Anal Probes, Esperanto and You (A Guide to Traversing the Universe)

  So I write this drivel from my sprawling estate here in the rolling foothills of Connecticut. I’m not necessarily proud to be from “The Cut”, but it is what it is. Needless to say, street cred is not an issue for me. However, one of the biggest problems with Connecticut is our unfortunate proximity to New York and the terrible stench that comes with it, or maybe the real issue is Massachusetts, the ridiculous hairdo we’re stuck with forever. I think Connecticut must feel a lot like Donald Trump most days...super rich and powerful but with awful fucking hair. I don’t want to forget Rhode Island, or maybe I do, but let’s just assume it will fall into the ocean like California one of these days. It certainly would be one positive thing to come from Al Gore’s wet dream, otherwise known as "Global Warming".

     So what’s the point of all this? The point is I’ve lived my entire life here in Connecticut and I have no idea how we refer to ourselves conversationally, outside of the glaringly obvious titles like “super elite” and “mega rich”. Are we Connecticutters? Connecticutians? Connect-the-dots? Honestly, I have no fucking idea. At the end of the day, I don’t really care but it got me thinking about the “rules” that govern naming the indigenous people from different places. Who the hell decides these things and why isn’t there any consistency? Not that we don’t seem like a bunch of idiots for a lot of other reasons, but one day when the Martians come and excavate what’s left of Earth, they are going to be confused as fuck trying to figure our dumb-asses out. So Connecticut is anybody’s guess, and New York and Rhode Island are easy, New Yorkers and Rhode Islanders respectively...or dis-respectively depending on who you ask. What about Massachusetts? Aside from obviously being Massholes, what are you guys really called? Massachusettsers? Massachusettsidians? I have no fucking idea.

     And speaking of Martians, how is it that we’ve so eloquently named the hypothetical people from Mars but I have no idea what we’d refer to ourselves as in an intergalactic sense? It’s going to be embarrassing for me when I’m getting anal probed by a Uranusian (alien from Uranus?) and I’m trying to explain I’m Earthian? Or Earthiopian? Or Earthianian? Fuck me, it’s a huge double whammy to be from Connecticut and Earth. At least I’m comfortable being an American, that one is easy right? But what the hell are the rules for figuring it out? If Germans are from Germany, than how the hell are people from Italy not Itals? Can you have two names? How about Spain? Are you Spanish or a Spaniard or both? Is this just another stupid English language thing I can blame on British Imperialization? Naturally, as an arrogant, rich, white American from Connecticut I don’t really even acknowledge people from other countries, let alone their crude spoken tongue.

     It’s going to take some work but I’m proposing that we adopt a unified system for handling this crisis. It would probably be smart if we do it all in Esperanto but I think we’d need government support for that kind of pork laden project. At the very least we’d need to convince the United Nations that it’s a problem worth waging a war against; like tight jeans, Harry Potter, mayonnaise, Justin Bieber, Coors Light, zombies, and malaria.

     I think Coffee and Scotch is going to have to lead the way with this endeavor, so I’m proposing we start with the following rules.

     1) If you’re from some place that ends in a consonant, let's simply add an "er" onto the end. If where you're from has to be difficult and decided it needs an "s" hanging onto the end for some strange reason, let's drop the "s" and make it “ers”. So you Massholes become Massachusetters. Utah = Utahers Japan = Japaners etc

     2) If you’re from some place that ends in a vowel or a “y”, we’re dropping the vowel and adding “ians”. So you Germans are now Germanians. Mexico = Mexicians etc

     3)If you’re from anything that ends in Island, you are an Islander. I think we’re pretty good with that one already. You people seem to get it.

 
    Under no circumstances will any exceptions be allowed, lest we create any more confusion than what already exists in our current stupid ass system. My dream is that one day soon all Earthers will be prepared to greet our anal probing galactic cousins from Unranus (the Uranuians) properly.

Summertime Blues

      With the advent of another summer, I emerge from my hibernation, renewed and ready to once again wield the latent power of my keyboard against the indomitable stupidity of humanity. The news headlines of the last few months have borne the fruit of my premonitions. You may remember my warnings about the impending zombie apocalypse? I told you, my faithful Coffee and Scotch readers, to cast off your tight jeans and repent, lest you become victims of the shambling undead. You heard my clarion call and were saved. Others were not so fortunate. Following the first wave of attacks in Miami, the media skillfully shifted our attention to “bath salts”. My theory is that the errant zombie attack was a government training exercise gone bad...Operation Bieber Drop.The real mystery is, why is the government creating an elite force of synthetic drug induced zombies to kill Justin Beiber? The obvious answer is...who cares so long as it’s the one government program in a thousand that succeeds. It sounds a lot like something I wouldn't mind my tax dollars funding.

      So here we are, the start of the summer of 2012 and everything good that comes with it. This wouldn’t be Coffee and Scotch though, if I was simply reminiscing about those week long, Country Time lemonade, summer Sunday afternoons. This soapbox was created so I could bitch, and bitch I shall. You there, on the motorcycle weaving through traffic down the center of the Merritt Parkway, who the fuck do you think you are? How about you, riding your rice rocket down the street at 11:00 at night, loud enough to wake the dead, who the fuck do you think you are? And you, posting the public service announcements on my Facebook wall about being “aware” of motorcyclists on the roads, who the fuck do you think you are? Don’t tell me how to drive my car, and how to “share” the road, and how to be on the lookout for all the precious snowflakes out there on their custom choppers. Fuck off! I’ll tell you what I tell all the Lance Armstrong wanna-be bicyclists, if you want to share the road with me than take some personal accountability for what you’re doing. And what you’re doing is being an asshat. If you want to be out there with the big boy cars; put your damn helmet on, pick a lane to drive in, and follow the rules of the road. I’m not responsible for you dipshits. You wanna make your fancy little toy nice and loud and drive it on residential streets at all hours of the night, and then plead with me to pay attention to you while I’m out driving my son around trying to get him to fall asleep because he’s running a 102 degree fever? Fuck you. I’m gonna make my car door nice and heavy and swing it open while you’re creeping  by me down the highway, straddling lanes to avoid the traffic I’m stuck in. Traffic that was probably caused by a blood stained patch of asphalt that used to be a motorcyclist like you. Dammit you assholes drive me crazy every summer.


      The truth is I don’t care what you’re driving, I care how you’re driving it. There are just as many idiots out there, driving shitty cars with aftermarket exhaust systems and stupid ass stereos that make my teeth rattle. Mini vans driven by sexually frustrated soccer moms, tailgating everyone and swerving across three lanes of traffic without a thought about using a turn signal. If you want my respect on the road, earn it. I realize that not everyone that owns and operates a motorcycle is an inconsiderate jackass, but it sure does seem like a lot of them are. When I see you out there, doing the right thing, I give you extra room and extra respect. In my world, you reap what you sow. We’re all on the same side right? We’re all driving over to Burger King to try a delicious bacon sundae and bask in the knowledge that bacon, chocolate and ice cream taste fucking amazing together. Which is something I seem to recall writing about last summer. Hey, maybe when the Biebs is gone, I’ll buy everyone on a Harley a bacon sundae to celebrate. Mea culpa.

Murphy's Law versus The Mayans

        So it’s mid-January and I haven’t written anything since November. If there’s one thing I’m good at, and according to my family and friends there really isn’t, it’s procrastination. I have the best intentions with this blog, honestly I do, it’s just that life keeps getting in the way. I had this great December blog idea about an African Santa Claus, dressed in a traditional Kwanzaa dashiki, catching his beard on fire lighting a menorah at a pagan Solstice Festival, but then I got downsized at work. Aren’t corporate euphemisms great? It seems they were looking to save a little money so they hired someone who could show up later than me, leave earlier than me, surf the Internet more efficiently and thoroughly than me, and drink 27% more coffee. It just doesn’t seem possible. Honestly, I thought my skill-set was fairly irreplaceable. Was my mother lying to me when she said I was special? Sometimes I wax poetic about writing Coffee and Scotch for a living, however, it seems my destiny lies in far greater things. I’m starting a new job soon. I think they said I’ll be the Junior Assistant to the Vice President of North American widget operations. Corporate America sure can slip the rose colored glasses on you pretty quickly. It seems a little unfair to be starting a new job “pre-jaded” but it’s not in my nature to be optimistic. There’s only so many times you can be hopeful before the warm bright light of hope fades away to the cold stark darkness of reality. I’m sure my new cubicle will be really great though and I’m looking forward to spending at least nine hours a day in it. Happy New Year everyone!

       I thought it might be a fun way to start the New Year off with some special Coffee and Scotch 2012 predictions. And no 2012 prediction list would be complete without a nod to the Mayans and their zany calendar antics. By now, almost everyone knows about the Mayans and their doomsday prophecy. But what the Mayans didn’t factor into their premonition is the most powerful force in the universe. If you were thinking gravity, you must be new here. I’m talking about Murphy's Law dammit. Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. No doubt you’re wondering what the correlation is? It’s simple really, you see life likes kicking me in the nuts, so why would it want to stop? Put another way, life as we know it will not cease until the universe is done making me its bitch. So fear not my tinfoil hat wearing loyal readers, I may be balled up in the fetal position and crying like a little girl, but I’m still drawing breath.

       In line with people getting downsized and euphemized, I’m expecting more belt tightening is inevitable this year, what with the global economy being brought to it’s knees by a bunch of uni-browed Greeks who spent too much money of Ouzo and olive oil. I’m not sure who employs Punxsutawney Phil, but the position of Under Secretary of Seasonal Transition Indication sounds like something the government might have on it’s payroll. I imagine the money for Phil’s extravagant lifestyle is earmarked somewhere in the Defense Department budget. It just doesn’t seem appropriate to keep an under-qualified quadruped on the payroll when there are hundreds of thousands of under-qualified bipeds without work. What difference should it make whether you live in a stump or a double wide trailer? Either way, you’re still in Pennsylvania, and it’s hard to make that sound good. It’s like lipstick on a groundhog.

       No conversation about 2012 predictions and under-qualified bipeds would be complete without mentioning the impending Presidential election. I fancy myself an independent thinker and I like to vote along those lines too. I prefer the logical approach of voting for the candidate who I think is best suited for the position, as opposed to blindly voting for whichever idiot my political party affiliation dictates. Sitting back and watching the Republican Party beat itself up in the primaries, it seems clear to me that our current President will retain his seat for another term. I’m personally throwing my hat in the ring with Ron Paul but my track record is pretty consistent with backing losers. This year’s election already feels like a “damned if you do, damned if you don’t” type of situation. If ours is the best Democracy in the world, I feel really bad for the rest of the world. I guess I’m used to losers by now anyway being a fan of the Mets, the Jets and John McCain. I really could use some change I can believe in, maybe 2016 will look a little less cold and dark.