Smile Politely

Coulter’s garage world of joy falls apart

Holy cow, it seems like forever since I’ve written a column. I’ll admit having a break was pretty sweet though. The extra fifteen minutes a week I had free instead of crapping out a little column was put to good use, I assure you. One week, I made a grilled cheese instead of writing a column. Another week, I folded twelve pairs of socks instead. Both of those things really needed to be done and I’m not sure I could have fit writing a column in there anyway.

Otherwise, all I’ve done since we last talked was drink and play Far Cry 3. If you’re not familiar with Far Cry 3, it’s a video game and you should get it. It’s violent and sort of psychotic, and well, it’s just wonderful. It’s so great; in fact, that I’m playing it quickly before the goddamned gubment tries to take it away from me. Let’s get it on.


Yeah, I’m aware this is usually at the end, but this week it’s sort of needed at the beginning. It may not make much sense now, but it will in the next part. It’s the often-hilarious Tim Conway. I say that sincerely. Don’t necessarily feel compelled to watch the entire thing, just get the general idea.

Dorf on Golf is really funny to me. Actually, Dorf on anything is really funny to me. Moving on.


You may remember a few years back when all the kids were doing that planking thing. I was aware of it, but I never participated because 1) It seemed stupid; 2) I really hate those bandwagon sorts of things; and 3) I wasn’t really sure I could do it in the first place without hurting myself. Here’s a picture of a dude “planking” some camels. It’s not as dirty as it sounds … or is it.

Yeah, whatever, it was the next big thing for about a month or so. Like flagpole sitting, dance marathons, and seeing how many people you can fit in a car, it quickly died, and very soon it probably won’t even be something you can make a joke about unless you want to have to explain it.

Well, now that planking has bitten the dust, I figured we all need something else to fill our lives for a week or two. I’m also fairly sure I’ve come up with the answer. Wait for it … Okay, it’s called “Dorfing.” I’ve already done a few so you can get the idea. You just take your shoes off, put your knees on the shoes, position the camera, and strike your dorfing pose. It’s actually pretty fucking funny.

As you can see, in this one I decided to pretend I was shoveling snow with a tiny little snow shovel. It’s amazing the lengths a person will go to in an effort to make their friends laugh in a garage. Since I was sort of intoxicated and sort of being a whore for laughs that afternoon, I even recruited my buddy — let’s call him Ward — to re-enact that American Gothic painting.

I should warn you before you get started, while dorfing is probably not especially dangerous, it’s best done when insanely drunk, which can be especially dangerous, particularly with so many garden implements lying around. It’s also a bit of a pain in the ass to take your shoes off and on every time a fresh dorfing opportunity comes along. Otherwise, it’s an absolute joy … at least for me … and since this is now my art, that’s the only person I should be doing it for anyway, right?


The worst thing about the last month or so has been the demise of drinking in my garage. It’s not because of the cold, because that beatch can be heated. It is instead because it’s suddenly full of crap. I’ve always sort of looked down on people who pack their garages so full of shit that they can’t even park their cars inside … and now I’m one of those people.

I tore some things out of the house recently: wood, carpet, and some old baseboard heaters, mostly things I meant to tear out. Anyway, I didn’t get a dumpster beforehand, so I figured I’d just store that junk in the garage until the next week and get rid of it then. Well, the next week became the next week and so on and then it got cold and so it’s still in a state of disrepair. Now it’s not even like a garage anymore, but instead just a scary room off the house where there are a lot of nails and splinters people could really hurt themselves on.

I’ve tried to have a few beers in there, but I can really only stand in one spot and try not to step in any direction. It’s just so sad. I would think these things generally happen over the course of many years, and yet, I’ve managed to completely dick up my garage in thirty short days. I’m considering just sweeping it all to the curb and hoping the wind blows it into the neighbor’s yard; you know, like I do with the leaves.


I’m still enjoying a few Christmas gifts. As I mentioned, Far Cry 3 is really great. If you couldn’t tell, that’s really all I want to talk about anymore. I would not really like to be stranded on an island with pirates trying to kill me, but I sure like pretending that I am.

I also got Tony LaRussa’s book about his last year with the Cardinals, One Last Strike. If you’re not a Redbird’s fan, you could probably give a shit, but it’s really interesting to listen to his thoughts on his last year managing baseball. Geez, I even know how it’s going to end and I can’t stop reading.

We also have one of those fancy machines where you can make your own soda pop right in your house now. It’s weird and sort of noisy, but the bubbles, oh, the thousands and thousands of bubbles! I’m sure there’s a point where it’s possible to have too many bubbles in a soda, but I have yet to find this point.


  • I’ve never seen that show, Cougar Town, but judging by the commercials, they seem to enjoy drinking wine. Also, Courtney Cox’s face appears to be made of some sort of polymer.
  • Cancer, banging Sheryl Crow, a doping scandal, and now a confession to Oprah. It turns out Lance Armstrong has had a pretty terrible life after all.
  • I really enjoy eating fried oysters.
  • We’ve all heard of the Dirty Sanchez, the French Motorboat, the Steamers — both Cleveland and Detroit, and those sorts of things are funny. I would like to add the Himalayan Steam Bath to this list.

Buona Sera, senorina, kiss me goodnight.

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