The Uncle's Blunders: Vol. One

Picture it...Saturday morning following a night which ended at Domino's, where the Uncle banged on the windows for the Domino's to serve just one more customer. No dice. They were closed, so he ambled home with his tail between his legs and went to bed--but not before slamming a container of sweet potato and russet potato medley (cold).

The morning brought some unpleasant feelings from the belly region, so the Uncle proceeded to his second favorite chair and sat down, wondering what was worse: the smell, or his blinding headache due to his unrelenting hangover. Either way, he staked his claim and finished up. Prior to flushing, he lit his usual post-deposit match and dropped it into the mass of toilet paper that had collected on top of the water in the bowl. Naturally, the paper caught fire and formed a surface blaze on top of the shit. That's right, the Uncle managed to light his own shit on fire. However, burning shit was avoided when he acted quickly and flushed it all down.

Moral of story: blow out the match before dropping it into a mass of paper and shit.

Penises, Peeing, Potpourri.

I hadn't had a physical for seven years before visiting the less-than-lovely South Boston Community Health Center yesterday afternoon. It was quite an experience. I fielded a series of questions upon entering the exam room with the doctor. He asked me everything from parental health to sexual activity and he seemed very nervous the whole time. I didn't think doctors were socially inept, but maybe I haven't been exposed to a true sample. My pediatirican was a real ball-buster (figuratively, you sicko) and the other two budding doctors that i know are both fairly charming and funny individuals.

Anyway, he assured me that by the time I left the appointment I would have all of my questions answered as well as know how to give myself a testicular cancer exam. I appreciated both assurances a great deal.

The weirdest point of my physical came during his lesson for testing myself/my balls. At one point, he was talking to me, looking up at me, and holding my nuts in one of his hands. He spoke about feeling the testes for a good five minutes, all the while cupping my balls in his left hand. I'm standing there with my boxers at my ankles, and all I can say is "Yup. Yup. Yup." I was staring at the wall, praying for it to be over. It amazes me that it's so natural for these guys to have a pair of balls in their hand and not think anything of it. I guess that's why he's the doctor and I'm not. Ball tolerance. I have no tolerance for another's balls, in any regard.

The second weirdest part came when he asked me if wanted the rectal exam, or the two-finger test. I adamantly shook my head. I couldn't even utter the words "fuck, no" because I was speechless. Do men have this done at an early age just to be on the safe side? Boy, I hope not. I've got another 12 years of letting this opportunity pass me by and I'm thrilled about that.

Something else came to mind today that pissed me off. I was having lunch with the sales team from my company at Longhorn Steakhouse this afternoon and i had to visit the men's room as soon as we arrived. Why is it that 90% of all restaurants can't have simply 'MEN' and 'WOMEN' on the doors of the restroom? It drives me insane. This one had 'BULLS' and 'LAMBS'. Stupid. Ever been to the Outback? 'BLOKES' and 'BIRDS'. That one got me steamed the first time I went there because I have no fucking idea what a BLOKE is. And BIRD was pretty indeterminate as well. Some others I've seen: LADS and LASSES (not so bad. I'm a nice LAD), HARRIES and SALLIES (I opted to piss behind the dumpster upon seeing this), JACKS and JILLS (cute. While I'm in your bathroom, I'll be sure to fetch the pail of water without breaking my crown, you dipshit)...the list goes on. What ever happened to BOYS and GIRLS?

My nose is running. I've gotta go catch it.

NAFTA=North American Fucked Trade Agreement

Eli Manning is a fucking retard. The poster boy for pussies around the world turned down probably the most glorious place in this country to live (scenically and temperature-wise) in order to be traded to the Giants. He could be going to the Superbowl this year with San Diego. Now, I don't blame him for wanting to play in NY, because being the Giants quarterback would be a dream come true for any pro quarterback entering the league. Fair enough. As we assess this trade today, here's where Eli stands and where the three players received in his stead stand.

Three words: THREE FUCKING PRO-BOWLERS. Yes, Rivers, Merriman and Keading are all on the AFC Pro-Bowl roster. Any guess as to who the NFC's QB is? Not Eli Manning...some guy from the Saints (gulp). No, the cry-baby pussy is not going to Hawaii. He's possibly not even going to the playoffs and I have to say that it's at least 50% his fault. Just his actions in the Tennessee game were enough to warrant dishing out half of the onus onto his shoulders. And then he did it again in the Philly game. And then he pouted. I'm so glad I'm not a Giant fan. I used to hate when Bledsoe would put his hands on his hips and tilt his head after throwing a ridiculous INT, but Eli's little eye-roll and pout and eventuall head-to-chest walk off are infuriating. I'm surprised he hasn't been picked off by a sniper yet. Who, in God's name, assessed his value upon making this trade? Asinine. THREE FUCKING PRO-BOWLERS. Can any San Diego fan watch Giant highlights without bursting into tearful laughter?

Looking back at trades and assessing them years later is not a fair thing to do, but in this case, it's hilarious. HILARIOUS. A thanks to Mr. Bowen for pointing this out.

Man, it's good to have Tom Brady.

Bedtime Story

What happened in the bed-size naming process? I was thinking about that last night, as to why they left the Royalty/medieval theme and went to a theme that is pretty much theme-leth (theme-leth=theme-less as pronounced by he with a lisp, or seamless by he with a lisp, as it were).

The biggest of all beds is the King, or the king of beds, maybe. It's fit for a king, especially that of a huge king. A king bed can pretty much sleep four. The Queen is slightly smaller than the King but still fit for a small King or the large-sized King's Queen. I've been sleeping in a Queen lately and it's more than enough room for two. I've also been sleeping in a full lately, and that also offers just enough room for two. But why full? Is it a full-sized bed? No, because the king is the fullest. How did they come up with full? Full of shit is what the bednamers were. It should have been called the knight, or maybe the duke. Full is crap, or full of crap. Hmm, maybe I'm onto something here. And lastly we have the twin. I suppose we get twin from the bunk beds, as the top and bottom bed are twin-sized. I'm okay with that, because a twin bed is only fit for one twin. The other twin would be shit out of luck, having to sleep on the floor. Unless of course his family had bunk beds, in which case this second twin would sleep in the other bunk, or the other twin bed. My suggestion would have been to call this bed the prince, as the prince is the King's son. In the spirit of the Spin Doctors, bunk beds would have two princes, and yes, they adore you. But both princes would have big seals upon their jackets because you can't rip them off. So don't just go ahead now.

Oh, Good Lord!

Vegas was, in a word, forgettable. Listen though, only because I don't have a full recollection of the trip, ok? It was fucking awesome in every way, except for the horrible night I had on Friday. But I'll get to that.

For starters:

Line of the Weekend provided by the incomparable BOF., aka Fornari.

"She's a sober Asian chick. Of course she'll come back."

To put this in context for you, we were at our table at Body English (courtesy of the 'Boys beating Atlanta by 10 and winning us enough to justify the cost of a table at that place) and Fornari was alongside some Asian girl. She disappeared and Fornari was asked if she was gone for the night of if she was coming back. That was the response and it was awesome. Just awesome.

Other memorable events: Richie and Carl telling some girls that I was the gay one in the group and then the girls approaching me to ask if I'm really gay. Did I refute that or not? I can't remember. For record sake, I'm not gay...not that there's anything wrong with that. Another great scene was the waiter the Steakhouse at TI. He was from my hometown and he said something about the blueprint for Nick's Roast Beef. Both Carl and I were blown away by this. Other than that, he was an absolute hack. He said things like "fine selection", and "oh, that's my favorite". Let's see here...don't go to Seamless if you're gonna do the whole strip club thing. The place is pretty JV. Either go to the Rhino or to Sapphire's. But I hear you can get pretty, pretty, pretty close to the genitalia of the strippers at Seamless. Heyooooooooo!

My first full day back from Vegas, I got to play NBA2k7 against Ryan Gomes after the C's practice yesterday and it was incredible. What a cool guy. And I almost beat his ass, but he pulled some computer-assisted shit at the end and won via two PPierce J's in the closing minute. And it has been confirmed that D-West is loony. What an absolute maniac that guy is. Hilarious, but borderline mentally challenged. I also shot around with the new ball, and I didn't think it was too bad. Then again, I'm not playing with 8 hours per day. I took five shots on their practice court: An elbow J, which I drained as my first shot, and four layups. I missed one of the layups, so Doc decided not to invite me back for a legit tryout. Fuck me. But if you ever get the chance to play against an NBA player in a video game, do it. DO IT.

A Tribute: 5-day weekends, deals that get done and football.

Before I begin...a little something I have to take care of first.

Nina Gilbert (no complaints!):

Hippie mom of two
My favorite spinach pie
What a weird husband

Now back to the tribute. This is a pretty big weekend we have ahead, and not just for me because the Vegas Vacation is finally upon us. How about the fact that there's five nights of football on the horizon? Amazing. If you want something to watch tomorrow night, please turn on the UMass v. Appalachian State game for the Div. I-AA championship. You won't be disappointed in how hard both of these teams play. It's also the final regular season home game for the Pats; however, it is the Texans. Ahem. But you never know. I might even take Houston against the spread in this game. But Rodney Harrison was upgraded to doubtful yesterday. Let me just say that if I ever do NOT want to be upgraded, it's if I'm being upgraded to doubtful. FYI, the upgrade that occurs before this one is from 'No Fucking Way' to 'No Way'.

Onto deals that get done...Dice-K is in the fucking seat, everybody. My prediction is this: He goes 13-7 with a 2.98 ERA. I think that would be tremendous, and I also think that he's capable of surpassing those expectations. What gives me this feeling? False optimism. I've got tons of it, including a little bit towards the C's signing AI. Hey, there's a snag in the JD deal. Excuse me for not giving a flying fuck. Jed Hoyer spoke on behalf of Theo and Larry last night, which leads me to believe that they really don't give a fuck either.

And finally, 5-day weekends. GLORIOUS. First three in Vegas then back to the Bean for two straight days of sleep, with La French's holiday party and Richie and I playing against the C's in a 2k7 tournament on either the 360 or PS sandwiched between. Yes, you read right. We're playing against a handful of Celtics to prove that pro-athletes hold no advantage in video game bball. I'll let you know how that transpires, butI have to thank Rich for this brilliant idea. I will say that I suggested sticking more than one average Jack in there to validate the sample.

Odds and ends...UMass beat Louisville on the hardcourt last night. Rashaun Freeman is legit (we knew this though) and I was very impressed with the poise of the team down the stretch in that game...

Rest in peace Billy Simard and Dennis Babin. Billy was the father of one of my best friends who lost his battle with cancer this morning. The man loved the Pats and roast beef sandwiches...can't think of two better loves. We'll miss you , Bill. And Dennis was my first drum teacher...although I only took one lesson before realizing I could teach myself more effectively. Dennis lost his battle with OC's a few days ago. One more kind and decent soul sacrificed to an addiction. Sleep well, Dennis.

Ok, have an upbeat and swell weekend overall. I'll be making love to a T-Bone and some 3-card poker in my favorite place on earth.

More Haiku

For Daisuke:

Fitty-dollah bill!
Daisuke is Japanese
Fitty-dollah bill!

For the Dolphins:

Buy a victory
Harrington is a huge bitch
Buy a quarterback

For Albert Haynesworth:

Giant man stomp face
Fat bastard. You should be shot.
League gives slap on wrist

For Rich Levine:

Two turtles. Yes, two.
You can't take care of yourself.
Vegas, man. Vegas.

For Eric Fornari:

Are you ready bitch?
Leave your stethoscope at home
Bring some adderol.

For Carl Fierimonte III:

Stanley is prepared
Twenty-four ounce Porterhouse
I'm afraid for us

For Lauren Cohn:

Learn how to clean stuff
Cleaning makes the world go 'round
And I'm hispanic

I'm all Haiku'd out
Time to stop being poet
Regular blog now

England is experiencing an overwhelming growth in the hedgehog population. Due to unseasonably warm temperatures, hedgehogs have been able to prolong their mating season and what was once a scarce species is experiencing an increase in numbers for the first time in years. In an unrelated story, the restaurant chain Sonic is also experiencing rapid growth in England.

Scattered Brains

I can't help but wonder...

Why would you want to be a fly on the wall as opposed to say, someone hiding in the closet, or crouched behind the bar? If you're a fly, for one, you're probably not going to live through whatever it is you're hoping to see/hear. Also, you'll probably be too busy dodging hands and fly swatters to be able to pay attention to anything else. This saying is only acceptable if you're looking to overhear a conversation between two other flies. Then it's okay to want to be a fly on the wall.

I can't help but wonder...

Why are two of the synonyms for 'crazy' items that can be found in a banana split? Yes, that's right. Nuts and bananas. Why did they stop there? What about cherries and whipped cream? Nuts and bananas are my least favorite of the banana split components, but maybe that makes the most sense for being synonymous with crazy. I also find it curious that we use the word 'plum' to modify crazy. Another fruit? Who comes up with this shit? All of these can easily be replaced with 'fuck' or some form of it, which is my choice for reformation. You're not nuts, you're fucked. And you're not plum crazy, you're fucking crazy. Now, has anyone seen my fucking plum? Oh there it is, right under my fucking nuts. I'm going bananas. FUCK.

I can't help but wonder...

Why is that every time I go to plug something in with a two-pronged plug, I put it in the wrong way? Granted, I never look at the prongs to see which is the fat one and therefore which one should go in which socket, but when I tell you that I NEVER get it right by guessing, I NEVER do. It's a 50/50 shot and I have never been right. It drives me...well, nuts. Fucking nuts. I am to the point where I will yell "WHY?" every time I plug something in. This phenomenon is so far beyond me that it's gotta be supernatural. And if you make me plug something in to test it, it won't work because it just won't. I know it. But this is true. All of it.

A Haiku for A.I.

Allen is coming
Sleeve, could he be the answer?
Nope, no fucking way.

M.I.A.

I'm issuing a few rewards for anyone who can find the following people/groups and tell me WHERE THE FUCK they/he are/is. That's a little confusing...maybe not.

1. The REAL Patriots. I know that Miami is the black hole for New England's beloved team, but give me a fucking break. Brady threw for 78 yards. SEVENTY-EIGHT. Can someone please account for the offensive line's joke of a performance? I know Jason Taylor is good an all, and yes, Belichick even sucks his hog. But the guy posed for a male calendar. Can't someone at least talk some serious shit to this guy on the line and get his head or something? Daniel Graham's hands are still being held prisoner at the University of Colorado and it's got a REALLY TIGHT GRIP ON MY BALLS. I know Maroney is hurt, but how much Kevin Faulk do we have to see over the course of a key game? Bullshit. We had a chance to get in the mix for home-field advantage yesterday. Mission: Failed. Miserably. Come on boys. Please cover against the Texans so I can leave Vegas happy. Most telling lines from family members after the game:

Dad: "Apparently the Pats let the Beverly Pop Warner D-Team play against the Dolphins."

Cousin-in-law Jeff: "Yeah, the Pats and Dolphins switched uniforms before the game."

2. Daisuke (Die-suck-A). They've got until Thursday at 11:59pm to sign his Japanese ass. I'll be on a plane at this time, so make my landing a happy one and wrap it up. WRAP IT UP. Boras is addressing the media from Newport tonight, and I hope to God he has something promising to say about the progress. It does make me a little wary that I know next to nothing about this guy and I want him in a Sox uniform next season in the worst way. I guess it's good that Schilling is taking Japanese lessons, but they do have a Japanese set-up man as well. Also missing: a closer. Gagne is now a pipedream because the Rangers have taken then lead in that race. Maybe they'll bring Jeff Reardon out of his retirement, which he's spending in a room with no windows and no light. All the best, Jeff.

3. My boy B. I know you've had some serious school work to do, but DUDE. 6 Humboldt is missing you, man. Get your shit done and rejoin the human race after we return from Vegas. We will be doing MANY shots of Patroooooooooon for you, my man. Many. OGY.

4. My condoms. Although, I know where these have gone. The Uncle's b 'n' b is over tonight and I am leaving the vicinity for the sake of my ears and my body; I fear the reading on the Richter scale (Richter?) during tonight's cage match. She's a screamer, everybody. My fingers are crossed for the schoolgirl outfit, Tubs. Maybe your support of the Japanese condom manufacturer Kimono will get to the ears of Daisuke and he'll be so moved that he'll sign tonight. No good?

My prayers tonight are with Muhsy, because I need him to collect 27 points for me to have the top point total of the week. If he doesn't, this honor will lie in the deserving arms of the Uncle. Also, I'll be praying that the Vegas 4 make it back safe and sound on Monday morning, pockets full and minds in one piece. Do you think it's possible to play smart poker on shrooms? Hmm. Hope so!

It's Friiiiiiiiiday! Ain't Got Shit To Do!

I got all nostalgic in the car this morning, as I listened to 'Hola Hovito' about 7 times in a row on the way to work. That, by the way, is easily my favorite Jay tune. The fucking beat is just glorious. Anyway, I'd like to reminisce a little bit on this brisk and blustery Friday morning in Boston.

I love watching college basketball, and I do believe that more parody exists at this level than in any other sport. This is why the logical man never wins the bracket pool in the office. It's always someone; somehow it ends up being a female, who knows relatively nothing about any of the teams. Rather, she uses her own version of logic which entails such rationale as "I'm picking USC over Minnesota because it's soooooo nice in California", or perhaps something like "Hmm, Murray State or Tennessee? Since my boyfriend Allen's last name is Murray, I choose Murray State!". And then the Racers end up knocking off a team that was every analysts sleeper. I would have picked Tennessee in that game because Bruce Pearl wears that sick orange blazer.
Back to parody, though. It runs rampant in college bball. There are too many unknown players who end up having an impact on a team. There are too many great coaches in America who are underestimated in a given year because they had a shitty recruiting season. And then there's those teams that you just can't account for when it comes to their success. There's that team that has no fucking good reason for being where they are, but somehow they're there (Bucknell?). They've got a solid, white point guard, a sprinkle of semi-talented high school standouts and some old-as-shit coach who runs the three-man weave before every game to prep his guys. But they find a way to win. I can't wait for March.

Here's what college basketball needs: the next Fab Five. Was there anything better for a sport than a starting lineup of five freshmen that were so fun to watch that I used to record their games? Every last one of them had something to offer me. Jalen was and is my favorite player of all time. Webber was big, strong and powerful with an attitude, Howard provided the height needed at center and a very solid inside game, Jimmy King was silky on the breakaway and had a nice J and Ray Jackson could D up anyone in the country. And they were 18 years old. 18. The year they stole my heart, I asked for the official home uniform for Christmas. You gotta understand, when I was 13 the only things I cared about were Michigan basketball and Notre Dame football. I had the Michigan catalog delivered monthly as well as Blue and Gold Illustrated as frequently as it was published. I knew about ND recruits before the recruits knew ND was interested in them. But I digress...mom came through and I received the real deal Mich. uni under the tree. Jalen's #5, sewn on letters and number and those sick, long shorts. I still have it, as well as his Nuggets jersey (which has been lent out), his Pacers jersey and a 'Michigan Basketball Is Life' t-shirt. To be 13 again.

Anyway...I yearn for the next Fab Five like nothing else. It's impossible not to root for a bunch of guys like that, is it not? It was great for the game, great for the fans and great for the University of Michigan. I cried when Webber took that timeout vs. UNC, but it almost made perfect sense. Their youth eventually got the best of them but they did amazing things together on the court. So until that next Fab Five arrives somewhere, I'll be following my beloved Minutemen under the tutelage of Travis Ford. Mark my words: UMass will be back in the national spotlight by March of 2008. Remember it, take a picture, write it down, I don't give a FUCK. I used to work with a guy who would talk like Chris Tucker every Friday...I miss that, too. A few of my favorite lines for you this Friday:

"Puff, puff, GIVE! Puff, puff, GIVE! You're fuckin' up the rotation."

"What up big Perm...I mean, big Worm."

"I know you don't smoke weed, I know this; but I'm gonna get you high today, 'cause it's Friday; you ain't got no job... and you ain't got shit to do."

"Weed is from the earth. God put this here for me and you. Take advantage man, take advantage."

"Smokey, you know I ain't the smartest man in the world, but, from back here it look like you're takin a shit."

Take The Skinheads Blogging. Take them Blogging.

This is going to be another melting pot of an entry. Honestly, my brain has been so all over the place lately that 1) Richie and I have finally decided on a legit screenplay setting that we are fully planning on pursuing (flight to Vegas will be the first leg of the journey...what an amazing double entendre, no?) and 2) I was finally stumped on a player's number. I don't want to divulge but I feel I must. It was Mr. Levine who ultimately took me down...Mike Vrabel, OSU. The fact that he wore #94 there eluded me in every was possible. Well played, Richard...you piece of shit. I can't wait to take you down in 2K7 on 360.

Anyway, why is it that when you have a word meaning 'full of ____', such as fateful, you lose the 'l' on the end of full--fateful means full of fate. However, if something is void of the given root word, like fearless, you don't lose the 's' on the end. There's nothing better than a good, old-fashioned grammatical or dictional quandary, right? Should I kill myself now or later?

Did anyone watch the C's last night? What a game, WHAT A GAME! It was awesome to see that the Fleet was pretty much ½ full, yet it was still so loud at times! Sorry, but that manufactured noise is such a fucking disgrace to the city of Boston and its fans. Have some goddamn pride. But back to the game...Doc was quoted as saying that this time, they were down for the whole game and almost pulled it out in the end. And if they had, this would have been a huge mental and moral lift for the guys. With all due respect, Doc...shove it up your ass. I don't know what respect is due, to be honest. They blew a 15-point pre-half lead and never looked back. Memphis had been 1-9 on the road this season. Well, welcome to Boston, Grizz. Take our court, have a meal at the Fours on us and while you're at it, have a go with our ladies. Why not?

Tony Allen took his usual offensive game to the shitter last night. A few charging calls, turnovers...just overall deplorable play. I guess PP didn't have the energy he usually does last night. OK, fine. Use him as a goddamn decoy or some shit. He had 9 TO's. Why not let G-Money play 40 minutes and see what happens? If we're gonna mail it in anyway? He's the only reason to watch the C's right now. Actually, Bassy has a real nice stop and pop from the foul line that I'm really fond of. And Rondo...oh, Rondo. Bill Walton made my premonition come true this morning by saying "they had a Hondo, now they've got a Rondo". Thanks Bill. Simply spectacular. Gorgeous, gorgeous shot there.

Alas, there is so much to gain in being a masochistic C's fan. I think. Well, at the very least, you can always get a good seat at the Fleet. (please, no comments about it being the Garden. It's not the Garden) Case in point, La French scored 2nd row seat behind the C's bench for Cleveland on the 3rd. Why i'm most excited: I went to C's-Cavs last year and both PP and Bronbron put up 50. And it went 2 OT's. And Nate and I were on Sportscenter. Oh fucking God Yeah. I'm praying for a close game again.

For Starters...

Ladies and gentlemen, your 2007 Boston Red Sox:

1. Julio Lugo, SS
2. Kevin Youkilis, 1B
3. David Ortiz, DH
4. Manny Ramirez, LF
5. J.D. Drew, RF
6. Mike Lowell, 3B
7. Jason Varitek, C
8. Coco Crisp, CF
9. Dustin Pedroia, 2B

The rotation will most likely be represented by Schilling, Beckett, Matsuzaka, Papelbon and Wake or Lester and for a closer...perhaps Gagne or a player to be named later. Gagne would be a crapshoot, but he's French and if he could get back to pristine form, that's fucking solid. Any day in which I feel remotely at ease with the state of the Sox is a good day. Given my optimism with the pitching, however, the risk of being brought back down to the doldrums and beaten brutally by bad baseball decisions remains high. And my curiousity with what numbers Drew and Lugo would be is gone because we don't have Javy Lopez or Trot coming back. Henceforth, Drew will still be 7 and Lugo 23. I will address my sadness about Trot at a later date...and I sincerely hope he is appreciated wherever he goes. He's the original Dirt Dog, for Christ's sake. (save me your injury babble) Hey, is there anyway Pedroia avoids further comparisons to Eckstein? I hate Eckstein. I'm interested to see what number Pedroia goes with. Of course he had the typical call up number in the 60's last season (64), but I'm thinking he'll take 3 with Loretta gone. We'll see.

I'll conclude today with a little bit of a taste of the response I received from the faux X-mas list of the earlier in the week.

1. My Dad has since sent me two emails containing large-breasted women, one nude and the other scantily clad. The first, he dubbed an early Christmas present and the second, he dubbed a stocking stuffer. Effing awesome, Dad. Nice fucking work.

2. My sister-in-law found it riotous, apparently. But in the email asking me what my inspiration was, she proceeded to go into detail about why she's really depressed lately. Talk about an adverse effect.

3. One of my older brothers told me it was funny, but he got a much bigger rise out of the text message I sent him last Friday with a picture of a Twix Bar and simply the word "Twiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiix!" attached. Didn't see that one coming, but Mike's a weird dude. I guess the apple falls not far...you know what, I'm gonna start using a different cliche in place of the apple one. Umm, how about "the lava doesn't flow far from the volcano"?

4. My mom didn't comment until I called her this morning at work to find out what she thought. I was concerned that she might take offense to the collared-shirt remark, even with the disclaimer. In an effort to make sure she was in high spirits before bringing it up, I pretended to be a parent of a hopeful student at her current employer (local high school) and I inquired about the quality of food in the cafeteria. She saw through it immediately, called me a brat and said she had to go...she'll call me after lunch. Needless to say, I have yet to hear back from her.

Happy Wednesday...once today is over, you are officially more than halfway done with your week. Yes, you are over the proverbial hump, my friend. For the record, I can't stand people who celebrate 'hump day'...especially by ad-libbing off of 'happy hump day' by saying 'happy humping'.

Judy in Cust. Svc.: "Happy humping, Chad."

Me: "Go fuck yourself."

Judy: "Hmm. Bad Wednesday, huh?"

Me: "GO FUCK YOURSELF."

All I Want For Christmas...

Hey all,

Listen, I just want to set a few basic ground rules for Xmas shopping this year in regards to me. I've received some real garbage in the past and I really do not want any repeats of the J. Crew pants fiasco of 2002. Here goes:

Unacceptable gifts:

NO PAC-SUN OR DICKIES PANTS! These things really hug my balls and just make things uncomfortable for me down there. Shirts are fine, but nothing with palm trees or rainbow colors. I AM NOT GAY.

ABSOLUTELY NO COLLARED SHIRTS!!! I don't know how this happened, but ever since I graduated college, Mom has thought it necessary to only buy me collared shirts for Christmas. The one year I opened a box WITHOUT a collared shirt, she actually took it back from me because it was mislabeled and should have been for my brother. So if you are a decent human being, NO COLLARED SHIRTS!!!

Acceptable gifts:

Natural drugs (nothing synthetic, like acid, or meth or something. Mushrooms are fine, pot, etc.)

Booze is ok, but no wine coolers. Jameson or Jack Daniels would be good, but don't insult my tastebuds by purchasing the cheap sh*t. NOT COOL.

Cash is always good. However, stay away from the $20 in the money envelope. Way overdone, folks. Be a little more creative, maybe like putting a $100 in between the breasts of a stripper and sending her to the house to deliver my gift. Wish I had thought of this years ago.

A fail-safe gift would be of the stripper variety, but a little more festive. To be sure I am fulfilled at Xmas, send a hooker to the house for me. BE SURE YOU PAY HER ENOUGH, or else it could turn into a really bad gift. I'm thinking like a grand or so..that should cover all the bases.

I hope this helps you guys out in finding me the perfect gift for this Xmas. So you know, I will be sending out another list come the Spring so you can best prepare for my birthday gifts. Happy Holidays and if you show up with any of the 'Unacceptable' gifts on Xmas, there will be serious consequences.

This One Is Really Not Worth Reading. Seriously.

I'm going to explore the many different ways of telling someone that there's more to what you're saying, but you're not going to go into it fully. To avoid confusion, let's jump right into it.

"...and all that jazz..."- Maybe it's just me, but this phrase coming out of a man's mouth kind of kills me. I don't mind my mom saying it, but it's pretty emasculating. Try it sometime when you're talking to one of your boys and see if he doesn't look at you in a disturbed way, or maybe even hit you.

"...yada, yada, yada..."- This one is fine, but it's not for me. I'm not Jewish. Many of my friends are and it's used fairly frequently around me. I feel like the Jews have the most religion-specific words/phrases that they have jurisdiction over.

"...blah, blah, blah..."- the most logical replacement for the previous. But much like the first one, it's fairly emasculating. Well, I think it's most emasculating if you employ the eye roll along with the phrase. Throw in a flimsy hand motion and that's it.

"...and so on and so forth..."- I like this one second best because I feel it's the most intelligent-sounding of the bunch. That being said, I still don't really use it because I have a favorite that I haven't mentioned yet.

"...and shit..."- This one is clearly the best. It's short, sweet and to the point. It shows that you're not a man who messes around and it demands respect and shit. I highly recommend it.

I'd also like to report on my eventful night of sleep last night. I woke up several times thinking that I was at La French's apartment and it really freaked me out because I would have been alone at her place. Where would she have been if I was there alone? Freaky and shit. I also forgot to set my phone alarm last night, so I did not have the distinct pleasure of being woken up by REO's 'Take It On The Run'. Instead, I snoozed for 90 minutes and had to forego a shower. And I saw a spider on my alarm clock the first time I went to hit snooze. The Uncle knows what I'm talking about when I say that I saw a spider, because this has happened before. The only thing is, it usually happens following a hazy night. And I had no haze last night. What's fucked up about these spiders is that they're flourescent green and I'm too incoherent upon waking to realize that spiders are not the same color as the numbers on my alarm clock. So I spent about 45 seconds this morning trying to 'flick' this spider off of the alarm clock. Needless to say, I failed and I had to wait until he left. Apparently he's afraid of light because as soon as I flipped the light on, he fled the scene. I was very happy about this, and at that point I could carry on with my day of doing nothing, eating greasy food, and so on and so forth. (see? it's a little too formal)

Well, it's Friday and for that I'm sure we're all very thankful. Enjoy it, have a safe one, don't get too drunk, blah, blah, blah. And Tubby, just really get after it tonight. I mean, really just give it to her, would you? Jesus.

A bientot.

Appreciate This, F*cko.

There are so many things in this comedic world that I appreciate on a daily basis. On the flipside of that, there are just as many that I just cannot appreciate, whether from overuse, misuse or general misunderstanding on the part of the delivering party. I came across one of these this morning, and it triggered my piss-poor morning that has since ensued.

I was printing a manual to one of our products this morning, all 88 pages of it. Naturally, the printer jammed. Over and over and over again. My frustration growing, one of my colleagues overheard my plenty-audible curses of 'this fucking printer' and 'oh, fuck you'. So he comes over and wouldn't you know it, he makes an Office Space reference. Now, I am game for these anytime. But they have to be dead on because they are so often overused and misused. If he had thrown a "PC Load Letter? What the fuck does that mean?" at me, I would have been easily amused and perhaps relieved of my ever-growing stress from my paper jam. But he faultered. He went with "Oh, it's like Office Space, dude. You know? When the printer jams?" Yeah, Dave. I fucking know. You know what would be grand? If you could never talk to me again. Seriously, never.

Dave had successfully made my problem worse by blowing a perfectly good opportunity to be funny. If he had said nothing it all, I'd be in a better place right now.

I'm going to be a little tangential right now because I don't want to talk about failed humor anymore. Has anyone taken a good look around lately at our little microcosm of Boston? Where the fuck are we? Shit is warped out there right now and today it really hit me. One, as La French pointed out to me, it's warmer in Boston today than it is in LA. Fucked. Two, the Bruins have won 7 of 9 and may actually be a contender with Tim Thomas in net. Super fucked. Three, the Sox are pursuing a Japanese wonderboy, JD Drew, and dumping Manny. And today they signed another Japanese pitcher, Hideki Okajima, from the Nippon Ham Fighters. THE NIPPON HAM FIGHTERS. Best nickname ever in sports. Anyway, all of a sudden the Sox have an Asian fetish? Todoshi, todoshi. This is all pretty heavy stuff to me.

What brings me back to reality...the C's continue to blow 15-20 point leads in the fourth quarter and teeter between below-average and putrid. The Pats are where we expected them to be and no one is really too concerned with whether or not they'll be back in the AFC Championship game. And of course, the Manny talk. I have to list this one in both categories because while I believe him to really be gone this time (Ortiz convinced me in offering that Drew will bat 4th behind him), it's still familiar and somewhat comforting to me. So we are still in Boston. I'm thankful, I'm thankful.

On top of all of this, I will be in Vegas in exactly two weeks with my boys and it is going to be fucking glorious. Two weeks, gents. How many? 2. TWO.

Save it, Silverman

Russell, thanks for sending this along: (http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/15924950/)

I encourage all of you to read this article about Tony Romo when you get a second. My favorite part of this is when Silverman talks about Romo being allegedly linked to Jessica Simpson. Way to go, Ton'. Clearly you've made it in this league if you can claim to mentioned in the same breath with a fucking slow-witted imbecile. (ok, ok...she is hot. Maybe even super hot, but that show Newlyweds ruined it for me. She's too fucking dumb. And you watched it, too, so shut it.) Also, when you jumble the letters in Romo's full name, you get TOY MORON. I guess he's a perfect fit with Jessica Simpson.

So he's the next Tom Brady? Mhm. This is what they've been saying on analysis shows and such. I won't be comfortable with this comparison until Mr. Romo wins a few Superbowls (with an MVP in there), breaks the Pats winning streak and has people talking about another Dallas Dynasty, all before the age of...oh wait, he can't. He's already 26, and Brady had all of this accomplished by the age of 28.

I have nothing against Tony Romo and I wish him all the luck in the world. In fact, I like the Cowboys because I've always liked Parcells and I'm a big Julius Jones fan. But the only comparison that should be made between Brady and Romo right now is that they've both replaced Drew Bledsoe in claiming their starting spot on an NFL roster

Oh Man, Oh Manny.

It's late November in Boston. The Patriots are surging again, leading the AFC East and standing pat as one of the top five teams in pro football. The C's season is well under way, and I'm pretty sure that they'll be somewhere in the playoff picture come next Spring...albeit the eighth seed if anything. But I like Powe and PP somehow continues to improve his already sick game and things are a little exciting with Rajon and Bassy and company. Oh yeah, the B's are in season, too. I think. But I can't focus...I just can't do it. And don't act like you don't know why because it's pretty likely that you and I are in the same boat, probably fighting over the same oar to get us to wherever we're going as quickly as possible.

"Manny out of Boston by the weekend?" On Sportscenter last night, Steve Levy left off before commercial with this inquisitive statement. The rumors have been flying, just like they have been for years as Manny the Malcontent, a.k.a. Manny the Misanthrope, a.k.a. Manny the Mirthful is supposedly departing for greener pastures. It just doesn't seem all that unlikely this time, a la the boy who cried wolf. As I look out the window of my office (well, cubicle within an office that offers a window view) I can see the wolf approaching the boy and I'm just not that concerned. We might be losing one of the greatest hitters in the history of the game, but as history has shown us, there are far bigger holes to plug that will more than make up for the loss of #24.

We owe Manny $38 million over the next two years. If we can effectively dump that and maybe the salary of the great (barf) Matt Clement, I like what that opens up for us. Granted, we're looking at shelling out somewhere in the ballpark of $60-$75 million for our Far Eastern friend Matsuzaka, but that's fine. Actually, who knows what Boras is looking for. I've heard that Matsuzaka wants meals for a year at Fugakyu and a Nintendo Wii and he'll be happy. Man, Boras is such a prick. Wouldn't it be awesome if we could put him up in a stock in the middle of Downtown Crossing for all to abuse? To me, the most annoying thing would be that one bum who would constantly be asking him is he had any spare change, in that raspy voice of his. Carl, you know what I'm talking about. Either way, if this guy ends up here and materializes, I like what he brings. he commands SIX PITCHES. SIX! Yikes, AL East. YIKES.

There are some pretty good options out there for us, you know. Let's say we send him to SD, where we would likely land Scott Linebrink and Jake Peavy in return. I'm a big fan of this possibility. I've always liked Peavy, even though he had a poor 2005-06 season. And Linebrink is a very, very good set-up guy. As far as replacing Manny's bat, that is pretty unlikely. JD Drew is apparently close to inking a deal and Theo has been high on him for some time. I haven't, probably because he's a whiner and he's never lived up to his billing. But there's always that unknown with him and I guess that leaves a little bit of room for optimism. Either way, we're looking at a .286 career hitter, who, if healthy, will be good for 25 homers and 100 RBI. He's a lefty, so hopefully he'll be feasting on Pesky's Pole and opposite-field wall balls. I just hope that he can handle Fenway/Boston and fans like you and I. He's portrayed himself as a pussy up to this point, and we all know what happens to pussies in Boston (see Edgar Renteria).

There's my rational side. Now my emotional side. I do not want Manny to go elsewhere because he's in the top three of Red Sox hitters, all-time. I do not want Manny to go elsewhere because his character and non-chalance are a fucking cookie-cutter fit for Boston. He's a good guy who happens to be a little bit lazy, but he makes you laugh and more often than not, he makes you jump out of your seat. Will any of us ever forget when he charged out of the dugout with the American flag following receiving his citizenship? No way. That was a great moment. Will we ever forget his 'point' that culminated in him and Petey pointing to each other on the field in 2004 after Manny made a remarkable catch while Petey was on the mound? Not me. And the handshakes? My good buddy Cree and I spent an entire weekend learning the Millar/Manny handshake from 2004. There are just too many moments that I'm not ready to let go of with Manny. When he's gone, we're left with 3 players from the WS Title Year. Yeah, 'Tek, Trot and Timlin are all favorites, too. But Manny is Manny and things just won't be the same without him in Boston.

Back to School

I learned a few things this weekend; here they are, in no particular order.

First off, never play quarters with straight vodka. My buddy Jake was in town this weekend, and following a very nice dinner we went onto Clery's to watch USC-Notre Dame. We started playing quarters at our table and when we ran out of beer, we had to resort to Jake's "two ounces of Belvedere in a pint glass full of ice with a lime" (see below for more on this) instead. I think I only took one of these down, but it wasn't because of my stellar quarters play. I sucked on this night, but thankfully La French was there to pick up my slack and drink several glasses of vodka in my relief. We both felt reasonably well the next day, but the uncle was in poor form at best. He didn't put food to his lips until about 330pm on Sunday, which is rare for him when hungover. He also looked like he just spent a week in the hole with only his friend the rat to keep him company.

Next, if you have a ridiculous drink order that you're claiming to be your drink, I think it's best if you warn both the table and the waitress of this before ordering. Nevermind the fact that you look like a total asshole; you've probably made the waitress think less of everyone at the table as well. Don't get me wrong, I can appreciate a nice glass of fine alcohol over ice at any given time, but when you have to explain how to make the drink in great detail, you've got a problem.

Third...there should be a standing rule against watching a rivalry game that involves your team at a local bar when you're drunk. I had a hell of time keeping my cool on Saturday night when ND was getting their asses handed to them by USC. Nevermind the fact that my girl is a USC fan; she was actually quite gracious in victory with minimal gloating, but being drunk in public and also very angry can be disastrous. It's really only okay to yell things like "you're such a fucking pussy" in the comfort of your own home. Thankfully, there were no repercussions on Saturday night. However, let it be known that ND has no fucking defense and they don't deserve to be mentioned among the top teams in college football. And they're all a bunch of pussies. What, no good?

Lastly, there is nothing better than seeing Tom Brady get really fired up during a game. I'm sure all of you probably saw him toast Urlacher on a key 3rd down late in yesterday's game, and then get up and signal the first down, all amped up. I love this shit. To me, that was a culmination of a lot of things coming out of Brady. He had watched his team attempt to completely blow that game on several occasions by letting the Bears continually take the ball out of our backs and receivers hands. I know every radio and local TV sports show is talking about the same shit this morning, but you just can't turn the ball over in the other team's red zone twice and get away with it. Unless, of course, you return the favor, which Asante Samuel did. This display of emotion from Brady depicts a release of frustration from the previous failures offensively in that game. But what a game it was, and it's nice to see the Pats win at home again.

One question: does anyone really believe that the Cowboys are now considered to be one of the best teams in the league right now?

Things That Are Underrated: Vol. Five

Brake pedal bass drum. One of my favorite things to do is to use my brake pedal as a bass drum when I'm driving. There's always the hope in my head that the guy behind me at a stop light will recoginize the consistent pattern from the rear brakes lights and it will somehow make him think more of me. I know if I was behind someone and I noticed multiple triple bass hits on the brake lights, I'd be pretty excited about it.

Potent Quotables

An excerpt from Saturday morning at the Greenhouse:

Ilan: "I see you're celebrating nature's only human predator."

Rose: "Hmm? Oh, the polar bear. Yeah, I guess so."

Kid on chair: "What about the mosquito?"

Ilan: "No, the mosquito is a parasite. It's not predatory."

Kid on chair: "Oh." (with dismayed look on face)


Another gem from the weekend came in the form of a text message from Richie at 2am, that read simply "drink poison". I apparently left the bar without bidding a proper adieu, thus I should die. Awesome.

Hope everyone is enjoying this long, festive weekend. Go Irish.

Boned Out

While there rarely comes a day when I go to bed thinking that there's a greater force smiling down on me because of some sort of great fortune from the day past, I frequently bed down with the opposite feeling. This opposite feeling would be that somewhere, some asshole is holding a universal remote control that allows him to make my life a constant state of boniness.

Boniness (N. derived from bone, bony): of or relating to bones, or being bony. (see below for further explanation)

Bony (Adj.)

1. of or like bone.
2. full of bones.

The full explanation of bony needs to be laid out here because it should be more widely used. My long-time buddy Nate and I concocted this definition long ago and have been consistently updating it whenever we run into a 'bony situation', or more commonly a 'bony sitch'. I think it all started as a weed reference when we were in high school, wherein someone who was totally baked would be referred to as 'boned out'. From here, less-than-great situations became 'boned out' situations, like the time Kev hit his head on a wall at Nick's Roast Beef in Beverly and bled all over the place. 'Boned out' was eventually shortened to just 'bony', or the abbreviated 'bones'. Variations include 'bone thugs', 'digging in the bone yard', 'boned', 'bonemeal' (or the french l'engrais), etc. Here are some examples to better serve your thirst to grasp and ultimately employ its use.

1. "Dude, the C's got blown out by D-town last night. Total bones."

2. "The fact that she totally negged you on the bj is bone thugs, man."

3. "Yeah, the cop served me up a steaming heap of bonemeal when he wrote me that ticket."

4. "We drank too much and I ended up digging in her boneyard." -or the alternate- "She must have been sauced because she had no issue with letting the bone dig."

(this last usage is actually not a negative instance and this is the only time it is used to define something not terrible)

I don't even remember where I was going with this post when I began...oh yeah, big brother. It just seems to me that today, like many other days, there's a dude fucking with me from somewhere and his plan is to make my life hell. I know you've been there, like when you're on a road with several consecutive traffic lights and every, single time you approach a light and gather speed, it turns yellow just in time so that you can't blow through it. That shit kills me. Or, just as you approach the toll lines on the Pike, the lane you've chosen suddenly closes because the attendant is going on break or some shit. Then you have to be the asshole who throws the blinker on and cuts across the Fast Lane lanes to get to another cash lane.

I've had enough of complaining this morning. Let's all rejoice that in a little more than 24 hours, we'll be partaking in the the year's most gluttonous holiday. That's right, tomorrow in the afternoon, all us Americans get to pile our plates high with turkey, stuffing, potatoes, cranberry sauce, squash, what-have-you, in an effort to see who can leave the most on his plate at the end of the meal because he's full. I know I do it every year. The first time I ever had T-Day away from home, I was at an ex-girlfriend's house and her mom got pissed at me because I had so much food on my plate when I tapped out. Apparently her family wasn't aware of my family's tradition but in my defense here, there were so many delicious items on their table that I couldn't help myself. I think you know what I mean. When you're staring at the choice between a second kind of potato dish and the creamed spinach, you don't flip a coin. You buckle down and take both because that's what T-Day is about. After the meal, my tradition is to retire to a couch and attempt to stay awake for at least 10 minutes of football. Following a brief siesta, we all return to the dinner table for dessert and this is my least favorite part. At this point, I've eaten so much that my Dad's pants wouldn't fit me and I'm supposed to eat more? Yet, I do every time. It's ridiculous.

Once again, I've taken a turn to negative town and I apologize. I wish everyone a happy and healthy Turkey Day with their loved ones. I would also bet against the Lions if I were you.

This Time, I Am Really Giving You The Uncle

Here he is, everybody: The Uncle. I believe that I am pointing out that Asal has two breasts, here. Two. Asal, I hope you see this shit. I prop you for giving me access to this photo.

Once again, The Uncle.

What's the Blog du Jour? It's the blog of the day.

This topic has come up in conversation a few times over the last month or two, so I'd be interested to see in anyone has any additions to the upcoming list: Song Lyric Misinterpretations.

I'll start with a recent one, since Richie and I were discussing it over the weekend. It's from Kanye's Never Let Me Down. I thought the line ended with "...when you see my cock'n'balled up...", but it's actually "...when u seen my car get balled up..." I know, my rendition makes no sense, but when I look back on instances where I've totally botched lyrics, rarely do my versions makes sense.

You probably know the 'Stones Beast Of Burden, right? A friend of mine from a few years back used to tell me she thought they were saying "I'll never be your pizza burning". Metaphorically speaking, I liked this interpretation, because I hate burnt pizza. So thanks for not ever being my pizza burning. I also thought that Under my Thumb was actually Under My Tongue.

Most of the music I listen to now is a direct result of my oldest brother. He used to crank Sweet Emotion when my parents weren't home and I always thought they were saying something like "deep in the moonshine". Clearly I was way off, but I think my version is cooler. I can't even tell you how many lines of It's the End of The World... that I had wrong. I think maybe all of them, with the exception of "birthday party, cheesecake, jellybean, boom". I hate that line. Who the fuck has cheesecake for their birthday cake? And jellybeans? Sounds like a cross between Easter and...well, and dinner at the Cheesecake Factory. My family never had cheesecake. If I'm in the minority here, please let me know.

Another one Rich and I have discussed is We Didn't Start The Fire, in which we both that he was saying 'trouble in the sewers' as opposed to 'trouble in the Suez'. During our conversation, we both mentioned something about that terrible sewage problem in NYC back in the day. Wait, what? Following this, I mentioned that it always reminded me of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, in that they traveled through the sewers. I gotta say that Raphael was my favorite Turtle. But Splinter always kind of creeped me out.

You remember that Beck song, Loser? This song exhibits lyrics that, in my opinion, are what other words sounded like to Beck in hearing something else entirely. In other words, it's a song of conglomerated misinterpretations of lyrics. Check it out: (I may get some of this wrong, as it's truly all from memory)

In a time of chimpanzees, I was a monkey
Butane in my brain, I'm out to cut the junkie
With the plastic eyeballs, spray-paint the vegetables,
Dog food skulls with the beefcake pantyhose.

Kill the headlights and put it in neutral
Stock car flamin' with a loser in the cruise control
Baby's in Reno with the Vitamin D
Got a couple couches, sleep on the loveseat.

Someone keeps sayin' I'm insane to complain about
A shotgun wedding and a stain on my shirt
Don't believe everything that you breathe
You get a parking violation and a maggot on your sleeve.

So shave your face with some mace in the dark
Savin' all your food stamps and puttin' down a trailer park.

Yo. Cut it.

(chorus) Soy el perdidor, I'm a loser baby, so why don't you kill me.

Forces of evil in a bozo nightmare

Ban all the music with a phony gas chamber
'Cause one's got a weasel and the other's got a flag
One's up the pole, shove the other in the bag.

With the rerun shows and the cocaine nosejob
The daytime crap of the folk singer's suave.
He hung himself with a guitar string
Slab of turkey neck and it's hangin' from a pigeon wing.

So get right if you can't relate
Trade the cash for the beef, for the body, for the hate.
And my time is a piece of wax
Fallin' on the termite...who's chokin' on the splinters. (awesome irony there, eh?)

(followed by a Bush line, Sprechen ze Deutsch or whatever, etc.)

See what I mean? Well, that's what I think, anyway. I'm sure that Beck's reasoning behind these lyrics is far more intellectual than my given explanation. Actually, if you read through those lyrics a few dozen times, there is some sense to it. Metaphorically speaking, it's so fucked.

One more thing...when that song came out, I bought a Beck t-shirt that SubPop put out, reading simply 'Loser' on the front of the shirt with the SubPop label on the back. I wore this to mall when I was 14 or so and I've never taken so much verbal abuse in my life. I gotta find that t-shirt.

Stevie Franchise

I couldn't post my comment to your blog today, Richard...so this is basically just that. This video is definitely the best of both worlds for me because I love that Juelz tune and Stevie has been my favorite NBA player over the last six or seven seasons (less of late, but still). His reverse, one-handed, spread-eagle jam is top three of all time for me. It's just so fucking pretty and he does it with so much power. The best thing is, you can do that dunk in NBA Live '06...but it's rare. Ask Nee...

I'm like...I'm nice.

Things That Are Underrated: Vol. Four

The Uncle's jab. This guy can't eat today because of a shot he took in the jaw last night...granted I asked for it and I had a suffocation grip at the time, but FUCK. That boy eats his greens, everybody. HEYOOOOOOOO!

Saturday Math Lesson

I'm hungover like a wet towel on a door today, so I need to use my brain to take my mind off of how horribly, horrendously brutal I feel. Here's some simple math for you, French-style.

Rex Grossman x Ben Roethlisberger = Lawrence Taylor

Lawrence Taylor - Roger Staubach = Jim Brown, Jim Brown divided by Phil Simms = Ben Gordon (UConn)

Ben Gordon (Bulls) x Bruce Gradkowski = Tully Banta-Cain, originally with Pats

Current Tully - Current Jabar Gaffney = Mark Duper

Subtract Irving Fryar from Mark Duper and your left with Kerry Collins (pros), but if you take Kerry Collins PSU and add Todd Collins MICH, then you have Dave Meggett. But take Dave Meggett and tack on Will Demps, you've got Tim Krumrie. Weird, right? I know. I've thought about it a lot.

Here's another twisted one: If you take Boomer Esiason and subtract Ray Lucas, that leaves you with Tony Franklin. But if you take Tony Franklin and stick him with, say, Keith Traylor, now you're stuck with Warren Sapp. Sorry, man. Too bad.

Another one? Sure. How about this one: Start with Mosi Tatupu and add on his son Lofa...you've just created a real nice one in the form of Art Monk. Art fucking Monk! Awesome. Actually, I'd like to quote ACK's blog here and call it equal parts rootin' and tootin'.

Here's one that might just blow your mind. If you take Rich Levine, 2006 Softball, and add Adam Blaustein, 2006 Softball, that leaves you with Peyton Manning. Now subtract Carl Fierimonte, high school lacrosse, and you're back to Adam Blaustein 06 Softball. I just can't get over it. It's so weird.

In the spirit of not pissing off my boys anymore with a tight grip, I shall enter the shower now. Plus, if I continue with this shit while Rich looks over my shoulder, I might end up with a few shards of computer screen embedded in my face. I'm truly sorry if you've read through this entire posting, because you've now wasted the last 3 or 4 minutes of your life wondering what in God's name is wrong with me. Lest you forget...Je suis French. A demain.

Tubby Tales

A few things to talk about on a Friday morning here...

1. Tubby and I made our second consecutive midnight DD run last night for dinner. You see, the last two nights have been marked by booze and a general lack of eating (I ate Wed. night, not last night), so we've twice found ourselves famished upon arrival back at Humboldt. So last night, we walk in and there's a man at the counter being chummy with both the cliche cop next to him as well as the cashier. He looked familiar to both of us, but we had to wait until he left to ask the cashier who he was. Turns out it was Kevin McBride, the infamous Southie Pugilist who ended Tyson's career by embarrassing him in the ring. Only now, he's a far cry from the muscular, daunting figure he used to exhibit. Don't get me wrong, he's very intimidating but now's rather tubby (no offense, Tubby) and doesn't appear to be taking care of himself all that much. Plus, the guy spent over $20 at DD (if you know how much one usually spends here, you know that this is an ungodly amount of coin to drop on coffee and donuts) and walked out with a Box 'O' Joe and enough doughy delights to feed an Aboriginal tribe. Did I mention it was midnight? Maybe closer to 1 at this point? Who gets a giant box of coffee at midnight? And save me the suggestion of him possibly working the night shift somewhere because that will ruin this story. I will say this about Kevin McBride: if there is ever a time in a man's life to let himself go and be a tubby bastard, it's following the defeat of Lightning Mike in the boxing ring. I don't care if Tyson was in the twilight of his career. Truth be told, his career was well past twilight when McBride pasted him, but still...you beat Tyson, do whatever feels right, man. I will never think lesser of you for it.

2. I know I talk of him often and sometimes it seems like he could be an imaginary figure, but Carl, a.k.a. Tubby, a.k.a. the Uncle, a.k.a. Fucky, a.k.a. Chip, a.k.a. Wiggly, has been tearing it up on email lately. I got a forward yesterday that was pretty fucking good. Hold on, it should be widely known that any time I get an email from him that begins with "this guy is on fire, everybody", I know it's gonna be good shit. Anyway, he sent one out yesterday in regards to a new b n b of his that he had been exchanging emails with all day. I'm not going to cut and paste here because it's too all over the place, but I have dually noted that 1) he made a Kung Fu reference to her (awesome) and 2) he used parentheticals to inform her that he was using his 'seductive voice'. Grade A, right there. Grade A.

3. I wore a short-sleeved shirt today without a jacket and I drove the whole way to work (45mi.) with the window down. IT'S NOVEMBER 17th. The whole 'It's just New England' thing is overplayed, but shit. New England is effed. Now would be the perfect time to go for a late night ocean dip because the air temp and water temp are practically identical.

4. Last one...if anyone two people would like to join our dinner party on Friday night, let me know. There's a reservation for 8 and we're holding firm at 6 because Fornari can't find a date. Actually, let's do this: if anyone out there would like to be set up with a tall, handsome, funny doctor with a great personality, I can't help you. But, if you'd like meet an undersized, average-looking-but-still-funny doctor with a personality of an acorn, Fornari is your man. Just kidding, Fono. He really is a doctor, though. That's gotta be good enough for a lot of women, no? I'll probably catch shit for that one.

Hope you enjoy this balmy Friday. Now go out there and get some strange ass, would you?

A Man Of Many Germs

Shortly after 10am this morning, I entered the men's latrine here at work for my regular meeting. Today was extra special because I had just downloaded unlimited Sudoku to my phone and I was really looking forward to that twenty-some-odd minutes of working one out. I was also looking forward to the puzzle.

I finished the mid-level Sudoku in just under nine minutes, which was a little disappointing. However, I felt okay about it because I weathered a few daydreams along the way, which certainly took away from my concentration on the puzzle. Upon leaving the stall, I noticed the President and CEO of the company was leaving his meeting as well, so I acknowledged him and proceeded to the sink. He proceeded to the door and walked out.

Now, I don't claim to be the cleanest of Frenchmen. In fact, I got up so late today that my only option was to re-up the deodorant, comb the hair and brush the teeth before I left. Not really an issue considering the fact that I work for a manufacturing company in Franklin and pretty much everyone here is a total slob. But I digress...the hand-washing post-meeting is not negotiable. It doesn't matter if the fucking fire alarm goes off in the middle of your meeting and you have to interrupt the meeting to get out...you wash your hands before you walk out of that latrine. Think about it this way: you just had, for all intents and purposes, your fingers/part of your hand UP YOUR ASS, making a wiping motion. Sure, the paper provides a barrier between the hand and the fecal matter but for one, the TP in our latrine is like using a sieve to wipe. Second, YOUR HAND WAS UP YOUR ASS. Seriously, I'm completely baffled by this one.

Here's a man, an educated man and a smart man, that chooses not to wash his hands after doing his duty. It's not like this is a forgetful thing, either. If anything, it might be the least forgetful action known to man. Because really, most people probably walk out of the stall thinking to themselves about how horribly it smells in that there stall. I'd venture to say that there's certain levels of pride exhibited much of the time, too. Regardless, your mind hasn't wandered away from the very recent events too much by the time you walk by the sink. So it's a conscious decision to not wash those assy hands. I just can't believe anyone could realistically forget. So my President/CEO, who makes key economic and social decisions for this company on a daily basis--decisions that affect the lives of many--decides not to wash his hands after potty time.

I ask you, would it have been totally unacceptable for me to call him out on this after I saw him pass by the sinks? I could have said something like, "Dude, are you totally serious right now? Wash your fucking hands." Or maybe, "Um, sir? Yeah, I couldn't help but notice that you just stunk up the whole bathroom. And I was just wondering why you didn't make a little stop by Mr. Sink here to wash the residual shit off of those billion-dollar hands?" What's he gonna say at that point? I have to imagine that he'd turn around and wash them, right? Or just fire me on the spot.

Conclusion: La French, if hypothetically we have a Christmas party and you hypothetically come with me, under no hypothetical circumstances are you to hypothetically shake this man's hands. Hypothetically speaking. You know, this kind of reminds me of that part in Mallrats when they give Brandi's father the bag of chocolate-covered pretzels...

***La Disclaimer***

(I think once you meet a girl's mom it's really safe to drop the censors, you know? I mean shit, when you talk about the art of giving head and why Jewish women excel in this arena, there's nothing shocking anymore, right?)

Albert Should Be In The Can

There was an interview with Albert Haynesworth on Sportscenter last night that kind of got me going. He's been out for the last six weeks because he wiped his cleat on the face of Dallas' Andre Gurode during a game against the Cowboys.

Here's an excerpt from the interview: Haynesworth said his six weeks away from the NFL and the prospect that he might not ever play again or even be hired for any job was very scary. Asked if he had figured out why he exploded, he called it a bad moment, probably one of the worst in his life.

Gurode needed 30 stitches to sew up his face. Ask him what his fears were following the incident and he'll probably say something along the lines of "I was just hoping I'd still be able to see/chew/smell anything". Oh, it was scary to think that you might not play another game in the NFL? Albert, if this happens outside of the arena of football, you're probably facing jail time. Granted, there's a lot of shit that goes on within the confines of an NFL game that would never be tolerated in the real world. Those who have played the sport know what happens at the bottom of a scrum following a fumble; you get kicked in the junk, poked in the eye, bitten and punched everywhere. But that's a scrum. If a guy is laying on the turf following a play with his helmet off, I don't know how you evaluate the situation and decide that the proper course of action is to drag your enormous cleat over the guy's face.

I also found it interesting that Haynesworth talked about learning different ways in which to channel his anger so he doesn't explode on the field. Personally, I can't think of a better way to channel anger than to legally beat the shit out of an opposing lineman/running back/quarterback on the field of play between the whistles. You have a license to beat the bag out of someone on EVERY PLAY. I'm not sure I understand why Albert has been so remiss in finding ways to release some of his internal anger. By the way, his community service contributions following the incident involve working with children. Future headline: Haynesworth jabs crayon in youth's eye following incident of coloring outside the lines. I'd feel safer leaving my kid under the watch of a pack of grizzly bears.

My real problem with Albert Haynesworth is not really about the incident at all. In the interview, he wore an all-white Yankee hat. At that point, I just snapped.

Dinner Dialogues: Vol. One

Carl: "The pasta has to be both tender and firm."

Me: "Like a breast."

Carl: "Yeah, exactly. I like to bite it to test it."

Me: "God yeah."

More On/Moron Numbers

What's in a number? I will be forever intrigued by the pathology, rhyme and reason behind a player's choice of number. I thought I'd explore some of the different ways in which some have chosen their identity on their jersey. I will also question a few number selections along the way that I view as just plain hair-brained.

Let's look at Kobe first. After years of wearing number 8, he has switched to number 24 this season; this was his high school number. I'm thinking that he felt like he possibly tainted the number 8, what with his butt-fuckathon up in Colorado. I concur, but what about the previous 'Great 8's'? Yaz, Steve Young, Troy Aikman, Cal Ripken, Yogi...well Kobe, I prop the change. I never liked the 8 because what is it, really? It's two zeroes on top of each other. It might be perfectly symmetrical, but that's about it. It really brings nothing to the table. But 2 multiplied by 4 is 8, so you're still fucked. And I hate you.

Bassy had been 31 throughout high school and his initial pro stint with Portland...however, he couldn't have it in Boston because of "Max". He went with 30, apparently because it was the closest thing this side of 36. 32 was McHale, 33 speaks for itself, PP is 34 and the late, great Reginald Lewis was 35. I'd go with 36 over 30, personally. With 30, you're stuck in a pile of mediocrity amongst the likes of Dell Curry, Mewelde Moore, Chad Scott, David West (a little better than mediocre), Matt Clement...you look at 36, and you're joined by the Bus, Lawyer Milloy, Matthew Barnaby (I had to throw that in, because come on, who knows his number? That's right, this guy)...switch up, Sebastian. You're better than your number suggests.

I'd like to analyze my high school football number next. I was number 10 from 8th grade through junior year, and me and 10 had some good times. Won the QB job as a junior, ran wild over many-a-team junior year and picked off my first pass with 10. I mean, we were tight. Senior year, I switched it up because my long pined-after object of affection wore number 13 in field hockey. That season started off well enough...some solid wins, switched off between 1 and 2 in the conference in total points. But then the wheels fell off the bus. I sustained 7 (how many? 7.) concussions that season and ultimately broke my fibula and dislocated my ankle on Thanksgiving day against Georgetown. A reconstructive surgery later, I would never play again. Save me the 'unlucky 13' bullshit here. Never change your number for a girl.

I'd like to conclude by questioning various number selections based on what I've seen in various sports. Tony Delk, 00. Never got that. Maybe alright for a big man, and only because I love the Chief. But not a below-average guard. Michael Doleac, 51. Why? Unless you're a linebacker, there is no good reason for wearing 51. There are several 1's out there, and personally, you shouldn't wear the number 1 unless you're one of the best. McGrady is fine. Smush Parker, no. Trevor Ariza, please. Anthony Peeler...right. Josh Childress? Uh, no. I'll give Samuel Dalembert a pass because I don't mind a center wearing it. It seems fitting for some reason. Kickers and goalies, too. You're ok with 1. Anyone else, you're only fooling yourself with that shit. You're better off with 0, but Gilbert is slowly reinventing that number.

That's about all I got for now. Anyone care to offer Y.A. Tittle's number? Hmm? I'll give you a hint: The sum of the two digits in his number equal Tim Hardaway divided by Tim Couch. Sit on that.

Today's Blog Is Brought To You By The Letter 'E'

The letter E is a very versatile letter as far as letters are concerned. Today, I will explore the many uses of 'E' and how it affects all of us on a daily basis.

From a sporting standpoint, any moron knows that if you record an error in baseball, it comes up as E-#, depending on the position. For instance, a pitcher's error would be denoted as E-1. I love how in NY this season, Yankee fans held signs that read 'E-Rod' as opposed to 'A-Rod'. In the future, the words 'love' and 'NY' will never be used in the same sentence again.

I always wondered why 'E' was left out of the grading system in school. If you think about it, 'F' is the only letter on this scale that actually abbreviates what it stands for: Fail. 'A',' B', 'C' and 'D' don't stand for anything, so why did they skip 'E' in favor of 'F'? Maybe they should have associated a word with all of the letters so that 'E' could have been incorporated in the scale. You got an 'A', that's Awesome. A 'B'? Still a Big effort. If you landed a 'C', you're just Commonplace, or Customary. A 'D' and your Downright Dismal, or Deficient...perhaps Dreadful, but still not the worst. Now we get to 'E', which could have meant Erroneous, Empty or Exiguous. Then we can get the 'F', wherein you're just Fucked if you're receiving such a grade.

How many people drive on a regular basis? I hate the 'E' in my gas gauge, because it means that I have spend another $35 to fill that bitch up again. The light that comes on for 'low fuel' drives me nuts, because it's just so subtle. If I am ever in the car manufacturing business, my gas gauges will employ a voice; perhaps the voice will be that of Schwarzenegger. When you have little to no gas left, he will tell you to 'Get to the Gas Station', or a subtler 'I'm thirsty, don't let me dehydrate'. This way, you're actually scared to continue on without filling up right away. Or on the contrary, you can yell back at Schwarzenegger and say 'Shuuut uuuup', all Kindergarten Cop-style. By the way, boys have a penis and girls have a vagina.

I've never seen nor heard that they actually exist, but supposedly there is a cup-size of 'E' where the bra is concerned. Personally, I don't think I'd want to handle such a chore because they'd be bigger than my head. And in the event of running into the dreaded 'EE', well, I feel for you, man.

Finally we come to my favorite use of the 'E'. I'd like to award some credit here, but I don't know who started it...so I will divide credit amongst my boys, Richie, the Uncle and B. Somewhere along the line we started doing the Letterman collar-pull and saying 'eeeeeee' like Letterman does occasionally on his show (so I suppose it was spawned from him). We eventually lost the collar-pull and now it's just an elongated 'eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee'. The lengths vary though, so if it's not that bad but still notably bad, you may hear the abridged 'eee'. Over text messaging, a horribly bad thing will be denoted by a capital 'E' in lieu of typing in a bunch of little 'e's. There's also a hybrid of 'eeeee' and 'yikes' that exists, but it's a little less common...it goes a little something like "yeeeeeee-ikes". Here's an example of how the different 'eeee's might be used in conversation in my circle:

Carl: "Hey B, you comin' over for MNF tonight?"
B: "No, I'm baking sugar cookies for my school bake sale tomorrow."
Carl: "Eeeee."

Richie: "How'd your weekend go, guy? You get after it a little bit?"
Me: "Nah, not really. I took some girl home on Friday but all we did was spoon all night."
Richie: "Yeeeeeeeee-ikes."

Me: "Dude, your phone has been ringing for 10 minutes. Who the fuck keeps calling?"
Carl: "Who do you think? It's Em. She wants to get touched."
Me: "Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee."

This is a raw sample purporting a few of the many ways that we incorporate 'E' into our everyday lives. The examples above are purely hypothetical, except for the first three. Eeeeeeeeee.

Hope you all have a sick Monday. Keep it fresh.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you The Uncle

This was too good not to post...my roommate sent this email to my new female friend (who will be referred to as La French from here on in) in regards to finding him female representation.

For clarification, 'b n b' refers to one's bread and butter, or favorite thing. i.e., La French is my newest b n b.

My dearest La French,

So I hear you're heading out tonight. Just a quick note to remind you what your role will be tonight and every other night for as long as you are involved with Le French.

1. As my roommate's "girlfriend", it is your solemn duty to try and find this guy, i.e. the Uncle, a new b n b. Now I know b n b is a new term for you but I think you can figure it out. (By the way, I put "girlfriend" in quotes because I know some people get freaked out by the word.)

2. Just some quick requirements or characteristics that would be nice for a new b n b for me to have:

a) Must have a personality...I don't need someone that when I talk to her it's like pulling teeth. They gotta be outgoing and friendly and like my friends.

b) Must be attractive. This is sort of an addendum to part a above because whenever a girl tries to set you up with someone the canned response is, "She's got a really good personality. You'll like her." And then you meet the girl and she has horns.

c) This isn't really related to finding me a woman friend, but you gotta get me some sort of gig in movies. I mean, your Dad is apparently the living equivalent to Aaron Spelling for Christ's sake. C'mon, I'm attractive, funny, witty, attractive, funny...let's make this happen. Also, I feel as though if I scored some nice acting/movie gig I would no longer have lady problems.

d) No skanks. I'm 26 and have been around long enough to have a few one night stands. Actually, I was so hot this summer that my friends deemed it the "Summer of Carl". I do alright in the one night variety, but I need a girl I can actually put up with for more than one night.

e) no high maintenance. I cannot stand girls who are 1)easily jealous and 2)need me to do EVERYTHING for them. If I wanted someone like this I would have stayed with all my major ex's.

I suggest you print this and possibly carry it around with you in your bag for quick reference.

Thank you in advance for all the efforts made on my behalf. And don't think of this as a job...think of it as helping a friend out. After all, you're not getting paid but at least it's good karma.

Regards,

The Uncle

p.s. I have business cards in case you ever need some to distribute

Bless You, Boys.

I'd just like to wish everyone a Happy Friday tomorrow...while you're all hard at work, I will be trying really hard to break my own sleep record of 17 hours. However, I will not be pumping myself with kolonapins like last time, nor will I be drinking a bottle of NyQuil like last time. In case you couldn't infer from that last line that I was going through a horrendously difficult time, I was going through a horrendously difficult time. So back the fuck up, Tonto.

I will be honoring Veteran's Day tomorrow, and I'd like to say a few words about the few that I am close with, or at least somewhat close with, that served overseas in our current war. Three come to mind, all great men who I have a lot of respect for.

1. Joey F. I don't know you all that well Joe, but obviously well enough to know that you're a crazy sonofabitch and you're just waiting to get back to Iraq to continue what you started in your first visit to the Middle East. You've got balls, my friend, and I take solace in the fact that people like you are over there protecting us over here. My question for you is, why is Chip such a pussy? Just kidding, Tubby. Godspeed, Joey.

2. Mr. Kane. Your stories about your return to the states are glorious, and you also employ the "brothers don't shake hands, brothers gotta hug" method of greeting...one of my favorite movie lines of all time. What I do know about you is that we're cut from the same cloth socially ( you know what I mean ) and women swoon over your svelt, marine physique. Oh boy, I'm sure to get some shit for that description. Whatever, I'm comfortable in my sexuality. If you don't believe me, learn how to speak French. Anyway, should there be a little Kane running around any time soon, he'll surely be a valuable addition to society, bro.

3. Gilbert. Probably the best person I've ever met, everything considered. Here's your movie character, everybody. Went to VMI, met his wife in high school and proposed to her before he left for Iraq, kept his promise and returned to marry her and give her the house and two children that she dreamed of...this is probably the happiest family I've ever seen and it sucks that we can't hang out every day like we used to, Johnny. I will eventually make it back up to Methuen for your lovely wife's glorious cooking and glass upon glass of scotch. Until then, say hi to your family for me and enjoy tomorrow. Thanks for being who you are.

This might be the sappiest thing I've ever written in my life (aside from my grandmother's eulogy, but that's a little different) but I have a lot of respect for our boys over there and our boys who are back from over there.

Happy Veteran's Day.

Things That Are Underrated: Vol. Three

Bottomless pant pockets. I wore this old pair of khakis to work today and they are equipped with bottomless pockets. Well, I fashioned them myself by ripping the lining in the pockets. So many possibilties with these things, such as the old gravel trick from Shawshank, immediate and unrestricted access to the nether region (for purposes doing what guys do...keep their hand down their pants when in private. Oh, don't even begin to deny it dude.), and my favorite one...the old dollar on a string trick. I'm doing it next week at the vending machine at work...hey look there's a dollar on the floor right there. Let me just...hey, what the...?

That's right. It's in my pocket.

There's a time for love...and a time for lip.

A brand new life...brand new life...a brand new life around the bend.

I've had the theme from Who's the Boss in my head all morning. I think it's because I was driving behind a light blue van this morning, weaving through a windy, foliage-dressed road. Why was Jonathan on that show? Everyone knows that Allyssa Milano was there because she was a budding lust queen. But Jonathan was the blatantly homosexual son of Angela and he was probably the biggest pussy on the face of the earth at that time (Jorge Posada hadn't emerged yet). What place did he have on a wildly popular sitcom in the mid-eighties?

As long as we got each other, we got the world spinning right in our hands, baby. Rain or shine. All the time. Growing Pains was the best. Any show where the lead character's best friend is called 'Boner' has got to be a great show. My favorite episode was the one where they put Chrissy to bed and she thinks that they throw these huge parties once she's tucked in. It was awesome when they had the pony in the living room. You know, for being such a cute little kid, Ben Seaver grew into a hideous adolescent and adult. Slight deterrence for his career as an actor...

New boy in the neighborhood, lives downstairs and it's understood. Charles never slept with Jamie, nor did Buddy. Why is that? Before she left for Baywatch and seedy films, they should have plugged her into a love triangle between Charles and Buddy. The result would have been disastrous, and Mr. Powell would have become an angry and violent alcoholic. Sara would have spiraled out of control from Charles' rejection of her, but soon enough he would realize that perhaps having both sisters could be tons of fun. Eventually, Charles impregnates both Jamie and Sarah, putting him in charge of a grossly illegitimate family. All is not lost, however. Buddy falls ass-backwards into an inheritance and buys a huge mansion for all to live in. Charles eventually commits suicide after finding Buddy in bed with his mom and Mr. Powell.

Favorite Facts of Life character: Blair

Least favorite: Tooty

Can anyone remember how Webster thwarts the robbery in that episode? I can't put my finger on it...