Thunder Volcano

Boundless enthusiasm for something stupid


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I recently came across a case of Dogfish Head beer carrying this quote (sans context) from a review by Playboy: “Over the top smoothness.”

Is it just me, or does that sort of completely contradict itself?  Isn’t it a bit like saying “overwhelming subtlety?”  I expect this kind of stupid crap from Dogfish, but what the hell Playboy.  I used to hold you up to a higher standard of journalism.


Written by Baron Volcano

01/20/2013 at 11:17 pm

Posted in Beer, I got opinions

Tagged with ,

Curiosity Killed the Libido

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Life Lesson #7: If, when browsing for pornographic material you happen upon a slang term you’re unfamiliar with, you will assuredly regret it if you give in to curiosity and click a link bearing that new word.

Written by Baron Volcano

01/13/2013 at 11:14 pm

Figured Out

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Part of my job involves receiving beer deliveries every week, a job which is as terrifying as it is physically taxing. Once every few weeks, one of the guys who regularly did this job with me would insist that we “have a beer and play some Big Buck Hunter” at the bar upstairs. That “one beer” almost inevitably turned into something more like “eleven beers and smoking weed in the parking lot of the Sleepy’s next door*.”

On the day in question, my friend Desmond had shown up. At some point circa pitcher number four, he started talking about the blind date he had planned later in the evening. At first I thought it strange to have Many Beers before a blind date. But once he invited me along for some reason** it suddenly became the Best Idea I’d Ever Heard. I agreed to go along and a celebratory pitcher was ordered.

Eventually, we retired to Desmond’s place to get ready*** and soon headed out to the bar… two hours early****. The original plan had been to go to the sister bar of the bar I work at (the same one we had been at earlier, incidentally), as it is one of the few places in the neighborhood that has pool tables. Thankfully I managed to convince everybody to go to a different bar, based on the fact that it still had at least one pool table. I’m not exactly known for making the best decisions while inebriated, but I still had the sense to figure out that it would be a bad idea to run into my boss(es) whilst hammered. At seven PM. On a Tuesday.

Anyhow, the girls showed up to see a couple seriously classy dudes with bright red eyes wolfing down a shared trough of mac and cheese. As the icing on the cake, I was still wearing my work clothes which can be somewhat charitably described as “grubby and torn.” Nonetheless, the night seemed to start quite well despite our stellar first impression. Shots abounded and I spent much of the night talking to Desmond’s date Beth*****. In the interest of not ruining my friend’s date, I was on my best behavior: trying to be nice (for once), avoiding crass jokes (for once), and all around acting like a gentleman (as always).

All of a sudden, Beth turned to me and said flatly “I think I’ve got you figured out.”
“Okay, lay it on me.”
“You’re an asshole.”
Shit! How did she figure that out? I thought I was doing so well! Maybe she’s more perceptive than I think?
No. The general gist of the rest of her long, spirited, unjustifiably angry rant centered around the idea that I’m a rich kid who never really had to work for a living and I’m just living off of my parents and I was obviously in a frat in college. It may or may not have involved a phrase along the lines of “I hate what you are with every fiber of my being.” Now, it’s not like I grew up poor or anything, but if there’s one thing I don’t have at this (or any) stage in my life it’s money.

Desmond did the smart thing and ordered us more shots. Booze got us into this mess, and I’ll be damned if booze wasn’t going to get us out of it. Shortly thereafter, Beth – who had been complaining about a group of people that had been hogging the lone pool table the whole night – decided that it was Her Turn on the table. She went over to the group, which consisted of five or six large men and one girl, and demanded that she be able to play. Upon being told that they would not immediately acquiesce to her extremely rational demands, Beth did what anyone would do in that situation and physically attacked the one girl in the group, who had been sitting quietly to the side at the time.
As Desmond ran over to try and break up the fight, he spotted one of the guys in the group getting up and moving towards Beth in a menacing manner. Desmond decided that he wasn’t going to let a stranger lay a finger on somebody that he showed up with – no matter how crazy she was (the dude has manners) – so he ended up hipchecking a guy twice his size and giving him a stern lecture about the inappropriateness of hitting women. (Yes, seriously).
At this point, Beth had the aforementioned lone girl of the group by the hair and was thrashing her around as Desmond was being bodily hoisted away from the group by several additional guys who were also twice his size.

Nobody’s really sure where I was during all this. It’s entirely possible I hadn’t noticed.

As soon as Desmond got Beth untangled from that poor girl’s hair and outside, she tried to charge back in and restart the whole fight. Finally, Desmond’s patience and/or politeness ran out.
“BITCH. You are NOT going back in that restaurant.”
Miraculously, that worked. She lost all her momentum and just walked away. Her friend, who had presumably been observing the action from afar with me, followed shortly thereafter.

I’m told that Beth assaulted several passersby on the walk home, ostensibly because they had the gall to be walking on the sidewalk near her.

Acting on autopilot, Desmond and I did the only thing we could possibly think of – return to the bar and resume drinking. How the bar staff allowed us to do so remains unclear to me, but I think there were shots.
We ended the night by meeting some friends at Desmond’s apartment. I’m told that amongst a series of repetitive, incoherent accounts of the night’s festivities, I whiled away the remainder of the evening yelling nonspecific gibberish about science.

*I don’t really like using this blog as a venue to brag about How Wasted I Got That One Time (those stories are seldom actually interesting), but I feel like this is contextually relevant information.
**The main reason was that his date was bringing a friend, but alcohol was a strong secondary reason.
***Smoke a blunt.
****It’s probably worth mentioning that I don’t smoke drugs particularly often, so it’s a minor miracle that I was able to walk at this point.
*****While I am in the habit of using fake names on this blog, that may well be her real name. I’m bad with names even when I don’t have eight beers in me, and Desmond wasn’t any help with the matter later on.

More Solutions to Common Problems

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Back when I had an office job, I had an idea that I was sure would make me boatloads of cash: widemouth lids for Starbucks cups.  While I do chug my coffee, that’s hardly the impetus behind the idea.  It all boils down to the fact that it’s a real pain in the ass to drink beer from the small mouth hole in the standard coffee cup lids.  I could have tried to hand-make some widemouths, but that always comes out all jagged which makes it even more obvious.

The only downside as I see it is that it kind of sucks to drink beer out of paper cups, but I figure that’s not a deal-breaker for a Clandestine Office Beer.  I suppose that problem could be alleviated by a widemouth travel mug (which I assume* they make), but it seems to me that the paper cup would work better at allaying suspicion.

Edit: when I start production on these, maybe I should also make specially-lined, long-lasting paper cups as well.

Edit: hell, I should just stock these at that coffee shop that I’m going to open.

*Due to my policy of not researching things, I have not looked into this at all.

Written by Baron Volcano

12/04/2012 at 1:39 am

Posted in right?

Tagged with

Solo Sextravaganza

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Do you think there’s a market for sex toys with really badass names?  Like, would someone buy a vibrator named Thor’s Hammer, complete with optional pistol-grip pump attachment?  What about The Punisher? (The Poon Punisher?  We may need to run a focus group here.)

Written by Baron Volcano

07/29/2012 at 3:52 am

Posted in Thought for the Day

Tagged with

Work Those Taps

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A ways back, shortly after I started behind the bar at my current job, one of the new waiters – one whom I hadn’t yet spoken to (we’ll call him Desmond) – came up to me saying “I’ve got two hot blonde girls at my table, and they’re asking for your number!”

Naturally, I was a bit skeptical.  But he assured me “I checked, they specifically asked for ‘the bartender with the glasses.’*”

I was busy, so I just wrote down my number and gave it to him.

Half an hour later, on Desmond’s insistence, I checked my messages to find this:
“Dear Baron!
I dig your facial hair and the way you work those taps!
Sincerely yours,

Being reasonably sure that Desmond was fucking with me, I decided to tread lightly with my replies but nonetheless invited her out for a beer.  She largely avoided the question, eventually saying “…text me something cool about yourself when you get out.”

Something cool about myself?  Well, shit.  Not like I have a lot to draw from here.  I went with “one time I drove to Key West for pie” partly because I didn’t want to put in the effort to try and seem like Mister Smooth when I was pretty sure I was getting pranked, but mostly because I think that’s awesome.
To which she asked, “was it key lime pie?”
It took most of my admittedly limited resolve to not ask if that was a real question.  “Of course.  Totally worth it, too.”
“How old are you, Baron?”
That question may not have been related, as she ended up asking a series of somewhat probative questions later, but I got the strong impression that both parties were starting to think “I’m talking to an idiot.”

The next several days yielded a text message conversation largely consisting of me answering (often open-ended) questions about myself**.  Any attempt on my part at meeting in person was sidestepped, and questions I asked were often ignored, particularly open-ended ones (she was not receptive to the idea of telling me something cool about herself).  Oh, and Desmond seemed confused and/or offended by the suggestion that he was trying to mess with me (which, at this point, would have required a lot of dedication to the joke).  His comment of “I don’t even know you that way,” had occurred to me, but that really would have just made it much funnier if he had been messing with me.

Seeking perspective, I explained my situation to my friend Ghoulia.  Her insight proved invaluable:
Ghoulia: i would say i hope she’s not a psycho, but that might downplay the likelihood of hilarity
me: ok suppose she is
and i wake up in the middle of the night with her clipping my toenails for her “collection.”
i’d probably just be like “so are we gonna do it now, or are you gonna murder me?”
and then maybe fall back asleep
Ghoulia: well that’s just cause you are kind of expecting it
me: im kind of glad to be in a situation where it’s an expectation that i’ll wake up to a relative stranger harvesting my toenails
Ghoulia: it’s statements like that that make me proud to be your friend.

There’s no real exciting finale to this, as Olivia apparently got bored and stopped texting me.  I may have contributed to that with an unexpected and unannounced fourteen hour pause in an ongoing conversation, only to answer her (probably pointless) question at four AM.

Epilogue: I was at dinner with my entire immediate family and recounted this story.  I got yelled at by my mom because I didn’t send this girl pictures of my dick.
“She said she likes how you work those taps.  She wants to see you work that tap!***”
My only defense to this is that there are enough pictures of my wiener floating around out there already.  If you need to see it that bad and can’t find it via Google, you’ll have to arrange an in-person showing.

*I wear Garth-style glasses at work, complete with tape around the bridge.  There is a reason for this beyond the fact that I think it’s funny, but that’s neither here nor there.
**I’ve never claimed to be a good conversationalist, particularly via text, but I’m pretty sure it’s weird to get interviewed by a stranger for essentially no reason.
***Confidential to my mom, as she is one of the few people who actually reads this stupid site and may take umbrage to the suggestion that she was yelling at me: you did, in fact, raise your voice.

Written by Baron Volcano

07/22/2012 at 2:57 am

More Surprising Life Lessons

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Life Lesson #6: When renting a firearm or motorized vehicle, it is inadvisable to point and laugh at the part of the rental agreement stating that you cannot rent if you have been drinking.

Written by Baron Volcano

07/15/2012 at 3:52 am