A Summer Night At Dick's Den

My friends here on the world wide web of deceit, the fellas at Google who run Blogger, have been having massive issues here lately. Earlier this month the whole thing came to a screeching halt for 3 or 4 days. Then this past week, signing into Blogger became impossible, as folks kept getting bounced to the same sign-in page over and over. It's okay today (obviously, or I wouldn't be typing this silliness). What I find funny about the problems with Blogger this month is the outrage from many of the pitiful bloggers who use Google Blogger to post their most inane and often unreadable thoughts to the handful of folks who follow their musings. For one thing, the service is free. And I don't know why these "writers" are so pissed about something free not working for a few days here and there. Reading some of the comments on the Blogger help page, you'd think these folks were being charged like $30 a month or something to post. You'd also think their worlds are ending. As for me, I was kind of excited by the thought of never gaining access to my blog again. What I was gonna do is start another blog, not tell anyone the address to it, and see how long until anyone stumbled onto it. And then figure out who the hell had stumbled onto it and why. That could have gone on for months. I would have enjoyed that. Because while I appreciate all of you who stop by this blog from time to time, and hopefully enjoy it on some pointless level, the audience I'm really writing for is very small. It's an audience of 1 actually. And that 1 would be me...

Speaking of this silly blog, I was chatting with a regular reader of mine who mentioned he'd been going back and reading the posts from the beginning (back in November 2008). He enjoyed them and all (this reader, like others, mentioned the post about Chope as being particularly amusing), but did note that there is a bit of a difference between the posts then and now. And I'm sure that's true. This blog has evolved, or devolved if you like, over the 30 months of its life. The main difference the reader noticed was how completely random he found the older posts. Now, to me the thing is still mainly random nothingness. But, I take his point at face value. Maybe it was even more strange, weird, and completely random back then. I'd like to think it's not too different. But since I'm the one typing this crap, maybe I'm too invested in it to have any kind of objective insight into the matter. Who knows??? But, I only mention all this because I'm about to write completely random paragraphs (or maybe I won't...) that in no way should be construed as being parts of a whole, or a hole. Either way. Whole or hole. It's hard to find a distinction most days...

I was sitting at some awful dive bar on N High Street in Columbus one time back in the mid 90's. It was some white trash jazz joint where pitchers of Black Label were like 55 cents at Happy Hour. While the beer was cheap in the place, the women were also cheap. Most of the ladies who frequented the place, I believe it was called Dick's Den (and I wish I was making up the name, but I'm not - it really was called Dick's Den), were these smelly hippie type graduate students. You know the type, all Feminine Mystique and armpit hair. Not my cup of tea, obviously. The other type of women who frequented Dick's Den were not grad students. They were drunks. Trashy drunks. Those chicks, while terrible, were much more up my alley. Obviously. Skanky service industry working women found me amusing for some reason. It was probably my winning charm...I went into the joint for a few basic reasons. 1) as noted, the beer was cheep. 2) it was about 2 blocks from my apartment. and 3) I enjoyed the jazz music. Okay, enough background, getting back to the story. So, I'm in the joint one Wednesday night. Getting hammered on Black Label and shots of rock-gut Scotch, listening to whatever almost never gets gigs jazz quintet was playing that night. Then to my right sit down 2 British dudes. How the hell they picked out Dick's Den to drop in on is impossible to fathom. I asked the British kids if Dick's was famous in Manchester. Because if it was, it was more famous there than it was in Columbus. Anyway, I got to chatting with these guys and learned they were on some month long tour of the States. You know, staying in hostels, picking up American skanks, and pretending to broaden their horizons or whatever Brits call it. I liked the 2 of them immediately. Why? Because they insisted on buying me pints of Guiness. And after 3 hours of Black Label, Guinness is a godsend. A fucking godsend. About an hour passes and the 3 of us are feeling the alcohol a bit. These Brits get it in their mind to try and pick up some of the local skank talent trolling the establishment. I informed the pair how easily this could be accomplished. All they had to do was pick out a pair of ladies, walk up with shots, make sure the girls' boyfriends weren't around, do the shots with them, chat about nothing in particular in those British accents, and within 30 minutes they'd be back in the alley that runs parallel to High St getting blow jobs. I'd seen it happen. Over and over (my man Neil Young, I used to put that very song on the jukebox at Dick's Den and tell the bartender to turn it up until we all went deaf, and then died...). So, these 2 British kids pick out a pair of big-haired, acid washed jean sporting, skinny-ass skanks and head off to hit on them - Dick's Den style. I thought nothing of it. I didn't even bother to pay much attention to how these Brits were faring with their sure to be head-givers. I'm sure I was sitting there, chain smoking, watching my Reds play a midweek game on the west coast (my man, Leon Fucking Bip Fucking Roberts). Then a dude comes up to me and taps me on the shoulder. I learned he was the night manager at Dick's Den. He asked me if I sent 2 British kids over to hit on the nasty skanks I mentioned a few sentences ago. I said, "Yep." The night manager informed me that the ladies in question were his girlfriend and his girlfriend's sister. I laughed. Evidently what went down while I was watching my man Jose Fucking Blame It On Fucking Rijo mow down the Giants, Dodgers, or Padres was not good. These Brits had managed to get shot down by the girls they approached and when questioned by the skanks why they'd chosen that particular pair of skanks to hit on, said that I told them that the ladies gave blowjobs to every Tom, Dick, Harry, and hairy Dick at the drop of a hat. So, these gals took offense, got pissed at these British kids, went running to the manager/boyfriend, blah, blah, blah. In order to get away from any trouble with the manager and his tough jazz loving running buddies, the Brits threw yours truly under the proverbial bus. It was a short bus, no doubt. After all, we were in Dick's Den for Christ's sake. What happened at that point was that I stood up, told this night manager that I couldn't help it if his girlfriend and her sister were filthy, disease riddled, nasty, reprehensible, and yes, repulsive hos. The guy didn't like that too much. What he did was let me know that I needed to leave the bar. I was happy to go. But not before I let him know how rude he and his bevy of skanks were to these poor British kids for not obliging their dream of getting Midwestern, corn-fed head. He didn't like that too much either. What he did then is called over a bouncer to escort my ass out. And that's a drill I knew. By that point in my life, I'd been tossed out of way better places than Dick's Den. And a few worse places as well. So, I stumbled out onto the sidewalk without any "help," and who do I find standing there enjoying a smoke on a warm summer's night? You guessed it, the manager's girlfriend. She came up to me, grabbed my arm, and attempted to force me into that infamous back alley I mentioned. I was just drunk enough and irritated enough with that manager to briefly consider her offer of I don't even know your name sex in public. But I thought better of that, twisted away from her, and walked to the bar the next block down. It was also a terrible place. But I managed to sit down, order a beer, and enjoy the rest of the Reds game in peace. It was only like a quarter to 12 at the time. The night was still young.

Speaking of Great Britain, our friend Barry was back over there again. I should probably say something about him trying to hit on that old bag, the Queen. But that's too easy. I did notice he had a massive erection when he gave his pitiful toast to her. That's a little creepy...

Okay, I'm bored of this today.

Once again, remember this if nothing else: Men go crazy in congregations, But they only get better one by one

It's The End Of The World As We Know It, & I Feel Pretty Damn Good My Own Self

According to very reputable religious kooks, today marks the end of the world. Me? I'm excited about it. I won't have to worry about where to kill time each night. You know, what with the world ending and all, that won't be much of a concern. I figured on the last day on earth as we know it, I'd do something special. So, I'm sitting at Generic Bread and typing this asinine blog post. Nothing is more appropriate for the world ending than that. Yesterday, when informed that today will end everything as we know it by a colleague at the place I occasionally show up to work, I replied, "Don't get my hopes up."

Speaking of the world ending, I'm guessing Lenny Bruce is still not afraid. And it's still a tournament, a tournament, a tournament of lies. Birthday party, cheesecake, Jelly Bean, Boom!

I did a little research into this end of the world situation. The guy behind it is a gaunt looking nut named Harold Camping. Evidently today is the anniversary of Noah's Ark and that flood deal from back in the day. You know, 40 days and 40 nights of a steady deluge. Followed by doves flying around looking for worms. Then a crash landing at Mt Ararat. Then a massive party where Noah, his family, and their concubines got hammered beyond belief on Ripple and shots of rock-gut Scotch. I'm sorry I missed that one. I'm guessing Geilfuss's ancestors crashed the party though. And Creech was running around in Noah's wife's drawers. I can clearly envision that scenario playing out on that stinky ark back several thousand years ago. It would have to play out that way, right? Anyway, back to this Harold Camping fellow. I wonder if he's much of an outdoorsman. I mean, what with his name being Camping and all. It would certainly be ironic if old Harold had bad allergies or something that precluded him from piling into the old RV and setting out for port-a-potties unknown along the most backward highways and byways imaginable.

As far as the folks here at Generic Bread, they don't seem too concerned about Harold Camping's prediction. Most of them are sitting around talking about the best way to secure a loved one's parole - same as always...

The word that Camping and others have used to describe the end of the world is rapture. I believe its origins are biblically related. In fact, I recall hearing about this rapture deal back in church before I got permanently banned from Sunday School for punching this weird Sunday School teacher in the jaw (I was like 11 at the time & I remember the name of this fellow, it was Dan McLean if anyone cares). Back to this rapture stuff. The whole idea struck me as totally implausible. I guess God and Jesus swoop out of the sky and run around earth for a few hours begging some of their most ardent followers like Harold Camping and Tammy Faye Baker to come up to heaven and hang out for a stretch. Not saying that God & Jesus would invite me to this rapture party, but on the odd chance they did invite me, I'd beg off. Not that I have any issue with God or Jesus. I mean who doesn't like Jesus??? He seems like the kind of guy who'd be pretty cool to sit around the bar with for a few hours shooting the breeze about hoops, football, the latest bad movie, or whatever. I don't think Jesus would get too upset if you accidentally blew smoke in his face either. I'm sure he's a cool guy and all. No, my issue is not hanging with Jesus or even his Pops in heaven. My issue would be with hanging with the Harold Campings and Dan McLeans of the world. Those guys would drive me crazy. I'd rather stay behind here on earth and sit around the bar hoping Andy, Ross, Q, Brandon, or Geilfuss might drop in for a drink or 2.

The worst thing about the world ending today is that I won't have fulfilled my lifelong dream to have a drink with Liz Phair. Other than that, sadly I might add, I have done everything I ever set out to do. It was a short list. And I mostly kept expectations low. That's the key right there. It really is. I swear I'm not making that up.

See ya, don't wanna be ya, lunch meat, pond scum...

The Best Broadcaster Alive

I saw where there was some ridiculous manufactured controversy about Common visiting the White House as a guest of Mr and Mrs Barack Hussein Obama. A controversy manufactured specifically by the Roger Ailes Network. I don't have a clue why anyone would possibly care about this. Barry and his old lady can invite anyone they please over for a night of poetry slamming or orgy fun or whatever. The place is their home, at least temporarily. As many of you know, I am a long time hip hop fan. Now, Common is not my cup of tea, but whatever. I doubt Common is Barry's cup of tea either. Barry strikes me as more of a Hammer or Kriss Kross kind of guy - you know, the innocuous silly rap. I personally would love to see Barry and his old ball and chain invite Luda over and listen closely as he performed Get Back. Or maybe if ODB wasn't dead, he could stop in and perform Protect Ya Neck. Hell, anyone from Wu Tang would be a breath of fresh air. The Roger Ailes Network is really grasping at straws on this one. Pitiful...

I was standing outside at the place I occasionally show up to work yesterday when a colleague asked me this: "Why are you working here?" And the kid makes a good point. I've been asked that a number of times the past 19 months, both in the Gate City and the Bull City. I didn't have a great answer to his question. I never have to be honest. But I told him this, "Well, this is the only thing I'm good at. Plus, it passes the time." Both points are all too sadly true...

The same colleague informed me that Thor was awesome. I have no way of confirming this opinion. And I never will. Even though Thor features that girl from Jerusalem, I'll never see the damn thing. Comic book movies are silly.

I was back at Lenders Tavern last night (yes, to use the gift certificate I won from trivia last week). It was fine. The bartender, a brother named Donald, got both the Reds and O's games on for me (by the way, my Reds are on fire right now - as for the O's, not so on fire...). Anyway, I struck up a conversation with a sister who had just come form her bowling league. She was cool - & pounding Jager shots... At one point I did ask this sister how many of the league's teams consisted of black folks. She said her team was the only one. I wasn't too surprised by that. I don't bowl. And I won't bowl. But I know enough to know that black bowlers are rare. Everyone remembers how bad our friend and fake leader Barry was when he tried to bowl back in the campaign (he compared himself to a retard). Anyway, this bowling sister enlightened me on one important issue when it comes to black girls and bowling. And here's what she enlightened me on: they are indeed shaved raw.

I heard on the radio that Mike Tirico, of ESPN hype-machine infamy, won an award last night as broadcaster of the year. Now, I'm not sure who voted to give Tirico this "honor." And nothing in particular against Tirico - he's bad, yes. But not appreciably worse than anyone else. In fact, I'd argue that as bad as Tirico is, he's in the top 40% of broadcasters. And from me, that's almost a compliment. It just seems so pointless so give the award to Tirico when we have broadcasting giants out there more deserving. You know, the guys who cover professional wrestling. Or a random weather skank. Or that stutterer from the Howard Stern Show. Or the strange men who host That Metal Show on VH1 Classic. Of course, if I was giving out broadcaster of the year, the same person would win every year. That person is the blonde sideline reporter for Big 10 Network football games. Yes, my girl Charissa Thompson. Although, come to think of it, Alex Flanagan of NBC is right there. Right there.

Orange Crush

A Kid In A Blue Lacoste Shirt Talks A Little Sports

I saw one of those pesky vanity plates recently & on it was the title of a Dead tune (Sugaree, if anyone cares). Anyway, that got me to thinking about which Dead tune I would choose for my vanity plate. My favorite Dead song, as Andy & Fat Paulie can attest to, is Throwing Stones. I'd have Paulie play it every Monday night about 1:30 at Get Bent Lounge when he deejayed - at deafening levels. So, Throwing Stones would be a good choice. But maybe not the most appropriate one. The most appropriate one would be Hell In A Bucket. Obviously...

Speaking of Paulie and playing tunes at deafening levels, the other song I'd have him play every Monday night was Tunnel Of Love by Dire Straits. At some point I liberated that CD from Paulie, the one that contained Dire Straits' greatest hits. At the moment I believe said Dire Straits CD is in the dungeon area of the shed at the Wing Joint Operator's home...

The PGA stars are gathered at Sawgrass once again this week. The Tiger already quit the tournament after shooting a 42 on the front 9 this morning. The Tiger claimed his knee and achilles were giving him some pain. I have no idea if that's true or not. Whatever is going on with his knee, I don't think shooting 6 over par for 9 holes made it feel better...

I ventured out last night to some terrible dive on W Market called Lenders Tavern. I was there strictly for the trivia. I told my fine upstanding teammates that I'd try to get us some points for the next round of Team Trivia playoffs that are coming up in July. So, I kept my word. I stumbled into the joint right at 8, gave the trivia hostess our team #, and told the bartender to put the damn O's game on for me. He did. The trivia crowd had a decided Wing Joint flavor to it. The Dirty 530 were out, as well as several of the fat guys from the team won the big game last Saturday afternoon. I sat by myself and guessed at the questions. Which worked out okay. I got us a 75 point game (the max you can get for a Team Trivia game is 86). I didn't win. Justin, Billy, & Justin's wife beat me. Fair and square too. Way too many science type questions in the 2nd half for my taste. Fortunately there was lots of pop culture & sports (hell, the hostess chick asked SNL related trivia at one point) in the 1st half questions. And those I excel on for some reason. I know a few things. The weird thing about the experience at Lenders was the hostess was one of these way too friendly gals. You know the type: real chatty, telling personal stories that no one gives a shit about, and meandering around to the various bad teams to give them hints. She asked me at one point if I wanted a hint on some question about a show I've never seen called Mad Love. I told her "Fuck no." And that was that. I might go back to Lenders at some point. For one thing, our team could use the points. Two, I didn't have to socialize with a soul sitting there by myself. And third, I have a $15 gift certificate I need to use. Those damn gift certificates will get you every time. I wish they'd give out packs of smokes instead...

By the way, for folks who read this blog who have been concerned with my treatment of Billy the last few months - FYI: Billy and I had a nice conversation after the trivia game at Lenders. We're good. And let me say for the record that Billy is a good guy. He has no issue with me. There is no issue.

After the wild trivia game at Lenders, I traversed some roads and walked into Wing Joint. I wanted to say hello to Tess & Alex, as I'd only seen them once this year so far. I had a nice visit with them. Blah, blah, blah. I was gonna take off about 10:30. Then things got interesting. A woman I don't remember ever meeting came up to me and said hello to me by name. Then her husband came over and he couldn't have been nicer. He told me that at some point the past year or so he and his wife were in Wing Joint and really enjoyed whatever I was ranting about on that occasion. He mentioned that Dave & I had the whole bar in fits of laughter. That had a ring of truth to it. Anyway, the husband and I went out for a smoke with Goosie and whatever girl Goosie is currently seeing. We were chatting about this and that. Then one of the husband's buddies came out. A buddy in a blue Lacoste shirt to be exact. And that's when things got really interesting. This blue Lacoste kid wanted me to back him up on his assertion that Mike Tyson is one of the 10 greatest boxers ever. I started naming boxers. I named about 20 who clearly had better careers than Tyson. Goosie and the husband were enjoying the show immensely. The blue Lacoste kid started with the "we're gonna have to agree to disagree" talk. A sure sign he'd lost the argument. Goosie informed the kid that I'm the wrong person to get into a sports debate with (unless it involves NASCAR - Goosie knows my disdain for NASCAR). At that point, the blue Lacoste kid started to shift the focus of sports debate. He shifted it to rivalries. And I explained to him, as I have to many others, why the biggest rivalry in sports is TOSU/Michigan in football. Namely because, if you lose that game, your season is over. Duke could, in theory, lose 3 times to Carolina in hoops and still win the national title. The Red Sox could, in theory, go 0 & 18 against the Yankees in the regular season and still win the World Series. TOSU could not lose to Michigan and play for a national title. My thoughts on this are impossible to dispute, as evidenced by the 2006 college football season when Michigan was #2 and lost to TOSU and did not get a rematch in the BCS Title game. Case closed. So, the blue Lacoste kid admitted I had a point there. But he didn't stop with sports topics. Maybe he was feeling it a bit. I'm not sure. But the blue Lacoste kid started telling all of us why Dean Smith is a better coach than Coach K. I had no issue with his opinion on the matter. But I was struck by his rationale. It was nonsensical. The gist of what he said, if I can make any sense out of it, was that Smith was better because of the era he coached. The fact that the ACC had only one bid to the NCAA's until the mid 70's, etc. I told the blue Lacoste kid that that line of thought, while certainly true, had little weight in the context of his argument. Coach K has won 4 titles with expanded 64-65 team fields. Smith won 1 title after the tourney expanded in 1985. Then I realized that I was doing something I never do. Ever. I was making a case for Coach K. I informed the blue Lacoste kid that I was gonna shut up on the whole issue. I wasn't gonna waste my time making a case for Coach K in any bar argument. The whole notion goes against every fiber of my being. The blue Lacoste kid wanted to know if I was a Carolina fan when he learned of my irrational hatred for Duke, Coach K, etc. Goosie stepped into the conversation at that point and told the absolute truth. Gooise said, "_____ is not a Carolina fan. But I can promise you that no one in the world hates Duke more than he does. I've personally seen _____ make Duke fans cry in this bar." And Goose is correct there. I have made Duke fans cry in Wing Joint when I'm in the mood. Eventually the blue Lacoste kid, the husband, and their whole crew took off. Then I went inside, found my man Q at the bar, and had some awful shot of cheap crap. I needed it...

I Will Follow

Another Trivial Debacle

As faithful readers of this stupid blog are keenly aware, I'm semi-retired from the grind that is the trivia circuit. There are enough locations that have team trivia here in the Gate City area that I could play 3 or 4 times a week. But I don't. In fact, I'm so semi-retired from the trivia drag, that I've only made it out twice all year to the weekly proceedings at Wing Joint (once in March & once again in April). Yesterday, I ventured out a 3rd time for trivia. Only this was no regular game. Yes, a championship game came to the Triad for the 1st time. I promised my team (Phil, Phil's wife, and the chick engaged to an Italian) that I would get there for the big game. And I kept my word. I waltzed into Wing Joint just before 2 and I knew immediately it was a big trivia game. Why? Because the bar was filled with a cast of freaks that never makes it out of the attics or basements of dear old mom's house in daylight hours. There were just over 20 teams playing for this "title," and more importantly $400. The game started a little late (as championship games always do) and I liked our chances at the outset. I was feeling really good because the 1st two questions were about The Tropic of Thunder and Yo Gabba Gabba - 2 of my all time favorite things in the history of western civilization (Downey Jr & Brobee...). We proceeded to coast trough the 1st half and got 12 of 15 on the halftime quiz (the only question I was clueless about was the store brand at Costco, & luckily Phil's wife shops there...). We were one point out of 1st to 2 teams at that juncture and then we got the next 3 right. Then, as will happen at these games, at least on teams I play on, things went haywire. The next question was who was the 1st receiver to gain 200 yards in a Super Bowl. Eventually I figured out the correct answer. The problem was that I wasn't super confident in the answer and the question was the 1st of round 5. We bet the lowest points we could. MISTAKE. The reason we bet the lowest points we could was because the next 2 questions were gonna be about US states & music lyrics. I liked our chances at both categories, particularly music lyrics. We had 4 folks there & I figured one of us would know whatever it was. We proceeded to bomb the question about US states. No one had any kind of decent guess. We did guess a state, so at least we had a 2% chance of being right. Alas, ...Then on the lyrics question, I had only a vague guess. The bad thing about that was that Phil came up with the same bad guess. We had to bet our highest point choice for the round (6 in this case) because it was all we had left to use. Our guess was wrong (we guessed an Elton john song & it was Ray Of Light by Madonna...embarrassing). At that point in the game, I knew we'd thrown away 4 vital points by using our 2 point answer for round 5 on the Jerry Rice question. And I knew we were most likely, no matter what, playing for 3rd. We managed to get all 3 correct for round 6. And sure enough, my feelings on where we stood after the round 5 debacle were dead on. We were down 5 from the 2 teams tied for 1st. And 7 ahead of 4th. If we'd just bet the max total on the Rice question, we'd have been 1 down and very much alive. The way they do the final question at these championship games is not an all in Jeopardy style wager. Team Trivia wants to reward strong play from the beginning of the game (do you hear that Brian from Showtime Trivia???). So what they did was give us 3 actors and told was to come up with the top 5 grossing films that each had appeared in (no cartoons). The actors were Sandy Bullock, Matt Damon, & Cameron Diaz. For each correct answer, you got a point. For each wrong guess, you lost a point. If you didn't guess 5 movies for each star, you didn't lose a point. My strategy was to go with between 9 and 11 films between the 3 that we were super confident in, and hope the 2 teams in front of us messed up and got like 9 right, 6 wrong for a net gain of 3 and we could get a net gain of 9 or more and swoop in for the victory. The only problem with my strategy was that we couldn't agree on the best answers for Matt Damon. That and I nixed an answer of The Proposal for Sandy Bullock (big mistake there...sorry ladies). We got a net 7 for the round. And ended up 1 point out of 2nd. Bitterly disappointing. I hate that feeling. Especially because, as always, the blame lies squarely on my shoulders. These folks only tolerate me sitting there with them because there is an expectation I will carry them to victory. It didn't happen. I will say one thing, I felt a whole lot better than I would have if we'd come in 4th. Because 4th got nothing. You might as well have missed every question on purpose and came in dead last. That's how valuable coming in 4th was. At least we got $100 for my very public shameful performance in round 5. Damn round 5. You suck...

I should very quickly here congratulate the winners of the game. It was a team of 6 fat guys who I'm guessing don't have too much luck with the ladies. I have no idea what their team name was. I pay no attention to any of that stuff. Hell, I couldn't even tell you what our team name was. I'm in my own little world. Anyway, congratulations to the 6 lonely fat guys who won the game yesterday. They kicked my ass and deserved the victory. Well done, fellas.

A Random Wednesday At Generic Bread

I'm back in the Generic Bread for the 1st time this year & the topics of conversation among the freaks who congregate here are the same as always - namely prayer and parole. Some things never change. That's comforting on some level, I guess. Some are praying for parole. Others are paroling for prayer. Either way...

Big news here recently in the shady world of online poker, as the US Department of Justice has gone after Full Tilt, Poker Stars, & some other site I've never heard of. When you login into the Full Tilt site there is a message that all US accounts are frozen & no US member of the site can play in cash games. It's wonderful in the sense that all the other problems in this country have evidently been solved & the Dep of Justice can focus on online gambling issues. I'm assuming the move is nothing more than an attempt by Barry's boys at Justice to punish these sites and the gamblers on them because no tax is paid into the Treasury's coffers. Liberals are all about freedom and do what you want, as long as they can tax it in some way. When they can't tax it, they get angry & the love of freedom goes right out the window. Because as much as they love freedom, they love taxes way more. I'm not sure how many folks here in the US have been affected by the action against Full Tilt - probably a few million. My personal account doesn't have a whole lot of dough in there. But for the guys that have thousands or tens of thousands in their now frozen accounts, they have gotta be pissed. Rightfully so. Eventually, I hope everyone gets their money out. But I have no idea how long that might take. Months at least. The whole episode reeks of tyranny. And tyranny is right up Barry's alley. The dude lives to be tyrannical.

I had an interesting experience over last weekend. I found myself at some Greek church in Winston-Salem Saturday night. And a wedding reception broke out. No, I wasn't an invited guest at the reception. I've only met a few Greek folks in my life & I don't recall any of them being too fond of me (shocking!). I did manage to observe some interesting Greek traditions that I was ignorant about heading into the night. One of them involved guests throwing money on the floor as the newlyweds danced. There were various denominations of bills floating around. No one seemed to eager to pick them up either. Folks just kind of walked or danced around the money strewn about the dance floor. The other interesting tradition I learned about Greeks and weddings is that the ladies like to cram themselves into dresses that are at least 2 sizes too small. The Greek cleavage hung in the air like the smell of desperation hangs in the air at a strip joint at about 2 am. There was lots of Greek cleavage. Which was okay. I had a pleasant experience out at this Greek wedding deal - cleavage and all. My favorite part of the experience was helping some of the little Greek kids get extra packets of ketchup for their french fries. I got a big bang out of that. Little kids are pretty much awesome, especially when they need extra ketchup for their fries.

I haven't been out to the bars much at all here lately. Thus I have no weird stories to share about my run-ins with various barflies. I should make it out here soon though. It's inevitable. I think during the entire month of April I made it into Wing Joint all of 3 times. And one of those was a Sunday night. Rasta Chick was bartending and my man Goosey was in as well. Other than that, it was pretty sedate. The only remotely interesting thing that happened was that during the Celtics/Knicks game, I was chatting with this brother about hoops and mentioned that Boston was having trouble with the high ball screen, when the Knicks actually ran it. Most of the possessions for NY were isos for Anthony or Stoudemire. Blah, blah, blah. Anyway, this brother asked me at one point if I was a coach. Maybe he'd never heard anyone at a bar watching hoops actually talk about what was going on vis a vis strategy, etc. I don't know. I told this dude that, "No, I've never coached anyone to do anything. But if I did, it wouldn't be hoops. That's for damn sure. It would be field hockey. I'm down with those skirts the chicks wear." The brother laughed. You can't blame him. But I wasn't exactly kidding. Obviously...

The lunch rush has just started here at Generic Bread. Lots of ladies in pants that are a bit too tight for their cabooses are strolling around. As a result, you can easily detect the pantie cut of choice for each gal. Alas, thongs are not in the lead. There's still time for thongs to catch up though. It's only 12:15...

Some dude sitting to my left is saying something about the grass being greener on the other side. I want to ask, "On the other side of what?"

An old man is eating a ham sandwich at a table nearby. He sure looks hungry. His pants have cuffs.

A kid with bleached blonde hair is working the counter. He doesn't appear to have bathed in days.

An old bag wearing a lime green shirt is slopping up some tomato based soup. It's not particularly erotic.

A Mexican chick just meandered by. And yes, she is indeed sporting a thong. It probably has a Hello Kitty decal where her pubes would be. But I'm guessing she's shaved raw. Why wouldn't a Mexican chick wearing a Hello Kitty thong for lunch on a Wednesday in early May at Generic Bread be shaved raw? How could she not be???

I got a note on the Faceshit from Mrs Rummer recently. In it she informed me that The Bush of Death had put on a production of Hi, Hi, Nerdie a few weeks ago. I guess they put that show on every 24 years like clockwork. Mrs Rummer was kind enough to note that the poor kid who played old Conrad in the thing wasn't nearly as good as yours truly was back in the halcyon days of 1987. I have no idea if that's true or not. But it was awfully kind of Mrs Rummer to say so.

Well, it's way after lunchtime now. Generic WiFi kicked me out (maybe for mocking their valued customers...). I then killed time at a movie theater. I pulled my old trick of walking in and just asking for a ticket to whatever is showing next. That something next ended up being Insidious. And the title is apropos. The film is silly. It involved lost souls and the "further." You don't want to know. Of note is that Barbara Hershey is in it and she needs to demand a refund from whoever did her plastic surgery. Because her facelift is what's truly insidious.

I'm stopping now...

Pork Chops & Strippers

Huge news from overseas this past weekend - and no, not from some town near Islamabad, Pakistan (I'll get to that next). This news comes from Emirates Stadium in North London. Arsenal 1, Man U 0. It's been a long time coming for Gunners' fans. Too long, really. Robin Van Persie was key for Arsenal. Unfortunately, the Gunners find themselves 6 points behind Man U with only 3 games remaining - and Chelsea 3 points closer to 1st. They won't win the Premiership yet again. Too many points thrown away at home. The good news is that next season starts in 3 & 1/2 months.

US Armed Forces finally got to Osama Bin Laden and killed him. When I heard the news just before 11 last night, I thought, "Okay, good." Then I flipped the channel back to some awful show on sex disorders on Discovery Health & Fitness. That was the extent of my glee over the news. Then this morning I saw all these wild celebrations that went down after the news broke. I'm not sure what there is to really celebrate. Killing Bin Laden does not undo 9/11. It does not undo over 9 years of war in Afghanistan. It does not necessarily make the US any safer from future attacks. It does make some people feel better though. That's something, I guess. I am getting a kick out of pundits giving our failed leader, one Barack Hussein Obama, praise for Bin Laden's demise. I guess that's par for the course. But, it should be noted that Barry is the guy who decided to spend much of the last 27 months running around the world apologizing to states that sponsor terrorism and seemingly apologizing for the terrorists themselves in some cases. Both of which he has every right to do. He was duly elected to his current job after all. However, given Barry's oft repeated position on all this, it is really odd to see folks giving him political points for Bin Laden's death. Also of note is, if you recall, old W was ripped mercilessly for his "Dead Or Alive" rhetoric concerning Bin Laden. And now that we've "smoked em' out" or whatever you want to label it, and Bin Laden is a goner through US military might, these same naysayers seem to be revelling in the "Dead" part of the "Dead Or Alive" talk from back in the day. Proving, yet again, that liberal hypocrisy knows no end.

News of Bin Laden's death brings to mind, at least for me, one Mohamed Atta. I don't believe I've ever mentioned Atta on this blog. But I've sure spent a lot of time thinking about him over the years. And rambling endlessly about him when half-loaded. It's Atta, not Bin Laden, who I've always considered the US's worst enemy in its history. I won't bore anyone today with my vast knowledge of Atta trivia. But one tidbit that everyone should find fascinating is that the kid loved pork chops. And strippers. Pork chops & strippers - it's a good team trivia name, come to think of it...

Speaking of terrorists and trivia names, one time I used the name Mohamed Atta at a trivia game in the town Elaine Benes is from. No one batted an eye at that. In fact, the host of the game seemed utterly clueless as to who Atta was. Which is interesting in light of the fact that the same host got upset with me, and thus refused to read aloud another team name I came up with on a different night. That team name was Very Pronounced Vulva. It's a strange world indeed when Very Pronounced Vulva causes issues and Mahomed Atta does not. I guess it says something about the general ignorance of the hosts for Final Score Trivia...

There was a huge spike in hits to this blog over the weekend. I have no idea what caused it. I would guess maybe the silly comments I made about that wedding in London had something to do with it. The only problem with that theory is that I never used either the bride's name or the groom's name in the post. I'm at a complete loss...

I got a few comments after the last post about the NFL Entry Draft. Some comparisons were made between Jimmy Smith and Pacman Jones. And those comparisons may or may not be warranted. Time will tell. But I do want to remind folks that as far as Pacman Jones is concerned, in the last half of the 2006 season, Pacman was the most electrifying player in the league. Between the punt returns, interceptions & fumble recoveries, Pacman scored at least 5 huge touchdowns for the Titans that season. That will be hard for Smith or anyone else to match. Then again, Smith will have a hard time duplicating the Pacman's rap sheet as well...No one can make it rain like Pacman Jones.

On an NBA Playoff note, if anyone doubted my accuracy in labelling LeBron James as the new Scottie Pippen back last summer, I hope they've been watching the Heat play this post-season. Dwyane Wade is the man.

I've been noticing that something called Fast Five has stormed into theaters. I was surprised to learn that the film had nothing to do with the chronic masturbating habits of a 14 year-old kid...

Sitting Still