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Archive for October, 2005
For several years now, I’ve enjoyed reading Bill Simmons a.k.a. The Sports Guy at ESPN.com
Simmons is a 30-something Boston native that had his own website and a cult following in New England before getting hired by ESPN and getting national exposure and still having a cult following. He also spent a brief time as a writer on “The Jimmy Kimmel Show.” I’d link to that but since I can’t watch it in a top ten television market, then you can’t click a link to the show’s site from here.
Anyway, the guy’s columns are amazing. He writes in depth (and by in depth, I mean often in excess of 4,000 words) about the NBA, pop culture, sports movies, current hot button topics, fantasy sports, or anything else he can think of while gabbing with his boys or watching endless hours of television.
(He’s also now a published author of the book “Now I Can Die In Peace.”)
Anyway, beyond his columns, he also frequently runs a column called “Mail Bag” where he (take a guess here) posts emails he’s received and answers them in the column.
I frequently chuckle out loud while reading his stuff, and the mailbag’s always worth a chuckle or two more. But last night, while reading the current installment, I had two moments where I not only laughed, but I laughed so hard I was gasping for air. So much so that the wife had to come check on me. I then, of course, read them both to her and she did the same thing. Especially for the second one.
Without further adieu, I bring you my two most recent favorite mailbag entries:
Q: As a new father (and especially the father of a girl), you should watch out for the following fantastically horrific trick to play on a buddy with a new daughter: The next time you’re in Vegas and end up in a gentlemen’s establishment, buy the new father a dance, only pay the lady friend a little extra so that during the dance, she tells your buddy her name is [insert buddy’s daughter’s name]. If you watch your boy, you will be able to tell the exact moment at which she reveals her “name.” Yes, I am going to hell.
–Bucky, Houston
SG: I would have found this e-mail 20 times funnier one year ago. But it did get me thinking … do certain names predispose women toward becoming strippers? Like, if we had named my daughter Tiffany, Amber or Desiree, would that have dropped her “becoming a stripper” odds from 100,000-to-1 to 75-1? What happens if you name your daughter “Cinnamon” — does she just start stripping right out of the womb? Or do all strippers have normal names, only they adopt relatively real-sounding pseudonyms when they start working at the gentlemen’s establishment? I wish somebody with an MIT degree and a giant stripper database could figure this out once and for all.
Q: What’s the protocol when you’re at a urinal in a public restroom and you can hear the uh, fireworks, coming from the stall behind you? Is it ever acceptable to crack a joke or is complete silence always a must?
–Big J, West Conshohocken, Pa.
SG: This happened six years ago, when my buddy Geoff and I were in a crowded men’s room at Foxwoods and I dusted off the old “You show that turd who’s boss, buddy” line from “Austin Powers.” Brought the rest room down. And yes, I was just looking for an excuse to write the words, “brought the rest room down.”
Take my word for it. You should read every word this guy writes.
After the four execu-weasels and Trump whore wanna-be’s were fired (again…all four of them in one fell swoop), they all got into the same regular sized taxi. You know, the one that might seat three adults in the back, but only if one’s a midget and one’s anorexic?
Well, after dragging their little carry-on bags out of Trump Towers / Trump Plaza / Trump Look How Small My Penis Is Estates, they got in the cab.
The last 30 seconds of the show is usually dedicated to the shocked and saddened (and sometimes obliviously arrogant) fired employee giving sort of a final statement. I looked at the wife during that commercial break and said “What are they gonna do? Have each person talk for 7.5 seconds? This is gonna be great.”
And when they cut back to the cab, no one said anything.
Not one word.
While funny, I was immediately driven to make a variety of suggestions for what one or all of them should or could have said in that situation.
Understand something here. In that setting and in that situation, a properly delivered line or shot over the bow of another contestant might earn one candidate entry into the reality television Hall of Fame. This was a big moment.
And as I mentioned before, they all sat there saying nothing, letting another chance of a lifetime slip through their oblivious fingers.
So with apologies to David Letterman, here is my list of things one of them (any of them) could have said to make that show ending the king of all reality show endings:
10)Who farted?
9) Did any of you guys tape “Survivor?”
Getting fired here is still WAY better than being on “The Apprentice-Martha Stewart.”
7) George is gonna be so pissed that he missed THAT!
6) That Trump sure is a dick.
5) Well, that went well, don’t you think?
4) So who’s up for Scores?
3) Anybody want a blow job?
2) Ha Ha! You got fired!!
1) Hey everybody, I just farted.
If you didn’t, you might have missed one of the ten best moments in reality tv history.
I didn’t watch the whole thing. )I was busy reading some very funny stuff on the internet that I’ll discuss in a later blog).
I’ll assume that anyone reading this knows what “The Apprentice” is. If you don’t, you and I are obviously not friends, so you can click on “Next Blog” in the top right corner and read about V1@gra or mort@g e lending or something.
Anyway, the two teams were tasked with maximizing sales in some sporting goods store. One team was given the golf department (even though not one person played the game or knew anything about it) and the other was given the baseball department.
Anyway, despite knowing nothing about golf, team one increased sales over 70% during their time period.
Team two decided to build a HUGE indoor batting cage and spent the entire time teaching kids to bat and to play baseball.
And they didn’t sell dick. As a matter of fact, they sold less than dick. Their efforts resulted in a decrease in sales of more than 20%.
Anyway, the team that couldn’t sell sporting goods in a sporting goods store was called into the boardroom. At the end of the initial boardroom visit, Trump lets the project manager bring one, two, and sometimes three people back in with him / her, and then one of those people gets fired.
Last night however, Trump changed the rules. He basically said that the PM sucked so bad, that the PM wouldn’t get to choose who came back into the boardroom. Trump then sent three of the seven back to the suite and ordered the remaining four to return to the boardroom.
Once they returned, the lone woman (Jennifer N.) starts getting blamed big time. Now, I didn’t see the rest of the show, so I’ll reserve judgement on her in particular relating to the task. They clearly all sucked, and that should be that. If they’ve learned nothing more from previous seasons, they should all say the minimum unless directly attacked, don’t interrupt the Trump, and let someone else hang his or herself.
That didn’t happen. When attacked and blamed by the boys, she lashed back, blaming the PM. Everyone started yammering and interrupting and blaming, and even went so far as to say that Trump would be “making a big mistake” to fire them.
(Hold please. I’m watching the video clip of the firing at www.nbc.com)
Watching a girl suddenly go from professional to high school cheerleader is comical. Watching the men go from highly educated professionals to nothing more than a bunch of Bobby Bradys that just broke the lamp but can’t tell the truth is almost worse.
Anyway, after all of the bickering, hemming and hawing, Trump said:
“Jennifer, you’re a bright woman, but on this task you let the team down. You didn’t sell. You failed. You didn’t sell.”
Jen: “You shouldn’t fire me. That’d be making a big mistake. Do you think the project was run properly.”
Other guy: “You failed, Jennifer. You failed. Period. Failed. Failed.”
Trump: “Josh, I think you were a very very ineffective leader. Your decisionmaking was terrible.”
Trump: “In this boardroom, we’ve never had a team lose so badly. You’re all fired. All four are fired….Go home.”
I would pay twenty bucks to see the cock punch look on all of those snotty elitest bastards’ faces on a running loop. The three guys sat there convinced Trump would fire the chick, and in the end, they all got shitcanned.
If you’re not familiar with how the show ends, the fired employee walk out of the building and get into a cab. However, this time, they all got into the same cab. The same cab!!
Stay tuned for my next blog of the day:
Top ten things someone in that cab should have said during the 30 second out shot.
After being terribly inspired last week, I’ve got jack shit this week. Literally. I think it’s due to the exhaustion of this past weekend where we did everything except bring home a new baby. That’s still a couple-three weeks out…hopefully.
I guess I could tell you about the shit for brains parents that we ran into at the local pumpkin patch / abandoned gas station Sunday.
See, they always have the same things around here:
pony rides
a jumpin’ thang
a bunch of pumpkins sorted by size
a gazebo for pettin’ rabbits
And inside the gazebo is a big-ass sign that says:
1) Children must always be accompanied by an adult
2) Don’t let children handle rabbits unless children are seated.
3) Do not remove rabbits from enclosure.
Anyway, this family of fucktards walks in and is there about .000003 seconds before their little angels see the bunny house. They run over and the kids IMMEDIATELY reach in, pick up a rabbit, and bring it outside, where it promptly jumps from their hands, dives thru the fence and heads for the interstate offramp.
Now, I asked the attendant what the fee was for losing a bunny. Without batting an eye he says “Twenty dollars.”
I ask “Is there a dumbass tax too?”
He answers “No, but there oughta be.”
The only other cool thing I can think of off the top of my head is what we cooked Friday and Saturday, which were veal rib chops. Oh, and before I post any scrumptious photos, just shut your judgemental pie hole. If you eat any meat, then veal’s no different than anything else. Just hush.
Here’s a couple of shots of dinner…
Who wants to come over for some ribs or something this weekend?
Oh, and I do need to answer another of my “ask me anything” questions.
Recently I began receiving some emails regarding our 20th high school reunion and on one page, you can enter your current personal info, some photos, etc., and I did so.
I will not post a link here as there is horrid evidence of what appears to be blatant homosexuality in my past. However, I linked to my blog and got a comment / email from someone I hadn’t talked to in probably ten years. I’ll call him Toole.
He asks: Why does Molly stay married to you after all of these years?
In answer to your question Toole, she stays married to me for my physique, my money, and my great looks. Is that not obvious?
Hopefully you’ll read this and either email me again or give us a call. We’re in the book. If you can’t pick me from the small pile that share my surname, the old man’s still the only Floyd I know.
What say you?