Welcome to a No Guff Zone

Ode' to the Buffalo Wing

2006-02-21T11:57:00.000-08:00

Like any good old American product, you can get ‘em how you want em, you can dip them in a sauce, spice ‘em up, grill them up, soak them in sauce, fry ‘em, use them in an eating contest, nude wrestling contest, put them proudly next to breasts, pair them with a beer, eat them during sporting contests, sex, or in a restaurant…for centuries American men have enjoyed a spicy chicken wing. You may wonder…whom do we have to thank for this great American cooking technology?

According to homecooking.com, there is some dispute about who came up with the original hot wing appetizer, but most credit the Anchor Bar in where else but Buffalo, New York, USA. The historic creation date for Buffalo Wings was October 30, 1964, when owner Teressa Bellissimo was faced with feeding her son and his friends a late snack. Having an excess of chicken wings on hand, she fried up the wings, dipped them in a buttered spicy chile sauce, and served them with celery and blue cheese dressing as a dipping sauce to cut the heat. The wings were an instant hit. The city of Buffalo has designated July 29 as "Chicken Wing Day," and today, the Anchor Bar serves up more than 70 thousand pounds of chicken per month!

Based on that history lesson, I would gladly make love to Teressa Bellissimo…of course with some wings nearby – George Costanza style. For I think we, as men, owe Teressa a round of applause, she had a vision more grandiose than we could have imagined.

I say the Buffalo wing represents the best of American ingenuity; right up there with Thomas Edison should be Teressa Bellissimo. They both have contributed equally to the happiness and future of society and should be commended. Our kids kid’s can enjoy a spicy wing thanks to the hungry stomachs of Teressa’s kids. It doesn’t get more American than that problem/solution: Me Kids are hungry - Solution: get me some wings…the British are coming, lets shoot them…the taxes are too high on tea, lets throw it in the harbor…we don’t have a constitution, lets make one…the parallels with American history are endless.

Too often cast aside as worthless parts of the chicken, Teressa saw something in those little wings - she saw the future of male hunger, she saw the perfect compliment to an ice cold beer, maybe she saw attractive women with large breasts carrying around plates of these wings, or maybe she just got bored. As she set those wings down on the table that night, she might as well been setting down wings for every hungry American male looking for a spicy fix.

Here’s to you Teressa…I like mine with a traditional buffalo sauce, a side of Ranch for dipping, and I wash it down with an ice cold Killians Irish Red. Men – hold your wings up high and thank that cool midnight on October 30th, 1964 for you owe it your life.

Just How Mongolian Is Your Beef, Sir? (Episode I)

2006-02-01T08:05:00.000-08:00

I remember it well. It was a cold winter’s day in my hometown, and my family and I ventured out to a new restaurant that everyone in the quiet river city was raving about. Sure, I was simply heading to dinner, but looking back, I was doing much more than that by entering this mysterious establishment. I speak of Golden China, and though it has since closed its hallowed halls to diners, the effects of its profound impact are still felt today (and I’m pretty sure that is not digestion-related). I have the opportunity to break bread regularly with good friends, and we often decide on Chinese cuisine. Yeah, everyone likes Chinese food, but a more important question begs to be answered. Are the American people giving the Chinese buffet the respect which it so unquestionably deserves? Ladies and gentleman, gather ‘round, grab a nice bowl of Lo Mien, and listen as I extol the virtues of the pinnacle of budget ethnic dining, the Chinese buffet.
There are few places that can inspire the sense of wonder and enchantment that a Chinese buffet cam. The Great Wall, the Pyramids, Outer Space, all wondrous yes, but can you walk away from them with a piping hot Crab Rangoon in hand? I think not. The true magic of an excellent “china meal” as we call it, revolves around three key variables – the atmosphere, the food, and of course, the clientele who frequent the place. When these three come together in just the right way, the heavens part, the stars align, and we are treated to a dining experience that simply cannot be surpassed. In this first installment of my three-part epic on the glory that is all-you-can-eat Chinese dining, I explore the atmosphere and setting of the Chinese buffet.

The Arena

When considering the atmosphere of a Chinese buffet, a number of factors contribute to whether or not the experience there will be an enjoyable one. Location can pretty much dictate the type of buffet you’re about to enter, and I’ve found that there are generally three varieties – the palace, the dive, and the middle-ground. The palace is the type of buffet that just quite frankly goes all out to impress you. Not only does it feel more like a hotel lobby than a restaurant, but every single item is polished to a shine. If you’re actually going to have a waiter during a China buffet experience, this shrine to General Tso is where you’ll find it. Moving on, the dive describes that place you see as you drive home from work everyday, and though you know it involves Chinese cuisine, you’re not quite sure if it’s been closed/condemned or if they are open for business. It’s worth noting that some of the best Chinese I’ve ever had has come from a dive (HAPPY GARDEN!) Finally, we have the middle of the road buffet, which brings em’ in every day. This is where you’ll find your large family outings, questionable sanitation standards, and average cuisine.
The name of the restaurant is crucial, and I feel that I’ve discovered the secret to the Chinese buffet naming convention. Basically, the name must involve one of the following eight words as required by state law – Happy, Dragon, Forbidden, Garden, Panda, Lucky, Wok, and Taste. Additionally, the buffet must be built around or include a mural and/or painting of at least one of the following three images (bonus points are given for a combination) – the Great Wall of China, a dragon with claws spread striking a menacing pose, or a night shot of a busy Chinese city, typically by a waterfront. You also need to see a hand-written sign, usually close to the register, that is trying to communicate something in a form of English that defies all laws of grammar and punctuation. For example, classics from a recent trip to the buffet include, “Closed holiday hour (5.95) chicken stick w/ prok fried rice,” all on one sign, and “Please enjoy drink your own – (left) no refill.” Well said, indeed.
The remaining cornerstones that contribute to the atmosphere of a Chinese buffet are food placement, music, glass size, and the service. If the food placement, meaning the locations of the various bars of the buffet are indeed awry, the experience really is hard to enjoy. For example, let’s keep the American foods away from the Chinese foods. Is it that hard to find room for the fucking onion rings other than next to my sweet and sour chicken? Also don’t put that nasty excuse for pizza, which is only there for kids by the way, next to the real Chinese cuisine. (Look, I’m sorry, lady, that your picky little bastard kid doesn’t like Chinese, but I hear there’s this place where a clown will sell you a happy meal right down the road.) The music can also really add some sizzle to the china experience. Some owners clearly just say “fuck it” and play the local radio station, while others stay true to their roots. Often it is a Chinese vocalist singing a Beijing original, but sometimes, on a lucky day, we hear it. I’ll vaguely recognize a melody, and then yes, yes it’s true…. a Chinese version of Michael Bolton’s “How Am I Supposed to Live Without You” is making sweet, sweet love to my eardrums. Quite frankly, it doesn’t get any better than that.
It’s also important to note the crucial nature of the drinking glass size. We often visit a local establishment, let’s call it Best Taste China Buffet, and while the food is very good, the glass size is small enough to make reconsider stopping in there. Is it a Chinese custom to serve shot glasses with your meal? I understand tea cups, but dammit, when is the last time you went into a 7-11 and bought a 5 oz. Pepsi? I like a decent-sized glass for my beverage, and don’t give me the crap about unlimited refills because there is something unpleasant about getting up for a drink 12 times during one meal. Not only do I have to go two at a time, but each time up means walking past hordes of diners running back and forth and wolfing down food like this may be their last meal.
Finally, the service at a restaurant like this can make or break the experience. It’s an odd relationship, I and the waitress, because the question always arises…”Since all she is doing is clearing the plates, is a tip necessary?” I’m a big fan of the Hispanic fellow at China Buffet in Bloomington, IN who doesn’t even try to work quickly. He simply puts his headphones on, pushes his cart up and down the aisles, and buses tables. When he approaches your table, there is a half-ass attempt at asking if you’re finished, but you just better go ahead and hand-stuff that last bit of lo mien into your face because the plate is going away regardless. It’s as if he’s saying, “Look, we know you’re fucking our bottom line because of how much you’re eating vs. $5.25 we charge, so if you’re gonna play, you’re playing by our rules.” I love hospitality. Plus, the buffet crew is always willing to work with you on the seating arrangements. I’ll never forget the day my good friend Jake Oakman and I visited 8 China Buffet and witnessed the greatest seat change ever, and I mean EVER. A woman storms the front counter workers as we’re waiting to pay and kindly says, “I AM READY TO MOVE! SHE SAID FUCK YOU TO ME!!! THAT BITCH SAID FUCK YOU TO ME, I AM READY TO MOVE!” To this day, we’re not sure what happened. Speculation included everything from this woman encountering a long vanquished rival, her waitress telling her “fuck you’ thus making her “ready to move,” or as I assumed, her lesbian partner said “fuck you” and there was a moving truck outside waiting for her to move. Regardless, she was promptly seated elsewhere, and that’s the kind of service you can expect from a great Chinese buffet.
Next week, Part II – The Cuisine.

Why would you want to be an official?

2006-01-25T05:29:00.000-08:00

Although this is called: 'why would you want to be an official,' let me first get this off my chest. I don't know what it is about you Ed Hightower, but I hate you. I watched you officiate last night during the IU and Iowa game and generally I am pretty objective, but last night you crossed the line and perhaps cost us a shot at winning the game. With 3 minutes left in the game, IU down by 8, Robert Vaden clearly and cleanly stole the ball from a Hawkeye....you blew the whistle because it had to be your time of the month. You just couldn't call a fair game could ya?

Sure, you've officiated your share of NCAA final fours, big 12 games and you were even named official of the year in 1992, but it is now 2006 and your best years are behind you. Hang the bike shorts up and call it a night, Hightower, we as fans don't want to see your out of shape ass "run" up and down the court anymore.

Mike Davis duly got upset during the second half of last night's contest and rather than giving Davis some room to complain, you decided to T-up Mike Davis and storm to the other end of the court. First of all, as a ref, when you t a coach up, go to the scorers table and signal it, as all officials are directed to do. He turned around and put the t right in Davis' face and then "ran" to the other end of the court.

The point is America, I hate Ed Hightower and begs the question why would you want to be referee? Why would you desire to be in a no-win job?

What does a job description for an official look like you may ask? Let me give you a sample of an ad that ref would have to respond to in order to become an official.

"Large, global organization seeking an individual who isn't afraid to run around in tight, no breathe pants for 40 minutes. The qualified candidate will be able to deal with verbal and emotional abuse on a nightly basis and be able to deal with being questioned on every single move you make.

Additionally, the ideal candidate will possess an ability to not get hurt by tall, unruly players who may accidently run their junk over them during the course of a nights work.

Other requirements include:
- the ability to work well within a team, well really its about staying together so you don't get killed leaving an arena
- have proven people skills, including the ability to ignore screaming coaches and fans
- not afraid to show up on the 6pm Sportscenter for blowing a call in the biggest game of the year
- proven ability to remain professional even when a fan may threaten to kill you and your family - close ties to the witness protection program or mofia a plus

We are an equal opportunity employer, send resume and cover letter to: Worst job in america; care of: Idiot who applied for this job.

Salary Range: none, but we'll give you one of those coats wint an elastic band around the waist, kind a like the famous 'Members Only' coats of the 80's....we promise it wont make your ass look big."

Wow, I'm calling off all bets on my current career path. In fact, sign me up for this job, it sounds like a great long-term opportunity and you get yourself a fancy coat.

In fact, when I was little, I told my dad I didn't want to be no successful entrepreneur (flawless!!! - those who watch the first couple weeks of American idol know what I'm talking 'bout - paradise cleaning coming to your neighborhood soon with the flawless tagline: You come home and your house looks and smells like Paradise!), no fighter of fire, and no money-maker, I just want to be a zebra with a whistle in my mouth.

My life-ling dream is about to come true, I just found out I got a second interview for the job listing above. Verbal abuse here I come! Dad would be proud.

In good times and bad, for better or for worse

2006-01-18T05:46:00.000-08:00

We, as sports fans, are passionate and sometimes we even get a little crazy about our teams. From your shirtless Green Bay Packer Fan in January, to your guy in a Dress with a Redskins hog nose, to the Jets fan who had too much too drink, and to the Red Sox fan who punched out a Yankee lover. We are passionate to no end and we take it personally when someone talks badly about OUR team. If we could, we would suit up, and happily get drilled by a middle linebacker, if it meant we got a W. To this end, we also must deal with the tough losses, the ones that keep you from watching sportscenter for a couple of days. The ones that leave a bad taste in your mouth and wondering if your team will ever get it together.

This past week, my beloved Indianapolis Colts decided to play like a division 3 college. They didn't show up until the 4th quarter and by then it was too late. I was certain that this was our year; karma helped out by letting the Patriots commit 5 turnovers and lose to the Broncos. What else do we need? Homefield throughout the playoffs, Patriots out of contention, and to top it off the Superbowl is in Detroit in a dome. If not this year then when? When Colts? It leaves a sick taste in your mouth, knowing you have to wait til next year and even if we win every game, in the back of my head I will be picturing our offensive line practicing our matador blocking technique..thats where the lineman craps his pants, falls down and lets the defender go around him. Invest in some depends colts, I am tired of seeing you soil yourself every playoff run. This rant is an example of the interesting dynamic between fans and their teams. One day you love em, the next day you are burning their jersey.

After the colts lost on Sunday, me and a couple guys embarked on a common journey among men - a trip to a Chinese Buffet. And when we walked in it was clear something or someone had died. As Kenny G blared in the background, and then I saw him in all his glory...I noticed a portly man sitting with his wife, and wearing a Marvin Harrison jersey. It was at that moment that I realized I was no fan of the Colts compared to him. This guy looked like he had just played in the game. We was limping to station 5 - the chicken section of the chinese buffet - shaking his head in disbelief. He ate his General Tso's in anger and destroyed his sweet and sour chicken with the vigor of a growing lad. It was a depressing sight to say the least but it made me realize that just when you think you are the greatest fan, you meet someone who is more die hard than you and it relieves the pain.

When you think about it, your sports team can be compared to a marriage - obviously on a very small scale. There are times when you love her more than ever, and then there are days where you fight with her and don't understand why she is so moody. You don't get why she is yelling at you for leaving a dish out for 30 seconds or forgot to take out the trash, even though she would never touch or go near it. You may not understand why she talks to you during key moments of sporting contests. But regardless of how bad it gets, you must stick by her in good times and bad, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, until death do you part.

So Colts, today I renew my vows...I am with you in good times and in bad, and this casual Friday at work, I will slide my Peyton Manning jersey back on, and trudge through the murky waters of the off-season. I will be there for game 1 next year, and I will think about the day I saw that portly man wearing his Marvin Harrison jersey and how much his misery helped me move on. Thank you good sir.

Thank.
You.

Go Colts!

Keith Jackson, tend to your depends

2006-01-05T06:32:00.000-08:00

In the aftermath of one of the greatest college football games ever, I have images of Vince Young running all over the field against the maligned USC Trojans. I see the Texas burnt orange and white and the Trojan famed maroon and gold. Then it happened, I hear Keith Jackson yelling "Yippee! Its time for football," right before the kickoff. I can't help but think that olde' Keith is falling victim to life. I was excited too, but come on...yippeee? Are we gettting ready for recess? Or did teacher give us an extra snack?

For the record, Keith Jackson is one of my favorite commentators of all-time, no one belts out Alabama or Michigan quite like he does. But Keith, its time you hang up the microphone and start taking some modern medicine. I don't want to say it but this game should be Keith's last - he just doesn't have it anymore. John Madden needed to go a long time ago and Jackson falls right into that category. Could you imagine Jackson and Madden announcing a game together?

Would go something like this:
Jackson: Well, John, we have two teams ready to do battle, you have the speedster from Miami and a rough and tough defense. All we know is the team that scores more points wins.

Madden: I couldn't agree more, boom! The offenses are fast but not as fast as the squirrel I saw run onto the field during warm-ups. Lets cue the replay...(circling the squirrel) what you have here is a squirrel who likes to run, much like the running backs in this game. Except the squirrel has less moves. Keith back to you.

Jackson: As the olde' saying goes 'its like shooting fish in a barrel down by the river.' Now, its time for the game...lets go down to my butt buddy Jack Arute for analysis. Jack you see any fish down there?

I think the last straw was when I listened to Jackson say last night, regarding Vince Young, "He's the Texas quarterback and a good one." Wow Keith, I am floored by that outstanding commentary, next I will want someone to explain to me why Keith's wife forgot to put out his pill box the morning before the game and why the earth is round.

I didn't think he could possibly make a dumber comment than that, but then it happened..."As an old defensive coach once said, 'He ain't got no handles,' but he led the country in passing this year." (special thanks to Bill Simmons on ESPN.com for remembering the confusing phrase).

I need a translator pronto...what the hell does that mean? Are we talking about football? Is this some sort of military code for a new opertation in Iraq? Thanks Keith, it seems you need less fiber in your diet because after that comment, I think your Depends need some tending.

To only add to the awful commentary, we had your beared Dan Fouts in the booth, who enjoys long walks on the beach when he is not peddling a line of beard trimmers and beard dye's. Has his beard ever changed colors?

Keith, you need to hang it up, please I am begging you! You had your glory last night, you had your catheter hooked up in the booth, you had your prune juice, and you stayed up way past your bed time....you can't top it Keith. Please, go home to your wife, or join Madden in his cruiser...soon to be re-named the Madden Cruiser, sponsored by 'Staying Regular.'

And again, I love old people, but there comes a point where its time to hang it up, especially when you are in the public eye.

Enjoy Your Haggis Guy Code Violator

2005-12-22T09:53:00.000-08:00

On July 4th, 1776 our founding fathers created the most famous document in these United States. Perhaps the most famous phrase from the Declaration of Independence is "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness."

How can you not be inspired everytime you hear those words? It sums up our way of life and were it not for a group of people who decided that enough was enough, I would be sipping tea and eating crumpets on Sunday's rather than watching football players try to kill each other. Instead of a nice Bratwurst, with some hot mustard and a cold beer, I fear I would eating eating Bangers and Mash with Yorkshire pudding with a side of some nice Haggis...yup America, Haggis - imagine eating a sheep intestine stuff with meat. You take your sheep intestine, stuff it with some meat and veggies and you got yourself some Haggis.

I may be taking the long way to get there but the Declaration of Independence relates directly to baseball. America's national pastime has allowed Americans to get through tough times, such as war. It has trancended generations, dating back to the late 1800's. When man was in need, he had baseball to make him happy about his life and liberties.

This week, I feel that my life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness was violated. Now, I am not of the Red Sox faithful, but Johnny Damon my friend, you have disappointed Thomas Jefferson and all our founding fathers. They all simultaneuosly turned over in their grave (I done heard 'em) when they heard that Johnny Damon had been traded to he Yankess of all teams. I'm not here to blame Red Sox management or say that the Yankees stole Damon...all is fair in the free agency war. The real losers here are the founding fathers and all those who believe that pursuing happiness should be the only goal in life.

I am pretty sure if the founding fathers were alive today, they would live by the guy code. The guy code can be summed up with 2 rules...if we all followed these 2 simple rules, our lives would be enriched.

1. We hereby decree that we are all born with certain, unalienable rights, including: when possible man must avoid peeing next to each other.

2. We hold this truth self-evident: No one should get traded from the Red Sox to the Yankees.

Johnny Damon - you are the guy who walks in the bathroom with 12 urinals and you choose the one right on top of me. You are the guy who got traded to the Yankees. When our founding fathers drafted this grand Declaration they could not have possibly envisioned a world where Johnny Damon could be traded to the Yankees. We can't blame them for leaving that Amendment out of the constitution...they certainly could not have seen this coming.

Not only have you disappointed Red Sox nation but you forgot about our founding fathers. What would they think of such treachery? A modern day Benedict Arnold...following the guy code one day, looking over at you and smiling when peeing, the next.

Hear me now fellow man, we cannot continue down this path, we need to stop the madness and correct this clear violation of our Declaration of Independence. We will rise up if need be...our generation of men may seem uninvolved in politics and happy just playing our X-box, but make no mistake, when you violate the guy code related to sports, you are taking a shot at every American who has fought and died for the freedoms we enjoy today. We will rise up, oh yes - out of the dust of Pumpkin Oakman, General Douglas MacArthur, FDR, Reagan and others, we will end side by side urinals, we will end such treachery as a Red Sox players being trading to the dark side.

We'll look down at you from above Johnny Damon, for hell is only half full. I hear in hell they serve Haggis....that's right Haggis....enoy your filet mignon now because once you leave this earth, you will put your bib on and enjoy some stuffed sheep intestines because that's about all you deserve. Say hi to Benedict for us while you're at it, you guys can think of more ways to screw over our founding fathers.

I'll Drink Where I Want and There is Nothing You Can Do About It.

2005-12-18T21:00:00.000-08:00

editor's note: this is the final installment of a 3 part series.

Adventure. The mere word conjures up images of our cinematic and literary thrill seekers: Indiana Jones, Robinson Crusoe, James Bond, Edmund Dantes, and Luke Skywalker are just a few of the characters that come to mind. And those are just an extension of the great adventurers of our history books. Magellan, Columbus, Armstrong, Lindberg. Man loves an adventure. More so we love the idea of an adventure, for few of us anymore will discover new worlds or reach celestial bodies, not to mention that will we not out run large boulders, spend years in prison plotting the ultimate revenge, or fight the Empire in a galaxy far, far, away. And given the opportunity, how many of us can honestly say we would do that? We have become a society that makes children wear full body armor to ride a bike. However, somewhere in the deepest cockles of our soul, we still yearn for an adventure, a little danger, a splash of excitement, and the romanticism of world wide travel. Enter Las Vegas. The city that provides it all, risk, excitement, international travel, and the only risk to you is bankruptcy and/or a virus or two!

We've talked about the sex. We've talked about the artwork. We've referenced religion, history, and pro wrestling, but in this final installment of our project, let's just break it down to the essence of my beloved Las Vegas. It is escapism at its finest. It is where we go to do whatever and whomever we would like to do in our real lives, but are unable because of societal constraints or family obligations, or not wanting to have it burn when you pee. But that is the beauty of Vegas. You can do what you want. You can travel to Venice, Paris, ancient Rome, Monte Carlo, ancient Persia and everywhere in between. You can see naked ladies and not have to buy them dinner. Moreover you can have sex with them and not have to buy them dinner. Hell, you don't even have to listen to them. They're called whores. Ladies of the Night. Women of ill repute. Prostitutes. Working Girls. Libertines. Sluts. Harlots. Jezebels. Tarts. Call Girls. Hookers. Camp Girls. Loose Women. Midnight Cowgirls. Streetwalkers. Strumpets. But I digress; I don't want the people to think I am preoccupied with the whoring.

Perhaps you have a more civil sense of adventure. There were some who fulfilled the need for excitement with something as simple as touching the Sensei Fountain in the Bellagio. IT'S ONLY WATER, PEOPLE. Not everyone has running water, I reckon. For a number of other folks adventure was the rodeo. Imagine my surprise when I saw, literally, thousands of men and women in cowboy hats that weekend. You see, the Super bowl of the rodeo was in town. Nothing says adventure like riding something for eight seconds. Reminds me of my first time with a woman. I didn't wear a hat, but spurs were involved. Still more people have their sense of adventure fulfilled by taunting an exotic feline with a shopping bag. Seeing the white lions and tigers at the Mirage was interesting and, for a split second of my life, I wanted the cats to have the ability kill people. All they needed was opposable thumbs. Be it betting a small amount on the Colts game (small to some is $5,000. Too bad the Colts didn't cover the spread) or taking a friendly gondola ride through the chlorine cleansed canals of Venice, Vegas offers all the adventure you could want. It fulfills our human instinct to dream, explore, and discover and it does so at little real risk to life or limb.

The sense of adventure of me, and my friendly travel companion (who runs a pretty damn good website) was a little mundane. In fact, imagine the absurdity that overcame both of us when we couldn't figure out what to do with our final hours in this great city. We debated the merits of riding the tram connecting the Bellagio and the Monte Carlo for an hour or so vs. returning to our hotel room and watching TV. TV won out and we spent our final moments together watching the Fresh Prince of Bel Air. Fear not, friends, for all was not lost. This weekend was an adventure indeed, the pinnacle of which was the single greatest half hour of my life.

Saturday Morning. The Bellagio. Indiana University thumps Kentucky in a huge win for my beloved Hoosiers. I won $9.10 on the game. Things were going rather well for me, but they would get much better. I had to leave the Sport Book to make a phone call and as I was milling about the Poker Room, I saw him. I didn't believe it at first, was the great man walking amongst mere mortals? I was not mistaken. It had to be him. Shirt unbuttoned showing off chest hair that Magnum PI would be proud of, cigarette dangling from the mouth. Smooth skin the color of a burnt sienna, letting out a fine musk of casino and garlic. Graying hair receding at the sides. A handsome, if somewhat short man, but a giant in the poker world. I speak of Sámi Farha. My hero in the poker world. I met him, I shook his hand, I had my photo taken with him, I returned to my seat. I didn't think things could get any better. That was until the buxom cocktail waitress brought me another beer and my friendly travel companion and I decided to move on to our next destination. Never one to waste malted hops I drank in, on the sidewalk while walking to the next casino. Imagine the rush I felt knowing that I could drink on the street without fear of persecution. In 30 minutes, I watched my alma mater crush their rivals, met my favorite poker player, and drank on the sidewalk at 1 in the afternoon in front of children. I weep at just the memory.

I read somewhere that "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas," and that is why we love it so. The city allows us to do all the things we have wanted to do but couldn't. What’s further is that, allowing for the aforementioned law regarding actions within the city limits, there are no consequences once you leave (that means I am not really married). Does anyone now doubt my love for this fair city? God Bless you Las Vegas. I shall return for another adventure soon.

For Sale: One Jesus Hologram. Goes Great Above a Fireplace. $93, OBO. Serious Inquiries Only.

2005-12-16T17:32:00.000-08:00

editor's note: this is the second of a 3 part series.

Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel. Da Vinci’s Last Supper. Great works of religious art, both. A class unto themselves. Left alone atop a pedestal to be studied by the aficionados appreciated by the bourgeois and gawked at, mouth agape, in utter astonishment by us in the proletariat. There was a time in my life when I thought these priceless works of art would remain unequaled and hold firm their place in Art's pantheon without company for eons and eons. That was, of course, until I went to Las Vegas and my eyes beheld a piece of religious art that should, and one day will, assume it's rightful place atop the mountain of the artistic world. We will get to that soon, for now it is time to crack open a nice Tab Cola and enjoy part 2 of our story.

I knew it was to be a great weekend when I was waiting in the airport for my friendly travel companion (who runs a pretty damn good website). As I spotted her coming down the escalator from the C Terminal, I couldn't help but notice that she was in what appeared to be an uncomfortable conversation with three aggressive young men, no doubt smitten. I decided to defend her honor and was prepared to do so. I was hoping for a Wyatt Earp type moment. I speak of the scene in Tombstone when Curley Bill has just shot and killed Marshall White and Mr. Earp is holding Bill with the intention of making him stand trial. Ike Clayton, the bravest of the brave, tells Wyatt to unhand Bill. Ike is backed by four or five of his fellow Cowboys and approaches Wyatt. As we all know, Wyatt puts his gun to Ike's head and says something along the lines of "These other guys may get me in a rush, but not before I turn your head into a canoe." Ike and his ilk left soon thereafter. That is what I was hoping for, but nothing really happened. These young boys obviously saw my hulking frame head toward them and knew they stood no chance. Tis a shame. I was ready to give them the beat down, Red Rooster style. An hour later I was being asked to leave the Sport Book at the Bellagio because of a gaming violation.

Throughout the history of man, the human race has looked to high powers to explain life's mysteries. We have had a thirst for a deeper understanding of life that can only be quenched by the great thinkers; the teachers, writers, philosophers. We study them, trying to understand. The great thing about Las Vegas is the abundance in which such philosophers can be found. Be it the cab driver reminding us that life is short because 141 pedestrians have already been killed this year, or the friendly cigar store clerk who told us that people just need to get over the death of a friend or father. People die. How about a cigar? Yes, we humans will seek truth wherever we can get it. However, sometimes we put our faith in the wrong vessels. Sometimes we drink Kool-Aide to fulfill God's plan. Sometimes we wear old school Nikes and commit ritual suicide because there is a space ship behind a comet that will take us to heaven. And sometimes we get our indoctrination from an elaborate light show. I speak of Old Down Town Las Vegas. Muslims have Mecca, Jews Israel, Catholics the Vatican, and white trash have Old Down Town. It is where they go for answers.

What. The. Fuck. The Fremont Street Experience. It is hard to explain in mere words. We arrived at the Old Down Town and, after enjoying a nice meal of food at the Golden Nugget, we journeyed outside. We had not been walking around for more than three minutes when all the gaudy outdoor lights of the casinos went out. Immediately I thought that something was amiss. Then, loud noises and a light from above. I looked up. A large dome extended between the buildings on either side of the street and extended about 150 yards down the street. There was a bazaar 50's diner themed light show happening. Rejects from Grease 2 were dancing to a generic soundtrack and animated pink Cadillacs were drag racing. Then I looked down at the people. No on was moving. Not a soul. It was like when Zack would call "time out" during episodes of Saved by the Bell. They were mesmerized. Cigarette butts were dangling out of people's mouths, hanging on by a thread, yet still no movement. So I began to stroll around the street, weaving in and out of a group of people who must have purchased their embroidered denim shirts in bulk at the last "swap meet." It was while walking, that I saw It. One of the single greatest pieces of religious art work of all time. The Jesus Hologram.

I've been all over this country and to Europe twice. I have seen the ancient Acropolis in Athens. I have been to the Louvre in Paris. I have walked in the footsteps of the Caesars in Rome and I have seen the Sistine Chapel. None of that could prepare me for the astonishment I went through when I laid eyes on the Jesus Hologram. Jesus on the cross. Just his face, in anguish. Crown of thorns. Discolored, dilated, and lazy eyes. If you look at it from one angle he is alive, assuming the sins of man. As you walk past, his eyes are closed for a three day nap. One side its Merry Christmas; the other side is Good Friday; go back to the original side and it's Happy Easter! I was in such shock that I was not as affected as I should have been by the lame ass country band that followed the light show or the overweight and overage gentleman attempting to ride the mechanical bull (give me a hot chick eating a thick burger on a mechanical bull over a fat old man any day). For the rest of the night I was trying to understand what I was seeing. All my senses were being overloaded. So shocked was I, that I couldn't even be convinced to go to a strip club. The image of the Jesus Hologram has been burned in my mind. It is seared into my brain forever. I knew we had to get out of there, or we would become one of them. So away we went. Returning to the sanity of the Strip. Or so we thought. The Excalibur is a weird place with weird people. It served as a sort of debarkment portal for those leaving to and arriving from the Fremont Street Experience. Think Total Recall. Now you understand.

It was a harrowing experience . The first test of my love for this city came and went, and I passed. It was an interesting way to begin the night. Don't go to Fremont Street. Stick to the fountains at the Bellagio. Or the Pirates at Treasure Island. Or the exotic felines at the Mirage. Or the old man who makes balloon animals on the sidewalk. Or the guy who would not give myself and my friendly travel companion tickets to a free show because we were not married. Or just lick the damn floor of a Port-a-Pot at one of the many construction sites throughout the town. All these are better entertainment options than Fremont Street.

America, I'm going to be honest with you. We're all friends here. I can trust you. I am going to tell you a little something about me. I am single. It is my hope that one day I will find that special someone. It hasn't happened yet, but it will. I can picture it now. We are a few weeks into the courting process and she takes me over to meet her parents and enjoy a nice meal. Upon entering their parlor I am greeted by her mom, fresh from the kitchen making dinner and lemon bars, and her dad in his new cardigan smoking a pipe. All appears normal; I think she is the one. I study the room. Nice couch. Good TV. Great chairs (they're made by Simmons). Then, on the back wall, the fireplace with it's lovely hearth and wonderful brick work. However, something is amiss. I don't believe it at first, but my eyes, they do not deceive. My eyes become fixated on the artwork. Flashbacks race through my head. There it is. I have seen a ghost. Horror, horror. The Jesus Hologram. Her family actually bought it? They proudly display it? What the hell am I thinking? I scream. I run. I never look back. I return to my first and only love: Las Vegas.

Whores on the Left; God on the Right; and Me Somewhere in Between

2005-12-13T22:13:00.000-08:00

editor's note: this is the first of a three part series.

Ah Las Vegas. A place where the decadence is opulent and the opulence is decadent. A city from sand, she was conceived by Mexican traders and Mormon travelers, but was raised by the ugly, drunken step-father that was organized crime. Now, having beaten the demons of the past, it is a shining example of great American business. Capitalism at its finest. A place whose only purpose is for people to waste money. A sultry temptress. A saucy minx. A town that calls for me. I yearn for her. I want, nay need, to go back. Yet I have only been away for 48 hours. What have you done to me Ms. Vegas? Jon Bon Jovi must have had this city in mind when he wrote "Shot through the heart, and you're to blame. You give love a bad name."

Porn as far as the eye can see. Waves of porn at your every turn. Sex oozing through the sidewalk cracks. In Vegas they hand out, for free, trading cards of strippers and prostitutes. They are almost like baseball cards. Collect the whole set! Put them in your bicycle spokes! I'll trade you a Janet for a Kim and the Buxom College Co-Ed Hailey. Come on, it's Janet's rookie card! Or how about a Tanya? She "loves to strip and dance. Call for the best erotic show in Las Vegas!! You won't be disappointed!" Tanya is having a sale no doubt, for she can be yours for only $85. I've got the Wendy Donrus Diamond King card. She won the whoring triple crown last year! She is a MVW, and SHE TAKES VISA, MASTERCARD, AND AMERICAN EXPRESS. Now, perhaps you need more stimulation. They have tag teams. Lili and Didi ($169), Stacy and Kim ($169 and open 24 hours), and perhaps the greatest tag team of all time, Vivian and Devin ($199). Not since Tito Santana teamed with Rick Martel in the late 80's WWF to form Strike Force, have two players at the peak of their game united to form such an unstoppable duo. However, my favorite trading card had to be that of Sue-Ling of the Asian Connection. While every other stripper is photographed in skimpy outfits in provocative poses, our friend Sue-Ling is wearing overalls and carrying, that's right, BOOKS! Granted, Sue-Ling's breast is hanging out of her bib overalls, she is having a strap issue, but even Asian strippers are book learned. She will get naked for you, and then help with Algebra. Just wait to see how she uses an abacus. It ain't just for adding no more.

One of the funniest things I ever saw in Vegas was directly related to the porn peddlers. My friendly travel companion (who runs a pretty damn good website) and I were walking along the strip behind an older couple. The older gentleman is walking with his arm around his wife, a lovely scene really. They have been through a lot and come a long way. He fought the Nazi's, she raised the children, and now they travel and spoil the grandkids. As they are walking they are approached by the entrepreneurs with the trading cards. Both of the octogenarians wave off the offer. However, Earl is crafty. Man's been married for fifty years. His eye wanders. As he is cradling his wife with his right arm, his left arm reaches behind and slyly takes the naked book marks from the street vendor. It was a site to behold. Such sleight of hand would make David Copperfield gasp. The wife, Mabel, had no idea. Then Earl, knowing the folks behind him saw what he accomplished, turned his head, smiled, and gave us a wink. Twas all so subtle, but it spoke volumes. He is a sage. We can learn a lot from him.

Vegas is sin. That is what she is known for. Sex, drugs, gambling, alcohol, Vegas has it all and wants to give it to you. Over the next few days we will discuss Vegas and all my 40 hours there; the famous people, the food, religious artwork, cab drivers, waitresses, free drinks, light shows, and etc. However tis important to understand the sex. It's abundant. It's on every street corner. Every corner, that is, but one. For on one street corner on this famous strip there stood a stalwart soldier in God's Army, the Salvation Army. Ring that bell, brother. Collect that money. Immersed in sin, yet he fights on. Ring that bell. A crusader in an unholly land. RING THAT BELL. Those passing out trading cards stood shoulder to shoulder with he who collects money for God. What wonderful symbolism. So there I was; whores on the left, God on the right, and me somewhere in between. A fitting allegory. Oh, my friends, I fell in love this weekend. The name of my enchantress: Las Vegas.

You're goofy...Don't Piss me off Art

2005-12-12T06:36:00.000-08:00

It's the time of the year when Christmas movies become prevalent throughout cable TV. From your TBS marathon of 'A Christmas Story', to NBC's rendition of 'Christmas Vacation', to my favorite, 'A Charlie Brown Christmas,' to 'the Grinch that stole Christmas.' All of these movies have one thing in common, dogs hold the story together. Without man's best friend, these movies would just be average at best.

My personal favorite of course is Snoopy, how can you go wrong here? The trickster, snickering beagle, that always has a good time no matter what; despite Charlie Brown's constant self-pity and constant need for approval, Snoopy holds that franchise together. I just wish for once, Charlie Brown would clean the sand out of his feminine region and give Snoopy the respect he deserves. Ironically, Star Jones also has some sand-related problems.

A close runner-up are the infamous dogs from 'A Christmas Story' - sure you have your red rider b.b. gun, pink bunny costume, ohhh fuuuuuuuuuuuuuudddddddddddgggggggge, younger brother in a snow suit, but my favorite scenes include the next door neighbors' 12 dogs. These s.o.b.'s know how to find themselves a turkey and make it a carcass, similar to the way Star Jones' body has eaten itself, yet has left a giant carcass head in its wake. (by the way sadly, they actually have A Christmas Story action figures - see picture)

Then you have your sinus ridden dog Snot, by far the most disgusting on the list. Snot, among other things enjoys: tree water, chasing squirrels, eating a soup bone and hacking it back up, and he'll never turn down a good leg to hump. Combine this dog, with a dickey (for those unaware, they actually make this thing to wear as a turtle neck, but it is only the neck portion of the garment) and you got yourself a winner. Ironically, Snot and Star Jones share all of these things in common.

Lastly you have Max, the reindeer dog who is abused over and over again by the Grinch, but he persevered. Like the minutemen against the redcoats, Max would not lay down his arms. He fought til the end, even though he got ridden more times than Star Jones. Its the Max's of the world that make the difference...without them we probably wouldn't have the freedom's we enjoy today. Sadly, Max left us earlier this year, he was attempting to become the next Pumpkin "the Cat" Oakman, but when he realized he was a dog, he took his own life by sitting in Star Jones' chair that she had just called 'seat check' on.

The point is this Hollywood, take a page out of the Christmas classics, when in doubt cast a dog. Would Gigli have been a better movie if a dog dominated the picture rather that two talentless idiots? The answer is yes. Could Eddie from Frasier crossover into the world of cinema and save movies like Roadhouse - hell yes! And the real money question - could Santa's Little Helper, from the Simpsons, save a movie like 'Tremors?' No, that was just a horrible idea all together.

In summary, Star Jones is still fat in my mind, and dogs are neat.

Pumpkin "the Cat" c.1991-December 4, 2005

2005-12-05T08:18:00.000-08:00

America lost a hero, a patriot, and a sister in the fight for freedom the world over this weekend. Pumpkin "the Cat" was called home as she slept Sunday morning and, while the nation mourns the loss of a hero, we reflect with great fondness the leadership, hope, inspiration, and joy she brought to the downtrodden across the world. We will not soon forget her defiant stands against the aggressors that would destroy our way of life. She was a latter day Thomas Paine, George Washington, Maximillian Robespierre, Oliver Cromwell, and Ronald Reagan all rolled into one.

Pumpkin started life the way many cats do, a stray, born into a family that did not care for her, to a mom who did not want her and a father she never knew. She started living life on the mean streets of Springfield, always wondering where her next meal would come from. You grow up fast when you lead a life like that. It was at that young age when she first was caught up in the freedom movement. It is often said, "Does the cat make history, or does history make the cat." Well in the fall of 1991, we found that the truth lies somewhere in between. Finding herself in Moscow that year, she was swept up in the democratic tide that covered Mother Russia as communism fell. She stood on the tanks blocking the would-be communist coup leaders and, with Boris Yeltsin by her side, crushed the attempted coup and helped bring down the Communist government of Russia, letting democracy and capitalism grow in the land of the czars. Her role was important and her work was not done. She came back to Ohio to lead a quiet life. She started following a young man on a paper route in the morning. This youngster began to feed her and provide her the first real shelter she would know. It was made out of a tire and an old throw pillow. However her castle on Pembrook Road would not suffice.

The itch for revolution had to be scratched and thus she was called to service again in 1992, going to Rwanda to help feed the people and topple an oppressive government. However, she did not have the same success she enjoyed in Moscow. She was captured by government agents and sentenced to life in prison in a jail for political dissidents. Her family on Pembrook thought she was gone forever, but a scant 5 months later she escaped the maximum security forced labor camp, leaving behind only a small piece of paper with the words "Vive le Resistance" on it and returned to Pembrook, malnourished, but happy to be back on the paper route. Her legend started to grow, however, and she became a rallying sign for the oppressed throughout Earth.

Then came 1994 and her biggest challenge. The single greatest threat to democracy anywhere. A force so strong and so firm in her communist beliefs, that even Pumpkin doubted that she could be stopped. I speak, of course, of the arrival of Gracie "the Dog" Oakman and her threats to liberty in the Country O' Jake. Gracie wasted little time in trying to sow the seeds of discontent throughout the land. Plots to overthrow Jake and his benevolent dictatorship were soon found. Gracie was destroying the government from within and it was up to Pumpkin to stop it. So, there she was, on top of the tanks, her own Boris Yeltsin, leading the charge against the armies of Gracie. Through the sheer force of Pumpkin's will, they repulsed the attacks of an army greater in number, greater in arms, but not greater in spirit. Gracie went on to be expelled from the land, however, in a fitting tribute to the soul of Pumpkin, Gracie was taken under the cat's wing, taught the ways of Democracy and, in her own right, Gracie became a great leader in the cause of freedom.

Her final years were spent in relative peace. She devoted a lot of time to supporting the arts, writing some books, and cultivating her first loves of gardening and painting. She became reclusive and rarely granted interviews. She desired a quiet retirement and knew it was time to leave the stage of the revolution and turn over the reins of leadership to the next generation.

Today we say thank you Pumpkin, for dedicating your life to the movement of freedom throughout the world. Toasts will be raised in her honor in every pub, in every city, in every hamlet, farm house, church, veteran’s hall, library, and gathering place throughout the world. Wherever the cause of freedom is growing, wherever the spirit of democracy is as vibrant as the colors of the flag, and wherever an oppressed people begin to heed their revolutionary call, Pumpkin will be there. Her heart continues to beat in the souls of her countrymen. God bless you Pumpkin. You were a great cat. We had a great run. I hope to see you again some day. Little Furious now carries your legacy.

What has happened to Christmas

2005-12-01T10:06:00.000-08:00

Recently, Fox news has been running a series of stories on how sensitive people have become about using the word Christmas in the office, at school, and in public places. To my shock ,there are some schools in Wisconsin who have now banned Christmas plays from their school and instead replaced it with a 'Holiday special.' For me, this is the last straw; there are more Christians in this country than any other religion and Christmas is by far and away the most celebrated holiday in the country.

Even when I lived in New York, the Kesslers, Sabo's, and Rabinski's would celebrate Christmas....they were Jewish yet they respected Christmas enough to celebrate it (they probably just wanted the gifts, but hey they were open to it). Merry Christams, Happy Festivus, Happy Motherfucking April, Happy Thong day (this could be exciting), Happy suck my ass. I dont care how many holidays there are, we can celebrate them all...I wouldn't care and I would never say that any holiday couldn't be recognized. If schools want to hand out dradle's to recognize the Jewish holidays, fine. I would not be offended at all by anything any other religion does, so why is everyone so damn sensitive about Christmas. Grow some sack America, and stop your bitching...leave Christmas alone.

If we continue down this path, I can just see it now. Young Johnny wake's on December 25th, 2015, 5:35 a.m... he creeps down the stairs in his one piece spiderman pajama set, with feet pads of course. He wipes his eyes, and yells, "Its Christmas morning! Santa Came!" His weak eyes finally come into focus and instead of a Christmas Tree with gifts underneath it, he finds an envelope. He opens it and begins reading to himself.

"Dear Lad,
Because our country is full of so many sensitive retards, your entire Christmas has been stolen. We can certainly understand that you may take this news hard but we can tell you that Santa is not real and we pissed on his imaginary grave. We apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused you on this Christmas morning and we hope your holidays are filled with cheer and better times.

In addition, to prepare you for easter, the Easter Bunny is about as real as the goverment's social security program. In case you are uneducated, which you probably are, the social security plan is a pile of crap, just like the dump we took on the imaginary easter bunny grave.

PS: The cookies were great, and the tooth fairy hung himself last night, don't expect 5 dollars for that tooth you just knocked out.

Cordially yours,

The Anti-Christmas action committee"

Don't let Johnny get this letter.

By the way the largest donations to the poor come from Christians and other around Christmas time. An estimated 3.5 billion dollars is donated to good causes during the month of December.

I can't see your socks, sir

2005-11-29T08:31:00.000-08:00

I'll be honest with you folks. I'm tall. Always have been, always will be, and when you happen to be tall at such an early age, this scenario inevitably leads to one question - do you play basketball? Well I did, and I still do, and for my athletic apparel needs both now and then, you just can't beat a loose, comfortable pair of basketball shorts. For what it's worth, I prefer the Nike college authentics to play in, even if they are made by a 10 year-old in the Phillipines. However, we have reached a time as a nation, nay, as a people, where in the words of the immortal Hulk Hogan, "I've gotta take a stand, it don't help to hide." It really doesn't help. He's right. Basketball shorts manufacturers, I beg of you to put down the needle and thread, and save society from itself before it's too late.
We'll begin with a recent night out in Indianapolis where my wife and I took in some NBA action between the Indiana Pacers and the New Jersey Nets. Our seats were fantastic, and we had nothing short of a great time. (NOTE TO THE 12 YEAR OLD GIRL WHO SAT IN FRONT OF US: Hey there sweetie! Yeah, you in the pink coat. Yeah, guess what? That TV cameraman over there that you keep waving at? Yeah, that guy who looks like he's regretting not going to college? Well, he's not exactly here to film you, so please sit down and stop waving your arms in front of us during EVERY SINGLE DEAD BALL. The last time I took a look at my ticket stub, it didn't say "Conseco Fieldhouse presents LITTLE GIRL IN PINK COAT WHO CAN'T SIT DOWN at 7:30pm!") Anyway, with our seats being so close to the action, I came away with 3 observations from that evening.
1. I defy you to name a better job than being the 10th-12th man on an NBA team. You get paid to work out and practice, you go to work knowing that you probably won't have to work, and you make one million dollars a year. God smiled on you, Scot Pollard. Oh yes he did.
2. At what point is an individual no longer coming to a sporting event for the game but rather for the food? I was in awe of how much this family next to us chowed down, and ol' Dad just seemed as happy as a clam as he dropped probably well over a Benjamin on 6.00 draft beers and what had to be a 3-foot pile of nachos. Then again, maybe it wasn't surprising considering each of those kids probably had to be surgically removed from their seat afterwards. Kind of sad, really.
3. Basketball shorts have reached a state of emergency.
Now don't get me wrong, I actually liked the game shorts for both teams, particuarly the sweet new Pacers gear. However, the evolution of the basketball short has gotten out of hand. I can only imagine that the game's creator, Jimmy Naismith, is rolling like a log in that grave of his (pictured here instructing a youngling how to shoot bitch-style). The game of basketball has been around for over a century, and for roughly 90% of that time, game shorts were easily confused with a man's Fruit of the Looms. From the earliest collegiate uniforms to the nuthuggers of the early 80's, the shorts have been just that - short. Who can forgot watching a young Michael Jordan win the 1984 title for UNC by knocking down the game winner in the athletic equivalent of tighty whities? It seems like only yesterday that Steve Alford and the Indiana Hoosiers battled their way to a championship, all the while looking like the rest of their uniform was still in the locker room.
Times they are a changin' though, and the shorts have quite simply gotten to be a little ridiculous. I was always a fan of what the Fab Five brought to basketball with their baggy Michigan shorts, but like many things, too much of a good thing can be bad. One can only look at the 1994 Arkansas Razorbacks team for a great example of excessive length in basketball apparel. Yes, they were indeed a great team with Big Nasty and their "Forty Minutes of Hell" press, but what makes their NCAA crown even more remarkable was the uniform they wore that year. These were not shorts, oh no. These were shants. These shants were extremely popular with the players, not to mention every high school basketball coach/AD/player from 1995-2000, leading to the saturation of the baggy short market in basketball. This era of basketball shorts was probably the closest we'll ever come to a player simply putting on Shoets, which would basically be shoes that already come pre-attached to the shorts just to save everyone the hassle of actually showing any sock at all. (By the way, I love when small-time high school teams try to cash in on a trend in major college hoops, but their budget only allows them to order uniforms every 7-10 years. I guarantee you that at this very moment there is a high school team somewhere in Montana getting ready to take the world by storm in their flashy new Reebok Pumps.)
I'm not an old school traditionalist, but there are some things that just make sense. Cookies plus milk. America plus freedom. NASCAR fans plus Big Johnson T-shirts, and of course, basketball plus shorts. So please, shorts manufacturers, players, coaches, and the youth of America, let's stop the madness, put down the suspenders, and just play the game it was meant to be played, because I can't watch Kobe wear an atrocity like this for the next 10 years. (Yes, those are tights.)

Koko the retard

2005-11-28T11:49:00.000-08:00

First of all, I am using the term 'retard' only to describe stupid drivers and not those affected by some terrible disease....there is no other way to describe it..these are people that once they start driving, they lose the capacity to think. That being said....

In today's modern America, packing up the family car and driving for hours has seemingly become the thing to do, but unfortunately around holiday time, this brings out the worst drivers. This past weekend, we loaded up my wife's VW beetle and hit the road...we'll ignore how incredibly Brian Boitano like I felt in the car and I'm sure many 'a truckers got a laugh at me driving a bright red, flowers on the dashboard vehicle (although when the wife wasn't awake, I took the flowers down...it was a dangerous move but one that had to be done).

I digress...my question is this...when did it become okay to let Koko the retard onto the road? We all know and love Koko, he's the guy that is doing 55 in the left lane, with his left blinker on, while he's smoking his pipe, and his bag for a wife is passed out in the passenger seat, dentures in hand. He's the guy staring at the crash on the other side of the highway, while you wait in a line of idiots who think that changing lanes every 10 feet will actually improve their chances of moving. Koko is also the guy who decides that going 80 one minute and then 60 another is perfectly acceptable. To say the least I met Koko many times on my trek to Virginia and hope that I do not have to deal with him anytime soon.

This all being said, I am not a complainer generally, and am more of a man in action so I will be sending a reasonable action plan to the Department of Transportation, titled: 'The Exorcism of Koko the retard.' My 8 step action plan for reducing these types of drivers to 0 over the next 10 years.

Step 1: Require a highway test which will measure your driving efficiency, and annyoance to other drivers
Step 2: All Cadillac's/metamucil smelling cars will be required to stay off all major highways
Step 3: Hitch-hikers are now open game for being run over..this really serves no purpose...but they are annoying
Step 4: Women can no longer drive at night...sorry ladies, but when i was driving through west virginia, I watched a woman actually put on her make-up at 10:30 at night, winding through and over a mountain, while I watched in horror as she almost nailed the guard rail
Step 5: If you change lanes and leave your blinker on, your life ends..the dept of defense will have to work this out
Step 6: There will now be two rest stop bathrooms: one for those who can control their bladder and a second for those who decide a toliet is a burial ground.
Step 7: If you have a crappy vanity plate, such as: JDIMSTR, IFLYSOLO, GOYANKS, PICARD or others similar, you will have to pay a $1,000 fee for every car that passes you.
Step 8: If you have any of these bumper stickers

Now this will not work overnight, I will need the cooperation of you all for this to work. Lastly, if you see a man in a red cadillac, smoking a pipe, you can tell him I am looking for his ass..he will not get away with cutting me off and then slowing down to a salty 55 in a 70. He looks something like this...he may look like your own harmless pappy, but this SOB needs to be shot.

To those who are offended: I love old people, respect the handicapped, and metamucil is a good source of fiber.

A Legend Returns

2005-11-25T21:07:00.000-08:00

You can only imagine the excitment that rippled through the line forming outside of the Manchester, CT Best Buy at 4:40 am Friday morning. They came seeking to jump start their holiday shopping seasons, lured by the promise of inexpensive electronic goods, first run DVD's and a Huey Lewis and the News greatest hits CD for only $4.99. Nary a soul expected to witness the unannounced return of one of this country's greatest post-Thanksgiving shopping champions. I speak, of course of Jake Oakman who, donning his trademark black Eddie Bauer jacket (zipped to the top of course) and Boston Red Sox hat, returned to the Black Friday arena after a 4 year absence. As he stepped out of a 1998 Mercury Grand Marquis, a hush came over the crowd. Word spread throughout the line of over 500 people who gathered to await the opening of Best Buy. As he walked past the line towards the end, spontaneous applause erupted as the people began to understand what they were witnessing. The confident walk, not in a hurry yet not plodding, had not changed since we last saw him, and for that moment, the brisk air seemed to warm and all seemed right with the world. Shoppers were eager to offer him their place in line, hoping to spend the time waiting with him, hearing his old war stories, and trying to learn what was in store for them that morning. Black Friday veterans and rookies alike wanted to shake his hand and buy him some warm coffee. He turned down the offers to cut in line, "It goes against the spirit of this day," he was heard saying. So, with his iPod headphones firmly in place and the holiday tunes of Kanye "Kane" West filling his ears, Oakman made his return to the grand stage and it was as if he never left.
Who among us can forget the impact he has had on Black Friday? Making his debut at a mere 9 years old in 1989 he shot to the top and set shopping records every year from 1993-1996. "It seemed natural at the time," he said during a 1996 interview, refering to his youthful start. "I had a paper route so it seemed logical to go out with my Mom and Dad after the papers had been delivered. I remember my first time. It was 1989 and we went to Meijer on Hillcrest Road in Springfield, OH. I saw two ladies fight over a roll of wrapping paper and I knew, at that moment, that this was the place I wanted to be." After making his name on the lower circuits and racking up numerous awards including, but not limited to; Rookie of the Year and three time Shopper of the Year awards, Oakman achieved immortality in 1997. For it was on that day that he set the all time speed holiday shopping record, a record that stands to this day. "I was just in the zone that day," he reflected while on the Charlie Rose show in 1999. "I couldn't be stopped. I knew what I needed, where I was going, and I was not affraid to use my size to my advantage." On the Goldeneye controversy of the same year: "Look, I have no regrets. VCR tapes were still the rage, Goldeneye was on sale for $4.99, and I am a huge James Bond fan. I would take the movie from that 7 year old again, any day of the week, and twice on Black Friday. That is how you become the best. That is how you set records." Clutch Magazine put that in it's top ten clutch plays of all time, alongside contributions from Curt Schilling, Michael Jordan, and Doug Flutie. Oakman continued to achieve success on the mall circuit for the next few years, gradually becoming an elder statesman of the sport until he hung up the debit card after 2001, never to be seen on Black Friday again.
That all changed this morning, and it seemed like a turn back the clock affair. Oakman was in a Grand Marquis, he had been up all night, he had studied the ads and had his battleplan firmly mapped out in his head. However, one could tell he wasn't back for more glory, he doesn't need it. It was, rather, a nostalgic return to simpler times for him. So there he was, in line signing autographs, sharing stories about the Elmo craze of '98, the great Sears Hardware Sale of 1999, and many other tales of yore. When I asked him how it felt to be back, he simply answered "It feels great. I am a little rusty, but it is nice to get back in the groove." After witnessing this remarkable return, I think it is going to be a great holiday season. Merry Christmas.

Colts will beat Pats

2005-10-18T14:00:00.000-07:00

Each year when the NFL schedule comes out, I, as a Colts fan, must look to see where the Patriots are in the lineup. This year, the Colts will travel to Gillette Stadium on November 7th, a place where the Colts normally fall apart.

This year's records will tell you that the Colts are simply a better team, long gone are the days when you plan on scoring 30 pts a game against them.

Make no mistake, the Colts are superbowl contenders if they can somehow win in New England. With Colts opponents all dropping both safetys and pinching Reggie Wayne and Marivn Harrison to the middle of the field, nothing in the passing game is coming easy, however with only 7 defenders on the box, the Colts run game is one of the best in the league averaging 123 yards per game and Edgerin James is second in rushing to only Shaun Alexander.

The Colts have become a ball control team out of necessity. Admittedly, I loved it when Manning would throw 5 td's a game, but I am ready to embrace this new style as solid running games and defenses win championships. When the Colts take the field on November 7th, the Pats will play us like they always do, they will save their best for us. I expect them to shut down our receivers and score 14-17 points, however they will not stop Edgerin James. They have not seen this much power before from #32, and despite multiple Colts losses in New England, James has always performed well. James will have 3td's against the Pats.

This Colts team now knows how to win without getting huge plays from its offense. On Monday Night Football against the Rams, I watched as Manning worked a drive that lasted for over 6 minutes, something we never used to do. The Colts D-line will pound Brady this time around, as they have every QB they faced this year. Ask Byron Leftwich, Mark Bulger, Trent Dilfer, Steve McNair, and Alex Smith how it feels to get hit by Robert Mathis, Dwight Freeney and company. I look forward to watching Brady get beat up, as the Colts win: 31-17 and move to 8-0, in prime position to win 14 games and take homefield throughout the playoffs and finally get a home AFC chamionship game.

Sportscenteritis - my sickness

2005-10-06T13:13:00.000-07:00

On Tuesday morning this week I became ill, with some sort of sinus infection / headache deal. It has been a while since I stayed home sick and so I was not accustomed to the daytime/morning TV schedule. Back in High school I vividly remember the sick day TV schedule...moving from Sportscenter, to Saved by the Bell, and Back to Sportcenter. I realized that I have a sickness and its called: Sportscenteritis.

I don't know what happens to me when I am sick but for some reason watching Sportcenter 4 times and watching ESPN news for more scores and highlights makes me feel better, or does it? When you get to the point when you know the punchline the announcer is going to use and know exactly what order they will show the highlights, this cannot be healthy. Another thing that is not healthy is Stuart Scott's lazy eye...I dont know about you but when he talks, all I see is that wierd eye....that and Lisa Cohen's voice - random thought: if Stuart and Cohen had a kid: he/she would be interacial, with a lazy eye, and have an annoying voice.."well son, we screwed ya, you can't see or talk and we dont know what race you are."

All kidding aside, I wonder what would happen if Sportcenter was taken off the air? I am pretty sure the world would end if this ever happened. Can you imagine the bookies in Vegas? America would probably stage riots in Bristol Connecticut. Sick men around the world would be walking around their dwellings aimlessly, chanting, "I need my cold hard facts with Sean Salisbury and Mark Schelereth...I cannot function."

The stock market would crash, the next election would focus on the reinstatement of Sportcenter, as every American male between the ages of 21-50 would throw their ideals aside for the sake of Sportscenter.

I have wasted my life watching Sports, what was I thinking? I wonder how many hours I've spent watching a sport-related event? It's time to change...I vow to watch event more Sports. I am embracing my illness and simply accepting it as a part of who I am....after all it wouldn't be an addiction if I didn't spiral out of control. Where there's championship arm wrestling, PBA bowling, Racquetball, Sporting Clay championships, Purina Dog Challenges - you can find me beer in hand, eyes locked.

Carrots, Rain, and Saucification

2005-09-19T22:05:00.000-07:00

There I was at Target last night, awaiting my sliced honey ham to be handed to me, which took an absurd 15 minutes (I'm not sure what kind of meat slicer this fella was using, but I think a nail clipper could have slided it faster) and an older woman comes up to me and asks me if I work here. By the way, the best Ham related name is Darvin Hamm of the NBA.

First of all, let me tell you what I was wearing: a white t-shirt, matched by lovely yellow and white basketball shorts and my blue rain parka. I was also standing in front of the deli counter, awating some fresh sliced pig and checking my shopping list to see what else I needed. Naturally, I said, no I do not work here. She proceeds to say, "Oh, okay, sorry- do you know where the carrots are?"

Let me get this straight, I don't work at Target, dont have a red shirt on, and she still wants to know where the carrots are. Nevermind the fact that a red-shirted gentlemen with a target nametage is standing behind us, stocking the lettuce, which is right next to the carrots.

Aware of the exact location of the carrots, I pointed behind me and said, "I think they are over there next to that guy in the red shirt." She kindly thanked me and was on her merry way.

Meanwhile, Johnny slow-slice finally hands me my meat in the time I could raise, slaughter, and eat a pig. I then turn around only to see the nice old woman passing right by the carrots and heading into the rest of the store. I figured she must have simply decided that she didn't need any carrots.

Not but five minutes later, I was purusing the spaghetti sauce section (I am always amazed at how many tomato and spice combinations one can make - oh look finally honey, chocolate margarita spaghetti sauce, mmmmm) and the old woman happens to come down the same aisle. I kid you not she asks me again, where did you say the carotts are? I said they are back where you came from next to the lettuce.

I gathered my items and headed for checkout, only to find the old woman in front of me checking out. I tried to ignore the feminine products she slapped proudly down on the conveyer and noticed that she had indeed found the carrots. She was about to buy 10 bags of carrots...the full size. You could take every Bugs Bunny cartoon, add up the nuber of carrots and only equal about 2 bags. Either this woman has a bunny farm or just loves her a good carrot.

I walk out of target to find a sky that looked like Oprah without make-up, and found a really hard rain. Since my car was a ways out, I decided to wait until it slowed a bit with a couple other people who were doing the same.

What's this? My eyes deceive me, its carrot woman slowly pushing her cart out into Noah's ark like rain. No rain coat, no panic, she simply slowly pushed her damn carrots to her buick and placed them in her car amidst the pouring rain. It was then I realized that I could learn from this woman, when you have carrots at your side anything is possible. Like a good no-fear t-shirt or "don't tread on me" bumper sticker, carrots can be your guide. When you find yourself facing the walls of hell, break out a carrot, and free yourself from the shackles of carrotless life.

I'm not sure where the carrot lady lives, but Im'm gonna find out and shake her hand for showing me the power of the carrot, after I beat her ass for asking me where the carrots are on 2 occasions.

In case you re wondering, there is indeed a web site dedicated to carrots. It is sad that this exists, yet exciting for carrot lady.

Random Pic #2

2005-09-16T12:30:00.000-07:00

From Mypos to the land of plenty....ahhh foreigners.

Random Image #1

2005-09-16T12:19:00.000-07:00

5 Blade Razors and New Brawny Guy

2005-09-15T12:31:00.000-07:00

Only in America will you find an entire industry based upon stubby hairs on a face and creamy soap, but thats excatly what we have. With Mach 3, the Schick Quattro and a host of imitators, we have taken something that should be simple and turned it into a million dollar industry.

Admittedly, I use the mach 3 and enjoy it...I was sold when I saw a burly man in the mirror and an F-16 swooping in behind him. "The best a man can get," man words to live by. That slogan is a part of me as an American male and I wake up each morning shouting it from the rooftops as my clean shaven face hits the streets.

(I dont enjoy the pricey refills, and how the blades conveinently lose their steam after 3 shaves but overall it is a solid product)

This week Gillette announced a new 5 blade razor which includes the beard trimmer and nose trimmer attachment. I stared at the drawing on the screen in shock, wondering where this product will stop. With the exception of the Star Wars trilogy, Godfather, and Indiana Jones, almost all trilogy's dont work, and this is no different times 10. As my friend and former roommate Jake pointed out, whats next, a razor that actually is the size of your face and you only have to move it one stroke down your face?

Well I am taking a stand America, I will not buy this product, I simply cannot justify five blades on a razor.

Shaving should be a tradition passed down from generations, as did Dr. Healthcliff Huxtable to Theo Huxtable, George Papadopoulos to Webster, and Bill Clinton to Hillary Clinton.

The first time I shaved, I used my dad's old school razor and yeah I cut myself, but dammit it was the best shave of my life. Pretty soon the tradition will be "here son, this is my lazer, pull start facial hair extractor, have at it."

Hear me now, my son will use Mach 3, I dont care if its rusted, broken or bent, I am not moving up the food chain in razors anymore...(well if they change the theme to "the bestest a man can get" and show a stealth fighter, I might be back on board, til then I'm off the new razor bandwagon for good.)

And on a sidenote, for the love of god brawny, pull that new commercial. Joe Brawny's son is not a porn star...only in America can you create an entire industry around a towel made of paper and then ruin it with a voiceover that would better suit Ron Jeremy in "Paper Towel Delivery Boy."

TO should take some notes...

2005-09-09T11:06:00.000-07:00

It's easy to lose perspective of what's going on around us. I'm sitting here in my comfy office at my brand new computer, and later on I'll go home in my car to a spacious apartment. What did I do to deserve such blessings for my family and friends? Meanwhile, there are mothers and fathers wandering the waters of New Orleans hoping they may find the body of a loved one so they can at least know what happened to their family. It's tragic, but from tragedy often comes inspiration and faith, and I have a renewed faith in America. When our brothers and sisters are in need, this nation steps us like none other. I'm particuarly moved by the generosity shown on behalf of the athletic world at every level.
After hearing Terrell Owens bitching for months about how he deserves more than 7 million a year and how he has a "family to take care of," it is nice to see some athletes stepping up and contributing. Stephon Marbury has vowed to give 1 million dollars to Katrina efforts after being overcome with emotion this week at an NBA press conference. Peyton and Eli Manning spent their weekend loading up cargo plans with over 15 tons of food and supplies for hurricane victims. Lebron James, once again showing character beyond his years, purchased and loaded up about half of a Sam's Club store to send down to New Orleans. Even the evil empire found and Emperor Steinbrenner found it in their hearts to contribute to the efforts, which could very well be the nicest thing I have ever written about the Yankees. These athletes and organizations are putting aside their own personal benefit in favor of helping those less fortunate. I commend each and everyone of them, but it makes me wonder. Terrell Owens, how can you sleep at night? Shut your mouth, count your blessings, and be glad your world hasn't been washed away from under you.

Exhibit A: Asshole

Can't we just blame George Steinbrenner?

2005-09-07T15:25:00.000-07:00

Defined - guff is 'unacceptable behavior, especially ludicrously false statements.' For example a sport fans tendency to blame one person for an entire sports team losing (golf, tennis, any individual sport not included). "I blame Scott Norwood for losing the 1991 Superbowl" is a classic full-o-guff statement.

If you are a New York Giants fan and for some reason you would want to think about your favorite kicker of all-time (please hold back your suggestions, not all at once.."Al Del Greco is my boy" better not be mumbling under your breath), inevitably, Scott Norwood would have to top your list. 'Wide right' the headlines read as the Bills blew the superbowl. Parcells got drenched (you probably saw the man boobs), Jeff Hostetler became a hero (porn mustache and all) and Norwood was blamed for losing the game - one day we will find Norwood like we did Sadaam, in a hole, in his underwear, and screeching, 'laces out.'

But seriously, the modern media has made us into blamers. If a game is lost, most fans tend to point at one moment during a game and therefore thats all the media will show, because they know controversy equals ratings. Rather than focus on the whole game, human nature wants to blame someone, so people start pointing fingers. I feel bad for the Buckners, Bartmen, and Norwood's - they have been mistreated, misunderstood and one day I hope they have their revenge - after they all check out of the mental clinic.

There's always more to the story in almost all 'chokes.' The Giants held possesion for over 40 minutes in the 1991 superbowl classic, a superbowl record...Otis Anderson and the Giants running attack were wearing down the Buffalo defense and the Bills simply could not get the ball until the 4th quarter. If you want to play the blame game, how about the Bills defensive line, they couldn't have moved Parcells' man breasts more than a yard that night.

Lets all work together to set the media straight, next time someone 'blows' a game, try blaming the whole team or George Steinbrenner...yes..I like it...lets just blame Steinbrenner for everything that goes wrong in sports..for once you blamers out there would be correct.