stupor this week and realized, "Friday fucking night I'm going to get to see the Wu-Tang Clan live on stage." I know that their concerts in the past have been plagued with all sorts of weird ass bullshit that prevents them from ever coming on stage. And I know there's a fairly good chance that I might get shanked or robbed or that a gun fight might break out. I mean, they are having it at Webster Hall of all places. But one time my good friend Heidi took me to see Ghostface in concert and when he did some of the Wu songs, or at least parts of them, live? Psshshsshh. Nothing beats that.

Friday night. The HBCC. Bobsled Commando. Captain Handsome. Webster Hall. The Wu-Tang Clan. I'll leave you with an actual theme song, comprised of one of the best verses ever on a Wu-Tang album. Inspectah Deck from Triumph on Track 2 of Disc 2 of Wu-Tang Forever. And ODB...Rest in Peace.

sing the theme song: i bomb atomically/ socrates philosophies and hypotheses can't define how i be droppin these mockeries/ lyrically perform armed robberies/ flee with the lottery/ possibly they spotted me/ battle-scarred shogun/ explosion when my pen hits tremendous/ ultraviolet shine blinds forensics/ I inspect you, through the future see millenium/ Killa B's sold fifty gold sixty platinum/ Shacklin the masses with drastic rap tactics/ Graphic displays melt the steel like blacksmiths/ Black Wu jackets queen B's ease the guns in/ Rumble with patrolmen, tear gas laced the function/ Heads by the score take flight incite a war/ Chicks hit the floor, diehard fans demand more/ Behold the bold soldier, control the globe slowly/ Proceeds to blow swingin swords like Shinobi/ Stomp grounds and pound footprints in solid rock/ Wu got it locked, performin live on your hottest block...

Friday, August 11, 2006

Stick your hand in shit....he will!

To follow up on Mr. Fantastic's shark week piece, I feel I have to give a shout out to the new rising star of the Discovery Channel. Yes, I am talking about the guy that you probably have just brush off as some Discovery Channel fag that has done nothing other than find Uranus in a bar called the Bananna Hammock. You are wrong. His name is Mike Rowe. He is the new star of the Discovery Channel. Star? You bet your ass. You didn't even know it then he is blows up and goes black.....bringing all of you into him with unstoppable force. Mike Rowe is a super super American. He is the Dirty Jobs host. He is the narrator of Deadliest Catch.....another piece of redneck Learn Art.

Why do I care. Probably because every night I end my day in the boxers that I bought in a Nashville, TN K-Mart watching a show that inevitably involves this American. Mr. Fantastic, who works from gossip gods Extra - hosted by Sugar Ray Celebfag - needs to blow him up on the show cause he is horseplay good. Don't get so blazed watching Discovery that you fail to recoginze a true American. When the dookey rises like Mr. Fantastic in a self esteem parade (led by David Hasslehoff) Mr. Michael Rowe will not fail to stick his hand in it. If you don't recognize.....roll a blizza and watch some Discovery and fucking learn something cracka.....This guy is the beastmaster!

P.S. this is what I look like when I was writing this on Friday night:

"Sharks, Terror, Pee, More Terror and Pee, BFFWF, and "Getting your Goose On"

Slow week in entertainment folks, but lets get down to it. Last week, Discovery channel wrapped up its annual week long orgy of terror, better known as “Shark Week.” This week consists of them airing specials exploring the fascinating world of sharks. The habitats they roam, the places they fuck, and specifically, the humans they mutilate. I’ll be the first to admit I’m a complete pussy, but I am terrified of sharks. So, this week of programming, situated smack in the middle of the summer swimming season, leaves me virtually paralyzed with fear. I lay awake sleepless, in rubber sheets, completely terrified of going near any body of water, including bathtubs and showers. The hour of sleep I do get, is filled with dreams of me getting my genitals removed by a 17ft great white, or me waking up at work, naked, naturally, explaining to my boss that I created shark repellent by mixing Sunny Delight, urine, and bug spray. One of my favorite shows they run is a mammoth two hour special trying to investigate why one guy had his leg bitten off by a bull shark. Well, I’m not a doctor, but I’d say, IT’S CAUSE HE’S FUCKING SWIMMING WITH THEM! Anyway, this is obviously a touchy issue with me, so I think I’ll just drop it, but I will leave you with a direct quote from myself, taken at the very sensitive and honest time of 3:30 am at Motor City Bar last Saturday. Dictated by a friend:
"If I were a member of government I would spend a substantial sum of money to eradicate sharks. I know a lot of people might disagree with me. I am campaigning to get every fucking shark out of our waters. You give me one good god damn reason for them to exist and I will back off. I will step down off my soap box, I will stay out of Malibu, and you will never hear from me again. We have enough to worry about. Terrorism. We can't swim in the god damn Gulf of Mexico without some man eater stalking me. Stay out of our god damn beach communities. We came over here with nothing and broke our backs to settle here, they can't give us a mile of god damn water for recreation? Fuck the food chain. I make gold records. man"

My sincere apologies to all parties who had to witness that first hand. Its not your fault. There was another round coming, and it was a small corner table with little escape access.

I now want to introduce to you my new favorite power trio in Hollywood. Matt, Lance, and Jakey. Or the BFFWF’s. Best Friends Forever Who Fuck. I’m telling you, something is going on there. You be the judge.

And Finally, a tribute to a fallen hero/genius. I’m sure you all know about former Ohio State football star Maurice Clarett, so I’ll spare you most of the details. But, along with the four loaded guns and bullet proof vest he was sporting when he was pulled over this week, he also had his favorite vodka and weed. Now, what is a heavily armed ride through the countryside without those two things? Apparently, Maurice has had a taste for the vodka for some time. I’ve just learned that his former teammates would often hear Maurice at practice, exclaim, “damn!, I gotta get my goose on!” Unbeknownst to his hard working teammates, Maurice was referring to his water bottle that would always be filled with refreshing Grey Goose vodka. Sometimes there’s a man. And sometimes there’s a MAN.

Have a good weekend and be sure to get your Goose on. And beat that phrase into the ground. I know I will.

Next week: A Scientology Special, and maybe something about some Baldwins.

***Mr. Fantastic