haha what?

Oh God, we were watching The Bachelor the other day, and a commercial happened.

A chocolate commercial.

Go ahead and watch this thirty second spot and see if you can catch what caught my attention. See if you can smell what I smelled.





Any guesses?

Try at about twenty one seconds in.

"...lusciously smooth center begins to melt. And so will you."

WAIT WHAT?

YOU WILL START TO MELT?

One minute you've just stuffed 5 truffles down your gullet, the next minute you're melting. That sucks, bro.

HUMP DAY PUMP UP: UR NOT THEM

We got a quick little POWERPUMP here for you today. Totally had something else planned for today (circa Tuesday night), but on my little trek into "the mall", I found PUMPSPIRATION somewhere I didn't plan on finding it.

Kind of like how Rhianna found love in a hopeless place, I found THE PUMP in a PUMPLESS place.




No but seriously, there I was, on my slow, arrogant walk into "the mall", and way up ahead are a couple morbidly obese "women". Walking slower than shit, they allowed me to catch up just when I could open the door for them.

Chalk that up to the precise laziness tactics perfected by the morbidly obese American woman.

Don't worry, there is a PUMP here.

It was funny though, walking right behind them, I could hear not just their vapid chatter about who knows what, but also the heavy breathing that accompanied each strained syllable that they could muster. I wouldn't quite call it English, instead a sad new dialect, littered furiously with desperate breaths.

With each word uttered, a frantic gasp for air book-ended each incomplete thoughts. In their mangled language, word, breath, word, breath, word, breath is the convoluted formula for verbalizing ideas.

My first thought was wow, what a couple WORTHLESS FUCKING PIECES OF SHIT.

But then I became immediately thankful that I was not them. That I know it's NOT OK to be them. And just like that, a satisfied smile spread across my face.

The PUMP fired from my neurons and spread through my entire body. Dopamine, no, COCAINE-FIRE-METH was coursing through my veins.

And you know what else, that new Every Time I Die album is out today! Every Time I Die? What is an Every Time I Die?

THIS



And if you're not sufficiently PUMPED, take solace knowing that there is a band out there called BLASTANUS.

BLASTWHAT?

PUMPANUS?

BLASTPUMP?

NO, BLASTANUS!

bbq unredemption

Long story short, a couple weekends ago we gave a local restaurant a second chance.

Another long story short, our experience amounted to basically encountering a polished turd. A polished turd that was a little bit more polished than last time.

Yes, take something good, something that you enjoy, now cut the enjoyment in half. Still sound like fun, still want to do it?

That was basically the sitch the first time Heckyeahwoman and I tried Satchel's BBQ here in Ann Arbor. Moving to MI from the south, we were pretty spoiled on insane BBQ. Of course, we didn't expect much when we moved here, but you know, whatevs.

Then one day a little BBQ joint opened up and we tried it. In fact we didn't just try it, we invited two friends. Well, one friend and one weirdo. The friend and weirdo were bummed, but not as much as we were. Like, we were talking up how awesome BBQ is, and then we all get dry as shit cornbread, dry as shit meat, and then to add insult to injury, we ate at shitty picnic tables with hokey ass farm artwork on the walls.

It literally felt like the cooks were pointing and laughing at us while we were eating.

Satchel's BBQ was a complete and utter failure. And nobody even wanted to get ice cream after :(

Enter our good friend, Groupon. Or Living Social, or Ann Arbor Real Deal whatever. HYW of course bought the Goupon for Satchel's and now we've got $16 to spend at that shithole smokehouse BBQ joint.

Great, can't wait.

Fast forward about two months, here we are, Saturday night, hungry, lurking our collection of about-to-expire Groupons.

Satchel's is sticking out like a sore thumb on a hand of pinkies.

Well our minds are mad up. Satchel's it is.

The good news:

1. The meat was way better, actually moist.
2. The cornbread was way better, not crumbling under the dehydration.
3. I didn't spend a cent over $7.53 with that sweet sweet Groupon coupon for me to poop on.

NOW THE BAD NEWS:

1. We still ate at goddamn picnic tables.
2. That horrible farm-themed artwork was still there.
3. They were out of pulled-pork.
4. They were out of pulled-pork.
5. They were out of pulled-pork.

How are you out of pulled-pork? Like ever?

People from the north go to BBQ places to get pulled-pork. This isn't a guess, observation, or opinion; it is truth. We don't give a shit about kielbasa, chicken, greens or mac n cheese. Ok, we do kinda give a shit about brisket, but we give a much bigger shit about pulled-pork.

So what's the take away here? I don't know, but sometimes second chances aren't deserved.

Satchels, it was Saturday night and we were one of three tables at 7:00pm; something tells me y'all won't be around when we're ready for a third chance.

espn hate whitey

OK, Black History Month is over, so I can post this gem from like uh, over a year ago that somehow got lost in the mix. Not sure how that happened.

Anyway, for you non-sports fans out there, I always usually try to catch John Clayton's mailbag column for ESPN; he generally does a decent job of answering questions readers send in.

Until this week. Or like, this week a year and three months ago.

The column starts off with a legit question about head coaches getting fired mid-season:

John in Aiken, S.C., writes something I've thought for years.

"I've never understood the logic of firing a head coach during the season,'' John writes. "Unless the interim coach is the heir apparent, like Jason Garrett or Leslie Frazier, what makes teams think they would fare any better with a newly promoted coordinator than they did with the established head coach?''

Good question, John in Aiken!

John Clayton answers:

The firings of Jack Del Rio, Todd Haley and Tony Sparano may seem early, but there is some logic. They have given Mel Tucker (Jacksonville), Romeo Crennel (Kansas City) and Todd Bowles (Miami) legitimate looks at how they would fit as head coaches of those franchises.

And them BOOM!, the racial non sequitur:

All three are minorities. All three are legitimate candidates.

Wait what? OK, not sure how or why race matters at all? Any readers have any insight? About 99% sure that the color of Mel Tucker's skin was the least of any one Jacksonville Jags fan's worries. Especially when the dipshits in the front office are cutting David Garard immediately before the season, who is, ironically, a black quarterback - which is a whole 'nother story, friends.

Then Clayton jumps into a refresher of the bullshit Rooney Rule. While I don't personally know any NFL owners or GMs, I think it's fair to assume that they don't GIVE A FUCK about the color of the coach's skin. It's fair to assume that the only thing they give a shit about is money - which is green, not white. And maybe winning once in a while.

An NFL front office would put a polished turd in a coaching position if he or she thought it would maximize profit. Note: I'm talking about an actual polished turd, not Stephen A. Smith. Anyway, Clayton's Rooney Rule refresher:

Some may look at this as a way to circumvent the Rooney Rule, which requires teams to interview minority candidates. By making these moves, these teams have complied. But the reality is that similar moves in the past have resulted in minority head-coaching hires. Mike Singletary and Leslie Frazier are just a couple of examples.

And one of those coaches got fired after like less than a year, and the other just finished up a nice little 5-11 or 6-10 season. SUCCESS!!

Blah blah more football journamalism:

Bowles, for example, is a legitimate candidate for not only the Dolphins' job but also others. If Bill Parcells were to get another chance to run a club, Bowles likely would be his choice. Although the Dolphins' closing schedule is tough, Bowles could become their head coach if he wins a couple of games.

A three-game sample might not be much in judging how an interim coach would fare in a permanent position, but it's something.

After that totally irrelevant Rooney Rule Refresher, we got some cold, hard facts up in this bitch:

The NFL has 10 African-American head coaches.

peppered with opinion:

The Rooney Rule is working, and that is great for this sport.

No dude, in terms of coaches, what's great for the sport are fair, competitive and intelligent coaches of any color. And a goddamn decrease in ticket prices.

John Clayton, I usually expect more out of you than bullshit diversity peddling and self-hating unrighteousness.

Fuck ESPN when they try and and stick their uppity, elitist noses in politics and race relations.

HUMP DAY PUMP UP: ROLLING STONES

After ending last week's HUMP DAY PUMP UP with that insane Misfits cover, I knew we had more cover-song-PUMPAGE to share. And as usual, I was right.

Let's get into it man.

I hate the Rolling Stones, and as any semi-regular reader will now by now, "hate" is an auto-PUMP.

But I hate the Rolling Stones. Not sure why.

That kind of changed when we were watching Jeopardy the other night and a couple clues were Rolling Stones lyrics. In fact, I think it was the entire category.

Naturally, I yelled out UNDER MY THUMB each time till I got it right. And like five deep, Under My Thumb was the correct answer. Long story short, I am now in the market for a Rolling Stones greatest hits collection.

Speaking of Under My Thumb, Social Distortion covers it and turns it from a kinda boring little number into one of the PUMPIEST PUNK JAMZ of ALL TIME.

Don't believe me? Well would you believe the author of this fine literary-themed website has been known to ROCK THIS JAM multiple times in a row at the gym?

Cause it's true.




And keeping on that Rolling Stones tip, check out this awesome cover of Paint it Black. If this cover were a hashtag, it would be #BoringSongsDoneRightToPUMPYOUUP.

Virtually every punk band and their mother has covered Paint it Black, but as you'll see shortly, this particular cover segues nicely into the next PUMPTUNE.

So that said, let the Downsy-looking singing (and yelling) styles of may man Karl bring you home.



And I think a natural transition from Earth Crisis covering Rolling Stones would be a Earth Crisis covering Eric Clapton or Cream or whoever sings THE SUNSHINE OF YOUR LOVE. The Police?

Boston?

Man I don't know. If anybody knows who the F sings this song, get at me. Not that I couldn't just Google it I guess.




You not a fan of a Sunshine of Your Love? Is that it?

Maybe you're a fan of this!

Remember this, my wayward sons: the rest of this week is to you what anything and everything in the 70's and 80's were to the Stones - drink it, snort it, fuck it, kill it, eat it, shred it, bang on it, pluck it, yell at it, write a song about it, whatever it is, do it with the most PUMP FILLED RECKLESS PUMP ABANDON.

Coming up later this week maybe: a local shitty BBQ joint somehow redeems itself despite being out of pulled pork.

sausage journey

So I mention'd last week that we would be making sausages. And after finding out that our original meat grinder was missing a part, we ordered what we thought was the correct part, found out it wasn't, and then finally just purchased a new goddamn meat grinder.

Instead of SAUSAGING IT UP ON SUNDAY, we sausaged it up on Wednesday night. Four and a half hours later, we had like 25 sausages!

Allow me to walk you though this picture-filled narrative of our Sausage Journey.

We started out with about 6.5 lbs of pork butt, which is actually pork shoulder. Pretty lean, pretty awesome. Notice the delicate fingers of Heckyeahwoman HOLDING THAT MEAT IN PLACE while she cuts it up into easily grindable chunks.
















TIME FOR THE MEAT GRINDER








LOOK AT ALL THE FUCKING MEAT!!!













OK, so you've got over six pounds of meat all ground up, what do you do with it?

Well, you run it through that grinder one more time! WTF were you thinking?

Before we started, both of us were well aware that this was gonna be a two-person job. Enough thanks can't be given to Orange Guy for keeping his watchful eye on us, while kindly staying out of the way.





















Take a look at a bowl of pork butt, all ground up. Note that the photo immediately below is actually from the batch we made with jalapenos and cheese. Yes, you read that right; we made brats with jalapenos and cheese.





















I don't remember exactly when, but all of a sudden, while either grinding or stuffing, Heckyeahwoman exclaimed while pointing at me: "YOU'VE GOT MEAT ON YOUR FACE HAHAHA!"

Immediately below is a picture of that - the meat chunk is just to the right of my sideburn. Still not sure how it got there, but I'm pretty sure it was Heckyeahwoman-related.





MEATFACE










Looks like the meat grinder kinda scared somebody! But not enough for him to not sneak a peek of the SAUSAGE JOURNEY!


















We used actual condoms as the casings.


















Here's a better view of the tube-stuffing set up.

















HOT CHICK WITH A COUPLE HANDFULS OF MEAT!

















Heckyeahwoman was exhausted after a marathon meat-making Sausage Journey.

The fruits of our labor, immediately below. Notice the jalapeno & cheese stuffed brats in the mix too.


















DAAWWWWW

Did all that on Wednesday.

Got home from work, washed my face, brushed my teeth, AND STARTED MAKING SAUSAGE. Literally from like 6:15ish to like 10:30, we were on a Sausage Journey! Totally forgot to watch Whitney and Burn Notice!

Rest assured that we will keep you posted on future Sausage Journeys.

weirdo in the bathroom

Wow, so last Saturday night Heckyeahwoman and I were out to eat at a fancy restaurant (actually a bar lol) and I had a serious case of HolyFuckINeed2Pee.

Entering the bathroom, I saw something strange: one dude urinating at the urinal and another dude urinating in the stall. The dude washing his hands is irrelevant.

Now that's not weird. But the bathroom is really small and there really only is one (1) urinal and one (1) stall. Totally cramped to get three dudes in there.

But the strange thing was the way the dude in the stall was standing, like totally trying to block from view his pathetic dong.

See the picture below for a digital illustration.















Now I've def peed much closer to dudes before - at parks, in troughs, at urinals, truck stops; you name it, I've peed next to a dude there. But the thing is, very rarely are there creepers trying to catch a glimpse of my shriveled tool. Aside from the sporadic tug n chug, it's just peeing.

So why this guy was so weird about it is anyone's guess.

But SRSLY, what a jerk. I bet he's a real uptight asshole at home.