R.I.P. Wayne Static

As some of you may know, the metal world took a hit a couple of weeks ago when Wayne Static passed away in his sleep at his home in the California desert.  Wayne wasn't quite 49 years old and everyone has been shocked by his passing, especially knowing that heavy metal front men have a reputation for taking excellent care of themselves.  Although autopsy results are still pending, it has been widely speculated that Wayne died of an overdose of being entirely too awesome.

He was the founder and lead singer of the band Static-X.  Although arguably lesser known, I'd put them in the same league as some of their cohorts like Sevendust, Korn, Slipknot, Mudvayne, and Sixpence None the Richer.  I still have fond memories of their debut album, Wisconsin Death Trip, which eventually went platinum and often served as background music in my dorm-because the soothing tones of industrial metal have the kind of calming effect conducive to efficient studying habits.  I had the pleasure of seeing them live multiple times and I can tell you that they put on a hell of a show in a time when it still meant something to be spit on by your favorite lead singer.  Now Wayne is gone and I'm at the age where it is way too creepy for me to go in a mosh pit with a bunch of teenagers, at least I'll have my memories of the old days.

As an homage to Wayne, I decided to style my hair in the iconic fashion that he had when Static-X first became popular-a straight up hairdo like Marge Simpson just got electrocuted along with a ridiculously long braided goatee.  Of course the hair on my head wasn't long enough; so I had my undercarriage styled instead.  That is why this post is a couple of weeks late.  I had to gather up enough pubes so that I could daisy-chain them together to make a scrotum braid that Wayne would have been proud of.  For the the rest of November I'll be referring to my genitals as "Pighammer" in reference to Wayne's only solo album.  Take that "Movember."

Here's a bit of random trivia for you.  Before Static-X, Wayne played in a band called Deep Blue Dream with Billy Corgan of Smashing Pumpkins fame.  I tried finding some of their old tunes but I wasn't able to.  I bet it would be a hell of a sound-like something that would simultaneously make you want to swallow a bottle of sleeping pills and punch a baby at the same time.

Here's one more.  Wayne was married to Tera Wray in 2008.  She is a former adult film star known
for her work in the alternative porn scene.  Her Wikipedia page says, I shit you not, that, "...she probably became the first person to perform a hardcore sex act on film while their partner received a tattoo."  This is surprising to me not only because this is apparently a thing, but also because this sentence insinuates by saying that she is the first, that there have been others since.  That's pretty metal.

Well call me a nostalgic romantic but I'd like to think that wherever Wayne is right now, he's looking down on Tera and bangin' groupie angels while getting a tattoo.

Think Before You Send: Part II

I've used Craigslist a few times in the past but I try to only use it sparingly when I'm getting rid of shit that is too big or heavy to shove into my trash bin.  I found out quickly that you can get rid of anything on Craigslist if you post it for free.  So far, I've gotten rid of a chest freezer that didn't work, some old rotten windows, half of a yard of dirty lava rock, and a bag of used syringes - that last one was just to see if  someone would take them.  Its always a treat to see what kind of toothless hill people come out of the woodwork for free shit.  In fact, if you're looking for a website that will increase your chances of being raped and stabbed in a parking lot, Craigslist is for you.  There have been few non-Walmart related times that I've been more certain that our civilization is destined to collapse in a pestilent pit of food stamp fueled obesity, laziness, greed, and Honey Boo Boo-esque trash as the story I'm about to tell you.

 You see, the wife and I were moving up in the world and we had just purchased a new bed frame.  That meant that we were fixing to get rid of our old one.  Here is the original post:

Now I thought that was pretty simple and straight forward, that is until this email chain happened:

Notice that my original post doesn't say anything about selling a bed.  This is like trying to buy a belt and asking why the belt doesn't come with a pair of pants.  Those people that know me, including the local police department, know that I've got a bit of a short temper.  So when I get asked stupid questions like the one that Vonte asked, sometimes I respond by being a smart ass.  Which is exactly what I did here.

And for some reason, Vonte never responded back.

(Last names of those involved have been removed to protect the incompetent.)

The Wrong Side of the Law

A little while back I was traveling to a camping trip in central Wisconsin.  If you haven't been to one of Wisconsin's state parks, you should check one out.  They have some surprisingly pristine wilderness areas; they are relatively cheap, generally not too busy, and Deliverance-style rapes have decreased substantially in recent years. 

Anyway, I was driving a couple of miles or so from my house when I got rear-ended.  I checked my mirror and saw that I had been hit by one of Madison's finest in a squad car.  Now you may not be familiar with my upbringing in the mean streets of a small metropolis in Northwestern Wisconsin, but let me tell you, when I saw those blueberries and cherries, those days in the street came rushing back to me.  The memory of being unjustly treated like a criminal just because of the color of my skin and the way that I dressed seemed as fresh in my mind as the last crime I committed.

As soon as I saw the Five-O I thought to myself, "Oh shit the man just tried to run me off the road and in five minutes I'm gonna be nipples deep in cops, drug sniffing dogs, and SWAT!"  So I toss my spliff out the window, swallow my remaining shrooms, and tuck my gat under the seat out of view.  About that time the transvestite, midget, hooker in the passenger seat starts freaking out.  I cut her restraints loose and tell her to pull down her goddamn cutoff jean shorts lower because I could see her penis.  Then she starts going on and on about how Ernesto, her pimp, is going to be super pissed if he has to bail her out of jail again.  Then I'm all like, "Bitch just be cool!  We'll just use the Eddie Murphy defense!"  Now the 8 ball I just scored with my last money I'm not going to toss out the window, so I have the tranny use a half-empty whiskey bottle to start shoving cocaine in my ass like some deranged Whack-a-mole game.  Then before the officer could make it to the window, I washed down a couple of tabs of acid from a forty and changed the radio from a 2Pac CD to NPR.

As I'm contemplating making a run for it OJ-in-a-Bronco-style, I realize that I forgot to refill my tank on my hoopty the last time I used my nitrous.  Plus I really didn't want to be stuck on the lamb with with the tranny and I didn't have a shovel and lye with me.  So I figured I'd face the music.  My only hope was that I'd end up with a Cool Hand Luke type situation where, while in prison, I end up winning the begrudging yet heartfelt respect of my prison mates and we end up singing chain gang tunes together (yes, I am aware how the movie ends).  This as apposed to, insert any other prison movie here, with beatings and sodomy.

Meanwhile, officer Knievel limp drags his way up to the window and starts apologizing.  Boy were the tranny and I relieved.  It turns out he was just distracted typing some perp stuff into his computer and he smacked my ride like Chris Brown on Rhianna.  He really wasn't trying to ram me off the road.  He even got the worst of it.  Check out the crime scene photos below (mine is the one that is not a squad car).

Notice the flat tire and and the totally f-ed up bumper, head light, hood, and fender on the squad car.  And I got a sweet new rear bumper and quarter panel.  That's your tax dollars at work folks!

It even turns out that the officer was pretty cool.  He didn't even ask why a non-hipster player like myself was transporting a case of Pabst.  Just goes to show that good things happen to good people.  Maybe some day, you too can be lucky enough to be hit by a city employee.

Whiskey Tasting 2012

I know that last time I promised to share with you some pics of cop car derby but there are more pressing issues.  The results of the latest whiskey tasting!  (If you didn't see that post then never mind because I just accidentally deleted it.)

Our second whiskey tasting included some good whiskey, some bad ones, and even a couple that required a tie breaker for first place.  Most listings have their proof and price per liter followed by shit that I made up and their rating out of 10 points.  Before I get a bunch of crap about spelling, keep in mind that some distilleries spell whiskey with an “e” and some don’t.

Yahara Bay Lightning – White Whiskey.  110 proof.  $26.65/L.

Yahara Bay Distillers is a distillery right here in Madison presumably named after the Yahara River which feeds and drains the famous city lakes.  The naming is kind of odd since the distillery is about a mile from the nearest body of water and the Madison shit treatment plant is actually closer than the Yahara River is.  Anyway, whiskey is traditionally aged in oak barrels.  According to the book Craft Whiskey Distilling, this is where “the whiskey acquires its color, complexity, and richness of flavor.”  Yahara Bay Lightning is a perfect example of why you should barrel age whiskey.  Lightning is unaged, essentially moonshine and it was unanimously the worst of everything we tasted.

Average score:  1.5

Feckin –  Blended Irish Whiskey.  80 proof.  $19.99/L.

The Feckin website says that Feckin whiskey is distilled by the Cooley Distillery which is the only independent Irish-owned whiskey distillery in Ireland.  So much for that; according to a press release by Beam Inc. out of Deerfield, Illinois, it purchased the Cooley Distillery in January of this year.  Take that you potato eatin’ bastards! 

Average score:  3.7

Willett – Straight Rye Whiskey.  110 proof.  $53.32/L.

This whiskey is an enigma wrapped in bull shit.  The bottle is labeled as coming from The Willett Distillery, but with a little bit of research, I found out that there is no such company as The Willett Distillery.  The Willett brand is actually owned by Kentucky Bourbon Distillers which uses fake company names on its product labels.  Also, Kentucky Bourbon Distillers is technically not a distillery; all they do is bottle whiskey.  On top of all of that, Willett is distilled in Indiana, not Kentucky. Jesus Christ, I don’t even know if this is really whiskey.

Average score:  4.5

High West Double Rye – Straight Rye Whiskey.  92 proof.  $38.99/L.

This was my favorite whiskey until I went and put it up against everything else in the tasting.  I still think it should be one of the most popular things in Utah since that religion that was read out of a hat but alas, it ended up low in the ratings.

Average score:  5.0

Bruichladdich – Single Malt Scotch Whisky.  92 proof.  $66.12/L.

Bruichladdich Distillery was built in 1881 in the Western Isles of Scotland.  Today the distillery is largely the same, most of the original machinery is still in use, and no computers are used in production.  So this is what you’d get if the Amish made whisky?  Something that tastes like dirt?

Average score:  5.5

Glenmorangie – Single Malt Scotch Whisky.  86 proof.  $39.99/L.

Two Scotches ranked one after the other with the same score, interesting considering how different they are.  Bruichladdich as I mentioned, tastes a bit like dirt.  This is because many Scotch whiskies have peat flavor.  Because peat is an abundant energy source in Scotland, it is often used to dry the malt used for the whisky mash.  The smokiness of the malt carries through to the whisky.  You end up with something that tastes like rubbing alcohol that has been strained through a sock that your mom wore while running through a swamp while she was on fire.  Glenmorangie is not quite that peaty.

Average score:  5.5

Jameson – Blended Irish Whiskey.  80 proof.  $27.42/L.

John Jameson was a Scottish lawyer who married some Haig and then used her family connections to enter the distilling business and become the richest guy in Ireland.  No really, her name was Margaret Haig.  The Local, a pub in Minneapolis, has the distinction of selling more Jameson than any other bar in the world.  That makes me wonder what the Irish know that we don’t.  Why isn’t there a bar in Ireland that sells more Jameson?  Maybe there’s a bar in Ireland that sells more Summit beer than anywhere else in the world?

Average score:  5.8

Crown Royal - Blended Canadian Whisky.  80 proof.  $25.71/L.

Call me old fashioned but I think it’s strange for a company like Crown Royal to advertise in motor sports, like when they sponsored Matt Kenseth for turning left a bunch of times.  I think it’s strange because supposedly drinking and driving don’t mix.  It’s like McDonald’s sponsoring Weight Watchers.  It’s like Purina sponsoring horse racing.  It’s like Palestine sponsoring your Bar Mitzvah.  It’s like a coat hanger company sponsoring a fertility clinic.

Average score:  6.5

Bulleit Bourbon – Straight Bourbon Whiskey.  90 proof.  $30.65/L

Fans of the HBO show Deadwood might recognize this bottle.  Apparently they thought that it represented the appearance of an old-fashioned frontier whiskey.  Augustus Bulleit started schlepping this stuff in the 1840s but the original recipe was almost lost to the ages when he mysteriously disappeared in 1860 while transporting barrels of his whiskey outside of New Orleans .  Oddly enough, the same thing almost happened to me while I was stowing whiskey in my belly in New Orleans.

Average score:  6.5

Rich and Rare – Blended Canadian Whisky.  80 proof.

For the cheapest whisky in the tasting, this guy ended up scoring pretty high on the list.  And no, it wasn’t because we had already had 15 other shots of whiskey by that point.  Or maybe it was…the website Proof66.com lists the rating just above “Not Recommended.”  Add that to the list of mediocre crap coming out of Canada like Jim Carrey, Keanu Reeves, and Pamela Anderson.  Hey I’m not knocking Canadians as a whole; who among us wouldn’t go for an Alex Trebek/Peter North mustache ride/sausage fest?

Average score:  6.8

Jim Beam Rye – Straight Rye Whiskey.  80 proof.  $21.99/L.

Jim Beam is famous for their bourbons so why try their rye in this tasting?  Because I had a big 1.75 liter bottle on my shelf.  Besides, this is actually the top selling rye whiskey in America.  Rye isn’t just for making shitty tasting bread and feeding poor people in Russia anymore.

Average score:  7.0

Yahara Bay – American Whiskey.  80 proof.  $43.99/L.

Remember that white whiskey on the top of the post that scored just over common household bleach?  Well this is what you get if you throw it in a charred oak barrel for a few years.  You go from pissing blood and shitting rubbing alcohol to ranking in the top four.  Not bad for the first (legal) whiskey made in Wisconsin since prohibition.  By the way, if you’re ever in the area, you can stop by the distillery to take a tour and see their small art gallery.  They feature artwork by old school actors Tony Curtis. Anthony Quinn, and Red Skelton.  It is some of the most awful painting that I’ve ever seen.  I’m talking your kid’s refrigerator art bad.  The one below is only $25,000.

Average score:  7.3

Maker’s Mark – Straight Bourbon Whisky.  90 proof.  $27.25/L.

Supposedly Bill Samuels developed seven different recipes for his new bourbon.  Since he didn’t have time to distill and age each one, he instead made a loaf of bread from each recipe and used the one that was best tasting for his mash bill.  Too bad one of those loaves wasn’t banana bread.  Can you imagine how amazing banana whiskey would be?  I’d give my left nut (the bad one) for a shot of that.  Here’s some more trivia:  Maker’s Mark is one of the only distillers in America that spells whisky without the “e” and they have a trademark on the wax seal of their bottles.  This is the same wax seal that makes you feel like a prissy douche bag for drinking it.

Average score:  7.5

The Knot – Irish Whisky Liqueur.  100 proof.

The Knot bottle is distinguished by its iconic Celtic knot.  Historians suspect that the early Celts may have used the designs as a form of symbolism.  Recent studies of the design have suggested that it roughly translates to “It’ll get you drunk, bitches!”  Another interesting fact about this whisky is that it might not technically be a whisky.  Indeed, the word “whisky” isn’t anywhere on the bottle.  Some might argue that this is technically a liqueur, albeit one that is stronger than most whiskies.

Average score:  8.2

Canadian Club – Blended Canadian Whisky.  80 proof.  $11.99/L.

Coming in at number one for the second tasting in a row (even with the same score) is Hiram Walker’s famous whisky.  Hiram, despite having a lame name, was a hard-core dude and he pretty much ended up building an entire town with the success of his distillery.  Hiram oversaw the development and general day-to-day operations of the town.  He even once closed the church because the preacher decided to preach the evils of alcohol.  Then he ripped off all of his clothes and sacrificed a goat in front of the church.  He made a whisky bong out of the entrails of the goat and downed an entire bottle of CC in front of frightened on lookers.  Then he took the first born child from each family in town and sold them into child slavery or put them to work running his stills.  As a final show of power, he fought a moose to the death in a bare-knuckle boxing match that lasted three days.  At the end of the match he sodomized the moose just for spite and then downed another bottle of whisky.  After that no one ever heard from the preacher and no one every fucked with Hiram again.

Average score:  9.0

Rumors of My Death Are Greatly Exaggerated

This post was accidentally deleted because computers frighten and confuse me.  You should consider yourself lucky if you were able to read it.
-Mac

Think Before You Send: Part I

Some might say that I have a drinking problem, such as the State of Wisconsin, my first three wives, the Children's Museum, and that guy that I hit with my truck last night. But let me tell you, I damn near shit-a-brick when I found out that I could fill up my hip flask with a turkey baster! It was like an epiphany-as though I had just discovered masturbation with foodstuffs. No longer do I have to try to pour a Manhattan out of a shaker through a tiny funnel into a hole no wider than a common shrew's penis is long (fifth of an inch). And possibly the best part, there's a hint of gravy in whatever you put in the flask.








But as always, I digress. That has nothing to do with what I wanted to talk about in today's post. I was just excited to pass on the news that turkey basters aren't just for Thanksgiving and getting lesbians pregnant anymore. No, instead I wanted to talk about something horrible plaguing our nation, neigh, the world. People that send ridiculous forwards. Now I'm not talking about cool things like OMG Cat, Courage Wolf, or Two Girls One Cup. I'm talking about flat-out lies.Case in point, here is the text that I got in a forward last week, typos intact:

This is what life was like before man sinned...and this is what HEAVEN holds one day soon! The Bible says that the " Lion shall lay down with the Lamb' (The Bible don't lie)

The Law Of The Wild says kill only when you are hungry
Photographer Michel Denis-Huot, who captured these amazin pictures on safari in Kenya 's Masai Mara in Ocotober last yea said he was astounded by what he saw:

"...These three brothers (cheetahs) have been living together sin they left their mother at about 18 monts old, "he said. "On the morning we saw them, they seemed not to be hungry, walking quickly but stopping sometimes to play together. At one point they met a group of impala who ran away, but one youngster w not quick enough and the brothers caught it easily."

These extraordinary scenes followed.

and then they just walked away without hurting him... Life is short... What is our stay really about here on earth...?

There you have it. Nature showing us the error of our ways. We all can get along! Makes me feel warm and tingly. What is our stay really about here on Earth? Apparently its about wasting peoples' time and spreading ignorance.

My first issue, the first line about the Bible and heaven. Really? Is this, "what life was like before man sinned...and...what HEAVEN holds one day soon!" What does that even mean? That is kind of depressing to think that perfectly scientifically explainable animal behavior is what heaven holds for us. Besides, cute animal pictures can't be used to support a religion any more than dead babies can be used to refute it.

The second issue I have is that this forward isn't very believable. That should be your litmus test if you're going to send an email to a bunch of people. Check it out on Snopes.com if you have to; don't just pass on crap without checking it out.

I say it's not believable because cats are dicks. I have two of them and if they aren't crapping in their shit boxes, they're sleeping, trying to steal food, or trying to kill each other. If you knew a person like that, you'd call them a dick or at least a hobo. The two of them would shiv each other for a single piece of dry cat food. They've never had bacon but I'm pretty sure if they did and they had prehensile digits, somehow they would find a way to kill my wife and I in our sleep and put a plan in action that would not stop short of destroying the world until they get more bacon. Which is why I find it hard to believe that three wild cheetahs would chase down an impala and then just let it go.

So I did some research. In all of five minutes of intensive Googling, I found the website of Christine and Michel Denis-Huot, the French photographers who took the pictures. Turns out the true story has a much less Saturday-morning-cartoon ending. Those cats mauled the shit out of that impala like O.J. on Nicole. If you want the grisly picture of Bambi getting gang-raped, you can see it here.

Remember, if you're not part of the solution, you're part of the precipitate. Mac don't lie.

More to come...

Old People Episode III: Revenge of the Codgers

I don't know what it is about me and stadiums but I always seem to end up sitting in front of the biggest douche bag in the whole place. A few weeks ago I was at a Badger football game and the crusty britched old codger behind me kept shoving her foot in my ass. Maybe she was spastic or maybe she was really getting into the ass play; she even had a twitch to her foot like a vibrator.

She could have been playing grandma cougar and thought she was doing me a favor - but I'm not really into getting my back door prodded. I've never really been into feet either for that matter. One time at a party in college, a girl tried to give me a foot job mid-conversation while we were sitting on my front porch. It just ended up being awkward, like being groped by a blind person wearing boxing gloves. And what does a guy do to return the favor? How about I prod at your boobs with my elbows? Would that be analogous to you jamming your feet into my crotch?Anyway, one of my roommates ended up walking out onto the porch and did a classic double-take. It was like he had just accidentally seen his favorite child hood dog licking peanut butter off of the nether regions of his creepy uncle. After that he just kind of awkwardly backed his way back through the door. He never mentioned it to me and also never sat in any of the chairs on the front porch again. Luckily that also put a stop to the foot job and I was able to walk away confused and feeling slightly dirty.

Back to the Badger game. I wanted to break the ankle of this geriatric, boney, old Golden Girl like it was her hip at a limbo contest. Problem was, I couldn't tell if she was being extremely rude or if she was just senile and you do not want to get into an argument with someone that is a little 'tardy if you know what I'm saying. Now I know what you're thinking, I could have been the bigger man and just turned around and asked her to remove her metatarsals from my colon but what if she was trying to be a bitch? Then I would have had a totally awkward rest of the game with her behind me.

So that's it, anticlimactic story. I never talked to She-Wilford Brimley and found out what her deal was. Was she looking to have a stroke inducing three-way with my friend and I? Was she just plain off of her meds or bat-shit crazy? (By the way you get 25 extra Mac's Rants points if you can comment back with the etymology of bat-shit crazy.) Or maybe she was just a plain old mean person that thought I looked like the gay salesman that used to back-door her late husband. There's also the chance that she read my other two posts which chronicle my hatred for old people.

Maybe some game I'll get those seats again. You win this time gristly she-demon, but mark my words, I'll be watching for you.