YDH

Almost killed again: The Tale of the Cursed M3

Tue, 27 Nov 2007 04:41:27 GMT

Here we are again. Two and a half years ago, I sat here and wrote about how I was almost killed on the road. Remember this? Well, I thought that would be the worst thing that would happen to me on the road. I was wrong.

The Cursed M3

As many of you already know, I am a huge fan of BMW automobiles. After my 318ti was totaled in the rear-ending two and a half years ago referenced in the link above, I bought a 2001 330i. I drove that car for just over two years, and it was good to me. However, I have always lusted over the BMW M3 and vowed that one day I would own one.

Well, on August 1 of this year, the promise I made to myself came true, and I traded in my 330i and purchased a 2004 BMW M3 convertible! I even showcased my master negotiator skills at the dealership and got the car for several thousand below value, and extended warranty/maintenance through 100k miles, so there would be $0 in upkeep. Needless to say, I was proud to have acquired my dream car at the age of 27.

Three weeks after purchasing the car, I was driving on I-95 in the usual stop and go traffic prior to the Wilson Bridge. While stopped, I was rear-ended by some doofuses (or doofi?) from South Carolina. Oh, and of course they were driving an SUV. They put a hole in the bumper, bent the trunk and the rear frame. It was over 7k in damages (that their insurance paid) and the car was in the body shop for almost 2 MONTHS! I took it to one of the best body shops in Maryland, and they did an outstanding job. The car looked like new. So, I finally got my car back on about October 15. Just in time for the cold weather. I didn't care. I put the top down in 50 degree weather and froze, you know, because I could. Everything is good again, right?

Ha, no. So, this past Monday, I was returning to DC to work after a lunchtime doctor's appointment in MD. Still in MD, I came to this busy intersection. Two lanes going in each direction. I look up, light is green, and I'm good to go. As soon as I look back down, this man going in the other direction decided to make a left turn right out in front of me. Realizing that he made a mistake, he froze, blocking both lanes for me to get around him! I had nowhere to go, and I hit him, spun into an SUV, and then went straight into a stopped tractor trailer. Yes, a tractor trailer. I thought for sure that I was dead, or at least crippled for life.

After my initial shock, all I saw were airbags everywhere. There was shattered glass all over me. I couldn't see anything because my front end was bent into a /\. I started to move my arms and legs to make sure I still could. I was afraid to look in the rear view mirror at my face. I looked, and just a bloody lip. At this point, voices were coming from everywhere. My car has what's called BMW Assist, which is like On-Star, so they were talking to me confirming my location. Meanwhile, EMT's are outside telling me not to move. I am finally stretchered out. I was so shaken up that I forgot to do the NFL-style thumbs up as I was wheeled into the ambulance.

Went to the hospital in a lot of neck and back pain, and miraculously, the x-rays came back negative. I still have aches and pains in the area, and I do need to see a specialist, so we'll see. Regardless, I made out ok in a situation that could have easily ended my life. As for the other guy, he was walking about after the accident, but it turns out that he later went to the hospital for cracked ribs. The SUV and tractor trailer sustained minimal damage.

The other guy was cited for failing to yield on a left turn, and is liable for all four vehicles involved.

Now, the moment you have all been waiting for: Pictures of the carnage!

Oh look, it's the freshly repaired rear end of the car, one of the only spots left intact! Isn't that ironic?

Crunch. Just a couple of scratches here and there, I'm sure it will buff right out.

Beautiful

I think this happened during a spin

This is misleadingly horrific. The bumper was placed inside the vehicle after the accident

This is the other guy's Lexus. Look before you left, dude!

-----------------------

So am I upset about my car? Nope, I haven't really thought about it. I can say I owned the car I always wanted. Yes, it was obviously never meant to be and most likely cursed, but I still owned one. I am just happy to have made it out of there in one piece. I truly must be one the most lucky unlucky guys out there. I also seem to have a fair amount of extra lives, so I must have been having a healthy diet of:

Be careful out there, kids. You could be the best driver in the world, and that doesn't always cut it.

-YDH

The Joel Scharfer Story: Part 2 - Phone Etiquette

Thu, 15 Mar 2007 19:37:31 GMT

You know these people. They could be your best friend, a co-worker, a family member, or even a spouse. Sure, they might be normal people in person quite capable of carrying on reasonable conversations. However, if you get them on the phone, they turn into a complete social leper. They sound distracted, distant, hurried, or otherwise uninterested. You meet them in person following the phone conversation, and they are back to normal. You just accept these people as "simply not being much of a phone-talker." They are the Telephonically Awkward, and chances are that someone very close to you is a member of this community.

Referring to my father as "simply not much of a phone-talker" would be an even greater understatement than saying that Stalin "simply wasn't that nice of a guy." I can personally guarantee that Big Joel's phone etiquette is worse than any Telephonically Awkward member you have ever met. Please allow me to explain.

On the surface, it would appear as though Big Joel is just like any other Telephonically Awkward person. If I call him about something, I get very terse answers combined with patchy listening and comprehension. Once the telephone conversation is wrapped up (usually within a minute's time), I find myself saying "bye" to dead air. You see, unbeknownst to me, my father has already left the conversation, and I am saying goodbye to absolutely nobody.

So far, this is pretty standard Telephonically Awkward fare, right? Let's continue. Get this, let's say the situation is reversed, and this time Joel calls me. Different scenario, correct? Nope. Just as soon as I answer his call, he is trying to get off the phone with me as soon as possible.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's dad. Did you mail out your tax forms yet?"

"Not yet, I'm waiting for my last W2 to come in so..."

"Uhuh"

"Yeah so I'll still be way ahead of the deadline and....."

"Mmm-hmm. Ok, just checking, I'll probably see you this weekend."

(I fail to realize he has hung up)

"Cool, ok see you then. Bye."

::pause::
(I slowly flip my phone to the closed position)

Sounds ridiculous, but I'm sure that a handful of you still know some people capable of the above behavior, and remain skeptical that I will live up to my guarantee. It's time to play my final card.

About a month and a half ago, I was in the car with Roy. Our Atlantic City trip was a week away, and Big Joel had previously expressed interest in going with us. I receive a phone call from him, and he gets right to business, asking me about the details of the trip.

"So where are you staying?"

"Well, we're going to stay at Bally's. We're probably going to leave from Maryland on Friday afternoon after Roy gets off of work. I’m guessing we'll get there around 7pm..."

(no response)

Thinking that he must have lost cell phone reception, I hang up my phone. I tell Roy that he'll probably call me right back. About a minute later he does.

"Hey dad."

"Hey why did you hang up?"

"What do you mean? I was talking and you weren't saying anything. You lost reception, right?"

"No, I had another call come in while you were talking, so I clicked over."

..............

Yes, during the middle of a conversation, my father got a call waiting and clicked over with no warning whatsoever. No "hang on Adam, I have another call" or "hey lemme call you right back." Nothing. He just clicked right over while I was talking. I don't think that anybody in the history of the telephone or call waiting has ever done that to another human being. To make matters worse, he never clicks over when I'm the one calling him while he's already on the other line. When I call and hear the ringing sound with the beep at the end signaling that the person is on the other line, I know I'm getting the voicemail. I wasn't joking about the no-selling, now was I?

-YDH

The Joel Scharfer Story: Part 1 - Intro / No-Selling

Sun, 04 Mar 2007 23:52:52 GMT

My father is an exceptional person who possess a cult-following consisting of a good portion of my friends. In the twenty-six years of my existence, I have never met anyone remotely resembling his unique personality. My friends affectionately refer to him as 'Big Joel', so we will use that moniker for the duration of this series.

Big Joel just turned sixty last September, but probably looks about fifty. He would probably appear even younger had he not decided to adopt the Santa Claus physique over the course of the last five years. The gray beard isn't helping matters either. For purely selfish reasons, I am grateful that almost all of his hair remains on his head. His hair, combined with my mother's father's full head of hair, gives me quite the satisfying follicle insurance for the later stages of my own life.

This isn't going to be a traditional Big Joel biography. Instead, I am going to focus on what makes my father so funny and why he is so popular among various social groups of choice. Presently, I am unable to ascertain whether his comedy is intentional or not, and I don't think I will ever figure out the answer. We might have an easier chance of finding out if the all of the Griffin's can understand Stewie's dialogue, or if it's only Brian.

Big Joel is a sage in the art of no-selling. Some of you already know what I mean by the term, 'no-sell'. For those who do not, I shall briefly explain. No-selling is a term that originated as an insider's term in professional wrestling. We all know that wrestling is staged and predetermined. If not, now you do, and perhaps we should sit down and talk about Santa, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy. In wrestling, when wrestler A punches wrestler B, wrestler B acts hurt and sometimes falls down. What wrestler B is doing is 'selling' the move. However, there are exceptions. When Hulk Hogan decided he has had enough, he would begin to Hulk Up. His attacker would continue attempting to hit Hogan, but Hogan would just shake his head and point at his assailant with an intense look on his face. This impervious behavior is referred to as 'no-selling'.

The art of no-selling can be applied to everyday life, and does not require physical contact either. Let's say you're at work, and you are trying to explain something to a co-worker. Without thinking, you use the word 'hard' in your explanation. Your coworker interjects with a “That's what she said!” Here you have reached a decision point. Do you feign laughter or tell him or her to shut up? No, you completely ignore it and continue on with what you were talking about. Congratulations, you have no-sold a lousy, overused joke!

I will now give you an example of how Big Joel can seamlessly integrate the art of no-selling into his everyday life, leaving the victim wondering if it's intentional or not. You see, Joel is one of those people who A) You never know if he's actually listening to you or thinking about something else and B) On the off-chance that he is actually listening, he is very difficult to impress. Usually he will acknowledge a minor accomplishment with a high-pitched “mm-hmm”. Major accomplishments are treated to a “good” and then he changes the topic or stops listening. I know this sounds bad, but in my case he will turn around and say all of these nice things regarding my accomplishment to my grandparents or his friends. I would never know if they didn't come back at tell me about it many months later after said event. Needless to say, I like his crappy, no-selling reactions because they are absolutely hilarious.

“Dad, I just cured cancer!”

“Mm-hmm”

“Dad, I just beat Micheal Jordan in a game of 1-on-1!”

“Good." (Goes back to newspaper)

The purpose of the above entry was to lay the groundwork for the true comedy of this series. In the upcoming entries, I will discuss a variety of topics, including Joel's now world-famous phone etiquette.

Super Bowl

Thu, 25 Jan 2007 19:32:53 GMT

No, this is not the journal update I have been promising...but that will be a good one.

The Super Bowl party will be at my place this year, so if you are interested, let me know.

-YDH

Dear Sirs and Madams

Thu, 11 Jan 2007 00:52:01 GMT

- I am not dead.

- I am returning to stand-up comedy this month.

- Big trip to Atlantic City planned for Friday, January 26. Come.

- I do have real updates planned. I promise to update before the internet becomes extinct.

-YDH

Comedy Update

Thu, 26 Oct 2006 14:55:20 GMT

Some of you have been asking when my next comedy show will be. The semi-finals for the Funniest Person in Baltimore will be November 8th. Same venue as last time.

Details:

Wednesday, November 8th, 7:30pm
Baltimore Comedy Factory
Admission is $10
http://www.baltimorecomedy.com

I hope to see you there. The support is appreciated!

-YDH

The Very Personal Check

Tue, 24 Oct 2006 02:11:17 GMT

My friend Erin owed me $25 for me for fronting her when she didn't have cash a week ago. She insisted that she pay me back, but once again had no cash but did have her checkbook. I told her to just pay me whenever she had cash since I hate checks, but she insisted. So she makes out a check, and hands it to me.

I didn't really look at the check until she left. It was a normal check until I looked at the bottom left. Being quite the prankster, on the FOR:_________ line, she wrote "Anal Sex!!"

I had a good laugh until I realized that I would have to cash this at a bank. Well, the prank was good, and I had to follow through. A few days later, I enter the bank, and spot a decently attractive female teller. I decided that she will be the one to cash this check for me. I fill out a deposit slip, and give the check to her, and she looks at it, and doesn't react at all! No-sold! She slides it back to me and says, "you forgot to sign the back."

I reply, "oh, wow, I'm glad that not signing the back of the check offended you more than the memo line of the check!"

She says, "What?" and takes another look at the check. Yep, she missed it the first time. She didn't this time. Her face turned beet red in a matter of seconds. I couldn't tell if you was offended or embarrassed, so I continued. I informed her that since there were not one, but two exclamation points after the words "ANAL SEX", it means that it was really good. She just starts laughing, and says, "I love it." Naturally, I ask if she was referring to the prank or anal sex, to which she replied, "Yes."

Someone write me a check. I'm going back.

-YDH

A Good Old Fashioned Kirk-Out

Tue, 24 Oct 2006 01:51:58 GMT

Once in awhile, my job requires that I visit a client site in downtown D.C. In these cases, I get up really early and ride the metro instead of driving in to avoid the abysmal D.C. traffic. Well, this morning a few weeks ago started this way, but the commute home was a bit more complicated. One would think reversing a mass transit commute would be easy, but apparently not.

At 4pm, I return to the metro. It should be noted that D.C.'s metro system requires the purchase of either a rechargeable paper ticket or the use of a prepaid SmarTrip card. I used the latter, because you must also use your SmarTrip card to exit the parking garage as it is unmanned. I get on the metro, and realize that I got on the green line instead of the yellow line. Yes, stupid, yet this will be the least of the inconveniences that await me. Cut me a break, I was really tired. I get off, get on the green the other way, and ride back to where I started. I lost about 10 minutes. Ok, start over. Now I take the yellow line.

Everything is going fine, except for the fact that my stop was at the end of the line, and when I got there, I was zoned out and didn't realize that I was there, and just made it out of the metro before the doors closed to take me back into the opposite direction. Now I am starting to get annoyed at my own stupidity and general incoherence. It continues. I go up an escalator, all the while thinking to myself, "hmm, I remember going up an escalator this morning...shouldn't I be going DOWN an escalator?" I chalk it up to fatigue and continue to the parking garage. Nothing looks familiar. I was already picturing milk cartons with my face on them.

I ask a woman what station I'm at just to make sure. It turns out that I was at the right station, but there are two sides you can exit on, and I was at the wrong garage. The only was I could get back to the right garage was to go back into the station, and use my SmarTrip card to go through the gates. I have approximately $5 left on my card, and think to myself, "no worries, it won't charge me since I'm technically getting off at the same station I am starting at, and I have more than the requisite $3.75 to exit the parking garage."

I enter the station through one end, and use my card to exit. We will ignore the fact that I spent another 10 minutes trying to find my car. As you can guess, I am very close to flipping out, but I can't because up until now, every one of my mistakes were my own fault. I get in my car, and sighed with relief knowing that it should all be downhill from here.

I pull up to the garage gate and wave my card in front of the reader. BUZZ! REJECTED! *NOT ENOUGH FUNDS*

The fucking thing charged me for going NOWHERE, and now I had less than $3.75 on my card. I could have fried an egg against my face.

I sit there and stare at the closed gate in front of me. Remember, nobody inside the booth. You can only pay with the card. Oh, but wait, there's a button here with a sign that says "Push for assistance." I push the button. Have you ever seen a run-down doorbell such that when you push the button, simply from the way the button depresses, you can just tell that isn't functional? Yes, this was one of those buttons. Nobody was coming to help me. Well, as you might have guessed, a car comes behind me and grows impatient as I am stuck. Finally, as anticipated, he honks his horn. You would think that this was where I snapped, but no. It was when he started yelling out his window...

Guy: "Come on, what the hell are you doing, moron?!"

I will do my best to present a solid visual. From all of the events I just described, I looked like a mess. So you can imagine what I looked like as I stuck my head out my driver's window, whipped my head around, my hair all in my face and a demonic look in my eyes....

YDH (shouting loudly with careful, slow anunciation): "SHUT...

THE FUCK

UP

MY CARD ISN'T WORKING

YOU SON OF A BITCH

I WILL END YOUR LIFE!!"

Guy: "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know, sorry!"

He quickly rolls up his window. It turned out that this was just a weenie businessman as opposed to someone with mental issues of equal or greater levels than my own, but I just didn't care either way at that point. At this point a line of cars have formed behind me. I do the only thing I can at this point, and throw my car into reverse. I continue to verbally assualt my friend who yelled at me..

YDH: "The little white lights on the back of my car mean you MOVE THE FUCK OUT OF THE WAY!!!"

The cars behind him move as well, allowing me a path to back up. My friend comes around me to the right, and I realize that his window was opened a bit and his mouth was open as though he was going to get the last word. I quickly open my passenger window, and right before he talks, I point and say,

"DON'T SAY A FUCKING WORD, JUST LEAVE THE GARAGE."

His mouth closes, his window goes up, and his card works, allowing him to leave the garage. Lucky bastard. I had to go back, park, put more money on my card, and I was finally able to escape from the parking prison.

Ugh.

But don't be alarmed, kids, I'm a nice, even-tempered individual. Anyone who experienced what I did would have flipped out. Right? RIGHT? I said, RIGHT? FUCK YOU, YOU SON OF A BITCH READER! DON'T SAY A FUCKING WORD, JUST LEAVE THIS ENTRY!

-YDH

Just a fun story

Tue, 05 Sep 2006 02:10:16 GMT

I would like to take a break from shamelessly self-promoting to talk about this past Sunday, where my good friend Al participated in the Rock N' Roll Half Marathon at Virginia Beach. Now, for those of you who don't already know, if you looked at Al about a year ago, you would have never seen this guy running in a 1/20th of a marathon, let alone a half. Over the past year he has proceeded to get himself into ridiculously good shape by working his ass off in the gym and running, and the difference in his appearance is like night and day (might be a bad analogy as he is still black). So, even though he has downplayed it to an extent to others, we all knew how big of an accomplishment this was and how him running in the marathon was a big deal for him.

So...

While it's by no means close to where I live (about 3.5 hours or so), I thought it would be a good idea to surprise him by showing up at the finish line at Virginia Beach. I made the assumption that Roy had absolutely nothing to do, which was correct (surprise surprise!), and decided to bring him along. Our friend Matt in Richmond also wanted to go, so it was decided that on Saturday night, Roy and I would drive down to Richmond and stay at Matt's, thus cutting out an hour and a half from the drive to VA Beach in the morning.

So Roy and I head down to Matt's. Since the race starts a 7am, we decided that we needed to hit the road by no later than 6:30am, so that we could get there by 9, and that would give us enough time to find our way to the finish line before Al crosses. The plan was for Matt to set his alarm and wake everyone up.

I get woken up by Roy at 7:30am. I am furious.

"MATT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

We wake him up. The doofus slept through his alarm! We pile into Matt's car, and I silently sat in the front seat. I am pissed because it's early and I am awake and there was such a slim to none chance of us being able to make it to the finish line to see Al finish. So, I cut the other two a break from having to contend with an irritated Adam, and go back to sleep in the car. I wake up later with the car coming to a stop. I am a bit dazed. What's going on? Are we here? Nope, Matt got pulled over and was issued a citation. So now I am pissed that I can no longer be pissed at Matt because he just got a ticket and that sucks. Ugh.

We finally get to the beach. Roy and I got out of the car to hurry and try to find the finish line. I am about ten feet ahead of Roy, and trip on part of the sidewalk, temporarily losing my balance. I didn't take a spill, but it was noticeable. Still generally annoyed, I entertained the possibility of Roy laughing at this, and how I would get away with ending his life in broad daylight in front of so many people. Fortunately, he managed not to laugh...at least audibly.

Matt finds us, and we haul ass to the boardwalk to where to the finish line was. There were thousands of people out there, and I thought that he had already passed, and even if he hadn't, there would be no way we would be able to find him in this sea of runners.

Just as the above thought crossed my mind, I hear Matt call my name and point...there he was! I call out his name and he spots us. The look of surprise on his face made the whole trip worthwhile. He was totally pumped and finished the race strong.

We then went to the beach, followed by a bar that featured a foosball table. Fear not, I proved that even with only 9 functioning fingers, I am still the champion foosball player of the world, winning about 15 games in a row, while talking much trash and entertaining/annoying other bar patrons with my loud and obnoxious comments. We drank a decent amount and called it an evening. It was a great time.

Congratulations again to our friend Al. We are really proud of you.

-YDH

Comedy Results

Thu, 31 Aug 2006 19:41:21 GMT

Last night, after 2 solid years of doing jack shit in the comedy world, I proved to myself that I can still be funny on stage. I took second place and therefore will advance to the semifinals of the Funniest Person in Baltimore. As soon as I know when the next show will take place, I will let all of you know.

To all that were in attendance last night:

Thank you so much for coming out last night for my comedy show. The support means the world to me, and it was truly a pleasure seeing you all out there cheering me on.

To those who missed it:

It went very well. The good news is that my clutch roommate / manager, "D", got the whole thing recorded on my video camera. I will be working on putting together a DVD of the set this weekend, so if you want to see it, let me know. If you aren't a stone's throw away from me, I will ship it to you with the understanding that you will buy me an adult beverage next time you see me.

Thanks again for the support.

-YDH

YDH Sustains Injury

Thu, 24 Aug 2006 05:54:00 GMT

Normally at this advanced hour, Your Drinking Hero would either be out on the town or fast asleep, but certainly not updating his Super Journal. Well, tonight shall be an exception, as I have something important to talk about. And no, I am not going to discuss how a certain someone in Atlanta is inexplicably and unceremoniously no-selling yours truly. No, friends, a travesty has befallen YDH.

As some of you already know, as a former player of the sport of rugby, I have temporarily switched over to a rougher sport - kickball. Yes, we have adult leagues all over the area of DC. It's actually a pretty good time. Anyway, while playing first base, a ball was kicked short and was seemingly uncatchable to the normal athlete, but with a few quick strides combined with a condor-like reach, I was able to dive and catch the ball, which I can modestly say was a superhuman feat. Unfortunately, one of the casualties of greatness was my pinky finger. There it was, just dangling downward. It looked like someone just told it an embarrassing story and it was sinking its head in shame.

So, having jammed my fingers multiple times from being a soccer goalie as well as a basketball player, I deduced that the finger was either badly jammed or broken. As I write this entry, I cannot type at my normal breakneck speeds of 10,000 WPM. No, I am limited to a paltry 70 WPM, give or take, with more than the usual mistake / backspace combos.

After the game, I went to the bar for a bit, applied ice, and left about an hour and a half later. After a few people told me that I really should just go to the emergency room, I obliged. Yes, I am going to swallow my pride and go to the emergency room for a fucking pinky finger. As always, I proceed to be a goof ball to the triage nurse..

YDH: Will I need a wheelchair or a stretcher?

Nurse: Um...

YDH: Yeah I'm surprised I made it here. I would have called 9-1-1 but as a rule I only dial with this here pinky.

Nurse: Well, we are all thankful for that. Do you have any allergies to medicines? Any significant medical condition? Have you had a tetanus shot recently?

YDH: No, No, and I am here for a messed up finger. I did not step on a rusty nail in the woods.

Nurse: It's protocol. We have some nurses here who are really anal.

YDH: You have anal nurses here?

Nurse: Yeah, some of them are really detail oriented an enforce some really odd policies.

YDH: How does one go about becoming an anal nurse? More importantly, if I were to go to analnurses.com, what would I find?

Nurse: .......... ok, uh, can you tell me how much you weigh?

YDH: 205 soaking wet.

Nurse: Great, I would actually like to know how much you weigh bone dry.

YDH: Oh, my bad. 210.

Nurse: Oh, ok - wait, that doesn't make sense! How can you be heavier wh-----

YDH: 210

Nurse: Fine, I give up. What are you, anyway, a comedian?

(I didn't have the heart to tell her)

I get X-Rayed. Finally, a doctor who looks and talks exactly like Rick Moranis comes out and informs me that he found no break in the X-Rays. He squeezes and bends my finger a bunch of different ways, and still finds nothing. He asks me multiple times if my finger just normally looks like that and I simply never noticed it. I barely refrain from breaking my other hand on his lousy actor lookalike face for asking such ridiculous questions. He goes to find another doctor. The second doctor does a few tests with me, and immediately determines that I have torn a tendon in my finger, which is significantly worse than a break. After splinting it, they refer me to a hand specialist who will determine if I need surgery ON MY PINKY FINGER!

Why couldn't I just break the damn thing like a normal person? And have done so on another sport that I play like rugby or basketball...no, I have to tell people it was kickball, which ranks somewhere on the roughness scale between standing still and moonwalking for distance.

Fear not, loyal YDH supporters. Beginning tomorrow I will keep all of you updated with the YDH Pinky Support Network (YDHPSN). Or I will lose interest in writing about this situation entirely and you won't get updated at all. We shall see. The good news is that my damaged pinky and I will still be ready for Wednesday, August 30th, so you better be too.

-YDH

Details for My Upcoming Comedy Show

Mon, 21 Aug 2006 15:12:10 GMT

The date is rapidly approaching. As most of you know, I will be returning to stand-up comedy.

Details:

Wednesday, August 30th, 7:30pm
Baltimore Comedy Factory
Admission is $10
http://www.baltimorecomedy.com

I recommend making reservations by calling 410-547-7798, because in my experience on the day of the show, it sells out.

I hope to see you all there. The support is appreciated.

-YDH

A Collection of Short Stories

Thu, 27 Jul 2006 04:42:59 GMT

Good evening. Welcome to Scharfer-piece Theater. Tonight's entry will consist of a series of short entries. A.D.D. readers rejoice!

YDH vs. A Moderately Attractive Hospital Nurse

A couple of weeks ago, at our company picnic, a coworker and friend of mine named Glen severely injured his leg during our annual kickball game. The ground was wet from an earlier storm, and he lost his footing and ended up dislocating his knee pretty badly. To make a long story short, 911 was called, ambulances came, and Glen was transported to Mt. Vernon Hospital. I, along with two others, followed the ambulance to wait with Glen at the hospital until his family arrived.

Since his family was coming from Stafford (a good forty-five minutes away), we stood to be there for some time. They told the three of us that only one person could go see Glen at the time because there were doctors and nurses scattered about and it wasn't a big room. I go in to see Glen, and look over his x-ray with him as he lays on the hospital bed.

After a few minutes, a nurse enters the room, and points toward his leg. The following dialog ensues:

Nurse (pointing to Glen's injured leg): We are going to have to remove that..
Glen: ...
YDH: ...what?!!
Nurse: I am referring to his shorts, of course. We have to remove his shorts so we can conduct a test.
YDH (jokingly indignant): Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! YOU cannot just walk into this man's room, and point at his leg, saying "we are going to have to remove that" Hasn't this man been through enough without you entering his room and making him think, albeit for a split second, that you were going to have to amputate?!!!
Nurse (Defensive, clearly not amused): I was just pointing to his shorts, I wasn't talking about --
YDH (interrupting): I don't want to hear it! What ever happened to bedside manner??!
Nurse: Just get out.

I was kicked out.

The upside was that Glen was thoroughly amused by this exchange between the two of us. He told me later that after I was unceremoniously ejected from the room, the nurse and Glen had the following conversation:

Nurse: Was that guy your friend?
Glen: Yeah.
Nurse: Uh, yeah. At first, I thought he was cute... but then he opened his mouth. That was the end of that.

Awesome.

Andy shows off his "A-game"

David, Andy, and I go to McFadden's along with a few other friends I met up with who were already there. This night was already somewhat of an anomaly since I was the DD. However, it seems that whenever I appoint myself such, the strangest things happen. This evening was no different. As the night progresses, I sip on a couple of beers while Andy and David proceed to do jager-bomb after jager-bomb. Cool, going to be a DD and babysitter in one night!

For about twenty or so minutes, I engage in conversation with some other people. When I turn around, Andy and David were missing. Time ticked by, and this no longer could have possible been a routine bathroom break, and while they were drunk, they were not sloppy/vomiting drunk. Could they...*gasp*...be talking to...women?! Initially, I eschewed this possibility, but when I took a walk around the bar, it appeared as though Hell had indeed frozen over! Andy and David were talking to a group of three females, and get this, the girls looked mildly interested!! I decide that despite the fact that there were three girls, I would sit this one out for a couple of reasons - I really wasn't attracted to any of them, and if I entered the conversation, the other two would have been severely upstaged even in my sober condition. So, like a proud parent of an honor student, I just stood a few feet away and watched with arms crossed and a smile on my face. However, it didn't last long..

No sooner than I thought to myself, "wow, looks like they have this situation under control, I'll return to my table" - Andy gets one of his world-famous nosebleeds. He gets them every so often, and I've seen him get one once or twice since I've known him, but NEVER in a crowded social situation! He immediately clenches his nose and runs to the bathroom. In case this wasn't entertaining enough for me, it turns out that unbeknownst to the girl he was talking to, he had bled a little bit onto her arm. I realize that it's only a matter of time before the girl notices, so I decide to start walking away from the inevitable trainwreck. I get about five steps away when I hear, "OH MY GOD! WAAAAAAAAH!" and the three girls leave the bar in a hurry. I am so glad I never entered the conversation and introduced myself. Poor David.

The Beach Ball Incident

Same night, same bar. I am standing by our table, talking to a group of friends, sipping on a beer that was ordered about thirty minutes ago. It was warm. Being a DD sucks ass. I probably won't do it again for another six months. Anyway, somehow, a beach ball worked its way from the dance floor into the lounge area, and people were hitting it around. This was fine with me, until this goofy-looking guy grabbed the ball. I think I was just getting tired at this point, because I immediately decided that I didn't like him. I am for the mostly turned away from him, but am watching peripherally. He decides that he is going to punt the ball. I will not allow such stupidity from someone who I arbitrarily dislike, and right as he goes to punt it, I put my beer down, turned, and lunge at him right when he kicks the ball. I completely block the punt with my hand, hard, and the ball slams off of his face. The bar erupts with an "OHHHHHHHHHH!" I walk over to him as he is still startled and yell, "GET THAT SHIT OUT OF HERE YOU SON OF A BITCH!" I then resume sipping on my beer as though nothing happened. Fuck him.

YDH is King of the Old-School Nintendo

As most of you already know, I am better than you at video games.

Note: Now I can already think of a handful of you who are going to object to this claim and cite an example of a video game that you are better than me at, and to that I say, ok. There will always be a game that I have not played enough or at all to compete with an expert, but if you give me enough time to practice, I will surpass you.

Also, the above clarification only applies to newer games. I am the king of all that is 16-bit and below, no exceptions. Anyway, I was challenged to a bout of RBI Baseball by one Nicole Morris. She had the audacity to claim that she would be able to beat me, and appended this ridiculous claim with more trash talking. I vaguely recall my mother being targeted by said trash talking, but details are uncertain.

Well, the point of this entry is not to gloat about the way I mercilessly destroyed her 15-0 in five innings thus invoking the slaughter rule and prematurely ending the game, but rather, I wanted to recognize the class she demonstrated after her defeat. She wrote me a Formal Letter of Apology. I encourage you to read it, as she has raised the bar for the classy way to be defeated by yours truly, or anyone else in a video game for that matter. It certainly beats the John W. Maher technique of bitching, screaming, throwing the controller at the tv, and attempting to pass out on top of the washer and dryer.

Young Whores, Be Free Tonight!

I decide to grab a late dinner at Panera Bread. Instead of take out, I eat there, since I often get the French Onion Soup and enjoy the atmosphere to catch up on some reading. (Yes, I'm getting old, shut up)

While I'm waiting for my order to come out, I notice a group of three giggly girls of the age of about thirteen or fourteen, looking at me. Fatigued by a long day at work and a six mile run, I ignore this. I take my food to an empty booth, and carry on with my book. Sure enough, they take the booth behind me, despite the fact that there were about thirty other spots. I tune out their noise for a good fifteen minutes, and they leave the restaurant. Suddenly, I hear a loud knocking on the window from the outside, and I look out... it's one of the girls. Now that she has my attention, she turns around and begins swirling her ass around against the window, and the runs off.

...

Kids these days. Whatever happened to passing the a note that asked Do you like me? __Yes __No

Well, I have a few more stories, but they will have to wait. I have fulfilled my journal updating obligations.

-YDH

YDH Returns to Stand-up Comedy!

Wed, 12 Jul 2006 14:26:33 GMT

Wednesday, August 30th. Baltimore Comedy Factory. More details coming as the date approaches. Stay tuned.

-YDH

Why my company shouldn't put me on travel: Leetown, WV

Wed, 14 Jun 2006 02:15:45 GMT

Ugh.

You know, I've been to my fair share of locations on this planet. Never before have I seen anything like this. I have been in West Virginia for three days now, and what I am about to say is not meant to sound arrogant or superficial.

*I am easily the most attractive person in this state.*

You might be thinking about how I am full of myself, but really, ask yourself, would you celebrate winning a medal in the Special Olympics? Mmm-hmm, exactly.

I kid you not, this is some bad news, folks. Whatever it is that you imagine when you hear "West Virginia" -- it's so fucking true. I haven't seen a single female here that I would touch in anything resembling some form of intimacy unless I have been snowed in. For weeks. I would also require there be no power, no running water, no pornography magazines, and no pencil and paper to draw my own pornography. If those conditions are satisfied and I also get REALLY cold, then maybe...just maybe. At least the lights would be out.

It's that bad.

So earlier this evening, I took a drive down to Charles Town Races and Slots. I figured why waste time being bored when I can waste my time and money being bored. I walk into the casino, play slots for ten minutes, win $250, then leave, now bored again. What am I going to buy here with it anyway? Fat-back?? It's definitely a sad day when taking $250 of the state's money doesn't bring a smile to my face.

Stop inbreeding you fuckers.

-YDH

The Minor Headache

Wed, 14 Jun 2006 01:09:58 GMT

A couple of weeks ago, a few of us met up at my place to go to RFK Stadium to watch the D.C. United game. We're all just about ready to go when I decide to go upstairs and take some medicine for this minor headache I was having, which was probably a result of the previous night's drinking. I have a bottle of off-brand headache medicine that I wanted to finish off, so I opted for that over my Advil since the headache was minor. The off-brand headache medicine resides in an unmarked orange bottle. I take one pill.

I go downstairs. Everyone is ready to go, and I am halfway out the door, and stop. I think to myself, "wait a minute," and run back up to my room. Yes, in my haste, instead of picking up the headache medicine bottle, I accidentally took one of my percocets out of a similar looking bottle from back when I was in the hospital!

Needless to say, my minor headache went away.

I zoned out for 90 minutes of soccer. Good game.

Had the headache been less "minor", I might have been inclined to take two. That would have been just swell.

-YDH

YDH vs. The City of Fairfax

Thu, 01 Jun 2006 13:37:24 GMT

About a month and a half ago, I got pulled over on the Fairfax Co. Parkway. I got clocked doing 71 in a 50. I can talk about how a 50mph limit is absurd for something called a parkway, but really, it's Virginia. I'm not wasting my time or yours.

Ok, so 21mph over the limit. The great Commonwealth of Virginia considers that reckless driving. Insurance companies raw dog your ass on premiums as well when you get one. Considering the consequences, I decided to withhold any wisecracks to the police officer, which resulted in him knocking my ticket down to a 69 in a 50, thus eliminating the automatic reckless driving charge.

A few weeks go by, and my court date nears. I look at the citation, and see that court begins at 9:30am on Wednesday, May 17. I show up to the court. Well, back up. I park in the parking garage for the court, then walk a mile to the actual courtroom beneath all kinds of scaffolding and other construction taking place. Then I get to the door and a huge line is coming out of the building. What's the hold up? Metal detectors. It's worse than freaking TSA here, and they clearly do this on purpose so that people miss their hearing even when they are on time. Dicks.

I finally get in a half hour later, and look on the electronic docket for my name. I am nowhere to be found. I ask the attendant, and her refers me to one of the registers. I wait in line, and finally someone sees me. I show her my citation, and she looks up my record on the computer. She says, "sir, your court date was two days ago. You missed it, and were ruled guilty in your absence."

To say that I was pissed would be a ridiculous understatement. I could probably have channeled fire with my hands at that point. Hadouken. I look at the my citation's date. It looks like a 17 still. I moved it over to where there was more light. In the right light, it looked like an aborted 15. That '5' the officer wrote on there was so fucked up that it looked more like a curly '7' than anything else. I go off about this to the clerk, who explains to me that I have the option to file a motion for a retrial. I accept, and am given the new date, which took place today. The only problem was that I had to pay the full fine right there, which was $172.00. I was also given the opportunity to write my reason for the motion for the judge to read the next time I was in court.

I would like to thank Officer Lohr and his remedial penmanship for causing me to miss my court date two days ago. I never thought about how much a five and a seven look alike until I was blessed with seeing such a work of art. Please allow another hearing.

...ok, I wrote that while I was angry, and in retrospect, it probably wasn't the best idea to have a judge read that before the court...

So I go to court AGAIN, leaving myself enough time for all the bullshit of arriving, and finally find my name on the docket, with my middle initial incorrect. I sit through all of the people's stupid hearings, and am finally called. I get up there, and my officer is not there, because it wasn't one of his designated court dates I suppose.

Judge: How are you this morning?

YDH: I am reasonable.

Judge: Er, um, ok. I guess that's better than... uh, anyway, you have filed a motion to have your case heard again. Let's see here..

(He reads the above note that I had written weeks ago, and from what I could tell, he was trying very hard to hide his amusement)

Judge: Do you still have your copy of the citation so that I can see this odd '5'?

YDH: No, for some reason the clerk kept it when I paid the fine that was given to me originally.

Judge: Well, without this citation I really can't say whether or not his handwriting was...

I interrupt..

YDH: Sir, can I ask you what my middle initial is on the docket?

Judge: It says it's a 'V'

YDH: Um, yeah, my middle initial is a 'J'. Apparently numbers aren't Officer Lohr's only handwriting problem.

Judge: Oh. Wow. Good point. Ok, well, as long as you were going to enter a plea of guilty anyway, and your driving record is excellent, I have no problem reducing this. I am going to reduce this from a 64 in a 50 to a 59 in a 50.

!!!

Did he just say 64 in a 50? My ticket said 69 in a 50. Officer Lohr and his retarded writing hand has saved me again, as his '9' was mistaken for a '4'!! This puts me in the 1-9mph over the limit range, which is a $50 ticket and doesn't even show up on the insurance. The fine City of Fairfax will be sending me a refund check in the mail for the difference between the original fine I paid and what the final fine was. Thank you and good day!

-YDH

Why my company shouldn't put me on travel: La Crosse, WI

Wed, 31 May 2006 03:04:04 GMT

I just want to congratulate myself for the tremendous amount of effort I have been putting into updating my web writings. I couldn't have done it without me.

So, the next leg of my seemingly endless travel was to La Crosse, Wisconsin. I must be honest with you all, I was certainly not looking forward to going to any place out in the midwest, much less one in Wisconsin. Let me tell you, I was pleasantly surprised with an entertaining week.

The people out there are some of the friendliest people you will ever meet. Seriously, nobody is in a rush, people will stop and chat about anything and everything, and are polite. Yeah, what I'm saying is that you coastal people are dicks. Get this, people actually slow down when you put your turn signal on and let you in. I was extremely surprised by such behavior, and due to my NJ and DC road habits, I thought it was a trap. No sir, just some good old-fashioned courtesy.

Let's see, what else makes La Crosse, WI special? Well, it just so happens that at one point in recent history, La Crosse was ranked #1 in the Guinness Book of World Records for MOST BARS IN A ONE MILE STRETCH. Yes, YDH has found a home in the midwest. More on the bar scene shortly.

I was traveling with a different coworker this time. Guy named Dan, probably in his late fifties or so. Good guy. On the client side was this guy named John. I would describe him as a pretty cool guy, late thirties, black. I mention the latter because, well, remember where we are. Anyway, since I'm traveling with a somewhat different age demographic this time, I adopted a system for the week where I would go out with these guys in the early evening, then drop them off, then go out on my own later.

One of the nights we all went out together, I was driving us out to 3rd street, where all of the bars are. I was driving what I felt was a reasonable speed on the main drag. Suddenly, on come the lights behind me, and I get pulled over. Yep. I'm about to experience the midwest's version of the "law". Dan and John are finding this amusing. I am pissed. To make matters worse, a beat up Oldsmobile with a unicycle attached to the back drives past, and the driver yells, "Ha haaaa!" It would seem as though Wisconsin has a real-life Nelson.

Out of the car comes a rather obese cop. Takes my license, and returns to his car. 43 in a 25. Apparently no road in the state is much above the speed of 25. I was convinced that this cop is going to write me the worst ticket simply due to the fact that he had to walk his fat ass from his car to mine and back. After a good ten minutes, he finally returns with my license and a yellow piece of paper in his hand.

Dammit.

Cop: Your license is about to expire.

YDH: Yes, in honor of my 26th birthday I might add.

(He no-sells the joke. Good for him.. in retrospect, it wasn't that funny)

Cop: I'm giving you a warning.

YDH: !!!!!!!!

Ok, first of all, I was out of state. Waaaaay out of state. Second of all, I look like a douchebag such that if any of you were a cop, you would NEVER give me a warning. It was especially bad this evening: Hair pulled into a pony-tail, hawaiian shirt, visor on backwards. Yeah. The complete antithesis of the traffic warning candidate.

He informed me that if he did in fact write me a ticket that it would have been for $150. Ok, fair enough. He went on to say that I would have been required to pay it on the spot.. or go to jail. What?! Yes, apparently in a state such as WI, they have no way to force an out of state dmv to enforce their tickets, so they collect on the spot or they haul your ass off to jail. Welcome to the midwest.

We continued to the bar as I keep my eyes peeled for Nelson in hopes that I could show him my warning and tell him that he can take his "ha haaa" and poke his grundle with it. No such luck. He must have switched over to his unicycle.

We arrive at this bar called Del's, a pretty cool place where most of the college kids hung out. Dan was to the right of me, and John to his right. Three rather attractive girls sit down to my left, and notice the warning that is sitting next to my beer, and inquire about it. I tell them the story about what happened, and how I got away with only a warning. They were shocked, they never heard of anyone getting off with a warning, much less people from out of state. Even attractive girls don't get warnings -- but they do get body searches quite often.

I want to take a moment to point out that women are easily impressed in the midwest. You could probably have a touch of Down's and still be fine. Ok, back to the story.

I'm talking to this one girl named Tara. She's about 22, and sweet as can be. She's telling me about Wisconsin, how the cheese curds are to die for, how this Del's bar makes the best Bloody Mary you've ever had etc. I respond by telling her all about where I am from, giving her extensive information about Washington, D.C. After five good minutes of my stories and fun facts, I figured I'd get a "Wow, sounds cool" or "hmm, I should go out there some time." Nope.

In the sweetest, most innocent voice she goes, "Well... I don't know about Washington D.C. Um, there's too many black people there."

Before I even began to figure out how the hell one is supposed to respond to this, I first look over to my right, cringing, to make sure that John didn't hear that. Nope, the two of them are still immersed in conversation. Ok, good. Now all I have to do is set this girl straight. Yes, I will lecture her about the fact that the South lost the civil war! I will tell her that ignorance breeds fear which breeds hatred! I will implore her to educate herself and apply the knowledge to become more accepting of different cultures!!

Ok, here goes...

YDH: Uhh. So the cheese curds, huh? I gotta get me some before I leave.

Come on. Let's be reasonable, I am not going to change these people. Let's just enjoy the comedic value of such a large portion of our country being so many decades behind.

-YDH

Why my company shouldn't put me on travel: Gainesville, FL

Mon, 29 May 2006 14:34:41 GMT

You may have noticed over the past few weeks or so that I haven't been around so much. Well, actually, my lack of updates is not a good way to tell, because I pretty much don't update anyway. So, let's continue on with this Memorial Day weekend update parade!

My company flew me, along with two coworkers, down to Gainesville, FL to do some work at a customer site for the week. I check into my room late Monday night, and am given my key and directions to my room at the Homewood Suites. I walk to my room on the second floor, and notice a sign to the right of the door. Big block letters, "SUITE FOR HANDICAPPED OR SPECIAL NEEDS"

Apparently they knew I was coming!

Everyone had a good laugh at this, and my room was far too nice inside for me to switch. Actually, I could have done without the shower seat, but we can't split hairs at a time like this.

The week presses forward. One of the afternoons, I go for a run in the ridiculous heat, which puts me in a bad mood. Upon returning to the hotel area, I find my coworker, Rebecca, laying out at the in the sun next to the pool. Rebecca is a tiny girl, standing at a mean five foot nothing and probably weighing 100 lbs soaking wet. Well, there was only one way to find out just how much she weighs soaking wet, so I rugby toss her into the drink. She was not pleased. I ignore this and get a beer. Did I mention that the hotel lounge had a free happy hour? Yeah, definitely commenced rapid drinking.

The three of us head out to the bar in town to get some food and more drinks. A 'balloon specialist' comes to our table. I was teetering on YDH levels of alcohol at this point, so I obliged, and made a new friend who stayed with me for the rest of the night.

So I guess I am a pirate after all. The parrot was a huge hit among the locals and University of Florida students. I am so glad I can represent the company in such a professional manner while I am traveling.

-YDH

Eventful (Three Weekends Ago) Part II

Mon, 29 May 2006 00:25:06 GMT

Ok, way behind on the updates, and I have a lot of stuff to write about, so here is the rest of that weekend earlier this month that I never finished for starters..

Next on the menu was a trip to Atlantic City. The drive was mostly uneventful until we reached the city. So we’re driving down the main strip (Atlantic Ave.), and it was decided that we would play the A Night at the Roxbury soundtrack. Oh yes, I rolled all the windows down and blasted Haddaway – What is Love across the streets of A.C. Naturally, all four of us commenced head bobbing. This carried on for a good three minutes, until we come to a red light, which happened to be in front of a fire station. About six firemen are standing out front and just started looking at us. Light turns green, and as we drive off.. you guessed it, the firemen follow suit with head bobbing. Awesome.

We arrive at the hotel and take some much needed showers after being in the nasty Severn River, and get ready to go out to the casinos. Lindsay and Matt were strangers to the game of craps, and Roy is an overall idiot, so the plan was for me to educate them on the game. Roy and I get on the table, and like a good little monkey, Roy just mirrors everything I do. We each win $115 in five minutes as Matt and Lindsay watch.

At this point, John and Fiorella arrive in Atlantic City, so we now have a full quorum. We all head to the poker room for some limit Hold ‘Em. We had to take an elevator up, and the six of us share one with two other people – a middle aged black woman taking care of a extremely elderly black woman on a walker. Somehow the old woman on the walker was on the right, we were all in the center, and the other woman was on the left. The fact that of all people, Roy, was next to the elderly woman was a disaster waiting to happen. Sure enough, Roy starts yelling “SUPERBRAWL SATURDAY?!?!.” We were all horrified at the scene, until the old woman started laughing her ass off, despite having no clue what Roy was talking about. Roy responds by repeating his yelling. The old woman laughs even harder, gets up off her walker, and FALLS INTO THE WALL OF THE ELEVATOR, almost face-planting.

Old Woman: “BWA HAHA, YOU HURTIN’ MAH BELLAH (Belly) YOUNG MAN”

We get to the poker room, and John, Matt, Roy, and I all go to the same table with six other people and a dealer. Not much happened until the dealer was relieved by another, a large latino man named Hector. It turned out that Hector is a HUGE wrestling fan. So, during play, John and I were having a very intense wrestling conversation with him. Roy then decides to start getting the dealer with ‘Detective Scroats’ despite the fact that he has no idea what the game is about.

Roy: Hey – someone else wants to join this table..

Hector: Who?

Roy: Detective Scroats.

Hector: Huh? What deh hell?

John and I give each other an ‘oh no’ look. Roy waits a few minutes, and does it again.

Roy: Hey do you want to know who the best player here is?

Hector: Who?

Roy: Detective Scroats.

Hector: Ok, I dun even know why I keep-a asking joo who, you are a jes gonna say Detective Escroats.

We are all cracking up at this point. Ten minutes pass with more wrestling conversation. Finally I see an opportunity…

Hector: So, whatever eh-happened to dat wrestler, Giant Silva?

YDH: Oh, he’s in a tag team now. (The obvious question would be to ask who he is in a tag team with)

Hector: Oh, I see, so he is teaming with Detective Escroats…

!!!!!!!

He caught it!! He caught onto the game that quickly. Not only that, he started to do it to other people at the table, who of course had no clue of what was going on!

Hector: Ey, joo know who jus won dat hand?

Random guy: huh? Who?

Hector: El Detective Escroats!

The guy looked at him like he just farted in church. The other players got angry at this game with comments such as, “can we just play dammit?” but our group was enjoying it far too much for Hector to stop.

The last thing I want to mention is that the competitive spirit was alive and well during this trip. Roy and John engaged one another in a Jimmy Tapping Contest. For those of you who have no idea what this is… basically it's turned based competition where one contestant must one-up the other by hitting himself in the balls harder and in a more creative way than the last.

Roy goes first – a punch to the balls..

Then John – a harder punch in the balls..

Then Roy…

Then John…

Both faces were red, both were screaming in agony. The rest of us were choking with laughter. The contest carried over into the next day. Lunch at Ruby Tuesdays.

Roy drops a drinking glass on his balls..

John attempts to do a double fisted downward punch, but fails as one hand bangs the table, almost breaking it.

To make up for this, John gets up, leaves the restaurant. We can now see him across the street through the window, and other patrons are watching in horror as well. He proceeds to run down the sidewalk, jump with both legs out, and flies balls first into a street sign, then hits the ground!! It was devastating. It was a hard-fought battle, but the point has to go to John for the weekend. Roy vs. John II will take place very soon, though. Roy has his work cut out for him it seems.

-YDH

Eventful Weekend, Part 1

Tue, 09 May 2006 05:08:44 GMT

My friend/ex-gf Lindsay flew in for the weekend from FL, and I decided that I would be a good host by packing the weekend full of activity. We kicked off the fun by taking out the boat for the first time this year. Matt and Roy were also in attendance. We each braved the Severn River by taking turns jumping in and tubing off the back of the boat. All four had a turn. With the obvious exception of my turn, I drove the boat. Matt took over for my turn. Here are the results:

Roy (Round 1): Considering the fact that he weighs about 150 soaking wet (literally this time), it would prove to be quite fun to tow this idiot. He begins to showboat, flipping over to his back, letting go of the handle bars, etc. I would not stand for this nonsense, and throw the boat into full throttle. Roy gets back down and grabs the handles. Good boy. Finally I decide that I am sick of Roy being on the tube, so I turn the boat to the right, then rapidly whip it left. Roy flies from east to west, gets ejected from the tube, and actually bounces and flips over the water three times before finally going in. For you science people, water turns into a surface that is as hard as concrete at high speeds. He has two large welts on either side of his abdomen. Awesome.

Matt (Round 1): I took it easy on Matt because A) He’s not Roy, and B) it was his first time. Matt’s a significantly bigger and stronger guy than Roy, and held on rather well. He took a few good turns, but finally wore down and fell off. This run was rather uneventful.

Linsday: Ugh. What a wuss. I barely even start moving the boat, and she is already motioning to slow down. Then finally, I get a “STOP THE BOAAAAAAT!” from her. Apparently she needed to take off her anklet. When does it end with her? She had a two minute run, then I decided to ignore her pleas for me to slow down, and she was soon ejected from the tube, partially losing her bathing suit bottom. Nothing I haven’t seen before I suppose..

YDH: Well, since I was such a dick to everyone else, Matt deemed it necessary to fight for the people and try and get revenge on a certain Drinking Hero. I get on the tube, and no sooner is the boat flying at full speed. He’s going so fast that the water is being kicked from the prop right into my face. It was awful. I probably ingested a Severn River amoeba. Matt is driving like a lunatic, and starts whipping the boat into circles. The tube is actually ripped out from under me, and I am holding on to the tube with one arm outstretched. I almost let go, but I refuse to let that fucker eject me from the tube. I rip it back in, get back on, go over a huge wave, and finally willingly let go after he straightened out. Matt will tell you that he was successful in getting me off the tube, but I think Matt got a bit too much sun.

Roy (Round 2): Back at the helm of the boat, I towed Roy again. His noodle-sized arms must have been tired, because he would stay on for 10 seconds, fall off, I’d stop, he’d get back on, and repeat. Roy’s day was over.

Matt (Round 2): Matt stole the show on this ride. I took this guy at full speed, and had him go over some huge bumps, which he endured. I took him on a sharp turn, and the tube capsized… but wait, he was still underneath?! Yes, the tube was riding Matt for a good ten seconds. Matt actually flipped the tube over again, and began to regain control. Out of fear of the gloating should he have survived this, I increased the speed and turned. Game over Matt, but that was still fucking amazing.

Oh, and that last run destroyed the tube. I have to buy a new one. We beat the shit out of that thing for hours, so I’m not surprised.

Next on the menu was a trip to Atlantic City...

To be continued

-YDH

The Official Detective Scroats Rulesheet V 1.0

Tue, 09 May 2006 05:02:19 GMT

1. The Rules Committee
a. All rules contained herein are subject to further review and revision based on a majority vote of the charter members of the Detective Scroats committee (Roy Dudley, Dan Drickey, Adam Scharfer, & John Maher), meaning three votes must be secured for changes or additions to be made to this sheet.
b. In the event that a member of the Rules Committee steps down or is rendered unable to continue his duties as a Rules Committee member, applications for a replacement member will be accepted. Appointment of new persons to the Rules Committee requires a unanimous vote from all remaining Rules Committee members.

2. Basic Gameplay
a. If, through the course of normal conversation, a person (henceforth referred to as “scroater”) can get another person (henceforth referred to as “scroatee”) to either utter a form of the question “Who?” or otherwise inquire or guess as to who the scroater is talking about incorrectly, then an opportunity for scoring arises.
b. The scroater may then score on the scroatee by saying “Detective Scroats.”

3. Defense.
a. If the scroatee determines that an attempt to be scored upon is being set-up, they may say “Detective Scroats,” thus rendering the current attempt by the scroater void.
b. Defending against a score is not considered a score.
c. In the event that the scroatee has given the scroater an opportunity to score, and the scroatee realizes suck an opportunity has arisen, he or she may still defend in the time between the time the opportunity has arisen and when the scroater says “Detective Scroats.”
d. If the scroatee says “Detective Scroats” first, they have made a successful save. In the event of a tie, the scroater is awarded the point.
e. If a scroater prefaces any conversation by saying “I am not trying to scroat you,” or “In all seriousness,” or any other similar wording, he or she has forfeited the right to scroat the scroatee in that portion of the conversation. A scroating cannot be the result of entrapment.

4. Illegitimate scoring.
a. Incidental usage of the word “Who?” or derivatives of in conversation are not unique scoring opportunities. A proper scoring must require a set-up and then usage of “Detective Scroats.” In other words, one cannot set themselves up for a scoring.
a1. However, if an incidental usage of “Who?” or derivatives is used in normal conversation, one may become the scroater and use this utterance as a precursor to a set-up the person who incidentally said “Who?” for a score by continuing through normal scoring procedure.
b. One cannot ask a legitimate question with a correct answer as a set-up unless the scroatee answers the question incorrectly. For example, if asked who the first President was, you may say “George Washington” and be safe, but if you say “Thomas Jefferson,” you are eligible to be scored upon.
b1. A corollary to this rule states that persons engaged in any sort of trivia contest are immune to being scored upon, as incorrect answers are bound to be common, thus creating unfair scoring opportunities for scroaters.
c. If the scroatee responds to a set-up in a fashion that can only be responded to with a “yes” or “no” answer, this is not a legitimate scoring opportunity.

5. Special circumstances.
a. There are instances where a scroatee may say “What?” instead of “Who?” and still be eligible to be scored upon. Such instances will be viewed on a case-by-case basis.
b. Creative insertion of Detective Scroats into conversation may also be eligible for scoring. For example, if you claim to have just seen a picture of your favorite cartoon character, and someone wants to see it as well, showing them a picture of Detective Scroats would be an eligible score. These will also be viewed on a case-by-case basis.

6. Other.
a. All rulings of the charter committee are final.
b. If a major discrepancy takes place, the grievance may be submitted to any member of the charter committee for an immediate temporary ruling. This ruling will then be brought to the committee for inclusion into the rules if such a addition is warranted.

Dear assholes,

Fri, 28 Apr 2006 15:10:59 GMT

If you need me this weekend, I will be out invading the West Coast. See you in L.A.!!

-YDH

A New Game and Wrestlemania

Wed, 12 Apr 2006 01:39:36 GMT

As with every year, Your Drinking Hero went to Bill Bateman's Bistro to enjoy the annual spectacle that is Wrestlemania. There is also a hot new game that's making its way around the streets. Sure, I will tell you more.

One day last week, I was on the phone with Roy. In true Roy fashion, he pulled one on me.

Roy: Oh, so dude, guess who stopped by my house last night around 8pm

YDH: Who?

Roy: Detective Scroats.

YDH: You idiot.

Now, most of you with an appreciation for quality comedy are already laughing. The rest of you have clearly not yet watched the Family Guy movie, which includes a scene with the Shield's Vic Mackey and one of his collegues, who is a scrotum with legs, aptly named Detective Scroats. So I couldn't let Roy get away with this. I called him later in the week.

::Roy sees my name on caller ID, realizes it's me, and answers accordingly::

Roy: Numbah one chinese restaurant, how can I help....

YDH: Dude, shut the fuck up, I gotta tell you something

Roy (all serious now): What? What?

YDH: You're not going to believe who I just saw..

Roy: Who?!

YDH: Detective Scroats.

Roy: Oh fuck you! Dude my heart was fucking pounding. Asshole.

So the Detective Scroats Game was born, and it's spreading around. Other friends have begun playing. Just get the other person to ask, "who?" or otherwise guess incorrectly, and you drop Detective Scroats on him/her. Sound stupid? It probably is, but it's funny as hell to me, Roy, Dan, and now the entire clientele of Bill Bateman's Bistro. Which brings me to Wrestlemania last week.

So, as per usual with my wrestling-related updates, this evening began with the same format as previously seen. Yep, drank plenty, proceeded to be insane, running up and down the bar, making an ass out of myself. A wrestler named Rey Mysterio was wrestling for the world title. He was a true underdog as he stands only about 5’8” and is very light compared to the guys he was competing against. He also wears a mask. Well, sure enough, Rey wins the world title and the bar goes bananas. All of a sudden, this dude at the bar in a Rey Mysterio mask comes out of nowhere, runs across the bar, and jumps into my arms hugging me. Instead of expressing my surprise at Rey Mysterio seemingly jumping out of the tv and into the bar (or wondering why me of all people), I proceed to put this guy on my shoulders and parade him around the bar in celebration to the cheers of the entire restaurant. All in all a fun Wrestlemania indeed. Pictures should be coming soon.

-YDH

P.S. Guess who has a Myspace page?

Who?

YDH returns with 16 hours of St. Patrick's Drunken Mayhem

Wed, 29 Mar 2006 23:13:03 GMT

Hello. As you might have noticed, two Fridays ago was St. Patrick's Day. While it's nothing more than a silly holiday that's just an excuse to drink, it's also a great excuse to drink. Yes, you read that correctly.

I purchased a ridiculous looking hat for the occasion, and would wear it for the duration of the day and night. Behold.

…Yes, I am as drunk as I look here, no accident. To the left is my idiot friend Al who will go on to commit a major food foul later in the night.

Your favorite (and only!) Drinking Hero decided that his festivities would begin at noon with a few beers at one of the pubs in Old Town. Rinse, repeat. By 4pm, my company shut down for the day and opened up a tab at Portner's. Free food and adult beverages for all. I decided to invite Al (everybody's favorite big black now 260 pound friend). He joined our company party, and the good times continued. I'd say about twenty-five people from my company were there, along with Al, and this girl named Erin, a friend of one of my coworkers.

I have met Erin before. Nice girl. She had since gotten engaged since last time I saw her, but up until this night, I had yet to meet her fiancé. Apparently he had been drinking since morning at Old Town, and he was going to meet up with us shortly. According to my coworker, he is douchebag-fueled. I took this with a grain of salt, as everyone gets a fair shake with YDH. Not really. That's a lie, but just pretend. I was getting into chugging bouts with various coworkers, and finally Erin laid out the challenge. We were sitting across the table from one another, engaged in a harmless chugging bout, when the fiancé, with doofy friend in tow, walks into the bar. He looks at the situation, and proceeds to eyeball YDH. It was a totally benign situation, and this fucker is going to try and stare me down. Jealous fuck. So I get up to reveal that I am much bigger than he is, give him a nod and a smile, and walk over to talk to my big black now 260 pound friend just in case Doofy had any thoughts in getting involved.

Well, you know how it goes, Jealous and Doofy didn't do anything, nor did they even say anything. Seriously, dude, if you see your fiancée drinking with a guy, along with TWENTY other people, it's really not the time to start being a little insecure bitch. Anyway, the tab closed, and it was time to move on. We go down to Union Street pub for a little while. Well, Erin later joined us, along with Jealous and Doofy. I, of course, stick out like a sore thumb with my ridiculous hat, so Jealous sees me, and begins whispering in Erin's ear, and looking at me. I just stared at him, then drank some beer, then would stare again, then drink. I finished my beer, so I had to break the pattern, but Jealous just couldn't get enough talking in about YDH. My coworker, who is friends with Erin, was kind enough to order a bunch of drinks for me off their tab without them knowing. That helped, but it was 8:30pm, and it was time to head home to prepare for the real St. Patrick's Day adventure.

Al drives us back to my house, complaining the entire time how hungry he was (see big black 260lb etc). I practically knock my house door over, see Dan sitting on the couch, and begin to shout drunken orders.

"DAN! AL'S HUNGRY! ORDER CHINESE. I WANT DUMPLINGS."

I go upstairs for a few minutes while Dan and Al order and pick up the chinese food. I decide to hop on the old Nintendo, and fire up Megaman II, and was in the middle of destroying Bubbleman when Al and Dan walked in with Chinese. They set it in the kitchen as I decide to finish off Bubbleman prior to eating. I'm fully engaged in battle when I hear Al's voice from the kitchen.."DUMPLING TAX!"

...

If that son of a bitch ate one of my only SIX dumplings, or 17% of my dinner, I was going to flip out. I get up to go to the kitchen, and grab my food. Five dumplings. This is the part where I lose my temper, so unless you are Al, you may skip this part..

YOU PIECE OF SHIT, HOW THE FUCK CAN YOU TAX A DUMPLING. WHEN YOU TAX A DUMPLING, IT'S ON YOU SON OF A BITCH. YOU, WITH YOU STUPID HEALTH LOG...WAS THAT PART OF IT? YEAH? WHAT WAS IT, LUNCH? MID-LUNCH? PRE-DINNER? DINNER? YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE WHO I'VE EVER MET WHO MAKES UP MEALS BECAUSE THREE MEALS ISN'T ENOUGH. SEE, WHEN I "SCHARFER-TAX" SOMEONE, IT'S CUTE AND FUNNY. AND I TAX SOMETHING LIKE A FRENCH FRY. NOT A DUMPLING! ASS!

With two people with full stomachs and one still hungry, the three of us embark on our adventure to Lulu’s. We get in line to get into the place, and I am in rare form. Still, with the ridiculous hat on, I start yelling at random girls in front of us, demanding to know why I have been drinking since noon. They had no answers for me, and are simultaneously intrigued and terrified by my behavior. This girl wearing flashing green sunglasses with a camera approaches me, with the look as though she wanted to take my picture.

Girl: Excuse me, can I

YDH: NO!!!!

Girl: You didn’t even know what I was going to say.

YDH: GIVE ME YOUR GLASSES!

Girl: No.

YDH (totally 180-ing my demeanor into friendly): Oh, just let me borrow them for a minute, you can even take your picture.

Girl: Fine

I put them on…

Girl: Are you going to pose for me?

YDH: NO!!!

...

Then I cross my arms and smile, making the dumbest pose ever. I take the glasses off, dust them off with my shirt, and return them. We enter the bar. I inform Dan that I need a beer and use the restroom. I come out, and find that Dan was still waiting for his drinks to come from the bar. I decide that this is unsuitable, and began flipping out on Dan, pushing him from behind multiple times into the bar toward the area where the beers were. Both feet were off the ground – Dan was almost pushed over the bar. Why I am an asshole to the guy who is buying me a beer we will never know.

We hit the dance floor. I survey the ridiculous level of dudes on the dance floor. I leave the dance floor, and find the two girls I accosted in front of the bar while waiting in line. We all hang out for the rest of the night, along with this dork they were friends with. 2:30am rolls around, and the lights come on. I am invited by them to an after-party. I tell Dan to leave without me. I am now rideless should the night go bad. Awesome.

So I am taken to this apartment that is past Tyson’s Corner…I have no fucking idea where in VA I am. We start hanging out. I realize that I have been drinking for almost 16 hours, and decide that in retrospect it was a bad idea not to go home and pass out. I am sitting on the futon, exhausted, with no clue what town I am in. The girls are about to leave, but live in Bethesda, which is in the opposite direction from where I live, so I didn't negotiate a ride. So I am left with this dude whose name I forgot and his roommate.

To top things off, he and his roommate decide to start arguing at 4am. So, in response, I do what any good person would do in the situation – I lie down and pass out on the futon amidst all the commotion. I wake up at 9am Saturday morning. The roommate comes out into the living room, looks at me, shakes his head, and leaves. The other guy (the one who I originally hung out with) was passed out on his bed still with his door half open.

I needed to get home, so I get up, and knock on his door to no response. So I open my mouth to call his name, remember that I have no fucking clue what his name is, and say ‘fuck it’ and just walk out. So now I’m outside on a Saturday morning, walking around a neighborhood in a town I’ve never been to before.

I spot a girl walking to her car.

YDH: HEY!

Girl: Yes?

YDH: Um… where am I, and where is the nearest metro stop so I can walk there.

Girl: First of all, you’re in (Town I can’t remember the name of), and second of all, there is no metro in this area. The closest metro is Rosslyn.

YDH: Oh, ok, cool. And by ‘cool’ I mean ‘fuck’

Girl: I have to go to the dry cleaners – I can drive you to Rosslyn

!!!!

YDH: Um, ok!

I get in, and this complete stranger drives me 25 minutes into Rosslyn and drops me off at the metro stop.

YDH: Please, let me give you some gas money (I open my wallet and remember I blew all my cash, so now I’m hoping she will decline my offer)

Girl: Oh, please, I wouldn’t think of it (..Nice!)

YDH: Ok, where are you from?

Girl: Iowa

YDH: Ok, and how long have you lived here in the DC area?

Girl: Less than a year

YDH: Ok, now that we’re here at my stop, I am going to tell you something. Thank you very much for what you did. And don’t EVER do it again. I’m obviously cool, but this is DC, and the next person might not be. Please be careful.

Girl: Thank you, I appreciate the advice.

Awesome, so I got a ride back to the metro. I walk into the metro station, and get on the escalator to go down to the tracks. For those of you unfamiliar with Rosslyn metro stop, the escalator down is so long that it takes over three minutes to ride. I was still fucked up and dizzy from, I don’t know, 16 hours of drinking the night before that this presented quite the challenge to YDH. I get on the escalator, and feel as though I am being sucked into the deep ravine below. So, I secure myself by holding one railing with each hand, and standing still, taking up the entire width of the escalator. I am holding up numerous people who just want to walk down, but are forced to wait for the escalator to take them down slowly. I try to play what I’m doing off as being cool. I fail.

I metro back to Old Town, which is where my office and car are. I needed to take a leak, so I go up into my office and use the bathroom. I then grab a drink of water and sit down at my desk. I then put my head down. After an hour-long nap taken at my desk, I was ready to drive home. It was so nice to find my bed.

Still an idiot when I need to be. Good talk.

-YDH