Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Draft #140
Nate Filzen: A Gentleman's Gentleman or Reckless Killer?
This past Friday I met up with Nate for an evening of, you guessed it, alcohol consumption. The night in question started out at the Trysting Place where there was a gathering of some of Nate's co-workers. As far as the Trysting Place is regarded as a place to go for fun and eye candy, I'd rank it somewhere between visiting the city dump and the Menonomee Falls tourist brochere center. The bar itself isn't that bad, it has potential, but unfortunately for those in the male population looking to chase skirts, this place usually lacks a wide variety of female clientele.
But this evening wasn't about chasing skirts. Nate's group of work colleagues made for a good time and many drinks were drunken. At one point we even sang happy birthday to one of Nate's colleagues who would be leaving their place of employment soon (and who was the reason for celebration) even though it wasn't her birthday. And the best part of it all was that two or three other random groups of people joined in to sing, bringing the decibel level to impressive heights. I've been to many a church service where hymns weren't belted out with nearly as much gusto as this fraudulent version of the birthday song. I felt like I was in an Irish bar singing about the trials and tribulations of potato famine or voluntary whiskey poisoning.
At this point you are probably wondering what this all has to do with the title of the entry? And this is when things get real juicy, well kind of juicy, ok actually more like mildly interesting. If you are ever looking to improve your current situation, make things more fun for yourself, you know, turn things up a notch on a Friday night, then all you have to do is get up and leave.............the Trysting Place. Good times will then be just around the corner, even if your next stop is the historical mustard museum. So Nate, Phil Benson (aka- Ben Filzen) and I decide it's time to head over to the Barley Pop for some karaoke. As we were approaching our destination, Nate suddenly slammed the brakes (not to a complete stop) and I, sitting in the back seat, didn't think much of it. We were on a street with a 25 mph speed limit so it wasn't that dramatic. The sudden stop n' go happened right in front of a group of 15 or so people who were gathered on the nearby sidewalk. I remember the looks on a couple of their faces and they were all wearing the expression of someone who had just tasted soured applesauce, they all kind of cringed simultaneously. And again I didn't think much of it for some reason until Nate said, "Yeah, I definitely hit it." It turns out Nate slammed the brakes momentarily because a black cat had crossed our path. And between you and me, I don't think that cat is doing much more these days than rotting in a gutter or adjacent field somewhere.
Now what's the protocol for a situation like this? If a black cat crosses your path that is bad luck, at least according to what I've been told. But what happens when a black cat crosses your path and you mercilessly run it over with your car? Is that considered good luck or really really extra crispy bad luck? I guess if Nate's hair suddenly self combusts and in an effort to put out the flame, he is captured and raped by a three headed unicorn, then we'll know. The only thing that is certain for now is that you should be extra careful when in the presence of Nate, the guy nearly ripped out one of my front teeth with a beer bottle towards the end of that evening. The guy is on some sort of death wish it appears and we should all be on our toes.
The next day I was barbecuing at Troy's house in Horicon and he tells me that he was also out in Germantown that evening, the evening of the pussy cat massacre. He and some friends/family were dining at Jerry's Old Town Inn which is an establishment located on the same street as the Barley Pop and is very close to where the scene of the accident was. Did I say accident? I meant ruthless homocide. His evening at Jerry's ended around 8pm and our arrival to the Barley Pop was around 9:30pm, just for reference. After telling Troy the story of the dead cat, he asked me, "Was the cat black?" I told him that the cat was indeed black and he mentioned to me that he and his party saw a black cat running around in front of Jerry's that evening. He even recalled a cute little girl with pigtails about the age of six or so that was petting and befriending the black cat on the sidewalk. Apparently everybody loved this cat, and now, now it's dead. Thanks a lot Nate Filzen, thanks a focking lot.
*Hucklebuck Enterprises and those in association with Hucklebuck Enterprises would like to take this moment to remind you that cats suck and that cats are good for nothing........I mean unless that cat's name is Mort, in which case cats are a delight. In the end, Nate probably did that hideous thing a favor.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Draft #139
Bitchin and Moanin (the cousin to Freestyle Fridays)
-If you are a male, 30 some years of age, and you have the honor of throwing out the first pitch at a major league ballgame, and you decide to wear your glove, and do a windup as you throw from the rubber, and your attempt doesn't reach the catcher on the fly because it hit the grass in front of homeplate, then you are a massive douche bag, just massive. You can't do that.
-If you are at a sporting event and you stand up and cheer loudly in order to gain the attention of the pansies tossing T-shirts, there's a 72% chance that you are a douche bag. Just let the shirt come to you, and don't act like you're in the front row of the Beatles performance during the Ed Sullivan Show back in 64'. They're tossing T-shirts. I repeat, T-shirts. When the day comes that the overly hyper, jazz handed homos start tossing vials of acid that explode on contact into the crowd (or dead rats) then yes, I could possibly justify some of the chaotic behavior you choose to display during the wadded cloth heaving ritual. But until then, let's just try and just sit in complete silence during one of these T-shirt toss episodes just to try and blow the minds of the "energy squad". They wouldn't know what to do. "What? No one want T-shirt? It's free T-shirt, it's very good. It's a crossed stitched."
-Here's another thing you can't do. If you own a car and you choose to put a #3 decal on your rear window, and then choose to try 55 mph in the left hand lane of an express way that states it's OK to drive at least 65 mph, then that's not right. You are exhibiting some very non-intimidating behavior and if you continue to do that, I should be granted the right to shoot your rear tires out with a shotgun. I'm sorry, but Dale would have wanted it that way.
- I don't like this woman. We've never met before but I can tell you with all sincerity, that I can't and won't ever like this person. What Annie Donnelly did is an unforgivable crime! And it's not so much that she stole 2.3 million dollars from her employers that gets my britches in a bundle. It's what she used the money for that makes me want to scream and kick simultaneously. This broad stole the money and then used it to buy scratch-off lottery tickets at the tune of $6,000 a day. How is that possible? The poor store clerks that had to put up with this rag on a daily basis, my heart goes out to you. You've all suffered a grave misjustice and I can only hope that an agreement is put into place that will allow you to swiftly kick her in the ass at the beginning of each day as a part of her punishment. I also wonder how much money this lady spent on cigarettes during this grand larceny spree. According to this picture, it appears she tried smoking herself into the future to figure out a few winning lotto numbers because she looks god aweful for 38 years old. She's so unappealing she makes Mickey Morandini look pretty.-How about this John Mark Karr guy? You know, the guy suspected of killing JonBenet Ramsey. I think you've all seen a picture of this creep already so I won't bother posting one of him because he is a sickly looking fellow. He couldn't look like more of a pedophile if you tried. If someone tried to make him look more pedophile-ish, the end result would resemble the beginning of Happy Days where the Fonz reaches up to comb his hair but stops half way because his hair is already perfect. Yeah, it would be like that.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Draft #138
Weekend Review (You know the routine, I tell you what I ate, drank, and didn't sleep with over a three day period, very rousing this blog feature)
Friday: I ordered an XLP from Domino's again because I was really in the mood for pizza, and I actually exhibited a certain level of restraint this time around, at least for me anyway. I ate half of it before I went out to my friend's graduation/going away party, two pieces when I came home that night, and then I ate the last two pieces the following morning. I should really start a healthy living magazine or something, I'm so full of discipline. Just a warning, don't ever bother ordering a pizza from Domino's with the extravaganZZa feast option for toppings. Whether you order three toppings or the nine you get with the extravaganZZa feature, it's still the same amount of toppings (I learned this the hard way). Sure the nine toppings sound like a lot, but not when you can count each green pepper or black olive on the pizza. I felt so used. I really thought I was going to have to be careful not to sprain a wrist from how loaded I thought this pizza was going to be. Just not a good way to start a weekend.
Saturday: I also embarked upon the river boat tour that Mr. Alger was referring to in his blog entry (see link on left side of page) that took us to three of Milwaukee's finest brew pubs/microbreweries- whatever they are referred to, nobody really listens to the guide on those tours. If you're like me, all you hear is the voice in your head repeating a Homer Simpson like phrase over and over again, "Mmmmm....beeeeeer." Once that resounding echo finally dies, most people just stare blankly at the "free beer token" they received upon entry and are feverishly mulling over which flavor of beer they would like to drink once the yuppy tour guide is done blah blah blahhing us to death.
Now where was I? Ah yes, the tour. It was definitely a smashing success. I learned very little, drank a lot, and had the pleasure of sharing the tour experience with a couple of real life lesbians who decided to leave momentarily during the final tour stop on the trip to do, what I imagined to be, something very naughty, "two lesbians alone in the forest" type naughty if you get my drift. These were a very peculiar pair these two. One, a large burly black woman with a butch haircut and the other, an attractive white girl. The latter didn't appear to have even a speck of lesbian on her which made their pairing all the more confusing to me. To give you a better picture, just imagine if Ms. T (aka B.A. Baracus's kid sister) decided to get involved with a more pleasantly filled out version of Avril Lavigne (without the Canadian punk rocker snootiness). I could have been wrong about the lesbian couple, they could have just been normal friends. But then that fist pound thing they did while screaming, "Munch a bunch!" just adds to my confusion.
At the end of the tour, Nate and I headed back to my place where we were picked up and taken to the Brewers game courtesy of the Nygaards who set us up with some fatty tickets (fatty*- a term used to describe how great and/or exceptional our seats were in proximity to the field- alternate spelling- phatty) that landed us in the fourth row. The Brewers managed to win the contest, only adding to the excitement of the day. And as we were leaving the stadium, Jenny punched out a small girl or boy and stole the lunchbox that they had received upon entering the stadium. Having been too old to receive the free promotional item for herself, Jenny had spent most of the game fuming, and then scheming as to how she would procure a lunchbox of her very own. After much deliberation, it turned out that cold-cocking a 6-year-old was the best course of action. Now while I may not be 100% accurate as to "how" she got the lunchbox, she indeed ended up with one and became very excited about her stroke of good fortune. Some say the level of excitement she exhibited may have been a bit much for a woman in her mid-twenties who had just received a free tin box with a handle on it, but the triumphant look on her face as she hoisted the lunchbox over her head, was very entertaining to say the least. Thanks again you guys for the tickets and the ride to.........
Brew City where we convened after the game for some grub. That visit was highlighted by the extremely inebriated fellow in the Jeff Cirillo jersey that fell on the ground near Nate's feet as he was passing by our table. While his friends were pealing him off of the pavement, he tried to let us in on something, but I couldn't tell what his drunk ass was trying to say. It might have been something along the lines of, "Hey look out for that table" or "Hey I'm OK...... you don't know me." But I'm not sure. What I do know is that he was ushered out immediately and kicked to the curb by the bouncer. And thank goodness for that because this fellow was just way too drunk to be in my presence. He looked like he was seconds away from throwing up in a nearby flower pot and honestly, how embarrassing would that have been for everybody involved? Seriously, what kind of a person gets so drunk in public that they are forced to vomit in a holding container designed for plants? Only the most troubled and wreckless of individuals I'm sure. I believe the term is uncivilized scalawag. What's worse, is that I bet this fellow with the Cirillo jersey ended up passing out on a curb while he lay in a drunken stupor of his own filth waiting for his wife or mistress to pick him up and take him home. Oh the tangled webs.
As for the rest of the evening, you'll have to ask Nate how it went. All I can tell you is that one of the most smoking hot ladies in the bar we visited, totally walked up to him, put her arm around him, kissed him on the cheek, and then asked if he was with anybody. Perhaps I'm a man of meager experience, but stuff like that doesn't happy very often, not with a girl of this caliber. So Michelle, if you are reading this, don't let go of that hunk of a man of yours, ever. He is a very hot commodity and it appears that the line for some of that oatmeal and brown sugar is longer than many of us may have estimated. And the only reason I can talk about this is because he turned her down about as fast as it took for Nate and the crew to prop that pig up on that barrel up der in Crivitz.
Sunday: I headed back to West Bend for some R&R. Haus had made some fatty* enchiladas that served as my lunch. I took a nap until supper where I was treated to some spicy andouille sausage stir fry. My visit home that day was very self-serving, it benefited nobody but me, I completely loath myself. Later on, Haus, mom, and I headed out to the Slinger Super Speedway for some Sunday night racing action. My cousin Justin races out there and has been holding his own this summer so we thought it was high time we see what the buzz was all about. We sat in the stands with my uncle Tom and aunt Jean and I was sure glad we did. My uncle knew who almost all the drivers were, what divisions they raced, their shoe size, what they ate for breakfast last Tuesday, and the brand of deodorant their father uses. Ok, maybe I'm exaggerating, but it was nice to get the 411 on who the head honchos were out there to give the race a sense of meaning for someone who's never been to the Slinger Speedway their entire life.
Here's a picture of Justin after his first place finish the previous week in the Thunderstocks division (This division is completely stock full sized cars with only upgrades for safety. There is no model newer than 1992. The makes are Chevy, Ford or Chrysler). This particular evening, Justin was racing in the Slinger Bees division (4 cylinder cars) and he finished in 2nd place. He started out in the 5th position from what I recall and he was all alone in first place by the 4th lap of the 8 lap race. His tire (or something to do with, near, or around the tire/axle- I know jack shit when it comes to cars) was smoking for almost the whole race so he just had to drive conservatively once he got the lead and sure as shit, he got passed on the 2nd last turn of the final lap and still almost recovered. It was a close finish and a really exciting race. Once he pulled ahead on the 4th lap, you just wanted the race to end right there. My stomach was all twisted just hoping he'd hang on till the end. Racing is a lot more fun to watch when you know somebody out there, that's for sure. I was very impressed with his mad driving skillz and I even had the opportunity to watch former classmate, Wayne Ennis win the Spectator Eliminator division with his 2001 Grand Prix.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Draft #137
We are currently more than halfway through the year 2006. For those of us who graduated from high school in the year 2000, this is a scary thought. Well, maybe it's scarier for those of us who haven't settled into a career just yet. Soon it will be 2007, the Packers will have just completed another horrid season, you will have already blown the $3 your aunt Mildred gave you for Christmas, and it will then be only three more years until your niche into society is to be officially carved, at least according to most high school yearbooks that is. I recently had the opportunity to peruse through the yearbook of my neighbor Kyle who also graduated in 2000, but from a little known high school in Germsheim, Alabama. To me, it's always enjoyable to see what people envision themselves doing in the future as they try to answer the age old question, "What do you see yourself doing in 10 years?" Here's what a few of Kyle's classmates had to say:
Carl- Ah shoot, ten years? I'll be what, 33 years old then. Hopefully I won't be in jail. That'd be nice. If I ain't in jail then I'd like to have a home by then, yeah, that'd be real nice. And if my dog Skeets is dead, then hopefully I'll have a new dog by then, yeah, that'd be awesome. Hell it's my dream ain't it? Might as well get two dogs. I mean dang, two is better than one ain't it? I'll name em Skeeters and Skats, ah hell yeah! Two dogs! Woo woo! Life. Is. Bitchin!
Erika- Like it matters? Principal Flundeigh thinks I'm a dip rod anyway. He says I'm dumber than a sack of postcards. It's true. He says it all the time. He says even if I applied myself, the best I could become is a manager down at the stupid factory. The stupid factory? Who says that to a student? I hate principal Flundeigh. I hate him. He's such an ass!
Steve- In ten years I aspire to be a photographer for Hustler magazine. Anything short of that can be considered nothing more than an absolute failure. Ever since I saw my first naked lady in the 4th grade, I knew that's what I wanted to do. The only problem is that it's hard to find subjects to fill up your portfolio. Trust me, I've raided every YMCA locker room from here to Tuskalooska, and I'm starting to run out of real estate due to the numerous restraining orders that are currently out against me, but I'll make it, I just have to.
Ricky- Shit I don't know. But I'm gonna be great though. My daddy was great, and his daddy has even greater. Nobody tosses a pigskin quite like Ricky Shaliver, nobody. I threw 45 touchdowns in 2 varsity seasons. I didn't even know what football was until somebody came up to me before my junior year and was like, "Damn Ricky, if you can throw a chair clear across a bar, imagine how far you can throw a football?" I was like, "Shit I don't know, but I bet it's pretty damn far."
Julie- What will I be doing in 10 years? I'm not sure WHAT I'll be doing, but whatever it is, it better be hot and not getting fat. Just kidding Ronnie, you know Pooky loves ya.
Scott- I'll be working in an additive/preservative testing plant making an honest living as a human guinea pig. And assuming the side effects are mild, I will also be driving a cab in the big city on the weekends. Ah who am I kidding, the side effects won't even have to be mild, they let anyone drive a taxi cab. I've always wanted to be a cab driver. They get to go everywhere and don't even have to shower before a shift.
Diego- Assuming my internship application with Cesar Millan gets accepted, I to, will become a dog whisperer. And with all due respect to Mr. Millan, I will become the greatest dog whisperer of all the dog whisperers who ever whispered. And when your dog develops a nasty habit of biting anyone who claps for more than three consecutive seconds, then you will call on me, Diego Montenegro, entrenador mas bueno!
Phil- I'll be living in the fast lane bro. In ten years I will have already become an Extreme Championship Wrestling champion (watch your ass Bam Bam Bigelow, I'm coming for ya). I will have already checked out of rehab for my well documented battle with alcoholism, and will be just about ready to set up my foundation for underprivileged kids with hepatitis A, B, D, and E. Not hepatitis C though, that's just nasty.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Draft #136
Bad Date
You've probably all been there
It's an unavoidable truth
You've found yourself dating
A girl with just one tooth
She's absolutely smoking hot
With just enough in all the right places
Until you notice her grill
And there's not enough teeth and way too many spaces
When she speaks, you listen
It's just hard to look right at her
Then she cracks a smile
And the masses begin to scatter
It's a woeful sight
That makes even the strongest grow sick
She's yawning and exposing
Her last yellow dangling chicklet
I can't believe I agreed
To another blind date
With the only girl in town
Who's never heard of Colgate
Never again!
This night's been the worst of all disasters
But having said that
I'm still hoping, she wants to show me her tatters
Draft #135
I Like......
I like trips to the toilet
That require only one flush
I like playing football in the fall
The kind that requires a two handed touch
I like pizza with cheese
Baked right into the crust
Drinking brewed beverages on the weekends
Is damn near a must
I like to boogie
When I've had too much to drink
The shocker always confuses me
I forget how many go in the pink
I like a good date
That ends on a high note
When nobody gets maced
Or kicked in the throat
I like nicely pressed shirts
With a strong, sturdy collar
And greasy double cheeseburgers
That cost only one dollar
I'm a simple man
With almost nary a request
You rub my belly
And I'll play with your......
Friday, August 11, 2006
Draft #134
The NBA Mad Scientist
Today I decided to formulate a NBA roster that I could completely loathe, despise, and flat out hate with every fiber of my being. I've already decided that the newly constructed 31st team will be based in Cincinnati and they will be nicknamed the Suckwads. The 15-man roster will consist of the following players:
Point Guards
-Gary Payton- Gary and Desmond Mason were both traded from Seattle to Milwaukee during the trading deadline of the 2002-2003 season in exchange for Ray Allen and Flip Murray. To put it mildly, Ray Allen was kind of popular here in Milwaukee. The Bucks had already lost one of the "Big 3" that previous summer when they shipped the "Big Log" off to Atlanta for Toni Kukoc, so losing the 2nd component to the trifecta was a big blow. But at least we got Payton right? Wrong. Dead wrong. What we got was nothing even fractionally close to the player nicknamed the Glove in Seattle. We received a man who was pissed off that he had to even step foot in this state, let alone play for our team. He played like complete shit for the couple of months he was here, he never smiled, he bitched and moaned about the city, he raped our women AND our cattle then pissed on the remains, lit a match, and made his way off to LA with both middle fingers a blazin. At least that's how I remembered it. So Gary, I urge you, do not retire! The Cincinnati Suckwads want YOU.
-Rafer Alston- I'm not even sure if I can put into words the amount of hatred I have for the And1 MixTape Tour. With guys nicknamed 50, Hot Sauce, the Pharmacist, the Assassin, Escalade, Spyda, Deez Nuts, Homeboi, Crackakilla, Supafro, Rocky D. Rimz, T-bags, Toof, Stanks, Dir-T-Draws, P-Scrubs McDubs, and Skunkbuster who wouldn't get caught up in all the excitement. Rafer "Skip to my Lou" Alston is actually a legend in this Gangsta style Globetrotters Tour and for that, he has earned himself a roster spot in Cincy. Feel free to bee bop and scat around the court at your leisure Rafer, you've got the green light.
-Tyronn Lue- Plain and simple, he is goofy looking. Between the cornrows that are way too long and tickle the back of his knees and the dirty facial hair, I just can't warm up to the guy. And somehow, someway this guy has started 153 games in the NBA. How does that happen? I'm not sure why that angers me, but it does. He should be a backup point guard at best...........in a city league.................for handicapped kids. Plus I heard he sniffed Kobe Bryant's jockstrap during his days with the Lakers, what a weirdo!
-Eric Snow- Granted he is the gritty competitor I like to see in a ballplayer, but I just can't erase the memories of the 2001 Playoffs from my mind that easily. Snow plays dirty, he whines, he pokes, he jabs, he sticks his finger in his butt and smells it, he flops, he cheats, he can't shoot, he just gets under your skin and your collar at the same time and leaves you clenching your fists in frustation. Five years later, he's showing signs of slowing down immensely and hopefully it's only a couple more years until he's joining the likes of Tyrone Hill, George Lynch, Todd MacCulloch, and Matt Geiger in the NBA wasteland with Dikembe Mutombo, Kevin Ollie, and Aaron McKie not too far behind.
Shooting Guards
Allen Iverson- It's just not a 2000-2001 Philadelphia 76ers hate fest without the MVP of that season, Allen Iverson. Again, like Snow, I admire his ability to play almost every minute of every game with such tenacity, but on the flip side, he is a thug. I can't stand the tats, I can't stand the attitude, and I can't stand the fact that his shit squad made it to the Finals in 2001. I've never seen one person get awarded so many calls driving to the basket this side of Dwyane Wade, Michael Jordan, or Kobe Bryant. He continually drove into defenders that were in a stationary position with arms up, only to crash into them and fall backwards on the ground because he's so damn scrawny. Meanwhile, the defender would barely budge from the collision and they would get slapped with the foul. And in the 1 out of a 45 chance he didn't get that call, he would curse the ref out like they had just slapped his mother. Iverson is selfish, he'll never win a championship, and if Big Dog would have just made that jumper.......
Vince Carter- He admitted to not playing hard in Toronto. What else do you need to know in order to not like the guy. He got injured so often people started calling him "Wince" Carter. He got voted to start All Star games because he can jump high? Most of his injuries appeared to be fake and his cell phone commercial sucks. He doesn't make his teammates better and the only worthwhile thing he ever did was jumping over that Frenchie while dunking a basketball for Team USA during the 2000 Summer Olympics in Sydney.
Small Forwards
Darius Miles- He's been in the league since the turn of the century and he still weighs 200 lbs soaking wet. What the hell have you been doing? You're 6'9''! Either eat something, or try lifting a weight once in awhile. And by weights, I'm not referring to smoking weed, I know you get those things mixed up sometimes D-Miles. And what's with that thing you do with the pounding of your head after every bucket? You look retarded doing that. Overall, he's got a lot of talent, a lot of potential, but just no heart. Basically, just a waste.
Ricky Davis- Speaking of a waste.....
Vladimir Radmanovic- I'm not exactly sure where my distain comes from for Mr. V-Rad, but for starters he hails from Serbia & Montenegro. That's not to say that I hate people from Serbia & Montenegro, I just hate the name of that country. You can't be both, pick one and go with it please. Or forge the two into one name like Serbnegro. Actually I soured on him when he began bitching about not starting when he played in Seattle. Dude, you were playing the same position as Rashard Lewis, just shut your trap and take a seat. Vlad is one of those players that probably gets pissed when he's not voted into the All Star Game each season because he lives in a constant state of loser denial. So he finally got traded to the Clippers and found himself in a pretty good situation where the only competition for playing time was the oft-injured Corey Maggette and what does he do the following offseason? Yeah, he signs with the Lakers so he can sit on the bench behind Lamar Odom. I secretly root for Kobe and the Lakers and I just don't like the acquisition, it leaves a foul aftertaste on the tongue. But it will only be a matter of time until we hear Vlad bitching about not starting, and I can't wait.
Power Forwards
Kenyon Martin- Surprise, a tatooed thug who's a headcase made my squad. You should have never left New Jersey bro, never ever. You could have been somebody. Now look at you, you're spending most of your days discussing whether or not you're getting along with your coach George Karl. You want to leave Denver, but nobody wants you because you're damaged goods and you're too expensive. You suck and you look like Robert Martin aka "50" from the And1 Mixtape Tour, and that dude is one of the dumbest mothers I've ever seen in my life. If they're not brothers in real life I'd be shocked because they have the same last name, the same ego, and are nearly the same height.Drew Gooden- Gooden, more like Drew Suckden. Drew not good. Drew underachieve. Drew been on 3 team in 5 year and headed to 4th because no one like. Drew look stupid in beard. Drew doesn't appear smart and looks confused most of time. Drew's new team will say, "Drew been here for four hour, he suck already, let's trade NOW!! High-ya!
Zach Randolph- A teammates worst nightmare. Throwing the ball into the post with the intent of it reaching Zach is the equivalent of tossing the ball into a black hole, it's not coming back. I'm pretty sure Zach has the ability to shoot a ball before even receiving the pass, it's a gift I'm told. He looks nothing like a basketball player, from his body shape to the way he lugs around a basketball court, nothing is natural. How many black people do you know that are named Zach/Zack anyway? I can't think of many unless it's short for Zachamondaula. But he is a Jailblazer through and through, so all he can say is, "D-Miles, pass that shit over here."
Centers
Rasho Nesterovic- He's just boring. He looks like he wouldn't be any fun, on or off the court. He looks like he hates to be tall. Watching him play is like watching a lion mope around in it's cage at the zoo. Just a very depressing athlete.
Jake Tsakalidis- On the night he was drafted, someone in the studio asked him if he would be able to handle Shaq one-on-one. Jake answered in broken English, "Yes I can." He didn't exactly say, "I must break him" but from that point on he become the Ivan Drago to my Rocky Balboa (Shaq). Except in this case, Ivan Drago sucks balls, big time. I'm not sure if Jake had never even heard of Shaq before that question, but I would image the chin of Jake's agent probably pulled a few slivers out of the floorboards after his jaw dropped straight to the ground. Jake might as well have called Kobe his bitch while he was at it.
Paul Davis- The guy hasn't even played a game in the NBA yet, and I hate him just the same. Drew Gooden has a stupid look on his face most of the time, but that is an innocent, he can't help it type of a look that just makes him look dopey. Paul on the other hand, has a constant look on his face that makes you want to go over to him and beat it out with a series of roundhouse rights that won't stop until either A) the skin on your hand is gone and you're down to the bone or B) You think Paul may have stopped breathing. I mean after all, you just wanted to wipe that focking grin off his face and make him shat his pants in the process. You don't want to kill nobody because in the end he'll make a fine addition to the practice squad for the Cincinnati Suckwads.
Head coach: Cynthia Cooper, WNBA legend and major league rag.
Over/under for wins in a season if this dream expansion team came true: 11
*Hucklebuck Inc. would like to take this time to mention that the author does not know any of the players personally and that some of the accusations may not be entirely true, ie Tyronn Lue sniffing jockstraps or Eric Snow being an ass picker. We would however like to thank you for reading and wish you and yours a great weekend, especially if your name is Vinny D. Here's to a Happy B-day.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Draft #133
Forward this e-mail to everyone you know:
Whenever I receive an e-mail of this nature I instantly want to vomit on my pants. How big of an idiot to you have to be? (the following is an example of how an idiot might respond to chain mail) What? Bill Gates is really handing out multi-thousand dollar checks to just anybody who forwards this e-mail? Sounds reasonable, after all he is a billionaire. Wow, this doesn't seem at all impossible. Who knew my sweaty ass and quick mouse clicking trigger would come in handy someday? I sent the message to all five of my friends and if they forward it to at least two people apiece, I'm going to be sitting pretty. I might be able to quit my job down at the crate factory and I'll finally be able to afford that Superman cheez whiz dispenser I've had my eyes on for three years but have been unable to purchase due to the lofty phone sex bills I've accumulated in that same timeframe.
If you were or are still stupid enough to fall for the example above, here are a couple of other scenarios that might cause you to forward an e-mail:
-My cousin Betty just sent me an e-mail during her trip to China, and she alerted me to some startling news. Apparently, the Chinese government has three baby panda bears locked up in guillotines somewhere in Shanghai. These cruel and nasty government officials have vowed to behead the poor baby pandas unless this e-mail gets forwarded to over 1,000 people. Please send this to as many people as you can so the pandas don't die such a horrible death.
-When I first got this e-mail I didn't believe it either, but then I tried it anyway. And I'm here to tell you that it actually works! My cousin Billy had a flaccid penis for almost two straight years. The doctors said he might never dry hump a park bench ever again. Having exhausted every medical option, he had nowhere else to turn. That was until, we came across an e-mail from someone who was suffering from saggy sausage syndrome. You may have heard of this condition by it's more popular street name, permanent whiskey wanker. In any event, Billy summoned the healing powers of the internet and forwarded this sad message via e-mail in hopes of getting it sent back to him someday. And wouldn't you know it, two days after he had this message sent back to him, he achieved a boner the size of a Himalayan bus driver. So if you suffer from SSS or PWW (and even if you don't) please forward this e-mail to as many people as possible, your next evening alone with a rerun episode of the Golden Girls and a half empty bottle of Lubriderm may be counting on it.
The overall basic message boys and girls, is that chain mails are evil. And please do me a favor, those of you who still blindly forward meaningless piles of internet refuse my way, don't threaten me with what will happen if I don't continue your chain of lies. I never forward chain messages and so far I haven't been attacked by a flock of flying monkies, my nose hairs haven't randomly self combusted leading to my frontal lobe being charred, my car hasn't been overtaken by evil spirits only to be crashed into a Dairy Queen, and my small intestines haven't been forcefully ripped out of my arse by a two headed lepricon with a stuttering problem. Sure, these misfortunes may have been promised to me, but no chain mail threat has actually delivered. So if you've gotten on board about 3 or 4 years ago and are able to delete these types of e-mails without reading them because you can actually see the steam coming off of the heading, then good for you. To the rest of y'all, stop trying to heal/save the world one forward at a time. Rather, do us all a favor and stick your head in a toaster.
Friday, August 04, 2006
Draft #132
Freestyle Fridays (Just sipping on a So Co & sour, pacing it at two drinks per hour)
-So Kurt and I went to a bar on Bluemound the night Ben Sheets made his return to the hill against Pittsburgh to watch the game. I still can't believe Fatty Burnitz had two home runs that night, just aweful. Any way, we each ordered supper and I had three pints of beer while Kurt had three or four mixed drinks himself. Guess what the final tab came out to?
-When you think back on some of the greatest passers in NFL history, did anyone throw a tighter spiral than Troy Aikman?
-The other day someone stopped me on the street and told me that I had terrible posture. He later went on to tell me that I had great birthing hips. I told him that I hoped they eventually come in handy someday. He smiled and agreed.
-If you've never watched an episode of "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia", I strongly suggest that you do. It airs on the FX network on Thursdays.
-In case you haven't heard, my brother's softball team was defeated last Tuesday via the mercy rule in five innings. Adam's team managed zero runs and more impressively zero hits. Somewhere out there is a guy that can stake the claim of having pitched a perfect game in a softball contest. I guess we have a nominee for the greatest achievement of the week award AND the greatest moments in shame award. And amazingly enough, nobody on Adam's team has been officially deemed handicapped. Although I have my suspicions.
-Wouldn't you know it, Funyuns really are fun! Three out of ten kids agree.
-When your grandmother tells you that you are handsome, she's not actually just complimenting you, she's actually complimenting herself. You see she gave birth to a son/daughter and that son/daughter had a hand in conceiving you, so she's basically just happy you didn't turn out weird. She probably doesn't think that you are actually handsome, she's just very full of herself and is proud of what she created. And what's even more likely, is that your grandmother has very poor vision and she probably thought you were somebody else at the time of the compliment. Or.....she's just happy somebody is eating her not so infamous cabbage & apple sauce souffle. Basically, just don't believe a word grandma is saying, you're not handsome.
-If you've ever found yourself playing musical chairs with a bunch of midgets, you know what kind of a predicament that can be.
-Can someone please tell me why the day after the Super Bowl is not a national holiday? How much more fun would Super Bowl Sunday be if the Monday afterwards was deemed a National Hangover day?
-I was sweating so much this past week from the torrid temperatures that even my sweat starting sweating. And I'm pretty sure on Monday my underwear evaporated into thin air. I could have sworn I started the day with a pair on, and by days end, they were gone.
-I'll admit it, I've got USA basketball fever. I've been reading all the articles about them and I even watched their game against Puerto Rico last night. This group of guys play real hard and it was refreshing to watch them play as a team last night. The Ricans didn't know what hit em. I don't know who's idea it was to have that U.S. soldier (who lost his eyes in Iraq) come and give the team a motivational speech, but the move was a pure stroke of genius. It's almost impossible to not go out and dominate after a guy (who just lost his vision fighting for our country) gives a speech about the importance of teamwork and playing with pride. You'd have to be lacking a soul and/or a heart to not be moved by something like that. All I know, is that with Marbury and Iverson out of the picture, I think we'll be hoisting gold before this is all said and done.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Draft #131
Qdoba- the tobacco industry has nothing on us!
A while back I declared I was going to eat everything from here on out in the form of a burrito because it just handles better. And to an extent, I have been doing that for the last three weeks. On Tuesdays, I've gone to Qdoba after work to purchase two burritos, one for that day and one for Wednesday. My customary burrito order is as follows; meat (one is chicken, the other steak), rice, pico de gallo salsa (mild & chunky), salsa verde (medium & green), cheese, and sour cream. I at least tried a couple of my burritos with beans last week, but the results were still the same, I hate beans and they nearly ruined my order, my dinner, my day, and my ability to function.
This whole no bean thing has led me to a conspiracy theory that has absolutely no legs. It is my estimation that when a customer at Qdoba orders a burrito with no beans, the employee assembling the burrito will make your burrito smaller in size if they are of a Latino persuasion. And I'm not referring to the fact that the burrito will be smaller in size just due to the physical absence of beans, I'm referring to the employee making your burrito smaller out of spite by giving you less portions of all the other ingredients. Beans are the backbone of the Latin American community and placing an order without beans, to them, would be like ordering a pizza pie without cheese, it just doesn't make sense at all. I'm nearly convinced that ordering a burrito without beans angers the employee of a Latino persuasion, and I'd bet a donkey and five paperclips on it.
The evidence I have is limited, but shocking none the less. When on the subject of Qdoba with my current lady friend (who will go by the name of JZ on this blog for privacy reasons) during a conversation we had a couple of weeks ago, I declared that I could easily eat two Qdoba burritos in one sitting, much to her amazement. That week I had ordered my dinner burritos without beans and was convinced that was the usual size of their burritos since I had never visited a Qdoba franchise before (I'm a newbie to the phenomenon so my current addiction is a rather fresh one). The week after that I tried the beans because of a discovery I had made while JZ and I were working off hangovers with takeout food during a lazy Sunday. JZ went to Qdoba while I went to Jimmy Johns since I didn't want to kill my new addiction by over feeding it. When we convened from our seperate restaurant trips and began eating, I noticed her burrito was ginormous. I could actually see why she was impressed that I declared eating two burritos in one sitting to be a petty task. And of course, her burrito had beans.
So after observing the size of JZ's burrito on Sunday, I ordered my next two burritos with beans on the following Tuesday. And wouldn't you know it, these burritos were massive and I specifically remember carrying them back to my car that afternoon and thinking to myself, "Damn these things are heavy, it must be buy two burritos and get a free brick day." But after rediscovering my hatred for beans, I went back to my usual formula this week. And just as I suspected, my burritos were smaller again.
So does this mean I will undertake a full fledged investigation on the matter? No, no, I'm far too lazy for that. Will you boycott all Qdoba franchises in an effort to take a stand for all of us out there that do not like beans? No, no, I can't do that either, I'm far too hooked on their product to quit cold turkey now. In fact I'm so hooked I recently became a Qdoba card club member and will be accruing reward points on each entree purchase I make with those points being put towards earning a free entree in the near future. Each entree purchase is worth 84 points and whenever I reach 1,000 points I win a free burrito. I used the word "win" because that's the best way to describe someone who eats large quantities of fast food, I'm a winner! And if you don't believe me, then how do you explain the free chips and salsa I received for activating my Qdoba card? Huh? Yeah that's right. So what the sodium intake I'm achieving is enough to destroy even the sturdiest of kidneys, I'm number one and I have an invisible stack of dishes that don't need to be washed to prove it.
