Failway Bark

Yesterday, Fenway Bark founder Jane Fulton announced, amid several paragraphs of mean-spirited sarcasm and bullshittery, that the fancy kennel she is trying to open in Southie is changing prospective locations.

In case you’ve missed our commentary on Fenway Bark thus far, it’s first here and then here, and kind of here.  Unfortunately, our disagreements with Ms Fulton et al, which recently resulted in Fenway Bark’s permanent Shit List-ification, have descended in tone to the level of ad hominem verbal aggression.  So, with that in mind, I’d like to say that Fenway Bark is gay.  Gay, gay, gay. Continue reading

Sinners, Repent!

Recently, the Staker’s critics have been engaging in somewhat of a feeding frenzy.  I can call it that because we don’t get your standard, run-of-the-mill internet trolls on this blog.  We only get people who actively dislike us specifically.  And I love that!  It means that I’m getting my point across.

To offer a little background, the Staker has garnered Shack heat for making the following two innocuous assertions:

  1. Crime fiction based in Southie is an idea that is played out.
  2. Fenway Bark is ridiculous.

Everything else I’ve written has been along the lines of How to wrestle a shark and What if Jersey Shore were set in the Congo?. Continue reading

From High Atop The Soap Box: Fenway Bark, You Are On The Shit List!

Not only do yuppies try to shape the grooming landscape, but they try to replace our Pit-bulls and Rottweilers with this genetic abortion.

As my hetero-life-mate, there are many reasons why I love Staker.  I have known him for nearly 17 years, and I remember vividly the day we met in our little league coach’s apartment in the Old Colony Housing Projects.  But of all the reasons why I would love this hairy little grease-ball, I would have to say that I love him most for his ability to piss people off, and attract more violent energy than a hillbilly wearing steel overhauls.

What can also be a tragic character flaw really pays off here on The Shack, and the amount of heat we’ve received for his March 11th post, Passing Judgment on Fenway Bark, has lead us to make new enemeies of Zeltsonic proportions (mainly because his post is number 6 when you Google “fenway bark.”  That can’t be good for business.  Oops!).  Now we don’t really care if you take your dog to a spa, just like we don’t care if you go down to Bella Sante on Newbury Street for a botox and Brazillian.  The point is that there are many more practical uses for the limited property here in South Boston.

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Battlefield Southie: The State Rep Candidates Who Love(d) Me

Man, is The Drizzle gonna get in trouble for this one.

If you live in Southie, or come here often for your refills of oxies and heroin, then you’ve come to know three names rather intimately:  Patrick Brennan, Nick Collins, and Michael McGee.  No, these men aren’t distillers of fine scotch and Irish whiskeys, they are candidates for State Representative in Suffolk County’s 4th District.  Now you might ask me, “The Drizzle?!  You’re in the toy department.  You post about dead celebrities, specials, and alcohol(ic) related issues…not politics.  What happened to that fuckthatitude?”  Well I’ll tell you, children.  I’m posting about politics because I now know what it feels like to be a pork loin at a Bar Mitzvah:  Everyone wants a piece of you, but they don’t know how to feel right about it in the morning (“stripper at a bachelor party” and “underage twink at the Tony Awards” are also acceptable analogies).

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What Happens at Rainbow Dragon Stays at Rainbow Dragon

We here at the Shack, like many people, are big fans of Chinese food. Drunk or sober, it’s a pretty good bang for your buck. And as with a lot of the things we buy, there’s a fair amount of brand loyalty involved; for example, Drizzle has been known to enjoy a Diet Coke in between PBRs and the Old Man tends to prefer the Glass Slipper to the Foxy Lady. A Chinese food joint that we dig is the Rainbow Dragon on F Street here in Southie, which, among other things, is home to the famous “French Fry Fravy” ($3.95 for the french fries, 50 cents for the fravy). Continue reading

Watch Out For the Brown Acid

Our good buddy Scott Brown resurfaced in the news today. Like one of those underground desert tarantulas, he emerged from the dirt and braved the scorching heat of Tea Party chagrin in order to chomp on the tasty winged insect of opportunistic political maverickdom. Continue reading

Blogging from a Jet Ski

It’s not very often that a whole week passes without so much as an inappropriate Chatroulette screenshot or Shit List addition, but it has been about a week since the last Shack post. By now some of you may be wondering where we have been this whole time. To that question, there is an easy answer. Continue reading

Post Mortem: St. Paddy’s Day 2010

Well, four days late and several hundreds of dollars short, we find ourselves on the other side of Bachus’ most important day, disguised as an innocent Catholic celebration of a wonderful man named Patrick.  I think he drove child molesters out of Ireland in the 60’s or something.

Rare footage of the 2010 bender

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Listen Up, Fatties

This week, the news broke that our representative in Congress, Stephen Lynch, is a “no” vote on health care reform. He figures the bill doesn’t go far enough.

Now, I’m aware that the Southie precincts all went for Scott Brown, who ran on a promise to vote against the bill, just two months ago. It’s also true that we already have close-to-universal health care in Massachusetts, so at the end of the day, what do we care? Free vicodin and stomach pumps! It’s gonna be a fun weekend. Continue reading

Notes from the Drunkard’s Den with Old No. 22

Yuppies and yuppy hoverers,

Very disappointing St. Paddy’s Day.  First of all, a couple of rain drops and no one shows up.  I have to say it was great for us because no one showed up to our local, and we had it all to ourselves…and we had a great time.  Second of all, you had to make up for your yuppy-douche-bagness on the real date (That would be the 17th of March) by making yourselves totally obnoxious.  Bumping and pushing your way to the bar, asking my skinny friend to push over on his f%&*ing bar stool because you needed a seat.  (I can’t make this shit up.)

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