One Telly Cut, Please.

Sandwiched between a documentary about the death of an American Journalist and Friday Night Lights, I took in a portion of Sportscenter last night and I was lucky enough to see a candid interview with Tony Romo as conducted by Ed Werder. I can safely say that my hatred for this man Romo has ceased and promptly upon my arrival to my computer this morning, I ordered a Romo fathead for my wall and a Romo jersey. Ok, you got me. I'm so lying. Truth be told, I hate him even more now. What's also irking me this morning is the Superbowl matchup and while I vowed not to talk about it, I can't help it. It's the worst possible matchup for Patriot fans to surmise. I'm also going to do something for the first time at the end of this entry: post an advertisement.

I begin with the Romo thing. As Werder asks him what exactly happened on that fateful day against the Seahawks, Romo looks up and to the side, ums and ahs and offers this. The ball was slippery and he couldn't get a good grip on it. But following this, he does mention that it was his fault. I'm sorry, didn't you just blame it on the ball, Tony? Perhaps you're saying that it was both of your faults that contributed to the second most embarrassing play in Cowboy history (http://espn.go.com/page2/s/superbowlmoments25.html --see #11--). Here's my opinion of what happened. You mention this slippery ball and later on the interview you hop into bed with T.O. and detail how he texted you so much after that game and was just really supportive. What you forgot to mention was that this 'slippery ball' was merely a result of the semen on your hands that you failed to wipe off after beating T.O. off on the sideline prior to the field goal attempt. I mean, are you really going to build this guy up after he lead the league in dropped passes and suicide attempts? You shouldn't. Think about paying homage to those Cowboys who actually made a contribution this season. Maybe Marion Barber or Terry Glenn. I'm getting off track here...digression...my suggestion for the 'Boys is that they draft Brady Quinn and breed him to be the next Troy Aikman. Tony Romo should not be a starter in this league.

Moving onto the Superbowl XLI matchup, my bitterness goes beyond the fact that the Colts are representing the AFC in the title game. It goes beyond the fact that Peyton Manning is going to have a ring on his finger, come 10pm on 2/6 (figuratively, since the rings take months to manufacture). A lot of my angst lies in the fact that NFC's representative is the Chicago Bears, a team that the Patriots embarrassed in Foxboro back in early December. I give all the props in the world to the Bears' D and special teams. Hell, if I could take any ONE player in the NFL and put him on the Pats next year, it would be either Lance Briggs or Devin Hester. What I don't understand is how they've come this far with Rex Grossman at the helm. Do you realize that in TWO games this season, he had an overall rating of under 2? He had a fucking ZERO RATING against the Packers at the end of the season this year. Following this game, he admitted that he wasn't fully prepared for the Packers. I don't know how you can even be under-prepared for a game at the end of the season when you have absolutely everything to prove to your team, your coaches and your fans. Well, maybe fans is a strong word...let's say onlookers. People are still suggesting the Brian Griese start the Superbowl for the Bears. It's a disgrace to the NFL that he's a Superbowl quarterback.

Continuing on the anti-Rex campaign, I know that he throws a good deep ball. He always could and honestly when he was at Florida I really liked watching the Gators play. What baffles me about throwing the deep balls is that if you can have the arm strength to chuck a ball 70 yards in the air and put it on the money time and again, why the FUCK can't you throw a dump off to the flats? Why in God's name can't you hit the slant, 10 yards in front of you? And why can't you throw a 15-yard out to a receiver who you work with every, single day?? It's a mystery to me. He's got it all with his receiving corps. A tall, strong possession receiver in Muhsy, a deep threat with blazing speed in Berrian and a very solid third option in Davis. Plus, Desmond Clark isn't exactly a slouch at TE. So maybe Rex doesn't have the work ethic, I don't know. But it's just AWFUL that he's starting a Superbowl. As much as I hate the opposing QB, at least he's deserving of starting a Superbowl.

I think I've actually ranted enough for today which is an amazing feeling for me. I feel rejuvenated. And as promised, I shall conclude with an advertisement/glowing recommendation for the best hair stylist 'round there here parts. For a fine salon experience, good conversation and a downright lethal appearance when you leave, go see CHANTEL at CENTER SALON in BRIGHTON, MA (617-782-7977). My roommate swears that her work alone is responsible for 50% of his hookups since going to her, if not more. And seeing as he's Tubby, I'd venture to say it's around 85%. Seriously, you won't be let down. Just go in and ask for the 'Telly Cut' and tell her French sent you. I can't promise a discount, but they do have free dumdums. Oh, just do me one favor and don't hit on her. She happens to be Mrs. URLB/Richie's girl. So don't even think about it.

Go fuck yourself, San Diego. (in no way is this purporting any dislike or bashing of the state of California or the city of San Diego. I'm merely showing my distaste for our weather)

A Little Sac Never Hurt Nobody

A conversation I had with La last night got me thinking about something and I'd like to have the input of anyone who might care to offer some explanations. Contrary to what you might think, this is not an issue between her and I but it came up last night in regards to another subject who suffers from this thing.

I have plenty of friends who do it in the company of only male friends. Then I have a select few friends that do it whenever, wherever they might be...regardless of company. I am referring to a guy having his hand down his pants, whether he's sitting on the couch, standing against a wall, driving...you get the point. You may hear this referred to as 'playing with the pud', 'pocket pool', 'itchyballsitis', etc. All I can do here is offer my reasons for handling the meat when I do indeed handle it.

I'm a culprit of this more than any other time when I'm driving alone. I can't really say what makes it so satisfying, but it just feels good. It's not like we're pleasuring ourselves when we have the hand down there, it's more of a comfort thing. I like to lightly pull and scratch areas of the sac when I'm down there; rarely do I involve the shaft or the head. I think women might understand this better if they had a sac. It's impossible to assign a value to a this pliable, dangling bag of balls and mystery fluids but I don't know what I'd do without mine. It's fun to play with from a non-erotic standpoint and assuming I've showered that day, it's pretty clean. Granted some duck butter builds up down there (see definition below) at times and it's a dark and damp area by nature but it's pretty clean because I'm hygienic. I just hate when girls refer to having a hand down our pants as 'gross' because really, if it's gross to you that my hand is down there, why would you ever put your mouth down there, for cryin' Pete? That doesn't make sense. Of course, using this argument will only backfire as surely whichever girl you say this to will ultimately become the warrior princess of not giving head. Like, she'll become all militant about it and forever blame you for pointing out that she's a hypocrite. Thus no bj's for you anymore. Nooooooooo bj's.

Another main reason for needing to lightly scratch and tug at the sac on a regular basis is because it's the itchiest place on my body, hands down. it's not like a disease thing, but if you think about, there are long hairs on the sac that curl in and constantly tickle the ball bag and make it necessary to get down there and give it a scratch, or a rub, or a tug. Again, any girl would understand if she possessed a ball bag. I know that we, as guys, don't see you, as girls, with your hand down your pants, playing around. I think this would gross me out, yes. But it's so different. There's nothing remotely close between our sex organs and yours. It's not like we're...forget it, I can't go there. But you get what I mean. It's not the same ballpark...it ain't even the same fuckin' sport. (Winfield)

This isn't really directed at anyone in particular because again, La and I had a very casual and funny conversation about this last night. Frankly, I don't think she gives a fuck either way but I tend not to do this in public simply because I choose not to. But I can defend those who do because I understand.

duck butter - noun.

1. The sweat that builds up on your ball bag from intense heat and eventually makes its way down towards the crack and settles in. (aka swamp ass)

2. The mud in the swamp.

i.e. (as quoted from the Uncle) I'm working with some serious duck butter right now; time for a wipe.

I left my 'H' in Indy

A part of me died in Indianapolis this weekend, thus I will be known only as 'Frenc' from now on. I'll keep you posted on my quest to retrieve the 'H'.

I'm not going to comment too much on the obvious; it's far too painful to conjure up memories of what sadly was probably one of the greatest games ever played between two goal posts. Perhaps my 'H' lies in some of the sweat that I shed over the course of that game...I sincerely hope Richie posts a picture he took on his way back from the pisser, as you see me in a red throwback Ty Law jersey amongst an absolute ocean of Colt blue. It's pretty awesome. But we all sweat it out in that Dome, surrounded by loathing Manningettes and Harrison's Sons. Some were friendly, others were worthy of having paper cuts over every square inch of their body, followed by a bath in rubbing alcohol.

I really enjoyed it when two girls in front of us asked that we stop using the word 'fuck' in our cheering. You can imagine her dismay when I gave her our patented shoulder shrug and a chorus of 'Schmeh', followed by Richie asking her if she 'was fucking serious'. Well played. I also enjoyed watching Ellis Hobbs return kicks in this game. Finally, I think we all agreed that Asante is now worth in the vicinity of $38 million a year now. It's good to be under the cap.

Lines of the weekend are brought to you by a newcomer to this blog: a Mr. Kyle Chepla. I thought me and my boys were a little weird before this weekend. Now I'm assured that if we're a little weird, Chepla is weird x infinity.

"Taking a dump under a heatlamp was not on my list of things to do today."

-and-

"Before I leave, I have to find my hat. And my dignity."

Finally, my favorite part of the trip was when we stopped in at White Castle at 230am on Saturday for a nightcap of burgers and fries (still fried in animal fat...glorious). After much deliberation in front of the menu board, Chep stepped in and stole the show. "We'll take a crave case of 30 burgers and a french fry." (Uncle from aside joins in with "you better make it three fries, gee") "Ok, three fries. And three diet cokes."

Somewhere over the course of our meal, we got into it with some dudes sitting in the booth next to us. I was right next to them and Carl was on the other side of our table. I don't know exactly what caused this, but here's the ensuing dialogue:

Stranger: "Shut up, you fat fuck."

Me: "What did you say? Did you call him a fat fuck?"

Carl: "WHAT? You c*nt? What did you call me? I'll fucking kill you."

Stranger: "You're a fat fuck."

Me: "Did you really just call him a fat fuck, motherfucker? We'll kill you."

Stranger's brother: "He didn't say anything. Dude, shut up. (to brother)"

Me: "No, fuck that. He called him a fat fuck. (turn towards name-caller) You called him a fat fuck, you piece of shit."

Carl: "I will fucking KILL YOU (and he calls him a c*nt about 40 more times)."

This continues for a bit until Carl chimes in with "That's the difference between Pat fans and Colt fans. You sit there and just yap-yap-yap all day while I come over there and pop you in the mouth." It ends there, and when we walk outside, Richie gets chased by a dog in the parking lot and proceeds to throw his diet coke at it. That was easily the funniest part of the trip.

I Give You The Centaur Lady

In case you haven't heard the recent news from the Cambodian jungle from the last few days, a woman was found stealing rice from a farmer and she was later realized as a girl who went missing in 1988 while herding buffalo. Hang on a sec here...ok, I'm cool. I couldn't figure out which was more appalling...someone being found after having been missing for NINETEEN FUCKING YEARS or an 8 year-old girl herding buffalo. I guess they're equal.

The locals there are likening her to an animal, and rightfully so. Apparently, she just sits in one place and quickly turns her head left to right, over and over, like a squirrel might. Also, upon being clothed and walked outside, she promptly de-clothed herself and sprinted back towards the jungle. I mean, can you blame her? Look at guys who come out of prison and can't re-adapt to society...and these guys have had human contact and square meals the whole time away. Here's a woman, a 27 year-old woman, who has been hunting and gathering, living with jungle animals (sloths and whatnot), walking on all fours and sleeping during the day for nineteen years. How weird would it be for her to be walked into a Stop N Shop or an arcade? Jesus, she'd probably bury herself in the produce. Imagine having hunted game and gathered grains and shit for so long. All of a sudden, you're in the markets of Cambodia where you have the right to barter for anything you want. My guess is that her bartering skills aren't exactly honed to perfection.

Remember Brooks from Shawshank? Look what happened to that fucker. And he worked in the library of the prison...the cushiest job of them all. Granted, he befriended a crow whom he named Jake and he tried to kill Boggs with a letter opener...but still. He was better suited for society than the centaur lady, right? Look, she's basically half woman, half beast so centaur lady works for me.

I think there was a movie made about something like this, not so long ago. It was called Encino Man. Perhaps we can sit centaur lady in front of the old tube for a few days in a row and have her watch it. We'll give her plenty of bugs and long grain rice to munch on (healthier than Goobers and buttered popcorn, right?) and see if she can learn anything from it. Seriously though, what could anyone possibly see as a good way to adapt this centaur lady into society? Maybe home schooling. Right, because kids who are home-schooled in this country are so normal. I played soccer with one of those kids when I was 12. His name was Forrester. Enough said. Perhaps we could display the centaur lady at the zoo somewhere. This seems pretty logical, although she may get freaked out when someone's kid snaps a photo of her and then tries to give her one of his french fries.

Here's an interesting thought: do you think she had sex in the jungle? Maybe she found some giant Silverback and befriended him. Eventually he's gonna let his ape instincts take over. Imagine, you're trekking through the jungle in Cambodia on a tour. "To your left, we have a rare blue-beaked, green-toed parrot who speaks 34 languages and to the right, you'll see a...oh, good lord. I believe that's an ape having sex with a cavewoman. And she seems to be enjoying it...tour's over." Although I cannot even imagine the state of this centaur lady's hygiene after this little jungle vacation. Sure, she probably got rained on plenty but last I checked, Cambodian jungle rain doesn't contain shampoo. She's gotta be diseased, right? But wicked strong and alert at all times...she'd have to be. There's some serious shit in the jungle that could easily destroy her. Oh man, the snakes? A 35-foot anaconda? Or a fucking human? Most dangerous game.

I'm really intrigued by this development in friendly Cambodia. If anyone is up for it and can fund the trip, I say we head over there and film some shit. If 'Jackass' and 'My Super Sweet Sixteen' can make money, there's gotta be an audience for 'Crazy Centaur Lady'.

French's Dictionary. 1st edition. Volume One.

Living the dream - phrase.

1. to have oneself a jolly good time
2. to really get after it
3. to really just dip your balls in it and see what happens

i.e. This weekend we will be living the dream in Indy and attending the AFC Championship game.

That's really all I have to say about what my plans are for Saturday and Sunday.

***currently accepting ideas for signs to hold up at the game***

This blog is dedicated to Dr. Russell Kerbel, who attended the San Diego game last weekend with brother Ron. When told about our plans to go to Indy for this game, I liken his reaction to that of an old war veteran seeing a troop of younger soldiers into battle. He gave us advice, wished us well and may have said things like "godspeed", or "make me proud". We will make you proud, Russ. And we will fight with honor.

Hmm...Could Be.

As I mentioned before, I was up in NH this weekend for some relaxation. If you've been up Rte. 16 in NH, you probably know of a town along that road. Nestling itself right up at the top of my list of cool town names is Effingham, NH. Some possible ways this name came to be:

1. Way back when, perhaps there was a lot of fucking going on up in those there parts. Maybe a brothel or two, or just horny people and a bunch of swingers. Either way, at some point someone suggested that it be named for its nature, but Fuckingham wasn't kosher. Thus, Effingham became the name of the town.

2. There was a restaurant there some time ago, simply called 'The Restaurant'. All they served was ham. Yet, every time a customer would come in, the waitress would still ask him/her what she could get for him/her. Before long, someone got wise to the fact that no one need be asked what they wanted and said person replied "Effing ham! What do you think I want?" The restaurant soon became known as the Effing Ham Restaurant and the town name soon followed suit due to notoriety.

3. The first settler up there was a real joker. The people grew to like him and thought he should be in charge of the town, like a mayor or something. At the town meeting, it was suggested that this man be named mayor of the area. A crusty old chap from the back of the room yelled "not him, he's an effing ham!", of course referring to the fact that he was a joker. But the crotchety elder was overruled. However, the elder was given naming rights of the town and thought it fitting for the town to be called 'Effingham' so that the accused joker could then be Mayor of Effingham.

Now I'm not saying any of these really happened, but they could have.

Rock, Chalk, I Love 24.

Some observations based on my Monday night:

First off, has anyone ever noticed how big the Jayhawk at center court at KU's Allen Fieldhouse is? It's enormous and quite frankly, it's a little on the scary side. That's definitely an advantage for KU. I watched the border war game with Mizzou last night, and a few things were very impressive: Sherron Collins can play, and he picked a hell of a game to showcase that very fact. Also, Allen Fieldhouse is LOUD AS FUCK and that was apparent as ever last night. I was watching it with La and she remarked how loud it was at the game. Know that we had the sound down pretty low and we watch a lot of sporting events, so to make this observation is saying something. Anyway, it's nice to see the Jayhawks back in national prominence since the departure of Roy and the arrival of Self. Well, legit prominence, let's say. They are playing and looking like a top 5 team. Hey, when did JR Giddens transfer to New Mexico?

Second, I have to thank Carl for getting me on the 24 bandwagon. I admit that I wasn't on it before this season for whatever reason but now I'm pissed that I didn't start watching it until now. The truth is, I got hooked on Alias when it came out and there wasn't room in my life for two life-altering TV dramas. So I never paid any mind to 24. And shame on me. On a related side note, is it weird that I kind of wanted Ahmed to kill the kid last night? I mean, the kid didn't even look scared when Ahmed had him get on his knees for execution; he looked borderline annoyed at the demand. But I guess his Dad got nuked, so all is well. I really want to know what's up with Jack's hand. Is that dry skin?

Third, I'm just bubbling over with excitement about the AFC Championship game. Yes, I'm thrilled that the Pats are in it and all, but I just can't wait for this game, this matchup...this rivalry. This is fucking storybook shit right here. We, as Patriot fans, could never have asked for anything else to happen this year. We took down the best team in the NFL and now we have a date with the hated Colts...the two best QB's in the world are facing each other AGAIN. Belichick will surely uncork another genius scheme for this game and oh, how fun it will be to see another Manning complain and put his hands on his hips? I think this will be a close game and I think it will be wildly entertaining to watch. And I know that whichever team wins this game also wins Superbowl XLI.

Stay tuned tomorrow for a full recap of Centerfolds 5th Anniversary Party this evening.

Cheerio.

Weekend Update

I thought there were a few excerpts from the weekend that were worth talking about in todays' post, so here they are in random order.

1. La and I ate at a pizza place this weekend that my parents used to take me and my brothers to when we were very little. You see, we went up to my family's cottage in NH for some rustic adventures this past weekend. Thus we landed at the Pizza Barn. As you might imagine, it's a huge barn that serves pizza. The place is freezing, you sit at long picnic tables and it's lit by candles. Oh, the jukebox plays only country, too. It's like a cross between a hoedown and an Amish mess hall. Anyway, we drank icy Bud Light out of frosted mugs (awesome), ate one slice each of what had to be a five-pound pepperoni pizza (double awesome) and we still have leftovers. If you're ever in Tamworth, NH, go to the Pizza Barn.

2. Deleted for the sake of saving lives. EASY.

3. My weekend rounded out with a Patriot victory (ugly as it was) and a nasty start to a new season of 24. Granted, it's my first season but it was fucking awesome. I'm already hooked. And that's pretty much all I got for now. But a glorious weekend it was.

Happy MLK Jr. Day.

Romo's Lament: The Final Chapter

What a glorious day today has been. I had a bomb pastrami sandwich at the Piccadilly for lunch, won in Friday Lunch Keno for the first time, had a free lunch on my punch card at the Pic, and now this from Simmons today:

"Have you ever seen that episode of 'Happy Days' where Richie Cunningham
was the hero in a big basketball game? He was feeling really good about
himself until he ended up losing a game by blowing a free throw with no
time remaining. I couldn't help but think about that episode after
watching the game on Saturday night. Tony Romo was the toast of the town
after taking over from Bledsoe, being interviewed on TV and dating
starlets like Carrie Underwood. Now, he's being compared to people like
Buckner and C-Webb. All we need now is Parcells acting like Mr. C and
giving him a pat on the back and some Lifesavers to make him feel
better."

I'm so happy. I am beside myself that there's a comparison to, not just any 'Happy Days' episode, but the 'Richie Cunningham blows the game' episode. Just awesome. Wait, wait...my favorite part of the Romo Game was right after Romo botched the snap and came up short of the goal line. He knelt where he was tackled with his hands in his face mask, pulling the helmet down over his face. "Don't look at me! I'm hideous!" Then he walked off the field like the fat kid in little league who strikes out EVERY TIME he gets to the plate. You know the walk...there's like one kid who says something like "It's ok, Bobby. You'll get it next time." And the rest of the team is mumbling things like "fatso strikes out again", and "you suck, Tubby". I don't think many things have made me happier than that fumble...and honestly (this is not made up...it actually went down like this) I had the Cowboys to win and stood to win some decent green if he doesn't botch that snap. No matter.

One more thing about this whole Romo catastrophe before I can put it to bed: what the fuck was Gramatica doing during the play? He looked like a injured bird trying to fly. The route he took to try and block Babineaux was is the equivalent of walking around Boston Common and the Public Garden to get from Park Street T stop to the State House. Asinine, but classic place-kicker stuff right there. I do think that if it were Janikowski, he would have found a way to stab Babineaux in the gut with a fishing knife because Janikowski is a bad man.

I'd like to wish everyone a happy and safe weekend...I'll be enjoying the wilderness of middle New Hampshire with La French, 3 Netflix and some playoff football. Awesome.

A Word From Bowen

This is my newest segment, authored by 'Bowen'. Enjoy.

First of all, Barry Bonds has just put distance between himself whoever
is in distant second place for biggest scumbag in sports. Test positive
for drugs, blame it on a teammate, then name teammate and let it be
known he didn't even ask for the pills, he just took them out of his
locker. Sweeney must be thrilled he's been signed for another year.
Fucking asshole!!!

http://sports.espn.go.com/mlb/news/story?id=2727325

Second, everyone keeps talking about steroids in baseball and how they
will never vote for Mark Mcgwire even though nobody can definitely prove
he took anything. Sure we can suspect, but there might never be proof
unless he admits it. But, they vote for Ripken without a second
thought. Hello!?? This guy played in a whole crap load of games in a
row and nobody suspects he took anything questionable in an era where
basically everyone was injecting or swallowing something? One of the
reasons athletes take steroids is because of their recuperative powers.
You recover from your workout faster which makes you ready for the next
game or workout. Are you telling me there is no doubt in anyone's mind
that Ripken never took steroids once during his consecutive game streak?
No doubt?? At all??? Bottom line is the writers vote for guys like
Ripken and Gwynn because they're nice guys. Mcgwire fucked himself
over, for sure, but how can you not vote for him but vote for the other
two over suspicions. Two voters got it right. They handed in blank
ballots because they don't know who did what.

That is all. Carry on.

The Uncle's Wonders, Vol. Two

Last night was one for the fucking ages. It was one of those occasions that I can replay in my head whenever I'm really pissed or depressed and I will surely laugh. Here goes.

So Tubby and I played a little poker last night, both losing pretty handily but managing to tie one on before we left. We had to drop Kane's ass off in effing Brookline after, which meant a solid half-hour addition to our commute home. Anyway, Tubs gets the call from a previous one-night stand (kind of...) and toys with the idea of having her over this evening. Let me tell you, if booze didn't play a role in this one there's no fucking way he even considers letting her come over. No way.

So he agrees to pick her up at her place on our way back. Sensational, considering this means serious entertainment for me when we get back to Humboldt. As we wait outside her place beeping the horn, he looks at me and says, "Should we just get the fuck out of here?" Naturally I tell him that would be excellent, so long as she hasn't seen us yet. And she hadn't, apparently. So we drive away. While this is all happening, I'm thinking about how he's going to explain this to her, considering she thought we were coming to get her in the first place and probably heard our beep and eventually went outside. But whatever, Tubby can pretty much talk himself out of a paper bag so I knew he'd surely have a Bueller-like excuse for this girl.

Sure enough, when she calls to complain about us not being outside, he claims that he thought the whole thing was a joke because it was so late. And she buys it. Case closed, right? Oh god, no. Not on this night. As we settled in our respective pre-beds in front of the tube, she calls again and offers to drive over. Calling her bluff, Tubby says it would be fine if she wants to and then offers to park her car for her upon arrival. That one threw me for a loop, but hey, he is the Uncle and most of what he does is beyond the slightest hint of a rational thought. So she comes over.

We all spend a few minutes together in front of the tv as the girl and I get caught up; it had been a while since I saw her last, so we had the standard 'how were your holidays' discussion. Nothing to report from that exchange, sadly. Following this, I shuffle off to bed as it's midnght and I am exhausted. The next thing that happened will go down as the funniest thing that's ever happened to me upon waking up; as I recount this, some will be left out because I know more was said than what I can remember...but I was very groggy and half-asleep, so don't be pissed.

(hand on my arm shakes me awake)

Uncle: "Dude."

Me: "What? What time is it? What the fuck?" (I sit up and draw the blind, certain he's going to tell me that we both overslept and it's like noon or something)

Uncle: "DUDE, relax. It's quarter-to-one. You went to bed less than an hour ago. What's wrong with you?"

Me: "What?? What do you want? WHAT TIME IS IT?"

Uncle: "She fucking told me she loves me."

(silence for about a minute as I muffle my soon-to-be raucous laughter with my pillow)

Uncle: "Dude, she said that if she brought me home to her Dad, he would love me. And then her mom, forget it. What the FUCK?"

(further silence dotted with squeaks from under my blankets as my laughter starts to become more than I can handle)

Me: "So did you bang her?"

Uncle (voice getting higher and higher with his anxiety): "NO. She's fucking ON THE RAG. No sex. Nooooooooo sex."

(I burst into absolutely uncontrollable laughter, as I go into the fetal position like it hurts)

Uncle: "I hate you. Fuck you." (he walks out and slams the door behind him...ten more minutes of me pissing myself)

And SCENE.

Chronicles of Beard: Day 5

Most frenchmen have a sparse beard. I am no exception to this rule. Therefore, I've decided to chronicle my adventure in beard cultivation. This is not a new endeavor for me, but I never see it through. This time, I am making a concerted effort to make something of this pathetic string of sparsely laid hairs on my face. Photo One above shows my progress thusfar. Notice the density of my moustache. Since puberty, I've encountered many a nickname due to this atrocity that sits on my upper lip; my favorites are 'dirt-lip' and 'spanish-looking man'.

Hey Guys, Who Rules? SEC Rules.

Is there a question as to what the best conference in college football is? I know S.I. ran a big spread about the power of the SEC in one of its college football specials this year, but their article focused on whether a team could survive the beating of conference play and stand up to fight for a national championship. Question answered.

Last night's BCS National Championship between the Gators of Florida and the Buckeyes of Ohio State was quite a game. Until about 10 minutes into the first quarter. I'm sure 99% of the viewing audience thought what I thought when Ted Ginn Jr returned the opening kickoff 93 yards for a score. And that thought was that the backjudge missed a blatant holding call on Florida's Reggie Nelson that prevented him from getting to Ginn to save the touchdown. Yes, the wedge did a tremendous job in creating a hole. Yes, the kicker's angle was positively awful. And most obviously, Ginn is the most electrifying player in college football. But there was a hold on that play.

Anyway, that was about the only true bright spot of the game for the previously unblemished Bucks, as they proceeded to lay a giant egg against a faster, stronger and better-prepared Florida Gator team. It's a good thing T.O. doesn't play for OSU because he would have been STEAMED for the duration of this one. The anointed Troy Smith couldn't get out of his own way last night. The speed of Florida's ends ate him alive to the tune of 5 sacks. He had -29 rush yards (granted, the college game subtracts sack yardage from the Qb's run total). The team AS A WHOLE totaled 84 yards of offense. 84! There was a mild fuss about Antonio Pittman before this game, as he is pretty much overlooked in this offense. I thought he looked great the few times he touched the ball in the first quarter. But once they fell behind, it didn't matter a lick. He wasn't a factor. Ohio State hadn't seen the likes of a Florida, or an LSU, Alabama, or Georgia, or Auburn, or Arkansas, over the course of the season. They played and slipped by Michigan and truthfully, this game proved to be the ultimate justice for the BCS system. For those who thought a Michigan-OSU rematch was the ticket for the championship, you were wrong. Florida would have demolished Michigan. Maybe USC had a chance...I guess we'll never know. So perhaps it's not total justice for the BCS.

Back to the SEC as a whole. This conference is fucking scary, no matter how you slice it. In my opinion, southern football in general is just better than northern football. I don't have too much backing to fortify this statement, but I've always thought it. I'm talking college, too...not professional. There's something about those teams from the deep south that adds another element. Maybe it's the climate, I don't know. This I do know: the strength of schedule for any team in the SEC made all of those teams better this season. It's really as simple as that. The SEC boasts 7 of 12 teams within the conference that were ranked in the top 25 at some point this season. Three of those teams allowed less than 175 points all season, and half of the 12 scored over 300 points. That translates to a lot of wins and a lot of good football.

If you take a look at the Big Ten overall, that conference has taken a nosedive over the last few seasons. OSU and Michigan will always be there. But what happened to Michigan State? Penn State? Iowa? Wisconsin had a great year and they'll be back at it again next year. But I was disappointed in the rest of the conference. All of a sudden Michigan State can't recruit, Penn State has no offense and Iowa is just up and down. They had some nice wins, but they lost to Indiana. Drew Tate is too inconsistent and their defense isn't strong enough. I think Kirk Ferentz is a great coach, but they don't have the players. JoePa at PSU is still a great man, but I don't know how much he really has left in that tank of his. Although, I thought he'd never walk again after that spill he took this season, and he refused to leave the sidelines for the rest of that game. He's unbreakable. Anyway, what happened to the days of the Big Ten Quarterback? Seems like Troy Smith is the only legit QB in the conference these days. Henne needs work, Morelli won't be anything...too small, Tate is average, Stocco is a little better than average, Painter is pretty average. I think the PAC-10 has surpassed the Big Ten in overall strength. I'd love to see USC play Florida because I think the Trojans would have beaten OSU as well. You're very welcome, La French.

My mind has turned to mush over the course of this post, which I started writing at 8am and now here it is 3pm. Work calls sometimes. In closing, I'd like to congratulate Florida and Chris Leak; now there's a quarterback who had everything to prove last night and he did. Well done, Chris.

Finally, Gilbert, you're fired. Get the fuck out.

Write This One Down

In light of my cabbie post from earlier, I thought of a pretty good idea just now. Someone should create the zero-dollar bill. It would look like any other bill and be a legitimate note, printed on that linen/paper/whatever combo that our current money is printed on. However, it would have no actual value. Any asshole cabbie is getting a few of these on top the fare. That way, it feels like he's getting hooked up when he fingers the wad but upon analysis, he'll realize that he's received several zero-dollar bills. Zing!

(sorry about 'fingers the wad'...that was in poor taste)

Manning to Miss Game Vs. Eagles

Uncelebrated Giants' Quarterback Eli Manning will miss Saturday's playoff game against the Philadelphia Eagles due to an incident in his suburban New Jersey home early this morning.

Manning had woken up at 4am in his over-sized crib, complaining of pain from some new teeth coming in. He left his crib and crawled downstairs to the kitchen to heat up some milk but on his way to the fridge, he soiled himself and sustained a horrendous case of diaper rash.

"It stings like the dickens", remarked Manning. "I've soiled myself plenty of times, but this time it really burned my cheeks. There's no way I can play on Saturday. No way."

Manning had to sit out a preseason game this year due to, what he described as, the inability to stop crying. Prior to that, he missed several games while at Ole Miss because of the sniffles.

Our Lady is Your Bitch

It is with great regret and sorrow that I hereby renounce my faith in Notre Dame football. I do this every winter, and have done so the last 8 or 9 times the Irish have appeared in and lost a bowl game.

My experience watching the Sugar Bowl went something like this: I missed half of the game due to the fact that I was balls deep in watching LeBron and Gerald at the Garden with La French and her little brother. Yeah, LeBron hit a 3/4 court shot. He's good. Anyway, I returned to watch the tail end of the Sugar Bowl and flipped on the game with about thirteen minutes left in the 3rd quarter. Notre Dame was down 21-14 but they had just caused and seemingly recovered a fumble in LSU territory and I was pumped. This feeling would last for only two minutes as the ref would ultimately determine that the ND corner didn't have possession of the ball before going out of bounds. LSU retained possession and never looked back, scoring 20 unanswered and throttling the Irish 41-14.

Notre Dame has lost its last NINE bowl games. They have not beaten a top 10 opponent in their last 16 tries, under Weis, Willingham and Davie. And it's not like they've been squeaked out by the best in the country. Just this year, they were embarrassed by USC and Michigan and literally had to pull wins out of their asses to beat UCLA and MSU. I love Quinn, Samardzjia and McKnight. I hate their defensive backfield. I hate their special teams and did I mention that their DB's are a fucking joke? Can't win without a respectable D in college. I don't care who your coach is, who your QB is...you just can't.

It's all going to be okay, though. Charlie Weis will ultimately bolster his D when he realizes that it's the only way he's going to bring a title to South Bend. Oh, and there's a young man by the name of Jimmy Clausen on his way to town, my friends. Say goodbye to Oaks Christian and hello to ND, Jimmy. He's the top rated QB in the country right now...6'3, 218 lbs., cannon arm and a great family tree. He'll wear #3 at ND, but not until Darius Walker graduates. Montana wore #3. Yeah, so did Powlus and Mirer, but Jimmy will restore my faith in ND QB's who wear #3. He's going to be that good, trust me. He will win the Heisman by 2011 and ND will be the National Champion by then, too. If all of this should pan out, I will become a priest.

I've gotta vent about Boston cabbies for a minute here. Yesterday morning I took a cab from La's apartment back to my own and for the third time in a row, we get halfway to the destination and the cabbie informs me that he has no change. That's right, a cab driver with no change. Nothing infuriates me more than this. First of all, don't wait until we're almost there to tell me that. Second of all, it's not like you don't know that you're going to need change at some point over the course of the day. You drive a cab, for fuck's sake. Come prepared. Next time this happens, I'm just gonna say that it's quite a coincidence that he has no change because I have no money. That makes us even, right?

Finally, for the first time ever I have decided to give you my picks for this weekend's slate of playoff games. It's too much during the regular season to figure out all of those games. Four is enough.

Home team in CAPS:

Dallas vs. SEATTLE (-5.5)

I know they haven't looked very good as of late, but I have to believe that Seattle will rise to the occasion here. Romo will shit the bed in this game.

New York vs. PHILADELPHIA (-3)

I can't see the Giants winning this game. I just can't. Can you?

Kansas City (+3) vs. INDY

I don't about this one. But I think LJ is going to go OFF of Indy's Efense (Defense without the D? No good?) Take the over in this one though, even if it's 244.

New York vs. NEW ENGLAND (-9.5)

I think the Pats will win this game by two touchdowns, plain and simple. Belichick wants to put 'Mangenius' in his place, and I'd want to embarrass anyone with that nickname. I much prefer Bitchtits Belichick.

Albert Should Be In The Can, Part II

http://sports.espn.go.com/nfl/news/story?id=2718365

11/15/06...I wrote the first part of my Haynesworth Hate story. Here's part two. I wish the man could have saved some face (no pun intended) over the last few months, potentially doing something in the way of buying Gurode a car or a really expensive hooker. Alas, he went to a therapist--a former NFL player--who showed him that he has to release his anger ON THE FIELD. Jesus, what a fucking concept. This story from ESPN.com today made me want to stomp somebody's face. How about that? You think I did? Damn right I didn't. I don't have cleats on.

Haynesworth's reasoning: Gurode tried to cutblock me. He tried to end my career. He made fun of me. He said a bad word in my direction. WAKE UP ALBERT. You play in the NFL! It's not a powderpuff league where players strive for the annual Good Sport Award. It's a dirty game, right? A game where, like the therapist told you, it's legal to mash some dude's ribs. It's legal to break someone's fucking arm, for the most part. It's just not kosher to pretend another player's face is an ant on the ground...especially one with his helmet OFF.

"It was almost in slow motion, a flash," he says. "There was no crowd noise.
There was nothing. I had to lose it. I just had to."

He just had to do it. Next time I'm at a bar and some dude looks at La French like he wants a little dessert, i'm going to approach him, sweep his leg and promptly jump up and down on his face. Then I'm gonna say that I just had to do it. I had to lose it. Then I'd be thrown in jail for a few years and WHAM!, no more La French for me. Or anything else for a while, for that matter.

Just read that article about this man's journey to find out what his problem is. Try not to buy a ticket to Nashville afterwards, and try not to bring a gun with you to Nashville if you go and definitely try not to look Albert up. You'll read about other men in the league who retaliated, even big 'ol Richard Seymour who stomped Tarik Glenn's head. But all of these other tales of retaliation involved padded or helmeted players. Simple as that. This article states that Haynesworth saw the unhelmeted Gurode as an opportunity. That's saying something.

Wherefore Art Thou Borderquacks?

http://tonyhomo.com

Thank you to the graciously ungracious Drew Bledsoe for telling it like it is in his must-read blog about the incomparable Tony Homo. Er, Romo. If you aren't reading Bledsoe's blog daily, get to it. It's glorious.

I've been perusing ESPN.com this morning and I just read the QB rankings for 32 starters in the league right now. Where stands the next Tom Brady? Right above my favorite NFC North QB, JP Losman. Just awesome, considering the same website that claimed Romo to be a fantasy stud and great for keeper leagues also refers to Losman as Loserman. And now they're neck-and-neck for one of the worst QB's in the league currently. I don't doubt that Romo, under the right tutelage, can still flourish in the NFL and make a name for himself as a proven winner. But as quickly as he rose to the top of everyone's dick-to-suck list, he's fallen just as quickly into everyone's make-like-Saddam-and-get-hanged list. Here's a look at the worst QB's in the NFL right now.

I have to start with my least favorite QB, Eli Manning. He pouts, he hangs his head in shame and he makes throws that Pop Warner QB's are yelled at for making; the difference is that the Pop Warner QB learns to STOP making those throws. It's the Giant defense that's deficient, isn't it? If I'm Eli, I'm just trying not to lose the game because I've got Tiki, Shockey, Plax and good O-line that should produce for me. Yet he finds a way to give it to Giant fans right in the ass, week after week. Overriding factor: They're in the playoffs. No one has ever limped into the playoffs in such grand fashion. The Giants made it to the final table with Queen-high and a 10-kicker.

Next, Tony Romo. 'I've been saying all along that this guy would prove me right and absolutely shit the bed before too long. Heyooo, thanks Ton'! In six games against teams who averaged 11 losses this season (yes, ELEVEN!), big T's average rating was 128.8. Ok, nice work. However, in games against teams who averaged 9.5 wins this season, his average rating was 68.7. And that's against some very suspect defenses like Indy. The numbers don't lie, folks. Romo is a hack (but GOOD LORD, Carrie Underwood is hot) and the Cowboys won't go anywhere in the playoffs. Again though, they're in...Lord help us all.

David Carr is third on my list. DO SOMETHING, David. I didn't have the highest hopes for you coming out of Fresno but I had visions of a decent career. QB's who wear #8 in Texas are supposed to be good, man. Granted, your supporting cast is suspect but Andre Johnson is legit and you've got good TE play. Stop sucking, would you? DO SOMETHING. At least you're not in the playoffs, though. Enjoy your hot wife...at least you have that going for you. Nevermind, you're ultra religious. Yikes.

Finally I turn to Big Ben Roethlisberger. I felt for the guy this offseason when he crashed his bike and almost ruined his whole career way too early. But it's becoming more and more difficult to believe that he's what he pretended to be last season. He absolutely laid an egg this year and yes, maybe he was rusty when he came back. Maybe he's not the same since the injury. Either way, he sucks right now. No Steelers in the playoffs? I had them locked for a 2 or 3 seed in the preseason. I think they need to give Brian St. Pierre a shot. Much love, SJP. Fuck Xaverian.

There you have it, the cream of the QB crop. But not creme fraiche...I'm talking the cream that forms at the corners of the mouth when you're dehydrated and is usually associated with disgusting human beings. Keep looking up at Tom and Peyton and maybe someday you can breathe the same air as they do. But don't count on it.

Total Digression:

The 'Asparagus Lady' served up her famous asparagus chowder at the annual asparagus festival in Stockton California last April, incorporating 50 lbs of asparagus, 30 lbs of onions, 40lbs of broccolli and God knows how much butter. "You don't want to know the amount of butter I use in this stuff!", exclaimed the Asparagus Lady. She also noted that her pee smells positively horrendous.

Good Heavens, '07! Burt Blyleven, Lucky Number Slevin, got UPN at Eleven.

Line of the weekend, courtesy of Brent Musberger during the Rose Bowl:

"I've gotta say something here folks, receivers should act like LT and not like TO. And I mean it."

Whoa, okay, okay Brent. They're all real sorry and will be sure to stop taunting and acting like jackasses when they make a play. How long has he been broadcasting? Granted, I was yelling at the TV every time Dwayne Jarrett touched the ball and taunted Barringer from Michigan. Yes, I'm a Michigan fan and yes, I was sickened by the aerial attack USC offered up last night. But Jarrett is an ass. I can't say what kind of shit Barringer was talking to him, so maybe his finger-pointing and ball-offering were justified. But you're the second-best receiver in the country. You should expect to beat every corner that covers and simply talk with your play. Act like Calvin Johnson, the best receiver in the country, who also happens to mimic LT in his humbleness. He's fun to watch and easy to like. You, Mr. Jarrett, are fun to watch but easier to hate and wish career-ending injury upon.

I also have a bowl-week confession to make: Boise State is legit and I bet against them thinking they were going to get smoked against OK. They might be the funnest team to watch in college football, in a long time. Who runs the hook and ladder AND the statue of liberty in the same game? Let alone the same drive? To TIE, then WIN the game in OT? Just awesome. I also think Korey Hall could be the best LB n the country and Ian Johnson might be one of the top 3 RB's in the country. Hey, I watched them a few times this year but against WAC opponents. And I'm of the persuasion that in order to prove anything, you need to compete with Big 10, Big 12 or SEC teams. Not only did they compete, they had a big lead, lost that lead, regained their composure without panicking and came back to win. In overtime. On a statue of liberty play. Happy Fucking New Year, Broncos. Welcome to the BCS. My guess on their preseason ranking for 2007: ahead of OK and ND. God yeah. I'm thinking #9 in the country.

Something else from last night's slate of games: I hate Pete Carroll with an angry and aggressive passion. Niot just because he did a horrible job coaching in the NFL with the Pats. Moreso because he looks like a jackass on the sidelines with his antics of jumping up and down and pumping his fist when his team has a 3 possession lead in the 4th quarter and he's piling up the score. I don't respect that. I also don't respect that his players aren't humble at all. Leinart wasn't, Jarrett, as mentioned, certainly is not. Booty appears to be somewhat collected but give him a year. The reason why Carroll can't coach in the NFL is because he's a pussy that doesn't/can't stand up to his players, nor can he demand their respect. In the pros, that formula doesn't work. I'd love to see Jarrett end up under Belichick at some point.

You know, this gives me an idea here. I'm going to lay out my top 5 most hated athletes of all time right now. I'd love to see some opinions of others on their top 5. Or top 3, 2, 1, what-have-you.

5. Terrell Owens. He should be exiled to NFL Europe and forced to play with Danny Kanell as his QB for the rest of his career. I hope 2007 brings a career-ending injury to you, too.

4. Marty McSorley. I don't respect anyone that takes cheap shots at defenseless people, but his actions on the ice against Donald Brashear were the worst I've ever seen in any sport. And to top it off, he did it in a Bruin uniform. What an embarrassment.

3. Joakim Noah. I just think he's a piece of shit overall. I hate his stupid yell/chest pound thing he does. I was really hoping that Greg Oden would shut his ass up. You have three first names in your name (kind of, by pronounciation). Joe, Kim and Noah. That's a tough draw for you, pal. You should go by Kim.

2. Karl Malone. This stems from early childhood and I'm not sure why completely. But I've always hated him and his stupid nickname. The Mailman? Much less cool that Legend, or His Airness. And I hated that he mouthed some shit before taking foul shots. Along this line, I fucking HATE how J Kidd blows a kiss before taking a free throw. He's not on this list, but he's #6.

1. Jorge Posada. As a rabid Sox fan this should come as no surprise to anyone that knows me. For a non-Sox fan, what really did it for me with him was his fist pump from second base during Game 7, 2003 after a hit off of Petey. Plus he looks like a weasel and he's a fucking BITCH. Kudos to Nate and Cree for their 'Posada Is A Little Bitch" t-shirts.

Gee's Wonders: Vol. One

I couldn't pass this one up as an entry, and methinks it appropriate to kick off 2007. You'll notice the title, and I hope there are plenty more of the like this year as opposed to the aforementioned "blunders". This occurred New Year's Eve at the tail-end of the night.

It's roughly 2am following an enjoyable, virtually event-free New Year's party (more to come on this night) at the home of Mrs. URLB and Gee is scrounging for something to really give it to and ring in the new year in style. After an intense and thoughtful search, he begins to notice that most of the qualified dames are already accounted for and lip-locked on the couch of said apartment. Phooey, but don't fret just yet, for he's the gee, you bet, and his plan hath been set to make a decision he won't soon regret.

He chooses a sure thing as his prey, which was a move of total laziness on his part. He had options that would have required some work or travel, but I can't blame him for his choice. Who wants to put in work on New Year's Eve? A man of his stature shouldn't have to, hence he took the ball on the fast-break and went up for the easy lay-up. She's a nice girl...uh oh, the old 'nice girl' remark. Well, she is and that's about all I'll say about it. She's been known to throw on a little Wilson Phillips in the wee hours of the morning and do a little solo twirly-whirly. Fucking weird. Alright, enough of that.

As the story goes, they arrive back at her place. I'll quote the man himself for the end of this tale.

"So we get into her apartment and she immediately goes into her roommate's room to wake her up or whatever. Weird, but hey. Anyway, she comes out of there and heads for the bathroom. I listened closely for the door to close and once I make sure that's done, I take a quick look around, ensure there's no way this girl can get ahold of me by phone when she realizes I'm gone, and I fucking run out the door."

Fucking awesome. I don't know if he was too baked for his own good or if he just wanted to do a good deed and give a girl a ride home, but this is beyond explanation. In my estimation, it's like when an alcohlic has a moment of clarity and suddenly realizes what he has to do. The Gee had a brief moment where he thought to himself, "what the fuck am I doing here?" and felt it best to just flee the scene. Chances are he'll see her again, but my guess is that she'll probably avoid conversation with him.

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.