Thursday, December 6, 2012
Dear Dumb Bitch,
First, I'd like to give my condolences for your son passing a couple years back. I am sorry that you, as a parent, lost a child. I am not sorry that you, as a parent, are no longer to blame for your poorly raised son shitting up the place. Fuck if he would have turned out merely half as fucked in the head as his mother (that's you), it would have been a disaster.
Dumb Bitch, you let your son go to college to become an aspiring rapper. Read that again. Your let your son go to college to become an aspiring rapper. Am I missing something? There is nothing college about rapping. There is nothing rap about colleging.
Dumb Bitch, you co-signed on student loans for your son, apparently unaware that a co-borrower is just as responsible for any debt incurred as the main borrower. That's why you had to cosign - homeboy didn't qualify for a loan by himself. But it's cool, the federal loans got forgiven upon his passing. Gone, great for both of you. Well, for you.
Unfortunately, the private loan didn't get forgiven. Here is what happened: you were looking to borrow some money, probably waited till the last minute so you didn't have time to properly shop around for a loan, most likely had some sort of deadline for tuition payment, so when you did somehow manage to qualify, you just snoozed through the closing.
So you totally missed the part where the sales consultant offered you life insurance, disability insurance, or unemployment insurance. You know, that shit that pays back the loan in the event of DEATH, disability, or shitcanning. And the most fucked up part is that all that stuff gets covered right away. So you fucking started the closing on snooze.
Or maybe you heard the consultant going through the insurance products and blew them off, thinking that it can't happen to you. Well that's the reason your were looking at a private loan in the first place - because those things do happen to you.
Lucky for her, local radio DJ slash philanthropist, Mr. Joyner came along and picked up the tab on her debt. It's nice to know that if I were in a similar predicament as the Edwards family, Mr. Joyner may actually help me out. If I weren't white. Minor details though.
Dumb Bitch, I am sorry about your son, truly very sad, but people like you are the reason this country is fucked. The good news is that it is not all for naught. No, your startling lack of personal responsibility and constant looking for ways to skirt accountability do serve a purpose; there has to be a bottom rung, somewhere to start - someone beneath someone.
In order for there to be haves, there must also be have-nots.
Monday, October 29, 2012
She's crazy. She doesn't matter anymore. Ann Who? OH MY GOD SHE CALLED SOMEBODY THE R-WORD.
So next time I want to call somebody a retard, I'll instead just go order a bunch of innocent Muslims to get shot with missiles.
Holy shit I hope all of you PC fucks get AIDS. Or get blasted with missiles.
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
One reason is because 95% of my friends and their updates are hidden. The other reason is because they are politically vacuous.
It was then that something occurred to me. For the first time in my short 37 year existence, we have two (2) presidential candidates who genuinely care about the good of the nation, and would like to see the beaten down middle class rise above.
One candidate doesn't look down on me because I'm poor. The other doesn't look down on me because I'm white. The sun is shining today, friends.
We truly have two candidates with immensely differing versions of our future. In fact, they are fundamentally so many worlds apart, that when viewed from a reasonable distance, they are virtually indistinguishable. An American paradox.
Two gentlemen, at least 25 years older than I, and I couldn't imagine being able to relate to them more. Just two of the most humble guys you'll ever meet, and me, just kickin' back, havin' a couple cold ones on the back porch. Just like old times.
Cherish these times, my friends, and put your differences aside, as I believe the times of political turmoil are behind us.
Revel in the fact that come November, no matter who wins, we all win.
Friday, September 28, 2012
I mean I could donate all my money to Fred Phelps and the KKK, just because I can.
But anyway, we had a little fantasy football drama over the past week or so, that said, split now if that sounds boring.
Scenario: my team is suffering from a serious lack of decent running backs. Shoulda drafted better, shoulda made some cr00sh waiver pickups, whatever. I didn't. My team is fucked at RB. That's the reality.
A reasonable solution would be a trade.
After 45 minutes of negotiations over the course of a couple hours one afternoon, a fellow owner and I came to an agreement: I send over Drew Brees and Randall Cobb for Ryan Mathews and Cedric Benson. Note that I really wanted Darren McFadden and Benson, but he wouldn't budge. So I got some solid RBs and he got the QB he wanted.
A fair trade - we both both improved our teams. That's the goal of a trade. Note that I get trading Brees isn't awesome. But I am comfortable rolling with a rotating cast of QBs; my RB sitch is literally killing me (to the tune of Ben Tate, Ahmad Bradshaw, and Peyton Hillis-killing me).
Anyway, our twelve team league unfortunately allows owners to veto, and it only takes four to put the hammer down. Full disclosure: I knew full well about the veto rule going into the trade, but never even thought it would seriously get shot down for the "reasons" we will soon read about. I mean, I knew one team, and by marriage, two teams that would auto-veto. We'll get to them shortly.
We can argue sportsmanship and low character and the ramifications outside of fantasy football (rearing children, voting, driving, etc.), because the internet has arguments for both sides of the argument. Though trade vetoing is generally frowned upon when there is no suspected collusion. Personally, I would prefer to err on the side of being a good sport. Though some people just weren't raised with that on their radar I guess.
That said, let's run through a list of the four vetoers that cast sportsmanship aside and threw down the veto:
Vocal Vetoer 1 - this asshole argued that Brees is horrible, giving my trade partner the short end of the stick. While we appreciate your concern, shut the fuck up, we don't need it. Turns out that Brees is NOT horrible, unless you call a top four QB horrible. With his flimsy argument effectively negated, he straight up broken-recorded it up by saying that the trade improves the teams involved. That's why he vetoed it. Because the two willing participants in the trade are benefiting from the trade. I'm serious. Of course he had a few incoherent "arguments", and copied and pasted some NCAA ethics or something not applicable. Kudos to him for speaking up, but unfortunately nonsensical is his favorite flavor of speaking up. While he acted within the rules, you'd think that some internal alarm would be going off screaming "THIS IS A BITCH MOVE!" as he flipped the veto switch. Final Verdict: I don't think this guy is even real.
Vocal Vetoer 1's wife (Vetoer 2) - while generally fielding the worst team in the league on the regular, she and her husband have colluded before - most recently with her laying down when playing him last year, towards the end of the season. Hard to prove, but suspicious nonetheless. However, more worrisome is her addition to the (un)friendly debate already in progress: "While I am generally suspicious of all trades, why in the world would I ever approve a trade designed to help someone I am playing that week?" Let me tell you: I am only playing you this week. If you wanted to trade, I would never veto it for that reason. I mean, I obviously would now haha. Final Verdict: stay in the kiddie pool, kiddo.
Commish Vetoer 3 - the Commish weighed in with a solid veto. He seems to think the trade leans heavily in favor of my trade partner. I think my trade partner would agree. Believing the trade to lean in my favor, I disagree. If the Commish is right, and my trade partner ends up swindling me in the greatest fantasy football trade ever, good for him! If he thinks I am making that dubious of a move, he should be next in line to shoot me a redonk trade offer. I have always supported the Commish because when other conflicts have arisen he has been nothing but fair and reasonable. Until now. Final Verdict: Thanks dad, but worry about your own team. Seriously dad, you're 1-2, you need to start making moves right meow.
Vetoer 4 (Commish's wife) - she waited until a little later to weigh in. The big question, obviously - was her two cents worth the wait? Nah. Her veto seems to fall squarely into the "just because I can" camp. Her repeated insouciance in league matters had me thinking she would neither veto nor approve the trade. Which makes it a possibility that she had less than savory motives - vetoing just because she can, or she was encouraged by her husband. To be fair, while her reason for vetoing is just as childish as the other three, she did do us a favor by calling us out for the ridiculousness of the situation. It's hard to argue with that. Like the Commish, I know her personally, and they are both very nice, pleasant, intelligent, and fun people. Final Verdict: I appreciate her offer to personally reimburse my trade partner and I the $50 entry fee if we dipped out of the league lol.
So the trade got vetoed because it makes the two involved teams better or because it's simply within the rules. I get how the free agent budget kind of regulates the waiver process, but because another owner outbid me for Andre Brown, by $1, that makes his team better at the league's (and my) expense. Where was that veto!? And let's not even get started on the draft. The first ten or so rounds, every owner is making his or her team better! I don't remember being allowed to throw down any vetoes then!
Every draft pick and waiver transaction needs to be subjected to a very rigorous vetting process where nothing gets done until every owner is in unanimous agreement that we can move forward.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Friday, September 7, 2012
Thursday, September 6, 2012
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Sunday, August 5, 2012
Anyway, yeah, we were initially confident in working with him. We soon found that he was kind of pushy about us signing the actual contract. But with the signing of the contract, and then with actually signing off on the offer sheets in that back and forth exchange, he was a little bit pushier than we thought necessary.
He's gotta eat, he's got a wife, I think he's got a kid; I get it. We could have always told him to chill the fuck out, but we wanted the house as badly as he wanted the sale. So it wound up working out.
Worth noting, he did work for us for a bit before the contract was signed, due to our moving out of state situation. His "I don't normally do this, but..." platitude didn't impress me at all. He did have a fair cancellation/contract termination policy though.
Technically, he or she is supposed to work for you more than a realtor, who is presumably working for the seller. In reality, they are working for themselves - much like anybody you will come across in the mortgage/housing industry. Also much like in life, no matter where you go, what you do, there are going to be people trying to fuck you. And not the good kind of fucking either.
To be fair, I don't feel as if our dude tried to fuck us. And I don't think he did. Maybe more of pushing to close the deal slightly at our expense - with the "at our expense" part being nothing more than cutting corners in the process. The cost of doing business, if that makes sense.
With him specializing in relocations and first-time home buyers, you'd think he'd be extra thorough or patient. Not totally the case.
Because we were moving from out of state, we did a remote closing, at our place in Michigan. Luckily Mr. Tracy was kind enough to do the final walk-through. Though he did miss a few things, like the flat screen wall mount left on the wall, as well as the empty Bose speaker wall mounts, yep, also left on the wall. Unfortunately our old-ass CRT isn't easily mountable. Also, the final cleaning wasn't what we expected.
We will definitely be there at the next final walk through, lesson learned.
When we did the inspection, a few of the outlets in the basement weren't working; the mental notes we made to have them checked out slipped our minds and we moved into the house with them still not working. Would have been nice to have him follow up on that for us. Obviously buyer beware, but still.
Having spent a good portion of my professional career in sales, not real estate, I was disappointed with the process. It could have been just that - the real estate process, or it could have been our dude's less aggressive approach, or it could have been him just getting worked by the sellers. I can't help but feel I would have negotiated better.
At the end of the day, I don't think I would use him again. That is less of a knock on him, than me thinking that we could have done it better ourselves. But we don't have our real estate licenses, so that's another thing for another time.
Now if I had friends that were dead set on acquiring a realtor or buyer's agent, I would pass on his name, with caveats. The main caveat would be: if you're a first time home buyer, sign up with him, but get much more involved and don't be afraid to tell him to chill.
Again, this was our first time buying a house and using a buyer's agent/realtor, so our inexperience obviously influenced our perception of how things went down.
Finally, for what it's worth, I have a general rule about not trusting a dude with a goatee. Kinda stupid, but he definitely had a goatee.
Friday, August 3, 2012
That said, I'd like to preface this by saying that I am an asshole. I know it; those who love me know it, and that will probably never change.
Until June 8, 2012, I had never actually purchased a house. Never owned a home. Never did the homeowner thing. This is all first time stuff for me. But on the plus side, I'm not a complete idiot and I like to think that I'm able to give a fair audit of my (our) experiences here.
Overall the experience was very positive - we got the house we wanted, at the price we wanted, with the mortgage rate and terms that we wanted. At times it was kind of stressful, but in the end things worked out.
Stay tuned for my review of our experiences with the realtor.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Thank you for the insane waffle fries.
Thank you for the super clean bathroom that I puked in one morning when my brother came to visit and we mixed a shitload of fruit-flavored malt beverages together the night prior.
Actually, in the south, where hardly anything in public is clean, thank you for being super clean.
Thank you for the constantly smiling and polite employees.
Thank you for serving tasty fast food with out the shitty fast food vibe.
Unthank you for not having ANY GODDAMN Chick-fil-A restaurants where I live.
Eat shit punknews.org for whining about a business because they're not a fucking walking goddamn advertisement for socialism. No kidding, they posted a link on their site, asking you to "read this before eating at Chick-fil-A." I thought it was going to be some shit about the bigwigs at Chick-fil-A like eating babies or something.
Nope, just a reasonable article about how the head honcho believes in some fairy tale shit and tries to (actually does) incorporate that into running a very successful (and very awesome) business. What punknews is merely implying is so offensive that I actually just donated $100 to Fred Phelps.
Thanks for the warning though, twinks!
I swear, the fucktards over at punknews would be the first in line to support a business that serves shit on a stick with a PBR logo before they'd purchase a gilded avian delicacy from a couple honest, fair Christians.
If it takes a goddamn Christian work ethic to finally do something right, then maybe we'd all be better served by taking a page from their book. No pun intended, either.
So yeah, I've been drinking fermented CranRaspberry Ocean Spray and I'm a little buzzed; end rant.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Almost non-committal, even.
Oddly, this profound thought occurred to me while I was urinating at the urinal at the work. Note, not urinating ON the urinal like many who came before me that day. No kidding, there was actually urine all over the TOP of the urinal. And of course there were puddles all over the floor immediately below the wall-suspended urinal.
"You people are fucking animals," was my first thought. "I take a very casual approach to not shitting my pants," was my immediate second thought.
Anyway, what is this casual approach?
Yeah, since I've been eating a lot healthier, I suffer a lot less from the explosive diarrhea that used to ruin my immediate-post-dinner experiences for years. Shit, now I can crush Indian buffets and not even think about making the brown. Until the next morning. But haha then yeah, it's ON.
The old me would have cried myself all the way to the men's room.
Not me. Not now.
Nah, I can eat and not worry about literally crapping myself.
So what's the takeaway here? Eat healthier and you won't have to nearly shit your pants at last eight times a week.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Start lurkin' Reaper Records then.
Fire & Ice just put out a real fucking barnburner in Not of this Earth.
Don't believe me?
WHAAAAT THE FERRRRRRK
Yeah, good luck putting this jam on full volume and not just moshing the shit out of your car on the drive to work. It's like, sometimes I wish my windows weren't so tinted so that people can see me slam dancing and finger-pointing in my ride at 7:20 am.
No kidding, two Mondays ago, I two-stepped all the way from my car in the parking lot to my cubicle.
And yeah, that included me going through the security line at the office.
Have you ever seen an asshole with a great haircut just spinkick though the metal detector at work? Well, in an office of about a thousand, many did. And many lol'd.
SMASH YOUR CROWN
I love this album.
Half an hour of upbeat, super dancey kinda hardcore, what more do you want? While a couple of the songs feature some great, non-traditionally hardcore riffs, even the more standard hardcore-styled guitar-work found on the rest of the songs manages to keep things interesting. On one of their previous releases, they incorporated a less distorted guitar and I like that they're not afraid to do things a little differently. Not sure if that was on purpose or due to recording limitations, but I would have loved to hear some of that on this new one.
But don't worry, even though these dudes are from Virginia, they sound like they could be mashing skulls in New York with the Cro-Mags.
Really the only bummer here is that sometimes the vocal patterns and lines are kind of corny, but everything is honestly just too catchy to sweat. But mega-ultra bonus points for the vocalist using the mosh call out, "SOCK IT TO ME!" in the third track, Helpless.
Def love that.
ALSO LOVE THIS:
I don't know, I've been jocking Reaper Records pretty hard lately - this might become a weekly HUMP DAY PUMP UP for a couple weeks, cause they put out some great records that I've been PUMPing pretty hard.
But what about you? You don't care about a bunch of twenty something dudes yelling at you through your speakers. That's cool. But I bet you do care about having an awesome rest of the week and I'm going to eat so much corned beef and cabbage and carrots this week HOLY CRAP I'M PUMPED!
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Like, to death, with rocks.
Or not even to death. Just people stoning you would be sweet.
Next week, maybe we'll visit the glorious idea of you getting tore up from the floor up. Literally tore up.
From the floor up.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
"Wow, I just got really hungry."
But before we get into the suggested usage, let's quickly review our (my) deep tradition of witty sayings...that continually find new and clever ways to degrade women. Note that egregiously degrading women isn't something that is encouraged and should be done sparingly (think: racist jokes).
Take a look at our previous forays into the misogyny game: WOULD, as in WOULD POUND, and PTF, as in PAY TO Fyou know - this one is sometimes even accompanied by a dollar value lol. T
But we'll keep it strictly catchphrase here, folks. Let's get it into it.
"Wow, I just got really hungry."
What does that even mean, and why would you even say that to a woman? Or your tightest bros? I mean, yeah, I say it to my wife all the time. And newsflash, I HAIN'T TALKIN' ABOUT FOOD.
I'm talkin' about butts.
NOMNOMNOM, ya smell me.
So the next time you see a good looking broad, instead of saying something stupid and unremarkable like, "heh that slut is hot", say " WOW, I JUST GOT REALLY HUNGRY."
And see where it takes you. See how impressed your friends are with your sharp commentary. Say it to your spouse and marvel as he or she becomes instantly impressed with your altiloquent appreciation.
Say it to your mom and revel in her taking it literally and immediately heading to the kitchen to whip up some delicious poached eggs and bacon.
*I can't take full credit for WOULD as I'm sure people were already saying it. But I'm going to go ahead and take partial credit for the purpose of this post. #GetHungry
Monday, June 11, 2012
Funny how I DROWNED HIS FUCKING ASS FOR TALKING SHIT.
Anyway, I think they were right; here I am, watching The Bachelorette and putting together this COMEBACK post.
Read on if you want to read a crappy little disjointed narrative of a couple we spied on a first date.
Picture this, pussies: Heckyeahwoman and I. I and Heckyeahwoman. Out on a dinner date at some kinda sketchy Chinese restaurant. Grouponing the shit outta that place. Now picture us going to the neighborhood dive bar afterward to get a couple beers cause it's nice as shit out.
While fighting back tears while fighting back the 'rrhea, I walked my hotwife up to the bar and we ordered a pitcher of beer. "The good stuff please, a pitcher of Labatt Blue", I stammered out to the blonde bartender. Her brief, squinty look of disgust as she sized me up told me that she probably made me for a turd.
Like I said, it was nice out, and the shitty patio there was calling our names.
So Heckyeahwoman led the way to a table at the end, kinda close to this couple that appeared to be on their first date. Kinda douchey looking, poorly dressed, lanky dudebro with a pretty blonde slore. Odd couple.
Not that there's anything wrong with a 25-30 year old guy shopping for clothes at Sear's, but he obviously shops for clothes at Sear's.
First thing that caught my attention was his exclamation that "this shirt is covered with cat hair!" as he brushed, uh, cat hair off his ugly maroon striped, kinda shiny shirt.
Unfortunately his date had her back to us, so we couldn't see her grimace.
After about ten minutes of me trying to talk my way into my own date's pants, an unexpected un-amorous oddity appeared in the form of really fucking greasy fingers.
Yeah, the waitress brought out their orders, a burger apiece. And immediately they both just went to town on them. I've never seen a couple eat burgers so hard. Def kinda got a little chub. But then the waitress came back to check on things and two (2) mouthfuls of food assured her things were fine.
But then it happened.
Duder flags down the waitress with probably the greasiest fingers and hands I have ever seen. He is waving her down with the shiniest, wettest mandibles ever. Like, it is totally plausible that before the date he soaked his hands in baby oil. For a good couple hours. Ladies and gentlemen, this man's hands were GLISTENIN'.
So yeah, anyway, he gets the attention of the waitress, and in one of the most unpimp moves ever, he tells her that his burger didn't come with any bacon, and he "really hopes he doesn't get charged for it".
The greasy, glistening hands, the genuine fear of getting charged for the bacon that never came, the horrible outfit. It was the perfect storm of my pity for this guy.
Turns out they weren't even on a date, first or otherwise. Yeah, it was a purely platonic shitdinner between friends. How do I know this? Towards the end of the date, the dude made multiple mentions of his boyfriend.
So I guess it's not that bad; he was only an asshole in front of a friend, not like, somebody that matters.
Sunday, June 3, 2012
Lil Wayne went to see a basketball game. Turns out, the seats he thought he was entitled to were already taken!
So he got butthurt and pouted to ESPN.
But for real, if I was in the seat-filling business, I wouldn't want my paying customers to have to sit next to him either.
People are starving, getting furiously slaughtered overseas, and Lil Wayne makes headlines by feeling unwanted at a basketball game.
Not only should he get flagged for the race card fail, but he apparently tried to play the celebrity card by thinking he deserves the seats that were already sold out. Already sold to someone else.
Then he went on to say that at his concerts, he deprives his loyal, paying fans of his best performances until he spots a fellow celeb in the crowd. In which case, then it's OK for him perform a little harder.
Lil Wayne is the reason people are racist.
Monday, May 28, 2012
balding, with a shaggy haircut not at all flattering to age's ever more transient follicles? obvi
driving like an asshole in the fast lane in his early-2000's red, base model, dirty Ford Escape? you know it
sleeveless tee with flabby, hairy, untanned arms uglying things up? mmm hmmmm
Jose Canseco shades that can't hide the pure domestic violence in his eyes? that's affirmative cap'n
equally dismal looking partner riding shotty? ferkin' sherkin' yeah
shitty, horrible, untrimmed, uneven goatee? HECK YEAH, MAN
Monday, May 14, 2012
So obviously if you've made it this far, you've read the title of this particular post. And maybe you're worried that I'm about to go on a rant about how horrible feminists are. Well they are horrible. But that's not the point here.
The women's history class was pretty lol though. You knew the "professor" was gonna be a fat lesbian waste of life. Note that the waste of life part comes from her morbid obesity and horrible "opinions", not the lesbian preferences.
Obviously the class was a joke, and in between the man-bashing, we watched a few oddball movies like The Majestic. Not sure how that movie fits in a women's history class, but it held the "professor" back from man-bashing for a couple days.
But here's a funny little story about one of the "projects" we were assigned.
We each had to bring in a song to play for the class and talk about how it relates to women. I don't really remember much else about the assignment - just the song that I chose to play.
Surely you are aware that Strung Out is one of my favorite bands, and they had conveniently just released a new record - that might as well have been glued in my cd player.
So it was natural that I would pick a Strung Out song to bring in.
And I sure did.
The song is called Razor Sex. How's that for a song title to share with a bunch of feminazi psychos?!
Here, listen to this tight little jam RIGHT MEOW:
When it came time to share, you know the "professor" wanted to put the only two dudes in the class on the spot. Her scowl found me first as she asked (told) me if I brought a song in; I answered affirmatively, and walked my CD up to the late 90's style CD boombox, popped it in, and announced the band name and the title of the song.
"The band is Strung Out, a punk band from California; the song is called Razor Sex."
The one other dude in the class immediately yelled out something about "those dudes are still around? Awesome!"
His stoned enthusiasm was cut short by an audible grimace from the "professor" as she repeated the title of the song angrily.
However, that frown slowly turned upside down as I explained that the song is about how men use and abuse women for licentious ends, like sex. FYI - it's really not about that. But that didn't stop me from going on for a roughly thirty seconds about how wrong it is for men to, well, basically exist.
Somehow I got an A in that class, though that could have been due to me VOLUNTEERING AT A DOMESTIC ABUSE SHELTER for the community service portion of a project in that class.
Friday, May 4, 2012
To a job you hate, because you have no idea where to even start to change that.
To working overtime, because yeah, you could use the extra money, and fun and life and family and living can wait till next weekend. Or next month.
To never saying no, because honestly, it's just easier to say yes, and do it.
To doing something you don't want to do for the next 50 years, because it never occurred to you that you don't have to.
To having done something you didn't want to do for the last 30 years, because it just went by so fast.
To having no idea that you've already given up, because life has beaten you down so many times.
Sometimes, I have just the most fleeting flashes of these feelings. And worse, they've gotten more frequent and intense as I've gotten older.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
And now thanks to Citibank, my dream is a reality! All you fucks out there that are blaming big banks for the housing crisis, what about the little people like me, that are playing on big-bank sponsored softball teams?
What about us?!?!?!
Well get PUMPED because your boi is the MVP of the league! Hitting, fielding, base running, making the pouty face from second base, WE DO IT ALL. Shoot, they even got me doing a little first base coaching.
We had our first doubleheader of the season last Thursday, and despite losing the first game 18-5, the night was a resounding success! Also, fuck you, I accounted for at least 50% of the team's offense, in both games lol, including an inside the park home run in the first.
Thanks throwing errors!
Anyway, I was slapping softballs like mouthy wives and this song was PUMPING in my head, PUMPING ME UP.
From my first at bat in the first game to my last at bat in the second game, it was PURE FUN and PURE PUMP.
Everybody was having a blast, nobody was pissed, people were smilin' and laughin' and my PUMP was at an all time high. The frigid temperatures, the tight muscles, the near strains, pulls, and tears, nah, none of that could hold us back.
Especially in the second game.
Yeah, we had the lead through the first five innings, then of course the other team jumps up by three in the bottom of the sixth. So there we are, top of the seventh, last inning, down by three. At least I get to bat third!
Before I know it, there I am sliding across home, bringing us to within one.
Next up, my homeboy ****, crazy dude, good sized, always a smile on his face, he's gotta do something.
The line drive sails into right, over the deep shortstop, in the hole between right and right-center. He's a bigger dude so he's trucking around the bases, and oh shit, yeah, he just touched third and he's going for it - ohhhhh!!! HERE COMES THE THROW!!!
Oh shit, right to the catcher, perfect throw, **** is close and he knows it. So he dives.
And winds up at a dead stop, belly on the ground, about three feet from home plate.
OUT - GAME OVER!
WOW, THE DRAMA, THE PUMP!
So close, so much fun.
Can't wait for tomorrow night's game! Also can't wait to listen to the sweet song immediately below!
STAY PUMPED, TWINKS
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Let's ease back into this blog-business with a nice little story about workplace race relations, shall we?
I hope you've heard of the game/time waster knows as MFK. Of maybe you know it as marry, ferk, kill. Or maybe as bed, dead, wed.
Never heard of it? Take a guess how you play.
OK, name three people to a friend, and he or she has to choose one to marry, one to ferk, and one to kill. Pretty easy right? If you can put together three good names, you can get some interesting answers out of the group.
So, a couple rounds deep at lunch a couple weeks ago, homeboy's eyes widen as he spots a trifecta of perfect subjects for the next round of MFK. For my next round of MFK.
Bear in mind, instead of each of the three full-worded options, we instead utter the individual letters: M, F, or K. You know, to avoid being overheard at work talking about actively murdering or boning somebody. Tryin' to avoid that HR ish.
Anyway, Following dude's wide-eyed gaze, I turned around and what did I spy but three morbidly obese, troll-women waddling around the cafeteria. Before I even had a chance to think about what I was saying, I confidently spit it out:
And that was before I remembered the next lunch table over was packed with about 7 African American lunch-goers.
Happy ending though, nobody outside our table heard my little MFK indiscretion.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
For the most part we've got acoustic rock, with a few peppy jams mixed in. But the vocals, almost whispered at times, combined with the fucked up lyrics, give it kind of a subtle unsettling vibe. Whatever that means.
Love the part about the Jonestown holiday lol.
Check out this little uptempo acoustic jam featuring super PUMPY synths bouncing around. And considering we're in April, you gotta get PUMPED about super PUMPY synths.
In other PUMP news, we have two (2) of our friends coming into town on Thursday night. They are tentatively planning on staying until Monday, but I'm not sure they'll last that long lol. See the kicker is, it'll be the two of them, both female, Heckyeahwoman, and ME.
All in one tiny ass little house, with one bathroom. Truly pity she who uses the turlet after me.
But whatevs, we're gettin' ready for their impending arrival.
Shower cameras mounted.
Creep-mode dialed in.
Full-on cleaning almost completed.
Ladies, we are ready for you! And we're super PUMPED for this weekend!
Monday, April 16, 2012
What? Fuck that. Are you kidding me?
That's just the way it works out.
Think about what that means for a second.
Out for brunch yesterday, we had a free Groupon or LivingSocial or something. Basically the brunch and unlimited mimosas were both free; if you ordered a side of bacon or something, you paid for that.
Pretty simple, right? Everything was great, even the $3 side of bacon that we ordered. A couple mimosas each, a smoked trout omelet, and a beef hash dish thing, life is good.
Then came the bill.
We were both initially perplexed when the $3 side of bacon came to a total of $7.63. Upon further inspection, the total of what we ordered, including the six $7 mimosas was taxed. That's cool, whatevs. But here's the kicker.
That total came to $7.20. The extra $.43 came from taxing the $7.20 again.
No kidding, they taxed us twice!
But that's STILL not the kicker!
I asked the waitress about it, at Heckyeahwoman's prompting, not sure if it was just a mistake or what. I even prefaced my question with, "I hate to be a dick about forty three cents, but..."
"Yeah, that's just the way it works out."
I got so pissed off that I reflexively scribbled a big fat zero on the gratuity portion while uttering probably a little too loudly, "fuck that". Seriously felt that anger literally boil up inside of me, like on the cusp of breaking out in a sweat. Imagine if I'd have been like nine mimosas (instead of three) into my day.
The forty three cents doesn't matter; I don't care about that. I hated the answer, and that's not even an answer. That's a blow off. That's an insult. That's a smarmy "you just got taxed twice and I don't think you're going to do anything about the pathetic reply I just gave you".
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Had a little hiccup with a minor injury, if you could even call it that. Yeah, got a little case of retrocalcaneal bursitis. Retro-what?
Basically where my achilles attaches to the bone in my foot, that spot is inflamed, right at my heel. The tendon is kind of tight, and kind of tight means tight enough for the bursa sack to get pissed/inflamed. After about a month of limping around, I finally went to the doctor, and he told me to just ice it. And to chill out on working out for a bit. Riiiiiight.
It was starting to feel better, but then I went to see Andrew WK in late March, got up front, and jumped around, and it got super sore.
Luckily I found Heckyeahwoman's moon-boot looking foot-immobilizer thing. Wore that for a week, iced furiously, and we're feeling all kinds of better. Just need to have this ish healed up for the work softball season.
Basically for the last two weeks, I've been working out at home - a combination of yoga and body weight exercises. My brother pushed me to step up my pushup game, and I did, to the tune of banging out 80 pushups in a row, on the reg.
90, then 100, maybe by end of April.
One routine I came up with, and am really enjoying at home is what I'm calling calling 38's or maybe THE THIRTY EIGHT. Anyway do this in a row, no rest between each of the four moves (1 set), rest a minute, then do it again and again till you're at four sets. Do some more exercises, then do two more. Then do some more exercises.
10 body weight squats
8 hanging ab raises
Spit gets my heart rate a-PUMPin'.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
See, this is our first serious search for a house. So much of the stuff we're seeing is new to us.
So real quick, we were checking out the basement, partly finished, huge, even with a full bath down there!
We happened upon an area towards the back of the basement, that appeared to be a mini room, but it was concrete, and only about chest-high. There appeared to be a door. And by door, I mean a curtain, blocking the entrance.
Opening up the curtain, we noticed a TOILET and a SINK.
Heckyeahwoman and I shared an audible chuckle, audible enough for the realtor to hear us and make his way over. The three of us gazed in splendor at the toilet. Finally, waiting for Heckyeahwoman to make her way onto the rest of the glorious basement, the realtor shared his two cents:
"Yeah, that's the dumping station."
It gets better; on the other side there of the toilet, there was another same-sized chest-high room. Only this one housed a shower. Totally an army barrack, prison style full bath in the basement. And here, full bath means super sketch dumping station and concrete shower.
I loved it; Heckyeahwoman hated it. And just like in real life, hate trumps love, so we're not getting that house.
Friday, April 6, 2012
it's true, chase bank is playing hard to get in this mortgage game we got here. we bank with them, i have a healthy bank account, my wife is about to be a college professor, we both have good credit, but for some reason they won't give us the time of day.
this dude flat out refused to even entertain the idea of my wife and i buying a house with chase. after finally talking to him for a minute, we made an appointment and he blew it off.
this was of course after i submitted three (3) online requests for contact. two (2) weeks after i submitted my initial request lol. this was of course after i called the local chase branch to see if homeboy was alive. this was of course after he ignored the message the manager of the local branch supposedly left for him. this was of course after i left him a voicemail.
you might think this is pretty crazy, but this actually happened. some pud who works on commission is turning down a prime prospect. i was in sales at one time and selling current customers was the best thing ever. like i always say, never trust a guy with a goatee.
if you're a mortgage lender with chase, and you're reading this, get at me.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
i don't even know what the fuck happened. one day media player was working fine, the next day it only plays one song, then pauses. the problem is that my entire music library no longer automatically feeds into the playlist, and plays continuously.
now when i play a song, that one song goes into the playlist, it plays, and that's it. what the fuck.
i recently synced my ipod to this computer, and i think somehow that fucked up the operation.
yep, somehow apple manages to fuck things up even when i'm not even using apple programs.
what a waste of an hour and a half last goddamn night, trying to fix this shit.
i am so glad that steve jobs is dead.
Monday, April 2, 2012
Yep, the other day at the gym I was busting out some mean-ass cardiovascular body-hating annihilation, when on the TV comes a commercial for a company I was unfamiliar with.
I've heard of SERVPRO, just had no idea what they do. After seeing that short little spot, I now know they are in the business of making empty promises.
Watch this clip and tell me if you're smellin' what I'm cookin'. Go ahead, it's only 16 short seconds. You could make love to your woman, smoke a cig, and crack a cold one in that time.
OK, since I know you didn't watch, SERVPRO is in the damage cleanup and restoration business. Yeah, they come in and clean up after a fire or flood in your home.
But at the end of the video, their little tagline is "Like it never even happened."
UUUHHHHHH brutal house fire killing little Timmy's entire family! Like it never even happened!
Thanks SERVPRO! Like it never even happened!
I can understand how they can clean a house thoroughly after a flood or fire, but I'm having trouble trying to wrap my head around their patented Dead Family Member Recreation Technology.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
I hope you're still kinda PUMPED at least.
You know I ain't going to see Andrew WK and not grabbing a sick tour shirt. YOU KNOW THIS.
So I got that one. And a shot glass with his iconic bloody nosed mug.
Check out this great vid of Andrew WK playing I Get Wet from the show on Saturday night. SOOOOOO PUMPED
heh homeboy took a stagediver to the dome
Oh, and remember how I mentioned I wasn't going to beat a dead horse? Well, on my way to work on Monday morning, I saw a dead possum, totally dead, untouched, in the middle of the road. And on my way home, my way in on Tuesday, and on my way home again, I noticed it was getting more and more run over.
Not sure how that relates to the HUMP DAY PUMP UP, but I thought of it when I typed the dead horse thing.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
St Andrew's Hall
March 24, 2012
Andrew WK sparked up his I Get Wet ten year anniversary tour this spring, and while I missed out on the pre-order, I didn't miss out when the tickets hit the general public. At $20 a pop, Heckyeahwoman snagged those bad boys as furiously as possible. That's the good news.
The bad news was that I had to wait about two months for the actual show.
So was it worth it? The wait? The $20 tickets?
HECK YEAH, MAN
The venue, St Andrew's Hall, was formerly a church, and you can kind of tell - like if a church had the pews gutted, a couple bars installed, a downstairs basement venue (set of the concert scenes from the movie 8 Mile), and that familiar stink of piss, booze, and sweat.
First opener, Aleister X came out with a British accent and black guitar, all veiled in a boxing robe, hood up. Faint background music and beats would come and go as he would perform what could vaguely be construed as songs. In what was possibly the worst live performance I've ever seen, Aleister X literally rapped, howled, and sang, while reefing on his guitar with simple power chords and simple palm muted power chords. One of his last songs, something about night time, or dark side, or something, was really the only thing he played that wasn't horrible.
Maybe he had really poor sound - his guitar, vocals, and background music just didn't mix well at all. Maybe he is horrible, but by the time the ante-penultimate song rolled around, you could barely hear him over the booing.
Car-crash cliche, had to look, couldn't turn away, so we watched the whole set.
Next up was Math the Band. Sadly, we missed about half the set, as we were downstairs in the less crowded basement venue enjoying some drinks. Our descent up the stairs to see them treated us to the SUPER PUMPED sounds of what I would describe as pop-punk-synth-bouncy-PUMP-rock.
Pop-punky, furiously strummed electric guitar with really fast, super-bouncy synth notes, energetic vocals, and what looked like one floor tom all played by a male-female duo. Dude on the guitar and most vocals, shawtie on the synth, drum, and some vocals.
Very energetic, a great opener for Mr. WK.
About half an hour later, the stage darkened and BOOM, a wall of musicians appeared, with Andrew WK right in the middle! The crowd went apeshit as the band went right into It's Time to Party; I threw my concert tee around Heckyeahwoman's neck and ran up front.
The show consisted of the band playing I Get Wet in it's entirety, in order, front to back. And it was spot on - the track listing is definitely ordered for maximum partying. The only reprieves were a little bit of banter to introduce a few of the songs. Most notable was him changing the words from I Love New York City to I Love Motor City.
While his music isn't known for virtuosic musicianship, it was great to see him play his keyboard, and carry a few notes during a few of the slower songs and brief interludes. But when he whipped out his pizza-slice-shaped guitar to play a pretty bad guitar solo transitioning into She is Beautiful, it was kinda awkward. But then he tore into the catchy little intro and everything was right in the world again.
About 6 or 7 song later, just like that, it was time for the encore. Clearly I Get Wet sapped the crowd of most of their energy; the couple songs he played from his second album, The Wolf, while kinda familiar, and good in their own right, don't compare with PARTY vibe of I Get Wet. He closed out the set with a new tune, and a jam maybe from Close Calls With Brick Walls.
There are very few headliners that could make up for the shittiness of experiencing Aleister X; Andrew WK is one of them. 10/10 performance, would definitely go again.
Friday, March 23, 2012
Homeboy, when not vandalizing cars and beating his meat in public is collecting donations from anti-gay groups!
And when he's not doing that, he's evangelizing on the low-low. And if there's one thing misinformed progressives hate more than that dreaded R-word, it's CHRISTIANS!
That's right, the current flavor of the week progresso-god is a Christian!
Anyway, the whole KONY 2012 thing just wreaks of a sham publicity stunt for Mr. Russell.
At the end of the day, I think the best perspective on the situation is shared by Mr. Goad: When dealing with Africa, it’s important to never forget that you’re dealing with Africa. Maybe it’s best to let Africans deal with it.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
I AM GOING TO SEE ANDREW WK
So far in my life, I had one chance to see Andrew WK, and I blew it. Hellfest 2004, he played like last, and I was with my future wife. Why I didn't stick around, I'll never know. But I didn't, and that has haunted me for years.
But we stuck around the next night for the riots, beatings, and bleachers getting torn down lol.
GET ON MY PUMP LEVEL
Don't just get on my PUMP LEVEL, get on my PUSHUP LEVEL. I got word that my brother did 76 pushups in a minute. This was of course after he caught word that I did 65 straight. So yesterday I did 80 straight in a minute twenty.
And because we know it ain't real if you can't duplicate it in the lab, I did it again today. #SciencePUMP!
You wanna know what fueled that PUMP-FILLED PUSHUP EXTRAVAGANZA!?!?!?
Yeah, this song, right below.
SKIP THE CRAPPY PIANO INTRO AND GET SUPER PUMPED WHEN I GET WET STARTS. THE OPENING KEYBOARD GETS ME WET.
LIKE FOR REAL.
GET READY FOR AN IN-DEPTH CONCERT REPORT ON MONDAY. OR MAYBE NOT.
But till then, stay PUMPED because Andrew WK doesn't care about being tired, he doesn't care about being bummed about your job, he doesn't give a shit if you have a little cold or flu, he doesn't wanna hear about your feelings.
He wants you to be PUMPED all day, every day. ERRY DAY. Next time you feel that frown turning upside down, then turning upside down again, think to yourself: what would Andrew WK do?
He'd turn that frown upside down one last time, so it's back to an upside down frown. Smell me.
Monday, March 19, 2012
Lucky for us, and me, that means wrapping up work on Friday right at five, not a second later, and heading to the gym. Ultimately, the pinnacle of my Friday night was watching Rise of the Plane of the Apes. It was action packed, and most importantly, my two hours weren't for naught, as I found the ending to be completely satisfactory.
Fast forward to 8:24am Saturday morning and yeah, that's my alarm going off. Headed into work for four hours, then hit Target to find a decent green shirt for the evening's festivies.
And festivities they were. Of course my friends and I refrained from indulging in serious licentiousness, opting instead just for the standard get drunk on St. Patty's day thing.
All in all, a good time.
Sunday at around 11:30 am had me getting up, kinda hungover, but still ready to face the day. And the day's activities would prove to be humorous.
Had to run some errands, and while I was out, I decided I would pick up a shoe horn. A shoe horn, remember those? I need one for this sick new pair of wingtips I finally bought.
Anyway, do you know how hard it is to find a goddamn shoe horn? I went to DSW, the shoe warehouse place, and the crazy Asian lady working there didn't quite have me convinced that she actually knew what a shoehorn was. This of course was after her telling me they didn't have any. For sale.
A goddamn shoe store not carrying shoe horns.
Luckily, there was a Famous Footwear just two stores down! Oh my luck!
And predictably, they didn't sell shoe horns either.
But, the lady working was kind enough to give me one of their cheap ones that the staff uses! I now have a Famous Footwear-branded mini-shoe horn! Oh the joy! It gets better! I still had to hit the Krog for some grocery shopping.
Turns out the Krog was pretty uneventful, save for me almost dying from the hangover.
And then things got good. Good and Samaritan-y.
Sitting in my car, waiting for the green arrow, I see a dude to my left get out and walk around his car. Oop, there's my arrow, gotta go! With my path home taking me right past said dude, I slowed down and asked if he need a jump or a push or something.
He confirmed with a worried look on his face.
I went to park across the street and ran out to help him push his car. And then all of a sudden, as I'm pushing, another dude comes out of nowhere and starts pushing. We got the car into the Chase Bank parking lot; I turned to my left to thank the random dude for helping, and he was gone.
Skinny-car-pusher-ghost-apparition-dude just up and disappeared. No idea from where he came or to where he went. Then it got kinda strange.
I offered him a jump (I always have cables, thanks Dad!), and he accepted. Told him we could either push his car to where my car is, or I could just go drive up next to his haha. Not sure if that was too off-putting for him, but after I turned and took a couple steps toward my car, he declined the offer.
And like that, we shook hands and parted ways.
Good, cause I had to get home to do some clean ups!
Wait, what? Clean ups?
Heck yeah, CLEAN UPS ARE WHAT YOU DO WHEN YOU'RE DOING YOUR SUNDAY CLEANING AND YOU START THROWING IN SICK SETS OF PULL UP OR PUSH UPS!
HECK YEAH CLEANIN' AND UPPIN', CLEAN UPPIN'
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
So what does that mean? It means great 90's-style fast hardcore, short songs, and Damien Moyal's immediately recognizable vocals.
The album opener, Long Short Life, kicks things off with Moyal yelling, "C'mon and tell me how to live, how to rise up and change the world!" While neither Moyal or On Bodies will ever come close to changing the world, they ultimately recognize this, and are probably happy knowing they just put out a fantastic EP.
Great way to begin the festivities as most of the nine roughly minute to two minute long songs either tell a story of how life keeps getting the best of Mr. Moyal, or serve as a short commentary on the general purposelessness of life.
Third song, Get Real, slows things down a bit as a few simple notes ring out, slowly building as a few sentences are repeated for about a minute twenty. Powerful lyrics and vocals combine with powerful music, making this probably my favorite cut on the album.
It's pretty hard not to identify with the lyrics and the sentiments On Bodies shares with us. Themes of just not cutting it and fucking up, finding a place in this world, and resigning oneself to life maybe not being much more than a slow death, while certainly not novel, are still things we've all probably thought about.
It absolutely doesn't hurt that he cuts these sentiments into super-catchy, digestible sing along-ready bites that furiously induce me yelling along in my car. Or at my wife. It's also nice to see him sprinkle the all the jaded with a few bits of hopeful.
Songs like I Just Can't Win and Better, but Never Good show signs of wanting to do better, to be better, but ultimately life beats him down. Hey man, it's the thought that counts.
Fittingly, the album ends perfectly with Planet Hospice; the music transitions into a breakdown with Moyal yelling, "You can't deny the fact you and I are checked into planet hospice. We are more dying than living, more taking than giving."
Worth noting is that this is the first mp3 I've ever paid for. Yep, I paid just over $8 for 13 minutes of music haha.
Buy this album if you're a fan of great, bitter hardcore with PLENTY of opportunities for dogpiles and scream alongs. Buy this album if you're a 30 year old hardcore fan looking to maybe come out of stagediving retirement the next time On Bodies swings through your town.
Listen to it HERE
Buy it HERE or HERE
Monday, March 12, 2012
Check back tomorrow for a very un-indepth discussion of the band On Bodies, and their new(ish) album (EP), "Planet Hospice". Or maybe we'll talk about something else, who knows.
What is an On Bodies? What is a Planet Hospice?
Had a nice little weekend, saw a movie called AMERICAN MEAT (all caps is all me). And holy shit, we're watching the movie Contagion right now and one of the opening scenes shows the ferry to Kowloon, and we were on that ferry! And I felt (sea)sick (as ferk). Maybe Contagion is about me!
Friday, March 9, 2012
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.
Try at about twenty one seconds in.
"...lusciously smooth center begins to melt. And so will you."
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.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
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?
And if you're not sufficiently PUMPED, take solace knowing that there is a band out there called BLASTANUS.
Monday, March 5, 2012
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.
Friday, March 2, 2012
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.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
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?
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.
Monday, February 27, 2012
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.
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.
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.