Archive for August 2009

I Will Smash Your Face Into A Car Windshield …

August 25, 2009

I’m not a violent man by any means.  I haven’t been in a fight since I was in fifth grade, and even then it was just kid stuff.  I haven’t thrown anything against a wall in years (I suppose it’s worth mentioning, though, that between GameDay ’98 and NBA Live 2000, I went through approzimately four TV remotes, two cordless phones, and no less than a baker’s dozen Playstation controllers over the course of a few years, but hey, that’s what happened when I got screwed out of a win). 

But even though I am quite passive and non-confrontational, there are some people I simply cannot stand.  Some people who, when I see or hear about them, make my skin crawl.  Some people who I would love to smack the everloving piss out of.  These are those people.

– Jimmy Fallon.  I have never, ever, ever liked him.  He was a horrid on SNL.  Hey NBC, here’s a hint, since it’s a live show, maybe you should hire people who can actually make it through a scene without laughing and blowing all of their lines.  Maybe you should hire people who can actually act, and who have range, and who aren’t the same character for every skit.  As if it wasn’t bad enough with him on TV once a week, now he’s got his own late night show.  How does this even happen?  It’s like the studio heads got together and said, “Sure, you can have your own show, guy who single-handedly murdered every SNL skit you were ever in.  That would be fantastic.  We’d love for you to be on camera for extended periods of time.  We realize that while you were on SNL, you couldn’t do a single thing without looking directly at the camera and breaking out into laughter, but hey, all we’re going to do is sit you at a desk and let you do whatever you want, so how bad can it be?”   I’ve watched his late night show a few times, and each time I’ve watched, he has managed to be as equally dull as I remembered him to be on SNL.  And yes, there was one point in one of his shows in which he was sitting at his desk laughing about nothing for a solid 20 seconds.  Painful.  I’d rather watch that Rosetta Stone commercial for the four millionth time than see Fallon’s stupid mug for one second.   

– Spencer Pratt.  Yes, I admit it, I watch “The Hills.”  I’m a little behind on the most recent season, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that Spencer Pratt might be the biggest douche bag on the face of the planet.  Never in my life have I seen such an egocentric, arrogant, pretentious jackass with a more undeserved sense of accomplishment and self-worth.  In short, if I ever saw him in real life, I would back-handed pimp slap him as hard as I possibly can, kick him while he’s down, spit on him, and let the air out of his tires.  And the fact that I don’t hit women is the only thing keeping me from hauling off on his wife, Heidi Montag, too.  Oh and by the way, a Wikipedia search for Spencer Pratt brings you to a page briefly describing him, and under occupation, it says “Reality television personality and part time rapper.”  Pinch me, that can’t be right.  I have to be dreaming.  I am going to dedicate my week to finding something on the internet that contains him rapping, and if found, it will be posted here immediately. 

– Jon Gosselin.  Hey, Jonny boy, I have a secret for you.  You’re not a celebrity.  You’re just some idiot whose wife had twins and then sextuplets.  That’s it.  That’s all you’ve ever done.  You fathered children with the help of fertility drugs.  Congratulations, you have the abilities of almost every other adult male in the world.  Now, maybe you should have realized this before you betrayed your wife and left her to raise your eight children on her own.  Good for you.  Apparently getting drunk and picking up a school teacher at a bar was more important to you than being a responsible father and husband.  I’m really going to laugh when I see you in the new season of The Surreal Life on VH1 sitting in between Carrot Top and the kid who played Goldberg the Goalie in The Mighty Ducks.  Then maybe you’ll realize the cold, hard truth: that you’re a nobody and you should have been a better person. 

– Jim Rome.  I think I’ve voiced my dislike for Jim Rome before on this forum, but I can’t stress enough how much I loathe him.  It’s tough to explain, especially to people who aren’t particularly familiar with him, but let me put it to you like this: He is the exact opposite of everything I would ever want to get sports news from.  I hesitate to even categorize what he does under sports news.  What he does is sit in a chair and talk shit about people in sports for a half hour everyday.  What demographic is this satisfying?  Is there a yearning for a show in which a self-centered moron abrasively mocks and demeans people on the air?  Did ESPN really give a show to a guy who frequently hangs up on viewers calling in to ask questions and give opinions?  Rome is your classic meat head when it comes to sports arguments.  If he can’t defend his stance with logical, reasonable arguments, he will succumb to insulting anyone within an arm’s reach just to take the focus off the fact that he is a goon. 

Of the aforementioned douche bags, I think Rome is the only one I would have trouble punching out.  He seems like the kinda guy who wears a lot of bulgy rings and he’d probably get a cheap shot in.  I just wish Jim Everett would have had the chance to beat the crap out of him back in the 90s when Rome kept calling him Chris Everett (after the female tennis player).  For those who haven’t seen it, Everett basically attacks Rome with the cameras rolling, and because I’m such a nice guy, I pulled up the video on YouTube for you.  Enjoy. 

One love,


Breaking Sports News

August 19, 2009

So, Brett Favre is going to play football in the NFL this season.  Have you seen this?  Have you heard about this?  Of course you have, unless of course you don’t own a TV or radio, and haven’t picked up a newspaper in the last few days. Yes, the title of this post was sarcastic.  Just when we thought he was out, he pulled himself back in.  Before we get into things too deeply, a quick review is in order.  I am not a Vikings fan, and I am not a Favre fan.  I’m quite indifferent about both, even though I root against the Vikings to spite my friends.  With that in mind, you can expect me to look at this objectively.  That’s not to say I don’t have strong opinions about it, but they weren’t influenced by any outside factors.  Okay, let’s begin.

I was really hoping we had heard the last of this nonsense when Favre announced that he intended to stay retired, but it turns out that he’s like a turd that won’t flush.  We should have seen this coming.  We should have known that Favre just didn’t want to attend training camp because he’s old and rickety.  Look Brett, I know training camp is a drag, but it’s part of being on the team.  No one wants to go to training camp, but holding out like you did basically tells us that you think you’re above the team.  Don’t even pretend like you weren’t planning this from the start either.  It’s a horrendously egocentric mindset.

As for performance, it seems like most of the area I live in believes that Favre is the answer to all the Vikings’ problems.  I really disagree.  Sure, he was a special player in his day, and he is no doubt a hall of famer.  He holds some of the most prestigious records for quarterbacks in football history and he has done things that may never be done again.  Having that been said, he’s done playing at a high level.  Recent injuries, a highly publicized surgery a couple months ago, and the fact that he’s almost old enough to be Adrian Peterson’s father all add up to one lingering fact: Brett Favre is just not good anymore.  The term “washed up” comes to mind, but seems a bit harsh for now.

If you’re a Vikings fan, I really hope you manage your expectations about this.  I’m looking at you, Jordan.  Did the Vikings get better at the quarterback position by signing Favre?  Absolutely.  But that’s not saying much.  Is this the answer for the Vikes?  I don’t think so.  Turnovers have been a big issue lately for them, and Brett has struggled with interceptions in the second half of his career, including last year, when he threw 22.  If you’re going to counter with the argument that all he has to do is manage the game and hand off to Adrian Peterson, then bite your tongue, because Peterson led the league in fumbles last season with nine.

Yes, the Vikings won ten games last season with inferior quarterbacking, but it was ten wins in a weak division.  Even if they do make a playoff appearance with Favre this season, I wouldn’t expect them to make a run.  By then Favre’s 40 year old body will be worn down and beat up, and everyone will be wondering why in the hell he got signed for two years at $25 million.  Yes, you read that right.  A 40 year old man just got a contract for two years at $25 million.  He gets $12 million this season, and $13 million next season.  So that will average out to be about a million bucks per touchdown he throws.  Congrats Brett Favre, you have just bent the Vikings over for the thousandth time in your career.

One love,


Road Rockets

August 14, 2009

I’ll be the first to tell you that I haven’t been blogging much lately.  I directly attribute that to the fact that it’s summer, I’ve been busy, and well, I’m just lazy sometimes.  Nevertheless, I wish I had more time, energy, and motivation to write, it just doesn’t always work out that way. In my defense, it’s golf season, and there is a very small window in northern Minnesota during which the weather is decent enough to golf, so I like to take advantage during the four months I have.

Which brings me to today’s story, which is nearing in on two weeks old already, but whatever.  Deal with it.

Last week, five of us – myself, Eric, B-Weezy, Cristin, and Justin – took a little road trip for an out of town golf weekend in Park Rapids, MN.  There are a few great courses in the area, and Justin let us crash at his lake cabin, thus saving us money on a hotel and saving me from having to share a bed with another man; an activity I like to avoid if at all possible.

We left town Sunday evening with plans to golf two courses Monday and a third on Tuesday, after which we would head back home.  Sunday afternoon before we left, Eric decided to hit the ground running and played in a tournament in town.  Since the tournament was hosted by a bar, I wouldn’t be doing it justice to say that drinks were flowing throughout the day.  With that in mind, it’s reasonable to understand that Eric was working on a solid buzz. For those of us who know Eric, we know that he’s not a quitter.  He wanted to let the good times roll, and for good reason.  Who wants to sober up at 8:00 pm? So, that, plus the fact that we were going on a mini-vacation, plus the fact that Eric usually dictates the activity in these kinds of situations, all lead up to one idea: we need to get some road beers for the drive.

As soon as we could mention the idea of having a few drinks to-go, Cristin was shooting down the idea in its entirety.  Fun hater.  Everyone but her was on board with the idea, including Justin, who introduced us to the brilliant term for drinks in the car:  “road rockets.”  Long story short, we tortured Cristin all weekend with the threat of bringing road rockets into the car, which frustrated her endlessly because she probably felt like she was outnumbered four to one.

We made due without any in-car drinks for most of the weekend, although we may or may not have had to stop at a bar or two for a quick drink and a couple shots while we drove.  And we may or may not have started drinking at 4:00 pm on Monday and kept it rolling until we went to bed that night.  And Eric may or may not have grabbed the wheel while I was driving us home to force me into a liquor store parking lot.  And B-Weezy may or may not have run into said liquor store to purchase a bottle of Bacardi Limon and a 2-liter of Pepsi.  And Cristin may or may not have flipped out, stopped talking for two hours, stole the Limon when we stopped for gas, and thrown it away in the womens’ bathroom.

All things considered, though, the trip was a success.  We played three breathtaking courses in beautiful weather with pretty decent friends.  You can’t ask for much more.  We laughed, Cristin cried, and Justin threw his wedge farther than I’ve ever seen anyone throw a club in my entire life, so bonus nachos.

In other news you probably don’t care about, I have officially lost the battle with my wireless router.  I give up trying to figure it out. After a couple months of it being very spotty, I finally went and bought a new one last week.  The old one worked well for the five or six years I had it, but when I got my new laptop, it just wasn’t jiving with Vista.  So I bought the new one, and from the VERY MINUTE I walked into the door with it, the old router – almost as if it could sense the threat – started working better than it ever has.  The new one is still in the box with the receipt on top, but I know the minute I bring it back, the old one will go to hell again.  If this story ends up on Unsolved Mysteries, I’ll make sure to let you guys know so you can DVR it.  I can’t explain it.  It’s the same effect I used to have on my Playstation when it didn’t work.  After hitting reset a dozen times, I’d finally snap and yell, “Fuck it, I’ll play NFL Blitz on my N64 instead,” and BAM, the Playstation would fire right up.

Maybe I have that affect on electronics, who knows?  Why haven’t I tried this on an ATM yet? I’ll get back to you on that one.

One love,


This Is Not ‘Nam, This Is Bowling, There Are Rules

August 6, 2009

I consider myself a fairly mild-mannered person.  It takes a lot to get me truly angry, and even when I am upset, it doesn’t last long.  I’m generally pretty relaxed and I like to think of myself as a very easy-going guy.  However, there are things, usually little things, that sometimes tend to make me want to smash someone’s face into a car windshield.

Sometimes, things just don’t make sense to me.  In an effort to keep from gnawing off my own arms at the elbows, I have to get some of this stuff off my chest.  And since I have an open forum to vent about stuff, I’d be a fool not to use it. Off we go.

Dear Makers and Distributors of Single-Ply Toilet Paper,

Who in the hell are you kidding?  This stuff is about as useless as a third nipple.  I don’t understand the concept behind it, really.  It’s a disgrace to the human body if you ask me.  Not only am I going to be disgruntled when I come across it, I am going to use twice as much out of spite, even if I don’t need it.  (I’m looking at you Crowne Plaza in Bloomington.  Yes, I purposely flushed half a roll of toilet paper every time I went number one while I was there.  Take that.  Maybe next time you’ll think twice before charging that much for a room and spending mere pennies on such an important item).  In summation, I think we can all agree that single-ply toilet paper is nothing but an inconvenience.  If it’s an attempt to save money, then it is a failed attempt, as people are probably just going to use twice as much to combat the absurdity of one thin layer of transparent paper between your hand and germ city.

Dear Asurion,

For those who don’t know you, you are the “global leader in technology protection services,” and you happen to be the company who covers me in case my cell phone gets damaged.  So when I dropped it in St. Paul, I knew I’d be getting in touch with you guys in the near future. When I found out I could file my claim completely online, I was pumped.  Not only would I not have to spend an inordinate amount of time on the phone, which I hate, but I can take care of everything in my birthday suit, which just makes things that much better.  So when the time came, I logged on and spent around ten minutes filling out my claim.  It was fast, easy, and painless … until I clicked ‘SUBMIT.’  Then, up popped a screen that said that in order to further verify my identity, I would have to call the number provided.  Okay, fair enough I suppose.  I mean, I wanted to avoid the phone ordeal all together, but it is what it is.  So, I called the number and was anything but surprised when I had to maneuver my way through the automated messages just to figure out who the hell I needed to talk to.  After being on hold for five solid minutes, I was told that finalizing my claim was simple, and all I would have to do is log back onto the site and download a form to fill out.  Wait, so, let’s recap.  I filed a claim online, was told to call to verify my identity, called, and then was then directed back to the website at which I began this Bermuda triangle of common sense.  So I went back to the EXACT SAME WEBSITE I filed my claim on, downloaded a form that required me to write down all the EXACT SAME INFORMATION I already entered online, and faxed it to them, along with a photocopy of my driver’s license. Well, I’ve used the phone and the internet already, so why not toss in a third medium of communication with the fax machine?  Hey, maybe after that I can mail you a letter or Western Union you my deductable payment.  Absurd.  Only three words come to mind: lock it up.

Dear TLC,

We need to talk.  When you decided to run a show called “Jon and Kate Plus 8” about a couple and their eight kids, you probably didn’t realize the ramifications it would have down the road.  For a while, it was easy enough for me to ignore it because, well, I don’t watch TLC.  But now, I can’t open a magazine or visit without seeing news about their recent divorce or separation or whatever the hell it is, and it’s making me sick.  Firstly, what makes these people so special that they deserve their own show to begin with?  They have eight children, big whoop.  Lots of families have eight kids and/or have had sextuplets.  That doesn’t make these people special, especially since their sextuplets weren’t conceived naturally.  Maybe I’m missing something, but between these two and the Octomom, it seems like America has an affinity for people with more kids than they can handle.  Am I the sensible one here or am I missing something? Would it have broken peoples’ hearts if Jon and Kate had made an announcement saying they were going to quit the show to work on their marriage for their childrens’s sakes?  It seems to me they made their priorities clear.  They wanted to enjoy their fifteen minutes of fame.  Hope they’re happy.  Lord knows I’ll be happy in a three months when no one remembers who these idiots are.

Huh, is this really all that’s been bothering me lately?  Doesn’t seem like a lot, but then again, it’s summer, and only a true grouch would be able to be overly negative during summer.  Even if it hasn’t been higher than 75 degrees in what seems like two weeks, I’m going to refrain from complaining.  I’ll stick to complaining about the things that truly matter.  (Please note the sarcasm on that one).

One love,