How Being An Asshole Is Like Being Cupid

Posted by Phildo | Labels: , , , ,

Gather round children, it's time for a story; or, as I like to call it: story time. Unlike most of Uncle Phildo's stories though, this one is actually true. This is the story of how Uncle Phildo being a total asshole led to two people finding each other and eventually getting married. Because that's what Uncle Phildo does. He's an asshole. And then people get married. And he stays unhappy. Don't grow up, kids.

"And then Somali pirates took over the ark and held all the animals hostage until a UN peacekeeping force brutally murdered the pirates using bullets and ballistic knives."
Harken back, if you will, to February 4th, 2007. There was a crisp breeze meandering through the city streets and a football game was scheduled. Not just any football game though. That's right Timmy! The Super Bowl!

Pictures really do say more than words...
Uncle Phildo was at his favorite grown-up drink spot with one of his friends. They got there well before the game started to make sure they could grab a good spot and then they started drinking "no no juice" in vast quantities. So...oh look, your parents are here. Thank God this storytelling thing was annoying as hell.

So anyway my friend and I are at the bar, probably looking mildly homeless, downing pitcher after pitcher after pitcher after pitcher after pitcher of beer. Earlier in the evening, apparently right before we had arrived, some attractive representatives of the Miller Lite brand were there passing out Miller Lite branded memorabilia like hats, frisbees and those little things that you put under your eyes to reduce glare if you happen to be athletic and want to have that "Native American" look going for you. Sadly we missed most of the swag being doled out. In a state of drunken despair we asked the bartender if he was sure that the Miller Lite girls were gone and he said he was pretty sure they were. Not to be deterred, we ordered another pitcher of beer.

Shortly thereafter, two girls decked out head-to-toe in Miller Lite gear came over and asked if they could join us for a beer. Baffled, my friend and I agreed. Were these the mysterious Miller Lite promo girls? After several pitchers of beer had been consumed, we basically thought we were being hit on by these women:

Of course we missed this.
Later Facebook stalking combined with a bit of sobriety under our belts showed us it was maybe closer to this:

Copyright for this photo belongs to my ex-wife.
However, since we were feeling like we were on top of the world and being hit on some pretty gorgeous babes, we went with the flow. We didn't outright ask them if they worked for Miller; we felt like we didn't have to because hey, they gave us a frisbee! DUH they work for Miller AND are in love with us! After sharing a beer with us they said they had to go back to their group of friends but invited us to come and join them. Always one to play it cool, I probably said something like "Maybe after I go cut down a tree and build a fucking house and kill a bear." My friend and I looked at each other in disbelief. It was like something out of a movie...first and foremost, attractive women don't come to this bar. Second, women in general don't come to this bar. It's a dive bar at it's very finest. On its best day you really only see the hardened alcoholics of the area, so for us to be in this situation was the equivalent of walking onto your back porch and finding a magical hot tub waiting for you. 

We needed a strategy. Because we were drunk. Because clearly women love being lied to I proposed that we tell them we're actually employees of Budweiser (see what I did there?) and operate off the craaaaazy coincidence that they're Miller Lite girls and we're....Budweiser........Boys...........

My friend immediately vetoes this idea. It is the dumbest thing he's ever heard, he hates me, he takes my man card and rips it in half. He unleashes a volley of insults that leave me in the emotional equivalent of the fetal position. He says "Nah man, let's just be who we are, that's what's important." I steeled myself and we ambled over to their table, where they were seated with a small group of friends. They greeted us in that special "We're drunk and we saw you a minute ago!" kind of way and we returned a similar greeting. Before I can even open my mouth to say something awkward my friend plops down at the table and says:

"So you won't believe this...I actually work for Budweiser!"


Really? Are you fucking kidding me? You spent the better part of a glass of beer lambasting me for suggesting that we tell them that we are Budweiser employees and then you waltz over to their table and not only bogart my idea, but don't even include me in it? He has the whole table captivated as he makes up stories of how he travels with Budweiser doing promotional events and what not. Everything I try to say is completely passed over by the group. Defeated, I started ordering shots like a champ and entered what I like to call "Super Surly Pissed Off Mega Drunk Mode." The one "Miller Lite" girl that I had affections for was hanging on my friend's every word and I decided that the best course of action would be for me to be a total dick. Because everyone loves an asshole. 

While I'm a bit hazy on the specifics, something I said to one of the young ladies caused the table to go completely silent, and even garnered the attention of a nearby table of young men, one of whom decided to come over to the table and say something like "Hey asshole, why don't you take a hike?" As if I had been waiting for an excuse to go brood elsewhere in the bar, I took this as my cue and went to go drink alone while my friend and Mr. Stands-Up-For-Someone-When-Really-He-Should-Be-Standing-Up-For-Me-Because-My-Friend-Torpedoed-Me-And-Made-Me-Look-Like-An-Asshat (or Mr. SUFSWRHSBSUFMBMFTMAMMLLAA for short) stay and have a wonderful time in the company of the young ladies.

Years pass by, my friend and I often look back on this story and laugh at what a complete and total dick he was. Instead of saying rude things to people I just generally don't say anything to people anymore, which helps. Well lo and behold, I'm telling the story to a friend I work with (back when I had a job) and midway through, her eyes wide with disbelief, she asks "That was you?"

You see, it turns out the Miller Lite girl that had gotten offended at what a brutish asshole I was, she's a good friend of my work friend. And Remember Mr. SUFSWRHSBSUFMBMFTMAMMLLAA? Apparently Miller Lite girl was so moved by his chivalrous act of telling me that I was a d-bag that she gave him her phone number. And then they went on a date. And another date. And then they were dating. And probably having sex, too. And then they were engaged. And NOW THEY'RE MARRIED. 

This started out as a kid's story, so I suppose I should wrap this up with a little moral or something to take away from this...I guess the point is, if I'm an asshole to you, you'll probably find the love of your life because of it. And I'll just go on drinking alone


Dear Subway, It's Not Me, It's You (With Guest Illustrator! And Calcium!)

Posted by Phildo | Labels: , , , , ,

Dear Subway,

We've had some good times together, haven't we? Who could forget the time when we first met? I asked you for turkey, you smiled, laughed and asked "Toasted?" Blushing, I accepted your offer. I ignored the warning signs, that things were moving a little too fast. I mean...toasting? On our first date? I couldn't help myself, it just felt so right. You asked me "What else?" and oh, sweet sweet Subway, you showed me a bevy of bell peppers, spinach, lettuce, pickles, tomatoes and oh so much more. I thought This could be the one. I watched as you seductively squirted mayonaise and mustard onto the goopey, melty cheese that was the symbol of our love. You're a lady, Subway, and you didn't want to give it all up on our first didn't give me all the lettuce I wanted, but I understood.

Over the years, things started getting more serious. You knew that you had to keep things interesting or I'd get bored so you introduced things like new breads and those little breakfastey things that I never ate because you know I'm not a morning person. I knew I could count on you and you knew you could count on me.

But we've had our bad times, too. I know it's been years and you swear it meant nothing to you, but what you did with's hard to regain trust after something like that. Still, we tried. We went to couples therapy, we even took a break to see other people. I know it must've hurt to see me with Quizno's all those times...I know it must've hurt because when I came back there you were. With Jared. I'll never forget that night outside your apartment when I stood there in the rain watching you and Jared's silhouettes in the sweet embrace of sandwiching.

Against my better judgement, against everything in my head that told me Just walk away, Phildo. Walk away before it's too late and you're damaged forever...we decided to give it one last go.

To show me you were willing to make the effort, you said you'd only charge me $5 for a foot-long sandwich. You knew exactly what buttons to push to get me back. At the time it seemed too good to be true. I mean, five dollars? You didn't even do that for Jared. You moved in down the street; I mean we weren't really sure if we were ready to move in together after our break, and I'd come over most nights. Things were really turning around.

Then...with no explanation, you changed. No more five dollar foot long turkey sandwiches? I asked you why, you were cold and distant. You started trying to make me buy weird combinations of things like pepperoni and meatballs; the Subway I fell in love with and worked so hard to stay with for all these years just wasn't the same.

Today when I came over, though, you did something I never expected you to told me I could only have 16 pickles. What's worse, it wasn't even you who told me. You had your friend tell me. Shocked, I didn't know what to say. I asked if you were around but Pita told me you didn't want to talk about it. Sixteen pickles. All these years together and in the end it came down to sixteen miserable little pickles.

You really woke me up today Subway. Breaking up is never easy but this isn't exactly the first time we've done this dance, is it? I mean you can't even have the decency to tell me face-to-face that you don't want me to have your pickles anymore? I'd say this was a tough decision to make, but you kind of made it for me. I know the lease is up on your place soon so I'd appreciate it if you didn't renew it. I think it'll be best if we just never see each other again. I'll always have fond memories of our time together; the early days that is. Meanwhile, go to hell you miserable bitch.

With regret,

P.S. - I debated as to whether or not to tell you something so...intimate...but I'm going to do it because I want you to hurt like I do. Quizno's? Oh yeah, Quizno's and me are getting back together. Because she has a full pickle bar. All. You. Can. Eat.

This post was guest illustrated by The 21st Century Mrs. Be sure and click her name to check out her hilarious musings and secret dance parties. 


I'm Old Greg!!! (Video)

Posted by Phildo | Labels: , , , ,

In case you've never seen The Mighty Boosh and/or the episode about Old ya go. This is what I'm basing my week off of. I'm going to try as hard as I can to embody the spirit and soul of Old Greg. Now where's my tutu?