Reader Mailbag: No More Posts About Blow Jobs?!

Jack,

I was wondering, why do you think writing
about a blowjob is interesting and who do you think cares?

-Paul
Hammond (Local blogger of some note and employee of the evil publishing
empire, Media General- Owners of the Richmond Times Dispatch)

Seriously? First I'll go the middle school route with this one and say that, Blow jobs rule! Talking about a blow job rules! Receiving a blow job rules even more!

My immediate knee-jerk email response to Mr. Hammond at 3 AM this morning questioned his manhood and wondered aloud if he had ever actually felt a woman's lips on his pee-pee before. Now that I've calmed down (and I'm sober) my answer is, yes, blow jobs are interesting and whether or not anyone cares is none of my concern. Mr. Hammond, do you think talking about which dead Richmondite should have a monument devoted to them is more interesting than a sloppy knob job? Okay, to the 30 blue hairs who read your blog and who are probably old enough to have met Jefferson Davis, maybe it is.

Blow jobs on the other hand, they tend to resonate and in some cases, enthrall, almost every single male that has ever walked the earth. Straight, gay, black, white, purple, the President of the fucking U-S of A!, etc. Unless you're a eunuch (which is what I called Mr. Hammond in my drunken early morning email), you're interested by the fellatio.

Is the Richmond Times Dispatch a sinking ship/ dirty rag used to wipe up my morning masturbation sessions? Yes, and it's going to be difficult to improve my opinion of our local paper when we've got the brain trust over there emailing me stupid, no-brainer questions like the one above.

I Did Not Get A Blow Job Today

*The mighty James River: Where blow jobs and quality blog posts go to die.

It's Monday and one of the first perfect days of the year. I'm off work, well-rested and ecstatic to be alive (for once). I decide to call a girl I've been "talking" with and ask her to come to Richmond's greatest feature with me, The James River. She's unemployed so I know there's a good chance she'll say yes.

The Pony Pasture (an area on the south side of the James) is semi-crowded, especially for a Monday. Most of the people are of Hispanic decent. I'm assuming they're either out of work or they work construction jobs that have odd hours and strange work days (Yes that is a stereotype. A true one.) They have their families and their coolers of beer and most of them look obscenely happy. Hispanic families in America are a very tight knit, and from what it appears, very loving group of people. I'll always take a river spot that's crowded with kind El Salvadorans over a spot that has a bunch of local rednecks, a group of people that never cease to invade my senses with their obesity, menthol cigarettes, dim-witted remarks and all-around idiocy.

The girl and I find a secluded spot on a dead tree that stretches out about 25 feet over the river. We lay on the log, I jump in the frigid water a few times, we make out some, we talk some, etc. I find myself genuinely smiling which is a strange sensation. I think the sunlight and the vitamin D, as opposed to darkness and Vitamin AB (Alcohol and Blow) is exactly what I needed.

"So what are you doing tonight Jack?"

"Well, I really need to blog and write some other stuff.
Unfortunately I've sort of had blog block lately. What should
I write about?"

"I don't know, write about our trip to the river
today?"

"Yeah I could do that, but I need something cool to happen.
You could give me a blow job here on this old tree. That would be blog
worthy." (I say this with a straight face)

"Soooo, you want me to blow you in public with young families
walking by, and then you're going to write about how slutty I am and how awesome
you are?"

(Mischievously grinning) "Well, I mean, I wouldn't
use your name."

Needless to say, I didn't get a blow job at the James River today. Although I didn't really push that hard for it either. I think she would've had I insisted...or demanded. Wait, no, this girl probably would've bit my dick off and fed it to the Mallard ducks swimming by had I demanded fellatio.

This is what my life has become: Asking girls for blow jobs in public so I'll have something entertaining to blog about. That's either really sad, or incredibly awesome. I haven't figured that out yet.

Obligatory Hooters Post

*He comes for the wings, he stays for the chance that he might get a hand job in the urinal.

I went to Hooters today for lunch, by myself. You don't even have to tell me how sad that is, I already know. As expected my visit was filled with Richmond southside hilarity featuring fat rednecks, huge boobies, the unchanged orange shorts that are still inexplicably jacked up to the girls ribcages and wings that somehow shot through my entire intestinal track in about 20 minutes (In liquid form strangely enough).

Looking at the picture above got me thinking: There are so many things I could teach the young man in the picture about Hooters girls. Lessons I've accrued over the years that would serve him well. Unfortunately I can't teach this young man the ways of the Hooter, well, because I have no fucking idea who the little guy is. Lucky for you though (dear reader), I will share some of my knowledge on the topic of Hooters Girls below. Hopefully a few of you (I'm looking at you Jeff Kelley) will go forth with this wealth of Hooters information and use it... Use it to bang a Hooters girl.

Important things I've Learned At Hooters

- You wanna sleep with a Hooters girl? You either drive a big truck, a Camaro, a Mustang or in some instances, a Firebird. There are no exceptions to this rule.

- A stint in prison (either currently or previously) goes over well with a Hooters girl. The intent to one day end up in prison is also a huge selling point with these ladies.

- Contrary to popular belief, not all Hooters girls have big cans. Find one that doesn't and buy her a set of D's. Make her life dream come true and she'll let you fiddle with her girly parts. Trust me...I've seen it happen.

- While Jack Goes Forth does not encourage hitting women, there seems to be some sort of correlation between Hooters girls and getting beat up by their boyfriends. You take that knowledge how you want to take it.

- Drinking and drug abuse go over well with these ladies. Meaning... Yes!!! I'm so in.

- Stop reading. Unless it's Maxim. You can read that.

- Be a bartender.

- Start fights at the drop of a dime, over nothing, with anyone and everyone. Hooters girls love a man who is irrational and will use his fists to even any sort of perceived slight.

- If you have a motorcycle, sit within 20 feet of the front door of Hooters and rev the shit out of your engine. Make sure the entire restaurant can't hear anything but your bad ass Harley. Try and do this in packs of 15 or 20 guys.

- Go and support her career at all of her "bikini contests". She's gonna be a star ya know.

In conclusion, I really do enjoy Hooters and their women. They also make a mean grilled cheese sandwich. Seriously, it's damn good. I also only wrote this post in jest, so before all you Hooter girls decide to email me and before the fucking corporate offices of Hooters threaten a lawsuit, try and find the comedy first. If you enjoyed this post, and you are a Hooters girl... Let's uhhh, meet up.

Ed Note: I know I'm going to catch hell for this...

One of many previous Hooters Posts: JackGoes To Hooters.

"Your Blog Is Starting To Suck"

A hot girl told me at the bar tonight that after she found this blog a month ago, she went back and read every single post. All the way from Jan 08'. Your first thought and my immediate response was, "Whoa, whoa...Hot girls can do other things than just look hot?" Apparently some of them can. She went on to say that, with the exception of a few posts, my blog has really fallen off in the past few months. After going back tonight and reading some of my earlier shit, I've determined that she's right. Last year I had edge, and many many grammatical and speling errors, but dammit this blog was interesting back then. I can think of a few reasons why my blog is suckier now:

-I drink more now than I did then, or maybe I drank more then than I do now. I'm not sure if drinking more or drinking less is detrimental to my blogging, but I need to figure it out. If it turns out I need to drink more now... Well... I'll probably last until mid-August before I drop dead from early onset cirrhosis

- A LOT more people read the blog now, so I've toned down what I write about. This is true. I'm sccuurred to hurt feelings.

- Life is more comfortable now and I've lost my edge. I hope this isn't the case, but it could be.

- I disabled comments and that was half the fun of my blog. Yeah this is true. Unfortunately I was getting too many trolls and shithead comments in comparison to real comments. I was having to become way to vigilant in my comment moderation which took away from the fun of blogging. Now, I don't have to think about it...Which is nice.

- I sleep with less women now and I have less crazy-ass things to talk about. I can assure you that this is definitely not the case. If anything I could write 8 blog posts a day with the shit that's going on right now. It just sucks because almost all of the main characters in my "craziness" read this blog and they would probably try to cut my balls off if I blogged about some of this stuff.


So what am I going to do?

Short of losing my job (again), I'm going to start opening up like I used to. I don't necessarily care what anyone else thinks about my writing but when I start to bore myself, then something needs to change.



PS: Thanks "hot girl" who told me the truth at the bar tonight. May your long-term relationship end in the short-term and may we meet in the alley behind the bar, to, ahhhh, do it, or talk about books or something, and then like, we could maybe just do it or something. I mean like, whatever. :)

Relationship Readiness Test

I present to you the Jack Goes Forth Relationship Readiness Test. Do you think you're ready to dive into something serious with a potential long-term lover? Are you completely incapable of maintaining even the most basic of hygienic upkeep, much less maintaining a relationship? Maybe you're somewhere in between these two extremes? Take my test and find out:



Question 1: A young, nubile college girl (18 years of age) that you just met, calls you up at 11 PM on a Sunday night. She tells you to bring booze over to her off-campus apartment because she wants to get drunk with you. Unfortunately you have a major meeting at 6 AM on Monday with the Sheik of Bahrain concerning various top-secret files and the medium-size amount of Uranium that he just "stumbled upon". The 18 year old needs an answer and some booze stat! You...?

1.) Tell her that you can come over tomorrow evening, but that tonight is no good. Your job and your future are too important to mess with. Plus, you mention that you would feel uncomfortable buying a minor alcohol.

2.) Consider pushing your 6 AM appointment back, but ultimately don't do it. Instead you drop off a 24 pack of Southpaw at her place and make her promise not to drink it all and then get tag-teamed by the entire bull-pen of the school's baseball team (again).

3.) Immediately call the Sheik and tell him, in so many words, that he can take his Uranium and shove it. Tell him we've got more than enough barrels of crude and a fleet of Class A submarines stationed in the Persian Gulf, all of which are ready to feed him his lunch. Then you get your ass over to her place with a bottle of 100 proof Vladimir Vodka and a six-pack of condoms. Or don't bring any condoms, what do you care?




Question 2: A girl you've been seeing for two weeks tells you that she is ready to "consummate" your time together by having a bit of the sex. You....?

1.) Make reservations at Verbena and pre-order a bottle of the 99' Bollinger Champagne. Your plan is to spend an intimate evening together and then go back to your place and have slow and sensual sex over a bed of rose petals.

2.) Tear over to her house at once, stopping only to steel some roses out of her neighbors yard and to get that warm 12 back of Becks out of your trunk.

3.) Do nothing. Going for two weeks without consummating with someone new is beyond your realm of understanding and you would never put yourself in such a losing position.




Question 3: It's been two months with a girl and she is eager to meet your parents. You...?

1.) Plan a nice weekend trip to your families river house, making sure that the entire fam will be there. You have your Mom stock the fridge with your girlfriend's favorite food and drink. It will be a perfect weekend on the water with your lovely girl and your beautiful family.

2.) Hesitate. You tell her that maybe it's too soon to do a big family thing. Set a date down the road for a nice dinner at the neighborhood bar with her and your Mom. Tell her with a smirk that, "she has to earn a meeting with your parents". Then you do her/ punish her for suggesting the idea this early.

3.) Look at her with a bemused expression. Your Mom died in a catastrophic "showgirl pile-up" during one of her shows in Vegas and your Dad was the greatest Burmese Python Cage Fighter in the world until his beloved snake, Morty, turned against him. Didn't you already tell her all this? Unleash a vocal tirade upon the girl about how she never listens to you, then storm out to the bars. Never talk to her again





Question 4: You're out drinking with your 3 or 4 closest friends. One of the guys makes a toast, during which he announces that he just got engaged to his girlfriend, he's getting married! You...?

1.) Immediately stand up and hug him. Then you proceed to buy a round of Patron shots, because hey, we gotta celebrate! You feel real joy for your friend and wish him the best.

2.) You grimace, but manage to smile and shake his hand. Later on you sit him down and ask him if he's really ready, and "to make sure this is the one. Divorce ain't cheap buddy."

3.) Pummel him mercilessly around his face and neck region. Vow to never associate with these "fucking dorks" again as you're breaking pint glasses on the way out of the restaurant.





Question 5: It's your first time with a girl. She will only sleep with you if you produce a condom, which you have none of at the moment. You...?

1.) Tell her that you can wait and then fall asleep in a tender, spoon-like embrace.

2.) Tear across the Fan to that CVS on Ellwood for a 12-pack of Trojans.

3.) Tell her that you already have a condom on. It's that new one that just came on the market. It's called the "dickskin condom" and it's 100 percent effective.





Question 6: When reading my blog, Jack Goes Forth, you...?

1.) Find some things humorous, but for the most part you read it to laugh at me and to make yourself feel better about your own life.

2.) Occasionally can relate to some of my posts, and will usually click on the blog 3-4 times a week. It's a decent way to spend a few minutes at work.

3.) Email me frequently, have taken multiple shots of Rumplemintz with me and have possibly participated in at least one drug-induced "super-orgy" in the wee hours of the morning with me. You sometimes ask yourself "what would Jack do?" when faced with important life questions, (Condom or no condom? Back door--no babies??? Etc.)




Add up your total from each question (1-3 points) to determine your relationship readiness score.

18-17 points: You are not ready for a relationship. You may not even be ready to move out of your Mom's place. People are probably sort of scared to hang out with you for fear of what you may say or do in public. You are me. Go to the free clinic ASAP!!!!

16-14 points: While you certainly like to bed hop, there's a side of you that is hankering to find that right girl. These endless nights of drinking and philandering are starting to wear you down slightly.

13-10 points: You're ready to settle in, but you still have some standards. You want a girl with many qualities yet you are willing to compromise. There's a solid chance you will have dual-ownership of a cat within 8 months.

9 points and below: You will marry the next girl who is willing to tolerate your sure-to-be excruciatingly annoying tendencies. I would strongly consider killing yourself, but should you decide to grimly carry on with your virginal existence... Well... Grossly obese women need love too.

Now go check out the latest edition of my dating column, RobotHearts# 12 at RVANEWS.

Simple Man

"You're still hungover? It's 6 PM? What the hell did you do last night?"

"Quaffed Adderall and rolled around in bed with a girl until noon. I slept a few a hours, and now I'm here."

"You live a very simple life Jack."



The life and times of Jack have become rediculously uncomplicated. Drag myself out of bed, get to work on time, smile my face off and then sleep. In the between time I find a few hours to work out and write. Everything I do is aimed at self-gratification and eradicating any sort of responsibility (and debts).

The man who is the most untethered tends to be the man who is the most well-off.



*Pay no attention to the fact that my last few posts have been a bit morose. I'll get back to blogging about anal sex and bar-related hilarity as soon as something funny happens at the bar or as soon as a girl consents to letting me have anal sex with her. :)

A Drunken Thought

I live with my mother in the same condo I grew I up in. I bartend 5 nights a week. I save insane amounts of money. I dream of traveling and writing and living an untethered life. I sleep until at least noon everyday and then I get up and go to a coffeeshop with free wifi. I attempt to write (hungover) and then I go bartend. On my nights off and nights on, I party and try to lay women. I could move into my own place right now if I wanted to. I tell myself I will either move out soon, or I'll leave Richmond and go to NYC, or I'll go travel. Reality is, unless a crazy influx of money comes, I won't leave Richmond anytime soon. My mother and my close, very small family is here. I owe her and them more than I can ever repay.

My reason for telling you this is:

I wasn't born into money, but I was always comfortable. I've always been an oblivious little shithead to my family. I don't really talk to my father. I'm sure I owe him and my Mom over a million dollars. I owe my Mom's sister and her family just as much. We're not rich (or even close), at all.

I want to travel and live a crazy life full of DosEquis- like experiences. Maybe I'll make a bunch of loot through the restaurant industry. Maybe I'll write a bartender tell-all and become the Anthony Bourdain of bartending. Maybe I'll make an ass-ton of money somehow.

If my family needs money, or my savings, or anything... fuck anything else, it's their money. I hope I get rich someday, but until then... I need to stop looking out for myself and start looking out for my tribe as a whole. Until then I'll keep busting my ass and being a manslut.. Although I wouldn't be against having a girlfriend.

She has to have read at least one Henry Miller book, or attempted to (he's a tough read).

Unfortunately that disqualifies 100 % of the girls in Richmond.

The Angry Bartender

"How about you follow me outside and I'll kick your fucking ass
kid?"

The guy was sloppy drunk and had three bouncers behind him as I argued with him from behind the bar. This brute was big, bald and menacing. Him and his buddy were much older than all of us and from the looks of it, they had seen their fair share of bar brawls. Definite "biker" types. I ran his credit card for the 70 dollar tab and handed him the book with the receipt slips as we both continued to mouth off to each other.

"You know I'm not gonna tip you shit. I'm not even gonna sign
the tab!"

"Sir I wouldn't wipe my ass with your money."

The bouncers behind him groaned as I continued to anger this beast, making their job about 10 times tougher than it needs to be. This guy was riled up and I noticed behind him that even the massive bouncer from the bar next door had been enlisted to come over and help.

"I ain't drunk you little piece of shit. What the fuck did I
do?!"

"Your hands have been all over multiple women in here.You've already ran
two girls out of the bar asshole. Do you understand how to act in a bar? In
public? Listen, just walk out the front door and don't ever
come back."

"You come out with me and I'll beat your fuckin ass."

"Do you really want to
get arrested tonight sir?"

In one of my signature lapses in judgment I started to make my way around the bar. As I was almost around the long wooden bar my manager popped up and stopped me.

"What are you doing Jack?"

"Ummm, helping the bouncers remove
this idiot"

"No you're not."

I calmed down and walked back to the kitchen for a minute. I watched as the guy and his friend walked out to their cars, mouthing off to everyone in sight. I took a few deep breaths and got back behind the bar.

This guy had it coming for the way he was acting to the female patrons of the bar, but I blew up and I was in the wrong for even raising my voice. I know how to cut someone off and then calmly persuade them to leave, and this time I simply lost my shit.

It's easy for me to be a tough guy when I know there are about 13 people in the bar who would pounce on this guy with me. Afterwards I laughed with our bouncers and friends as they described their plan to subdue the guy. The plan involved a variety of chokes, knee sweeps and fishhooks. I laughed then and I laugh now about the whole thing, but I won't always have an entourage of friends to protect me when I start running my mouth.
You think I would've learned my lesson from when I got my ass-kicked in NYC. But I guess not.

Once again, I blame the booze and not myself. I'm too perfect to make multiple mistakes in life, bounce around multiple jobs and countless women, and then end up living with my mom at the advanced age of 25. Yep, waaaayyyy too perfect...

The Girl Has Game

Girl I Used To Date: I'm not sure what kind of trick camera that guy used but those pictures of you are quite strapping.

Me: Bring the book and the CD "you borrowed" to me at the bar tonight and I'll refresh your memory with my shirtless facade.

Girl: Well that's a shit trade-off.

Me: I could shit on your face if that would be a bit more agreeable.

Girl: Yeah, I'd rather have pink eye than be stricken blind.

Me: (No response)




Dammit. What the fuck do I text back to that? Nothing, that's what.

What a bitch..... :)

Jack Goes Forth Is For The Gays?

...Ummm, no, I'm not. Although this morning someone sent me the link to a story about me posted on GAYRVA.com:

"Meet Jack. He is notorious for his blog Jack Goes Forth about
cocktails, sex, love and everything in between....

....He fantasizes about stereotypical straight-guy stuff
and ponders the chances that these girls might just fall for one another.
Is this relevant to the gay community? Maybe not, but he mentions
lesbians!
Jack’s blunt style makes for a fun read. Plus, word on the
street is that he’s built a gay following where he tends bar on karaoke
nights. Gays and karaoke, imagine that?"

I was unaware that I had built a gay following on my Tuesday Karaoke night. Hmmm, now that I think about it there were quite a few non-straight gentlemen in the bar last night and it did seem like my semi-erotic version of George Michaels "I Want Your Sex" was being really well-received. And yes, that was my song choice but it was for the ladies! I swear!

Not that I mind the extra attention. The Gay community tips my ass off. Wait, I mean, they don't do anything to my ass, but, I mean, they tend to spend a lot of money. Ya know?

Fuck, just go read the article here: http://gayrva.com/2009/04/15/blogging-bartender-plays-matchmaker/

Sooo You Write Some Sort Of Blog?

Text Exchanges (The sentences in italics are what was going through my head at the time):


From nine months ago:

Girl I Was Sort of Talking To: I heard through a friend that you have some sort of website about sex and drinking. Where can I find this?

Me: It's not about sex, I just write about what I think. Seriously, don't read too much into it. No one really reads it.

Fuck, fuck, fuck--This girl will definitely end things if she reads the blog. Dammit, I should probably shut down the blog.


From this past week:

Super Hot Girl Who I Heard Has A Crush On Me: I heard something about your writing? What's your last name? Just curious haha.

Me: Lauterback. It'll be easier if you just Google "Jack Goes Forth"

Fuck, fuck, fuck--I think I missed Seinfeld!




I truly enjoy my blog and my writing, and I don't see any reason why I should have to hide it from anyone. Regardless of how perfect her tits are....

Lesbian Matchmaker

I know a waitress who is bi-sexual. She's a little cutie. I met another waitress who is bi-sexual and she is also really cute. Both of these girls told me that they will only hook up with other cute girls, meaning no bull-dikes, or whatever the term for a butch lesbian is.

So one day I got wasted and ended up making out with one of these girls. Then later on in the evening I happened to run into both girls at the same bar and I decided to introduce them. In my typical asshole fashion I made it very clear that they should hook up, do hot girl on girl stuff and then fall in love. My exact words were a little more graphic, but that was pretty close to what I said. This made perfect sense to me at the time because they are both attractive and in my imagination, the union of two attractive women doing naked things together is right. It's damn right.

I should point out what a self-less and kind act this was on my part, but after you read the next paragraph you will see that isn't really the case.

I'm not sure if they've met up or hung out yet, but I have a feeling that I started something up between the two. What's good about this is if these two decide to bring a third party into the picture one night, there is only one logical pick: The bartender who forced them to hook up in the first place. Okay, it's the logical pick in my mind, probably not in theirs.

An interesting side note: Two of my absolute favorite regulars at the bar are a lesbian couple. They make an insanely beautiful couple. Recently they invited me to come over for their next party, which is cool because they're fun to drink with and I like parties of any sort. I have no designs on anything sexual happening.

If I ever have a chance in this life to have a three way with a bi-sexual female couple, 2009 might prove to be the year. Although I'd say my "chances" are somewhere in the neighborhood of less than %1.

"Sooooooo... You're saying there's a chance?"

Richmond.com Feature On Jack Goes Forth

For whatever reason the kind folks at Richmond.com and Media General (Owners of the Richmond Times Dispatch) thought it would be interesting to take a bunch of pictures of me bartending, write silly captions and then include it as a feature for the launch of the new Richmond.com. Since I'm an attention whore, I readily agreed to it.

For those of you interested in seeing who I am and what I do, or if you want to identify me so you can kick my ass later on, click here: http://www2.richmond.com/static/soundslide/jack-lauterback/

The pics are mostly staged as the photographer came during early dinner hours when we were sort of slow. I usually don't wear sombreros while I tend bar. I do however rock the karaoke mic during my shift every Tuesday, so those pics are the real deal.

Poor Man's STD Test

My buddy went home with some scandalous ho-maiden the other night. From what he related to me, she was a disreputable slutbot of the first order. She had already slept with another one of his buddies a few weeks prior. My friend was wasted and wanted sex, so this fact didn't bother him.

Neither my friend nor his friend wore a condom, but lucky for the second banger (my buddy), the first banger got checked for STDs immediately after sleeping with the bang-ee and he came out clean. I understand that this doesn't necessarily mean that the second guy is clean also, due to the fact that some STDs take time to make themselves known and then there is a high chance that this girl slept with some other guy in between those two sex sessions.

It's hilarious to me because my friend woke up next to this girl, he's blindly hungover and he immediately looks down at his junk, regretting the no-condom choice. Then on the way home he calls his buddy and is somewhat able to breathe a sigh of relief.


This story should teach us a few things:

1. Always at least attempt to wear a condom.

2. Never trust a girl who says she doesn't sleep around now and then. She does.

3. Find a friend who is an even dirtier bastard than you are and get him to pre-bang any easy ladies that you wanna give it to. Then you simply send him to the free clinic and await the results. If he's clean, you can then use your unstoppable seduction skills to bed this fine (and STD-free) lass.


In fact, for the right price I know a few people who would take this job. Imagine the title on their business card:


Jack Goes Forth, Pre-Bang STD Guinea Pig

" Throw out the condom and never again worry about contracting life-altering (or life-ending) STDs!"



...It's sad the things I talk about with my friends and my bar patrons. It's even sadder when we talk about these things and then go around high-fiving each other.

Robot Hearts # 11

The 11th edition of my joint dating column, Robot Hearts, came out this morning. This week we discussed love at first sight and the reasons why a certain gentleman just can't seem to get the girl.


I'm pleased with the progress we've made on the column and I'm confident when I say that Robot Hearts is definitely the most read dating column in the entire world.


Go directly to the column by clicking here or go and check out the awesomeness that is RVANEWS.

Preparing For Strawberry Hill

Yes it's only Sunday and we still have 6 days until the biggest Richmond party of the year (the fact that it's not actually held in Richmond matters little), but it's about time to start preparing your mind and body for the onslaught of booze, sweat and tears that Strawberry Hill inevitably brings. The following are some ideas for how to spend your week before the big day. Also check back later on this week for an update on last year's "How To Dominate Strawberry Hill" post.


Monday: Wake up and look in the mirror. See the bags under your eyes and the rapidly increasing fine lines on your face. Rue the mistakes that have brought you to this place in your life. Think of the job you despise and the boss you hate. Let a tear roll down your less than youthful skin as you think about having to begin the morning routine and daily commute in a matter of minutes. Glance back at your lonely (and empty) bed. Remember his or her face and think of how they are probably waking up next to someone better looking, more successful and better in bed than you will ever be. Or instead of all this, you could just go downstairs and have a healthy breakfast of egg-whites and fruit. Remember, good nutrition fuels the body and mind, and proper fueling will help you immensely come Saturday. After breakfast, text some of your friends and remind them that it's only one week until Strawberry Hill! After that, please try to not drive off any overpasses in a fit of anguish on the way to work.


Tuesday: While surfing the internet at work and contributing absolutely nothing to society (or your company for that matter), start making a list of things to bring to Strawberry Hill. Or you could just use my list which has been refined and perfected over a period of four Strawberry Hills (Items listed in matter of importance):

60 Mg, Adderall (You can substitute many different things for Adderall in this scenario)
Sunglasses, two pair (If you forget these then god help you)
18 pack, Miller Lite
1 Liter, Ketel One Vodka
1 Liter, Tuaca
1 Liter, Don Julio Tequila
Suntan Lotion
1 Liter, "Zing Zang Bloody Mary Mix"
1 Gallon, Orange Juice
1 Liter, Club Soda
24 pack, Bottled Water



Wednesday: By this point of the week you're probably a zombie, grimly plodding on as bosses ply you with more work and stupid co-workers remind you that, "oh hey, at least the week's half way done!" If anyone says that bullshit to you then you should probably devote at least an hour of your day devising a methodical plan to kill that person's cat, ruin their marriage and ultimately destroy their life. If this doesn't seem feasible or if your daily crying/masturbation bouts in the third floor bathroom prove too time-consuming, you could start thinking about what to wear to "The Hill".

My recommendations are simple. DO NOT follow whatever lameass "theme" the organizers plan for this years festivities. I for one, will not be wearing a sports jacket (which is this years recommendation for guys) like all the other frat boy idiots. Here's the only things you need to know.

Girls: Look sexy. Skimpy/slutty is good. Clown-like make up is bad. Big obnoxious hats suck. Underwear are discouraged.

Guys: T-shirts, shorts, comfortable shoes. Flip flops are okay, as long as they're really comfortable. Bring a different t-shirt as the ice luge shot stains will begin to merge with your vomit and urine stains, making for a complete mess.



Thursday: Go out and get semi-drunk tonight. It will prepare your liver and give you a good drinking base for Saturday, also it will help you forget about how you've been at your company for four years and only gotten one measly raise for 1500 a year, meanwhile that new skinnier, hotter chick straight out of college is making 15 grand more than you because that whore blew the boss at that summit in Colorado and is holding that sexual harassment thing over his head, not to mention the fact that you heard she was spotted making out with your ex-boyfriend at Metro last ni.....wait, whew, never mind. We got off track there. Come down to the bar and I'll take care of you tonight.


Friday: Take the day off. Watch about 20 episodes of "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia". If that show doesn't prepare you to party, then nothing will. Email me at some point during the day (if you're a female) with a picture of yourself and your plot number for the Races. Send pictures from many different angles and possibly a full-body nude. You can blur out your face if you want because let's be honest, Strawberry Hill isn't about faces or names, or having "conversations" with people.


Saturday: Get up and forget all your troubles and then promptly remember them all around 3:30 PM when you see your ex walk by with that new girl he's engaged to. What a slut bag she is, right?!? Take a shot of tequila and keep raging.



Previous Strawberry Hill posts: "HowTo Dominate the Strawberry Hill Races"

Jobless People Drink

On Tuesday it was announced that 500-plus people were being shitcanned from Wachovia Securities here in Richmond. I had met a few patrons of the bar the week before who were Wachovia employees and this firing was coming as no surprise.

Come Tuesday I walk into work at 4 PM and literally 5 minutes later the bar is swamped by about 50 ex-Wachovia employees who were all out partying their faces off and presumably beginning to blow whatever pittance Wachovia had decided to give them. The group was as diverse as any I'd seen. Young, old, black, white, Asian, Spanish.

It was irritating at first because I was the only bartender and we had one server, so we got our asses opened up for about two hours. The group was pretty wild. There were a few broken bottles, a few chairs knocked over, and one guy who may have been the loudest customer in the bar's history (for the record, he was a fantastic tipper). These people were made victims of this shit economy and now they were doing what everyone does in times of hardship. They were getting sauced to the gills.

It's ironic and awesome though, because even though I was dripping sweat as I raced around making frozen strawberry margaritas and attempting to keep this jobless mob appeased, I ended up making really good money, money that most of these people could scarcely afford to spend. As the crowd thinned I spoke with a few and I really could commiserate with their plight. These were good people, who I'm sure for the most part did nothing to warrant losing their jobs.

Fucking Wachovia. How are they hurting? The amount of overdraft fees and random "service fees" they've hit me with over the years is roughly equal to the GDP of Iceland.

Of course now that the economy is down and people are getting poor, I just so happen to be in an industry that is starting to boom. I know firsthand from looking at my drunken spending from last night and from how much cash I walk with each night at the bar... People will drink come hell or high water.

...And I have no qualms about unemployed bar patrons dipping into their savings money and handing it to me for mixing a few drinks.

Vapid Bartender

The following is from one of my favorite blogs, Clublife. It's written by a bouncer who managed to blog so compellingly about his "bouncing" experiences that he got a book deal. I can relate to him because he has worked in bars and he's cynical as fuck. This is a brief excerpt from a recent blog post:


It’s all so fucking pointless. Really. You really don’t understand what a monumental fucking waste of time clubs are until you work in one for a few years. Everyone sucks.

• Bouncers who take this shit too seriously suck

• Suburban white kids with tattooed forearms and Ed Hardy shirts suck

• Vapid, drug-addicted “superstar” bartender-types suck.




.....Damn, I knew I had met this guy a few times.

Blood Is Okay With JGF

New Girl: "Well you should probably try to come over tonight after work, because, well, you know, I'm a female and there are certain days during the month that a female can't "do it", and those days are fast approaching."

Jack Goes Forth: "Haha. You obviously don't know me very well. Strip the bed and find an old towel, I'll see tomorrow night or the next."


I find it funny when I'm with friends, "talking shop", and one of them can't stand the thought of sleeping with a girl when she is on her period. I don't feel like a female's natural juices are any more sanitary than her blood, so why should I stop myself from doing whatever I please? With or without protection? I'm kidding....Errr, okay I'm not kidding at all.

I did a walk of shame a while back in Church Hill and when I finally got to my car I got a text from a friend who was sitting in The Hill Cafe on Broad (it was a 3 PM walk of shame). The text read:

"Dude, was that you or an extra from "Saving Private Ryan" I just saw walking past the Hill? Did you just get in a fight with a hobo or something?"

For the record, I didn't beat up any hobos, but I was a bloody mess. I'll let you fill in the somewhat depraved, yet very entertaining blanks to that story. Or if you come by the bar tonight I'll tell you the whole filthy story...Not while you're eating though...