Because it's Wednesday, and we all need a pick-me-up to make it through the rest of the week in our respective hells, WDR is providing some fun.
Fresh off the celebration of Mr. Zhuang's birthday, we're providing a video from his all-time favorite artist for the Helper. Of course, what with Universal Music Group's restrictive youtube policy, it's hard to find an embeddable video. So even though the choice kicks some serious ass, don't read too much into it--it's just what we could fit.
This one comes from the "Broken" EP, which outside of NIN-circles doesn't get much play. There's probably a reason for it--a song like this is the reason why we can use "brutal" in describing some music. However, in cases like this, it's meant as a compliment. You have to also love the contrast between Trent and Vrenna's intensity to the guys tooling away on the computers.
Smashed up my sanity
smashed up my integrity
smashed up what i believed in
smashed up what's left of me
smashed up my everything
smashed up all that was true
gonna smash myself to pieces
I don't know what else to do...
Bonus points if you can pick out the appearances by superstars of 90s alterna-rock Richard Patrick and Marilyn Manson.
Showing posts with label Mr. Zhuang Is Loco. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mr. Zhuang Is Loco. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Sunday, November 18, 2007
The Most Splendiferous, Moumental Event in the History of the World
Two Words: Open Bar
I don't have many "near death" experiences. That is, I don't recognize most events as being such. But last weekend, I had one. And unlike other brushes with death, this one was fun.
So here's what happened: A friend of mine was turning 25, and as a celebration, he was renting out a bar for the night. That mean free drinks, food and limo service. Yes, I'd like caviar with that.
Without a doubt, this could only be an epic journey. OPEN BAR? Dios mio, man. So on the day of the party, I meet at my buddy's apartment and wait for the limo to pick us up. When it gets there, we have bottles of champagne and glasses in the thing along with our own sound system. It may have only taken us about 15 minutes to get to the bar, but in that time we killed 3 bottles of champagne and a bottle of Seagrams (I did not partake in the Seagrams). When we got to the bar, the driver rolled out the red carpet (THE red carpet) and we proceeded to the door.
The party was well underway when we came in, and the booze was flowing. I ordered myself a Johnny Walker on the rocks, and much to my dismay the bartender said they were out of it. Already? How could this be? He assured me that there were several other top shelf single malt scotches at my disposal. While I cannot remember what he brought me, I do recall that it was smooth and delicious.
I moved on to the food of the night. There were more things available than I could eat, but I satisfied myself with quesadillas and BBQ chicken wings. Soon enough, I realized that my scotch was gone and I needed something else to drink. This, and I was also covered in BBQ sauce from those wings. When I returned from the washroom, I went to the bar and ordered what any man in my position should order:
"Get me 4 Irish Carbombs."
I wasn't going to drink all of these. No man can just go in and drink 4 Irish Carbombs by himself. This isn't a question of whether or not this is possible (it is) but rather that Carbombs are a group activity. So I took my Carbomb (delicious) and ordered a specialty of the house: The Shanghai.
The name should have stopped me, but it didn't. The drink is a mix of hazelnut rum, orange juice and, I think, something else. It sounds a bit odd and, well, it is, but it also tastes pretty good.
But the Shanghai was a small drink, and it didn't last long. Something else was needed. The bar was crowded as hell now, like a grocery store in some apocalyptic scenario. It was every man for himself. Or woman.
"Who do I have to blow to get a drink around here?" I heard one girl say. In a mostly joking manner I said, "You know, if you flash the bartender it will probably get his attention." She looked at me. "Do you think that would really work?" "Well, it can't hurt." Sadly, this didn't actually come to be. Everyone agreed that this girl was the best candidate to make this plan work, but we eventually got served despite this. "Get me 3 berry mojitos."
Berry Mojitos? I was intrigued. Sure, it sounds like a sissy drink, but as a guy who is comfortable with who he is, I ordered the fucker. And I can tell you that it was delicious. It didn't even taste alcoholic, but the kick it gave after drinking it said otherwise. When I was done, I finished with a glass of Maker's Mark on the rocks.
It was around this time that things start to get blurry. I remember ordering 7 Jager bombs and getting a shot of Jager to go, but that's as far as pure recollection goes for this night. I do remember that following the Jager bomb I had the following: 2 shots Jager, 1 Maker's Mark on the rocks, 2 Hennesey on the rocks, 1 hazelnut rum and coke, 1 cucumber vodka tonic (I don't know how I ended up with this, but I drank it anyway) and 1 Jack on the rocks. Everything I consumed was between 8PM and 11:30PM.
So it's no wonder the world was blurry. I remember leaving that bar to go to another one. Then I remember my roommate walking me back home (and I was slapping a tree for some reason). Then I remember sitting in my kitchen as my roommate was eating some tomato soup, and I felt sick. Then I remember being helped to bed. Then I woke up, confused.
When I awoke the next morning, I went to the bathroom to find that I had vomit on my arm. This confused me, because I had not vomited in bed, nor did any vomit from my arm get on my bed. The day, from then on, was based on figuring out what I had done since I left the bar. As it is, I'll put it simply: I spent more money on drinks and puked outside a nightclub. Then I went home and made tomato soup and puked some more. Then I passed out, woke up, and puked again.
So...is there a lesson here? Yes; watch yourself, especially if it's open bar. It may be a good time, but you don't want to end up polishing your shoes (If you've ever seen/read "Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas," you should know what I mean).
I don't have many "near death" experiences. That is, I don't recognize most events as being such. But last weekend, I had one. And unlike other brushes with death, this one was fun.So here's what happened: A friend of mine was turning 25, and as a celebration, he was renting out a bar for the night. That mean free drinks, food and limo service. Yes, I'd like caviar with that.
Without a doubt, this could only be an epic journey. OPEN BAR? Dios mio, man. So on the day of the party, I meet at my buddy's apartment and wait for the limo to pick us up. When it gets there, we have bottles of champagne and glasses in the thing along with our own sound system. It may have only taken us about 15 minutes to get to the bar, but in that time we killed 3 bottles of champagne and a bottle of Seagrams (I did not partake in the Seagrams). When we got to the bar, the driver rolled out the red carpet (THE red carpet) and we proceeded to the door.
The party was well underway when we came in, and the booze was flowing. I ordered myself a Johnny Walker on the rocks, and much to my dismay the bartender said they were out of it. Already? How could this be? He assured me that there were several other top shelf single malt scotches at my disposal. While I cannot remember what he brought me, I do recall that it was smooth and delicious.
I moved on to the food of the night. There were more things available than I could eat, but I satisfied myself with quesadillas and BBQ chicken wings. Soon enough, I realized that my scotch was gone and I needed something else to drink. This, and I was also covered in BBQ sauce from those wings. When I returned from the washroom, I went to the bar and ordered what any man in my position should order:
"Get me 4 Irish Carbombs."
I wasn't going to drink all of these. No man can just go in and drink 4 Irish Carbombs by himself. This isn't a question of whether or not this is possible (it is) but rather that Carbombs are a group activity. So I took my Carbomb (delicious) and ordered a specialty of the house: The Shanghai.The name should have stopped me, but it didn't. The drink is a mix of hazelnut rum, orange juice and, I think, something else. It sounds a bit odd and, well, it is, but it also tastes pretty good.
But the Shanghai was a small drink, and it didn't last long. Something else was needed. The bar was crowded as hell now, like a grocery store in some apocalyptic scenario. It was every man for himself. Or woman.
"Who do I have to blow to get a drink around here?" I heard one girl say. In a mostly joking manner I said, "You know, if you flash the bartender it will probably get his attention." She looked at me. "Do you think that would really work?" "Well, it can't hurt." Sadly, this didn't actually come to be. Everyone agreed that this girl was the best candidate to make this plan work, but we eventually got served despite this. "Get me 3 berry mojitos."
Berry Mojitos? I was intrigued. Sure, it sounds like a sissy drink, but as a guy who is comfortable with who he is, I ordered the fucker. And I can tell you that it was delicious. It didn't even taste alcoholic, but the kick it gave after drinking it said otherwise. When I was done, I finished with a glass of Maker's Mark on the rocks.
It was around this time that things start to get blurry. I remember ordering 7 Jager bombs and getting a shot of Jager to go, but that's as far as pure recollection goes for this night. I do remember that following the Jager bomb I had the following: 2 shots Jager, 1 Maker's Mark on the rocks, 2 Hennesey on the rocks, 1 hazelnut rum and coke, 1 cucumber vodka tonic (I don't know how I ended up with this, but I drank it anyway) and 1 Jack on the rocks. Everything I consumed was between 8PM and 11:30PM.
So it's no wonder the world was blurry. I remember leaving that bar to go to another one. Then I remember my roommate walking me back home (and I was slapping a tree for some reason). Then I remember sitting in my kitchen as my roommate was eating some tomato soup, and I felt sick. Then I remember being helped to bed. Then I woke up, confused.
When I awoke the next morning, I went to the bathroom to find that I had vomit on my arm. This confused me, because I had not vomited in bed, nor did any vomit from my arm get on my bed. The day, from then on, was based on figuring out what I had done since I left the bar. As it is, I'll put it simply: I spent more money on drinks and puked outside a nightclub. Then I went home and made tomato soup and puked some more. Then I passed out, woke up, and puked again.
So...is there a lesson here? Yes; watch yourself, especially if it's open bar. It may be a good time, but you don't want to end up polishing your shoes (If you've ever seen/read "Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas," you should know what I mean).
Monday, October 22, 2007
Banana Bread?!? What The Hell Were You Thinking?!
This is quite an old article, actually, but it has caused quite a firestorm within the WDR community. It's because it cuts to the heart of our friendship, the way we engage with bananas.
For those of you who don't remember, our very namesake is a sexual maneuver (that we devised, since WE ARE THE INNOVATORS) that makes great use of a banana. And really, that's all we're allowed to disclose at this point: that the Wayne Diego involves a banana. This post should give you the general idea.
So what are we talking about, besides utilizing bananas for their non-God-intended purposes? It's peeling a banana like a goddamn monkey! Apparently, some are thumbing their nose at nature (and probably biting their thumb as well--oh my!), and eating their banana by peeling it from the bottom-up. Sheer lunacy! Of course, all this made me want to do is procure a banana as quickly as possible.
This was all before we learned that our own Mr. Zhuang has been eating his bananas this way for years. This peyote-smoking bastard has been thwarting convention for some time now. So now that this revelation has been made public, everyone who meets the Zhuang must now ask him about his banana-eating habits (and no, this is not a metaphor).
For those of you who don't remember, our very namesake is a sexual maneuver (that we devised, since WE ARE THE INNOVATORS) that makes great use of a banana. And really, that's all we're allowed to disclose at this point: that the Wayne Diego involves a banana. This post should give you the general idea.
So what are we talking about, besides utilizing bananas for their non-God-intended purposes? It's peeling a banana like a goddamn monkey! Apparently, some are thumbing their nose at nature (and probably biting their thumb as well--oh my!), and eating their banana by peeling it from the bottom-up. Sheer lunacy! Of course, all this made me want to do is procure a banana as quickly as possible.
This was all before we learned that our own Mr. Zhuang has been eating his bananas this way for years. This peyote-smoking bastard has been thwarting convention for some time now. So now that this revelation has been made public, everyone who meets the Zhuang must now ask him about his banana-eating habits (and no, this is not a metaphor).
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