Greg and Dad

I didn't notice until we got to the game that Miss Sally had picked out the Homestar Runner t-shirt for Greg. With me in my Midnight Mountain Club t-shirt, we make a good pair.

WTF: Dude at Panera with desktop computer

Either that dude couldn't wait to get home for the unboxing or he was Jonesin' for some wi-fi.

Photo courtesy of @tgoodnight

Phertatradon

The Phertatradon is the most feared dinosaur in the world. If you take its photo, it will charge and more than likely kill the photographer.

Fear the Phertatradon.

Transcript of the Patton Oswalt "Black Angus" stand-up

Patton Oswalt - Black Angus


I am getting a st… I'm gonin’.. when I fly back to LA tomorrow I am going to the Buggy Whip restaurant and getting a giant fucking steak. You heard me! I enjoy steak too much because I hate hippies so much. You know what I mean. I enjoy it more than I think I actually enjoy it. Every time you eat a steak, like a hippy’s hacky sack goes down the gutter, you know, “Oh man, oh dude, what the fuck man.” Every time you eat a steak a hippy’s hacky sack goes into the sewer. Always remember that.

And I like the… I mean I’ll go to Lawrys and Ruth’s Chris, the really high end steak houses. But I’ll go to the shitball steak house, I don’t care. Outback. Blank Angus. I’m there, it’s steak. Not so much Black Angus, thought. Cause do you remember how friendly the ads for Black Angus use to be? They like, Come on in! Have a steak. How about a baked potato? You’re like, how bout yeah! I’ll see you tomorrow night. Table for two, 7:15.

Now the ads for Black Angus, have you noticed how it’s turned into this gauntlet of angry food? It’s almost like they’re like challenging you?

“At Black Angus, we’ll start you off with our appetizer platter, featuring five jumbo deep fried gulf shrimp, served on a disk of salted butter, with 15 of our potato bacon bombs and a big bowl of pork cracklins with our cheese and butter dippin’ sauce. “

Your like, um we’re all gonna split that…

“Awe, you’ll each get your own!”

“Then well take you to our mile long soup and salad bar featuring bacon and cheese cream soup and our five head of ice burg lettuce He-Man salad, served in a punch bowl with 18 pounds of ranch dressing, pork stuff deep fried croutons and, what the hell, a couple of corn dogs.”

Uh, hey man, I tell you what, I’ll just get like a mixed green salad.

“Hey, I’ll suck a cock on the Golden Gate Bridge before I bring you a mixed green buddy.”

I.. what? I?

“Then we’ll wheel out our bottomless trough of friend dough.”

Wait a minute, am I getting a steak?

“Oh you’ll get a fucking steak. Cause then we’ll bring out our 55 ounce Lost Mesa, He-Man steak slab, served with a deep fried pumpkin, stuffed with buttered scallops and 53 of our potato bacon bombs.”

Oh dude, I don’t think…

“And then bend over Abigail May cause here comes the gravy pipe.”

What?

“Black Angus, door are locked from the outside, faggot!”

But, no. What, when did I?

“At Black Angus, your name is Peaches.”

Lollapalooza iTunes Card

The official program of the 2010 Lollapalooza came with an iTunes card glued in the back. Upon inspection, it read that the card was good for 40 free songs. 40 FREE SONGS! And they were handing out the programs like candy!


The process in my head, which I call math, started to ask for additional processing resources, so I stopped in my tracks and started to figure out how many of these cards I would need to break even on my ticket price.

Greg saw me come to a complete stop and noticed the tell tale signs that I was thinking. He knew what was going on in my head.

"The card is good for only 40 specific songs. You can't use it to buy anything else."

"Oh, that sucks."

So I stuffed the card in my wallet for when I got home.

Later that day, we saw a dude going through a recycling bin, pulling out programs and looking for the iTunes card in the back. We didn't say anything to him, but I assume that he figured it out on his own once he got home.

On our last day of Lollapalooza, Kit and I were standing at the Blogger stage when three very good looking, blind girls approached us. We thought it odd that the blind girls didn't have guide dogs or walking sticks. It took us a moment to figure out that the three very good looking girls were actually NOT blind and were asking us where the Adidas Stage was. Kit said he thought it was at the other end of the park and pulled out his Program to confirm it. Their destination was at the other end of the park and I would have thought their next move would have been to run from us post-haste. But instead they began chatting with us. One of the girls pointed at Kit's program and said, "Did you know that there is a iTunes card in there that gives you 40 dollars worth of free songs?"

I, in my 40 year old know-it-all-voice, said, "The card is good for only 40 specific songs. You can't use it to buy anything else."

"Oh, that sucks."

And with that, the imaginary, shimmering bubble that surround us burst and they said thanks and walked off.

I downloaded the 40 songs and it turned out there were 45. They should edited the graphic on the card to read, "4 songs you will like and a shitload of others that suck balls and make you wonder why you dug through the recycling for hours to collect these fucking things."

How to Disable Facebook's "Places."

"Places" might be a wonderful option for some people, but I'd rather not let my entire collection of "friends" or the whole of the internet know where I am at. "Places" also allows other people to 'check you in' so that they can tattle on me when I am at the nudie bar seeing my favorite dancer act, Doris.

Here is how to disable places:

1. Go to Account > Privacy Settings on top right.

2. Click on ‘Customize Settings‘ link at the bottom of that page.

3. Next to “Places I check in” use the drop down box to select ‘Only Me‘.

4. Make sure to ‘uncheck” the ‘Include me in “People Here Now” after I check in’ box.

5. Further down under “Things others share” select ‘Disabled’ next to “Friends can check me in to places.”

Allow me to explain

I created a list yesterday of the Top Ten Worst Stripper Names. Not my best work by far. In that list, amongst the wretched and disgusting names, was my grandmother's unique name. My thinking was that it would be awful to have the memory of one's grandmother tarnished by being a stripper's name. Funny, right?

Wrong.

My relatives did not find that humorous and to quote my cousin, I should, "die of shame for even having her name in this listing you unholy maggot."

So while my intent was for the sake of humor it did not come across that way. I can't really say that I'm sorry except that I'm sorry I didn't explain the joke the right way and that perhaps it was a bit unholy and maggoty.

So I edited my post and changed it to "satin peach" which is the nickname we gave a co-worker's shirt.

I hope this will not ruin our relationship.

Love,

HolyJuan

Top Ten Worst Stripper Names

It’s best if you read these prefaced by saying, “And now welcome to the main stage the lovely…”

1. Smegma

2. Androgyny

3. Infectious

4. Satin Peach

5. Cesarean

6. Garlic

7. Mrs. Henderson

8. Ted

9. Carbon

10. Crustina

Bag o' Money winner!

We finally got a winner in the Bag o' Money contest. John from North Carolina correctly guessed $16.91.

Here's the goods before they were sent out. (The cash was in my car. I did actually send it.)


Here is the letter I sent along:

Dear John,

Thank you for entering and winning the “How Much Money is in the Bag” contest on holyjuan.com. While I almost had to spoon feed my readers the answer, you were the one with the wherewithal and the quickest correct guess of $16.91.

While you are taking food from the mouths of my children with this win, I do want you to spend this money appropriately. May I suggest one of the following:

16.9 condoms (use the .9 condom if you are planning on reproducing)
1 really, really cheap hooker
1/10 of a more expensive hooker
67 games of Donkey Kong at the retro arcade
33 games of Dragon’s Lair at the retro arcade
5 bags of Swedish Fish (Damn, they are addictive)
4 Happy Meals that my children will not be eating

Best of luck!

HolyJuan, Esquire

PS. Please use the included HolyJuan refrigerator magnet at your discretion. Your friends may actually find out what you have been up to.

---

And after spending $45.56 on postage, here is John with the goods!



"I always wanted a sack with $$ on it. Thanks Holy Juan!"

Leah Lou

Billy invited us up to Cleveland to go see a few bands at the Beachland Ballroom. Billy has very good taste in music and has yet to let us down. While we actually went to see the headliner, Marc Broussard, I was much more intrigued by the opener Leah Lou.

WARNING! You will either dig this chick's music or not. I like her. If you do not, you obviously have crappy taste in music.

Check her out at http://www.myspace.com/leahlou12.

And while I am not a starfucker, the opportunity did arise and I got a photo with my new girlfriend.

Stoned Stoneder Stonederiest

Oddly enough, we thought of these t-shirts while we were at Lollapalooza.

Three-stones

If you and your two stoned friends want t-shirts, you can buy them here:

STONED
STONEDER
STONDERIEST

Lillian Marie

Anne had a baby this morning. A little girl named Lillian Marie.

Happy happy!

Twitter's new zombie-user policy

If we are notified that a Twitter user has turned into a Zombie, we can remove their account or assist family members in translating their loved one’s moans and death rattles into 140 character Tweets.

Please contact us with the following information:

1. Your full name, contact information (including email address), and your relationship to the Zombie.
2. The username of the Twitter account, or a link to the last Tweet they made suggesting that they were bit and feel ill.
3. A link to a news article or video of the Zombie eating brains.

You can contact us at privacy@twitter.com, or by mail or fax:
Twitter Inc.,
c/o: Zombified
795 Folsom Street, Suite 600

San Francisco, CA 94107
Fax: 415-222-9958

We will respond by email with any additional information we might need including what new Zombie user name they might want. Please note that we cannot make Twitter @name exceptions for long Zombie names like Mmmmmmhhhhhhhhhgggggggggggggggggggg.

Please note that we cannot do anything about loved ones who turn into vampires. We don’t deal with that shit.

The Invitation and Then What We Did Once We Realized We Actually Weren't Invited

One plugged flat tire and 250 miles later we were within 20 minutes of Eric’s place in Chicago. We texted back and forth to coordinate when we would be arriving. Eric said that he would be at a party and that we should come over to the party. In Ohio, we call that an invitation.

Greg’s TomTom was re-programmed and we were on our way. There was parking right in front of the apartment and we jumped out and stretched. We called Eric and he came out of the party and warmly greeted us as only Eric can.

“Hey guys. The party is breaking up.”
That’s fine.
“Just a minute.”

Eric went back in.

We waited about five minutes standing outside the car. A couple walked out and then went down the street. Eric came out about three minutes after that.

“Things are still breaking up. Let me grab some folks and we’ll head back to my place.”
Should we come in?
“Um, no. Wait just a minute.”

Eric went back in. About two minutes later he emerged with a girl who was very fun and a guy with a football. The girl laughed and talked to us and we threw the ball back and forth with football guy. At some point, a guy stuck his head out the door, eyed us up and went back in. I assume that was the host of the party that was breaking up.

Eric admitted that there had been a bit of a mix up. He told the people at the party that he was having a few high school friends over. The host of the party thought that Eric was bringing over people that were in high school and not happy about that. Eric went back in.

So we stood outside and waited for a total of about twenty-five minutes for the party that was breaking up to break up.

The party broke up. Several piled into Eric’s car. If I was better with names, I would tell the name of the one guy who got into Greg’s. He was a cool dude. We chatted on the way over to Eric's.

We arrived at Eric place. He’s got an awesome house. His awesome house has an even more awesome deck that we sat on under the hazy stars, drank beer, talked and laughed with Eric and his friends. We mocked Eric for inviting us to a party we were not allowed to enter. We talked of our past transgressions. Eric played music from his computer. We discussed Lollapalooza. We laughed.

Kit went to bed. I took a group shot a little while later.


Other Photos




A Rough Start *or* When Open 24 Hours Means Something Else

Thursday at 5:30pm, Kit called to say he was in the parking lot. I had just finished changing clothes and making sure that I was only forgetting two or three things. Greg arrived a few minutes later and we filled his already full trunk with our bags.

We were off to Chicago.

Traffic out of Columbus was for crap and construction had us slowed to a crawl. Slow enough so that a car next to us had the time and opportunity to make the necessary jestures to explain that we had a flat tire. We waved a thanks and pulled off.

We had the aspirations of a pit crew as we simultaneously leapt from the car to change the tire, but the ballet of clumbsiness that followed was laughable.

The fully packed trunk was evacuated of our bags and a soccer coach's collection of stuff. Greg was on the jack and Kit and I we responsible for extracting the spare tire from the bottom of the trunk.

But the spare tire had other plans. The plastic cap holding down the spare would not relent. Not to my girly grip nor Kit's steely grasp could unscrew that cap. Kit whipped out his trusty Leatherman and he applied leverage. Leverage did its job and broke off half of the plastic cap. With only half the cap left, we used Greg's wide array of truck tools to ensure we would break off the other half. With a rusty phillips screw driver and a piece of metal that looked like it once had a purpose in life, we applied a different kind of leverage that broke the other tab off.

With no intelligent choice left, we used brute force and over then next ten minutes we bloodied nuckles and bent tools. We realized that if we chipped away enough of the plastic, we could pull the tire up and off of the stuck cap. With 75% of it chipped away, we used the spare to pull up ad break that mother fucking thing off.



Greg applied the spare.


We loaded everything back in the truck and drove to the next exit. With the approval of the gods, that exit had a business called "24 Hour Tire Repair" right off the exit.

The 24 Hour Tire Repair shop was closed.

We had two scenarios. One scenario is that we drive through to Chicago on a 50 MPH spare tire. This was dangerous and would slow our drive to a crawl. The other scenario is that we call AAA to have the car towed to a shop that was actually open to have the tire fixed or replaced. This would take hours.

But Greg saw a Third Scenario.

We drove to the Pilot gas station across the street. Greg said, "When you are in the store, look for a tire plug kit." I thought he was joking because no manufacturer would create a product that regular idiots like me might use that could result in exploding tires and car accidents. So I didn't even look for a tie patching kit. I looked for Swedish Fish instead. Kit got the number for a different repair shop from the nice lady at the counter. I called and left a message for Bruce that we were in dire need of help. Kit and I watched Greg emerge from the gas station holding a tire plug kit. They actually sell them.

We moved the car to a lonely spot in the parking lot and empied the trunk again. Kit pulled out the flat and Greg redied the kit. We found the most likely spot where the hole might be. Greg used the shiv looking device to ream out the hole location. It was tearing the crap out of the tire and bits and chunks of rubber crumbled to the ground. I feared the worse. The next step involved threading a strip of rubber that looked like licorice through something that looked like a cross between a needle and a wine bottle opener. He applied a pungant adhesive from a tube to the licorice.



The whole lot was then shoved into the now gaping tire hole.



When Greg pulled the needle device from the hole, a sharpe edge cut the licorice strip in half, leaving it behind in the hole. A nub of patch and gooey adhesive stuck out of the tire.



Kit rolled the tire to the air station and filled it. It held. While they were filling I jacked the car up. Greg and Kit applied the patched tire.



Ten seconds after this photo was taken, the car rocked back off of the jack and came slamming down. Luckily the tire was completely on and we all had time to back away to watch it fall off the jack at a distance. Safety Tip #103: Always put your parking brake on while changing a tire.

We loaded the trunk and piled in. Greg took a test drive down the road and back again. We stopped at the 24 hour tire repair parking lot (still closed) and checked out the tire. It was holding. We got back on the highway.

The tire held and we made it to Chicago with enough time to go to a party that we were not allowed to enter. But that's a story for another time.

Here's a photo of Kit taking his turn at the wheel, driving up 65 with a patched tire and three very excited boys on their way to Lollapalooza 2010.

Archived HolyJuan Stories and Thanks

In January of 2006, I started HolyJuan. It was Lia that said, “You should start a blog,” and I did.

My first story was a work related trip to Chicago and how I ended up spending the night at somewhere that was not my hotel room.

Since that story I’ve created 1,289 posts. Some stories. Some lies. Some rants. Some terrible cartoons. More lies.

Sadly, I am a much better story teller than a webpage person. Many of the wonderful HolyJuan stories are buried deep within the tubes of the internet. Someday, when I am famous and I thank all of you for getting me there, I’ll find a way to make the archives a bit more accessible. Until then I am going to begin dredging some of them up and reposting them at the top of the website. While many might call me lazy for reposting old stuff, I hope a few of you might appreciate some of my dustier memories.

I’d like to thank you for your continued readership. You e-mails and comments let me know that you all love me almost as much as I love myself. I’m always accessible by e-mail at holyjuan@gmail.com. I usually reply within a few days. Some of my best posts are Ask HolyJuan e-mails. Try me sometime.

Thanks again.

HolyJuan

Storm about to take a bite out of Columbus

If you look really hard, you can see Jesus' nose and eye.

Gold Bond Pancake

I'm leaving for Chicago tomorrow with Greg and Kit. We'll be staying at Doob's over the weekend for Lollapalooza. I have never had the opportunity to go and am very excited, knowing full well that most of the fun and memorable bits will happen outside the venue and on the trip there and back again.

Greg is a Lollapalooza veteran and I asked him for tips on what I should bring. He, knowing that there's a bit of chafing with all the walking that happens during the weekend, suggested Gold Bond and I took him at his word. A few days ago while we were finalizing the details for the trip, he laughed about his Gold Bond suggestion saying, "I really don't think you'll want to be putting Gold Bond in your shorts. With all the sweat mixed in, you'll have a Gold Bond pancake."

I had a good laugh at that.

I'll post what I can from Chicago over the weekend. Let me know if you'll be there.