To Jose, With Love

....because tequila can be combined with more than just juice and mixers.

Some Arbitrary Hate

The Empire submits that Baltimore Ravens quarterback, Kyle Boller, sucks at life. The Empire officially hates him. Reasons may follow, or may not...

My Euphemism Hurts or: Yahoo for Women

Americans have given so much to the world; the car, the semi-automatic pistol, Scooby-Do, and now we're giving out democracy like free samples of deodorant at a gay pride parade. But one of the most enduring contributions of American culture is the renaming of Wednesday. Of course I'm referring to the ever pleasant Humpday. Yes, we as a nation are parent to some of the brightest ideas in technology and art, and we also named a day in our week after an undesirable physical deformity. Cheers! But in honor of humpday, The Empire has decided to honor the owners of the hump; women. (Please direct your prickly liberal cranky anti-fun feminist darts at the comments section and not at my head as you see me passing on the street.)

Here's a salute to some special women:

1. Natalie Portman - Not too much to say about Natalie, she's just great. Super. Marvelous. Awesome. Rad. Excellent. Sweet! Rockin'. Well, you get it. No one hates Natalie because there's not much to dislike at all. Let's put up a toast to one big class act. Plus she's really really really irresistibly cute! Yes, The Empire has a heart... and other organs as well.
2. Faith Hill - In case anyone forgot, Faith Hill is still really really really annoying. And her husband produces music that is so racially insensitive it would make David Duke blush. The Empire is anxiously waiting for Faith Hill's career to graduate to Bar Mitzvahs and Tuesday night specials at the Cincinnati Ho Jo Sing Song Bar.
3. Raquel Welch - Three words; timeless, timeless, timeless. Industrial grade construction should last this long and with such style. Taking notes, Cher!?!?
4. Paris Hilton - When oh when will Paris Hilton just go away forever? Does the world really have to end to prove a point? The Empire submits that she is the catalyst of pure evil in the universe and the sooner she is destroyed the sooner we can start really worrying about pesky things like global warming and getting to the moon... again!
5. Angie Harmon - This is one special lady. Two huge points for her. One for being knock down stunning and another for not turning into any kind of famous athlete's wife cliche. The Empire wants to know what it can do about getting this woman her own network or at the very least a nationally recognized holiday. Plus, didn't she just kick all kinds of ass on Law & Order?
6. Hillary Clinton - Even though she's a senator now, she still reminds us of Uncle Joe Stalin. Let's think about that in 2008. Just sayin'.
7. Mona Lisa - Thanks should be to Mona, who reminds us that quality film work like "Buttsizer 2: The King of Rears," "Breast Wishes 5," "The Joy Dick Club," and "The Four Finger Club 21" truly does improve with age. Happy 35th Mona.

See you next humpday, kids.

The Man Who Would Be Bond or: Holy Crap This Will Suck

THIS MAN SHOULD NOT BE BOND! If there is any justice and/or style left in the world, Daniel Craig will never be 007. The Empire begs you all to pray for the soul of the longest running (and coolest) film franchise in history. He has two first names. He's got an addict's eyes. And he was Tomb Raider for crying out loud! That alone should constitute immediate disqualification. 'Nuf said.

A Salute To Moisture or: How Katrina and Her Sweat Ruined My Shirt

For those of you who have central air conditioning in your home, an enclosed garage, and indoor parking where you work; The Empire says, "Piss On You!" We in the real world walked to work this cheerful Tuesday morning.
Sure hot weather is great. No, it's lovely, splendid, and magnificent. If the maker really loved us the entire planet would be 86 degree beachfront property. Clearly, he does not love us that much... In the northeast today we have water. Water in the air, water on our backs, and water whisking around in our pants because even if you walk ten feet from your house to work, you're sweating through your shirt and swimming down the street. And who doesn't love 100% humidity? You can't get a tan, it's too wet to play sports, animals are grouchy, and an entire region of the country feels like the floor of a New York City taxi. It's in this spirit that we have our salute to moisture.

> Knock Knock! It's the apocalypse. The Federal Emergency management Agency has officially stated that hurricane Katrina was catastrophic, giving confidence and I-told-you-so pride to hundreds of soulless newscasters who felt a bit sheepish last hurricane season after whipping the entire Gulf Coast into a state of panic for what amounted to be just another annoying hurricane season. Congratulations are in order for the news media; for once in a long while your daily practice of inciting public paranoia has paid off. We'll be sure to stop our lives and listen the next time a Fox News Alert comes swooping in to tell us that "something" might be developing... maybe. The Empire wishes you the best of sweat today.

> Knock Knock! It's the apocalypse (Mark Bellhorn.) That's right. Unsatisfied with the miniscule portion of Terry Francona's chewn table scraps they got in Alan Embree, the Yankees have decided to pick up double-chinned, greasy-haired sensation Mark Bellhorn, who was well on his way to earning Major League Baseball's highest single season strike-out record before he was sidelined with an injury last month. The Empire salutes the Yankee organization for once again proving that money really does grow on trees. And in the spirit of saluting sweat, who better than a man who sweats whenever he pees into a plastic cup. Well, he seems to be sweaty all the time. But The Empire will assume that most of it is leftovers that he forgot to shower off. Forgot being a negotiable term.
What the hell do the Yankees need Mark Bellhorn for? Was Jason Giambi's steroid scandal not enough drug related excitement? Do they really need the king of Mt. Stonedmore? The Empire can only assume that the Yankees are looking forward to trading talented rookie Robinson Cano for another just-finishing-his-prime pitcher who will make headlines by going to NY and subsequently hurting himself. Bellhorn will fill the hole in the infield (at second base) and then create an even bigger hole in the ninth slot of the line-up. Go Yankees! And Go Money!

> Knock Knock! It's Oil, and it's pissed off. More gifts from hurricane Katrina. With the majority of US oil production halted Americans can expect more anal raping of their wallets at the pump this month. Again, The Empire would have something funny to say about this, but each stroke of key keeps the computer on longer, which uses more power, which costs The Empire money it could be spending on good SCOTCH!

> Thud! Actor Martin Sheen joined anti-war protesters camped around George "I love peanut brittle" Bush's Texas ranch last week to voice his opposition to the ongoing battle in Iraq. The Empire files this news under, Breaking Duh! Martin Sheen should focus his attention on keeping his career in order as he will clearly be supporting his two sons Charlie and Emilio Estevez for the rest of his natural life. Let's keep our eyes on the ball Marty, Apocalypse Nows and West Wings don't just fall out of the sky every day.

> Finally, The Empire would like to remind everyone that two things are vital in our modern world: deodorant and respect of personal space in elevators.

Coors Lite for Life or: Why No One Needs a "Case" of the Mondays?

And a bright and happy Monday morning to you. I say to hell with the Monday morning blues, it's those Friday morning "oh dear lord the week's not finished but I have a hangover" blues that really get to you. By comparison to the splitting headache and the loathsome guilt of embarrassing yourself in front of your co-workers at "Tequila Jimmy's" 2-for-1-shot Thursday Happy Hour, Monday just isn't so bad. So in the spirit of Monday, here is some great news that August 29th 2005 brings to our life.

> Football is here. With NFL Preseason Week 3 coming to a close with tonight's Monday Night Game on ABC (starring the painfully idiotic John Madden,) we can all get excited at the prospect of remembering what buffalo wings, cheese balls, and Coors Lite taste like. No autumn is complete without the sprint to pack on the modicum of weight you've lost in the scorching excitement of the summer. For that matter, solid lard should become the official halftime snack of the NFL. We all learned last week, with the tragic passing of 23 year old 49ers rookie Thomas Herrion, that it's bad for your health to be hefty and running around on a field all day, with full gear on, in Californian heat, and bashing into other huge guys. But as long as you're hefty and sitting in a comfortable chair, in a home with central air, with celery on the side, a can of lite beer in your hand, and fully stocked cabinet of Levitra in your bathroom you're OK!
But seriously. I love football like I love my mother; more for a couple of months a year than others. And The Empire believes that if anything can be learned from the unfortunate loss of a young man like Thomas Herrion, it is that death is fickle and even those in our society that make their living with their bodies and depend on being "in shape" are susceptible bugs that we never see coming. So, while we're all enjoying our football junk food, and The Empire 100% endorses such behavior, let's remember to balance it out with a salad and a soda water for lunch on Monday. That's the best (and most) diet advice The Empire will ever give; balance.

> Monday the 29th brings us the news that North Korea is still a pain in the ass. But if nothing else it does give us some perspective. What can we say about a country whose people are starving but needs to be in a "talk" with five other countries to discuss the future of its nuclear program? Sure the United States looks like crap from time to time, but at least we waste money on things like glitterly billboards, SUVs, and Paris Hilton before we think about diverting money to the development of weapons rather than feeding the hungry. The Empire suggests that we, as a nation, just level with North Korea. Let's all concede that the only people really interested in using nuclear weapons are the Indians and Pakistanis. And they're such silly kids anyway.
So who needs 'em, the nukes that is? Let's all invest in building cheaper more exciting sports cars. There's something that will stimulate international cooperation! We'll need longer, flatter roads. Everyone will need to take courses in power sliding. Not to mention the fast demand for inept mechanics. And do not forget higher demands for petrol. More oil production makes everyone happy, especially the Saudis. And isn't that what really counts?

> Monday the 29th also teaches us that America still loves reality television. And The Empire would have something snarky to say about that, BUT IT MAKES ME TOO ANGRY TO TYPE!

> And happy 47th birthday to Michael Jackson! Michael, you get away with felonies even faster and with less enthusiasm than O.J. Simpson and for that The Empire salutes you. Thank you for reminding us that the rich truly can beat the system. All the best on your special day.

> The Empire would like to remind all the faithful out there that life is hard. So appreciate the ones you love. Because they'll laugh if you lose control of your bladder at an inopportune moment but still love you.

Happy Monday Everyone!

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To Rise Above or: Why I'm okay with being a snob

Conventional wisdom and popular science tell us that the difference between a man and an animal is something like abstract thought, perception, self awareness, or the ability to communicate. I whole heartedly disagree. The difference is far more simple. A man behaves like a man should, an animal doesn't know how to behave so he is no better than his worst impulse.

Picture this. A somewhat timid city street, say in Boston's South End. Cars drive by intermittently, stopping for pedestrians in the crosswalk. A bus rattles by. A few restaurants are ramping up for the night as a diner closes for the day. And down the street walks a young man, 15 years old give or take a growth spurt, let's call him an urban youth. He holds in his hand a sub/grinder/hero/hoagie/a damned sandwich for crying out loud. As he passes a quiet, tree-lined street he flicks, from the sandwich, pickle slices. Like chunks of a poorly constructed space transportation vehicle which shall remain nameless, these pickle slices wizz and splat on the pavement. So gripped by the prospect of banishing all the evil pickles from his delicate supper, the youth loses grip of the sandwich bag and a handful of napkins. And guess what? He just lets them fly. Off to sit on the street corner like a huge pile of pigeon crap. In twenty feet this boy has created more litter than a five-dollar Las Vegas hooker on free condom day at the planned parenthood clinic. This, I submit, is an animal.

I'll save you the delicate metaphors and get right to it. I live on this block. He doesn't. I don't litter. He CLEARLY does. And I'll bet my big toe that he litters everywhere. I'll bet he litters on his own block. His home is probably awash with dirty clothes, used papers, opened boxes, and straight up garbage. Having not possessed the presence of mind to ask the deli counter to abstain from applying pickles to his sandwich, this kid thought it completely appropriate to calmly discard his mess on the street I walk down every morning on my way to work. This is not the behavior of a man!

Once prehistoric apes began to walk upright they started putting their waste in appropriate places. First and foremost they stopped hurling their own dung like the monkeys and they found a place where garbage belonged. We in the civilized world do the same thing, but we don't just stop at the crap. We have other specifically designed recepticals for waste disposal. We call these places garbage bins, trash cans, and waste baskets. A pig does not care if its covered in mud eating out of a moldy dumpster, a man does. A man shows himself respect. And duly, he is shown respect by others. I cannot express in words how tragic I find people who demand respect but clearly have no concept of how to earn it.

My mother calls it "breeding" and "refinement." I call it the difference between a man and a dog. And I mean dog in the way that Danny Trejo says it in "From Dusk Til Dawn." Real dogs I love. I can't live without them. That's why they're called man's best friend. A dog, or as they are so commonly referred to in street slang - a DAWG, is filth. And YES, I realize that this is an extremely snobbish thing to say. But I don't care. I think I've earned the right to judge.

I regret that I did not say anything to the pickle flinger. Perhaps it was my self preservation instincts that avoid pointless confrontation. I called it pointless because nothing I say in a heated street exchange is going to change what this boy has clearly learned is acceptable behavior. Or perhaps I didn't see the point of correcting him with words. I think it's a mixture of the two. Society has always seen that the best way to enact change is to lead by example. So, that's what I'll do. Continue not being an animal and clean up after myself. And maybe, if I'm feeling gutsy, throw even more dirty looks at the animals as they pass. Sure I'm a snob. But I'm a snob with a big television and a love of fine cheese.

to be continued...

welcome, and thank you for not ridiculing me (yet)

and so it begins