Now that summer is in full effect and I don’t have the frigid Chicago winter to complain about, I’m looking for a new target. And since I don’t have the money to pay Jim Gray to host a 1-hour ESPN special, I’m turning to you for guidance. Let me know what you think, and feel free to make suggestions.
"That's like asking me to choose between Sarah Jessica Parker and Kirsten Dunst in a "hot body, weird face" contest, it can't be done."
Let me get one thing out of the way. I’m from Miami (okay, Coral Springs), so I most definitely have a horse in this race. With that said, I think it’s time somebody stood up for ‘King James.’
'The Three Kings,' or as I like to refer to them, 'The Best Fucking Team in the NBA.'
Did LeBron James handle this spectacle in the worst way imaginable? Yes. Has he become the NBA’s “Public Enemy no.1?” Absolutely. Am I asking myself rhetorical questions and then following them up with actual answers? Without a doubt. But none of this matters. These are all issues that we’ve created, not LeBron. We’re the ones who built him up, only to be stunned that he isn’t what we expected. It’s time to move on and accept that the next Michael Jordan is really just the first LeBron James.
And one other thing. Lets Go Heat!
I have a weakness for tabloid journalism. And beer, but let’s focus on one vice at a time. For somebody who considers himself well read and socially astute, I browse TMZ way too much. As such, I have taken a fervid interest in the rumors surrounding Delonte West and Gloria James. I’m not sure why I find this saga so captivating. Is it the twisted nature of a love affair between an athlete’s mother and his teammate? Is it because these alleged sexual exploits may have cost the Cavs a shot at the title – and ultimately – LeBron James? Is it because I need to find new hobbies? These are all viable options. What I do know is this eye-opening video – which I may or may not have spent the last 14 hours editing on my Mac – sheds some much needed light on these fiery rumors (not to mention my need for new hobbies.)
As we all know, alcohol makes you better at everything. Unfortunately, physiological analysis seems to be lacking in this field. So as a contribution to the world of science, I conducted my own comprehensive research last night, the results of which you will find riveting.
click chart to enlarge.
A short evaluation of these results is quite telling indeed. As the night began, my ability to sink a shot in pool was non-existant and the outlook for the evening was unfavorable. But as alcohol was administered, the results quickly improved. Performance appears to have peaked during beer # 6, at which point I declared myself ‘Czar of the Table’ and proceeded to ride the pool cue like a bucking bronco. Unfortunately, my capabilities soon declined and the study culminated with me vomiting on the bartender’s chest and then referring to her as ‘Sasquatch’ (in my defense, her hands were the size of Patrick Ewing’s feet and she appeared to be sporting a full goatee.)
If the Nobel committee would like to contact me regarding my research, I can be found at the Galway Bay pool table on Saturday nights from 9:00 – 3:00.
Happy Monday, or as my dad sardonically refers to it, “The Countdown to Communism.” It’s been less than 24-hours since health care reform was passed and there’s already an upheaval stirring on the right. Not surprisingly, the most fervent objections are coming from the wing-nut state of Florida. And you know what? I hope to god that Florida rejects health care reform. I want the legislature to bitch and moan about socialism, death panels and debt. I pray the tea parties congregate in Tallahassee with signs that read “Kill the Bill” and “Stay Out of my Life.” I await a televised press conference in which the Republican candidates for Senate spontaneously combust and are devoured by rabid wolves (I know that’s a bit off topic, but what’s one more wish?).
Little known fact: These men will be overseeing the death panels.
Then, in 5 years, when reform is blossoming across the country, I’ll be watching as Floridians collectively kick themselves in the balls for repudiating it. I’ll snicker when they weep on each other’s shoulders as their low-income friends around the nation gush about Medicare. I can’t wait for the public to call their legislators and demand that Florida adopt a plan that prevents insurance providers from denying claims based on pre-existing conditions. I’ll crack open a cold one as those who most fervidly challenged the bill plead for reform.
As a liberal, I think this is the best thing that can happen to our country. Sure, tens of thousands of Floridians will be denied healthcare – but heck, they’re making their beds and soon it’ll be time to nap. Nothing will impact the political climate like seeing liberal policy vs. conservative policy in action. We’ll finally have a tangible case study that determines which health care ideology is more efficient – and I’m so confident in liberal reform that I welcome the challenge.
Fortunately for Florida, you won’t find an honest conservative who feels the same.
Do you know what really chaps my ass? Douchebags who wear jeans and a corduroy jacket to weddings. How is it that every other person in attendance understands the traditional guidelines of formal attire, yet this ass-clown believes they are above such standards? I’m not sure when this started, but I haven’t been to a wedding in the past 5 years where there wasn’t one of these individuals in attendance. And strangely, it’s always just one person. You’ll never see a group a leopard-print jackets huddled around the hors d’oeuvres; they like to fly solo. It’s like there’s a group meeting every month to discuss who will be the token douche at the upcoming wedding.
Speaking of which, this storyline would make for a great addition to the Highlander film franchise. Imagine hipsters from across the globe dueling it out to determine who will be “the one” at 2010’s Wedding of the Year. And to heighten the suspense, we’ll bring back Christopher Lambert, but instead reprising his role as Connor MacLeod, he’ll come back as Raiden from Mortal Kombat. Are you telling me you wouldn’t pay to see this movie? It’s an instant Golden Globe nominee.
Is there anything in the world worse than having an ugly baby? As far as I’m concerned, this is a fate worse than death. I mean, it’s not like getting a bad haircut where you can sort of be in on the joke and poke fun at yourself. “Haha, I know I look like Carrot Top. That’s so funny.” When you have an ugly child, you’re stuck carrying around some baby that people pretend to adore – only deep down you know that they want to vomit on your kid. But unlike a bad haircut, you can’t get in on the joke. “Yeah, I know it looks like someone stepped on his face. That’s so funny.” You just have to pretend that people aren’t making fun of the freak-show you call a child behind your back.
And everyone keeps telling me “when it’s your baby, you’ll think it’s cute no matter what.” Well of course I will, I’m a gorgeous human being. What I wonder about is everyone else. How do you come to terms with this? Is it like the 5 stages of grief and ultimately everyone just accepts it? Maybe that’s why nobody knows their kid is ugly -they’re in stage 1: denial. Someone should write a book about this called ‘The 5 stages of Getting Over Your Ugly Baby.’
So I’ve been in Chicago for a week now and here’s my analysis: it’s fucking freezing. And I don’t mean “let’s not forget our jackets” freezing – I mean “my balls ascended 8 inches into my stomach on the way to work” freezing. It’s unbelievable that this city was even developed. I understand the first group of settlers coming here in the summer and being excited about this wonderful, undiscovered land. But sometime during that first winter, shouldn’t somebody have approached Louis and Clark about the weather? “Uhhhh, hey you guys, I know you’re the leaders and all, and you’ve managed to find this hot little Indian girl who’s undoubtedly letting you two ride the train on her every night, but it’s cold as shit here. I’ve lost three body parts this week alone. Do you think maybe we can head south now?” (Okay, so Louis and Clark didn’t really discover Chicago, but I was having a tough time making a joke out of the forceful removal of an entire group of people from their land.)
Anyways, if you happen to be lucky enough to visit the Windy City during the winter – don’t. I can’t emphasize this point strongly enough. You know how everyone in Florida is super cold right now and doesn’t want to go outside? Well take that feeling – I mean really grasp it tight, like one of those little spongy stress balls – and then throw it right out the fucking window. You can’t even compare it to this hellish nightmare so don’t try. Just thank god that when you go to work in the morning you don’t have to worry about the fluid in your eyes spontaneously freezing, rendering you unable to blink as 40 mph wind blows snow into your preciously fragile retinas.
By the way, my internship is going great. I’m really liking the agency.
After a long hiatus, I figured I’d get back in the blogging game with my take on everyone’s favorite serial philanderer: Tiger Woods. We’ve all heard the numerous theories over the past few weeks. His wife bashed in the window while chasing him. He was on sleeping pills. He was drunk. Well, I have a theory of my own. I think Tiger was chasing the most hallowed record in sports.
You see, he’s already captured the world of golf. Nobody on the PGA Tour should even be on the same course as him. So Tiger decided to crossover and challenge Wilt Chamberlain’s 20,000 women mark. Now I know what your thinking: “Nobody’s touching 20,000. That’s tougher than DiMaggio’s 56 game hitting streak.” But I think Tiger is going for it and I’m pretty sure he’s going to get it.
Consider the facts. Fourteen have already come clean, which in celebrity numbers is approximately 7,428. Plus, he’s only 33-years-old. With modern ED drugs, that’s like being a horny college freshman all over again (which raises an interesting question: should Wilt’s record be counted separately since he was performing in the pre-Viagra era?) And with the advancements we’ve made in prenatal genetics, I’d say Tiger is about a decade away from having his own fleet of Aryan porn stars to tear through at his leisure. So even with this minor PR setback, I think he hits 20,000 before his 60th birthday. Now all that’s left is to see how the overly-competitive Michael Jordan reacts to this revelation.
I’ve been so busy with school and interning I haven’t gotten to write as much as I’d like to. Thankfully, my mind is full of totally random and useless thoughts, so here’s a few that have been racing around lately.
