Penn St. Has A Real Mess On Their Hands

Literally

Restaurant Review : Coop's Bar and Grille

Located in scenic Quincy, Ma. This is one of my favorite places for chowing pub grub. Now mind you, this is not gourmet dining. If your looking for some pretentious review from some puss foodie about the garnish setting on the exterior of the plate, fucking scram. If you wanna know about some food to take down on a hung over Sunday, look no further. Lets take a look at some of the up's and down's of this South Shore establishment.

1. Appetizers - B+

-The number one app they have going has to be the wings. And these aren't of the baked in the oven covered in some shitty BBQ sauce variety. These babies are deep-fried, crispy on the outside, moist on the inside deliciousness. Dip 'em in the honey mustard or buff sauce, you wont be dissapointed.

-Gotta also point out the nacho's, covered with chili. Everything you'd want in a mound of nachos is on there. Hot peppers, onions, a couple different cheese's, shallots, bacon bits. Throw the chili on there and you wont need to eat again for 6 hours. Thing is devestating. But that's probably because im a huge fucking slob and take the whole thing down by myself. If you split it with 2 other's you'll have plenty of room.

-If you dont want to go into a coma from the regular nacho's, go with the "Poor Man's Nachos." Same thing, only steak fries instead. Not as huge of a serving, but damn good.

2. Burgers - B-

These burgers are very good, but not mind blowing by any means. They have alot of the basics, BBQ burger with onion rings, blue cheese burger, etc. My favorite has to be the:

- "Shocker Burger" Don't be deceived by the name, this burger has nothing to do with finger-blasting teenage babes under the bleachers. But it features pepper jack cheese, jalapeno's, bacon, and some spicy sauce. Rock solid choice.

3. Pizza - A

Easily my favorite part of Coops. Everyone talks about "South Shore" pub pizza around here. It is a personal pizza with a flaky crust. Many eateries on this side of the city claim to have the best pub pizza going. "Town Spa" in Stoughton, "Lynwood" in Randolph, but Coops is right there with those grease pits, if not better. I'd take it over Town Spa any day.

-"Boston Cheese Steak" Thing is fucking legit. Steak and Cheese on a Pizza. BAM.
-"BBQ Chicken" Also excellent. Sweet sauce, solid chicken chunks. WHABOOM.
-"Buffalo Chicken" You know what it is, absolute money.
-"Cheese" Don't sleep on the basic with a little tabasco. Only 5 beans too.

4. Drinks - D

Easily the low point of dining at Coops. For beer, you're safe if you stick with bottles. But their drafts fucking suck. They taste like they haven't changed the taps in a while, and the choices aren't that great. They also offer the "Coops Brew" on the cheap, its Natty Light. I dont know why they're trying to claim they brew beer, its a blatant lie. Don't get me wrong, if your looking to go in there and hammer away you won't notice. But if you've been there as many times as me the reality will set in.

5. Atmosphere - B/D

If your looking to watch sports and grub down this is where you want to be. You can slap hands with the Quincy relic to the right of you every time Brady slings a TD to Gronk. You can slop out and not worry about it. Also featuring KENO and Golden Tee. For that, it get's a B.

BUT, if you think your going there on a Friday night scoping babes, think a-fucking-gain bro. Place is hurting. That is unless your looking to take down some 45 year old scag of course. I'm sure you can pull down "Dottie" from Quincy High class of '76, and you'll be happy as a pig in shit. She can give you some war stories about how the place used to be called "Frenchie's," and she smoked her first Newport Light 100 out back by the dumpster. But unless that's what your digging for, best keep your eyes glued to the T.V. and the nacho's.

Overall: B

If they had a better beer situation going on, they'd be looking dead at an A- rating. But the food and sports atmosphere are so fantastic im still there at least every other week. Go there to grub, you won't be dissapointed.

Tough Guys are all over the place

I don't know if its just me, but I have been noticing a lot of tough guys out on the streets lately. Here are a few different examples to help you identify these chiefs if you are having trouble:

Irish Tough Guys
Irish tough guys are all over the place. For some reason it makes you tough if your great great grandfather migrated from Ireland. These tough guys think they're all of a sudden heavyweight champions of the world since their last name begins with an O and is followed by an apostrophe. Irish tough guys are fans of drinking and Notre Dame, since their mascot is Irish and fightin'. You might see a shamrock infused barbwire tattoo wrapped around their biceps or a shitty t-shirt/scally cap combo. Hopefully their freckly peans get kicked in by someone who has had enough of their shit.















UFC Tough Guys
UFC is a pretty shitty sport in general, and it seems that it is aligned with fans of butt rock concerts. They usually have a shit ton of tattoos and will most likely overdose from huffing paint or die in a fiery motorcycle crash. If they don't die, hopefully they suffer from an awful case of road rash for discipline. Peter McNeely would wipe the floor with most of these UFC douche bags anyways so you might as well watch boxing. In the meantime the Hurricane needs to knock these fanboys out.

18-22 year old Sporting event Tough Guys

If you have been to a game lately, you definitely ran into the 18-22 year old tough guy. Most likely he was wearing a gold chain, sawx hat and one of his yankee sucks, Drink beer and fight, or Looch Crew t-shirts. They typically travel in packs and are always cocked off of a pint of schnapps, which leads them to crack shitty jokes and pick fights with everyone in their section for not getting loud when the loudness meter comes on the jumbotron. Someone will inevitably be fed up to the point of getting into a confrontation with the sporting event tough guy, and hopefully that person spikes the sporting event tough guy's head off some concrete.

Italian Tough Guys

Italian tough guys are similar to the Irish tough guy, all you have to do is add a gold chain, tooth pick in the mouth, gallon of hair grease, and a vowel at the end of the last name and you will have yourself an Italian tough guy/cockbag. These idiots have seen one too many New York Italian gangster movies and living in their parents basement well into their 40's. Italian tough guy will cruise down Revere beach parkway in a '96 Mustang trying to pick up some hosehound named Donna from Saugus and maybe score a bag of coke. If you ever get in a confrontation with the Italian tough guy just head butt him square in the face and jam a cannoli up his ass for good measure.


















-Hop Tough Guys
Hip Hop tough guys usually cruise up my busy street past midnight blasting the bass from some shitty overplayed song by that black kid from Degrassi. It bothers the hell out of me, but there is slight consolation when I hear their shitty civic that they paid to lower to the ground scrape the pavement from the pothole a little ways down the road. These assholes usually frequent overpriced clubs and pick fights after their third shot of "fahkin Patron, son." On the plus side, a lot of Hip Hop tough guys carry guns, so it is almost guaranteed that they will blow each others
brains out at some point.

I Don't Care That We Changed the Clocks Back

"Fresh air makes my heart hurt"

If one more person acts tire because we changed the clocks back ONE FUCKING HOUR I'm gonna shit.  "You know, it's REALLY 3 pm, that's probably why you're so cranky!"  No, I'm cranky because I have to sit at this shitty desk all day and listen to human Nilla Wafers talk about American Idol or whatever bull shit they use to forget their miserable lives.  I'm no Chuck Norris, an hour time change won't throw me into disarray.  Seriously, it's a fucking hour, and it happens on a Saturday night when you can (presumably) sleep til....whenever the fuck you want.  It has virtually zero effect on your behavior, energy, or general existence.  Yet every time we do it, we have to listen to the same stupid shit.  "Did we gain or lose an hour of sleep?  Spring forward fall back!!" Spring me out of this window so I can fall to the street maybe a get a few days off.

Domination

Elevator T-Shirts

As a hater of all the bullshit conversations I must endure from working with breathing twinkies, elevator small talk may be my least favorite.  I've noticed that elevator conversation is extremely limited, useless, but necessary for some god-forsaken part of the working population. While most normal people just look down until they reach their destination, many others engage in predictable small talk.  I have designed the following t-shirts to cover your elevator convos:

WEATHER

WEEKENDS

     

CURRENT EVENTS

So just buy these shirts, rotate them, and all you'll be set.  

5 Things I Used To Love That I Now Loathe

The Boston Red Sox
Been saying it for years. Everything surrounding the organization is just annoying to me – the fans, the absolutely insane media, Papelbon, etc. Just look at that fucking picture for Christ’s sake! To be honest, the news I’m hearing lately about the drinking in the clubhouse is the sickest thing I’ve heard about the Red Sox in years. Oh shit, they like to party too? Now we finally have something in common! That picture is just irritating me so I need to stop talking about these assholes before I blow a gasket and smash my computer.


Pitchforkmedia.com
The experience and emotions tied to listening to Kid A are like witnessing the stillborn birth of a child while simultaneously having the opportunity to see her play in the afterlife on Imax. It's an album of sparking paradox. It's cacophonous yet tranquil, experimental yet familiar, foreign yet womb-like, spacious yet visceral, textured yet vaporous, awakening yet dreamlike, infinite yet 48 minutes. It will cleanse your brain of those little crustaceans of worries and inferior albums clinging inside the fold of your gray matter. The harrowing sounds hit from unseen angles and emanate with inhuman genesis.

Jesus Christ, GET OVER YOURSELF! This is an ACTUAL excerpt from Pitchfork’s review of Radiohead’s Kid A. And just one small excerpt from a completely ridiculous full review. We get it dude, you’re smarter and more cultured than us - so get fucked. Don’t get me wrong, Kid A’s a classic. But evidently when you listened to it, you saw a fucking dead fetus fuck around in the clouds on an Imax screen. So you’re definitely on a different level than the rest of us. And that’s why you work for Pitchfork. And that’s why Pitchfork sucks.


Kings of Leon
What the hell happened here guys? I used to defend the shit out of you and talk about how great you are - and this is how you pay me back? By becoming the Kings of Cock Rock? C’maaaaaaahn. Just another sad example of a great talent cutting their hair short and suddenly becoming awful, i.e. Eddie Vedder, James Hetfield, Dave Grohl, Anthony Kiedis, Keri Russell…this list could go on for pages. Dan Auerbach - you're on a real short leash right now.


The Real World
PSYCH! This show is still the shit. Danny’s hurting though.
Hey Danny, nice fucking decisions for this photo shoot guy! Duck-ass haircut? Check. Rosary beads around the neck? Freshly cropped flavor saver facial hair? Check. Friendship bracelet? Check.

South Park

I have multiple episodes just chillen on the DVR and I don’t have the energy to watch them anytime soon. What used to be a genius show has turned into a competition with themselves to see how quickly they can pump out an episode related to a current event that happened that week. And while I respect that idea, it results in shitty writing, repetition of the same sub-par joke and negative laughs. Haste makes waste South Park. Stop trying to be so fucking current and put a little effort into it!

How cool is thiiiiiis!!!!!!!

Just when I thought my weekend couldn't get any worse, they had to bring back this fucking commercial.  Take a quick peak at this thing and tell me your not thinking, "What the hell is the deal with this song?"  Push the limits?!  How cool is this?!  It's not cool at all, Toyota.  And it makes me want absolutely nothing to do with your trucks or that complete chump with the awful cowboy hat giving the double hang-ten sign at the 25 second mark of the video.  Whoever wrote that song should be shot in both kneecaps and dragged behind the back of a Tacoma while having to listen to that song on repeat on a pair of headphones that are glued to his ears.  How cool would that be?!

Three Terrible Decisions

Could someone please point me in the direction of this Friendly's?

There are few things in life that are certain. Death, taxes, and up until this morning, being unable to go wrong with a meal from Friendly's, the place according to their slogan,"where ice cream makes the meal", or I as now like to say, "where terrible service and sub-par food makes me want to stick a red-hot poker in my eye rather than spend another second in your restaurant".

You may have heard recently that Friendly's has filed for bankruptcy and had to close sixty-three locations. Yea, tough economic times, right? Nope. Try terrible service and greasy plates of foreign-looking circles that half-resemble a pancake.

After another exhausting night of wedding festivities I found myself in the historic town of Sturbridge, MA on a crisp fall morning. I guess the first terrible decision of my morning was spending any more time in this dinosaur of a town than I needed to. But unfortunately my growling stomach got the best of me and I ended up in the depths of chain restaurant hell, where white trash runs rampant and water refills to relieve my burning tongue from unnecessarily hot Tabasco sauce are few and far between.

I ordered a coffee, I get some brown liquid that tasted like it was brewed in a used toilet bowl. I ordered a chocolate milk. Why did I order a chocolate milk, you ask? You'd have to ask God that one, because I couldn't even begin to give a reasonable explanation. Being as incredibly hungover as I was, milk is the last thing I could have possibly wanted to quench my thirst. This was terrible decision #2. I must have had my goddamn head screwed on backwards. However, that poor decision may or may not have had something to do with the fact that I was concentrating so hard on keeping my body temperature up since it was about 50 degrees inside the restaurant and my involuntary shivering was starting to take over my every thought. It was all starting to make sense that Friendly's had filed for bankruptcy since they apparently don't even have enough money to heat their fucking restaurants.

While waiting for what seemed like decades for my meal, I debated long and hard with myself whether to stand up and ditch the bill. I would have done it too had I not thought that our waitress was relying on our money to help maintain her Oxycontin habit.

So here I am, 45 excruciating minutes of migraine-induced misery after ordering my meal, trying to avoid slipping into a hypothermic coma, when everyone's food finally begins to arrive. One of my friends gets his delicious looking skillet, another receives their ham and cheese melt topped with maple bacon. All good stuff from what I can see. I say to myself, "Hey, maybe Friendly's ain't so bad after all". That's when my third mistake of the morning arrived.

Thank God this character's dead

Nothing could have prepared me for it. I've lived through my fair share of anticlimactic moments; Y2K, the series finale of Lost, the 2007 New England Patriots. But the delivery of my food order really took the wind out of my already weathered sails. Two pathetic bacon strips that looked like they were sliced right off a Sturbridge pig's back not more than 30 minutes prior and slapped onto my plate, eggs that made me so enraged that I wanted to chuck them at the wall and watch their grease stain the enclosures of that hellhole as they slide down to the floor. And don't even get me started on my cardboard Frisbee pancakes. If my friend next to me hadn't been so nice to lend me a triangular portion of her delicious Vermont Cheddar Melt, I was considering opening up my veins with my dirty, egg-yoked butter knife and ending it all right then and there.


Thankfully I regained my wits, threw down my hard-earned cash in utter disgust and hauled ass out of that concentration camp, never to return to Friendly's or Sturbridge again.  What in the name of sweet Jesus had just happened?

If there's a lesson to be learned, it's to not make decisions when you're hungover, tired, hungry, or a combination of the three that will leave you at the whim and mercy of a bankrupted chain restaurant. Stick to grazing cattle and being "historic", Sturbridge. Leave the chain restaurants to the towns that aren't run like third-world countries.

What I Learned from Oregon Trail

As a young lad in the mid 90s I spent many a computer class playing Oregon Trail, a game that shaped the piece-of-shit human being I am today.  Upon revisiting the game where frontiers blazing west during the gold rush, I remember one reason that it was so fun:  Meat is a free and endless resource, so kill whatever the fuck you want. 

One of my favorite Oregon Trail activities was hunting.  As the man of the family, you must conquer the plains and gather nutritious protein for your lazy wife and two beautiful daughters, Shaquille O'Neil and Tupac. I never accounted for that Mary, my other daughter, because she was a sucker to dysentery.  After twenty minutes of methodically murdering proud majestic wildlife, my family had more than enough dead animals to fill their gullet.  I strategized that killing several buffaloes might "trim the heard" of fellow wagoners and leave more gold for me when I arrived to the West.  Then, once I had all the gold, I could ditch my nagging wife and buy a fancy european covered-wagon.  Also, if I found some BBQ sauce, I'd eat like a king for weeks. Maybe I'd attract some animals and my wife would die of snakebite--the possibilities were endless.  As I went to fill my wagon with buff carcass, I read the following dialogue box:

"You have killed 40,000 lbs.  You can take 300 lbs."

300 lbs?  And I'm allowed to kill 40,000?  What the is that?  I wasted my gun powder so the rest of these freeloaders could take my kill.  I bought that gun powder from Matt's General Store, and lord knows those cheap pricks aren't running a charity.  Why can I execute animals for nothing?  It would be one thing if we had honey mustard or something, but now all this delicious meat goes to the next guy.

TGIF Word of The Day: "Bunt"

Also pronounced: BAHNT

Or in context: "Stop being such a Bunt!"

Not mistaken for it's homonym; (baseball) bunt: an offensive technique in baseball often fucked up by pathetic Red Sox losers (ie. Julio Lugo, CoCo Crisp). "Bunt" is the word that could have saved your impetuous father from divorce. A hybrid between the two words (bitch and cunt) you never want to catch yourself calling your significant other during a heated exchange. "Bunt" gives men the unique ability to act impulsive, practice restraint and get retribution, all at the same time.



Examples of appropriate times to use the term"bunt"

• When your girlfriend, fiance or wife is really grinding your gears and you're on the verge of dropping the dreaded B or C-Word. Pump the brakes, homey, call her a bunt...
• When your looking to end a conversation that is not productive. Great opportunity to say, "Listen, bunt, this conversations over"
  
• When your buddy leaves a 3 foot putt 2 inches short during a game of best ball. Perfect time to say, "Thata girl...Nice putt ya little bunt.."

"Bunt, in context"

• "So, your new girlfriend from work seemed like a total bunt the other night"
• "Scram, you little bunt"
• "Pipe it, bunt"
• "Just bring it down a notch, bunt"
• "Cook me my fucking breakfast now you bunt!"
  

Human examples of "Bunts"



Jennifer Lopez, Queen of Bunts



Casey Anthony, Holy shit! What a bunt