Thursday Homestretch

Looks like Tech weakness offset by Financial strength today, with banks the biggest winner last time I checked.  But only thing that matters is that Facebook was down $4… The day after my boss liquidated his whole position.  Everything else seems superfluous.

Today should be one of the most important dates for the Canadian marijuana industry ever.  The Canadian House of Commons has already passed bill C-45, to legalize the use and purchase of recreational marijuana by adults in Canada. Later today, the Canadian Senate is scheduled to vote on it.  We probably wont hear results until 4:20, or so.  Weed stocks are all strong today, as people think results of this vote are already baked in… That’s all I have for pot puns.

Less than a week in, but seems like the booze intake is ramping up a bit since I took this gig… Outside of the David Lee Roth signed bottle of Jack Daniels I keep under my bed, I was out Monday night, last night, and was invited out to Two Toms tonight in Brooklyn with a large handful of assholes that I am fond of.

I unfortunately can’t go, because the bride is out of town.  I gotta get some kids to bed then lock myself in the basement and treat my body like a fucking amusement park.

If you are not familiar with Two Toms, but you like eating oversized pork chops in a paneled wall/vinyl flooring/folding chair atmosphere, then maybe you should give it a shot.  More than its fair share of garlic though, so you’ll smell like Paul Sorvino’s taint on the car ride home.

Last night I went to Hunt & Fish Club with Rob O’Neill, my buddy Chris, and a couple of other couples.  They went to a show afterwards, and I went to Port Authority to sleep off my buzz before driving home.  I mentioned Rob yesterday, tweeted a pic of us this morning, and I’m typing about him now… If that’s a little too much for you, then go fuck yourself.

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Son, we live in a world that has walls, and those have to be guarded by men with guns.  Who’s gonna do it, you?  You Lieutenant Weinberg?  Rob had a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom.  You weep for Bin Laden, and you curse overweight bloggers.  You have that luxury, you have the luxury of not knowing what I know, that Bin Laden’s death while tragic, probably saved lives.  And my existence while physically grotesque and morally incomprehensible, to you, saves lives.  You don’t want the truth because deep down in places you talk about parties; you want Rob on that wall, and you need me on this blog.  We use words like honor, code, loyalty, obesity, alcoholism.  We use these words as the backbone of a life spent defending something.  You use them as a punch line.  I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very freedom that Rob provides, and then questions the manner in which he provided it.  I’d rather you just say ‘thank you’ and go on your way.  Otherwise I suggest you pick up a keyboard, and write your own pointless blog.  Either way, I don’t give a damn, what you think you are entitled to.

Anyway, in the middle of dinner the owner came by to say hello to Rob, then he in turn went to introduce me to the owner.  I didn’t realize he was an owner, so I drunkenly handed him an empty martini glass and told him “Belvedere, up, dry, with olives”, and then turned my back to him while the rest of the table gasped.  And instead of telling me to go fuck myself, he went to the bar and got my drink, so no harm no foul, I guess.

Great meal, by the way… Surprised I never been before.  Part owned by Scaramucci, and you can tell by all the marble.  I wouldn’t go there without an expense account, but I would go again in a heartbeat.  And I would go hungry, because the menu is inventive (Kosher Style Ribeye next to Brooklyn Style Pork Chop) and they feed the shit out of you… And the owner on the floor is very patient of drunken assholes, apparently.

Last time I mention Rob until I get him on a podcast again with the guys he likes here… His wife is a former Smokeshow on Barstool, and still has her fastball.  Made it downright impossible not to stare even though her husband sitting next to me could disembowel me with a sorbet spoon.

Little random add-on (not like the rest of this made sense), but with a couple hours to go, take a look at this:

Do you see Yanny sitting in his easy chair enjoying a book?… Or do you see Laurel blowing him?

Take a report.

-Large