What Had Happened
4/27-4/29

Friday
This was my scheduled every-other-Friday off, and I spent much of the day riding my two wheeled motorized metaphor for machismo around the metro DC area, at speeds up to 85 mph, to the delight of area spinal surgeons and funeral homes. I could be wrong, but when I walked into Panera Bread Company to get a sandwich with my protective gear on and helmet in-hand, I swear the cashier wanted to have premarital sex with me, probably on top of a pound cake the size of a king-sized bed with giant loaves of focaccia as pillows.
With the biggest Saturday in recent months the next day, I tried to abide by the terms set up for "National be-a-good-boyfriend Friday" and earn some last minute points to burn on "National be-a-jackass Saturday". Wine? Check. Complete surrendering of the remote? Check. This was really tough as I have been really into the NHL playoffs this year and I'm warming to the NBA playoffs, although I'll only be about half-mast for it until the second round.

Saturday
All week the plan for Saturday was to head to my buddy Jared's apartment as he has a big screen hdtv with split-screen capability which would be perfect for watching the Wings and the Pistons simultaneously, while flipping back to the draft when one of them was at commercial. Saturday morning I woke up, cooked some eggs and bacon, and put on some coffee for the special ladyfriend and I. I turned on the English Premier League match at 10, but then realized that I still needed to defer to her with what was coming up. She happily turned to cartoons and other programming. Around 11AM I brought up my plan for the day.
"So, remember how I said I'd be going over to Jared's for the games today?"
"Yeah, what time do they start?"
"The hockey and basketball games start at 3, but I have to get over there by 12 for the start of the NFL draft."
"Uh, OK..."
"You can have the apartment to your self most of the day, but here's a key so you can leave and do whatever whenever you want. I'll be talking to you throughout the day though."
"What time do you think you'll be back?"
"Probably 6 or so."
"Six hours! Ok, don't drink too much."
"Ok. We can go get some dinner later. Bye!"
It was a gorgeous day out Saturday in The District and I walked briskly towards the Convention Center area in my Charles Rogers Lions jersey, stopping only to pick up some canned light American beer. Picked up an 18 pack of Miller Lites for just $10.89 after tax, which really got me fired up. Jared lives on the tenth floor of his building and I was so excited about the $10.89 that I had to call him back twice to get reminded of his apartment number, as I kept thinking that it was #1089.
As expected, JaMarcus went 1st to the O. Not a big surprise there. This was followed by the most exciting fifteen minutes of the year for a Lions fan, and Jared and I were wearing our emotion on our sleaves and in our livers, powering through some early cans begging for 'the Mastermind' Millen to take Big Johnson, despite the Lions already having a Pro Bowl receiver in Roy Williams. Millen takes him, hi-5's follow, text messages are sent to other Lions fans in celebration (some sent back to us by Lion fans pissed about the pick), and the beer started to taste amazingly good--2007 must be a good year for Miller products. We watched with glee as Joe Johnson's fishing boat was shown instead of Brady Quinn walking up to shake Roger G's hand. They showed Quinn as a six-year-old with a Browns uniform on right before the pick, then Joe Thomas was selected, then they showed Quinn try unsuccessfully to not look disappointed. I used to talk beaucoup de shit about the whole sitting around all day watching the draft thing, but after seeing this I take it all back. And it just kept getting better! It became clear that after the Browns passed on him, he had little chance of getting picked until the Dolphins were on the clock at the #9 position.

I deeply regret this, but I missed the Dolphins pick. I had left to go pick up chips, a Buffalo chicken wrap from Whole Foods, and my laptop. Jared called to let me know that after the Dolphins made their pick, the camera shifted immediately to Brady to show him shocked and then putting on an extremely fake smile. I was so fucking pissed to not see that live. That is why there are months of hype for the draft. And it couldn't have happened to a better guy! Pick after pick they showed Quinn sitting with his "reach" pick of a girl who probably wanted to get the fuck up and put her arm around one of the other athletes who had actually been drafted. I may have missed the pick, but I did return with some tasty food and a laptop to complete the setup for the war room prior to the start of the two playoff games. We now had the split screens set up and two laptops, one with the draft tracker going and the other with the Tigers game using my MLB.tv account.

I don't remember when the first 18 pack was finished. It might have been before the Wings and 'Stons even started. Whenever it ran dry, Jared hustled to the liquor store, handed over $10.89, and walked back with a fresh 18-Pac. The details on the rest of the day are a bit fuzzy, but I clearly remember the following:
- Lions selecting Jeff Smoker Drew Stanton. About 8-10 beers in, I called the Battleship up to discuss how sweet the BQ situation was. While talking about it, we agreed that Drew Stanton is a better pro prospect and if the Lions could get him in the second or third round it would be awesome. When they actually picked him, I was blown away. I wanted to be happy, but I feared that Stanton would be another Lions QB that wouldn't be developed and would ultimately fail in the NFL because of his misfortune of getting selected by the Honolulu blue and silver skidmark on the underpants of pro football. It's hard, even when sober, to put my feelings into words about the first two Lions picks. I liked them both individually, but together...it just seemed fucked for some reason.
- Datsyuk scores the winning goal for the Wings late in the third period. This completed a big comeback for them after again being down 2-0 in the first period.
- Pistons won again, and are now up three games to none in the series.
- The Tigers were beaten severely.
- Jared's girlfriend came by and shouted in horror at us upon discovering that we were on the brink of finishing our second 18-pack. Wow! I kind of thought we were having a big day, but when you see 30+ empty cans lined up taking up your entire kitchen counter, you know something special just took place. Somehow, I was more exhausted than shitcanned. We had stretched the 36 beers out over almost seven hours, but come on now, that's still 36 between two people. After lying down at my place for a few hours, I was able to make it out for two pints at the bar with my special ladyfriend, my friend Michelle, and her friend Brian. Michelle had this to say: "How are you so sober? It's amazing how, don't take this the wrong way, you can drink like a serious alcoholic and not even get that wasted!" Uh, yeah. Like a serious alcoholic, like.

Sunday
Damage control. Brain feel mucho mushy.

Champions League: A tournament, not a league, with only one Champion
Liverpool/Chelsea log: second half

53rd minute: Petr Cech just made an amazing diving save forcing a corner. Drogba is now limping and Mikel is down again...Drogba delivered a big accidental elbow to his teammate going for the ball on the corner.
65th minute: I think Liverpool had some good chances but I was kind of busy looking at this. Batter up!
75th minute: What mediocre wine this is! I think I'll pour another glass. Ok, Shevchanko is coming out and is being replaced by Solomon Kalou, countryman of Drogba, who is still in there despite possibly injuring a rib.
77th minute: Lampard is issued a yellow card for some reason. He had the ball, seemed to have position on the liverpool defender. Drogba nearly scored...he's clearly the best player on the field.
80th minute: I take back everything I said about English soccer at halftime. Holy shit, Drogba just made a great tip pass with his heel and his teammate just hammered it at Reyna, who deflets it away.
83rd minute: Pennant on for Liverpool. Xadi Alanso goes off.
84th minute: Gerrard is finally playing center midfield...only took Benitez 84 minutes to figure out that this is where he has to be. They say Darko runs like a deer. Compared to Peter Crouch, Darko runs like a squirrel.
88th minute: Chelsea doesn't have a single mediocre player on the entire team. What was I thinking betting against them at home? I'm contemplating what to do with the $60 left of my deposit. I'm thinking a hockey bet is in order. Fuck, this wine is starting to taste pretty good.

Final. 1-0 Chelsea.

Champions League: A tournament, not a league, with only one Champion
Liverpool/Chelsea log: first half

8th minute: Frank Lampard gets a clean shot off about ten yards from the Liverpool goal and blasts it right into Pepe Reyna.
16th minute: Battered wife Riise gives the ball away, Drogba runs down the right side with Joe Cole coming down the center with him with just one Red defender back. Drogba can't get the ball to Cole.
18th minute: Shevchenko puts a nice hard cross in front of the goal but Joe Cole could not get a foot on it to convert. Chelsea has most of the threats so far
21st minute: Drogba may have been offside, but he breaks away from his defender and nearly gets a head on the ball that would have surely gotten past Reyna, who was going for the ball himself. Both missed it. Drogba is playing great.
23rd minute: Chelsea nearly scores on a great Lampard free kick from about 10 yards outside the top of the keeper box resulting from an Alonso foul where his cleat went into the chest of the Chelsea player, Mikel.
29th minute: Liverpool give up a counter-attack as Drogba takes a great pass from Carvalho and goes down the right side with one defender. Drogba's speed and phenomenal cutback and cross was buried into the net by Joe Cole. Fuck. They beat Liverpool with their own game.
37th minute: Kuyt puts a good cross in and Gerrard gets a head on it but cannot get over the ball to knock it down on goal.

Half. Liverpool maintained posession in the Chelsea half better in the last ten minutes or so of the half, but the Chelsea defense played perfectly. I'm kind of pissed about being down a goal, but the play has been very good. English soccer is the best brand. No diving, strong defense, and less whining and hand gesturing to the referees. In retrospect, betting on this game was unnecessary. The pinot noir I'm drinking isn't tasting as good as it did two nights ago, but it's always grand drinking to a daytime sporting event.

You'll Never Gamble Alone

I was feeling fine this morning at work but was frequently going into fits of uncontrolled coughing. I asked my boss if I could work from home for the rest of the day so that the two others in the temporary office I am stationed in wouldn't have to listen to my battle with my itchy lungs. That was a no-go. Instead of being allowed to go home and work for the rest of the day, I was instructed to take sick leave and not work. Well, the dude abides. I got home and turned on the tv, which was on NBC from this morning. I considered masterbating to the female characters of 'Days of Our Lives', but I wasn't inspired enough. If they would just stop all the camera switching and the dialogue, maybe we could get somewhere...

The Chelsea/Liverpool Champions League semifinal match just started, I have cash on Liverpool to win or tie, and I'm about to start drinking. I will be providing some comments on key moments in the match in a game log post later today.

Freeman doesn't want you to be a married man.

Mike Freeman, the CBS Sportsline writer you may remember lied about earning a college degree on his resume and is intent on suing the person who outed him, has a new column up on sportsline today, "Marrriage on the mind? Stop by the Strahan house", in which he encourages professional athletes to wait until retirement to get married. Apparently his target audience is either professional athletes, close friends of professional athletes, or people who want to be filled with gobs and gobs of good advice in case they befriend one. He probably isn't going after assholes like myself who find his writing to be laughable rather than witty, but just as I enjoy a crappy lifetime movie with terrible acting, I enjoy his columns.

What's so fun about his columns, you ask? Consider the following juicy morcels from a recent column on Gary Bettman:

Gary Bettman is brilliant. He might be the smartest man alive. He would kick
Einstein's ass.

You can find That's So Raven on television easier than you can locate NHL games.
What is that NHL network called again? Versus? Or is it Venus? Or Vagina? I
forget. Versus: what the hell is that anyway? What does that mean? Is that Latin
for invisible? Is it Greek for "hey honey, what freakin' channel is the hockey
game on?"

I hopped aboard the Freeman train hoping for some fun while learning about some nasty business his ex had done to him recently. I remembered from a KSK posting quite some time ago that Strahan's divorce exposed some rather embarassing details about him and his marriage as well as cost him many millions of dollars. So Freeman's column must be talking about the millions he made while playing a position in a brutal sport that will likely leave him crippled that has been or soon will be transferred to her, right?

In what is either a stunning act of vengeance, or simple thriftiness, Jean
this weekend began selling some of her and Strahan's personal items.

Uh, ok, that's kind of strange that she would be selling shit of his in a yard sale with everything she made off with, but as far as a deterrent for marriage goes, this falls a little short. But maybe the items being sold are extremely embarrassing, like a Jason Seyhorn autographed butt plug or a miniature dildo he used to fuck the gap in his teeth with...

One of Strahan's Giants jerseys sold. Other things, like gloves he once sported in games, went for a pittance.
Good thing Strahan did not leave a jockstrap in the house.
I get the feeling that if she could, Jean would have sold the large space between Michael's two front teeth for $1.50.
You will have to excuse my combination of wonderment and outrage. The memory fails as to the last time a star NFL player had his personal goods shuttled to the front lawn and hawked for a few bucks.

Hey Mr. National Columnist, how about a little background information for your national readers? As little as this intrigues me, I can't imagine how a reader would feel reading this without knowing how much she has taken from him. But really, who really cares if she is making a few bucks off of items that he didn't take with him when he moved out?

Freeman clearly had somehow decided that being married during your professional playing days is a bad idea. He probably was talking about all of the pussy a young rich athlete could plow through with his friends one day, and then decided that he would write a column about it. But why use this yard sale bullshit to support your claim with all of the other good reasons out there?

Whatever the motives, as word of what she did began to spread across the
Internet and this city, there was genuine shock. I should know. I live here and
am less than a 10-minute drive from the Strahan house.

Oh, that's it. He lives ten minutes from Strahan's ex's house and thought he'd get a nice column out of a little neighborhood gossip. Thanks for filling in the gap for us, Mike, but nobody fucking cares.

An Open Letter To Awful Chief From The Boston Marathon

Dear Awful Chief,
I have stood by idly as you have written boring rambling post after boring rambling post about why running races sucks and why I especially suck and blah blah blah. Well, pal, I know your sorry ass and if you're finally done bitching about what I did to you, you're probably thinking about how you can't wait to sign up for me next year, you hopeless addict.

I've been watching you the last couple days. You can't stop talking about me! It's clear that you feel more proud about running my race than just about anything you've accomplished in your pathetic little life. You crave the praise that your friends, family members, and coworkers are showering you with. You can't stop looking in the mirror at yourself can you, you narcissistic bastard? Who brought your percent body fat down to single digits? Me, that's who. Don't fucking forget it, either.

Wait, are you on marathonfoto.com AGAIN looking at pictures of yourself? Good lord, you are embarrassing. Someone should have tripped you on your way to my finish line...I mean, just look at how retarded you look in those pictures with your mouth open like that and your legs looking like you're walking in fucking place! All you did was make me look bad on my big day.

Granted, there are a lot of stupid marathons out there and I don't give a shit if you cut down on your racing habit. You have enough stupid tee shirts with a flaccid design on the front and a big clusterfuck of sponsor names on the back. I mean seriously, are you people runners or fucking NASCAR drivers? But how dare you lump ME with all of those other races? I am what all of those other losers want to be but know they will never come close. I am the alpha and omega of competitive running. Go ahead, count up the number of sponsor names on my race tee-shirt, I'll give you a minute...you done? That's right, it's fucking zero. I am like the Masters. I don't bow to sponsors. Why? Because I know that you people will suck the dicks of five thousand eighty year-old men to come back to me next year.

Oh and dude, I saw you in my expo on Sunday. You couldn't get enough! I have you on video buying an $80 track suit jacket bearing my name, for god sakes.

And you can shut the fuck up about hating the actual race, you hypocrite. I saw you with your stupid smile high-fiving my spectators. If you hated me so much, why didn't you just stop? You just kept on going. Even at Wellesley College, with hundreds of screaming girls that were still minors but legal jumping up and down with 'kiss me!' signs, did you stop? Did you stop and kiss the girls? No, you pathetic addict, you couldn't stop. You couldn't cheat on me, could you junkie?

Let's be honest here. I don't even think you'll give up Baltimore, a lowly peon to me, existing only as a qualifier and tune-up for me. Why? You like their shirts! Dude, I don't care how much Under Armour you wear, you're not going to protect anyone's fucking house.

You'll be back. You'll probably pay even more than $500 next year to give me the pleasure of humiliating you in front of thousands of onlookers. You'll be lining up at an ungodly hour to get on my buses to my start line along with all the other masochistic narcissists. You think you'll get revenge on me, but I always fucking win. Even if you complete my course in under three hours, you're still nothing but a big fat loser. A big fat loser who can't get enough of me.

Sincerely,
The Boston Marathon

Boston Marathon, Part 2



During every marathon I run, I always tell myself that what I am doing is absurd and this has to be my last one. I'm 0-5 so far...like an average day at the plate for Dean Palmer back in 2001. These BM posts will hopefully cement the stupidity of running extreme distances voluntarily with other idiots into my memory before the pain wears off.

I woke up at 6 AM Monday morning, which was hardly unusual for me except for being in a fancy hotel in Boston Commons. Something that The Omni offered which I appreciated was a second wake up call fifteen minutes later. Amazing the service you get when you pay $200 for an approximately 200 square foot hotel room. I got my shit together as quickly as I could and checked out, ltaking my orange plastic bag issued to runners for stuffing their belongings in and checked before the start of the race and leaving my duffel bag of belongings at the front desk so that I could come back and shower before heading to the airport.

I stepped out into the cold rainy morning and headed a block down the street to the bus pick-up area. This was a massive line of yellow school buses sitting in the right lane of the street filling up with runners lined deep behind each bus door. When the buses filled with runners they pulled away and within a minute or two were replaced by another long line of empty buses and the lines continued to move forward. I stepped onto my bus and headed straight to the back seat, just as I did in middle school. Why? That's where a young man can have access to the best window to write 'shit' or 'fuck you' backwards into the condensation for trailing cars to read.

For some reason the trip to Hopkinton seemed to take a really long time, maybe an hour or so. This was partly due to the bus driver stopping at a rest stop on I-90 to take a piss (or a shit--there's just no way to know for sure). When I finally walked off that bus it was 8:40AM. I stepped out into a giant field surrounding a high school football field and track that was supersaturated with rain. Runners were crowded together like refugees underneath a few of those big outdoor event tents. When I got there they were already packed to the gills so I just kind of drifted around looking for a bagel, powerbar, and some water. I really wanted a coffee but I knew that would be a bad plan...didn't want to be spending any unnecessary time in the portable shitters. How pathetic.

At around 9:15 the loudspeaker announced that they wanted runners wearing certain bib numbers, including my trusty 5052, to head to the buses to turn in our tagged bags of belongings and then make our way to the start area. They must have had a thousand fucking portable shitters there but it wasn't enough. Runners, disgusting primative beasts that they are, pissed all over the place outside whenever there was any semblance of a blocking object in at least one direction. I joined about ten other shameless assholes in pissing on the wind screen of the fences surrounding some tennis courts. At one point in the race I saw someone squatting about five feet back from the road for the purpose of crapping out poop. Bunch of neandrathals with stupid little sidecut shorts.

The weather for the race was forecast to be the worst in the 111 year history of the Boston Marathon, and Sunday evening there was no reason to think otherwise. Fortunately, weather forecasts are occasionally wrong and Monday was one of those occasions. Don't get me wrong, it still sucked miserably, but it wasn't the forty degree day with downpouring rain and 25 mph constant wind that was expected. As a result, there were a lot of overdressed dickheads lined up on Main St or whatever it was in downtown Hopkinton. I started with a knit hat that I later tossed into a trash can. I ran wearing sunglasses to block the wind and rain. Holy fuck, is anyone else bored right now?

The running part of the race started out OK and got progressively more painful as I inched towards Boston. There were hardly any flat stretches on the course--it was just up and down little hills the whole way. By the time I got to 'heartbreak hill' I was so dead from all of the hills leading up to it that I wasn't even sure if I was on it. Somehow I made it to the finish with a net time of a few seconds over three hours, twenty-two minutes, and that's when I really started to hate the race.

What do marathon runners want to do at the end of a race? The Boston Athletic Association thinks that they wouldn't mind being forced to walk another mile or so without getting a chance to sit down for a second. When you cross the finish line, you are forced down a street like a farm animal going to the slaughterhouse. First you have to walk past the bottles of water, then you get the opportunity to enjoy more delicious lemon-lime gatorade--like you didn't get enough the last three and one-half hours, then a volunteer tapes a 'heat sheet' around you. If you don't know what that is, you should feel good about yourself. You know those balloons kids sometimes get at fairs or parties with pictures of cartoon characters on them that are made of that thin metallic material? Heat sheets are made of that stuff. Maybe they keep you warm if they are tightly wrapped around you, but if you happen to be in an extremely windy place like the finish area of this race, all the damn things do is blow into your face. At this point, I had to be close to a quarter mile past the finish line and my hamstrings were killing me. All I wanted to do was sit down and get shot up with whatever pain killers were used on Barbaro. But no, I wasn't to the slaughterhouse yet. Next, I stood waiting in line for a volunteer to take the chip off my shoe (the volunteers, incidentally, are amazing people...I don't know why they do what they do, but they can never be thanked enough for it) and put a loser medal around my loser neck. Then we were forced to walk past food tables with bagels and bananas and such before finally getting to the massive line of buses containing our bags of belongings we checked at the beginning of the race.

The bus labeled '5000-5500' was one of the last buses in line and when I arrived at it there was a large group of tired assholes waiting for volunteers to call out their number and toss the bag out of a bus window to them. When I finally got my bag, I sat down on the curb and put my sweatshirt and athletic pants on and then started walking to the nearest T-station to head back to my hotel for a shower. While on the T, I realized that my jacket was not in my belonging bag and would have to go back for it after I showered.

At the hotel I got my duffel bag from the front desk and headed up to the designated shower room for the returning runners who had already checked out. What, does 'designated shower room' sound gay to you or something? While the runner ahead of me showered, I picked out some dry clothes and noticed that I had forgotten to pack up my toiletry kit that morning before checking out of room 449. So I had another thing to track down before heading to the airport.

I ended up finding both the jacket and the toiletry kit and made my 4:45 flight back to DC.

Lessons I hopefully learned:
- running 26.2 miles sucks, just like it did the other five times I did it.
- I paid upwards of $500 in total costs to have the privilege of experiencing extreme pain.
- The logistical issues that come with running a marathon out of town are no fun do deal with.

Boston Marathon, Part 3

During every marathon I run, I always tell myself that what I am doing is absurd and this has to be my last one. I'm 0-5 so far...like an average day at the plate for Dean Palmer back in 2001. These BM posts will hopefully cement the stupidity of running extreme distances voluntarily with other idiots into my memory before the pain wears off.

****Note: Forgive me for posting part 3 before part 2, but this conversation just occurred between me and a coworker of mine. Part 2 will be up later today or tomorrow sometime.

"How was the marathon?"
"It was pretty rough."
"Did you win?" [I turned my head towards her and to my horror I see that she is not joking.]
"Does it look like I'm from Kenya?" [FUCK! What was I thinking saying this at work?!]
"What do you mean?" [Now that's ignorance, folks.]
"Oh, because since many years ago, the winner has usually been Kenyan."
"What, is it in there genes or something?" [Dangerous question...be more careful]
"I'm not sure. It might have something to do with the altitude and mountainous topography being a good training ground for distance running."
"Kenya's in Africa, right?" [Wow--I stand corrected. Now THAT'S ignorance, folks.]
"Yes."
"Yeah, I know. When I go to IT conferences I look around and think 'Where the sistas at?', you know. It's usually the foreigners. They are all the ones good at computers and that kind of thing it seems like. And men--they're usually men." [I said nothing. This woman is perhaps the dumbest individual I have ever worked with, outside of the forced labor program run by the Washtenaw County Department of Corrections. I luckily was there as part of a probation and not a once per week let-you-out-of-jail thing that most of my 'coworkers' were from.]
"So what does the winner get? Do they get a trophy or something? A ribbon?" [at this point, I am completely numb to her incomprehensible ignorance and stupidity]
"Yes, but they also win a lot of money."
"Oh, I see. So that's why they run so good."

Boston Marathon, Part 1

During every marathon I run, I always tell myself that what I am doing is absurd and this has to be my last one. I'm 0-5 so far...like an average day at the plate for Dean Palmer back in 2001. These BM posts will hopefully cement the stupidity of running extreme distances voluntarily with other idiots into my memory before the pain wears off.


more teeny tiny photos

Sunday
The weather across the eastern seaboard Sunday was powerful nasty and made for some bumpy cake flying from DC to Boston. The pilates pissed in the face of the turbulent conditions and landed the bird on-time and without incident. I T'd it down from Logan to the Hynes convention center to pick up my race packet, then headed to Gov't Center to get my complimentary pasta dinner. After finishing two full plates of food I attempted to contact the craigslist dude I planned to stay with. Waited for about 1.5 hours outside of a closed CVS in the shitty weather, then another 0.5 hour inside the Omni hotel after my dumb ass realized that there are places in Boston that would let me wait inside their buildings. Depending on someone I knew only as "Juan" from craigslist for a place to stay was probably a bad move on my part. I felt kind of helpless, sort of like when you've gotten it in your head that you just have to score some coke and your only connection is through a guy your friend's friend knows, it's Saturday night, and your friend and friend's friend are both out somewhere and don't understand or care about how badly you need it to happen. My half hour of waiting ended when I went on hotels.com in the lobby and saw that miraculously there was a room left at the Omni--an "efficiency", for $199. I went to the front desk and asked if there were any rooms available.
"I'm sorry but we are fully committed for the night."
I then set my laptop on the front desk and turned it around to show her that her long winded "no" was not the correct answer. If only Mary and Joseph had a laptop they wouldn't have had to give birth to their kid in a fucking barn! Speaking of Mary and Joseph's kid, imagine how much some of the stem cell rich afterbirth from that pregnancy would go for on the open market these days... So the front desk woman's associate actually looked to see if anything was available.
"I'm sorry, but all we have is an efficiency with one double bed."
Sorry for what? That's exactly what I needed.
About an hour later, Juan got back to me, apologizing for forgetting to take his phone with him wherever he was and wished me luck. So basically I could have waited a little longer and had an air mattress kind of far away in Cambridge for $40, but I ended up in a nice little room with a fantastic bed in a hotel that was one block from the buses shuttling runners from downtown to Hopkinton where the race starts. Probably worth the extra cash.

Tutee Has Long Way Too Go

"What do you think you might want to be doing when you're older?"
"I don't even know."
"I mean, what kind of work do you want to get into when you're about my age?"
"Probably work at like Footlocker or my cousin got a job working at Fudruckers...or maybe just make my money on the streets....I'm just playin'!"

"Yo, you got a girl, right?"
"Yes."
"So yo, is she got it like mmm...BOOM up here and like mmm...POW back there?"
"That's not an appropriate question for me."
"Come on, just tell me, I mean, is she all fat?"
"That is not an appropriate question. That's not why I am here. I am not going to answer questions like that for you."

"I hate those African names."
"Why?"
"African names are tacky!"

After this, I was really fucking thirsty and wanted to watch some Red Wings playoff action. Today the old brain is not quite running full speed, so I am going to take the lazy blogger approach and just give you some videos to watch for your enjoyment, both of which were brought to my attention by some amigos in the big long cock shaped state in the extreme western end of the United States.

Malibu

sexual contract

Bon weekend!

No Man is an Imus
With great indifference the nation has watched the demise of radio talk show host Don Imus. I won't go into great lengths on this, but Imus really helped everybody out by finding his way into the public doghouse. The thing is, Im sort of wondering how this guy was ever in a place where he had a damn thing to lose. First of all, anybody who is making commentary on women's basketball should realize that he needs to improve his material. Im not saying this because women's basketball sucks or anything like that, Im just wondering who the hell takes a struggling sport and decides to lower the boom on it. I mean, why didnt he just say something along these lines:
"You know what really grinds my gears, that silly pothead Jeff Smoker, I mean come on...Hello!
do you realize that is the ARENA football leauge you're playing in or are you just too zooted!"

or....

"You know I was watching some men's water polo last night, and let me tell you something, If all Im going to see when somebody gets thier swimsuit forcably removed is a shriveled up penis and some balls, D. I. changes the channel! I mean, Kevin Costner tried that whole waterworld thing. I guess it made money in Europe, goes to show how much that bunch of effeminante commies love their crap."

Its a wonder to me why MSNBC is just pulling the plug on the simulcast right now. I can think of 2 great reasons they should have done this well in advance of his recent assumption of Jimmy "The Greek" status:
1. He's not funny enough to be a "shock jock"
2. He's not interesting (or reputable) enough to be a legitimate journalist

It will let you know that if you're able to buffalo a bunch of politicians into going on your show how far you can get. I guess he did have a lot of NYC movers and shakers among his audience, but those people wont be admitting that now.

The Stench On October 7th Won't Be Coming From the Anacostia


NOT a happy little cloud

One of the positives to come out of the Schrutebag thing, which touched off a barrage of str8up nasty mufuggin' posts from laptop gangstas across the blogosphere, was the discovery of some fantastic sports blogs thanks to the good work done by the head cheese over at Awful Announcing. Every checkoutmyhemi writer, except for the top-heavy one from Philly and the delinquent Chicagoan, is from the unemployed great state of Michigan, so I was extremely pleased to become aware of The Wayne Fontes Experience, which is now linked on the right side of this page forever and ever, amen. We hope that our continued commentary on Michigan sports will compliment the fine work being done o'er yonder.

While "working" and struggling to read through the KSK guest postings yesterday, the NFL schedule was released. TWFE has taken the time to assess the Lions Chances in each of the sixteen goatfucks scheduled for the upcoming season. It's not often that a Lions fan will read any piece of news related to the team and jump for joy or pump the fist, but for the Battleship--the biggest Lions fan I know and I (or is it the Battleship and me? I'm from SW Michigan so it's a miracle that I can even read) that's exactly what we did upon reading that the brave warriors in Honolulu Blue and Silver or whatever shitty alternate jersey they are wearing will be traveling to the DC metro area to play the Landover Redskins.

The Battleship and I will be pissing away likely hundreds of dollars to get tickets for this rare visit from our favorite and most hated NFL team. Hopefully Arnie and Dr Blackstones will make it out. The Battleship will certainly be wearing his lucky James Stewart home jersey that has helped the Lions almost win so many games over the past several seasons. I will be wearing the brand new Charles Rogers alternate jersey that I purchased for $15.



As we get closer to October 7th, you can look forward to (or past) posts about why Lions fans should hate the Redskins, calls to protesting the employment of Matt Millen on the National Mall, and other virtual turdery by both myself and the Battleship.

SWM ISO Manger in Clean Comfortable Barn

As I have mentioned in previous posts, I will be running in the Boston Marathon this coming Monday. I have a flight reservation that will take me from National Airport just outside DC to Logan Airport on Sunday afternoon and will take me back late afternoon Monday. There's just one little problem: As of 10:52AM on 4/11/07 I do not have a place to stay.

About a month ago I posted an ad on the Boston craigslist temporary housing page asking if anyone had an extra bed or couch that I could sleep on the night before the race. You may be thinking to yourself, "Why doesn't he just get a hotel room? What is he, poor?" I'm not poor, but I don't want to pay $250+ for a mediocre room outside of the city. Plus, if the hotel isn't understanding I may have to get a room for two nights so that I can shower after the race before flying home.

I was pleased to receive several responses to the CL ad. At first I accepted a place with my own room in a house in Cambridge for $40. Then several folks responded saying that I could stay at their place for free. I picked a host who promised me my own bedroom over the couches at some other spots. The woman seemed extremely enthusiastic about me staying there.

Hi, My name is **** and I have a single ( very comfortable) bed for you to sleep on the night before and/ or after the Boston Marathon. I am an R.N . and I share a 3 bedroom apartment in Newton ( Waban) and I love the Marathon!!. I grew up on the route( Commonwealth Ave) and have a Brother in law and many friends that have run or will run the race this year. I work at **** in Belmont and I share my place with a PhD ( Literature) at **** and a nice gentleman that works in the Film business ( ****). We are seldom home although are very excited about the Race and always enjoy runners. Growing up my Father would always invite runners from other states or countries to stay over on days/ evenings/ nights around the race. It is a holiday for me that seems bigger than any other holiday during the year due to my Dads birthday being April 19th. I am in my 40's, **** is in his early 30's and **** is also in his 40' s.You are more than welcome to come and stay. I always try to get out to the beginning of the race but can not confirm that I will this year. There are buses from Boston and also many supports for runners here in Newton. ( Many other runners that is). It would be a priveledge to have you stay. Although I am not a runner my dentist does run and has run every year for close to 20 years. He is part of a runners group in this area. Please know you are more than welcome to stay and let me know if I can provide you with further info to help. I live in a two family house and am close to the Waban Train stop on the D line that travels directly to Copley station ( the START ) Look forward to hearing from you and I commend you for meeting the challenge of this WONDERFUL RACE. ALL THE BEST> ****, R.N.

This person seemed nice enough. Then I got another one from her.

Hey ****,

I was just looking at the Boston Athletic Assoc web site about the start of the race. Historically the race started at 12:00 Noon. This year ( Race # 111 ) it appears that it will start at 10:00 am. The town of Hopkington SHUTS DOWN at 8:30 am. Which means that NO one is permitted to enter the town by car. I may be able to drive you to Hopkington (only about a 10 mile ride) as we are close to Mass turnpike in Weston). It is only about a 15 to 20 minute ride by car. I love going to the start as the Marathon posters are different each year and very beautiful and the Runners BUZZ in the air is so exciting! Visitors also bring revenue to this little town that relies on this day each year for small businesses to make some cash. The race starts at 500 feet above sea level and so there is a lot of Down hill running at the beginning. I grew up on Heartbreak Hill ( not too far from Boston College). I am told it is pretty rough on your body when running but there are volunteers en route willing to massage calfs, or help you out if you need it. Many chiropractors, nurses, Physical therapists also are strategically placed at different rest stops along the way to assist those with SORE MUSCLES, BONES, BODIES!! Take a look at the web site if you haven't already because the Pasta dinner the night before is for all registered runners and there are many interesting people and sometimes some good music. Many Kiosks also are set up down town to assist runners in picking up their chips, numbers and race t shirts.This prevents long lines and endless waiting on your feet before the long race. The race starts in Two Waves. Wave # 1 starts at 10:00 am and Wave # 2 ,a little later. These waves are dependent on qualifying time and your age. Sorry if I am oversharing. Please know that these details are all the more reason for a FAN to GET EXCITED ABOUT SUCH A COOL RACE. Let me know when you will be coming in and if I can be of further assistance. All the best. ****

OK, still nice and enthusiastic, but getting kind of crazy too. The "SORE MUSCLES, BONES, BODIES!!" thing weirded me out, but whatever, I had a place to stay so I was content. Then despite multiple emails to her attempting to sort out the logistics of staying there and getting to and from the race I didn't hear back from her for several weeks. While typing this post I finally got an email from her.

Hi ****, Just checking in to confirm Sunday 4/16. I just spoke to my friend Dr. **** and he asked me to be sure to remind you of the start of the race. It is DOWN HILL for the first 6 or 7 miles. The first 3 miles are straight down so **** recommendation is to START SLOWLY. You will be more likely to feel reasonably good at Mile 18 if you REALLY START SLOWLY. Many people have this HIGH that comes with running races and they feel exceedingly happy, euphoric at the beginning of the race. Brian said beware of being carried away by these feelings. Your legs and BODY will incur more damage at the start if you run TOO FAST> He is running in the second wave and he will start at about 10:30am. Not sure which wave you are starting in but let us know. If you have found other accomodations also let us know. Hope to hear from you either way. All the best. ****,R.N.

I have been sort of panicking to find a place to stay so I was sort of glad to get this from her, but for god sakes, enough with the running tips! This ain't my first rodeo, cowgirl. I emailed her back expressing my concern about the logistics. Hopefully this works out, but if you are reading this in Boston and have an extra bed or couch and want to house a runner for a night, let me know. Please don't make me have to turn to the M4M craigslist ads!!!!

Update: Secured a smaller room with an air mattress in that same house in Cambridge for $40

Score One for the Electoral College...

sports.espn.go.com/espn/fp/flashPollResultsState?pollId=44215

Sometimes, the popular vote gets it wrong too.

Dude, It's Already The tenth.

My buddy Jared, for the second or third straight month, has sent me a "dude, it's already the tenth" text message on the tenth day of the month to which I have immediately responded "far out". Jared, you are a delightful chum. I was not fortunate enough to see The Big Lebowski in the theater when it first came out, but I do sometimes go to a theater to see a movie (What a horrible transition sentence that was!).

Last Friday the special ladyfriend and I went out with Dolores, her BF, former occasional commenter Grape Smuggler, and his fiance to see Grindhouse. The movie was awesome. Go see it post haste. I will not be breaking down the movie for you. There are professionals who do this, and they be doin' it well. I'm here to tell you about the food and beverages that were consumed during the movie.


"I know we are a good looking minority couple, but why does Regal Cinemas always put a spotlight on us? Damn!"

The special ladyfriend brought two half pints of rum to pour into coke and diet coke, which I purchased along with a large popcorn. Notes on the container volumes:

- Remember that "dick suckers cramp" joke back in middle school? I don't remember exactly how it goes, but I remember when I was in 7th grade, an 8th grade girl named Amy Fried whom I wasn't really friends with came up to me and from what I remember had me open my mouth really wide and say a bunch of stuff with my mouth wide open, then after a while she said to close my mouth. Then she asked if my jaw felt like it was stuck staying open after all that. I said that it did. Then she said something like "Ha ha, you've got dick suckers cramp!" and walked away. I think this was the most I ever conversed with her, and since I never really had a crush on her or anything I am not upset by that. I was not really embarrassed about having the joke played on me either because for whatever reason, she didn't do it in front of a lot of people to laugh at me which I thought was the whole idea of doing something like that. OK, shit, I guess now that the details of that joke have come back to me, I see that it doesn't have much to do with the large popcorn bucket. I'll tell you though, powering through a massive tub of popcorn topped with Castrol Syntec or whatever the fuck that butter flavored oily substance that they drench the popped corn in really gives your jaw muscles a workout! By intermission, which is when I finished El Tub (that should tell you how entertaining the Robert Rodriguez feature is and how much of a pig I am), I was ready for a jaw massage. I wonder what a 'happy ending' would be for a jaw massage...

- Special ladyfriend wanted a diet cola to mix her rum into, so I hunter-gatherered my ass to the lobby to procure the beverage, man. My pal Grape Smuggler was a few spots ahead of me in line and ordered the "#1 combo", made up of two medium fountain drinks and a large popcorn. Sounds like a reasonable order, right? Wrong! I've already covered the size of the popcorn, sort of. You know how when you're out with your guyfriends and one of them sees a hot girl and says to the rest of the group "I'd eat a bucket of her shit."? No? Oh well. The bucket is so large that that announcement actually would seem pretty gross. Now, back to the drinks. There is no standard volume for "small", "medium", and "large", so the hope is that when you order one of those sizes you get a cup filled with fountain drink of a size comparable to other past experiences ordering that size. Because they are a for-profit corporation the Regal Entertainment Group decided that instead of advertising "44 oz", "medium" would sell more. I was frightened by the size of Grape Smuggler's two medium beverages. His cardboard meal transporter was understandably buckling from the pressure of the two big units stuffed into it. I saw this and decided to pass on the "#1 combo' and just get two small drinks and the large popcorn. This saved me fifty cents. Size of the "smalls"? THIRTY-TWO OUNCES! I consulted the urination entry in the wikipedia and found the following:

The first urge to void is felt at a bladder volume of about 150 mL, and a marked sense of fullness at about 400 mL.

Thirty-two ounces is roughly 950 mL. Grindhouse is over three hours long. There should be a law against this. I missed one of the hilarious faux trailers between the Rodriguez and Tarantino while I was fulfilling my urge to void.


"Y'all take a listen, you'll hear the deep sound comin' down from Bobby Peru."

Marinade On That

Occasionally a fact which a Check Out My HEMI writer finds interesting for whatever reason will be presented under this title. Just something for you to think about when you're coming down from those mushrooms you might accidentally ingest for recreational purposes.

The American Pet Products Manufacturers Association (APPMA) estimates that 2007 U.S. total pet industry expenditures will be $40.8 Billion.

Hey Jesus, Take That Cross Off Your Back and Jam it Through Colin Cowherd's Face


It would be a better Friday if this man turned up dead or at least fired. (Photo from Awful Announcing).

Back in the late nineties I began to tune in to sports talk radio instead of always listening to a tape or cd while driving. At home I switched the radio station my alarm clock woke me up to from FM to Ann Arbor's AM 1050. I found this station to be a great source of information on Michigan football and other amateur and professional sports teams in the area. This programming increased my sports knowledge tremendously.

The most important sports talk radio program to me was The Tony Kornheiser Show, which came on at 10 AM every weekday on AM 1050, which played ESPN programming during the middle of the day. Unlike most of the local yokels, Tony was really smart and funny and was a natural on the radio. At the end of the show he read emails on the air that were especially smart and funny and related to the day's programming. I probably sent fifty or so emails to the show over the years. I was very proud that he read two of them during the mailbag segment.

Eventually word got out about Tony's brilliance. When he started doing PTI he announced that he would no longer be doing the radio show. This was crushing. He soon realized that he missed doing radio and returned, but only on a local DC station, Sportstalk 980. ESPN inserted someone named Colin Cowherd into the vacant 10AM slot before Tony realized that he shouldn't have quit radio and sports talk radio was forever changed for the worse.

I gave schrutebag a chance for a few weeks. My initial impressions of him:
- not at all funny
- not especially smart
- only had safe opinions
- extremely ratings conscious

When he came on the air, the NBA playoffs were going on. The Pistons had just won the East and were headed to the finals against the heavily favored Lakers. Going into the finals, Schrutebag wouldn't shut up about how bad the Pistons were, calling them maybe the worst team to ever appear in the NBA finals and that they had absolutely no chance against the Lakers. Of course the Pistons plowed through the Lakers in five games. This was unbelievably sweet for me as a Pistons fan. At that point I had developed a hatred for Colin Cowherd and only listened to his show to see how he would take this. Instead of admitting that he was dead wrong about the Pistons, he called them "the William Hung of NBA champions" and only admitted to being wrong about the Lakers. Like probably everyone in the Detroit area and hopefully many others around the country, I stopped listening to his pathetic little show for good that day. When I moved to DC I did not take my car, and my interest in sports radio quickly died.

Unfortunately, the same cannot be said about Colin Cowherd and his radio program. On Thursday he instructed his listeners to bombard The Big Lead, (see the links section on the right margin of this page) with hits to overload its server. The Big Lead is still down.

Fortunately, I have a ten step plan for getting back at Colin Cowherd.

1) Colin Cowherd should be fired
2) Colin Cowherd should be then jailed
3) Colin Cowherd should be then raped
4) Colin Cowherd should be then re-raped
5) Colin Cowherd should be then skinned with a potato peeler
6) Colin Cowherd should be then de-jawed
7) Colin Cowherd should be then stripped of all limbs by 50cc Vespa scooters
8) Colin Cowherd should be then fed his ground-up limbs through a feeding tube
9) Colin Cowherd should be then placed in a giant microwave and cooked for one hour on cook power level 1
9) Colin Cowherd should be then attached to a giant hook and cast into the piranha infested Amazon river until nothing is left of him besides in the feces of piranhas

Whew, that was cathartic! Seriously though, I would like to see that sack of foreskin fired more than Matt Millen. I will be looking for an effective way for me to contribute to his demise.

Bon weekend!

Check Out The Brains On Her!


"Asia's looks combine delicate Asian features with voluptuous silicone breasts."
-IMDb

This morning I was really jacked up when I fired up the old work computer. I always first click on the Outlook icon and then hit up the Firefox icon which reminds myself that I am at work and as such my first responsibility is to send off personal emails from my work address and THEN surf the internet. One of the unread messages in outlook was from my friend John. The message gave some things to do the next few days, all of which involved drinking but with some other fun event going on too. Tonight at the Arlington Cinema and Drafthouse down yar across the Potomac is Dude Fest 2007 . Tonight the DC Public Schools are on Spring break (I started to capitalize "break"-- stoopit!) so I am free from my weekly volunteer tutoring commitment and I plan to celebrate by drinking beer or scotch. Dude Fest sounded just about perfect, but I found out that it's sold out so I'll be probably just drinking scotch at home. Before I found out that it was sold out I went to The Big Lebowski IMDB page to see if there were any characters that I could dress up like with the clothes/wig I have at home. Someday if I get slightly bigger arms, a nice mullet wig, and a repairman jumpsuit and toolbelt I want to dress up like Karl Hungus. While scanning the other male characters I noticed that they had the actress playing Sherry in the 'Logjammin' movie listed--you know, the hot little number who walks out into the living room in a towel...
Bunny (to Karl Hungus): "This is my friend Sherry. She just came over to use the shower."
Sherry( to Karl Hungus): "You must be here to fix the cable."

Sherry is played by a woman named Asia Carrera. I love the 'Logjammin' part of the the movie, so I decided to find out more about this Asia Carrera by clicking on the link. I was first surprised that there was even an IMDB listing for a character with just one line in a movie. After going to her profile page I realized why she had one and how she was able to play the part of Sherry so well. She's a porn star! Kudos to the Cohen brothers for getting an actual porn starlet to play the part of a porn star in a nonexistent porn flick. Asia is credited with participating in 267 films, most of which have really sweet titles. Here are some of them:
- Chock Full of Asians 2
- The Passion of the Christies
- Wicked Fourgy of Whorror
- East Eats West
- Wayward Nurses

They also have a very nice mini biography. Here are some facts about Sherry:
- has IQ of 156. MENSA member
- Japanese father and German mother. ha ha title: World Whore 2; ha ha scene: Battle of the Bulge. Unrelated to her, but good civil war porn title: Red Vag of Courage
- Gave birth to an 8 pound, 10 ounce baby at home, unassisted. That's one limber va jay jay! For some reason I really like that it says 'unassisted', like in a hockey scoring summary...
15:32 Power Play - Brett Hull's wife (2), Assist: Adam Oats

Asia (continent made up of countries including Japan) Carrera (style of German car manufacturer Porshe's 911 model) is now retired. I presume that she is still hot and that if I reenacted the scene in Logjammin with her this afternoon I would get a boner. Eventually she will not be as attractive, but she left current and future masturbaters a tremendous library of inspiration. Thanks!

Ok, recall that there were two things that pleased me this morning and that one of them came from the message in Outlook. Also recall that after I click the Outlook Icon I immediately fire up the internet. The first place I go to is usually this site to see if any of the other authors have decided to write something and post it. This is normally a disappointing part of my morning, but not today! The lovely Dolores, whose BF sent me the Dude Fest email (see how everything is tied together here?), posted a nice steamy fresh one. Dolores, like Asia Carrera and billions of other humans, is female. As she pointed out, she is a tall chesty brunette. She is a champion drinker too.

The demographic makeup of the readers of this site is unknown to me, but if I had to guess I would say that most are males. Who knows how you got here. You might be a pal of mine or one of the other authors. Maybe you googled 'Asia Carrera steamy fresh one'. Whoever you are and however you got here, I would like to welcome you and to formally introduce to you the wonderful lovely Dolores. Her first post is below. Happy logjammin!

White Smoke Emerges from the Chimney of Chrysler Arena

As one of many people who are on the waiting list for Michigan season football tickets and a former actuary, nothing pleases me more than seeing the number of aged gentlemen plodding about the football stadium on a given Saturday afternoon in the fall. Im torn between my admiration for these tough old bastards (not everybody hangs on to season tickets that are 30 rows down when you've had a couple of hip replacements), and my satisfaction that thier tenure occupying those seats (given that one needs to be above ground to attend a game), is drawing to a close, allowing people like me to cut my wait time from 27 to 26 years. One of the perks of being on said waiting list is that you, being identified as a Michigan sports enthusiast, are listed on email distribution list from Bill Martin, athletic director, and notified whenever something of importance happens.
This morning, as I got to work, looked at my outlook calendar and mused on what a fantastic day this is to do absolutely nothing, I went to my personal email (ahead of my work email, thats what kind of renegade ol A"B"S is!), and saw that Michigan has convinced West Virginia head coach John Beilein to enter the fold. He has a history of strong performances in the NIT during his career at WV, so obviously that was a huge selling point ( fun fact: Check out my HEMI correspondents represented rougly 0.06% of the crowd at the first round NIT game in Ann Arbor this year).
Anyway, good luck to Mr. Beilein. The bar has been set nice and low and complacency seems as strong as ever, so realistically, he has about 4 or 5 years of not making the NCAA before squawking of any consequence will be initiated.
In other news around town, a mid 20s woman, in the midst of an afternoon of mind-expansion, walked into the front door of the Pi Kappa Alpha fraternity house earlier this week, had herself a sit down on the couch and, according to reports, disrobed and masturbated for about a half-hour until the fraternity brothers called the cops and asked to have her removed. They even threw out the couch for good measure, to my knowledge completely unburned. The suspect has eluded the Ann Arbor police and is hopefully still at large. Now, I was never in a frat, never even contemplated joining one, but these guys should really be questioning thier fratitude right about now. I mean, I can think of stories roughly comparable to this back in my undergraduate days, and I can tell you that of all the parties called, none were the AAPD (or your correspondent). Im thinking that with the right people, this whole incident could be great fodder for one of those touchy-feely halftime "leaders and best" commercials.

Mulva?

Allow me to introduce myself - I am Dolores, the newest addition to the blog. So far I'm the only female contributing to this esteemed site and I'm here to provide a much-needed perspective on behalf of those who make real-life decisions using their brain and not (usually) their genitals. Using vulgar witty commentary, I hope you'll appreciate what I have to offer and maybe learn a thing or two about the fairer (and obviously superior) sex.

With a name as hot and steamy as Dolores, I'm sure any image you conjure up in your head regarding my appearance probably resembles something like that crabby old bitch from the shoebox greeting cards (who I secretly find funny):

It's not the menopause, I'm just like this -- super bitchy.

But actually I'm nothing of the sort. I'm under 30, tall, brunette, and have it on good authority from my current BF that I have amazing ta-ta's. But tits aside, let's talk about what really matters - personality. And as far as personalities go, well what can I say, except that mine is outstandingly... dirty. And open. And very laid back. A killer combo and one that makes for a great introductory story:

Crap

A few months ago, I had to travel to Seattle for work, where I met, for the first time 4 or 5 fellow co-workers who reside outside of the DC-metro area. Over a nice and expensive dinner, the table conversation took up the topic of "most embarrassing moment". But of course I'm with my co-workers, who's stories consisted of walking out of a clothing store without paying for an item and another bland tale of someone throwing up on a date. As we went round the table, I sat pondering: I hardly knew the people I was with, I don't get embarrassed easily, and these stories quite frankly were *yawn*. So I decided the best course of action would be to bring the dinner conversation down to my level and let loose with this little tale: the first time I ever took a shit at my boyfriend's house, I clogged the toilet.

Imagine - I'd been dating this guy for maybe a month when I had the urge to purge while hanging out at his place. I coyly slipped into his parent's bathroom so the post-shit smell would not invade the living room. Admittingly, I was scared. I have a tendency to clog toilets and everytime I have to go in a place that's far from home, it's always a crap-shoot (zing!) that everything will go down. So after I finished my biz, I flushed the toilet with bated breath. For a brief moment, it looked like it was gonna make it and everything was going to be ok. But oh, I was so wrong and those little swirls abruptly stopped. Now any seasoned clogger will tell you never to flush a second time as it always ends up in disaster. Well, I was in a desperate situation - I had no idea where the plunger was and I was actually too embarrassed to admit to my boyfriend that I was a champion deucer and ask. Ignoring my own advice, I prayed and reached once again for the toilet handle and flushed. As expected, the crap did not go down the hole. But not only did it not go down, the toilet water started coming up and overflowing the bowl. As the water gushed over the top and onto his parent's pristine bathroom floor, I was totally dumb-founded and unable to move from my spot (except to avoid toilet water from soaking my shoes). Finally, after the entire floor is covered and the water is starting to seep into the bedroom carpet, my sense returned and I yelled out "Yo, your toilet's broken!" I couldn't have made a hotter impression, I don't think, as he caming running in to find his toilet-turned-fountain and a sweet aroma in the air. Needless to say, we spent a better part of a Friday night sopping up the water with a sponge before going out and getting deliriously drunk.

Fortunately my calculations proved correct and my "most embarrassing" moment story paid off at the dinner table. My co-workers were in tears and very happy that I brought the class of the evening down a notch or two. Oddly enough, the one person that looked the most bothered by the story was one of my male coworkers. Maybe it was because he just learned for the first time that girls not only fart, they also have the ability to take massive, stinky, toilet-clogging dumps.

Signing off - I'm Dolores and go fuck yourself, San Diego.

Slaves
Athletes born to serve, to the college
Heed
To its curriculum, live in dorms
Faith
Of the unknown one, NFL owner
Wait
Till you're eligible, after three years

So let it be written
So let it be done
I'm sent here by Henry Ford's grandson
So let it be written
So let it be done
I'm drafting Calvin Johnson
I'm President and GM

Now
Others players go, other cities
Go
I will be with thee, Field of Ford
Loss
Running silver and blue down the Detroit River
Plague
Darkness 16 games long, but I won't be fired

So let it be written
So let it be done
I'm sent here by Henry Ford's grandson
So let it be written
So let it be done
I'm drafting Calvin Johnson
I'm President and GM

Draft by my hand
I scout across the land
You big receiver man
Draft by my hand
I scout across the land
You big receiver man

I
Rule the Detroit air, the employer
Calvin
They shall soon compare, to Mike Williams
I
Want to run and shoot, restore the roar
Other
Position players, I shall pass

So let it be written
So let it be done
I'm sent here by Henry Ford's grandson
So let it be written
So let it be done
I'm drafting Calvin Johnson
I'm President and GM

Die, Die, Die!



In honor of Passover, take some time to listen to "Creeping Death" by Metallica today. It's one of the strongest songs on Ride the Lightning, arguably their best album. Here are the lyrics you can read along while listening to the song in case you find that James Hetfield's singing to be inarticulate. It might just make it a more religious experience to follow along to this hymn written from the perspective of the angel of death.

Slaves
Hebrews born to serve, to the pharaoh
Heed
To his every word, live in fear
Faith
Of the unknown one, the deliverer
Wait
Something must be done, four hundred years

So let it be written
So let it be done
I'm sent here by the chosen one
So let it be written
So let it be done
To kill the first born pharaoh's son
I'm creeping death

Now
Let my people go, land of Goshen
Go
I will be with thee, bush of fire
Blood
Running red and strong down the Nile
Plague
Darkness three days long, hail to fire

So let it be written
So let it be done
I'm sent here by the chosen one
So let it be written
So let it be done
To kill the first born pharaoh's son
I'm creeping death

Die by my hand
I creep across the land
Killing first-born man
Die by my hand
I creep across the land
Killing first-born man

I
Rule the midnight air, the destroyer
Born
I shall soon be there, deadly mass
I
Creep the steps and floor, final darkness
Blood
Lambs blood painted door, I shall pass

So let it be written
So let it be done
I'm sent here by the chosen one
So let it be written
So let it be done
To kill the first born pharaoh's son
I'm creeping death

Lost That Racey Feeling

Sunday morning I ran in the Cherry Blossom 10 Mile Run here in DC for the third straight year. I ran in under 67 minutes and finished in the top six percent of the male runners. Pretty great, right? Eh. I probably will stop running in more than one or two races per year following the Boston Marathon on the 16th of April and may quit racing entirely. Why?

Too many gay unwearable tee-shirts in my dressor.
Take a look at the tee-shirts given out with your entry fees to the previous two Cherry Blossom 10 milers.

Ozzie Guillen, if you're reading this, I know what you're thinking and I know that in Venezuela, where you are from, it's accepted to hate those people and therefore use that word as a label for things you hate or disagree with. In the US, consider other words to describe these tee-shirts. I know, I know, it's hard. Here are some near-words that might be acceptable alternatives: flaccidocious, unicucious, menopausian, blahsient
If anyone knows of a word meaning "void of any style; pleasant, but without any masculinity or femininity; goes great with mom jeans and/or a fanny pack", feel free to share it with me.

What is the point?

"You play to win the game."
-Herman Edwards

This doesn't apply in road races. In high school I quit the cross country team after my freshman year because I wasn't serious enough about running to put in the effort to make the varsity team. Junior varsity sports is OK your freshman year and arguably your sophomore year, but after that being on jv just announces that you suck and you're just taking up space that an underclassman should have that actually shows some promise. If you're not on varsity or jv in high school cross country, you are part of the "reserve" squad, meaning that your performance in meets does not matter. The only possible contribution you are making to the team is boosting the funding for the team which may be based partly on the number of participants. Road racers who have no chance to win races sometimes will form teams and will compete against other teams, which is OK I guess, but we all know what Ozzie Guillen would say about it. Other runners do it to try to beat their own personal record times in a particular distance. I have been one of those runners. Until recently I had thought that this was a fine reason to race. Ozzie Guillen has never shared this view and never will. Some runners raise money for various causes.
charity runner: "I'm running to help fight [insert some form of badness here]."
me: "Great."
charity runner: "Will you give me money so that I can fight [insert form of badness here]."
me: "Wouldn't it be more efficient to donate money directly to fight [insert form of badness here] and have you pay your own fucking way to Hawaii to run in a race that has nothing at all to do with fighting [insert form of badness here]?"
charity runner: "You're supposed to be inspired that I would actually run a whole marathon to help fight [insert some form of badness here]!

These people are incapable of separating running from raising money for charity. Again, donating to worthy causes: good. Paying for someone to run/walk a certain distance: stupid. Plus, these runners are not even promising to finish in a certain time, or even finish at all, so they have no pressure. If I'm actually going to give money for you to go to Hawaii and run in a stupid race, I want a fucking money back guarantee that you at minimum finish the race. Even better would be a guarantee that you finish the race in a specified time. That puts some real pressure on your ass to earn your free trip. I know that it takes a lot of effort to raise the money, but you know you wouldn't be doing it if it wasn't for the free trip to Hawaii or San Diego.

Training
This is the one redeeming quality of entering a race. Fear of running poorly in an event you pay to participate in motivates you to follow some sort of training regiment that will prepare you to run the race in a satisfactory time. This fear of failure gets you into shape, which as stated previously, promotes a shift in the opposite sex rejecting you for your disturbing personality rather than both your disturbing personality and you being physically unattractive.

Early Starts

Races fuck up traffic patterns royally. This is why races usually take place on weekends early in the morning, like at 7 or 8. There are plenty of runners out there who don't mind this at all. I am not one of those runners for the following reasons:
- You have to limit or eliminate your drinking the day before the race. I like drinking pretty much everyday, but especially on weekends. It's awesome. It's like drinking during the week, but you don't have to go to work the next morning. Getting up at 6 or 6:30 AM on a Saturday or Sunday for any reason other than to go pee and get some water for your dehydrated ass is ludicrous. Note: I find that downing a glass of water before going pee on these mornings is best. Why? Somehow the act of drinking water promotes flaccidness, making it easier to go pee when you wake up.
- You have to be very conscious of what you eat. Food decisions are extremely important to runners on race day and the day prior to it. Poor food choices will leave you feeling sluggish or could cause barfing or crapping during the race. I never normally run early in the morning, so I don't know what the best race day eating strategy is. Powerbar? Nothing? I found out yesterday that coffee and a bowl of cereal an hour and a half before the start of the race is a terrible idea.

Crapping
(Note: This section may be too disgusting for some readers. Just skip it if you are unsure whether to read it or not. It's especially bad near the end.)

Near the start area of every race there is normally a large grouping of portable shitters with extremely long lines of runners looking to purge their innards before they embark on the long, painful, and pointless journey ahead of them. Yesterday I arrived at the start area twenty minutes before the start of the race so that I could do some work if I felt the need to do so. The organizers of this race decided that about 200 units would suffice for over 10,000 runners, plus the volunteers and friends/families of the runners. The lines were all 30+ deep and slow moving. I decided that I would do my best to hold it in during the race rather than start several minutes late. With the chips you now wear on your shoe laces my net time would be ok, but it would mean that I would have to weave through several thousand slow runners for the first couple miles like last year when I decided that the pre-race crap had to happen. This was a risky move on my part. I have been in races where I have had the misfortune to witness what can happen when a runner can't hold back the brown. Nowhere to hide. This has never happened to me in a race but once when I was about ten or twelve years old it did happen. It was horrible. I had to stop in the woods along my route and leave my soiled underpants behind. When I got home I cried to my mother and told her what happened. She made me go back to the woods with a grocery bag to rescue them. Surprisingly, there was no trace of brown after they were cleaned. What a laundry detergent commercial that would have made!

Slow Runners Crowd Front of Corrals

The reason why I had to skip the pre-race poop yesterday was I had to try to get as close to the start line as I could by the start of the race. I am not sure how many entrants started the race, but there were nearly 11,000 finishers. Some of the fastest and slowest runners in the world competed. Ten mile finishing times ranged from forty-six (4:37/mile) to two hundred twenty-five minutes (16:34/mile). Road races are one of the few athletic events where the world's top athletes compete with subnormals. I find this to be intriguing and don't mind it as long as the entrants realize where they are relative to the rest of the runners. If you expect to be starting out running at a nine or ten minute per mile pace, why the fuck would you want to start out the race closer to start line than ninety-five percent of the runners? These assholes create a miserable experience for everyone trying to get around them. Yesterday morning I was running near the curb trying to avoid the slow mob of jackasses putting along when another runner jumped in front of me from my left side tripping me.
guy: "Oh, I'm so sorry!"
me: "You fucker!"
It really wasn't his fault though--he was just trying to avoid running through some slow bastards like I was. It hurt like hell but I got up and continued. I didn't realize until after the race was over how bloody I was. It was fucking sweet.

Medals For Losers

When you finish a race, they always give you a medal, which makes the whole thing worth it...NOT! This practice was undoubtedly stolen from the Special Olympics. Who the fuck wants a stupid medal for barely finishing a race? Losers, that's who. Someday I want to volunteer as a medal presenter for a race.
me: "Hey buddy, thanks for coming out. Here's your medal for finishing 3575th out of 5574 male finishers. Your wife must be proud. Enjoy your week of hard earned victory-sex! Don't forget to wear the medal to bed. Nothing like receiving head with that baby around your neck. Don't be afraid to move about so that the piece of low grade metal "accidentally" hits your wife in the forehead. And when the victory-sex runs dry, take that puppy to work and suspend it from a push-pin on your cubicle wall, you fucking hero you!"
guy: "Thanks, you volunteers are the real heroes. Which way are the crappers?"

Post-race pain

When you run faster than normal, you tend to find yourself in more pain than normal. Also, sometimes your (at least mine) digestive system gets all fucked up.

"You really jarred something loose, tiger. What is it about good sex that makes me have to crap? Pump and dump!"
- landlady in Kingpin (played masterfully by Lin Shaye) to Woody Harrelson's character, Roy Munson

Sometimes this phenomenon occurs in me after a race. By the start of the baseball game last night I was in need of a star transplant.