Degenerate Road Trip: Part 1

Yesterday was the official start of my degenerate road trip with Crab. I’m already dry-heaving, which is probably not the best sign, although I’m still optimistic about what’s to come. We’re in San Clemente, CA, where the sun is shining bright in what seems like the Promised Land. Although most people might be out on the beach, we’ve holed ourselves up in a hotel room with the blinds closed, much more interested in watching Jerry Springer, Saved By The Bell, and other such televised masterpieces while nursing our hangovers.

We’ve made a pact to maintain a sense of moral integrity during the trip, so we kick off each morning with a confessional and Bible reading. The confessional consists of Tom instructing me to “Tell me your sins my son”, to which I admit all the bad things that I’ve done in the recent past. After my laundry list of offenses is verbalized and Tom states “your sins are forgiven”, he picks up the Bible, turns to a random page, and points to a passage in a similarly meaningless fashion. He reads the passage and we draw from its wisdom.

This morning his finger landed on a section from the book of Proverbs, Chapter 24, Verses 3-4, which reads:

Through wisdom a house is built, and by understanding it is established; By knowledge the rooms are filled with all precious and pleasant riches.

Indeed, this trip is a journey to attain wisdom and understanding. And if I’ve learned anything so far on our voyage, it’s that I want all the rooms in my house to be filled with riches. Like, a shit load of riches. Furthermore, my riches must be only of the precious and pleasant variety. So, we’re off to a good start with the Lord.

Life on the road can be pretty taxing, and the last thing we need is a deficiency of essential nutrients like vitamin C. In an effort to raise awareness concerning the ongoing scurvey epidimic sweeping the nation, we’ve made it our personal cause to consume at least one vodka and cranberry juice each morning after confessional and Bible reading. This particular cause enables us combat the horrifying effects of scurvey while simultaneously allowing us to conquer another illness that inflicts millions of Americans: sobriety.

Then we turn on the television and watch shirtless rednecks compete in a spelling bee to win the heart of a grotesque, scantilly clad woman on the Jerry Springer Show.

Yesterday, we did actually make it to the beach where we lasted at least 5 minutes before we wandered across the street to purchase several cans of Sparks. Then, we settled down on the sand with our malted energy drinks and discussed a wide range of important topics:

• Interplanetary Alien/Human Relations
• Similarities Between Women’s Bathing Suits and Women’s Underwear
• The Undeniable Importance of Both Women’s Bathing Suits and Women’s Underwear 
• How Come That Asshole Gets to Drive on the Beach?
• Should I Go Jump Off the Pier?

Although neither of us did jump off the pier, I think it’s safe to assume that Scottbrundage.com would. After leaving the beach, we continued consuming alcohol for the next 13 hours at various establishments, namely a bar called Goody’s. As in, Goody-Goody Gumdrops. Soon enough, we mysteriously teleported to the bar next door without realizing it, where we met up with Heather. I met Heather on myspace via my pal Gerry No Game, and she was super cool - simply for tolerating our rambling jibberish. Thanks Heather! I’d say it was a successful start to the trip.

Absence Explained, Math Girl RIP, Road Trip

Chuckblog has been out of commission for the past week, and I feel that an explanation is in order. Last week was my final week of grad school and work, which meant that I was devoting every waking second to concluding both activities on a high note. Since finishing, life has been one non-stop party in celebration of my freedom. I feel that this is a great opportunity to step away from the computer and gather material for future Chuckblog posts. Don’t think I don’t care, because I love you all more than I love my own children.

My relationship with Math Girl also expired last week. We both knew it was only a temporary fling, as I’ve been planning on moving out to San Francisco for quite some time. I recently got accepted into law school out there, so I will be officially moving away from the East Coast in late July/early August. Math Girl - thanks for the great couple of months. I’ll miss you. Amuirin - I’m now single and ready to take our relationship to the next level.

Finally, in 2 hours I am flying out to the LA area to meet fellow Chuckblog writer, Crab (Cursedpyramid). From there, we will be driving cross country over an approximate 2-3 week span. We will try to post from the road, as I’m sure the trip will be full of stupidity. Also, if anyone can hook us up with a place to crash somewhere between Austin and DC, swing me an email. We’re more entertaining than circus freaks.

Love, thanks

Chuck

Top 8 Most Inaccurate Car Names

Until recently, I hadn’t owned a car since I was in high school. As such, I hadn’t devoted much attention to the various names and models that we all see on the road, daily. But lately, as I’ve sort of inherited a vehicle that makes other drivers gawk and laugh at me, I’ve become acutely aware that most model names are completely misleading, if not total lies.

1) The Buick Regal- There’s absolutely nothing regal about driving a fucking Buick. In fact, if you’ve purchased a Buick in the hopes of seeming regal, I’m pretty sure that you’ve already resigned yourself to a life of unregalness.  Though, to be fair, perhaps Buick had a different genre of car buyer in mind when they finally decided on Regal. You know, the kind of guy that shows up at the dealership wearing a Burger King crown and a t-shirt that reads: The King of Crappy Car Owners! 

2) The Dodge Dart- Seems like a misnomer on two counts. I’ve never driven a Dart, but the machine seems a bit clunky, like it couldn’t dodge or dart a large building if it had to. It certainly didn’t dodge or dart away from a stupid, repetitious name.

3) The Chevrolet El Camino- El Camino translates from spanish to “the road.” If you want your “road” to translate into “only one passenger and shitty gas mileage,” then this is the car for you. Enjoy riding with your only friend while you both consume the rest of the Earth’s oil resources!

4) The Volkswagen Golf- Who knows what the fuck these crazy Germans were thinking! If you want to sell golf carts to lazy Americans, you have to label them “Golf Cart.” I don’t speak German, but I can pretty much guarantee that Volkswagen Golf doesn’t directly translate into Golf Cart. Which is shamefully misleading. They look like golf carts. And everyone who drives one looks like they play golf.

5) The AMC Gremlin- I swear to God I saw a Gremlin on the road the other day. As a child of the eighties, I instinctually threw water on it to see if was a true Gremlin. Unfortunately, this Gremlin didn’t transform into a tiny, evil monster that reproduces at will and terrorizes small towns during Christmas. Dissapointingly, the car retained it’s same bizzare shape and ridiculous color scheme.

6) The Ford Focus- The irony is that anybody who has any fucking focus at all doesn’t buy a Ford Focus. Are there car buyers who can’t think outside the box and imagine a scenario where they’re still alive three years down the road? Because that’s about the time that your shitty Ford Focus is going to stop running and you’ll be hitching rides to work.

7) The GMC Yukon- The Yukon is a Canadian Territory that lies between the Northwest Territory and Alaska. From my experience, no one who owns or drives a Yukon has ever driven to or been in either Canada or Alaska. The GMC Yukon was designed specifically for trips to Hardee’s and Bed, Bath, and Beyond. Who knew?! The brilliant minds at GMC, that’s who. Sometimes driving through the tree-lined, spacious streets of an American suburb requires a car bigger than your house!

8 ) The Pontiac Firebird- The Firebird might have once been a respectable car in the sixties, during it’s first run. However, for those of us who grew up during it’s 80s and 90s reincarnation period, it was laughable at best.  Slapping a large illustrated bird on the hood of your muscle car made it neither fiery or capable of flight. On the other hand, the car was particularly adept at conjuring mullets, stone-washed jeans, and Bachman-Turner Overdrive cassette tapes.

Chuckblog wonders if www.scottbrundage.com would rather drive a Batmobile or a solid gold Waverunner?

So what else?

Metal, Goths, Vodka, and Vomit

As you might have deduced from last night’s post, this morning was one of those mornings when I walk into the bathroom, took a good, long look at myself in the mirror and ask the question “Chuck, what the hell is wrong with you?”

Last night, I was chilling on the couch watching a documentary on the Vice Lords street gang, planning on getting a good night’s sleep in preparation for final paper writing all day today. When the documentary ended, an idea popped into my head - ‘Chuck, you should do the exact opposite of going to bed early and getting a good night’s rest’. I laced up my sneakers and headed out on a quest of stupidity.

If all te raindrops were lemon drops and gumdrops

so tonight wasa social experiment. i was pretty much ready to got to bed, then decided to walk to the nearest bar ant get as drunk as possible. this bar was weird. there wwere some crazy goth bands playing the whole time. a lead singer was wearing eye makeup and shit. i dunno, just wasn’t my scene. fairfax VA really sucks. someone threw up all over the dudes bathroom, so we all had to use thewomen’s. it was weird for a trilosecond, but then it made perfect sense. so what else?

Disheveled Guy: A Middle-Aged Embodiment of Chuckblog

When I sat down on the bus for the shitty last leg of my hour+ commute home from work yesterday, I watched two men in suits board the vehicle. I was seated at the front half of the bus where seats line the perimeter, and one of the men sat beside me while the other sat directly across from him. Although both dressed in business formal attire, the two men had starkly different appearances. The man sitting next to me looked shabby. His top button was undone while his cheap tie hung down a solid inch from his collar. Complemented by his wrinkled gray suit, 5 o’clock shadow, and slightly messy hair, the man looked like a disheveled professional, in stark contrast to his immaculately dressed counterpart.

Unsuitable Theme Songs for the Life of Chuck: Bon Jovi’s “Wanted Dead or Alive”

Whenever Bon Jovi’s “Wanted Dead or Alive” (WDoA) begins playing over my car radio, I can’t help but slouch down in my seat, commence with the notorious one-handed-steering-wheel-grip, and put on my best Snake Pliskin facial expression.

I mean, who doesn’t feel like a badass when listening to the song? For those of you unfamiliar with the lyrics…

Fear and Loathing in Philadelphia: Penn Relays, Animal Farm, and Punk Rock

The Penn Relays Track and Field Meet - arguably the greatest track meet in the world - took place this past weekend at the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia. Being a former competitive runner, I made it a point to mark my calender months in advance in anticipation of the phenomenal event. Penn Relays has everything that a running fan could hope for in a track meet; exciting races, a historic setting, and an energetic crowd. The meet is sure to be an absolute blast for followers of the sport.

Although I was in Philly for the entire weekend, I didn’t watch a single race. Now that I think about it, I didn’t even see the stadium. Come on people, I’ve got better things to do than hang out at a fucking track meet. What better things, you ask? Seeing a puppet show and punk band of course!

So what else?