Manity: Possessing and/or exuding the quality of manliness.

 

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Welcome Gentlemen and Ladies, to this episode of the Drunken Poet.  Today I want to address something that has been bothering me for many long years.  The role of the Man.  Not the ridiculous "Man" that Commies like Sand Vagina believe in.  I mean the Man's man. Clint Eastwood meets John Wayne kick ass, take names, and slap the hot waitress on the ass type man.  What happened to us?  We've been so destroyed by society into recognizing our feelings, and falling down over emotions and politeness that we've lost our natural disposition of burley, uncouth, conquering soldiers that live life by Testosterone and Balls alone.  In case you're unsure... testosterone is what makes us men. Look that shit up, science has my back.

Also, I failed to make note of it, I will be starting a new feature on the Blog, at the end of every post I'll be posting a drink of the day/post type thing. My gift to you, my alcohol swilling brethren.  Below the elusive break, you'll find your way into a world of tanks, planes, and flame.  To witness some of the most awesome and awe-inspiring man stories ever, hit the break, and read up.  Opinions and words after all, are for chicks.

It's The End of the World...

You know the song. It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine.  What an amazing thing to say, when the world is being gripped with the impending 2012 apocalypse, when the world is seemingly doing everything it can to explode itself up, with only a small amount of help from us, the average human being.

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To celebrate the impending doom of our world, I bring you two really cool videos I've found this year.  What are they of? The insane amount of earthquakes this year that are after all, completely explainable.  Nope, we're talking molten fury being spewed into the air, causing havoc on air travel the world round, and a freakish hailstorm in the American Midwest.  Check the jump to see the videos.

Je me souviens Montreal...

There it was. Morning. The Khan to this Drunken Poet's Jim Kirk.  Sleeping in a basement, head pounding as though a herd of rhino's was using my brain for a siesta.  Memories of the previous night of insanity start flooding back in an unending torrent of continual laughter.  I cough.  Too many cigarettes the night before.  Oh Crap, I agreed to give Spyboy's friend Rockgirl a ride to Montreal. Check the clock. Was supposed to pick her up in 20 minutes.  The rest of the crew is still comatose.  Not going to happen.  Emergency text.  She was already planning on waiting for us knowing what the Market can do on the unsuspecting. Great Girl.

English walks out of his bedroom. "Did we almost get a fight last night?".  More laughter.  Manage to get the troops out of bed, packed, and shower while they're getting going.  Wish the rest of them had.  Manhole packs for the trip: a Toothbrush and a pair of socks, no change of clothes. Dude is a legend.

Pick Rockgirl up an hour late. Not too bad, all told.  Car reeks of booze seeping from our pores.  Poor Girl.  Car trip is one of the ages, listening to crazy English music off Matt's Ipod.  Manage to make it to Montreal.  I fail at navigation, went to the wrong hotel. Somehow, we manage to not drive Rockgirl away from us entirely, agree to meet up later in the evening.

More after the jump...

The Nation's Capital...

Been awhile since I've posted anything, and there is an excellent reason for that.  I've been nearly dead with exhaustion.  I posted last saying that English and I were headed off on a bit of a vacation last weekend, and it was an adventure beyond imagining.  We rented a car and headed out, to pick up our friend Matt from the airport, on the second leg of his world tour.  Matt is from England, so I knew from the get go that these travels would result in nothing more than my liver losing a few years of my life.  Oh if only I had known...I would have done it anyways.

First stop, Ottawa, our Nation's Capital, to visit Spyboy & Manhole.  Spyboy was on his way back home for Easter, so we allowed him to show us around the City, as we planned our assault on the city for that evening.  For those of you who know nothing about Ottawa, I will introduce you to the greatness that is the Market.  In the city where I currently spend my time, we have a modest drinking quarter, something along the lines of 12 or 15 mediocre and basically pitiful establishments.  The Market in Ottawa, is a literally a district. Filled with Pubs, Clubs, back out of the way establishments, everything.  It is, in the most basic terms, a literaly utopia for a Drunken Poet such as myself.  We wended our way back and forth, partaking in the evenings finest, consuming without regard for the state of our livers, our self respect, or most importantly our wallets.

Read more after the Break.

Happy St. Patty's Day!

Well, I'm technically a Quarter Irish. Thus, if you're female and marginally attractive, you now have a standing invitation to Kiss Me. Moving beyond that, it's a beautiful day here in the Tri Cities, to celebrate the Feast Day... who am I kidding? It's an excuse to get hammered all day long, act like complete idiots and just claim to be celebrating... In Short, perhaps my favourite day of the year.

Regardless, as much as I love the drunken debauchery, the missing memories, and the ability to claim that something didn't happen just because "you can't remember it", doesn't mean that's what this post is about.

Today, I pass on a nugget of gold, as was shown to me by The Chud. Chat Roulette is a terrifying thing, that can so easily put the most perverted of people in touch with the most innocent, or even scarier a prospect: perverts being put together. But it also allows for some comedic gold, and as such, I share with you, the best use of Chat Roulette I have seen to date.

Chatroulette Piano Improv - watch more funny videos