HBCC Poetry Week Presents: "A Letter from Barcelona"

Dear Handsome,

Hola. Bon dia. Gracies.

Ho sento, but my Catlan is sorrily lacking.
And I'm realizing this morning that in writing a grand recap to our epic poetry week I am slacking.

But last night I went out drinking with a brit and a pol so that we can get the HBCC biz sold.
Alas, we ended up skinny dipping in our rooftop pool but not accomplishing anything super cool.

We recited lines from office space, but it wasn't the poetic justice that's been rolling out your face
So I have to say that I miss you and the US and freedom and McDonald's at the NYC pace.

But I'm stuck here for another seven hours wondering what will OSU do
Reminiscing on when we posted our first poem and all that's lead up to this point when we say, 'adeu'

So what a week's it's been, and thank you to you for coming by to read our nonsense
It's like we never grew past the age of high school, smoking herb and liting incense

Now we must call it quits,
cause a week is a week and it was all good for seven days worth of giggles and shits

To you fair reader, thank you again even though I'm world's away you are always on my mind
And to you other bloggers, yeah, we love you too ted, weiss, ampersand, velvet sea, and all those who we know but are too lazy to link to (give me a break, i'm in a foreign country and i'm writing a blog entry about bloggers. my self-loathing is through the roof right now)

Anyways, yeah, hey, its been fun
Handsome, Bobsled, Captain, Commando, HEY, it doesn't have to be done

But what we done, its much greater than simply rapping, son
Now I'm off to Park Goell to get some motherfucking sightseeing done

Stay Handsome people and allez allez allez allez, bobsled, bobsled
I'm also off to Starbucks and McDonald's so as to spite the spanish and support our glorious money hungry country instead.

YEAH!

[Thanks, Poetry Week is now officially closed. Please make your way to the exits. NOW. Hey you, stoner, yeah you. Put that shit out before I get the cops in here. Come on hippies, time to LEAVE!]

Most Beast Haiku Ever Dropped

Handsome, Bobsled, Sam
Droppen' Aubergene Pin Stripes
Like Bears in the Woods

HBCC Poetry Week Presents: "Cafe Con Price Check"

[Sometimes in life, you get a little sand in the proverbial buttcrack, at which point in time its best to just hit the showers, making sure to keep your eyes to yourself, and then the pool bar to get some fruity drinks with those little umbrellas in them. Life doesn't get much better, does it? Well, maybe if you're a NAS fan you're thinking, "Life's a beach and then you die." Sorry, I couldn't resist. WTF.

Let me just hold this conch shell up to your ear for a second. Hear that? Yes, that's the sound of life, luxury and freedom. That's the sound of cool cool waters and super fucking hot sand. That's the sound of men and women frolicking about with the smell of warm cocoa butter sun tan lotion hanging in the air. But most of all, that's the sound of gay beach afficianado DJ Tedward dropping in for what is the first ever guest post by someone we've never actually met in person. Ted, thanks. You're honorary member badge, decoder ring and information on the secret handshake are in the mail. Please, people, enjoy the magic:]

Cafe Con Price Check
rollerblades, sun tan lotion, beach towels galore
summer is gone but not once more
you can see the geese fly away so high
then i see children, away to school they cry

wonder do i put on some runnning shorts
away i fly cross mc carren park so high
kickball again, can't you people just get by
turkeys nest open on sunday nights, please come to tribeca
and leave me tips tonight

i've waken this day alone in my bed
shan't a woman invent something liken instead
soothing, warm, and fuzzy at once
ohh my child just cool breezin with jareau does feel nice
can't we play this record over again twice

the days get shorter and life does feel older
to the garden on manhattan does give me joy
i roll to the counter to see thine eye
she is pretty with long hair and swipes a bagel each time
cool mints for my mouth, lotions for my skin
when oh sweet lady will you bring me within

i see bob johnson in the distance alright!
doing some late night shopping in williamsburg tonight?
he does cry a great yelp through the aisles in his own right
grabs a six pack of coors light
i wonder why the cheeses and meats are of delight
why they are finely overpriced to ones mighty fright
- Ted

HBCC Poetry Week Presents: Haiku

[You know, when I tell people we're hosting poetry week here on the HBCC, the first thing out of people's mouth is, "Oh, you mean like Haikus and stuff?" Fuck yes, people. Haikus. I know and you know that's the only fucking thing we remember from third grade poetry class, but for the love god, expand your repetoire and learn about some other types of poems. I can' think of any other kinds right now, so here's your fucking haiku you blood sucking leeches...]

Bobsled and Handsome
Such a dynamic duo
You know its like, "Whoa"

[I didn't mean what I said before, I'm sorry. I'm just tired and a little cranky. I'm sorry. Can I rub your feet for you? Do the dishes?! No, fuck you. That's just something I will not do. Like Meatloaf..]

HBCC Poetry Week Presents: "Autumn Temptations"

Warm cider, and falling leaves
The dead foliage that once were trees
Humidity’s gone south with the geese
Cool windy evenings, patagonia fleece

Sun with its angle sloping harsher each day
School bus won’t get the fuck out of my way
The little shits are back to begrudging education
Or skipping classes to peep some NAS Nation

MTA, Garbage, and cabs usually block my crosswalk
Now schools back with the orange educational cock
Full of little bastards and blocking my strut
Tempting it is auburgene helps me keep my cool
I raise my middle finger to those kids leaving school

They shreik, bounce and boil from the gesture I sent
Those little bastards erupt and quite hellbent
The light is green and down Avenue A they roll
So when you see kids don’t hold back the temptation
To throw out your bird and head for Epsteins Libation.

-CH

Epsteins $3.00 mugs! Thank your your inspiration in writing this heartfelt piece. I could not have dug so deep without your continual inspiration. And thank you to the fine upstanding children of P.S. 145 for losing your shit when I flipped you off.

HBCC Poetry Week: Part II

Title: "Man bites panda - Panda ruvs him rong time" or Drink, Drank, Drunk - A panda is not a hippopotamus

just imagine us, the HBCC
rolling deep where your eyse can't see
so much insight, so much intrigue
motivating millions like a mystery

i log on to my blogger
dot com
type type type
joke, so long

so funny, talk about pandas
senor bites them where they pee
why?
don't ask me

go to epsteins
have a handful of beers
maybe call handsome
say, "hey how bout those giants? yeah."

okay, so what, that last line didn't rhyme
but you get the fucking point, and yeah i cuss a lot
so this is a tribute to spinach, pandas and beer
and now peace i'm out, but poetry weekend rolls on so don't have no fear.

terrible. here's shit on biting pandas and what not

Muerte Mi Amigos. Muerte!

So i just engulfed a beautiful 3 hour dinner at Roas Mexicano in Union Square. Pomegrant Margarita, Sav Blanc, Patron XO cafe/tequila liquor and some hella Mexicano. It really is a nice thing to go our and dine once in a while. Pony up some Dineros and just kick it in a restaurant for a few hours and just eat your balls off. I sat across from a beautiful lady and ate 2 appetizers, a sick ass main corse and tequilla finisher. There is nothing like a "dope as hope" dining experience. Some say "why waste good $$$ on one fucking meal?" (obviously one of my friends given the gratuitus swearing....PURPLE!!!). Well eat my balls if you don't know the answer to this one. Eating and drinking with no regard for dinero, the 4th deadly sin - gluttony, and your electric bill just feels better than is should for some reason.

The Handsome Bobsled Captain Commando Team will be going on their first annual Autumn Banquet in the coming weeks and will give you a step by step rundown of how to really enjoy a proper out of house dining experience. Expect nothing short of Justin Timberlake's post MTV awards dinner afterparty like story from your kings of handsome and sledding brilliance. But first I would like to announce that this week has been dubbed Poetry Week. The HBCC will be going Robert Frost and NAS on your ass with poem's, haiku's, and verbal glory that will take you from ecstacy to horror with a serious layover in emotion. To get things started I will offer up a meal inspired poem. Ladies and Gentlemen I give you......

"Ceviche"

I smile at the mexican smashing avocados

The shy gratuity that he returns shows the care

Care for my appetizer, my guacamole, my soul

My forementioned soul came out when the cilantro hit the pestel

His joy spoke of a recent promotion from water pourer

The smile from the girl seated across, left me a solid pole

Under the table it stood proud like American Troops in Fedorer (afghanistan)

The meal was grand, the connection was there, from guacomole mexican

To soft samba in the Can...

Tonight I started with Ceviche

And finished as the Mother Fuckin Man

-CH

Welcome to Poetry Week

The Snakes are back

This is what happens on friday....Sorry! Happy weekend from Bobsled and Handsome. Welcome back Snakes!!!!!

Go Sell Some Medicine Bitches.....

Today marks the second and probably most important day for the United Nations General Assembly (UNGA) conference held every year in New York City. I believe that the issues that this conference brings to the table are not only important to the world but most importantly New Yorkers. Issues such as traffic: Did you know that there are over 169 planned street closures in NYC this week? Holy balls in your mouth, are you kidding me. You lucky hipster bastards will of course not being affected because the closures are from Houston up towards the 60's. Goddamned basterds win again. Thats what I get for living in midtown (not for long....)! So if any of you Hipster American's were planning your first trip above 14th street in this new millenium I would give it another week.

Incidentally Halal food sales have skyrocketed throughout the city this week. The majority of countries asking for money,I mean attending the meeting, seem to be from the Middle East and Africa. Oh joy to the Street Meat Vendors. Can you imagine the bathrooms in the United Nations......Hoooooly Shit. Even Big "W" tried to fit in while rubbing elbows with his fellow world leaders.

Sadly, this little effort towards foreign diplomacy did not pan out so well. Kofi Anon happened to walk by during W's ethnic lunch and gave the kind of lecture that the UN should really do a lot more often.....
The best part about getting your ass kicked by the UN is that they are really really really good at you know, aid and madicine, caring and whatnot. I hope the UN is near the next time I catch a supreme beatdown (i call it a supreme beatdown because if you are beating down the Handsome, you must be some serious badass). So lets get back to some important news coming out of this epic world conference.

So what is going on at this little meeting other than food cart anhialation, traffic jams, bullshit hours for us hotel workers (sorry)? Here is a quick rundown.

Yesterday: Bush gave a speech justifying his need to destroy all the middle east....errr terrorism ==>Iran's President Ahmoud Ahmadinejad lost his shit and declared that there was no holocost during WWII, Israel should be whiped off the planet, and that the United states was evil. OOOKKKKaaayyyy.....Psycho, thanks for making George W look normal==>Some smaller counties such as Loosebowlestan in Southern Eastern Bunglan Peninsula decided that they would open up the lima bean trade with Lower Konfuckistan. ==> Angela Jolie asked countries to give her babies so people love her more. Angela, you are a bitch and we all know it. Stop boning aboriginees and tribesmen to gain world respect. Oh what....they were adopted? No shit. Well, I still don't believe you. I still think she is a "Hut Whore".

Today: The president of Venizuala went ape shit on stage and ranted that George Bush was the one and only "Devil". I guarantee South Park does something with this...... I really can't make this stuff up folks. Check out the NY Post tomorrow. Guaranteed Pun headline about it. Unless they were too busy covering the Mets. Fags! Go Yankees! ==> Finally, to close the days sessions, George W unveiled his new weapon in the war against terror. He stated that it will not only anhialate the enemy but also tells the UN how he feels about their opinion........

put the relish in my back pocket

Whatup world. Welcome to NYC. Make sure you get up to Sylvia's for a little fried chicken and waffles while you're visiting. HANDSOME!! I see you son. Run with that post you got planned. It's solid gold nuggets, triple platinum uranium son.

HA, see, I know what you all are thinking right now: W-T-F? And what am I gonna do if I don't get a spinach fix right quick? Here's the thing: I'm trying to set a record for using the most colons in one paragraph. Albeit: a poorly written paragraph. And: not: all: together: grammatically: correct: Whatever. This is the kindashit that happens when we just completely run out of things to write about and get all self-referential about the fact that we're the most creatively challenged individuals on the planet.

Again, I know what you all are thinking right now: But Bob Sledowski, you never were creative. In fact, we find you kinda creepy and slightly annoying, but mostly we suspect you of being a child molester. I've heard all that before. I'VE HEARD IT. Savethatshit for someone who cares.

Anyways, I thought about alotta things out on my run tonight (2006 BOBSLED MARATHON TEAM, YAY YEAYAYAAAHHAAA): colons; semi-colons; my colon; vindaloo; running; feet; buildings; Kent Avenue, Brooklyn; sex (not sure why I jumped from BK to sex); booty; ladies; homeless ladies; abandon buildings; garbage; the news; a bridge; colons; etc. etc. etc. I could go on. But who wants that.

Then I read something my partner in crime wrote and I thought, "FUCKSHITYEAHSHOMEBIZZLEPIECESHALOM". Bush is in town. That's what I get for not reading the paper AND being completely obvlivious to anything happening in this city, let alone my improper use of colons and occasional excesive use of ALL CAPS. FUCKSHITYEAHS.

Bush. NYC. I ain't thought about this in a minute. Funny how it ruled our summer just two/three short months ago. Enjoy. Check back in this week for the triumphant return of Handsome like the fuckingreturn of the comet. Btches.

i might gotta take my shirt off

i got btches in the living room

ohmagawd, you guys. don't ask me how i found this, cause i'm drunk right now and don't remember. but Jane magazine is running this 'contest' to find a man for this loon (above) named Sarah. apparently she's like almost 30 and has never got. it. on. NEVER.

Want to know more about her? "Meet Sarah. She's funny, gorgeous and hopes to lose her virginity by her 30th birthday in November. She came to JANE for help meeting guys..." See how they strategically DID NOT mention the fact that she's crazy? Clever Jane. Very clever. Just look at those eyes though. Crazy eyes. Crazy, never been laid eyes. I know, some of you sensitive ladies are saying, "Oh that's so sweet, she's waiting for Mr. Right."

So not HBCC ladies, really dissapointed here now. sad face :(

Anyways, I immediately seized on this opportunity and submitted a suggestion for a possible bachelor. Ladies, get to know Mr. Bob Sledowski:
"Sarah, you seem like a really great girl who just needs a guy who has equal parts fun and serious. Unfortunately, I am not this man. I was absent the day we covered the word serious in 5th grade. Ironically, this is the last grade I ever passed. So if you choose me...or if Jane Magazine chooses me...however this works, I guarantee we'll have a great time. (PS, that one dude who said, "I've been described as 'amazing' in bed? He's lying. He's average at best. I've been told the same. Am I lying? Let's get together and find out...)"

Anyways, keep checking in here to find out if Bob gets a chance to go on a date with Sarah. Whoa man, if that happened...she won't be sorry for long. Nevermind. Fuck you Denver. Goodnight.

(Editor's Note: In case you were wondering, I've included Bob's photo below. Also, this was post #69 for the HBCC. Seriously, Sarah. Here that noise? It's fate fucking trying to knock down your door with a bottle of Jameson's in one hand and a copy of Heat on DVD with Robert Deniro, Al Pacino, Val Kilmer and Tom Sizemore in the other hand. LET ME IN ALREADY, I LOVE YOU!!! uh, this just got weird, fast. Mr. Sledowski, ladies and gentleman, Mr. Sledowski:)

gotcha hands up get them muthafckas higha

GREETINGS from the Mile High Shitty. Wish you were here? Well don't. (Denver people, FYI, what you're reading is called a blog. You all will find out about these in due time. The same time you realize that mullets and meth went out of style a long time ago.)

Maybe my expectations were just too high. I mean, its the freaking mile high city, right? I was thinking: mountains. glaciers! THE WILD WEST!! And yet, as I sat pondering my existence in a Taco Bell on what is considered (I guess) the main drag in town, I realized that Denver is really just the Detroit of the West.

Let me briefly explain: (and, no, this isn't a "well it ain't NYC so fuck it" rant. I was out in Portland last month. It was beautiful. Denver is not beautiful). Ever been to San Francisco? Denver has the same kind of homeless people - pushy and just really dirty looking. Ever been to Cleveland? Denver has the same kind of boring skyline. Ever been to Detroit? Denver has a similar urban sprawl problem, except its more like an arid desert outside the city. Ever been to West Virginia? Denver's mountains are about as exciting as the Appalachians.

Basically, from what I've seen today, if you take the worst or most boring part of every city you've ever been to, then you're beginning to see what it's like here. And what's worse about this week/weekend is that multiple tradeshows have descended on the city, mine included (jeez, tradeshows. that's a whole nother story). I don't know if you have ever witnessed four middle aged men walk out of an Applebee's wearing matching denim shirts, jeans that are faded to about the same color as the shirts, and a delightful array of different workboots and/or white or black Pro Walkers, but I have. It happened a few hours ago. I'm just now getting over the shock of it. And to those who know me: if I reach the age of 40+ and you see me wearing something similar, please kill me, painfully. Thank you in advance.

Anyways, I'll be here the next coupla days, just gettting my tradeshow on. Here's what my exciting first day consisted of:

1. Visit show floor. Stand around, try to take pictures, get in the way, act awkward around power tools and large machinery, leave.
   
2. Visit "New York Style" pizza place. Get thoroughly dissapointed at 'pizza' slice, get mad, consider complaining, throw away 3/4 of a slice so that everyone else waiting can see me do it, leave.
3. Visit Sonic. Eat double spicy jalepeno burger. Have homeless woman wearing Atlanta Falcons jersey ask for change. Give her change, ask for receipt (I'm expensing it bitch!!**)
4. Visit Taco Bell. Eat a chicken grilled stuffed burrito with Large Mt. Dew. Hope that I get food poisoning.
5. Walk outside. Almost get hit by a bus.
6. See dudes in all denim outfits. Decide to call it a night. Watch Detroit Tigers continue to blow it. Realize that life is pointless.

**Kidding, but how funny would that be? Not that funny? yeah, okay

fumbling over words that rhyme

I’m not sure at what point the wheels came off the sanity/sobriety train on Saturday, but they did, as they inevitably do on Self-Improvement Saturdays, and as soon as said train came to the first bend in the road, well, that fucking train went careening off the side of a mountain and into the water of Self-Loathing Minnetonka Springs, NY.

Let’s start with Friday though, shall we? As I alluded to in my previous post, Friday night was dedicated to seeing the Comets on Fire. An 11pm start time seemed so freaking cool at the time. Unfortunately, as we came to find out, the two opening bands who came on after 11 quickly turned the night into a test of endurance. Also, the 11PM start time combined with the two openers left plenty of time to convince ourselves that $6 for a PBR and a shot of house whiskey was a fucking brilliant idea. After trying unsuccessfully to trick the bartender (Shot of house whiskey with a Beam back, please) we figured, ‘ah what the heck’ and took it to the house, as no one should ever say again.

I’m not sure how the three of us didn’t vomit immediately afterwards, but I’m quite certain we all came pretty close. Seriously: well whiskey. It had the color of dirty mop water and smelled like a blue toilet bowl cleaner. I have no idea how Dave, aka Ole Boy Dave, aka OBD, aka Toby Maguire was able to do another shot of this stuff, let alone operate a camera ad nauseum (seriously dude) through the whole night, but even though he seemed to hold up well, his night ended when, in his words, he “must have blacked out and left the bar without you guys.” Well played Dave.

But he wasn’t the only victim. Senor I Only Leave Comments and his lady friend also showed up expecting an 11PM or at least a 12AM show, but barely made it to 12:30 I think. That left only the Handsome One and me to witness the Comets on Fire. And after terrorizing some of the ladies there (Them: “What year are you?” Us: “Um, 1980?”) we finally settled in for some damn fine rock and roll. And rock hard they did. I recognized the first three songs from Avatar as comprising three of the opening four songs, but after that I got a little lost. No less entertained, just sort of treading water in a sea of drunken haze and unfamiliar tunes. It was all good stuff. I threw a beer can (empty) into the crowd. Handsome threw his glasses (seriously). We felt we had paid our dues. We tried to catch disappearing Mr. Fantastic back at the Skinny, but he had made for home already. So we ate San Loco and called it a night. If you’re keeping score at home, you can score Handsome as having eaten five (5) tacos.

Saturday I got out for a run despite being completely hungover and slightly nauseous. But, seeing as how there’s like 54 freakin days until I have to run in the marathon, I guess every day counts. (I’ll write more on this some other time I guess. Yeah, I’m running the marathon. It will be amazing if I live through it.) So I ran, went to Epsteins where I talked to some very cool people while watching the Notre Dame game (sorry, dudes, dudettes, if you were there too I forgot all your names. There were four of you, give me a break. I could barely remember my name through most of the night after I parted ways with you all.) So, right, the female bartender there: thanks for the round and the shots. And in case you're wondering, Handsome was logging yet another 13 hour day at work. "Ah perfect. Love that fucking purple background."

Anyways, upper east side was the next stop. Ship of Fools. Know the place? Yeah, neither did we. But, there were OSU jerseys outside and mad props being thrown the way of my Flying Pizza shirt, so it had to be all good. Um, right, so let’s see, from there it went something like this: pitcher, pitcher, chicken wings, pitcher, girls at the bar caling me an asshole, pitcher, touchdown, Handsome making out with random girls, pitcher, touchdown, ted ginn jr., bathroom, pitcher, AJ, Dave, O-H, pitcher, and end game. There was some yelling and cheering in there somewhere, but honestly it was all a huge blur. The important thing is that the Buckeyes kilt the stupid Texas Longhorns. Back downtown where we met up with Dave and his friend who’s a girl, over to Motor City Bar where, for the first time, I heard a non-LES resident say, “Oh yeah, the Skinny? I love that place.” Needless to say, we didn’t need much other reason to peace out and head directly over there. We had more drinks, shook our head’s at the DJs play selection which went steadily downhill, posed for some more pictures, then said our goodbyes. Somewhere on the street, we found a piece of plastic that slightly resembled a sled. When I say plastic, I mean a top to a garbage can cover corral (pictured above, cowering in fear) that had been demolished. So we grabbed it, brought it back to the apartment and celebrated its existence.

Today I'm still fighting the stinging pain of self-loathing (thanks CBS 9/11 documentary), and I still can’t figure out if the pictures below are humorous or just downright scary. I mean, I used Travis as my focus group today, because he's seen a lot of shite. Yet, all he could muster was, "Jesus, what the hell is wrong with you guys."

I guess I’ll just leave the ultimate verdict up to you all…

HBCC Field Trip: Comets on Fire, Knitting Factory

I'm excited. Not in a sexual way though. Not in a crazy, "Let's fuck up Texas this weekend!" kinda way. (O-H!) No No NO. I'm fucking fired up. Cause the HBCC is out to see COMETS ON FIRE tonight at the Knitting Factory. (See how I did that? Fired up - Comets on Fire. Five years worth of PR slap you upside the dome. "You can't see, blind to your eyes, I'm come up to your face, OOPS POW SURPRISE...uh, yeah, Chappelle Show? Anyone? Okay, let me pick up the pieces here...)

Ever listen to classic rock? Like late 60's, early 70's. Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin, Hendrix, Grateful Dead, Cream, Creedence, The Who, whatever. Pick one. In fact, pick your favorite three, think of the hardest jam you can remember comprised of those timeless crunchy, distortion filled guitars and never-ending drum fills - and you'll begin to get an understanding of what Comets on Fire is. Now, I know you're saying, "Phsshshsaw, that name is stupid. Everyone knows that a comet isn't really on fire because the lack of oxygen in space prevents there from actually being 'fire' in space." SL.AP! Good point, but not on point here.

What makes for a potentially best of the month show? Well, an 11PM start time at the Knitting Factory is a good start. 11PM leaves at least 6 solid hours of drinking time prior to the show. Do I need to tell you, what the fuck you can do, with 6 hours? SIX! So, we should be thorougly fired up come 11. Then you add the face melting, 'noise rock' that this CA band brings with a reckless abandon (lemme tell you, they bring the ruckus) and it actually makes me a little nervous. Like, "Whoa, I'm getting on in my years. Can I still handle something like this?" Add a dash of the band's fan-fucking-tastic new album Avatar that I think has been played on my iPod almost every day since I bought it, and a pinch of what one review called, "bad acid rock" and I think you're beginning to feel a twinge in your pointer finger over that lefthand mouse button as you contemplate clicking here to get a ticket. Oh yeah, and a ticket costs only like 15 bucks. Which leaves a lot of room left in the weekend budget (what's that) for drinking.

Well, anyways, I'm wrappin it up. The HBCC rides again tonight. Concert of the month. I just made that up (concert of the month), so we don't really have like an archive of shows we've gone to see every month this year. Um, let's just say that January, February, March and April our minds were collectively blown by Animal Collective, then May, June and July it was The Roots (but really mostly NAS) and then August: Wu-Tang. September: Comets on Fire.

Comets! YAY YEEAAAHHHaya

sadie? yeah, she used to be my homeboy's lady

hahahahahaah, oh man! The week is moving right along. Happy Belated Labor Day (or as they say in Europe, Labour Day) from the HBCC, fresh off last week's haircut, our first ever list of handomest New Yorkers, a very merry post from T. America, and the above photographed picture of the WORST indian meal I have ever experienced on 6th St. If you are in the neighborhood, avoid Taj Mahal (not Raj Mahal, I'm not making this up) and instead do yourself a favor and go to Spice Cove. You won't be sorry until you're done digesting the Rogan Josh! Spicy...

Talk is cheap. speaking of cheap, talk about sex couldn't be cheaper right now. If only sex were cheap also. Maybe if we weren't so cheap ourselves. cheap cheap cheap cheap. Now that word means nothing to me.

Ads are funny, but this, this, and this, we prefer.

I've gotten out to see only the most indie movies this summer. A Scanner Darkly, Half Nelson, Little Miss Sunshine, Snakes on a Plane. whatever, been there - done that. And yet this and the sequel are pretty much the only thing worth talking about right now, even when compared in a head-to-head taste test with talk about sex. Get to know Allef.

What can we say? dude's in love with all sortsashit. But we will burn down your apartment if you ever blog about that love triangle you had with the HBCC. That's just how we get down.

new set of open bars up today! gechyours before i gemmine.

The life of Travis America - The death of his brother

[HBCC readers: Travis America weighs in with a truly unique story of drunken debauchery. Please, repeat after me: I am sofa king...]

Saturday, August 27 marked the Bachelor Party of one Kieran McGee, who has been virtually jizzed on here in previous posts by Mr. Commando and Mr. Handsome. Kieran, when not playing the role of Corey Glover in his Living Colour cover band (replete with the Mucofluspanglet˜Multi-Colored-Fluorescent-Spandex-Singlet), spends his time breaking the collective heart of Bobsled Commando and Captain Handsome with his unique brand of socially conscious and sexually charged acoustic rock.

Kieran also happens to be the younger brother of Yours Truly, meaning the onus was on Mr. Truly to organize a memorable evening that not only eclipsed expectations, but did so in a non-bachelor party fashion. You see, Kieran was actually married on March 17 (Sup St. Patrick) at City Hall, but the "wedding" is scheduled for September 9. As such, the bachelor party had to be in line with the vows Kieran exchanged on that fateful March day, i.e. NO STRIPPERS. Not my fault. His fault.

Look, I know what you‚re saying: "Travis, cry me a fucking river, you live in New York City, there are a million things to do in the City That Never Sleeps besides going to a strip club."

Perhaps, dear reader, perhaps. But the fact of the matter is...oh, you weren‚t done...

"You still owe me 72 dollars from that road trip, and stop touching yourself. Christ, I say the words 'strip club'‚ and your hands go directly south. Pathetic."

Fair enough, good sir or madam. Moving right along, this bachelor party needed to include something you won't get on an average night in the big city. Getting shitfaced in a plethora of East Village watering holes, well, that could be any night. Or every night, in my case. So what to do? The zoos all close at dusk, the MTA started cracking down on 'train surfers' a few years back, and my supply of nitrous oxide had just run out. Luckily, my boss has a sicker mind than I do, and supplied the end-all solution: a coffin.

Yes, a coffin. It could work. It had to work.

After a dinner consisting of sake, sushi, sake and sake, we lured Kieran back to my apartment with the promise of more booze, a little contraband, and a "surprise." After getting sufficiently shitbombed, we popped "The Stripper" by David Rose into the CD player, Kieran was blindfolded and lured into the coffin. He was then wheeled into the night, much to the delight of many an East Village drunkard.

With the exception of escorted trips to the restroom, Kieran was not allowed to leave the coffin. The only acceptable excuses for removal from the coffin were one or more of the following:
1) Kieran suffers a claustrophobia-induced panic attack
2) Kieran is somehow sexually assaulted by an outsider
3) Natural disaster (not counting tornados, as it was agreed that Kieran would be safer in the coffin in such an instance)
4) Kieran vomits in the coffin
5) Kieran ejects himself while being rolled down a hill into oncoming traffic

After two hours in the coffin, Kieran succumbed to scenario #4, not only throwing up inside the coffin, but also covering my sneakers in bile, Guinness and Cuervo.

The coffin was sadly discarded and we embarked on Part Two of the evening: sheer intoxicated mayhem. Among the highlights: Thom cutting Kieran with a hard sourdough pretzel to the face at Zum Schneider (OMG, what about the wedding photos?); Thom throwing Alfonso into a row of parked bicycles sending Alfonso into a pirouette face-plant and chipping a front tooth; and Thom becoming the first patron in the storied history of the Blarney Cove to be refused service. The moral of the story: Thom and alcohol need to be kept at opposite sides of the room as all times.

The night wrapped up in relatively quiet fashion, with Travis, Scott and Captain Handsome freestyling about Brian Wilson's father forcing him to defecate in front of the rest of the family at the dinner table. Of all the opportunities for comedy Brian Wilson has provided over the years, this is perhaps the most heartbreaking and least humorous subject of them all. Naturally, it had to be tackled. Stretching the boundaries of humor. That's the American way...(click for larger picture, we todd did.)

HBCC’s FIRST EVER, 25 MOST HANDSOMEST NEW YORKERS: PART 2

Hi there, welcome back. Hopefully you’ve had a chance to peruse Part 1 of the HBCC’s FIRST EVER, 25 MOST HANDSOMEST NEW YORKERS. If you haven’t, now might be a good time to do so.

Or, if you’ve like what’s known as an abbreviated verion, we can do that too. We’re versatile like that:

25: Tim Robbins – Greenwich, Sarandon, Rocky Horror
24: Vlad The Barber – Soft Hands, Warm Heart
23: Jason Mulgrew – Fair Enough
22: White Outfit Guy In The LES – Lil Crazy, Lotta White
21: Todd at Schillers – New York Sour, On Me, Nuff Said
20: David Copperfield – Poof Bitches
19: Melky Cabrera – Matsui Whoey?
18: Bouncer James at Motor City – Sup Dawg
17: Frank the Bodega Indian – Thank You, Come Again
16: Lillo Brancato – Don’t Do Drugs
15: Foxy Brown – Don’t Steal Shit, Don’t Beat Up Your Manicurist
14: Robin Byrd – Classic
13: Joe Bendik – “People Suck”
12: San Loco Employees on Stanton St. – One Bean Burrito Grande
11: Andre Agassi – Dude won again last night!

Now, Part 2 and the Top 10 of the HBCC’s FIRST EVER, 25 MOST HANDSOMEST NEW YORKERS.

10. Iron Chef Morimoto – "But he's not a New Yorker, he's Japaneeesssseeee." Whatever, say what you will dirty knees, Morimoto's got Philly on lock and now he's get a New York joint as well. But say what you will about his restaurants: back in the day, this MF'er owned the kitchen stadium. Of course, we've never met the dude, but his name is handsome, and he makes food that makes the ladies want to bang us in the bathroom of his NYC restaurant on the warmed seat covers that they have. Plus, you know that deep down inside, the only way this guy comes up with some of the amazing food that he has is because he's a stoic Japanese stoner. Just once I'd love to sit in one of those sessions: "What if we get some electric eel, fill it with caviar and serve it in a conch shell on a flaming platter, with sake to drink?" HANDSOME BANZAI!!

9. The Staten Island Little League Team – Let me set the scene here: Qualifying rounds of the Little League World Series, down by one, last at-bat coming up for the Staten Island Little League Team. Coach pulls the team together for one last motivational speech. And then Johnny CurseWord steps up and represents Shaolin to the fullest:


And you KNOW the HBCC thinks fucking cursing is Handsome. Well done kids!!

8. TIE: F Train/ V Train/ M15 Bus – The only inanimate objects to make the list, but whatup LES chariots of fire?! Next stop Allen and Houston, then bust down a block to Stanton, crossover Allen, try not to get sucked into Epsteins, get sucked into Epsteins, get drunk, give a cigarette to LES-guy-dressed-in-all-white, leave, get a slice at Rosarios, got to the Skinny, drink $1.50 PBRs, leave, go to Rosarios, get a slice, go to Motor City Bar, shots, watch the go-go dancer, leave, go to 151, shots, PBRs, leave, Delancey, something something, leave, walk, fall, stumble, laugh, throw-up, San Loco, stupid sauce, burp, slur, leer, stare, SLAP, laugh, leave, yell, fall down, cabhomebed, what happened?

7. The New York Post Copy Editors – Whoooaaaaa, nothing screams handsome like a good play on words. And you just can NOT front on "Hot Wang Notches 15th Win" The Post has always been a solid contender, including favorites like, "DEATH COMET" (Last year's Columbia shuttle disaster), "NYPD JEW" (City hires first Hasidic Cop who turns out to not really be Hasidic after all, or not really a cop, can't remember which but i know it involved the Post fucking up actual facts, surprise!), and "GOTCHA" (Al Khaida second-in-commando killed with accompanying speech bubble, "Warm up the Virgins!") Keep up the good work, NY Post. And stay Handsome!

6. TIE: Donald Trump + Wall Street Bull – Cause money and gratuitus gold is power. The tie is also up because the Wall Street Bull has one huge set of Jinglers and Donald Trump walks around like he has that same huge set of Jinglers, however, don't you kind of think he is hung like a Raisinette? And, the Donald's hair is the most famously handsome quaff in the whole world. Whether its sporting that quaff, or being the bull who has to get his picture taken with Asians all day while not wearing any pants, between these two you've got some seriously handsome nerves of steel.

5. Sam Champion – Okay, first of all, the first rule of being Handsome is having an awesome name. Champion?! Get the fuck outta here. Champion of what? Well the world eventually as old boy recently got the Nextel call to the bullpen from ABC and was promoted from pushing clouds on the local network, to breathing down the neck of Al Roker in the race to be the most handsome weather man EVER. The HBCC forecast? Sunny with a 100% chance of handsome. Fuck yeah Sam.

4. Ronaldo Balkman – Sure, the Mets are winning and the Yankees are winning again, but no one, and I mean no one, in the New York sports world has made a city and even a country stand up and say, "Huhhhh?" like Ronaldo Balkman. Yes, Balkman has arrived Knicks fans. You might even say, the Balkman has landed. Handsome dreads, sure, but what's even more handsome is the way that Balkman pulls off a damn fine mustache and a look like, "Heh, I'm totally stoned right now and when my next paycheck comes in from Isiah Moneybags, I'm gonna get Eddie on the phone and get my shit hooked up." We have a feeling that the city will eventually warm up to this guy, the same way we've come to love Starbury, Curry and Franchise. Ahhh, who the fuck are we trying to kid? BOOOOOOOOOOO, YOU SUCK BALKMAN!! (Photo and Photoshop from YAY Sports)

3. Dodgeball hipsters – has anything blown up harder than a Con Ed manhole cover in '06 than the pool party dodgeball crazies? The usually athleticly-passive crowd of Williamsburg artists and musicians were suddenly dodging and throwing as though their cycling caps and v-neck t-shirts depended on it. And the crowds who should have been painstakingly arguing about every note of Beirut's set that didn't depict the suffering that is having to deal with an L Train commute, were moved to cheers and actual clapping at some moments in these dodgeball matches (which is more emotion than is ever shown at a Mercury Lounge show). Even your man bobsled was drawn into the action and found it exhilirating and nearly heart-attack enducing. So fuck the heat wave blackout bullshit: the summer, and this entire year, should be remembered for orange snow fence, and those handsome, handsome hipsters with their tatoos, ripped jeans, Vans, and all that other sterotypical stuff. (Awesome photo courtesy of Mecredis. Attribution is Handsome too.)

2. TIE: Captain Handsome and Bobsled Commando – what? You thought we were just gonna leave ourselves off of our own fucking list? Honestly we almost got into a fist fight over this cause I’ll stab a nigga in the neck with a buttaknife for Bobsled and Handsome’s all like, “OH, that’s right, you don’t have an army. I guess that means you need to shutthefuckup! SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP.” But then it was all like, I’m tired, I don’t really feel like arguing any more, massage my feet, you’re handsome, no you’re handsome, let’s go get some ice cream, okay. S’Cool.

1. NAS – “Who’s world is this?” Coming out of Queensbridge, this young rapper, originally named Nasir Jones, a few years ago penned what became our theme song for the summer and primarily tops this year’s Handsome list for one reason: a quick Wikipedia search turned up this photo (to the left) and revealed that Nas (or at least the style team at XXL Magazine) is in posession of a pair of shoes that have Aubergine, Yello and Zebra print colorways, and, as those of you who faithfully follow the HBCC (or sleep around like the dirty blog sluts that you are) will realize, these same boots also belong to a one, Mr. Captain Handsome, purchased in the month of July of this year, a full month before this issue even went to press. So you see, Nas, the legendary rapper, savior of NYC and BK rap, took a cue from the HBCC and got with the 3/4 Delta Forces, which now means that these shoes are complete 'off the chain' as one might say, and yet owned by more than two people who are all now, therefore, officially over. Thanks, Nas and XXL magazine. Just as soon as you’ve made the top of the Handsome list, you’re already over. “Cause life’s a bitch and the you die...”

THANKS FOR READING. YOU PROBABLY HATE US FOR LEAVING OFF SOMEONE OFF THE LIST. LEAVE A COMMENT. WE'LL BE SURE TO IGNORE IT.
ALLEZ BOBSLED! STAY HANDSOME!