Flying Squirrels Attack Genteel Auction House Owners In Sparks, Maryland

I was sitting in this booth at the Wreck Room chatting with some folks and Geilfuss was sitting in the next booth. This blondish chick was sitting at his table. At some point Geilfuss came over to say hello or whatever passes as hello for Geilfuss. At any rate, I asked Geilfuss 2 questions when he approached me. One was, "What's the name of the blonde chick with the crooked nose?" Geilfuss informed me that if I wished to learn crooked-nosed blondie's name, I needed to go ask her myself. He claimed ignorance on the matter (something that's not difficult for Geilfuss to claim, by the way...). My second question for Geilfuss was this: "Does she work in the service industry?" Again Geilfuss feigned ignorance and told me to go talk to her if I really cared about these important matters. I told him not to fret, that I would indeed go speak to crooked-nosed blondie about where she is semi-gainfully employed. Although I knew I would never need to do any such thing. I knew Geilfuss would, by my power of suggestion, get both the girl's name and place of work. And sure enough about a half-hour later Geilfuss comes back over to me and lets me know that the crooked-nosed blonde in question toiled away at a nearby Cheesecake Factory. I told Geilfuss, "I warned you about this." He asked, "How did you know she worked in the service industry?" I told him that I can spot the type a mile away. And I can. These mediocre looking blondes with crooked noses all work as servers or bartenders someplace or other. The one next to Geilfuss at Wreck Room just happened to be plying her wares at Cheesecake Factory. The Jacobys were sitting nearby and wondered why I used the term "service industry." It was a term both Luke & Mark were unfamiliar with entirely. They thought I was using the term "service industry" as some euphemism for hooker or stripper. And that's one thing you gotta love about the Jacobys - they have led some sheltered existences. And they know me. So, they figured any time I use the word service in reference to anything, I must be referring to sex in some form or other. I did point out to both Luke & Mark that the proper term for the business that hookers & strippers inhabit is not service industry at all. It's called the whore industry. Obviously...

Speaking of the Jacobys, I got the opportunity to tour their estate out in Sparks, Md last week. They own an old plantation that they've converted into an auction house where they sell crappy stoneware to unsuspecting tourists several times a year. It's very lucrative from what I could deduce. Hell, Luke showed me a shot glass from the Civil War that went for $2000. I asked him if he minded if I did a shot of rock-gut Scotch out of it. Luke informed me that he did mind. I dropped the subject. I was their guest and all. I didn't wanna make waves or cause trouble. That's not what I'm about. Anyway, on this estate in Sparks, Md the Jacobys are having a dickens of a time fighting off squadrons of flying squirrels. These flying squirrels attack in various formations day and night. I saw this with my own 2 eyes. As all of you know, I love squirrels & let the Jacobys know that in their war with the flying squirrels I was squarely in the squirrels' corner. I asked Mark if he had a clue why these flying squirrels had seemingly singled out the Jacoby Estate for constant barragement. He wasn't quite sure. But he felt like it might have something to do with Barack Obama and some shady tax shelter the Jacobys hide their dough in. I'm not sure if that's true or not. It could be though. Because I know the Jacobys pretty well, and they are not down with Barry's crazy neo-socialist shit. Neither am I. Obviously...

Speaking of Geilfuss, I saw his father over last weekend. I didn't speak to him. But I did see him chatting with Tyson and others. It reminded me of the other time I saw Geilfuss's father. It was about 10 AM one Friday morning. I stumbled out of the Geilfuss basement area after crashing there following a night of getting loaded with Geilfuss. Anyway, my recollection of that event is that Mr Geilfuss was none too pleased that I had parked my car in his driveway overnight. He didn't speak to me, but he did glare. Mr Geilfuss can glare. He's a glarer. I mumbled something like "Good morning, sir." Then got in my car and drove away pretty quickly. Obviously...

Speaking of seeing someone I had only met one other time, I spoke with Andy's Uncle Bill last weekend. He didn't remember me. But I remembered Uncle Bill. The reason being that the only other time I met him, Andy & I were sitting at Get Bent Lounge having a beer when Uncle Bill sits down and after about 3 minutes of conversation asks me this gem, "So, are you one of those trust-fund babies?" I took it as a compliment. Obviously...

Speaking of Get Bent Lounge, the Jacobys were hell bent on going in there last Saturday night to see if Fat Adam was still around. Reluctantly I agreed. We walked into the joint around 11:40 and sure enough, standing at the bar holding court was Fat Adam. He was wearing the same old 5XL black leather duster as always. He was chatting with a butt-ugly fat chick. Sweating his ass off, as always. The Jacobys and I kind of stood back from Fat Adam and this nasty chunky skank he was doing work on. Luke called over to Fat Adam a few times to come talk to us. Alas, Fat Adam was having none of it. He remembers me well. He knew I was gonna mock him right to his face (which he deserves by the way - the kid is one of the worst human beings I've ever met in my life). About 10 minutes passed and Fat Adam wasn't budging away from the work he was doing on this filth riddled fat chick. So, I told the Jacobys to drink up because I was gonna make my over to Fat Adam and say a few things to him. Mark wanted none of that and ran out of the bar. But Luke obliged me. He chugged the rest of his over-priced Get Bent Lounge beer and followed me over to where Fat Adam's massive girth was residing at the moment. I walked up and said, "Good to see you, Adam. Hope you've been well. That leather coat has a very slimming effect on you." He started to beg me to stop. But that cry went unheeded. I continued, "Did you change your jeans today? They look awfully fresh." After a minute of that kind of silliness, I turned my attention to the fat skank Fat Adam was hitting on. And this is where I thought Luke was gonna shit his pants from laughing so hard. I said this to the behemoth, "It's so wonderful that you and Adam have found each other. I'm assuming the 2 of you are engaged. And I wanted to stop by and wish both of you nothing but the best. You've got a real keeper here in Adam. He's one of a kind." She tried to inform me that she and Fat Adam were not engaged or even a couple. Information I was keenly aware of, by the way. I said my goodbyes and raced out of Get Bent Lounge at that juncture. I accomplished what I'd come into the hellhole to accomplish at that point. And I sure as hell didn't want George to notice me. Obviously...

I was out last Friday night at the Bananabees on Padonia. A trivia game broke out same as always. Jeff, the Jacobys, and I played against 20 teams of freaks, losers, and folks with an axe to grind against society. The key to the whole night was our half-Asian, bowl-cut hair wearing server. This kid was huge for an Asian by the way. Like 6'3" and 270. I think the kid's name was Sam. Well, this Sam was perhaps the worst server in the history of serving. He kept interrupting us with inane thoughts when the trivia host was asking a question. At one point I had to the tell the kid, "Don't talk to me. Just keep bringing beer until I tell you to stop." He wanted to know why. I had no interest in explaining why. He then went into a 3 minute talk about the buffalo sauce on the shitty wings they sell. Later he felt the need to explain to Jeff the difference in price between the 16 oz beer and the 23 oz beer. I finally said to Sam, "He doesn't fucking care, dude. He's a thoracic surgeon for God's sake." Sam seemed to not have a clue what the word thoracic meant. And maybe the word surgeon too...As far as the trivia game went, we came in 2nd by 2 lousy points. I missed a Shakespeare related anagram. And that drove me crazy. Anyway, for 2nd place Bananabees gives out a $15 gift card. Woo hoo!!! We decided that our server Sam needed it worse than we did. So, we waited around like 10 minutes after the game to try and give this stupid gift card to the chubby Asian server. And he never turned up. We gave it to a co-worker and promised her to give it to Sam. Before we took off, I ran into the can. And sure enough, there was young Sam coming out of the stall reeking of buffalo sauce and stale cum. Rock on, Sam.

Call the police, there's a madman around

Teaching The Tampon Technique

I'm feeling pretty much shitty today (flu-like crap), but after being in bed for more or less 14 hours, I decided to get off my ass and head to the good old Generic Bread and order some crummy coffee. I brought my laptop along and what the hell, I might as well pass some time blogging. (By the way, I'm feeling so shitty that my typing prowess is worse than normal. Way worse, and normal is terrible. I've been backtracking on just about every word so far...)

I'm not sure how many folks paid any attention last year to that whole story about Arnold Schwarzenegger and that hideous maid he ran around with for years on end. She even had Arnold's love child if I remember correctly. This is apropos of nothing exactly, but with that in mind I was flipping around the old TV last night in my semi-catatonic state and saw that Commando was on the AMC. It's a terrible movie and the violence is silly. Blah, blah, blah. But I noticed that my girl Alyssa Milano was in the movie as well. And that got me to wondering why the hell Arnold didn't look up old Sam from Who's The Boss? when he was looking into cheating on that skeletal looking Kennedy he was mixed up with. I mean, maybe the girl would have shot him down. I have no idea. But to stoop to that little troll maid Arnold was nailing in various pantries on his various estates is flabbergasting. Or Arnold is a straight up pervert. Or both...

Not speaking of Tim Tebow, I got a note on this blog some time back that I should lay off the kid. This was back when Tebow was on his win streak against bad teams. And the truth is that I was actually rooting for the kid all the way up to the Buffalo game. I was betting Denver almost every week there for awhile. And winning. But putting that aside, Tebow still sucks. He can't make NFL throws - at all. I'm gonna roll with Tebow one more time though this Sunday against Pittsburgh. Denver is getting 9 at home and even if Tim Couch, Tim Curry, or Tim Richmond's corpse was QBing for the Broncos I'd bet on them in that situation. Go Tebow!!! As for the other Wild Card games, tease Cincinnati to +9&1/2 and the Under to 45 against Houston, take Under 48 in Atlanta/NYG, and roll with the Lions +10 &1/2 in the dome Saturday night.

You may recall that in a post I put up back like 6 weeks ago, I mentioned getting tossed out of Short Porn Steakhouse on Battleground with Goosie one Friday back in November. And it just so happens that Geilfuss works at a Short Porn Steakhouse up in the Charm City. After reading that post, Geilfuss informed me that he got some Mexican dishwasher in the joint, who speaks very broken English, to start saying Short Porn Steakhouse to all his fellow employees one night. That amused Geilfuss greatly. I smiled myself when the image of some short chubby Mexican dishwasher running around grinning saying "Short Porn, Short Porn, Short Porn" came into my mind. I'm sure the Mexican was deported as a result. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing, as that's one less Obama voter to worry about this fall...

My man and Greensboro's favorite bald-headed bartender, Dave, has been back in town for about a month from some foreign war across some body of water. We've hung out a few times. Anyway, we were sitting up at Wing Joint one night and started discussing the ticket of one of the servers in the joint. It was interesting to say the least. We kept speculating if her ticket was shiny, torn, bloody, etc. When the bloody part was brought up, by me if anyone couldn't figure it out, Dave decided to drop this nugget of info on me : "I don't mind dealing with a bloody ticket at all. I just put a towel down under her ass." I asked, "Do you use a shamwow?" Dave laughed...

Speaking of Wing Joint, I was in there one Friday a few weeks before the old Christmas, and somehow the topic of tampons came up (I believe it was me who brought it up - stunning). Anyway, some chick who Brandon hangs out with from time to time was in there and I inquired if she had a tampon in her purse. Lucky for me she did. So I had her hand it to me. I then proceeded to demonstrate how to properly use one to the barflies gathered around. The picture at the top of this post is proof that my demonstration was very much appreciated. If there's one mechanism I know hot to manipulate it's a damn tampon. Dave would be proud. Obviously...

I stopped in a bar in Durham last week for some of the late afternoon bowl action. It was some dump called Devine's (I couldn't think of a fake name for the place - chalk it up to my illness). Anyway, the regulars in the place were doing a damn fantasy football draft. Yes, a fantasy football draft with one week left in the regular season. It went on for more than an hour. I half felt like stumbling over to them and asking what the hell they were doing. But then I remembered I was in Durham. And in Durham you just don't ask those kinds of questions. You just sit there and hope like hell no one speaks to you. Of course, as all of you know, I never get that lucky. A hard-looking middle-aged woman came up to me and asked if I was a professor at Duke. I quickly replied, "Yep. I teach tampon insertion to the Asian coeds." Alas, this woman didn't laugh. Not only that, but she seemed interested in auditing the class for Spring Semester...

Naive Melody

Saying Good Riddance To 2011

Sorry for the extreme dearth of posts (extreme dearth in this context meaning exactly zero the past month...) here recently. I've been busy and tired and blah, blah, blah. A few faithful readers of this asinine blog got so concerned over my silence that they called or texted inquiring if I was still amongst the living. And I can report, to the utter horror of the stupid barflies everywhere, that I am yet alive. So, there's that I guess.





It's that time of year again. The time of year where I give out fake awards to somewhat real people. New Year's is approaching quickly. And if you thought 2011 blew, wait til 2012 - it's gonna be worse. Way worse. There's that impending election deal where we're likely to have a race that I'm billing as The Muslim vs. The Mormon - wake me when that silly garbage is over. There's also the likelihood that Tim Tebow will continue to be overhyped by the mainstream media. There's also the chance that I'll run into Creech somewhere. There's also the chance that yet another idiot will ask me what the "over" is on a game, instead of what the total is. And last but not least, there's the chance (according to the Mayans or the Incas or the Turks or the one-legged retards) that the world will end next December. Wait! On second thought that is something to look forward to. I'm not getting my hopes up though. Knowing how things work, I'll be sitting somewhere next year at the end of December typing yet another stupid recap to yet another tiresome and stupid year. Good times...





Athlete Of The Year - No one jumps out as much as Landon Donovan did last year, but it's gotta be my man Jimmer Fredette. He was fucking awesome last winter - draining 3 after 3 after 3 for the Mormons. And for the losers who claimed Jimmer's game might not translate to the NBA, while it's only been 3 games, he's coming off the bench and scoring at a brisk clip for the Kings thus far. His jersey is selling like crazy as well. And it's all happening to a devout Mormon. Speaking of being devout, I got into an interesting conversation recently about the virginity status of Jimmer vs Tebow. They both claim to have never shot their wad into the old fish hole. So, the question was this: who are you more likely to believe to actually be a virgin? Who is not feeding the world an odious pack of sex lies? Jimmer or Tebow. I personally believe both of them when they say they're virgins. But some dude I was talking to was going on about how Tebow is an anti-Christ or fake or whatever. I have no clue if Tebow is a lying false prophet or not. But I don't THINK he's a false prophet. I think Tebow is a super sincere Christian who can't throw a damn football to save his life. But he's not a liar. As for Jimmer, he's getting hitched next June & if you've seen his fiance, the kid's gonna be tired next summer. I mean exhausted from all that pious Mormon fucking...





Barfly Of The Year - Another tough one this year. Last year Bill from Cleveland walked away with this award easily. This year is another matter entirely. For one thing, I ran into Bill way less frequently this year than last. For another, I started going into Sloppys on a much more regular basis. This year you may recall I mentioned Moose from time to time. I mentioned the toothless hockey guy once. I even wrote a whole post about creepy gay Larry giving me money. And I constantly noted the plethora of idiot Duke fans that inhabit Sloppys. None of them get the award however. The barfly of the year is this cat at Sloppys who is actually dating Michigan Molly. Dating that nasty-ass, slurry speeched, wart-faced drunk. I don't recall the name of the barfly that is giving the old high hard one to Michigan Molly on the regular. But I think he might be a Scott. He sure looks like a damn Scott. You know the type - all prison tats, shitty sweatshirts, & a Mr Clean dome... (By the way, no offense to few the Scotts who are the outliers here -as several read this blog)





Celebrity Death Of The Year - Gotta be my man Kim Jong the Second. You remember, the kid who shot a round of golf at 34 under par - the 1st time he played. The kid who bowled a perfect 300 on one single limp-wristed toss of the bowling ball. The kid who was such a huge Michael Jordan fan that that fat-assed Secretary of State, one Hillary Clinton, gave Mr the Second an autographed Jordan ball in hopes of de-thawing US/N Korean relations (at least Ms Clinton didn't offer to actually have relations with Mr the Second - yuk!). Now that Kim Jong has moved on to that great circle jerk party in the sky to join the likes of Abraham Lincoln & Adolph Hitler in eternal tyrant meat beating, his son, one Kim Jong Un has assumed the position here on earth. I have high hopes for the kid. For one thing, Kim Jong Un (I guess he'll go by Kim Jong the Third) sports the fade haircut - something not seen since noted Scientology freak Will Smith wore a fade back on the Fresh Prince of Bel Air with that kid who was the token black friend on Silver Spoons. The other thing about Kim Jong Un that is a big plus is his fascination with another NBA superstar, Toni Kukoc. It's been reported that Un is in love with Kukoc and that sure is swell to here. If we can get Hillary Clinton, Kim Jong Un, and Toni Kukoc in a room together world peace will be assured. Either that or the smelliest threesome ever will ensue. Either way.





Sporting Event Of The Year - This one's easy. And possibly the greatest game I've witnessed since the 2005 TOSU/Michigan game (where the 10 led TOSU from 2 scores down in the 4th quarter). Urgent Score Update From Columbus, Ohio - right at the corner of Lane Ave and Olentangy River Rd: TOSU 85 Duke 63. A complete crucifixion. Our favorite Hitler wannabe, one Coach K, noted that his butt hurt after the slaughtering he got from Thad Matta and company. And that comment really surprised me. Why, you may ask? Because I figured one thing that Coach K is intimately familiar with is his butt being sore from all that "horseplay" that's inevitably gone in the Duke team shower room the past 30 years...





That's it for me - til next time in 2012.

Rape? Rape? Hell No, It's All Just Harmless Horseplay

I was out a week ago Friday and ran to Goosie at Wing Joint. He suggested we take a quick trip up Battleground to his old place of semi-employment, the Short Porn Steakhouse. It was like 9 or so and I had nothing better to do. So I acquiesced and rode up the road (funny how that phrase rolls off the old keyboard) with Goosie. We walked into the bar area and Goose started chatting with the various meth-head servers at Short Porn that he's trying to nail. Me? I just sat at the bar and drank a beer. About a half hour passes and Goose is telling all sorts of tales to a very half-interested audience of skanky servers. Someone asked me to tell a joke. And as all of you know, I don't tell jokes. But I was nice. I told this gem, "A termite walks into a bar and asks 'is the bar tender here?'" Then I started laughing uncontrollably. Then Goose started laughing uncontrollably. At this point it was like 10. I had drank 2 beers. I ordered a third. The chick tending bar ignored me at first. Then informed me that the manager had cut me off. Did I mention I'd had 2 beers? This manager fellow ambles very awkwardly behind the bar to do something with the cash register. He was a middle-aged bald man with a huge gut. This heavy manager was wearing what appeared to be a dark greenish dress shirt. I decided to engage him in conversation, seeing as I was stone cold sober and he'd just cut me off and all. I asked this fat manager, "What color is your shirt?" He said. "Brown." I said, "I think it's more of a taupe to be honest with you. But whatever it is, the color has a very slimming effect on your massive girth." At that point, knowing what was inevitably coming next, I got up, screamed over to Goose that we're out of here, and strode out of the bar. It was quite an experience - getting cut off at the Short Porn Steakhouse for telling a joke about a termite. It could only happen to me...

I just saw a comment that someone left recently on this stupid blog. In it, the commenter was concerned I might be going to hell for the things I write on here. Now, if there is a hell, I certainly will be there right beside Geilfuss & Ross and it will suck and all. But I'm not going to hell for anything I've written on here. Any damage I've done on here is a mere petty crime against the Lord. It's everything else I've done that I'd have to be worried about. Of course the worst part of hell would be listening to Ross bitch for eternity about the quality of the Scotch available. That would get old quickly. Quickly...

Another pitiful Thanksgiving has come and gone. Gobble. Gobble. Whatever.

I was out at Sloppys for Thanksgiving Eve. The Indian owner of the joint threw a party for his best customers where he had a buffet of Thanksgiving favorites available (ham, turkey, potted meat...). Now, there's no way I'm one of his best customers. But one of the servers in the joint slipped me a free invite to this party and I will eat some free potted meat. So, I showed up. All the regular Sloppys degenerates were there. Moose and his crew. Creepy gay Larry. Scores of toothless Duke fans. Fat women. Skanks. It was about what you'd expect. At one point Brandon & I were outside smoking with this homeless kid who hangs around the Subway next door. This homeless kid was interested in getting some of the free buffet. I told him that I'd be happy to get him a plate, but instead of eating it he'd be better off just taking the food into the shitter and tossing it down. At least he'd be cutting out the middleman that way...

Someone at work in Durham asked me if they could follow me on Twitter. I said, "No."

Some of you may remember a post back in September in which I described my man Legend - you remember, the kid who claimed he just "takes shots and pulls women." I ran into Legend again last Sunday at the infamous Kickin Chicken. I did not see his running buddy Closer with him this time. Legend was at the end of the back bar hitting on 2 chicks with Kirstie Alley like figures. And yes, he was buying shots like his hair was on fire. I counted three rounds of shots for him and his fair-haired buxom babes in like 45 minutes. Eventually I walked over to Legend and we exchanged pleasantries. In fact, Legend hugged me like we were long lost twins or something. I'd only hung out with the guy once and given him a bad football pick to boot. But Legend is a very gregarious guy. He's a real people person. Much like I'd be, if I didn't hate everybody. Anyway, I got to chatting with one of the buxom babes Legend was trying to make time with. She is a social studies teacher at a local high school. What I started doing to amuse myself was debate with this social studies teacher about how many amendments there are to the US Constitution. She kept saying 27 and I kept insisting it was at least 3,000. At least, maybe more. No one can be certain. She tolerated my silliness okay. She kept running her hand threw her hair - a telltale sign that a girl might be DTF, as my man The Situation might say. I was not DTF myself. I'm more DTM - down to mock - most days anyway. I think this voluptuous social studies teacher might have caught on that I was fucking with her a little when I went off on a long tirade against the Treaty of Ghent. I'm against all treaties. Ghent. Versailles. Paris. Westphalia. Whatever. Treaties suck.

I heard a little more about this situation at Penn St. Remember this, at Penn State there's no rape. It's just horseplay. Rape? No. Just horseplay. The rhythmic slapping of ass cheeks - that's just horseplay. I'm gonna start calling Penn State Horseplay U. Because at Penn St there is no rape, it's all just fucking horseplay...

Like, Like, Like, Like, Like, Like, Like...

The last I mentioned my new favorite Russian emigre, one Vladimir Grammer, I noted that Vladimir had posted on the Faceshit that he was in a "relationship" with a chick that resembled a retarded Christina Ricci. Well, that special "relationship" is over. Kaput. Done. Vladimir has moved on to another young babe in the greater Baltimore metro area. Yes, according to his Faceshit page, Vladimir is now in a "relationship" with a chick who works at Friendly's Ice Cream, is studying locksmithing at a community college, and looks like a dude on meth. A photo of the two lovebirds making googly eyes at each other appears on Vladimir's Faceshit page (Vladimir & I are are now "friends" via the Faceshit - why he contacted me to be his friend is beyond me...). Now, you may think that being in a "relationship" with a chick who scoops shitty ice cream, looks like a man, is methed out, & is involved in the shady world of picking locks would be a bad thing. But it's not a bad thing. It's a step up from being in a "relationship" with a harelipped retard. A huge step. Huge. Go Vladimir...

Speaking of Faceshit, I've been at it again with hitting the "Like" button all over the place. Recently I saw a bunch of stuff about someone being forced out of their home due to some fire damage. I was hitting "Like" all over that shit. Like, Like, Like, Like, Like, Like...

Huge start to the college hoops season last night, as Belmont covered the 11&1/2 like champions against Duke. Right at tip off out at Sloppys, 2 Duke fans were running their mouths about how Duke should bury Belmont by 25. I asked these morons if they remembered the NCAA tourney game in 2008 between the Devils and Bruins - the one Duke pulled out mainly due to pitiful coaching decisions the last minute by Belmont. These dudes had no clue what I was talking about. True Duke fans there. That game was only 3 &1/2 years ago. I remember it like it was played last night. And these huge Duke fans were totally clueless. The fact is that Belmont has made the NCAA tournament 4 straight years. If you follow hoops you know they're good. But Duke fans don't follow hoops. They follow Duke. They are not hoops fans in the least. They're front runners who buy clothes with Duke written all over the place - hats, sweatshirts, t-shirts, coats, panties, garters, corsets, baby dolls, anything without a crotch, etc. They didn't go to Duke. They couldn't tell you the name of the starting quarterback for the Duke football team (the kid's name is Renfree by the way, and he's not bad). Hell, they probably couldn't get to Durham even with a GPS. But they like to associate with a winner. Sad, Sad, Sad...

Speaking of Sloppys and tip off, just before the UNC/Mich St game last night, Moose was running his mouth about Carolina winning by 20. I yelled across the bar that I'd take as much of that as he'd give me (the real line was 9). And Moose backed right off. He's not stupid. Good thing for him too, as the Heels did not cover any 20 damn points...

Speaking of the UNC/Mich St game last night, I saw where our fake leader, one Barack Hussein Obama, was there catching the game with, who appeared to be, James Harrison sitting to his right. I know the Steelers are getting prepared for their huge game in Cincinnati Sunday. And I know Harrison has been battling some injuries the last few weeks. So, given all that, you can imagine my surprise to see Harrison, in full drag, sitting next to Barry at this silly game being played on a boat. Very odd...

I keep seeing ads for a movie version of Puss In Boots everywhere. And I feel like I'd be totally lost if I saw this film. You see, I haven't read the book. I haven't read a book. I'm functionally illiterate. But I am lactose tolerant. I've got that going for me. I'll drink some damn 2% milk anytime I fucking want. In fact, I'm leaving for some right now...

What Happens In Joe Paterno's Team Showers...

A reader of this blog was curious if I was gonna weigh in on this story out of State College, PA about pedophilia, cover-ups, & evil. And I would, but it's so bad that silly jokes about it seem inappropriate. Like I could point out the irony of the name of the kid who walked in on Jerry Sandusky raping a helpless kid in Joe Paterno's team shower being McQueary. But that's a little classless. I won't go there. There was always something about Mr Paterno that seemed phony to me. But I figured over time that I might be wrong about that. I kind of decided that maybe he was just a strange old man that I couldn't relate to. Well, now I know that I was right about not being able to relate to Mr Paterno and about him being a phony. I would never act as an enabler for a buddy of mine to rape innocent young boys in the showers of my football facility. And give him an office in my football facility that acted as little more than a de facto staging area to rape little boys right and left. That I can't relate to. I am a terrible, terrible person. But that kind of behavior would never occur to me. Mr Paterno has exhibited a level of evil seldom seen outside of Mohamed Atta's apartment during the 90's as he was getting ready to execute the plan for 9/11. Since Mr Paterno did not break the law, he will walk free and live out the rest of his life in semi-dementia clamoring against mysterious forces who he will claim have wronged him. He'll be pitiful. If he's lucky, he'll die pretty soon.

As far as Mr Sandusky is concerned, he's truly the lucky man. To have a friend with the power of Mr Paterno, who basically bankrolled his predilection for raping little boys for decades, was very fortunate. The fact that Mr Paterno made it possible for Mr Sandusky to continue raping little boys until the ripe old age of 66 or 67 has to be considered a real stroke of fortune for him. Now, what will happen to Mr Sandusky at this point is one of two things. He'll go to prison and have holy hell brought down on him by the sodomites. In other words, he'll have his ass pounded so badly that he poops cum the rest of his life. And since Mr Sandusky has to know this, the other possibility of what will happen seems much more likely. He'll take the easy way out and kill himself. Mark my words.

As for the little boys who were raped, used, abused, and tossed aside to be scarred for life by Mr Sandusky and, by extension, Mr Paterno, you have to hope they aren't totally doomed. But I bet they are doomed. Not to get all serious, but I can promise everyone reading this blog that being abused by a pedophile is not something you put in the past. It's not possible. You just cope. That's it. And I wish I believed in hell, because men like Mr Sandusky deserve an eternity of getting ass slammed by old school pipe-hitting brothers. But hell doesn't exist. The closest thing to it is being an 8 year-old kid who gets to fulfill a dream and attend some program for underprivileged youth at the Penn State football facility. A kid who is really excited about being there and hanging out with his heroes, the Nittany Lion players and coaches. But instead of having the time of his young life, he gets raped by Jerry Sandusky in Joe Paterno's shower room. That's an all too real hell.

The Durham Rules

I'm not gonna make fun of Tim Tebow's 2nd straight awful performance, this latest one coming against Detroit last Sunday. The kid can't play. But it is worth noting a new phenomenon called Tebowing. I was out last Sunday at the infamous Kickin Chicken for Sunday Ticket & during the 4 o'clock games, when Denver was playing the Lions, I started Tebowing right in the middle of the back bar. There were about 50 or 60 folks in the area at the time. What I would do is this - anytime Tebow was sacked or threw a pitiful girly like toss wide of his target, which was often, I'd drop to one knee, put my elbow on dropped knee, and bow my head like I was praying - in other words I was Tebowing. The first couple times I Tebowed, the folks around me, who were paying zero attention to the Bronco game, looked at me like I was crazy. But after awhile, even the dumbest Steelers' fans caught on to what I was doing. And everyone was laughing their asses off. I must have Tebowed 10 or 12 times in total. I liked Tebowing. I encourage everyone to get to a bar for Sunday Ticket tomorrow and Tebow during the Oakland/Denver game. The reason to try and get out tomorrow to Tebow is that I'm not sure how many more chances you'll have to Tebow. I can't imagine John Fox & John Elway continuing to start Tebow for much longer unless he shows dramatic improvement - which is not impossible, but highly unlikely. So, get out there & Tebow now while you have the opportunity, because those opportunities are dwindling - quickly.

Speaking of last weekend's Sunday Ticket, it happened to fall on the day before Halloween. Now, as I've mentioned before on this pathetic blog, I don't generally dress up for the occasion. But I made a rare exception last week. I went to Sunday Ticket as the 10, Troy Fucking Smith, as I donned my #10 Ravens' jersey for the 1st time since the AFC Championship game in January of 2009. When I informed several folks of this weird turn of events via text, I got a couple interesting replies. Geilfuss noted that the 10 & I do kinda look alike. And Luke of Jacoby fame responded by inquiring if I was in blackface. And the answer was no, I was not in blackface. Lots of brothers come into the Kickin Chicken for Sunday Ticket & I didn't want to explain to a hundred of them why I was wearing blackface. That could of got testy, to say the least.

Speaking of Halloween costumes, Brandon was also out in costume for Sunday Ticket. He donned a #22 Cowboys' jersey and old school Cowboys' hat. In other words, Brandon was an obnoxious Dallas fan for Halloween. And I gotta say, Brandon came through like a champion as an obnoxious Dallas fan. During the Cowboy/Philly game, Brandon screamed for a penalty flag to be called on the Eagles on just about every play - just like all Dallas fans. He also kept screaming, "Let's go Romo!" - again just like a typical Dallas fan. I was amused greatly by the shenanigans. I contributed a bit myself to the frivolity. I contributed by yelling, "Ron Mexico is a convicted felon!" every time Mike Vick dropped back to pass. Or yelling, "Pedophile!" every time the camera caught a glimpse of Andy Reid. We had the regulars in the Wing Joint laughing uncontrollably. In fact, at one point, my man Goosie looked over, between fits of laughter, and said, "That is so wrong." He had a point...

I mentioned in a previous post that I've been working over in the Bull City recently, Durham, North Carolina to be exact. Anyway, I won't go into my typical and tired disdain for Durham yet again. I'm sure everyone is sick of that. Instead, I'm gonna delve into some of the unique laws that are only on the books in Durham (and possibly Ann Arbor, Cambridge, & Berkeley). For instance, did you know that in Durham it is illegal to walk past a homeless person with a bag of food in your hand? It's 100% true. The rationale behind this ordinance is that homeless folks feel bad enough about being homeless already, and to walk past one with a tasty sandwich or taco or gyro is rubbing in the fact that the homeless people can't afford to get a tasty lunch for themselves. It's a very thoughtful law, if you ask me. I got a ham & swiss on rye the other day for lunch. While walking back to the office I saw a homeless gentleman standing on a corner. And I really didn't want to get in trouble with the Durham PD. So, I stopped in my tracks and wolfed down my sandwich. I was sensitive. I didn't break any laws. And the homeless fellow didn't feel like less of a person. Win. Win. Win. Another interesting statute unique to Durham regards getting rid of trash. As I've mentioned before on this stupid blog, trash cans are outlawed in Durham. You can't find one anywhere. I know on the face of it, this law seems ridiculous. But it's not. The reason there are no trash cans in Durham is that the city wants people to discard their garbage right on the city sidewalks. This way, if there is some bread crust or the odd french fry lying around, the hungry illegal immigrants that permeate Durham don't have to go through the humiliating ritual of digging edible food out of a garbage can. They can simply pick up the edible trash right off the ground and enjoy a free & nutritious treat with no hassle. It's a very enlightening concept if you think about it. One final interesting law of note involves looking people in the eye as you pass them on the street. It's forbidden. And with good reason. I learned this the hard way a number of years ago. I was ambling down 9th St and walked by a homely Duke grad student. I made the error of saying, "Good afternoon," as I walked by her, looking her straight in the eye, just as I was raised to do in the orphanage years ago. Big mistake on my part. A minute later, a very nice Durham police officer stopped me. She explained to me that I had really hurt this homely girl's feelings by looking her in the eye. The female cop told me that it was very jarring & unsettling for this young ugly Dukie. It was the first time any man had looked at her since she moved to Durham. I guess at orientation, all new Dukie men are told to never look a Dukie woman in the face. It has long term scarring effects on them. The rationale being that no man has ever made eye contact with them before and to do so would freak these girls out to the point where they'd need months of counseling to venture back out of the library. I do know this, I haven't made that mistake again. It's all about live & learn in the Bull City. And I'm an idiot, but a quick learning idiot. So, I've got that going for me...