Posts Tagged ‘whiskey’

GULPU.com Wins!

September 1, 2012

The day has finally arrived. Review evolution is upon us ladies and gentlemen. GULPU.com went live to you, the general drunken public yesterday at 1pm. I would like to thank you all for the patience you have shown in the face of great anticipation for GULPU’s release. There have been some bumps along the road which I can only speak about vaguely as my lawyers have advised me to be less open about my legal affairs.

The latest and perhaps the most laughable was this past week when “someone” hacked into my twitter account. I think we all know who this someone was. It was a bush league attempt at sabotaging my social media outlets in a last ditch attempt to ensure that GULPU.com never went live. After kidnappings, full body cavity searches, unjust arrests and torture, this amateurish stunt did little more than make me change a bunch of passwords which I do every five days anyways.

I would like to thank my web designer, who after having many attempts on his life since being hired at GuerillaDeSwine Productions has requested to remain anonymous, for being a real trooper despite the loss of one or more limbs. It has been a team effort and the reward will be reading all the wonderful reviews that you, the general drunken public have surely been drafting since the first time you found out about the site that puts the power back into the hands of hard working people everywhere.

No longer will we sit idly by while people treat us like servants just because our industry is in pleasing paying customers. Unfortunately, as soon as you empower the consumer the right to dictate every aspect of business service becomes tricky. Now with the internet and a certain four letter site that shall not legally be named people have opened fire on the customer service industry and the hard working people who work within it. GULPU.com is our opportunity to fire back.

It’s simple. You sign up at http://www.gulpu.com/ with an anonymous username and your email and then have a chance to browse one of the many, highly entertaining reviews that people like you have already posted and even comment on the ones you really like. Or you can simply click the Start A New Review button and write your way into review evolution. The release you will feel will be like losing your virginity every time you submit a new review.

It is important to remember that we here at GULPU.com highly encourage that you remain ANONYMOUS. With all the heat we have already felt just for developing GULPU GuerillaDeSwine Productions will not be held responsible if something unsavory or illegal happens to you because you use your real name or say where you work.

We also encourage GULPU.com members to share both good and bad experiences that they have had when working in the customer service industry. There will be a rating system of shot glasses so you will be able to score each individual review. For example if while bartending a beautiful blonde sat at your bar all night drinking whiskey and then tips you with a fifty, a blowjob, and an invitation to a future threesome with her and her twin sister then you should probably award her five shot glasses.

However, if some giant twat who tried to bang his busted girlfriend in the ladies room wants to fight you because you tell him he has a nice purse bro then you would most likely rate this negative experience with just one shot glass. The reviews that have been posted by members so far are so entertaining that I was late to two different legal hearings because I couldn’t stop reading what members of the GULPU.com community had written so far.

GULPU.com isn’t just for restaurant or bar employees; it is for anyone who provides service that is paid for by a customer.  Whether you are in retail, work in a call center, are a sales rep or any customer related business GULPU.com is interested in sharing your experiences with others who go through similar encounters with people even if they work in a different industry. In fact my favorite GULPU review so far was written by a local stripper who complained that when giving a lap dance a customer insisted she call him Tim Tebow as she did. That’s what GULPU.com is all about, giving hard working people the right to talk about the honest work they do.

The first twenty reviewers will be GULPU.com VIP members who will receive limited edition shirts this Monday, September 3rd at the GULPU Website Release Party. The party is at 3725 Jefferson St. in Carlsbad, CA. and begins at 3pm. The VIP shirts, designed by Underground Artist of the Year Joe Anderson, will only be available this one time so hurry up and sign up so you can write a review. There will be regular GULPU.com shirts as well as books for sale at the party so bring your wallet and five friends who want to support local literature. Food and live music by DJ SAVEE and the Paragraphs is also on the agenda so don’t be late this Labor Day.

GULPU.com has been a long time in the works and everyone here at GuerillaDeSwine Productions is very proud to be part of such a noble endeavor. Keep those reviews coming and let your soul go free as you unburden your mind from years of working hard to please customers. It’s time to have your voice heard by people who are just like you. It’s time we told websites like the four letter one that legally shall not be named that we will not be treated like animals. It’s time for all of us to experience review evolution at http://www.gulpu.com/

BUY MY BOOK LOVE LIFE BY CLICKING ON THE LOVE LIFE LINK UP AND TO THE RIGHT FROM HERE!

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The Bad Bartender Chronicles IV

August 4, 2012

There is a disturbing new breed of so-called bartenders that was first discovered in North Park and parts of Los Angeles but now seem to be plaguing once respectable bars everywhere. They call themselves mixologists because they claim to make a superior cocktail that requires mixing a bunch of random shit together to make fifteen dollar drinks that take forty five minutes to serve. Some would call these mixologists skilled craftsmen while others might refer to them as flaming douchebags. I would fall in line with the latter as a bartender who doesn’t have such a vast knowledge of the four hundred different uses of the juniper berry.

I like to call these masters of the mojito Cosmetic Bartenders because they always look good but when you peer beyond their physical makeup you will find a gross lack of efficiency. Cosmetic Bartenders dress in tuxedo gear without the jackets. Rolled sleeves expose any barbed wire tattoos they might have gotten when they were nineteen. Their hair and adjustable mustaches will be overly greased with ozone depleting hair gel.

What’s strange is that dive bars seem to be a large part of the Cosmetic Bartender plague. The only place for a tuxedo behind a bar is a wedding or four star dining. There is something extremely wrong if you are wearing a tuxedo as you work behind a bar that still reeks of whatever liquor was spilled the night before. That’s like having a restroom attendant hand out mints in a bathroom covered in vomit.

At the end of the day as long as I get my drink poured strong and in a timely fashion I don’t give a shit what the person serving it is wearing. Unfortunately, most of the stuff these Cosmetic Bartenders specialize in takes twenty minutes to prepare. This is for two reasons. The first is there are many ingredients that all seem to require a special process. All their recipes require stuff that needs to be muddled or needs flavor strands extracted from them. They also shave their own ice which is a complete waste of time if you work somewhere lucky enough to have an ice scoop and an ice machine.

The second reason it takes so long to get a drink from a Cosmetic Bartender is because they do not possess any sense of urgency behind the bar. They are too busy concocting new ways to make whiskey not taste like whiskey to hustle like most hard working bartenders. To a Cosmetic Bartender looking good and making a colorful drink takes precedent over providing speedy and efficient customer service.

I once overheard a Cosmetic Bartender brag about how he could make a mojito in just twelve minutes. That’s right, one drink takes twelve minutes and they consider that fast. I can make twenty four drinks in twelve minutes and my well crafted mai tai will take fifteen seconds and taste just as refreshing as any drink that requires the blood of a virgin to make. I like serving lots of people quickly and competently rather than wasting my time trying to re-invent the art of pouring liquor.

Perhaps the only people who hate Cosmetic Bartenders more than me are their bar backs. Imagine that every drink made at a busy bar requires a shaker, spoons, knives, muddlers, three types of glasses, a blender and a jigger. Guess who gets to clean all that? It’s the bar backs. So while these well dressed monkeys mix their twenty minute drinks as casually as one would walk along the beach, their poor bar backs are trying to keep a bar stocked where employees use more glasses than customers do.

Bar owners deserve some of the blame of this return to those glorious days of speakeasies and gentlemen bartenders. If you encourage your bartenders to take as much time as possible to mix a twelve dollar drink then you deserve to go out of business. Any good bar operates on the idea that the more drinks you sell the more money you make. When it takes a combined half hour to get two measly drinks then people begin to grow bored with the fancy appeal that these specialty concoctions offer.

There is a large customer demand amongst females for Cosmetic Bartenders which is another influencing factor in this annoying phenomenon.  I believe this is a cry for attention by the fairer sex. Where else is a man going to spend twenty minutes catering to a woman’s every desire by crafting something specifically for them while all they have to do is sit and watch?

Anyone willing to wait the twenty minutes it takes to make an allegedly perfect cocktail absolutely has my support as long as you realize that Cosmetic Bartending doesn’t exist at every bar in the country. What that means is don’t walk into an English pub and order a single plum floating in perfume served in a man’s hat and not expect to be met with laughter and possible ridicule.

BUY MY BOOK LOVE LIFE BY CLICKING ON THE LOVE LIFE LINK UP AND TO THE RIGHT FROM HERE!

The Bad Bartender Chronicles III

May 12, 2012

With modern technology cell phones have come a long way. Devices that used to be dedicated to just phone conversations have evolved into mini computers that allow people to avoid human contact with other people for weeks at a time. These hi-tech phones also allow people to ignore each other in a blatant manner under the guise of being busy on one’s phone. This has especially become rampant in the bar business where it seems bartenders feel like they need to constantly have their cell phone within arm’s reach.

I understand there are special circumstances. People have kids and sick loved ones and gambling problems and in the event of an emergency may need to leave the bar to take a call. However, nowadays people normally want their phone around in case they think of something witty to post on twitter or want to leave a comment on facebook every time they think of a new way to pour a cactus cooler or because they are engrossed in a new app they just downloaded that tells them what kind of panties a girl is wearing as she walks by.

There is nothing more frustrating than walking into a bar with a strong thirst for a pint and upon sitting down seeing a bartender with his back to the bar. Upon further inspection, you see that he is standing in front of the register and briefly you forgive him for breaking this golden rule of bartending. After almost a minute it becomes evident that there is no transaction being processed through the register. You peer down the bar and see that there are five people waiting all with empty glasses. The music is loud but even over it you can hear the bartender give out a chuckle. You move down a few stools for a better view and see that the bartender is too busy on his phone texting to even know that you want a drink. If you ever witness this leave whatever establishment you are at immediately.

The internet in the palm of one’s hand can be very distracting. Some people feel as if armed with this power of information they are able to answer any question or issue thrown their way. Bars have long been a place of great debate. The key to winning most debates are facts and what used to be found in dictionaries, sports almanacs and classic issues of playboy can now be found in modern day cell phones.

Of course there is always the guy who believes his fancy phone can find any piece of information no matter how obscure or asinine the fact faster than anyone else, anywhere. He wears his phone on his hip ready for any software duel. As always there is a regular game for the challenge. They draw their phones and race to find out what 1980’s movie featured the Paul Simon song that just finished playing on the jukebox.  I watch from my side of the bar as the bartender leans both elbows on the bar top as he furiously types his way through countless pages of 1980’s movie trivia. Once my glass of whiskey goes without for five minutes or more my patience wears out and I leave, never return to such a place.

A cell phone’s original purpose, once again, was to be a mobile device people could have phone conversations on. Even that most simple function of a cell phone shouldn’t be used when one is working behind the bar. Only two results can come from this, either people are going to be rudely ignored or receive shitty and absent-minded service.

For example take the girl who will continue to serve people while chatting away on the phone. You’ve seen her before. She prances around the bar mis-pouring drinks because she is only half listening to orders while the other half of her half a brain is listening to whoever is on the other side of her cell phone. It’s even worse when after fucking up she apologizes, covers the mouthpiece of the phone and mouths the words “my boss” to you. For some reason she thinks this makes it okay. If this statement is actually true then it makes me wonder why the fuck am I spending money at a bar owned by someone dumb enough to condone such behavior in their business.

The other girl will just stare at you while she talks on her phone. It is apparent whatever conversation she is holding is far more important than getting me drunk, making herself and the bar money or most simply doing her fucking job. Whether she is laughing or feigning sadness to whoever is rambling in her ear, her lack of common sense is never lost on me. Then, when I try to engage her in a last ditch effort to get my drink on, she sticks a bony smoke stained finger with a hot pink painted nail in my face signaling for me to hold on. You are supposed to put phones on hold, not people. As soon as that finger finds its way somewhere near my face I fight the urge to snap it and simply just leave.

To all the bartenders out there who are going to read this and say, “Hey bro, what’s the big deal?” I say you are in a business where making a lot of money is directly related to the happiness of the people you are serving. Talking to your boss because he or she believes they are more important than their customers means the bar they own won’t be in business much longer. Texting your friend that you can’t wait to get off work so you can get drunk is not going to put money in your tip bucket. Twittering every five minutes to keep your four followers informed on exactly what you are doing at all times is only going to leave you with an empty bar. Most importantly, to all be warned that the next time I see a bartender using their cell phone behind the bar I am going to snatch it and stuff it in a very dark place. I encourage you, the general drunken public, to do the same.

 

 

Great Balls of Ranch

May 5, 2012

I am going to create a shot that consists of Fireball whiskey and ranch dressing. I’m thinking about naming it the Great Balls of Ranch shot but am open to name suggestions. I know this recipe of salad dressing and cinnamon flavored whiskey sounds nasty, but believe me that it is exactly what the general drunken public wants. I know this due to the fact that every time I am waiting tables everyone is always asking for ranch even if their meal doesn’t traditionally call for it. Coincidentally whenever I am behind the bar and the topic of shots are brought up everyone immediately brings up Fireball.

I moved to Southern California several years ago and it didn’t take me long to realize that people out here will put ranch dressing on just about anything. Back east ranch was mostly just reserved for salads, but out here ranch seems to be a more popular condiment than ketchup. It seems like no matter what I serve there is always a constant need for ranch to accompany every dish.

At times I wonder if most people like the taste of ranch more than the food they are eating it with. When you douse something in ranch it is nearly impossible to taste anything other than the dressing itself. That then begs the question if people prefer ranch over the food they are dipping in it why don’t we cut out the middle man? Let’s start serving ranch in a bowl with small sides of food. You can toss the food in the bowl of ranch and then get your dressing fix by the spoonful.

Anyone who works at a restaurant knows how awkward it can be if you forget someone’s side of ranch when you drop off their food.  It will be the first thing they look for. When they discover it isn’t there the rest of the table will go quiet. They will try not to make eye contact with the person or with you. The person who was expecting the ranch will address you with a very serious tone of voice as they ask if they could get the ranch they ordered. They then will stare at you with an unwavering look that makes you feel like their life may depend on your answer. It’s as if the very thought that maybe there is no side of ranch because there is no ranch is enough to drive someone to the brink of a serious mental breakdown. Once you return with their side of ranch cooler heads always prevail and then everyone else at the table decides that they would like some ranch as well.

Fireball is a Cinnamon flavored whiskey that was created by our evil neighbors to the North, the Canadians. If that alone doesn’t make it lame then just repeat the words cinnamon flavored whiskey. Whiskey is not meant to be flavored. It is supposed to taste like whiskey. That’s why they call it that. People who drink whiskey do so because they like its natural flavor. If you want to add different flavors to something then grab a bottle of vodka.

I get that you don’t want to drink whiskey. That is a personal choice that has no affect on me. However, the second you start to try to justify to me that Fireball is real whiskey you begin to invade my personal space by insulting my intelligence. Nothing you can say will make it alright to drink Fireball so let’s stop there. If you order a shot of Fireball you might as well be shooting a blonde headed slut or a white gummy bear or a pussy fart or a Washington apple or some other mixed shot meant to taste like anything but alcohol.

This is why I have come up with The Great Balls of Ranch Shot (name subject to change) to please the portion of the general drunken public that would rather bathe themselves in ranch than normal bath water and who believe that whiskey isn’t good enough on it’s own. I am combining the two seemingly most popular items at bars and restaurants and plan on selling them for ten bucks a shot. I will make a killing. No one can resist the mixture of  the two things most people prefer to put in theirs mouths. So order another round of Great Balls of Ranch and be on the lookout for, “The Ranchsickle” (patent pending), the next best thing in dessert that will be out just in time for summer.

Tony D., East Vista, CA. GULPU

April 28, 2012

A husband and wife walk into the bar. He is a fifty year old wearing a Hawaiian shirt half buttoned and she is homely and half his age. She is pushing a stroller with their child inside it. Most bars aren’t kid friendly, but since our establishment is both a restaurant and a pub we encourage families to be comfortable there. In fact a lot of our regulars bring in their sweet, well-mannered and well-behaved children all the time and not only do we as employees embrace them but other customers do as well.

This is why when this man strolled up with his kid and his darts no one really thought much of it. He approaches the bar. After waiting less than a minute he grows impatient and begins waving his cash in the air. I walk over to him.

“Jack and Coke. And whatever she wants,” he says.

He points over his shoulder at the woman he walked in with who is frantically trying to find a safer place than a crowded dart room in a busy pub for her to store her child. As she does she dodges darts until she finally finds a safe corner for her kid and her to sit. She begins to order, but does so in what sounded like German. She spoke as if she expected me to understand her. I stopped her finally and began to respond in English. She held up her finger and waved it in my face before turning and calling for the man in the Hawaiian shirt. He was playing darts so it took a minute to get his attention. She waved him over. He leaned on the bar, annoyed.

“I said a Jack and Coke.”

“Right, what is she having?” I asked pointing at his wife.

He nodded.

“Vodka Tonic. Make it the cheap stuff.”

I made their drinks and by the time I returned he was back to playing darts. I placed the drinks in front of the foreigner and told her it was nine dollars. She stared blankly at me. I motioned money with my fingers and she finally got it pulling out a twenty. I gave her some change which she pocketed.

Then the crying began. It started out quietly and brief, but slowly transformed into the sound of a constant scream. It was the kid. I scanned the bar and received annoyed looks from my happy hour regulars. The screaming stopped but continued to ring in my ears for several seconds longer. The guy returns with an empty glass.

“I don’t think there was any whiskey in that drink so make this one a double,” he says as he waves his money in my face.

I pull out a glass and a shot glass. I measure the drink to exactly two ounces and top it off with coke. He pays without tipping.

“Do you guys have any snacks? She’s hungry,” he says as he nods to his mail order bride.

I slide him a menu. He slides it back.

“No, no, I meant like peanuts or crackers or something.”

“No we do not, sir.”

“What kind of restaurant is this?”

He goes back to playing darts. I serve some other people when out of the corner of my eye I see him standing halfway in the doorway to the kitchen. I rush over and find him harassing the kitchen staff for soup crackers which unfortunately they give to him. I inform the man he is not to be bothering the kitchen and he walks away without acknowledging me.

I return to the bar and see that his wife is dousing the soup crackers in Tabasco sauce and shoving them down her throat. The screaming begins again shortly after that. The mother tries to console the child but to no avail. The father keeps playing darts not even looking over at her or the child. He returns to the bar and orders another double. I inform him that it would be appreciated if he could get the kid to stop screaming. He shrugs me off and returns to the dart board again without leaving a tip.

The screaming stops and everyone sitting at the bar and those sitting in the section of tables to the left of the dartboard release a collective sigh of relief to be free from the piercing sound of an angry child. He orders another double without tipping. Five minutes later the screaming starts right back up. The mother has since given up and stares blankly off into space while the father never acknowledges either one of them.

This happened every Friday for a month straight. It was to the point that customers were complaining about the noise. Both parents had been warned every week, but finally it became too much to bare. I was forced to walk out from behind the bar, pull the man to the side and inform him that his five year old child was 86ed from the establishment. He looked shocked. He glanced over at his screaming child briefly before turning back to me.

“If they wait out front can I stay?”

After fighting off the urge to call Child Protective Services I sent the whole fucked up family packing and thankfully have not seen them since.

Televised Demise

February 4, 2012

Poets sit like sickness

bleeding my pen

watching my lines

shadows cast between

hate-filled eyes

believing spoken-wise rhyme

could ever outwit my mind

cuz whiskey always

did intrigue this scribe

who loves

dark and empty bars

that allow chain-smokers

to drink all night.

A frightening sight

when held beneath the light

a belly bereft by bourbon

a brain beleaguered

by any hallucinogenic available

forever searching for

an endless high

to brighten up these

star-less skies

left black and empty

by countless lies

that’ll haunt my writing

till every pen

runs dry

a sign to anyone

who reads that all

creative thought has died.

And on that day

I’ll be in me pub

buried in the corner

spitting literature’s eulogy

pausing only for

muffled shots and

occasional cries.


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