Free Refills at Big Boys!

Hugs and Kisses,
-Sherb

El Hijo del Sherbo.

People have been writing in, "Sherb, we want more photos." Well, to those people, here you go.



During his recent trip to Mexico City, The Chairman was nice enough to think of Arlo and I when he returned with some fine looking Mexican wrestling masks. He said he tried to find ones that complimented our personalities. The above photo is mine. I think it looks like some kind of cross between Paul Stanley of KISS and the Insane Clown Posse. Surprisingly, I've worn it quite a bit, particularly during highway driving, keeps me amused during my long commute home. I've gotten some interesting looks. It's also fun to wear at the office. I made one of the secretaries tap out after putting her in a half nelson. Unfortunately, animals, dogs in particular, aren't fond of lucha libre and I was nearly mauled by a canine that I'll call Reggie. At some point I think I'll run a 5K wearing it.

Okay, I'm going to go listen to some James Brown now.

I got a bag of my own

Now, baby
Stop all that gabbing
We don't need
No backstabbing

Come take
Take care of all of mine
My good stuff

You know I'm grown
I've got a bag of my own



Hugs and Kisses,
-Sherb

Bailar: bailo, bailas, baila, bailamos, bailan.

Or it could just as easily be called, Dirty Dancing, Stamford Nights.

Some time ago, Arlo, Flaco, and Sherb decided to hit the streets of Stamford, CT. Why go to Stamford? The open bar and free food special at the Thirsty Turtle, of course. For better or worse, the trio, failed to take advantage of the numerous food platters and stuck close to the open bar. A few Kettle One and Tonics later (sadly no straight alcohol drinks) and Sherb was rockin’ ‘n’ rollin’ out on the dance floor. When Flaco suggested a change of venue to the more swanky Cafe Madrid, a Latin dancing lounge, Sherb was primed and ready to go.

Now if there is one thing Sherb learned that night, it is that his skinny ass can’t go out without wearing a belt. Allow me explain. Upon walking in to this upscale establishment, Arlo and Sherb manage to catch the bouncer’s ire by wearing Chucks. Sherb also managed a second strike in being a gringo who can’t dance but that has never stopped the boy before.

Arlo, Flaco and his lady friends wandered over to the bar while Sherb headed directly out onto the dark and mostly empty dance floor. His arms raised as if he was Tangoing with someone, Sherb did circles around the few couples that were there. Two, three, four laps and Sherb came in for a pit stop at the bar. After grabbing a Kettle One rocks with a twist of lime and getting a few encouraging words from Flaco, he was off again, this time Tangoing with his drink. That’s when he first noticed in the darkness, an entire other half of the lounge complete with bar. Being inquisitive he used his Sherbtastic powers to jump up the single step into the darkened room. Upon noticing this area was closed for the evening he spun around a pillar and jumped off the step back onto the dance floor. That’s when it happened.

The force of the landing caused Sherb’s beltless jeans to slide down his legs exposing his colorful boxers. Hardly embarrassed, he hiked them up thinking nobody had noticed and continued with his far from graceful dance routine. However, one person did notice, the bouncer who came over and issued a stern warning. Unphased, Sherb continued with his gyrations paying no mind to the belt situation. Returning to the bar, he explained his predicament and demonstrated his loose fitting pants to the others. After a few more sips of his Kettle One and some mumbled words he was off for the adjacent darkened corner.

It wasn’t long before his next bout of dance moves shook his pants loose again. Down they went. No sooner did he get them up than the rather large and imposing bouncer was on his way over for a second and what would surely be a final time. Grabbed by the scruff of his neck, Sherb, tried in vein to walk out on his own two feet. Unfortunately, he was lifted, certainly not by his belt, a few inches above the ground to the point where his toes delicately danced across the ground in a failed attempt to gain a traction and slow his exit. As he proceeded past Arlo and Flaco at the bar, Sherb turned to the bouncer and in a friendly voice asked, “Oh, we’re leaving now?”

Out the front door and into the rain they went but that wasn’t far enough for the bouncer. He made a sharp left and marched Sherb, who was still trying to hit the breaks as if he was riding a pair of Rollerblades, down several store fronts. Realizing he had gone far enough for Sherb to get the point, he dumped him down on the sidewalk. Depressed, amused and anything but ashamed, Sherb had broken out into a fit of laughter and tears. Fortunately, Arlo had noticed the quick and quiet departure of Sherb and chased after him. Finding his huddled mass in the doorway Arlo sternly commanded Sherb to, “Stay right here!” Arlo gathered the troops, then collected Sherb off the stoop and that was pretty much the end of the evening.

Why Sherb is a moron.

Well, there are several reasons but here is the latest. I've signed up to compete in a half Ironman Distance Triathlon in Montauk October 1. For those not in the know, that's a 1.2 mile swim followed by a 56 mile bike ride capped off with a 13.1 mile run. I have no business doing this other than to punish my body for the sins I have committed. For some sick reason I feel I need to push myself to find my absolute limits of physical and mental endurance, like this somehow makes me more of a man, more Sherbtastic. As if reaching that point of life or death, that do or die moment, the absolute edge is really going to define who I am to myself. In reality, all it's going to do is make me sign up for an Ironman next year. Guess I'm a bit of an adrenaline junkie.


"Buy the ticket, take the ride."
-Hunter S. Thompson

Sherb goes to the movies.

Well, Sherb has been to see a couple of movies these past few weeks. The first of course is the previously mentioned midnight showing of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. It should come as no surprise that I arrived wearing my Las Vegas visor and aviator sunglasses (not an easy task after dark but something I've become accustomed to).

Upon sitting down in the nearly packed movie house, the gentleman seated to my left, noticing my get-up and boldly stated, "Let's get down to brass tacks." I was pleased that he was quoting a more obscure line from the second half of the movie and knew I'd be in for a good time with my new neighbor. In unison we finished the line, "How much for the ape?" Much to the annoyance of those around us, the two of us laughed like buffoons finding humor in scene that most failed to noticed. When my new friend opened a can of beer I thought that I would be nominating him for a spot on the Sherbtastics. Sadly, he failed to make the list for two reasons. One, he never offered me a beer. Two, he was trying too hard to conceal the beer. None of the screwheads at a midnight showing of Fear and Loathing would have given a shit to rat you out. Too bad, you had potential my friend.

A few weeks ago Arlo noticed I wasn't my usual Sherbalicious self. He wisely suggested a bottle of rum and a trip to see Pirates of the Caribbean. That Arlo sure is smart. Taking Arlo up on the offer, I felt the need to really get into things and but on my best red pirate bandana and my eye patch (everyone really should have one, they do come in handy). Handing the ticked to the ticket collector guy I let out my best ARRRRGGGGHHHH! His reply came in a thick European accent? "Ooookay, enjoy the movie."

Why can't I just go to the movies like a normal human being?

Hugs and Kisses,
-Sherb

Sodomy and Gomorrah

Now I'm not one to advocate wanton sodomy but if you happen to fuck up my commute home because you can't drive your car worth a damn then I see nothing wrong with having a hot tail pipe rammed up your bad driving ass.

Hugs and Kisses,
Sherb

"We can't stop here...."

There is bad craziness all around. It's so thick you practically bump into it like a brick wall. Laziness, boredom, self loathing and neglect. Where do we go from here? No place but up I guess?

What the fuck is going on? Who are all these people I once knew? All tangled up an lost, no sense of self preservation.

Time to get in the belly of the beast and drive.

Fuck You Horatio Alger, the American Dream is dead...

...and so are you! The once great American Dream is now unattainable and superficial. Willy Loman knew this and Hunter was never able to find it.

"And I never have figured some of the most basic things out - like what is gonzo journalism and what is the American dream. And shit, I still can't spell "sheriff." I think sometimes I really never learned anything much since I was fifteen. I know I have but I haven't changed much. And maybe I'm either an example of integrity in a person or the dumbest person around. I haven't learned anything since I was fifteen."
-Hunter S. Thompson, George Interview, Dec/Jan 2001.