Subwoofer that is. Yes, we know our chairs aren’t the most comfortable. No, we did not go buy you vibrating bar stools to ease the pain. That’s just our new subwoofer you feel jigglin’ your drawers. Ohhhhhh, the vibrrrrrrrations!!!

According to CNN, SPAM sales are on the rise possibly because of the increasingly trying economic times in the United States. Production at the SPAM plant has doubled in anticipation of the nouveax-poor’s increased taste for the highly processed meat product. SPAM sales numbers are beginning to parallel their record highs that they haven’t seen since The Great Depression.

This pattern is also reflected in Casa Verde’s store where the very same day we sold out of our entire SPAM inventory. Whoa. Don’t worry all you economically depressed people (and stray dogs), we’ll double, maybe even triple, our efforts to keep SPAM on our shelves.
In other SPAM news, this blog receives plenty of spam in its in-box, probably because it rules. Even though these spammers aren’t real people, I’d like to take a moment to answer a few of their posts here in case they share any of the same concerns as our real readers:
“Kelly Geraldino” writes, “pd3Rgj-iutbcx33″
Thank you for your question Kelly. To that I would have to say, in all honesty, “gbnqm23-poijjklmm,b”

“China Man” writes, “Thanks you for you are blogging. It makes me thinking and to smile.”
Thank you, sir. I didn’t know spam had the capacity for multi-ethnic personality traits and/or stereotypes.

“Jordan Chastain” writes, “Free Pills!!! Add Inches and Sensation! Are You A Real Man!? Do You Want To Be A Tiger In Bed? Free Pills!!! Be a Superman! More Pleasure!!! Free Pills!!!”
Oooooo-kay. Jordan, maybe don’t eat all the pill samples when you’re bored at work, and ease up on the exclamation points.

In 7 days, hopefully everyone will be headed for a painful food coma. In 8 days, DJ GuyPod will return to the Rock Bottom one ring circus to help you dance of those Turkey Day leftovers. The show last Friday stunned the ladies (probably) and left them all wanting more - more of his trademark hot pink spandex, or less of it. DJ GuyPod was too drunk on the melodies (and Jack Daniels) to be sure of anything. The show on the 28th promises to be totally nucking futs!

There’s a storm a-brewin’ and she’s coming our way. Tropical Storm Omar (it’s a cross-dressing storm - you can tell by the fingers and the deeper voice) is due to hit PR later tonight. The National Society of Barometric Stuff has issued an official warning and action plan for all of Rincon. I’ll spare you the highly sophisticated and technical mumbo-jumbo, but basically what they recommend is for everybody to go to Rock Bottom and get drunk. The nastier stuff isn’t supposed to start until well after last call, so come on down (and then up) to Rock Bottom. I personally have taken all the necessary precautions. I changed the light bulb in my MagLite and bought some long underwear. I’m going to sleep inside the beer cooler. In the latest Indian Jones movie, Indy saves himself from a nuclear blast by hiding in an ordinary refrigerator, so I’m confident our bottle box can protect me from Omar. If not, at least I won’t go down sober. Ha! If I had a nickle for everytime….

A power outage spanning the entire west side of Puerto Rico was hardly enough to dampen the spirits of the Rock Bottom loyal last night. With the bar and kitchen officially closed and the darkness closing in, DooDoo set up a magical beer garden in the parking lot - that is, if you consider a five gallon bucket full of ice and beer and a few emergency candles lit in a glass jug “magical.” We do. Oti stepped up to DJ out of his car and the party was on. Joe showed up in time for the dance contest. Luckily it was dark enough that we didn’t have to actually see him dance, but it sounded like the guy has some moves.

1 - Mike
2 - DooDoo
3 - Kelly Slater

The Mayaguez casino showdown wasn’t nearly as explosive as the name implies, but we do have a definitive winner. Joe. He took the cake. And by “took the cake” I mean he lost less than me and Billy (I hope his kids can still go to college).
The day started out great. We showed up at the casino at 10:30am, bright-eyed and almost bushy-tailed, to discover that the tables don’t open until noon. Time for breakfast? Brunch? Nah, let’s just go to the bar - where we found a substitute bartender that poured cocktails stiffer than Frankenstein’s neck, including Billy’s bloody mary that was almost a bloody daiquiri that ended up a crantini. After a few drinks, a short conversation about extra-terrestrial life, and a bathroom break, we hit the tables - already flagged by security as three booze-craving gringo gambling addicts…
In my casino debut I lost every dollar that I turned into a casino chip - translation: I am now accepting September rent donations via PayPal. Billy tried to salvage (sort of) the day’s losses in a last ditch effort by putting $100 on black as we walked out. I advised red. Red hit, which means I won absolutely nothing. Joe, however, won in two other categories: 1) in Mayaguez senior citizen lady-luck, and 2) in a $32 pay out at the toy horse races just south of the Rincon Church’s Chicken. Go Joe! Joe managed to attract a silver fox at the casino who followed him to every blackjack table yet criticized his every decision to hit, stay, or double-down… c’est l’amore, non? Confucious say, “He who double-down never get it up.” Lo siento silver fox, lo siento.