Bruner Blog

For any of you unable to sleep at night due to the slowdown in Bruner Blog posts, I figured I should update you that I’m out of town, ushering in the New Year in Budapest. And what a glorious town it is. I haven’t been back in two years and I’m now nostalgic as hell for it again, thinking of some way to either borrow thousands of dollars from my mom to buy an apartment or anyway arrange apartment swaps with friends in Budapest who may want to visit NY for a month here and there.

For those of you who might care (who would generally fall into my circle of friends who lived in Budapest in the early 1990s), I’m blogging more actively for the last few and next few days over at GenerationExpat.com. In any event, I’ll resume pointless blogging here at Bruner Blog in a week or so, when I’ve recovered from my hangover and jetlag.

[This post has been deleted. Seemed funny at the time, but I’ve been advised otherwise.]

In a pre-vacation cleaning frenzy, I run across a note in which it’s written in my own handwriting:

The @ symbol looks like a sperm in repose.

Can’t argue with that. I am just wondering whether that was my own forgotten observation or whether I’m ripping off someone else without attribution. Whatever. Seems bloggable either way (if your standards are as low as mine, anyway).

Please enjoy the Bruner “Big Dick” Blog: All “Fat Ass” Bruner, All the licking Time, courtesy of Pornolize.com.

Out of curiosity, I ran Eurotrash through the system and strangely didn’t notice any difference.

Via GGTH.

UPDATE:

András points out that Hungarian is one of the six language options for this service. So if you’d like your site/blog filled with filthy Hungarian obscenities, once again the Bruner Blog comes through for you.

• River of liver: AP reports:

Route 11 was closed for almost six hours Sunday after a tractor-trailer jackknifed, spilling roughly 32,000 pounds of liver onto the highway and a business parking lot.

• Help! Arrest my cat: KVIA TV reports:

A 56-year-old Lumberton man called 911 and demanded that police arrest his outlaw cat, but he was the one who ended up behind bars. Police reports show that Lloyd Gregory Coleman repeatedly called 911, insisting deputies come and arrest his fugitive feline. The cat, he said, had outstanding warrants. Dispatchers warned Coleman to quit abusing the 911 phone system, but he kept calling. When police arrived, Coleman invited them to search his house for the cat. … The cat never surfaced, but a prescription bottle of marijuana seeds did.

• Hockey fights sans hockey: Canadian Broadcast Company reports:

Two men from Winnipeg want to make hockey fights the main event by staging “Hockey Gladiators” next fall. Organizers Mike Davidson and Darryl Wolski say 60 hockey players will pay an entry fee to drop their gloves and duke it out for prize money.

• Assault with a deadly cheddar: AP also reports:

A Cedar City man is accused of assaulting another man with a block of cheese. Police say the victim was struck in the face with the cheese Thursday.

• Exploding cream soda bath salts: AP reports:

Pam Edwards got…an awakening in the middle of the night when the Cream Soda Bath Fizz she bought at the Woodford County Kiddie Bazaar exploded.

All lifted from this weekend’s Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me.

Just saw a demo of this on Letterman. Very, very cool.

Amusing. (Make sure your sound is on.)

Via Mark.

Apparently, Upsaid is having technical problems, so that Eurotrash’s Upsaid blog has been offline for a few days, which is a damn tragedy, as it has become one of my favorite blogs of late. So in her anxious, blog-deprived state, she started a blog on Blogspot. It’s ugly and feature-poor, but at least it’s Eurotrash.

One word for you, dearest: TypePad. It frickin’ rocks. As a man with too many blogs and experience now with several blog platforms, it’s the best I’ve tried. Only problem is you have to actually pay for it, albeit only $150 a year for the highest-end service (or slightly more in monthly installments). Not much really for a hobby as rewarding as blogging. Plus, you can host your own domain with it, host multiple blogs (and multiple domains) off one TypePad account and many other great features (not least of which is amazingly responsive customer service from the always-helpful Brenna).

UPDATE:
She’s back on Upsaid.

First, let me state for the record that I no longer am a pothead (as of six months or so). For friends who haven’t spent much time with me in recent months, that may seem a preposterous claim, and I can’t blame you for thinking so, but it’s true. For some reason, 2003 was the year I decided to give it a rest, and it’s stuck.

That said, I’m still a pothead in my heart of hearts. And somehow last night I found myself in a conversation with a few other potheads about a major peeve of mine: Europeans’ instistance on rolling joints with tobacco. This is completely retarded! There should be a law against this. European’s simply shouldn’t be allowed to smoke pot if they’re going to so denegrade it thusly.

Why do they do this? God only knows. (”It burns better.” Bullshit.) I have a theory that I’m sure it correct: habit, because this is the way they (and their older brothers and sisters) always smoked hash, which had been (or still is, for all I know) much more common on that continent than grass. Mixing hash with tobacco is fine. I have no problem with that. Lord knows I’ve tried, but, in fact, you cannot smoke just a joint of pure hash. You have to mix it with tobacco or it won’t burn.

But grass burns just fine without tobacco. And critically, it tastes much, much better without tobacco. Marijuana is the ambrosia of smoke products. Cigarette tobacco is the McDonald’s of smoke products. Rolling a joint with tobacco just demonstrates A) you’re a cheap bastard and are trying to ration your pot to make it go farther, which is just tacky when you’re sharing it with other people, and B) you prefer to get mildly buzzed and dizzy from nicotine rather than properly stoned.

I should just let it go, I know, but honestly, I’m still fuming (so to speak) about it this morning. Thank you for classical music and…all that other great stuff your contintent has contributed to world culture, but please, leave pot smoking to the experts. Stick to hash. Or, by all means, ruin your joints when smoking back in your own countries, but please, leave your quaint Old World customs back in the Old World, and when in Rome (as in Rome, Georgia; Rome, New York; Rome, Idaho; Rome, Illinois; Rome, Kentucky; Rome, Maine; Rome, Missouri; Rome, Mississippi; Rome, Ohio, or anywhere else in America), please, smoke big fat doobies the way Jah intended.

It is my great pleasure to announce GenerationExpat.com, a collaborative (hopefully) weblog devoted to those who lived in Budapest, Prague and other locales in Eastern Euro in the early 1990s.

Please help spread the word, and if your name or the name of someone else you know does not appear on the list of friends but should do, apologies in advance, and please advise.

Miki is having a party Saturday night at his fabulous pad in Greenpoint. Spread the word. If you need directions, email him or me.

Gives a whole new meaning to “Ho, ho, ho.”

Via Fleshbot, of course.

If you’re still looking for even more insight into how the mind of the dating woman works, Maccers provides “The Modern Drunk?s Guide to Dating (Women) Part I.” The parenthetical “Women” is a bit confusing, as it’s advice for women, not for men about dating women. But, of course, you can easily employ some reverse psyche and use these tips to know what mines to avoid, such as “8. Never date a man who drinks Cosmopolitans on your first date. He shaves his balls and wears stacks” (what are “stacks”?); “14. Never date a man who looks deeply into your eyes and tells you his marriage is fucked. So is his life,” and “16. Never date a man who brushes his teeth after lunch. He will avoid cunnilingus.”

Wow, are these creatures inscrutable.

I SAID CALL ME CRAZY!!!!!

(My stepbrother’s joke. Funny guy, he.)

Along those lines, this New Yorker Shouts & Murmurs piece, “I Killed Them in New Haven,” had me snorting and chortling on the bus yesterday, to the mild distress of some fellow passengers.

My adorable two-year-old nephew, Little Ricky, is learning the alphabet. Sort of. So far, he’s got only a handful of letters, including “bada-boo” (for double-u). Isn’t that cute as hell?

He also calls his aunt Lupe, “Poopy.” Now that is cute!