I woke up with a sense of impending doom…somehow it’s related to my dumb job or the state of the world or maybe my approaching solo performance in St. Augustine, Fla (April 10th at café 11) I dunno. It’s just that feeling of utter doom. I’ve heard of impending doom looming as a result of actual tangible problems, drug use, depression, or some combination thereof, but as near as I can tell, the culprit was a cheeseburger. Yeah. A fucking cheeseburger. I don’t believe it myself.
There’s this place called Kuma’s Corner here in Chicago and it’s becoming pretty famous for having great cheeseburgers. The whole place has a bit of a heavy metal theme (the burgers are all named after metal bands, some good [slayer] some bad [clutch]) and it’s always nuts to butts jam packed out the door. The girls that work there are all tattooed girls that make nerds fall in love with them and the bar plays loud heavy metal and serves a ton of stupid microbrews. You get the idea, right? Some dude who loved cheeseburgers, small batch beer and metal just kind of went for it and pulled it off pretty well. The burgers are good, but FUUUUCK, they will tear up your soul.
This is the second time that I’ve woken up feeling doomed after a meal at Kumas. ( Oh, I had the Clutch, add bacon, just by the way) Last time I went, it was my birthday and I chalked up the doomed feeling to potentially having had too many beers and also bravely attempting to eat a burger called the “insect warfare’ which had some sort of green chili and goat cheese thing going on…it completely destroyed me for a couple of days. I didn’t even have a birthday dinner because of the stupid insect warfare…but now I know, man. It’s just the place. I’m allergic to it. There’s no other explanation.
SO, I’m sitting here, doomed. There’s no way to fix it because aside from the usual things (we’re all gonna die, the world is in the shitter, I don’t know how I’m going to provide for my wife/baby/parents/whatever, life is a series of meaningless tasks that shoot us ever closer to the inevitable mental decay and poverty that mark our last pointless moments) there’s nothing wrong. So, I can’t un-doom myself. It’s a rough situation, man.
Here’s what I should do:
Go to the gym- they say that regular exercise does essentially the same thing as any antidepressants. Also, I love watching naked old men stand there waving their desiccated little wieners around, just talking about politics and other important stuff like there’s any way they could be taken seriously in their gross, saggy, naked man suits. It’s also a reminder of impending death though….so…
Drink beer- Usually makes me feel pretty good. And doom is a lot easier to stomach when you’ve got a beer. Hell, I think that’s what beer was invented to do.
Squeeze a baby- babies will cheer you up in a pinch. Unless they’re asshole babies, or ugly, or they’re missing an eye or they have a harelip or something…then they’re a real fucking bummer.
Try to wrangle a beej- These things will cheer you up faster than you can say ‘why yes. I would LOVE a blowjob”
Go see my dumb friends- being around people beats the crap out of sitting alone, listing off ways you could potentially shake the feeling of doom that’s ensconcing you while your baby moans in the next room. My friends probably have some dick jokes they’d like to tell me…did you hear about the guy with five dicks? His pants fit him like a glove. Heyo!
I found out this weekend that I’m not really Irish. That’s not really that astounding when you look at me…I don’t look irish, but my name is irish. Turns out, though, that my grandfather, who I thought was 100% irish is only half irish, making me only an eighth. That’s not really enough to count, is it? I don’t think so. Oh well…it’s the irish American community’s loss, not mine. Also, my dog’s got a serious case of the runs. It looked like someone melted a bunch of candybars all over the bathroom when I woke up this morning. Gnarly.
Sigh.
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17 comments:
nah, Brendan, i think "doom" is going around like a virus. i've had a nasty case of it lately.
-SJ
SAME thing happend to me when I was in town last week and went to Kuma's. Had the Dark Throne and woke up at 3 a.m puking the contents of my soul out. However, the skunked old style i chose to drink before bed may have had something to do with that as well.
Dick Jokes?
http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/localnews/2002382718_horse15m.html
I've got that feeling of impending doom hanging over me today, maybe its a pandemic?
I'm going for the scissor movement approach and attacking it with beer and hanging with friends!
I'd probably get looked at strange if I tried to squeeze a baby, and gyms...ha! out of the question when beer is on the table!
how can you possibly give your money to a place that serves framboise and says "death to miller"?
My friends and I went to Kuma's on our our of town Bachelor Party/ Brendan Kelly Tour of Chicago weekend. It was really good. (The cheeseburgers, that is) One of the cute waitresses had a Bukowski t shirt on and my heart skipped a beat.
I don't get the whole microbrew / Death to Bud and Miller thing, though. I am not saying I haven't had any good microbrews in my life, but in my experience the people that wax poetic about them are pretentious douchebags who like to think of themselves as having extraordinary tastes. I like to drink beer to get drunk not show off how refined my palate is. PRB, Old Style, and Bud are just fine with me.
Haha there's nothing to get Dave, I say you described the scenario pretty accurately. Microbrews, like novelty tees, serve as strategic props that people utilize to 'do the talking' for them in place of emitting actual charisma from their wang/tang nibblers, as often as they don't. Not always the case, and in moderation they can be great, but too much and things get pretty cheesy pretty fast. Like Morrissey. Or me.
Oh, you should hit up Potter's wax museum in St. Augustine historic district, BK. They have a plaster cast of Schwarzenegger's head, and it's surprisingly small in person. Couldn't get over it.
Dude! Last time I ate at Kuma's (split the Lair of the Minotaur and mac 'n' cheese with the GF) I had to send a team of gastrointestinal specialists -- honey i shrunk the kids style -- inside me to wage an epic war.
what is your ethnic background brendan? I'm Irish on my mom's side but we can't track down anything about my dad's family except some distant relatives who live on mennonite compounds in mexico...but yeah, I have a level of swarthiness pretty similar to yours and have always said "American" when people ask, "What ARE you?"
I was thinking (in detail) about sex the whole time I was reading this. The two may or not be connected with each other.
Your dog probably ate your leftovers, if applicable.
Wish you would step back from the ledge my friend, you could cut ties with all the lies you've been living in, if you do not see me again, I would understaaannnddd.
I cut out the meat altogether and stick to beer, tobacco and charlie.
i pass by Kuma's twice a week on my way to class and there's never anybody there. it always looks closed. be careful with the beer, it can send you to either side of the reality of impending doom.
i also feel like doom is just going around right now, but i'm pretty sure that clutch in burger form might be a little too progressive for my stomach to handle.
question-which record should i get tomorrow, hwm-never ender, or milo goes to college? i have never ender on cd, but i'd really like to have that nice no idea colored vinyl. but milo goes to college is fucking milo goes to college.
Dog shit on the floor is better than baby shit on the walls! You have that to look forward to.
Wait wait wait a minute... Let's not start bashing people JUST for liking microbrews. I'll totally agree that some people do it just to be pretentious douchebags, but at the same time, some of us just really like the stuff. I mean, if I can get a good tasting, heavy beer that's got three times the strength of a Miller Lite, does it really make me a d-bag for enjoying that? In my neck of the woods (just south of Kuma's), the only people who I hear waxing poetic about their beers are the hipster turds who proclaim their endless love for PBR because they're so broke (although that's not what their clothes are sayin', so whatever).
My point? I do think Miller Lite's pretty crappy, but I don't care who drinks it. In fact, my job depends on you drinking it...
futurama?
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