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Wednesday, March 28, 2007

If you think his injury was tough to sit through...

Beware the Ides of March. For sure, the last couple of weeks have seen their fair share of welcome departures. Tommy Amaker and Duke come to mind, but perhaps the least lamentable is the removal of Joe Theismann from the Monday Night Football broadcast booth. Now, there is no reason to pile on the well worn territory of how still-born that triumvirate was. Instead, I will relate a few annecdotes about an event that occured in your correspondent's professional life about a year ago, that involve Mr. Thiesmann.

[Begin boring background information]
For large regions of the United States, there exist large regional electicity grid managment organizations, that utilize power grids comprised of individual utilities working together as one. This is done for reliability and cost-advantage reasons. I was assigned to go to an "annual stakeholder meeting" (and it sounds better than it actually is, beleve me) of the Midwest Independent Electric Transmission System Operator in Indianapolis last year. As such things go, not a bad gig. Free golf, frequent flyer miles...expense account. You know the hustle (or at least I hope).
[End boring background information]

So Im walking up to the first tee, having been united with 3 other free-loaders of simularly low importance, when all of the sudden Im damn near blinded by the contrast of disturbingly whitened teeth and tanned flesh. Given the New Jersey-esque lustre of both, you can be sure neither were naturally occuring. Once I saw the wave of bryllcream-enhanced hair, It occured to me that I was looking at none other than the keynote speaker for that evening's post-dinner remarks, Joe Thiesmann himself. After hacking up a rather upscale Indy golf club for a few hours, I lanugished through an unendurable "happy" hour with some of the other assembled stiffs, and was then seated at a table with some comparably irrelevant parties.

Some more satisfied customers

Throughout the whole day, I was morbidly curious about what our keynote speaker was going to discuss, and what this room of 2500 seemingly innocent midwestern utility middle-managers had done. The (soon to be leaving) CEO of the Midwest ISO, and ad hoc master of ceremonies for the evening, said in a somber tone: "Some of you requested a keynote speaker after last year's dinner, but also wanted to be sure to keep the costs low, so in light of that, I present our keynote speaker, former Notre Dame and Washington Redskins Quarterback Joe Theismann".
Now I dont remember the entire text of the speech obviously, but I do remember a hell of a lot of quoters regarding: His injury (low and behold he remembers the date and says it really dramatically like everybody else knows it), his conversion from Joe Th-eee-sman to Joe Thighs-man, how he really had no idea what we did here, but when he saw all the power that flowed through the midwest, he said "man, these numbers are impressive!", his prowess with the ladies, which for your information, was not a step he lost after the injury, and about how he was of the view that he was quite the cat's ass because he emerged victorious from the debacle of ESPN's sunday night "nitro" broadcast spectacle, and his next stop would be the big stage of MNF.
What I cant convey as well is the looks of embarassment, confusion, and boredom on the faces of those who realized that their quest to make a low-maintenace living working for the power company had led them to this albatross of an evening. 'Thank god my kids cant see me now' thier faces seemed to say.
So anyway, happy trails, and dont quit your day job...without a fight.


Midlife Crisis Averted at Age 29

Experience The Ultimate.

Sorry about the lack of new material lately. The royal we have been busy doing shit. You know, like getting life experience and bitchfucking and keeping benders going. The big news I have to report is my recent purchase of a motorcycle. Yesterday morning I bought a '79 BMW R65 str8 cash off a guy. It's still sitting at the guy's house because I still need to buy a helmet and some other riding gear. I'm hoping to ride off with it on Friday morning and hopefully live through the weekend.

Rules for riding with Awful Chief:

-Position your pussy over the drip-pan.
-Leather riding skirt is suggested to prevent road rash when you are getting spark plugged on the asphalt.
-Panties are strictly forbidden.
-You can look around during the ride, but you must only be thinking about my johnson.
-Hold onto the safety shaft located on the front of the driver.
-Wait your turn.
-Tramp stamp must be clearly visible to vehicles behind you.

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Friday, March 23, 2007

Step Into the Risk Neutral World

One of the many joys of the NCAA tournament for those Americans that attended a college or university having a renowned athletic program already eliminated from the tournament or not even invited to it is being able to set aside hatred for other schools developed through longtime rivalries and just enjoy the wonderful excitement of college basketball. That, and making money betting on these enemy teams.

Last night I stayed up, just like CBS wanted me to, till the end of the Ohio State/Tennessee game. I drank Scotch whiskey and pumped my fist cheering on the big comeback of the normally hated Buckeyes from the twenty point deficit. How sweet it was! I woke up an hour late this morning with a substantial bit more virtual dollars than I went to bed with. This is what sports is all about. Sure, it's better when your team wins. You don't need to win money to enjoy that. But what's so wrong with making money rooting for a rent-a-team? Nothing, I say.

The Edward Norton character in Fight Club explains to the Brad Pitt character "single serving friends". Of course the Pitt character doesn't need this explained to him and cuts him off. Sports gamblers enjoy the same thing. Rooting for a single serving team during the actual game is every bit as exciting as with your old trusty team. When the game is over, you move on with no emotional attachment. The closest thing to this for sexual relationships available is prostitution.

similarities between sports gambling and prostitution:
- you have complete control of who you select to be your partner
- your relationship with that partner is for a predefined period of time coinciding with an event only
- you can experience the same joy with your temporary partner as with your full-time partner during the event
- Everywhere in the United States, if one is illegal the other is illegal (everywhere but NV, where Arnie "the beekeeper" Soloman currently is)
- Both can be addictive

differences between sports gambling and prostitution:
- in prostitution you are interacting with your partner directly
- in prostitution you always get the desired outcome of the event
- in prostitution you have a chance to contract a non-psychological disease by participating in the event
- in prostitution you always feel worse after than before or during the event

The mutual selection, high risk of unintended consequences, and societal norms involved in non-prostitution coitus makes single serving sexual relationships nearly impossible unless you group yourself with individuals such that each of the possible partners represents an equally desired choice.

The creation of such a risk-neutral grouping system is yet to be perfected, although I'm sure every dating site creator intended to make one and reap the monetary benefits.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this, so I'm just going to end it and go to a happy hour.

Bon Weekend!

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Thursday, March 22, 2007

A Fancy Young Man's Turn To Wet His Beak

I don't want much, just enough to wet my beak.

A few years ago around this time of year I went out drinking after work with the Battleship and my other roommate at the time to a bar in Southwest DC waterfront that is situated outside on a pier along the shore of the Potomac river. On the sidewalk along the marina we passed a family. There was a girl in this family, maybe fifteen years of age, who you could tell was going to grow up to be a beautiful woman but was too young to in good taste make any sort of comment about. "I'd draft that in a keeper league", I muttered to my roommates as we walked by the family. I got the desired reaction from them, laughter and heads shaking side to side in shame. I am not a pedophile, nor do I condone pedophilia. It's a terrible, terrible crime. So why did I make that joke? Well, child, I made that joke because my mind was busy thinking about which baseball players I would select as keepers in the upcoming fantasy baseball draft. That joke was the resultant of a chemical reaction that occurred when a visual catalyst bombarded a dirty mind busy thinking about fantasy sports.

This is the kind of thing that can happen this time of year. There's a lot going on of interest and now that I'm in a comfortable relationship with a girl that I don't despise, I'm very concerned that I'm going to fuck it up sometime this Spring by saying or doing too many stupid things or by being negligent. Hopefully activities that we both enjoy like barbecuing, drinking, and fornicating can somehow balance with things that only I enjoy, like participating in fantasy baseball, soccer, and NASCAR, playing soccer, bocce, and golf, and watching baseball, soccer, NASCAR, the NCAA tournament, and the NHL and NBA playoffs. I guess I'm going to have to make small sacrifices.

Spring rules I will try to abide by:
1) When your girlfriend is over and there isn't an extremely important sporting event being televised, DO NOT start watching the Wizards or Capitols or whatever your city's equivalent is. Don't even flip to the games unless she is in the bathroom.
2) Do provide your girlfriend with a meal, either by cooking, take-out, or going out to eat. Talk to her while eating about subjects other than sporting events.
3) Do not give false impressions about where your interest is going to be during a big game.
4) When you find yourself missing part of an important game, remember that the sporting event isn't going to have sex with you later.

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Wednesday, March 21, 2007


This is the first installment in a series in which I will attempt to chronicle some of the finer points of life in the city of Detroit, as seen through the eyes of your typical ½ Pakistani-½ white trash, graduate student.

Springtime in the D!

It’s that time of year. The streets are awash with a mixture of rainwater, motor oil, and bum shit flowing from the various alleys, driveways and parking lots. The recently melted snow has revealed its’ buried treasure of Faygo cans and discarded shoes. Much as the melting of glaciers carved out our picturesque Great Lakes 10,000 years ago, each spring, the receding snow deposits enough booty to keep a man in meth for at least a week. Just as your grandmother’s springtime Perennials brighten up both her garden and her life, the return of the transients who had ambled south for the winter makes any trip to the corner store an exciting adventure. One from which your change may not return.

After a late-arriving, but oppressively cold, winter here in the D, the temperature has taken a turn toward spring. This development has lead to my leaving the apartment a bit more frequently. Even my school attendance, while always far from exemplary, has seen a slow and steady rise in frequency. It’s tough to motivate for a 15 minute walk to school through the tundra outside, when if I were to just stay in bed for 2 more hours, the lecture would be available for my online viewing. There is something that really warms the soul in being able to go to school sitting at my computer in my boxers, while it’s 11 degrees outside.

However, contrary to popular opinion, medically-related graduate programs are not lacking in females of desirable physical qualities and loose moral virtue. They’re also pretty smart, if that’s what gets you off. To each his own. The presence of these ladies is enough to guarantee my sporadic attendance. My lady friend might not like it, but I keep hearing that ‘it’s OK to look’.

She's knows Biochemistry, too.

Aside from my own improved ‘scholastic’ commitment, the warmer temperatures have lead to a flurry of activity in my neighborhood. For those familiar with Detroit, I live in the Cass Corridor, which is undergoing a period of gentrification due to its position between Midtown, Downtown, and the Detroit Medical Center. Three buildings are being turned into lofts within view of my apartment roof. A new pizza place and Laundromat have opened across the street, adding to foot traffic in the area. In a state where the economic outlook of the citizenry is one of barely-concealed hopelessness, the Corridor is one place where there are the outward signs of economic hope. Nowhere to go but up, I guess.

J.T., one of the local ‘men of the street’ who stuck it out this winter, is the real beneficiary of this increase in action. An enterprising young man, J.T. always has a treasure to peddle. From a pair of shoes to a toaster, JT will give you a great deal on anything he can get his hands on. Just today, he greeted me with the offer of an accounting textbook for $3. He’s a pretty good guy, but he always comments on how he thinks I look like Oliver Platt. I don’t think I look like Oliver Platt.

Fuck you, J.T.

One of my favorite activities is to look out my windows with my binoculars (I have no views into any other dwellings). My apartment offers a pretty comprehensive view of the street, so I can keep tabs on the local goings-on from the safety of my 4th story perch. Last week, this activity allowed me to witness something I shan’t soon forget. At approximately 2pm last Tuesday, a local indigent man stopped in broad daylight, whipped out his indigent penis and urinated in the city trash can at the bus stop. Not three minutes later, another ‘man of limited means’ happened by and rummaged through that same trash can looking for treasure. It all happened so quickly that I couldn’t even warn him. That is, if I was willing to let him know where I live. I’m not.

Well, I guess that’s enough for today. In closing, if you’ve ever wondered what it’s like to live in Detroit, but have never had the balls to do it yourself, this series is for you. If you enjoy trash-talk about the suburbs, and the day-to-day doings of a down-on-its-luck city and populace, stay tuned. Due to the personal nature of this format, you can also expect a veritable cavalcade of drunken shenanigans, mid-week strip club visits, and other jackassery to spice up the posts.

Go Tigers!


Tuesday, March 20, 2007

Big Game is Waiting There Inside Her Tights

I recently became aware of some rather startling information. It's conceivable that most men know about this already, but they probably do not. Have you ever been standing in a subway station or waiting for your chicken fries order and noticed a young woman standing beside you wearing jeans who is clearly obese but has a remarkably buoyant rump? Her triceps are sagging, her side fat is spilling over her belt, the path of her strides is a series of arcs, yet somehow her big bulbous bottom appears to be well formed and full of live. How is that thing holding such shape? It's like there is a gravitational pull at the center of each cheek.

A few weeks back my special ladyfriend and I were sitting on the metro heading home after doing some drinking, and for whatever reason started talking about jeans. I can't remember if she complimented my supreme fashion sense, expressed disgust for me wearing the particular pair for several days in a row, or was jealous of the button fly, but she began disclosing certain information, man, about womens' jeans that I had not been privy to. This information--this new shit that had come to light, explained that these mysterious miracle asses might not be everything they're cracked up to be.

She demonstrated that her jeans had an elastic property to them. Interesting, I thought. They looked like regular jeans but stretched a little bit. I told her that I had never seen jeans like this before. The only elastic in jeans I could ever remember was in the 80's "mom jeans".

I'm not a woman anymore. I'm a mom!

It was explained to me that it's almost impossible to find a new pair of women's jeans that is not made of stretch denim. Why? It makes their asses look great, that's why. I'm not sure how long this has been the case. Perhaps it has been this way for a decade or more, but I found it shocking. The more I thought about it the more I shuddered in horror thinking about what the actual product was behind all that fancy packaging, especially with the ones that looked to be stuffed into jeans about three sizes too small. What happens when they come off? What happens if the stretch denim gives out on one of those size 15 girls in size 10 jeans? An assplosion, that's what. Those girls should have to carry liability insurance on their backsides.

A week or two after this revelation, special ladyfriend emailed me a link to a pair of women's jeans that blew me the fuck away.

"powernet mesh"?
"time-release capsules"?
"anti-celluite (sic) properties"?

If these babies give out, there will be new meaning to 'dirty bomb'. From the description, these jeans must come with a shoe horn for getting them on and off.

I'm sure there are some comfortable stretch denim jeans out there that don't distort the goods too drastically, but as a guy who is particularly attracted to rear ends of women, I think this particular product should be banned for false advertising and endangerment. Imagine the poor guy who goes home with a girl wearing these jeans. He's probably intoxicated, which mollifies the horror of observing the metamorphosis, but it still has to be pretty rough. In an instant (or perhaps an hour, depending on how long it takes for the jeans to be shed) all anti-cellulite properties are gone. Plus, the time-release capsules have probably left the ass greasy and smelly (maybe the moisturizing capsules make it physically possible to pry them off). Better take another shot of tequila, cowboy, and pretend that you have fallen asleep.

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Thursday, March 15, 2007

Like You Know, Risk vs Reward Baby!

I had to get it on, man. He was makin' a move!

Yesterday I received my reparations tax refund check from the federal government. I purchased my home last year so it is a substantial amount. I am struggling with what to do with this money. I could be responsible and pay off credit card debt or I could be awesome and buy a motorcycle. Right now it's looking like the bike is going to win. I figure that I will win big with my brackets and will be able to more than pay off my debt with the proceeds.

Last night I was sitting comfortably on my couch with my special ladyfriend watching the E! True Hollywood Story on Jenna Jameson when the Battleship called (Fun Fact: Jenna Jameson picked her last name by going down the "j's" in the phone book until she saw 'Jameson' and thought of the whiskey). I think he might have been drinking. We talked about who we like in the tournament and such, and then he told me how he had turned a bet he made a while back into over four times the principal and had put the whole thing on a 7-point three team teaser hating on three Big-10 teams in the tournament. I think the teams were Purdue, Indiana, and Michigan State. I was excited for him, but then I got a little pissed because I could feel the gambling addict inside me tell me that I couldn't just let the Battleship go out and place a wager and not join in the fun.

This morning I got my sexy on and placed a three-team four point teaser using some of my reparations. This was completely unnecessary. I was already going to be watching the games bracket-in-hand. I really feel like a crackhead. Of course If I win, I'll be quite pleased. Here are the adjusted lines in my wager:

Maryland -3
Georgetown -13
Texas A&M -9.5

Feel free to mock me when this doesn't come through.

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Tuesday, March 13, 2007

Significant And Evident Progress

On Monday Isiah Thomas signed a multi-year extension with the NBA's New York Knicks. I happened to be taking a crap in an MSG concourse stall Monday (don't ask) and heard the whole thing go down.

"Hi Mr. Dolan!"
Dolan: "Hi there ummm....I-s-i-a-h. You did a great job on the floor."
Isiah: "Oh gee, thanks Mr. Dolan. Glad you noticed! We've been working really hard in practice."
Dolan: "Yeah, practice, riiiight. Good work."
Isiah: "Can you believe it, if the playoffs started today, we would be in them!"
Dolan: "Yeah, finally that Millenesque guy I hired, Isiah Thomas--hey, that's your name too! Anyway, it finally looks like he's got them playing kind of like a professional basketball team. I bet they will still fuck up and miss the playoffs though. Seriously. I just got back from Vegas. If this was soccer, we would probably be relegated to the fucking D-League after the year. I can't believe I hired that asshole. I wish he was half as good at his job as you are at yours, Isiah. He shouldn't be allowed to have the same name as you. Maybe I'll send him a memo that he will need to change his name to 'Matt Millen-Thomas' or I'll fire the bastard."
Isiah: "Uh, excuse me?"
Dolan: "Listen, Isiah, you probably don't get to watch the team too often because you're working so hard cleaning up the concourse and whatnot. This is New York. I'm getting my ass pummeled every day in the papers for letting him destroy the team. Sometimes I blame myself for hiring him, but fuck--he just had to be good, you know? Anyone would have given him what he wanted. He may have been destroying my team, New York's team, before my eyes, but all that I could see was the sweet looking young man prancing around in his butt-hugging shorts acting all tough hiding behind Mahorn and Lambier--like a fluffy little kitten who thinks she's a tiger! So cute! How do you say no to that?"
Isiah: "Uh, yeah, so you think I'm doing a great job then?"
Dolan: "Definitely."
Isiah: "So, uh, would you say that I've made significant progress on the, um, floor?"
Dolan: "I believe we have clearly seen significant and evident progress."
Isiah: "Mr. Dolan, I lead a simple life and do not require much money, but do you think I could get an extension so I know I will be working in my favorite building for another five years?"
Dolan: "Let's make it ten. With a twenty percent raise."
Isiah: "Oh great! It just happens that I have the paperwork right here if you could just..."
Dolan: "No problem, Isiah. Here you go, Mr. ...."
Isiah: "Mr. THOMAS, bitch! Ha! I can't wait to call Matt Millen. He'll never believe this happened to me too."

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Monday, March 12, 2007

Hey March, how much for a quickie?

There are about 39 hours until the first games tip off on Thursday, and the normal funny stuff is going on all across this land which John Mellencamp and others stand beside. Copiers and Printers churn out bracket after bracket. Office drones suddenly have confidence in their decisions and will share them with anyone who will listen within earshot. Nonsensical strings of letters are accepted as real words, and in the case of 'bracketology', a scientific discipline for which there are experts paid handsomely to share their otherwise ignored thoughts on camera for hours on end. Receptionists, artists, homemakers, janitors, and D'Brickashaw operators become as analytically inclined as the seven figure bonus raking gurus on Wall Street. Portable devices capable of providing live display or sound are smuggled into classrooms and meetings. Scores twenty seconds old may as well be from yesterday.

There is something special about this tournament. It is more than basketball, more than gambling, more than the exhaustive coverage on television, more than the colleges and universities, more than the history, more than the upsets, more than the screaming announcers, more than the improbable performances and amateurish mistakes, and maybe even the interaction of all of those things. But maybe not. Maybe it takes all of these things to create such a nationwide obsession. Maybe if you take away just one or two of those, you'll end up with the Division III football tournament or the CONCACAF Champions Cup. Just imagine the tournament without the gambling aspect. It would be like drinking a fine wine or whisky without any alcohol. If you have ever won an NCAA pool with no monetary reward, you will surely agree that it's just like the feeling you get when you wake up next to a girl that you went home with when you were way too drunk, started fornicating with, just gave it up because you got way too fucking tired, and then decided to not rekindle things in the morning because she somehow was no longer the girl you went home with. Sure, if you tell your friends about it they will congratulate you, but deep down you know it wasn't anything to be proud of. While I am no stranger to gambling on sporting events other than the NCAA tournament, there is nothing like winning the pool. I remember my first time winning it. I was in fourth grade. It was an amazing feeling watching all of the games, circling the winners when I got them right, then getting handed the $25 I won. Winning a parlay or a straight wager you go really heavy on is sweet, but compared to winning an NCAA basketball pool, it feels like you just had great sex but it was for money...I imagine, or do I? You'll never know. Seriously, if you do you better keep your fucking mouth shut. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Shit, shit, shit, I didn't mean to imply anything. Fuck. I'm clean! Clean as a whistle! I have papers from the doctor to prove it! I'm a fucking show dog with fucking papers!

Anyway, if you care I have Georgetown over UCLA, and Michigan is definitely going to the NIT finals. Wolverine Rawr!

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Friday, March 09, 2007

Baseball Fans: Welcome to MARVIN Field, home of your Detroit Tigers!

Now I know that not many people care anymore, as pretty much everybody I know (with the exception of my colleauge, the 'stones) lived in Michigan at one point in time and now doesnt, but I just thought that everyone should be aware that the not-so-venerable Comerica Park may be undergoing a name change. Why? Corporate scandal a la MCI center/Enron Field? Bankrupcy as in the case of 3-Com (and a host of others to be that stadium's namesake) park? Conversion to Islam? Well the answer is no to all of the above. A couple of days ago, Comerica Bank announced that it will be ceasing managerial operations (i.e., you can still use the ATMs) in Michigan, and all will be moved to Texas. Now, I dont want to oversell this. I generally dont think that banks play all that big a role in the economy of a town. I think their stature is often inflated by the fact that they lease several floors of some largely vacant downtown office building, and as a sweetener, they get to put thier name atop the whole thing, making everybody feel as if we'd still be foraging for food and shelter without the 300-odd middle managers who clock into that monolith every day. I can hardly wait for David Hall of Rock Financial to intone: 'No matter how many of my mortgages are technically in default, Im not going anywhere. You can count the Rock to provide thundersticks to one and all come Pistons Playoff time'
Anyway, if you have any suggestions about what to rename the new ol' ballpark (incidentally, heres some Info about MARVIN, he's really become mr. popularity around here lately,,1607,7-118-26831-78493--,00.html) feel free to leave a comment. I, like our photogenic but overmatched governor, am in a listening mode.

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University of Michigan Announces Merger of Tommy Amaker and Lavar Burton

"Burtaker" will take over as head coach of mens basketball.

Following another disappointing season in which the mens basketball team is expected to miss the NCAA tournament, the University of Michigan announced that they quickly executed "plan B" following the loss to Ohio State 62-72 today in Chicago.

"Plan B was something that had been discussed for the past few years from time to time", Athletic director Bill Martin announced at the 3 PM press conference. "We have one of the best biomedical engineering departments in the world at this university. I was playing poker with one of the outstanding doctors in the department out in LA right before the rose bowl in early January. It just so happened that LaVar was at the same table--who'd a figured that? We asked LaVar if he had any interest in coaching basketball at a major university. He of course wasn't at all, but when his chips were down we worked a little something out. Let's just say that he lost and we won!", said a chuckling Martin. "The whole thing was contingent upon an ok by both wives. Both agreed to share Burtaker as one big happy threesome, and we got started right away."

What about Tommy? Did Tommy agree to go ahead with plan B?

"Fuck Tommy. Tommy knows he's lucky we haven't Elerbe'd him by now. He'll get over it."

Martin added that Burton's experience on Reading Rainbow and Star Trek will help the basketball team recruiting the oft overlooked 'indoor kids'.

Burtaker is expected to promise a return to the "big dance" once his motor skills are more refined.


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Thursday, March 08, 2007

Sports News Information For Friday! (SNIFF)

Willis McGahee, a man who was clearly a little weak in the knee during his last meaningful football game, was traded from the Buffalo Bills today to Baw-more Ravens, hun, for three draft picks.
-----Willis McGahee----->
You may be wondering "Whoa there! Sports? You still like sports?" Yes. Yes I do. I just watched Duke lose last night, which really warms my heart. I don't just like writing about pooping and gambling. I am a regular sports fanatic! Some facts about Willis McGahee:
- born in Miami
- played for Miami University (FL)
- drafted by Tishnik Massacre in round 14, the last round, of 2004 Olde English Players fantasy football draft.

Is great joy. It is us who do the killing!
This is a keeper league. I was fortunate enough to get to take him when another owner decided to take Bryan Westbrook instead as a keeper.
- was the subject of one of the great interviews in the past year or two, by Jamele Hill of the Orlando Sentinal. An exerpt:

Q: What's more troublesome, an ex-wife or a baby momma?
A: A baby momma.
Q: Why?
A: Because they feel like they should be a part of your life for 18 years.
An ex-wife, you can get away from her. A baby momma, you can't get away from her until the child is 18 or older. They're going to constantly ask you for money.
They just want to nag you for no reason, just because they can. (Willis has
never been married.)

I strongly recommend reading the entire interview.

Jamele Hill used to work for one of the Detroit papers. I heard one interview with her on "The Ticket" 1050 AM in Ann Arbor, a station I used to listen to every day. I remember her taking shots at Michigan, but I will give her a pass as she was being interviewed by Rod Payne, a former all-american center at Michigan who was a great player but was absolutely awful on the radio. Why? He's a fucking moron, that's why. Seriously, Rod Payne and others of his ilk: sit in classrooms at my school, fuck all the girls who will fuck you at my school, graduate from my school if you can, but when you are done, get the fuck away. Please don't shame yourself and all of the other proud graduates of Michigan by speaking. Find a job where you can sit around and occasionally make public appearances. Just smile and thank your lucky stars that you are somehow employable.

Ok, that takes care of everyone in the above photo except for the two members of the unknown_player.gif family at Michigan rubbed one out against shitty Minnesota, 49-40, sending them to another matchup against Ohio State. They won despite shooting just 27 percent. Deion Harris, the chief punk on the U of M squad, led the Wolverines as usual, with 14 points.

Deion Harris, University of Michigan, Guard
He was two for three from three-point land (yay!) but just one for eight inside the arc (boo!). Courtney Sims, a player who is no better as a senior than he was as a freshman, was 2-5 for four points.

Courtney Sims, University of Michigan, Center
Like many Michigan fans, I punched furniture when Sims missed the dunk to tie the game last Saturday against Ohio State with under a minute left. I partly blame my vomit inducing drinking Saturday night on Courtney Sims.

These are two players that are easy for Michigan fans to hate on, but the reality is that they are actually capable of getting us into the tournament this year. They get another chance to give the program its biggest win in ten years, a win that would come against the #1 ranked Ohio fucking State.

Harris is an athletic guard that takes too many bad outside shots, but on this team they need him to be that kind of player taking 10-20 shots per game. When he shoots about 45 percent or better, we can beat any team in the country. So fire away, Deion. Just try to get your feet set if you can before teeing up a three pointer and for goodness sake, try to go to the basket and draw contact.

Sims is a tall, thin center, with excellent skill, who is not involved enough in the offense. We fans were upset when you missed the dunk, Courtney. This is not how we want to remember you. Put that shit behind you. You are first team all big-10. You are a very good shooter near the basket. You are tall. I know a little something about being tall, lean, and proficient at taking it to holes, and I know you can get the job done today. Seriously, dawg, five shots against Minnesota? Take fifteen today. We all know that if you do, you'll make at least eight. Go out there today and posterize Mr "18 going on 80". Represent all the tall lean men out there.

I know that if Michigan wins today and makes it to the tournament we will likely get crushed by someone, but that's exactly what I want. It really sucks being in the NIT every year. Tommy Amaker is going to get the NIT record for most games coached if he's not careful. A long time ago the NIT was the biggest tournament in college basketball. I guess you could say Tommy is just a throwback to that era, but if he should be thought of as anything, it should be like Arnie said recently, as Lavar Burton's fashionably challenged ugly brother.

Bon weekend!

Update: Deion Harris went 1-13 and Courtney Sims went 2-9 from the field. Michigan loses by 10. 1 for 13, incidentally, is 7.6%. 2 for 9 is 22.2%. Combined, they shot 3 for 22, which is under 14%. Michigan somehow only lost by 10. Jarrett Smith is somehow the best player on the team.

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Monday, March 05, 2007

Atlantic City:
An Atlantic city for degenerates and shrimp lovers

This past weekend the Battleship and I went to Atlantic City for our friend Joe's bachelor party weekend extravaganza. This was my first time visiting Atlantic City and I have to say that it is my kind of town. If you are a gentleman, there are lots and lots of clubs catering to you and others like you. If you have a bad back, raked leaves or shoveled a lot of snow recently, or sometimes go on really long runs or slept funny, there seem to be lots and lots of places to get a massage in Atlantic City--even at 1 AM for you guys out there that don't keep a "normal" schedule. How convenient! There are lots and lots of friendly ladies who are really pretty and are really concerned that you might be for whatever reason not having a good time. Thank you mam, just being here by the ocean is a good enough time for me!

At the brosure stand by the front desk of the hotel I pulled out this:

There's nothing more romantic than two loving couples coming together in to share genital herpes and genital warts with each other...
If you don't feel like clicking on the image, here are some highlights:
"We want you to experience the refreshing and incredibly friendly ambiance,
the hot tub the shrimp, ..."
  • Special adult playpen (private, on request)
  • Food throughout the evening and morning.
  • Many semi-private rooms.
  • Viewing areas.
  • Everything is modern
  • Everything is Super clean
  • Lots of powder rooms and changing areas
  • Large mirrored dance floor
  • Great food (shrimp every week)
Wait, did they say there'd be SHRIMP?!!!! Tell me you're not half-mast right now.
There were probably 12-15 guys that made it to AC at some point for the festivities. It was a really great group of characters. Some drove up from DC, some drove down from NYC, and some came from far away places like Seattle. It was a group that was a very diverse bunch of white people, but being friends with Joe we had some things in common like being drinkers, gamblers, and born in the 70's.

We also like being entertained, occasionally in the comfort of a hotel room by one or more females with or without clothes on who may or may not be accompanied by a large dude who looks exactly like Junior Seau but with more tattoos. As it were, Saturday night we may or may not have entered room 703 of a certain hotel with boardwalk access and left with far less money than we had anticipated. We may or may not have disassociated lollipops with children and even mouths.

Shawn, the organizer of the weekend, sent out the following itinerary by email:

Friday March 2nd

People can come to enjoy but I have one room right now and that is it.
I can get another if others are going to be down. Price might go up
dependinghow many come down (will not be raised more than $20).

Friday will be more a free day do what you want and drink as much as you
can and gamble.


Morning go get breakfast then gamble.

Meet for lunch and start drinking heavily and gamble and

Have dinner then go play tournaments if people want to enter in some
I'll pass that along.

then entertainment and then more partying.

I tried to do a good job sticking to the itinerary.

5:30 PM - arrived

5:50 PM - ate delicious sausage from boardwalk vendor.

6:00 PM - arrived at bar in Bally's Wild Wild West Casino to start drinking and wait for some other gentlemen.
7:30 PM - already down $100. Stupid blackjack dealer.
7:45 PM - down $175. Stupid craps shooter.
10:30 PM - just finished watching Pistons lose to the Heat. Stupid Shaq.
1 AM - asleep
5 AM - awake, walking on boardwalk to casino to win some money
10 AM - up $15 since being awake. Walk home to shower and get back out there.
4 PM - total costs of trip paid for, shitfaced, at Irish Pub for dinner with amigos. Michigan begins playing OSU.
7 PM - Michigan, thanks to a missed dunk by Courtney Simms in the last minute, has lost and we await entertainment.
9 PM - back at the tables with the Battleship. $25 tables.
3 AM - Completely destroyed by vodka red bulls, passed out, up a shitload.
9:30 AM - puking in trash can outside on balcony while concerned gentlemen videotape it from inside, laughing and cheering at each retch.

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