Hercules (1997) Drinking Game

hercules movie poster

Two Words: Megaera is the Sh*t.

One of the most underrated of Disney’s 90′s revolutionary animated flicks, Hercules is a strong contender for the Disney movie I could always watch. Pre-Shrek, it caters to young and old starting with smart mythological references inserted cleverly throughout the movie and ending with sophomoric dumb henchmen Pain and Panic filling out the lower level humor for the ‘yutes’.

One rant: I don’t think Megaera should have wound up with Hercules. If we’re true to life, that sardonic lovely broken girl could never be wooed by a meathead romantic (the very type that broke her in have first place based solely off the wispy image given in Hades recant of the tale). It’s fine that they wound up together but in reality… Hercules softens her up with his innocent and she finds a mid level executive that can buy her a Saab and a nice pair of sandals every summer. Rant over.

Drink Every Time:

  • Pain and Panic morph in or out
  • The muses have some narration or song
  • Phil is angry, perverted, reminiscent or yelling
  • You notice Hercules has weird ears, feet, or knees
  • Pegasus makes you laugh

Death Rule:

Drink any time Greek/Roman culture is shown or referenced.

Have fun…hopefully you’ll have three heads like that wonderful mutt Ceberus after watching this fun, clever and under appreciated film.

The Nightmare Before Christmas Drinking Game

Oh there’s a drunkard inside of these bones…

In my family, I’m the person that’s the hardest to shop for. Don’t know what it is. But there’s just one every 4-5 years that my family will find out that I like and abuse. Between the years of 10-15, that one thing was “The Nightmare Before Christmas”

Gift list:

  • Jack Skellington Tie
  • Jack Skellington Shower Curtain
  • Jack Skellington Yatzee Game
  • Jack Skellington T-Shirt
  • 2 Copies of “The Nightmare Before Christmas” DVD

Sally wasn’t really a major character in the movie and thus I guess she wasn’t really a major source for gift purchasing.

The movie masterfully put together by Tim Burton’s neon driven imagination and hundreds of stop motion animator hands (which I’m sure have worked on his subsequent films of the same vein; “Corpse Bride”, “Caroline” “Coraline”, “Batman”)  Danny Elfman absolutely kills it on the soundtrack which can’t be ignored in these drinking game rules, especially when sometimes it’s played to lull my sister to sleep on her air mattress in CT.

Enjoy this special holiday (Halloween or Christmas? You be the judge) edition of a long overdue movie, “The Nightmare Before Christmas.”

Drink every time…

  • worlds are changed
  • Jack is confused
  • the Mayor of Halloween Town rotates his head
  • the movie switches themes from Halloween to Christmas, and vice versa

Death Rule

Drink every time someone says, “Christmas”

Don’t Call Him Icebox

His name is Icepack.

No that’s Iceman. He flys F14′s with non “dangerous” pilots because flying fighter jets is a safe profession.

He’s a volunteer self masochister.  Not scared of pain. He welcomes it.  With his face slightly tilted to one side as if to say punch my god damn face, please…just….do it. 

Every so often, you find someone who pleasantly surprises you like a firm ballbusting grab of the groin.

I had the pleasure of meeting Icepack through a mutual friend at “The Dead Poet” in NYC.  The first utterance out of his mouth was “Your brother is a beautiful fucking idiot.”  I knew then that this creature was special.

The rest of the night consisted of performing self castrations with each passing sentence.  He lives life without hope, dreams, or a vague indication that he will ever find glimpses of happiness.  No amount of money would be enough cause he couldn’t spend it.  A Porsche is just a nuisance pile of turd metal that needs to be moved of every other day to the correct side of the street.  When everyone else watches “Pays It Forward” he sees the albino from “The Da Vinci Code” flagellating himself.

I’m not gonn give up

The culminating moment of the illustrious 8 total hours mostly of listening to the man still referred to as Icepack was better than a pro-life next to an anti-life rally.

Bars packed with sucking on the teet of life post hurricane survivors.  Game time decisions were made and no one was spared.

  • Bottle of Seagrams: PURCHASED  
  • Apartment: FOUND
  • Mexican tortas (actually they were all out of bread but pizza): ORDERED
  • Skull shot glass and Icepack: INSTANT FRIENDS

Too soon? I mean…there still is water in Port Authority.

Over the course of the night, I sat and listened while Icepack commanded the room and all of its people.  Bucking, Joan of Arc, Genghis Khan, and Sylvester’s Stallone’s character from “Daylight” combined leadership couldn’t hold a 15$ pre storm price gouging candle to Icepack that night.
Stories from work, his girlfriend, fraternity members named Abraham for whatever reason was orated like a Jewish MLK Jr. on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial.  Icepack had a dream that night, his dream…to kick Kate’s ass in Wii baseball.  Rolling over in laugher over his egotiscasshole comments coupled with a disgusting ass kicking, describes what follows next.
At the end of the night, as I walked away from from the gypsy driver who was made to hear about how much Icepack hates everyone included every person inside the cab, I knew how special it is to have men a Godfather of a man.
And his name is Icepack.

One Way E-Mail to Hell

Everyone is an asshole.

At some point, in each and every human life, there is a moment where everyone acts like an asshole. A bastardly scumbag.  A disgusting abhorrent douche. It doesn’t matter if a person is a full time, profession asshole or encours a single case of a passive aggressive twatness, the maxim remains.  At some point, even the Sainted Mother Teresa blew off a lunch date without so much as giving a courtesy cancelation call.

Everyone is an asshole.

Not claiming innocence from this law of human nature, I want to share my own tale of asshole-ness. Let’s begin with some background information shall we?

College freshman roommates are notoriously lousy.  Being the first year, nobody really knows who they want to room with. Even if you are lucky enough to meet someone during orientation that tickles your fancy enough to want to become roomies, within the first month of new found collegiate freedom, personalities change and kids are netflixing “Roadhouse” to learn from Patrick Swayze how to breaks legs and rip throats. (RIP Patrick, you will always be a bad ass, throat ripping, dirty dancing ghost)

With two years of experience as a Freshman College RA I have to admit, there are some ABSURD roommate conflict stories.  Stories of sabotage, conniving bitchiness, and clothing exposed to cooked chicken Ramen Noodles.

To make matters worse, there comes a point when filling out college paperwork during orientation where a single box can be the difference between living in the Andy Dufresne “one bunk Hilton” or Cool Hand Luke’s ‘box,” figuratively speaking of course.

“Would you be interesting in rooming with an international student? Yes or No?”

I thought I was going to get Bruce Lee. What I got instead was anything but. (Names will be purposefully omitted to protect such persons against RantingEstaban.com fanclub rioting and vigilante violence.)

 

The guy was a douche-nozzle.  Not because he sprinted the 30 some odd feet to and from the bathroom to evacuate. Not because he would only eat fresh cranberries or the foulest smelling Cantonese chow mein from Evergreen Asian Restaurant.  Not because he would stand over your shoulder unannounced as you watched a movie laying down in bed, only recognizing his presence as his putrescent aura loomed into the line of stench.  The reason he was a douche-nozzle is simple this, his nozzle was douchey.

Not shockingly, Mr. Asia and I did not speak from the months of December through June. When I say “did not speak” it means not a “Good morning,” “Hello,” or any number of onomatopoeias.  However, we DID have one last communication between the two of us.  I would now like to share to you an unaltered e-mail which I received while sitting approximately 6 feet from it’s sender.

Dear Dave:
It is not my wish to raise fights, but an incident today prompted me to do at least a basic check.
In the afternoon, I was supposedly sleeping until I hear the rising volume of the TV, the tuning of your guitar, and your pleasant conversation with Andrej(?)-at a volume higher than normal speech. Now, I would not automatically alienate anyone just because of uncomfortable conducts, so I feel I shall ask you plainly on two questions: Was there really a tendency, a persistence for you to have the tv on loudly even when you are sleeping or not in the room(a habit for you to fell asleep better, for example?) and that what factors made you to disrespect me in such conducts? From what I could remember, few if any similar conducts were done by me to you.(ex. use of headphone was a measure I often take)

If those were just normal life features and you believe in so, please say so; if those were taken for a purpose to affect me, please also make the reasons clear. I am just proclaiming that, whether intentionally or unintentionally, I believe I had received enough aural annoyance so far, and I wish to know if there’s a specific reason (or reasons) for this. Thank You.

Andrew

Pretty good English for a two faced son of a jackel who has the nerve to call himself an “international student” after admitting he’s lived in the Minnesota for nearly 16 years.

I could have gone numerous ways after I received and read this e-mail.  Most of them would have been amicable and courteous or at the very least moralistic in reply.  However, every man has its breaking point, and this was mine. I was ready to throw my digital sucker punch.

This was my reply to Mr. Twatasia’s e-mail unaltered. None of the facts are true whatsoever. None of it I regret.

Dear Andrew:
I know we haven’t talked a lot over the year.  But I guess there are a few things you should know about me to understand some of the habits I have.

When I was a child, my parents use to fight all the time.  The screaming was utterly unbareable at times, it shook the house.  Sometimes I could hear them physically hitting each other.  As a child nobody wants to hear their parents fight, or admit that their family isn’t as perfect as they wish it to be.  The only way I could escape all of the mess was by turning up the TV in my room very loud, so that I was not able to hear the verbal assults my parents placed on each other.  If I keep the TV on all night and slept though the berating, I could imagine that I had the family that I always wanted.  One that was kind and considerate and loving.  I’m sorry but this is a pretty sensitive topic for me and it’s very hard to discuss in person.  But I feel that you needed to know this so that you would not be offended by my “aural annoyances” anymore.

My one way e-mail to hell.

Let’s clear up about my parents. They are loving, non-abusive, best of intension people that anyone could hope to ask for.  Yes their qualms about my alcoholism are unfounded and their quarks parallel other parental idiosyncrasies. But they’re good people!

My response was more to the intension of “Suck it Mr. Douchewanese!  Get away from your shitty anime long enough to learn how to actually talk to people and become a social adult which being at college encourages and provides a great platform for.”

Okay, lets wrap this up and get to his last words ever to me in any form digital or otherwise.

Dear Dave:
I got the idea. If that’s the case, I have nothing to argue against. Now I’m more respective of you, considering what you had endured and had overcome. It was my fault that I didn’t try to understand you more during the year, and I guess I’ll simply apply earplugs more when needed.  Thanks for letting me know about this and my best wishes to you and your family.

                                                                                     Andrew

Everyone is an assole.

(I don’t proofread and I’ll never apologize for typos or incoherent sentences or ideas. It’s a god damn blog)