Monday, July 31, 2006
Draft #130
Weekend Review
Friday: After work, Haus arrived to my apartment with a Sarios pizza in hand and we devoured a good chunk of it before heading to the Brewers/Reds game thanks to the tickets provided by the roommate. As is customary for any Friday activity, we found our way to the nearest beverage procurement stand to purchase the largest single serving size of alcohol available. And like any good concession stand employee, Mr. daylate and a dollar short asked for my driver's license to verify that I was indeed 21 years of age. Myself, being a man (a term used to describe most adult males but rarely used to describe me) of honest stature, a large chest, and 25 years of living experience in the field of breathing, am usually not hassled when it comes to verifying my age in regards to the purchasing of alcohol. But this paticular twit behind the counter was really working my ID over like it was the rarest of all the Pokeman trading cards he had ever seen. So when he surpassed the usual 4 seconds it takes to verify an ID card at a Brewer game, I became worried. And then my worries were drastically heightened as Chunky McWaddlesworth maneuvered his way to the backroom behind the stand with my ID.
Finally, the Turdly Twinkie returns only to explain to me that he cannot serve me alcohol. I'm like, " Why the f#ck not?" He's like, "Well you have a red outline around your photo and it says under 21 above it." At this point, my response could have gone in a couple of different directions:
-Listen Mr. Goodtime Charlie, I've got half a mind to put a foot up your chubby ass if you don't pour me a beer, pronto!
-I probably should have told you this earlier but I'm friends with Nate Filzen, reigning pig wrestling champion.
-You will rue the day you denied my patronage you foul piece of pig fodder! Rue the day I tell you!!!
-The way I see it, you've got two options. You can either pour me that beer, OR I can climb over this counter, remove your trousers infront of your equally incompetent co-workers, and flog your bottom in such a fashion that will cause your nipples to bleed for nine consecutive days . What will it be?
But unfortunately my actual response was to tell him, "Yeah, it says I'm under 21, but then it also says directly under that until 00/00/2002, and incase you haven't noticed, we are currently operating under the year 2006. I tried to be as big of a prick as possible since that is the most sure fire way to get whatever you want in any walk of life. But he wouldn't budge and claimed that this order was coming from his manager and there was nothing he could do about it. I told him he and his fascist operation could all go to hell and we went back to our seats where the ID scanning process isn't so rigorous among the vendors who go section to section carrying their product in 90 plus degree weather while sweating so terribly that they've decided to incorporate wrist and headbands into their work motifs. To Chuck and your mullet, I say thank you, thank you for delivering the ice cold refreshment that others in that stadium weren't willing to sell. You're a good man Chuck, a damn good man.
The game itself was entertaining even though the Brewers lost, and afterwards Adam and I turned to Friday's Bar and Grill for some post game libatons. We were enjoying our Jack N' Cokes when a member of a bachelorette party approached us and asked if we would pose for a picture with them as they danced around us. Thinking this would lead to a mass orgy of sorts, we willingly accepted. It turns out that they misrepresented their request though. Having sent one of the hotter women in their party to recruit us, they went ahead and successfully pulled the old "bait and switch" maneuever. Turns out they didn't want to all take a picture with us, but rather I had to have my picture taken with a raspy voiced, southside of Chicago, White Sox fan who I don't remember the name of at this time. But they were playing a game and I had to pretend like we were dancing (since the bar wasn't playing any dance music) as they took our picture. She turned out to be pretty cool though after talking to her for awhile. She congratulated me, as a Brewers fan, on the recent acquisition of Tony Graffanino and reminded me of how much of an important piece of the puzzle he was to the White Sox winning the ALCS last season. Or was it the ALDS? I can't remember, but she did know the abbreviations to the American League Championship Series or the American League Divisional Series (whatever one she was referring to), and that kind of language makes almost any girl a bit hotter in my book.
As we were mingling, a couple of young male Brewers fans no more than 1-3 years younger than Adam and I joined the group. One of the guys, a tall, brown mopped fella in a wife beater was completely shit canned. Probably the top 5 drunkest people I've seen in public, ever. We was trying to pick up every girl in the group and was trying to do so using a speech so slurred that nobody knew what the hell he was trying to say. Everyone in the place was watching him, he was just an absolute wreck. He finally made his way to where the Chicago girl and I were standing, and it was much of the same. He could have been speaking Russian for all I know, he wasn't making any sense. At least that was until he told the girl from Chicago that he wanted to shit in her mouth. Now I'm not much of a Casanova in the way of the ladies, but I'm pretty sure asking a girl if you can shit in her mouth is the not the route to take when trying to procure a young lady's digits. Unless that's what he's actually into, then his approach is very well planned. If there was a quicker filtering process than his out there, I'd like to see/hear it.
The other guy, a way more sober friend of the drunk guy but still drunk in his own right, started talking to us and he was an OK guy. Apparently they started their day out playing beer pong at 6am, or so he says. He could have told us his friend was double fisting bottles of peppermint Scope all day and I would have believed him. This guy kept trying to make bets with us and finally he convinced Adam that he could finish his Jack N' Coke (which was only a couple of sips into it) before Adam could finish his beer (which was almost more than half way finished). Both drinks were in the same sized cup and wouldn't you know it, Adam got his ass handed to him. Before they started, Adam was talking trash to the guy, "You might as well just give me the 5 dollars because I'm gonna waste you" type talk. That kid tipped his neck back and the drink was gone. Adam's eyes just got huge as he was left to choke down his last couple of swallows of beer in utter astonishment. Adam spent more time watching his opponent drink their drink than he spent focusing on his. Adam's glass never even broke a horizontal plain, it was like he was sipping tea or something. I was never more ashamed to be called his brother in my entire life. I told him next time that glass better be at a complete vertical position with your head tilted back if you ever want to win another bet, none of this Nancy boy crap. The guy coupled his winnings with his last five dollars to buy us a round of shots, and then we said our goodbyes.
On our walk back home to my apartment, we spotted Andrew Strachota, his wife Jamie, his sister Cassy and her husband Chris out in the lot playing bags, AKA cornhole. They welcomed us with open arms, offered us a beer, shared some laughs, and we even got to watch Andrew throw ice at a guy collecting empty beer cans in the lot. Definitely a good night had by all.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Draft #129
Chris Spensworth just bombed his first public speaking engagement and his friend Dave was there to console him.Dave: For starters, you can stop shaking now, you're all done, the speech is over.
Chris: I know, it's just that I'm so nervous yet. Do you think anyone noticed?
Dave: You mean besides the part of the speech where you simultaneously peed your pants and puked on the podium, then slipped on the puke and then hit your head on the corner of the podium, and then passed out on stage with the cut on your head still bleeding? I'd say besides that, you were in complete control. For the most part.
Chris: Ah man, was it that bad?
Dave: Come on, what was with your whole obsession with fava beans? How was that at all relevant to improving child care in the inner city?
Chris: I don't know. I just thought maybe the beans represented the youth and how...........Ugh! I'm such an idiot!
Dave: Seriously though, you've got problems. Was this your first time speaking in public? It has to be, it's the only logical explanation for why you'd pause for station identification in the middle of your speech. That was pathetic. You're not a radio station, you're a bumbling buffoon.
Chris: You try entertaining a packed house full of stiffs.
Dave: Packed house? There was like 30 people there. What were you so nervous about? You were rocking up against the podium so hard I thought it was going to light a cigarette after your speech and ask if it could see you sometime.
Chris: It was that bad?
Dave: It depends if you consider monster pit-stains to be worse than dry humping a podium?
Chris: Damn you, overactive apocrine glands!! I can't control that though, it's natural.
Dave: Are you referring to the unconsious hip gyrations or the uncontrollable sweating?
Chris: The sweating.
Dave: Your level of perspiration is not natural. Maybe if you're giving birth to a rhino after an hour of gorging yourself at the "all you can eat" burrito shack, then maybe that's teetering on natural or excusable. But I don't even think what you were doing up there can be considered sweating, it's like someone punctured a water balloon or something.
Chris: Well besides the swaying, sweating, peeing, puking, and bleeding, you have to admit, it was a pretty good speech.
Dave: Are you kidding me? I've run into goats with better diction than you. I'm pretty sure Dikembe Mutombo underwater has a better chance of getting his point across than you did today. By the way, what was your point?
Chris: That the daycares need better funding alternatives?
Dave: Are you asking me?
Chris: No!
Dave: Better funding? If the point of your speech was for better funding, then what was with the half an hour schpeel on proper baby rocking techniques?
Chris: Counting sheep always worked for me.
Dave: So did eating 2 cheeseburgers before bedtime, ya big lug.
Chris: Yeah, that helped. Ketchup makes me tired.
Dave: Opening the mail makes you tired.
Chris: I should open your mail.
Dave: What was that?
Chris: Nothing.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Filling up the dance cart
I can't think of anything to write, so today I decided to write out my itinerary for the next month or so. Some of the items on the specified weekends are things I'm actually doing, while others are things I'd like to do, given I can convince others to join in.
July 28-30:
Bradford Beach Jam- Friday & Saturday. A sports and music festival. Sports include: BMX, dodgeball, rugby, soccer, skateboarding, volleyball, windsurfing. I've never even heard of this festival, but it sounds like something to do. Plus, I hear there will be a brat eating contest at 6pm on Saturday.
German Fest: You'd have to be stupid to pay $6 for an authentic German pretzel the size of your head, but I'm just curious and slow enough, to try.
Brewers vs. Reds- I will be attending Sunday's game, but I'd be interested in Saturday night as well. Saturday there will be a 5k run in the morning at 9am (the entry fee usually gets you a shirt and a ticket for that night's game, and a brat).
Symphony on the Square- noon-1pm @ Cathedral Square Park. They will be playing movie themes, ragtime hits, and patriotic favorites all courtesy of the Milwaukee Brass Quintet.
Washington County Fair- gag me.
August 4-6:
River Flicks- Friday night, 7pm @ Pere Marquette Park. Playing Indiana Jones & the Temple of Doom. Free movie in the city, fill up the picnic basket and let's get loaded.
Jason Staral's getting married: All day Saturday, I'm booked.
Wisconsin State Fair begins this weekend.
August 11-13:
This weekend would be my best chance to visit the Wisconsin State Fair for the first time in my life. I've never had a giant cream puff or a deep-fried Snickers bar before, so hopefully this is my year. Finbar McCarthy will be on the Slim McGinn's Irish Pub stage from 8-11pm on Saturday night. Hopefully some of y'all will want to take advantage of my close proximity to the fairgrounds and enjoy a night of drunken good fun.
August 18-20:
Brewers vs. Astros- Friday @ 7pm. I've never been in the Miller Lite Beer Pen for a Friday night game before, and this would be the only opportunity in August to do it. Tickets would have to be purchased way in advance for this to happen (if some are still available). Let me know if you are interested.
Brewery Tours- I will be accompanying Nate Filzen and his pungent workforce on that Saturday for a day of fun on the river. I'm assuming the night will conclude at a bar somewhere downtown and then eventually in a gutter.
August 25-27:
The 2006 Paradise Mobil Fantasy Football Draft, live from Chicago. I'm assuming this event would span the entire weekend so I won't bother researching alternative activities.
Friday, July 21, 2006
Draft #128
Freestyle Fridays (Oh that's nasty)-Ok, I'll admit it. I enjoy a good bike race crash. I enjoy how the cyclists can be cruising along at a graceful pace, everything is smooth and then BAM!! Things get a little tight, and the next thing you know the once steady rider is stumbling around on his bike like a drunken calf who just learned to walk. They eventually hit a guard rail and go flying off of their bike and go rolling down a hill, and to me, that's poetry in motion. I could watch an entire DVD of bike racing crashes set to classical music, I like it that much. And sure, that may make me an asshole, but it's fun to watch.
-I was jogging on Monday and I tried the Miller Park route for the first time. If you yourself are ever thinking about taking a jog at 6am anywhere near the Bluemond general parking lot, please be on the lookout for the homeless guy that sleeps facedown on the grassy knoll near the Port O' Johns. When you don't see it coming, it kind of freaks you out a bit because it looks like he's dead. Now for all intents and purposes the guy could have been dead, but who am I to figure that one out? I got shit to do.
-The roommate and I went to Wick Field to hit some baseballs on Tuesday since it was so nice outside. After our tremendous hitting display, we decided to take a seat on the infield grass and take in some of the action from the surrounding softball diamonds (it didn't hurt that Lisa Spella was playing in one of the games- Good Lord). So we're shooting the shit, minding our own business when we notice five black kids and one fat white kid talking about us behind the backstop. I happened to be wearing a blue shirt that easily exposed the sweat it was retaining on my back and one of the kids said, "Red shorts nutted sperm all over blue shirts back." My roommate was wearing red shorts by the way. A) I'm a 25-year-old on the verge of manhood and I felt like a grade schooler being chastised by his classmates. I forgot how cruel kids could be. And B) How the hell did this 7-year-old kid know what nutting sperm was. I'm pretty sure I finally found out what the term "pornography" meant in like the 7th grade. They said some other nasty things but when push came to shove, they scattered like ants under a rock when we decided to walk back to the car. And given my intimidating physical presence, I don't blame them at all.
-Panic! At the Disco. Just a great name for a band. Now while I'm not familiar with any of their music, it does bring me to this question. If I were a strapping young 20-year-old living in the 70's, would I have thought disco sucked, or would I have boogied my way into the discoteca with tight pants and a hairy chest? I'd hate to admit it, but I think disco would have won me over. After all, the Bee Gees are a guilty pleasure of mine. No way I could be able to resist the stylings and profilings of a suave Barry Gibb, who many consider to be the Babe Ruth of Disco. I heard the guy could get down for two straight days and not even break a sweat. Now that's a hero.
-A copy of the birthday card that Sean Connery sent to Alex Trebek last year:
Dear Alex,
You are a shmug, arrogant prick. I'd wish you a happy birthday, but I'm too bishy shagging yo mutha. Ah that's right, yor mutha. The saucy minx sends her warmess regods.
She you in hell,
Sean
-Growing up, my mother always told me to stop diddle daddling around. Diddle daddling could also be replaced with fiddle farting. The two mean the same thing I'm told. Either way, I did my chores at an incredibly slow pace.
-Speaking of growing up, remember Growing Pains, the TV show? How the hell was it socially acceptable for Mike to have a best friend who was nicknamed Boner? I'm not sure if I've talked about this already, and my apologies if I have, but that's some crazy stuff. You mean to tell me that boner is a term that has come into play as recently as the early 90's (assuming that timeframe marked the end of the program)? That can't be right. The term boner has been thrown about for much longer than that, hasn't it? What were people using before boner came along? "It appears Bobby has a rather large pants pole going right now." Sounds too 1950-ish. People must have known what a boner was in the 80's? There's no way they didn't know. Janet Jackson flashes a nipple for half of a second during the Super Bowl and the world stops, but a sitcom has a character named Boner and nobody cares? Not that I cared, but somebody ought to.-Ben Alger, I have your lounge chair. It's in good hands, no need to panic, or disco for that matter.
-I didn't bring any treats into work yesterday for my birthday. Does that make me a bad person? Early indications from numerous sources have me believing that the answer to that question is yes, I am terrible. Lousy even.
-I've lived a mulletless life. Even when it reached it's popularity, I somehow managed to miss the boat on one of America's most popular hairstyles. Some people say I'm lucky while others will argue that I missed out, big time. Those who argue the latter, are what I consider to be, in denile.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Draft #127
My fictional friend Steve is what many consider to be, a picky man. He doesn't like onions, cold noodle dishes, rerun episodes of M.A.S.H., pea soup, mosquitoes, guacamole, democrats, hippies, sugar free ice cream, gravel driveways, missing person notices, long lines, loosely wrapped burritos, humidity, the evening news, ant hills, fish bones, soccer, board games, poker, runny mac n' cheese, the 1997 Florida Marlins, Miracle Whip, large dogs, kites, baked beans, lottery tickets, and Lucy from Peanuts. I agreed with Steve on not liking Lucy from Peanuts because that broad is a stone cold bitch. But looking back on Steve's dating history, it becomes very evident that his pickiness isn't just confined to life outside of women. To illustrate my point, here is a laundry list of reasons why Steve has broken up with certain woman (these circumstances are on an individual basis, each instance represents a different girl):
-One girl liked flowers too much. She had flower patterns on her dresses, her purse, her plates, her curtains, her bedspread, the tablecloth, a tatoo of one on her ankle, decals on her car and all over her room. It was more than he could handle, so he sent her packing.
Other reasons for certain girls included:
-she chewed her gum too loud
-she didn't smile enough
-she had more than one uterus
-she couldn't name even one of the members of the Brewers retired number club
-she smoked two packs a day
-she smelled like turnips
-her shoulders were too large and unsymmetrical
-she was a Rod Stewart fan
-she had a bumper sticker collection
-she didn't know the capital of New Hampshire
-she had more than three speeding tickets
-she could eat an entire pizza without blinking
-she threw like a pansy
-her knees were too chubby
-she starred in too many x-rated films
-she opened her cereal boxes upside down
-she beat him up
-she would count from 10 to 1 whenever she got mad and he got tired of figuring out why
-she liked pot roast the way most girls like ice cream
-she honestly thought Elvis was still alive
-she had a twitch
-she had a cowbell that she would keep in the middle of her kitchen table, and she would ring it just before every meal, even if he was already sitting down at the table
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Draft #126
Julia Frepps turned her back for what appeared to be just a minute, and the next thing she knew, her son Bobby was being dragged into a nearby building by a strange man.
Sensing that a hostage situation was just around the corner, Julia decided against running after her son and made a call to the police department for help instead.
After a 35 minute wait, the police arrived in droves. By this time, the strange man had perched himself on top of the building, clutching young Bobby with one hand, and pointing a gun at him with the other.
The police were able to establish communication with the crazy man to see what he wanted in return for Bobby's safety, and before the strange man was able to start listing his requests, the squad turned things over to their main man, Pete Spader..........The Shitty Negotiator!!
Pete: Alright, listen up you crazy lunatic, let me make a few things clear to you. 1) I am your worst fuckin' nightmare, and 2) You are completely surrounded, one false move and we take you down like a sack full of wooden door knobs.
Strange man: Well let me make a few things clear to you copper!! You don't give me what I want, and I completely redecorate the rooftop with little Bobby's brains. And I ain't playin'.
Pete: Ok, let's just calm down, I'm sure we can help you get what you're looking for. What exactly are you looking for?
Strange man: I'm gonna need a chopper. And in the chopper I want a briefcase filled with $158, 467. And I need a clean get away, and a passport.
Pete: Is that all?
Strange man: I'm also going to need a car waiting for me just outside the Mexican border. And in the car I want a dozen Krispy Kremes. I love Krispy Kremes damn it, they're fuckin' delicious!!
Pete: All right, just to make sure I got everything. You want a popcorn popper filled with cash, a green bean souffle', a pack of Newports, a mini-bar, and a dozen monkey spleens.
Strange man: What?!?!
Pete: Fine, you wonna play hardball, we'll play hardball. We'll give you a whole carton of Newport 100's, but that's it, we're not bending.
Strange man: I don't want any cigarettes you old kook. I'm giving you one hour (currently 2:00pm) to deliver the helicopter and the cash before I grind this kid's legs into a pulp.
Pete: That's a no go with the helicopter, the best we can do is a hang glider and $500 in traveler's checks.
Strange man: What about the get away car and the Krispy Kremes?
Pete: Yeah about that. Ricardo (a nearby teenager just taking in the standoff) here has agreed to give you a ride on the back of his motor scooter, but he won't be able to make it to Mexico until sometime next week, he needs to ask his mom first. Is that going to work? And the Krispy Kreme shop is closed, so we got you a box of Little Debbie Snacks.
Strange man: What kind?
Pete: Swiss cake rolls.
Strange man: Come on Pete!! That's bush league and you know it! Do you actually want to explain to Bobby's mother that her son died because your ignorant ass couldn't find some donuts? You've got 45 minutes Pete, and for the sake of Bobby, you and your team better start bending or you can kiss his ass goodbye.
(2:30 now)
Pete: Ok......... me and the boys have been talking and we've got a new deal. We'll give you a parachute and in it you'll find a $50 prepaid taxicab card. All you have to do is jump off the building and once you land safely, the taxi will take you as far as the $50 will go. Once you give us the signal that your cab ride is complete, we will then be allowed to hunt you down. Bear in mind, you will be given a headstart.
Strange man: You know Pete, I would be taking the kid with me as I parachuted down to the street. So if it was part of your plan to give me a faulty parachute, the boy would consequently die as well.
Pete: Damn it!!!! He has us at every turn.
Strange man: You have 25 minutes.
(Pete's new proposal comes at 2:50)
Pete: All right. We pulled some strings and got you the helicopter. There's no way we can give that much money up front to a potential murderer. You can have either the lump sum of $50,000 or the 12 year annual payout of $4,000? The getaway car is more of a go-cart. It's not like you need a passport to get into Mexico, and honestly we'd be glad to ship you there, if you promised never to come back. As for the Krispy Kremes, NO DEAL!! How does that strike your fancy?
Strange man: Listen up Pete. I told you what I wanted, and so far, you haven't even come close. And unless your boy Bobby here learns how to fly within the next couple of minutes, I'm afraid things are going to get real messy, real quick.
Pete: You wouldn't.
Strange man: I would.
Pete: Damn you!!
Julia: Mr. Spader, do what the man says!
Pete: I think I know what I'm doing woman.
Julia: That's funny, because from here you look more like an incompetent jackass who doesn't have a clue as to what he is doing. That's my boy up there!
Pete: I'm doing the best I can, this isn't exactly my field of expertise.
Julia: What!?!?
Pete: Now ain't the time for splitting hairs Mrs. Frepps. (under his breath as he leans in towards a fellow cop named Tommy- them women are all the same, never happy. I could pull the kid down here with a magic lasso and she'd bitch about his shirt having too many lasso burns)
Pete: Hey Tommy, what time is it?
Tommy: It's 3:07 boss, why you asking?
Pete: You sure you got the time right?
Tommy: Boss, it's a watch, not a nuclear reactor.
Pete: I'm sorry, it's just this broad over here, she's been busting my balls now for over an hour. I gotta go back to writing parking tickets, this high pressure shit just ain't for me.
Tommy: I hear ya.
Pete: You wonna go get some coffee?
Tommy: Ah what the hell, why not.
Monday, July 17, 2006
Draft #125
Weekend Review
Friday: I spent $7 at Wendy's for supper. Five of the six items I purchased were from the 99 cent menu. I ate 2 crispy chicken sandwiches, a junior bacon cheeseburger, 2 five-piece chicken nuggets, and a Biggie fry. I basically decided to eat that much food to see if I still "had it". And while I managed to wolf everything in one sitting, I did feel like crap afterwards. Definitely could have done without the fries.
After a good hour of recovery on the couch, Haus stopped by and the two of us headed over to the Nygaard's for a night of bags and beer. For those of you who haven't heard of beer, it can be best described as the greatest thing ever (no it ain't), well at least the greatest thing a person can put in their mouth (no way). Ok, so it's the best thing you can put in your mouth that won't talk back to you (well technically?), assuming you don't get over-served, then beer CAN talk back I guess.
You've all heard of beer, it's the bags I should be describing further for those of who may not be in the know. I'd love to give you the long version, but I won't. It basically boils down to a game of horseshoes: just substitute the horseshoes with hand-sized beanbags and replace the spikes that the horseshoes would normally land on, with a slanted board that has a hole in it. I'm not sure how big the hole in the board has to be, but if you can stick your head through it, it may be too big.
Thanks to a clever lighting scheme, we were able to play bags in the Nygaard's backyard until eleven something o'clock. Afterwards, we sat in a circle and discussed certain topics like standup comedy and constellations. We then closed the night out at Filzen's apartment where he grilled us some delicious ham rollups and chicken quesadillas. And by the way, I'm never eating another microwaved quesadilla again, strictly grilled from here on out. Apparently I've been living the life of a jackass, I mean come on, microwaved quesadillas? Thanks for bringing me into the light Nate. And speaking of bringing me into the light, Nate also introduced us all to an alcoholic beverage that may be in the fold for many summers to come. The next day it was given its proper name of Blue Lagoon and alls you need to make it, is a blender, ice, vodka, and blue raspberry Kool-Aid. And dare I say, it's a mighty fine drink. I called it quits for the night at around 2:30am while Haus, Nate, and Chris kept'r going until 5am, or so I'm told.
Saturday: After shaking some of the crust off, it was time to get ourselves primed for another day of drinking. The six of us from the previous night plus Vin got back on the horse around noon at my folk's place on Silver Lake. We started the day off with a game of whiffle ball in the shallow water near the pier, and after that, things got a little foggy. Between the Blue Lagoon's, the plethora of beer, the sun, and the lack of a female presence, the day ended with three waterlogged cell phones, a bloody eye, a bloody forehead, and a funhouse that looked like it got raped, beaten, and then raped again for good measure. I'm pretty sure Filzen nearly killed himself on three different occasions, but like I said, it was a long day. And like Bob Madden (Milwaukee radio personality) once said, "When gearing up for a day at the lake, you're better off just throwing your cell phone in the water right away. You know it's going to end up there, so you might as well get it over with so you're not worrying about it later, spending numerous hours wondering what happened to it."
Sunday: Hangover.
Friday, July 14, 2006
Draft #124
Freestyle Fridays (You got a permit for that?)
-Last night I was a substitute for a softball team that plays on the neighboring field from where I usually play on Thursday nights. We were the home team and the very first batter of the game hit a swinging bunt down the 3rd baseline. The batter ran very gingerly down the line because he was unsure whether or not the ball was going to stay fair, I mean come on, why run it out when you could just turn around and head to the dugout in the event the ball goes foul, right? After starting and stopping about three different times, he finally decides to just go for it and take off for 1st base, and he actually beat the throw from third by about a half a step. Unfortunately for the batter though, with all the indecisiveness he was experiencing, he was also contemplating whether or not to drop the bat. He ended up just carrying the damn thing ALL the way to 1st and was consequently called out on the play. What a douchebag! Everyone knows that Pedro Cerrano is the only person on the planet allowed to carry their bat as they run the bases. Hats for bats, keep bats warm.
-Bobby bats second for his Tuesday night softball team. Bobby is batting a meager .176 this season. Bobby just grounded out and is heading back to the dugout when the manager yells, "Damn it, we sure could use a lot more production out of the two-hole." Larry, a teammate of Bob, turns to the guy next to him and says, "I've been telling my wife that for years."
-I once knew a guy that whittled an entire set of playing cards from a block of wood.
-For those of you who saw that soccer player head butt that one guy, what the hell were you doing watching soccer?
-Picture this if you will: A claustrophobic person who likes to fake bake. How uneven is that tan going to be? He lowers the lid down and starts freaking out, waving all of his appendages in fear, finally settling on the fetal position as the only comfortable position in which to tan. Guy comes out looking like a zebra. Everyone at work making fun of him. That's still not as bad as carrying the bat all the way to first base.
-Before the birth of my nephew, my sister used to treat me to dinners on Thursday nights (when I'd be in town for softball). I could be found eating chicken nuggets, mac n' cheese, spaghetti, marinated chicken breast, and numerous other menu items that tantalized the tummy.
Fast forward to yesterday, the first softball game since the birth of the young nephew, and I'm forced to eat a sleeve of 35% reduced fat Roundy's crackers as my dinner. Woe is me.
-Timmy-Two-One-Oh is a serial ass slayer, make no bones about it. The guy is literally beating the women away with a stick.
-I know Britney Spears has been slipping for sometime now, but when did she start falling into the "I hope nobody sees me getting into the cab with this whale" type ugly?
-I ate a bag of roasted almonds and a bag of roasted cashews at Summer Fest last Friday. And they were delicious! Although "roasted" is a bit misleading in my opinion. Deep-fried in a crunchy sugary goo almonds would sound more accurate to me.
-Freestyle fridays aren't too random when all you talk about is food and softball.
-Wegs was so drunk last Saturday he could barely throw/catch a football after the Brewers game. I've never seen the guy look that unathletic in my entire life, granted I haven't known the guy very long, but still, he was making uncle Rico look like an All-American.
-Superman was a pretty good movie. I thoroughly enjoyed it. Then again, I also own the Joe Dirt DVD, so take the recommendation with a massive grain of salt.
-Filzen & Co. better have cleared their calendars for Saturday because you've got a date with Silver Lake.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Draft #123
Important lessons in hobo etiquetteNever, under any circumstances.........
-tease a hobo. They are a surly breed of vagabond that will not hesitate to stab you with a broken light bulb when antagonized. They already know they're poor, smell god aweful, and are ragged in appearance. No need to further their already lowly disposition, after all, you know how ornery YOU get when you haven't eaten for a few days, hours, and in some cases, minutes. And yes, kicking counts as teasing. And just because a hobo lives in a box next to the dumpster, that doesn't give you the right to urinate on this property, even if his feet are hanging out of the box and he's passed out.
-throw loose change directly at a hobo. Customarily, a hobo will provide pedestrians with an open guitar case, or an old plastic cup so you are able to conveniently deposit your donation in a central location. These hobos have most likely abandoned their active begging days, and have resigned themselves to the lifestyle of the lazy bum, so lets not make them work too hard. And while striking a hobo in the forehead with a quarter sounds like a great way to have fun, in theory, it is actually behavior that is considered quite unbefitting of a gentleman or gentle lady.
-steal the donation bin of a hobo while he is sleeping. That is just distasteful, unless, you yourself are a hobo, then I imagine stealing is just a part of the hobo code of survival. Many have asked if it is OK to steal a cup full of coins from a hobo while he is sleeping, if indeed your intention is to hide around the nearest corner just to see how the victimized hobo reacts. And while this action may be better than actually stealing the hobo's income to pay for YOUR next meal at Ponderosa, it is none the less, a cowardly act. If it is your intention to return the money, remember this, hobos are very prone to spitting. Pranksters beware!
-give more than $3 to a hobo. Most people are under the impression that hobos use your generous donations to save up for business suits that could be used to gain future employment, certain educational devices, or perhaps even food. But the cold harsh reality of the situation, is that most hobos use your hard earned money to buy drugs and/or alcohol. Sure, they've been urinating in the same trousers for 5 weeks now, but a new pair of slacks is the last thing on their list of immediate purchases. All they want to do is refill that empty crack pipe or rusty flask with something that gives them a little "pick me up". And in the most extreme of immoral cases, they quickly re-donate your donation to one of their well-liked business associates who typically conduct their "business" in the back of a car or a dark vacant alley. So please, keep your donations to a minimum.
-look a hobo directly in the eye. Now I'm not saying you will turn into stone by doing so, but looking a hobo in the eye is almost the equivalent to eating a loaf of bread in front of a flock of seagulls. You're just asking for it.
-allow your daughter to marry a hobo. Hobos are naturally filthy and carry many diseases, some of which have yet to be named by the medical industry. One of the common diseases that hobos carry is referred to in the streets as "gimphorrea"- a venereal disease that causes the female recipient to loose one or both legs to gangrenous conditions. Another side effect of gimphorrea is the enlargement of the female genitalia. It swells to nearly 4 times the normal size and in isolated situations, the vaginal area will develop tusks. Strangely enough, this crippling disease does not effect the male species, eventhough they represent the vast majority of carriers of the disease. So unless you want your daughter to end up a one-legged monster with tusks growing out of her freakishly over-sized vagina, then I strongly urge you keep her away from hobos, no matter how cute or cuddly they may appear to be. It's just not worth the risk.
-feed a hobo. Most hobos, due to years of malnutrition, have developed a deficiency towards common ingredients found in simple foods. A mere deep-fried appetizer like breaded zuccini could send a hobo into a seizure, cardiac arrest, or in some cases a coma. One second, you and a hobo are sharing a plate of chicken alfredo at your favorite restaurant and the next, your new friend is flailing around on the ground like a madman abruptly disturbing the other diners. Then the manager comes out and starts questioning who is responsible for bringing a wild hobo into his establishment, and of course, everyone is pointing at you. Now you have to drag a hobo out of the restaurant like an orangutang dragging a drunken sea otter along the shoreline. You finally drop the hobo back in the nearby alley where you found him and then a cop taps you on the shoulder and asks, "What's going on here?" Of course the cop has only been watching you from the time you violently/accidentally smacked the hobo's head on a fire hydrant until now when you just tossed him in the alley. You, being lazy, unconditioned, and out of breath, are unable to properly answer the policeman. So he arrests you on the spot for suspicion of murder and now you're on your way to the bighouse and for what? Just because you wanted to help a hobo? You know better.
There you have it folks, seven simple rules to ensure saftey from the evil grip of the hobo. As long as you don't tease, piss on, steal from, generously donate to, look at, marry, or feed a hobo, you should be fine.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Draft #122
Things guys have done to win the favor of Ivanka Trump:
-Ted Aposial from Kentucky UPS'ed his lifetime collection of earwax he kept in a jar to Trump enterprises with a note that read, "To you I give my most prized possession, and if you promise to be mine, I will give you even more." Enclosed with the note was a photo of Ted riding his tractor and on the tractor there was a sign that read, "Ivanka ride you all day."
-Billy Cranebridge from Maine sent Ivanka a box of lobsters enclosed with a note that read, "If you thought lobsters turned really red once they got cooking, just give me five minutes."
-Eric Tahowski from Idaho threatened to eat an entire jar of peanuts if Ivanka didn't agree to go on a date with him. Eric is allergic to peanuts. Ivanka never called. Funeral services for Eric will be held on Saturday.
-Larry Spackowitz from Illinois toilet papered Ivanka's mansion and later offered to clean up the mess if she agreed to go on a date with him. And when asked how he knew that Ivanka's living quarters had been vandalized, Larry simply replied, "Ah.....biscuits n' gravy, that was a bad idea."
-Hunter Mendix from Nebraska attempted to lift 700 pounds over his head as apart of his "Ivanka Pump You Up" campaign. Thinking this display of grand physical strength would impress the fair Ivanka, Hunter went ahead with his challenge and failed miserably. Hunter completely tore his dorphineaus muscle and suffered minor tears to both his upper and lower trapinoids AND lateral deltinoids. Hunter will be in traction for 6-10 months.
-Bart Grundefeldt of Ohio shaved his eight cats (Whiskers, Brownie, Poochie, Ceasar, Newman, Karch, Sty, and Holly) in an effort to construct a fancy coat for Miss Trump. Once the eight cats were all shaved, Bart noticed there wasn't enough hair to make a coat so he decided to make her a purse. But then Bart soon discovered he didn't know how to sew, so he settled on making a ball of hair using masking tape and rubber bands. Bart is semi-retarded.
-Terry Krendleton of Delaware was convinced that if he drank 12 Big Gulp slurpies in a row that Ivanka may be impressed with his feat and then immediately inquire about his dating status. But before he could mail the video of himself splurging on slurpies, Terry was rushed into the hospital to have his exploded pancreas repaired. Terry shivered for two straight weeks and suffered from numerous hallucinations involving Charles Bronson.
-Harry Narkfield of Arizona took Jared Fogle of Subway hostage and threatened to mess him up really, really bad unless Ivanka Trump promised to marry him. No one has seen Jared Fogle since. And the town of Andy-ville rejoiced for they would not have to look at or hear from their town's sworn enemy ever again.
-Bob Ransberry of Oklahoma offered up his wife, his first and third born, a fattened calf, two paper clips, and a Gander Mountain catalog in exchange for one weekend with Trump's daughter. Bob is not well-liked amongst his family right now and is a very lonely man. The settlement on his divorce case is currently pending on whether or not they can prove that kids 4-6 were actually fathered by Bob.
-Riley Pirt of Minnesota attempted to parachute his way into Ivanka's heart by dropping in on a party she was hosting on the grounds of one of her father's 600 mansions. Riley had visions of Ivanka running into his arms and immediately professing her love for him (after all, who wouldn't fall in love with a complete stranger who crashed your party via parachute). But those visions of love quickly turned into visions of horror as Riley began losing control of his parachute and started heading towards the grounds of a nearby rehabilitation center for crazy pitbulls with anger management issues. Poor Riley was nearly mauled to death before he even hit the ground.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
30 Some Reasons to Love the NBA
The NBA's Finest
I tried to have a representative from each team present, but the Golden State Warriors do not have a very copy/paste friendly website (a damn shame seeing as how they have one of the best squads around) and I'm not sure if Boston even has cheerleaders. You'd be surprised how many of these girls have actual stripper names like Kandi or Ginger. And while I don't condone the goggling of innocent young women, my sources tell me that the readers of this blog do.
I tried to have a representative from each team present, but the Golden State Warriors do not have a very copy/paste friendly website (a damn shame seeing as how they have one of the best squads around) and I'm not sure if Boston even has cheerleaders. You'd be surprised how many of these girls have actual stripper names like Kandi or Ginger. And while I don't condone the goggling of innocent young women, my sources tell me that the readers of this blog do.
