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Shakoolie: The Ultimate Shower Beer Experience

Some of you may remember when I shared the glorious secret to the perfect shower a while back. Apparently the shower (and beer) gods were listening, because just a few weeks ago a shower beer entrepreneur contacted me. If you haven’t heard of the universe shattering invention that is the Shakoolie, you are about to flip your shower caddie upside down and hump your shower curtain in sheer bliss.

The Shakoolie is a beer holder on steroids that sticks to the wall of your shower out of the soap and water while keeping it cool.

Shower beer

Holding your beer in the shower is for amateurs.

shower beer

I wish there was a solution!

When the experts of sipping and shampooing (inventors of the almighty Shakoolie) found me, an obvious shower beer advocate, and offered to send me my very own Shakoolie, my faith in serendipity was immediately restored. I knew I had to share my gift with the world. It was a crisp 8:00 am when I opened my mail box to hear angels singing and an entrancing halo emanating from inside. My Shakoolie had arrived.

After ripping open the concise packaging like a pathetic strong-woman competition, I was surprised at just how easy the set up appeared.

shower beer

Two steps. Two seconds. Too fucking cool.

Naturally, I have been keeping a reserve of canned Coors and some bottles of Heineken freshly stocked in the fridge like a kid hoarding cookies for the arrival of Santa ever since the news came of my impending shipment. I wanted to have options for testing. After all, this is technically a review rave.

I’ll be honest, upon sliding my full heiny into the shower, pun intended, I was slightly nervous about the give of the Velcro holding my nectar. But just as the brotastic Shakoolie logo didn’t disappoint me, neither did the Velcro. I took a good, solid fifteen minute shower. Temperature: boiling (the shower not the beer, dumb ass). Not as much as a single fiber gave way on the genius shower wall mount.

I haven’t even mention yet how the eradication of watered down shower beer has changed my life.

Before the Shakoolie, I looked like this trying to enjoy my shower beer:

shower beer

For every watery beer, an angel loses its wings

Now when I shower with my beer, I look like this:

shower beer

Thanks to Shakoolie, I no longer have to shower with an umbrella! Thanks Shakoolie!

Let’s face it, this product steals the lunch money of stocking stuffers everywhere. Not only did the creators put a genius twist on your average coozie and actually make it with quality materials good enough to withstand the slip and slide of your bathroom waterfall, but they even offer 007 shit like the Hidden Shot Flask and the Flask Tie. I’ve never wanted to wear a tie so badly in my life.

Thanks to Shakoolie for the free gift. I will cheers my bathroom wall every time I enjoy my brew there. The guys behind this thing are just the type of entrepreneurs I will always support, and not just because alcohol. I seriously think that this is a blast of a product. In fact, I know exactly what I am buying for everyone for every holiday and every birthday for the next year. For now, I am off to have my third shower of the day. Happy Monday Flysters!

Click here to share the showery beery goodness.

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Meet “Z”

Some friends just stick. Sometimes those friends actually live outside of the computer screen. “Blasphemy!”. I can hear you thinking it already, but it is true.  This post is testament to that. When I first met Z, I was convinced that he was going to set our classroom on fire. Marketing 101. College.  His head phones and blaring Tech N9ne were essential to his wardrobe and my uneasiness. Little did I know, he wasn’t actually a murderer but one of my future best friends

25tofly friend

Some friendships are cosmic. He paid me in beer to say that. Part of the deal was also for me to give him some of my spotlight. So without further ado, meet my friend “Z”…

Well hello there! Becky (editor’s note: fuck you) has asked me to step in and fill in some space due to her recent episode of writer’s block. I offered her a couple hits of acid and the leprechauns that do my typing for me, but she refused. I’m not sure why she denied my offer though. Those four creepy little dudes have kept me employed the last three years and even earned me a 2.31 GPA throughout college. Fancy, I know.

Allow me to formally introduce myself. I am Z. Well at least that’s what she named me on here a few times anyway. I’ve been called worse. I am originally from Smackover, Arkansas. Dead serious. Google it. It sucks, I know. But before my recent relocation to the great shit hole of Baton Rouge, Louisiana, the two of us shared roughly 572,890 pitchers of beer together.

I shared with her my knowledge of billiards and was even the third wheel through the entirety of a yearish long relationship of hers. If it wasn’t for her, I would probably be sober. Yes, my life would suck if not for this lovely blonde! (editor’s note again: redhead now dumbass).

Up until recently, I didn’t even know her blog existed. For some reason I had to stalk her on Facebook just to learn this hidden writing talent of hers. But now I understand why we have always texted and only ever spoken on the phone once  in our multi-year relationship. And that was more awkward than some random non-blogger dude making an appearance on some chick’s highly popular blog.

When she first asked me to write a guest post, I will admit I giggled with a slight evilness. I thought, “How witty can I be?” and “Oh the people I can piss off with my political views!”. Then I realized she would just delete my post and ban me from the internet, which would cause a riot with the leprechauns. Not worth the risk.

So instead, I must confess to the masses how blessed each of you are to sit right where your rear is currently placed and enjoy reading the very thoughts and ideas that I have been graced with throughout my friendship with Miss Long Johns herself since some time in 2009. I check for new posts quite frequently now, due to the lack of our shared time together. It’s all I can get. She won’t come visit me anymore. Thanks to y’all.

I think I have babbled enough, and her head is probably slightly swollen after reading these kind words. It’s been a pleasure occupying roughly 3-27 minutes of your time. Who knows, maybe one day she will allow me to post something witty and political. Maybe not political but at least witty.

P.S. Her cats are evil. Between Ace, Jack, and my cat allergy, I am surprised I never woke up cross-eyed after drunkenly passing out on her couch all of those nights. Then again, it could have been those three-month old leftovers I always took off of her refrigerator’s hands. Who knows…

Stay tuned tomorrow for the recap of the LaLaBec New Year’s Eve bash. Because you know you don’t remember. Please leave a nice comment for Z while you wait. My writer’s block thanks him and you. 

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“Update” is Such a Boring Title

Four tanks of gas in four days: $240.00

Beer, beer, and more beer: $50.00

Welcome home dinner from yourself to yourself: $20.00

Returning to your blog: Priceless

brass monkey

Nothing will make you focus more than a brass monkey’s exposed asshole.

That’s right. Everyone chill the fuck out. I am back. I even brought you some monkey bum. He is responsible for my absence. Come on, you would be distracted too if this was the only space in which you could work. I mean, why is he so adamant on picking up that over sized marble? Can he even lift it? Why am I turned on?

Actually, the more important question here is where the hell my mom bought this “decor”. Obviously, I have been home visiting family for the Thanksgiving holiday for the past four days. Now it is back to what makes the world go round blogging. Here is what’s up for this week: Read the rest of this entry

Planning to Stop Planning

I’d hoped to soon post some brag pictures of myself casually looking off into the distance, wind in my hair, and with nothing but clouds in the background. Or, maybe me and Ryan Gosling embraced in a contrived but nonsensical pose as we ascended up and away. Unfortunately, my plans to ride in a hot air balloon for the 4th of July block party on Tuesday night crashed straight into a power line (not literally). Ryan stood me up too. Jerk. The weather decided to act a fool the afternoon festivities were to commence, and upon arriving home from work and seeing no over sized inverted tear drop shaped balloons in sight, I assumed it was a no go. So, I went to a bar to meet some friends  as consolation. Well, you know what annoyingly corny people say about assuming…

sugar mill pond 4th of july
[Apparently the balloon did manifest itself at some point in the hour that I was away from the party. There were also reports that Ryan actually showed up as well and did a nude swan dive into the pond. Bastards. ]

That is the thing about expectations and planning. Convinced that they are both almost always self-destructive, I think I will quit making them. That whole night was the exact opposite of what I planned in my mind. It was so disappointing, that I actually wrote the most depressing draft for a post while slouched in the corner of my balcony as I watched the last and only fireworks I got to see that night pathetically sort of half explode. Must have been the left over duds arriving late to the party, just like me. It was probably the most unnecessarily dramatic thing I have ever written and certainly not appropriate for the tone of this particular blog. Although I will say, I am good at following Hemingway’s advice to, “Write drunk; edit sober”.

I deleted the pity party post the next morning when I pretty much woke up face down on my keyboard. But, to end on a lighter note, while I did not get to balloon cruise that night, I did make up for it on the actual 4th of July. A few friends, a few beers, and lawn chairs on a roof. Can’t get any more redneck better than that. I regret nothing.

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Close Enough

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Lately I have been so busy day dreaming about playing in someone else’s sandbox thousands of miles away, that I forgot all about the perfectly fun kiddie pool in my own back yard. This weekend I decided to post up in that kiddie pool. Basically, I went on a little excursion through my own neck of the woods. I have been needing a weekend away, and since I have yet to make a road trip or fly out to one of my travel destinations for the year, I had to satisfy my craving for some highway relaxation.

Friday after work began my trip. I responsibly got my oil changed, ran home to grab some essentials, and bid adieu to Jack and Ace for the weekend. Before I hopped in my Xterra, I checked my mail. Having forgotten that I ordered some KCCO playing cards from theChive, I was pleasantly surprised that they had arrived just in time for the weekend. Man, the open road felt so cathartic… even though my destination was only a 45 minute coast across the basin.

Z made a list of bars he wanted to crash. He has only been living in Baton Rouge for a couple of weeks, so he was taking advantage of his drinking buddy tagging along for a night. The first bar we visited was The Cove. Read the rest of this entry

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