As the Man Palace's official representative in Washington, there are a few issues I believe should be codified into law.
1. Start the baseball season earlier - Don't get me wrong, I like watching hockey and basketball. But the void which begins the night after the superbowl and extends into September is horrible. I was listening to NPR the other day and the dj says this:
"And now for a sport's update...."
"There are no minnesota teams in action tonight"
"this concludes the sports update"
If we could get baseball started around February and finished up around August, it would prevent situations such as this. It would also alleviate the jam in October when I need to decide between watching college football highlights, pro football highlights or the World Series. I get irritated when there is an embarrassment of riches like this.
2. See my previous post on anti-lefty discrimination. I'm outraged.
3. Put adult videos on Netflix. That would be cool.
4. Mandate the usage of two ply in all federal buildings. How can I be expected to work when I'm chafing?
5. Revoke Title 9. I demand less women's crew and more money pouring into my football program. (I'm going to catch it from Mrs. Shakleford for this)
6. Remove the stigma around farting. You can sneeze and that's ok. Why can't I let fly in peace?
Friday, January 30, 2009
Lefties Rock
As someone who struggles to write without smearing his ink and has faced years of discrimination based on what side I address the golf ball, I feel a certain amount of compassion for my fellow lefties. Sitting in my office taking in the heartpounding action on MSNBC, I noticed that Barack Obama was performing a familiar action. His elbow firmly planted on the table, he was awkwardly jutting his arm foward while curving his wrist back as he scrawled his name onto some meaningless executive orders. I looked a little further and noticed it was his left arm that was controlling the pen. I felt a rush of excitement as I realized I now have a person in whom I can share my hopes, my dreams, and my fears. Yes, our President is left handed.We have equal opportunity based on sex, race, religion blah blah blah. But there is a crisis in America. Millions of people across this fair land face unspeakable hardship in their day to day life based on which hand they favored as toddlers. It's time for change. As our president, I feel like there are certain actions President Obama should take to better the life of lefties everywhere.
1. Make all desks in public schools uni-hand. The prime directive (lol star trek) of any K-12 student is to blend in with the background. Many of us must have learned the hard way (like when I still wore sweat pants every day in High School) that if you do something that makes you stand out, you will be mocked/teased incesantly. As a lefty with horrible penmanship, I needed to use all of the weapons in my arsenal to bring my writing towards legibility. One of these tricks was to have proper elbow support, which stemmed from the special "lefty" desks which were always placed in the front row of the class. There is nothing worse than on the first day of class having to ask the super hot girl with the tramp stamp and Silver jeans to move so that you can sit in the retard desk.
2. Change which hands we shake with - Who decided that the right hand should be favored in formal introductions? I don't want your spank juice on my mouse clicking hand (although speaking of spank juice, it's nice to be able to navigate the web while keeping up a steady pumping motion). Lets switch things up, I don't like coming to your home territory and your strong side, it leaves me at a disadvantage. I'll extend my left hand, how about you sort that one out?
3. Switch to English style cars - I can barely drive a stick shift. But maybe I'd be better if Detroit weren't so discriminatory. The English have tried for years to make up for the atrocities committed against my people, maybe it's about time for America to pay up too.
4. Stop dehumanizing lefties - The name "southpaw" offends me. No one cares about oppression of left handed people until we need a lefty pitcher against a lefty batter in a late inning situation. The term "southpaw" includes the word "paw", an anatomical piece of mammals other than humans. Today, in the land of the free, how is it that we are still degrading people to the level of dogs based on the way they throw a ball? Take a good look in the mirror America, discrimination is far from dead.
I think there needs to be proper acknowledgement of lefties roles in history. Joan of Arc, Alexander the Great, Bill Clinton: all great lefties. I hope that President Obama will take a second to focus on this very pressing issue.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Real Fucking Classy
48 Days.48 fucking days without a live Gopher's hockey game.
This Saturday at 6:07 pm (notice the early start, folks) I will finally get to see my first Gophers game live since December 14th, a disappointing loss to CC.
I've been watching this to get pumped up, even though the game Saturday is against Cindy Brady State.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Observations
So I understand that career fairs help sob-seekers learn about companies they may have otherwise passed up. Even if you didn't manage to take a look at the list of attending companies, one would think you could read the banner on the front of the table. I really wish I had my camera to better explain where I'm coming from but let me try to describe the situation. Picture three white male's in suits lined up to talk to this table. The sign behind the table reads, "The mission of INROADS is to develop and place talented minority youth in business and industry and prepare them for corporate and community leadership." All the representatives standing there happen to be of minority descent. So... huh? "I kan reed gud."
Anyways, has anyone seen my black shoes?
Anyways, has anyone seen my black shoes?
Sunday, January 18, 2009
You Look So Beautiful Tonight
Man Night '09
Women like to have their time together where they go get makeovers and talk shit about men. This leaves the mice to play while the catty women are away. That's how the first Man Night occurred back in the spring of '08. While Rusty's significant other and her friends had their own getaway entitled "Pink Panty Pulldowns" (there's some story there, but I don't know what it is...or care), the rest of us decided to have a "Jockstrap Jazzercise." Thankfully, we quickly dropped the name, and instead used it as the team name at trivia night.
The innagural night consisted of watching the Gophers hockey game while playing Edward 40-Hands, then stumbling to the Man Palace to play beer pong and crash the neighbors kegger. Its was a good night.
The second annual Man Night occurred last Saturday as a final hurrah before Rusty ventured to DC for a fancy internship. The night started at the Man Palace where beer pong was played before heading to a FREE Minnesota Swarm game. I've only seen about 10 minutes total of lacrosse in my life, but it seemed interesting. We arrived at the game with a very pleasant buzz going and full bladders from the 40 minute bus ride. (Actually, one of us arrived at the X with an empty bladder because he couldn't hold it anymore and had to exit the bus early to piss in an alley.) As we rushed through the door on a bee-line to the potties, a kindly old greeter met my eye and asked if I needed to buy tickets while pointing to the ticket office. The look in my eyes must have communicated the direness of the situation as I shook my head, as he simply said "Bathrooms?" while pointing to the nearest commode.
The attendance of the Swarm game was listed as 13,000, their highest turnout in their history. Because the Xcel holds more than 18,000, the sight of an empty upper deck was slightly depresssing. However, we did our best to make up for the lack of a fan base by screaming from the first faceoff. I noticed quickly that two Swarm employees were keeping a close eye on us. I'm used to this from being watched like a hawk at Mariucci, but we weren't swearing or interfereing with others viewing pleasure. Five minutes later, one of these employees came and sat by us and asked to have a word. How we were getting yelled at by security five minutes into the game was beyond me, but to all of our surprise, he started handing out tickets to the next home game, located in the suites. Apparenlty we had been named the fans of the game.
Our moment of fame soon came when the 40-year-old dance team came over along with a camera man, our cue to start acting like dumbasses. We waved our tickets and gave the "We're #1" and thumbs up for what seemed like five minutes while we were on the Jumbotron, before the camera turned off and the dance team made an ego-bruisingly fast exit. The Scarlet Avenger also texted in to try and win tickets to the WCHA championship game, which of course he found out he won the next day.
In order to catch an earlier bus to get more drinking in, the Wells Fargo College Fans of the Game left with 10 minutes left. As we went in the elevator, we were talking about our good fortunes, and the elevator operator asked us how we had won tickets. Rusty summed it up best. "We were the drunkest ones here."
At the bus stop, the Avenger discovered a substance which he believed to be gum (even though it was "greasy" and would come off on his fingers) on his jeans. "Maybe one of the cheerleaders spit it on you." "THOSE FUCKING SLUTS!" When we got on the bus, he discovered it was actually mustard, and it didn't come from the cheerleaders.
The rest of the night was slightly less eventful. The usual beer pong, tippy cup, and Tourette's. There was also cigar smoking and pissing in the snow. Overall, it was a good night.
The innagural night consisted of watching the Gophers hockey game while playing Edward 40-Hands, then stumbling to the Man Palace to play beer pong and crash the neighbors kegger. Its was a good night.
The second annual Man Night occurred last Saturday as a final hurrah before Rusty ventured to DC for a fancy internship. The night started at the Man Palace where beer pong was played before heading to a FREE Minnesota Swarm game. I've only seen about 10 minutes total of lacrosse in my life, but it seemed interesting. We arrived at the game with a very pleasant buzz going and full bladders from the 40 minute bus ride. (Actually, one of us arrived at the X with an empty bladder because he couldn't hold it anymore and had to exit the bus early to piss in an alley.) As we rushed through the door on a bee-line to the potties, a kindly old greeter met my eye and asked if I needed to buy tickets while pointing to the ticket office. The look in my eyes must have communicated the direness of the situation as I shook my head, as he simply said "Bathrooms?" while pointing to the nearest commode.
The attendance of the Swarm game was listed as 13,000, their highest turnout in their history. Because the Xcel holds more than 18,000, the sight of an empty upper deck was slightly depresssing. However, we did our best to make up for the lack of a fan base by screaming from the first faceoff. I noticed quickly that two Swarm employees were keeping a close eye on us. I'm used to this from being watched like a hawk at Mariucci, but we weren't swearing or interfereing with others viewing pleasure. Five minutes later, one of these employees came and sat by us and asked to have a word. How we were getting yelled at by security five minutes into the game was beyond me, but to all of our surprise, he started handing out tickets to the next home game, located in the suites. Apparenlty we had been named the fans of the game.
Our moment of fame soon came when the 40-year-old dance team came over along with a camera man, our cue to start acting like dumbasses. We waved our tickets and gave the "We're #1" and thumbs up for what seemed like five minutes while we were on the Jumbotron, before the camera turned off and the dance team made an ego-bruisingly fast exit. The Scarlet Avenger also texted in to try and win tickets to the WCHA championship game, which of course he found out he won the next day.
In order to catch an earlier bus to get more drinking in, the Wells Fargo College Fans of the Game left with 10 minutes left. As we went in the elevator, we were talking about our good fortunes, and the elevator operator asked us how we had won tickets. Rusty summed it up best. "We were the drunkest ones here."
At the bus stop, the Avenger discovered a substance which he believed to be gum (even though it was "greasy" and would come off on his fingers) on his jeans. "Maybe one of the cheerleaders spit it on you." "THOSE FUCKING SLUTS!" When we got on the bus, he discovered it was actually mustard, and it didn't come from the cheerleaders.
The rest of the night was slightly less eventful. The usual beer pong, tippy cup, and Tourette's. There was also cigar smoking and pissing in the snow. Overall, it was a good night.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Friday, January 16, 2009
Echoes of Larry
As I sat within the confines of a 4x2 stall in the MSP airport, I had some time to think. It dawned on me that on this very spot some 500 days ago, Larry Craig made history. Within this DMZ of Mantopia, Senator Craig violated the borders of another’s sanctum. What could this pope of the poop have been thinking as he shook loose the digits of his left foot, extended them into the neighboring workspace and performed a distinctive Astaire?
-“Man, I’ve got all of this luggage, I’m feeling pretty cramped”
Have you every tried to use the bathroom at an airport? Everyone standing shoulder to shoulder at the urinals with their luggage crammed between their legs, trying desperately to shake without spilling on the samsonite. It’s even worse in the stall. By the time you hang your coat, wheel in your bag and deploy your legs, shit’s getting crazy.
-“What’s with the opera music? It sounds like Block E in here”
-A rarity in bathrooms these days is a good elevator track. You know the one, the smooth bass undertow coupled with a wailing sax, screeching out the melody to a top 40’s hit from 1982. While I’m squatting like a bonobo, nothing can be worse than a loud noise which shakes me from my focus. Pooping is a special time and a loud escapee echoing throughout the can is a devastating disruptor to my daily ritual.
-“uh… why are there they paper things in back of the shitter?”
I must have been raised in a special place, where Hep C didn’t rule the land. We didn’t have the little dispenser discretely located in back of the flush handle which distributed paper seat covers to any and all who required them. These throw me off my game, if I do a rightward oscillation to perform a basic wiping stroke, I don’t want to fall of the seat. During the nirvana following a successful delivery, I don’t want to bust an O-ring by being dumped unceremoniously to the floor. I’ll take my chances with the Hep.
With all these thoughts pulsing through his mind, it’s no wonder his foot got carried away. As a fellow pooper, I think it’s only proper that we gather together and cut this guy some slack. Fuck the police anyways, the guy that busted them ain’t nothing but a turd burglar.
-“Man, I’ve got all of this luggage, I’m feeling pretty cramped”
Have you every tried to use the bathroom at an airport? Everyone standing shoulder to shoulder at the urinals with their luggage crammed between their legs, trying desperately to shake without spilling on the samsonite. It’s even worse in the stall. By the time you hang your coat, wheel in your bag and deploy your legs, shit’s getting crazy.
-“What’s with the opera music? It sounds like Block E in here”
-A rarity in bathrooms these days is a good elevator track. You know the one, the smooth bass undertow coupled with a wailing sax, screeching out the melody to a top 40’s hit from 1982. While I’m squatting like a bonobo, nothing can be worse than a loud noise which shakes me from my focus. Pooping is a special time and a loud escapee echoing throughout the can is a devastating disruptor to my daily ritual.
-“uh… why are there they paper things in back of the shitter?”
I must have been raised in a special place, where Hep C didn’t rule the land. We didn’t have the little dispenser discretely located in back of the flush handle which distributed paper seat covers to any and all who required them. These throw me off my game, if I do a rightward oscillation to perform a basic wiping stroke, I don’t want to fall of the seat. During the nirvana following a successful delivery, I don’t want to bust an O-ring by being dumped unceremoniously to the floor. I’ll take my chances with the Hep.
With all these thoughts pulsing through his mind, it’s no wonder his foot got carried away. As a fellow pooper, I think it’s only proper that we gather together and cut this guy some slack. Fuck the police anyways, the guy that busted them ain’t nothing but a turd burglar.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Monday, January 5, 2009
Will I Ever Learn?
There is one area of a man's body that he is born with the ability to instinctively protect. It goes by many names; gonads, nuts, manhood, the family jewels, you get the point. We've all come to grips with the fact that their protection is not always guaranteed and therefore we take extra measures to protect them, read: nutcup.
However, there will always come an occasion when one slips by. It happens to everyone sooner or later. I've taken my share playing soccer as a young lad. In fact, I'm told that it's the reason my fiddlestick curves slightly to the left. Whoever invented the sport didn't think it was necessary to include the cup in the required equipment. By all means, protect your shins but testicles, lets leave that optional. This guy may beg to differ. But I digress.
Anyways, I've played pond hockey for a long time. I've considered wearing a cup but until now I never thought that the games I played were aggressive enough to require said protection. As you may have guessed by now, I was wrong. It all happened very quickly, I'm not even entirely sure what transpired. I was skating around the last defender within sight of our goal/shoe when all of a sudden I was face down on the ice with an excruciating pain emanating from my nether regions. In futile attempt to stop my offenses, that defender's boot had found its why straight into my aforementionables.
The crew gathered round, not really sure what had happened; someone had the nerve to say, "At least you scored. That's 4-0. We're playing to five, ready for one more?"
"No you dumbshit. I wanna see if I still have all my necessary equipment," I thought. Doing a quick check, my hand came out of my shorts free of blood. That's a good sign.
In my agony, I called it a night and waddled on home. Grabbing a bag of vegetables from the freezer I sat down and began to asses the damage. My testicles were still throbbing but they hadn't retracted into my abdomen so I figured I was good. But my trouser snake... the poor guy hung like a pear between my legs. The lower third was swollen to the point of near-erection girth. Forth those of you in need of more description I have provided a schematic as follows. I immediately reapplied the ice pack. Praying for the best I spent the rest of the night relatively immobile.
Twenty hours later I am happy to say that all has returned to normal. It's still a little tender and I have yet to go for a test flight but my spirits are high and I remain optimistic. I will however, be patronizing my local sporting goods store in the near future. As a humanitarian, I suggest you all do the following. Unless you are too manly.
However, there will always come an occasion when one slips by. It happens to everyone sooner or later. I've taken my share playing soccer as a young lad. In fact, I'm told that it's the reason my fiddlestick curves slightly to the left. Whoever invented the sport didn't think it was necessary to include the cup in the required equipment. By all means, protect your shins but testicles, lets leave that optional. This guy may beg to differ. But I digress.
Anyways, I've played pond hockey for a long time. I've considered wearing a cup but until now I never thought that the games I played were aggressive enough to require said protection. As you may have guessed by now, I was wrong. It all happened very quickly, I'm not even entirely sure what transpired. I was skating around the last defender within sight of our goal/shoe when all of a sudden I was face down on the ice with an excruciating pain emanating from my nether regions. In futile attempt to stop my offenses, that defender's boot had found its why straight into my aforementionables.
The crew gathered round, not really sure what had happened; someone had the nerve to say, "At least you scored. That's 4-0. We're playing to five, ready for one more?"
"No you dumbshit. I wanna see if I still have all my necessary equipment," I thought. Doing a quick check, my hand came out of my shorts free of blood. That's a good sign.
In my agony, I called it a night and waddled on home. Grabbing a bag of vegetables from the freezer I sat down and began to asses the damage. My testicles were still throbbing but they hadn't retracted into my abdomen so I figured I was good. But my trouser snake... the poor guy hung like a pear between my legs. The lower third was swollen to the point of near-erection girth. Forth those of you in need of more description I have provided a schematic as follows. I immediately reapplied the ice pack. Praying for the best I spent the rest of the night relatively immobile.
Twenty hours later I am happy to say that all has returned to normal. It's still a little tender and I have yet to go for a test flight but my spirits are high and I remain optimistic. I will however, be patronizing my local sporting goods store in the near future. As a humanitarian, I suggest you all do the following. Unless you are too manly.
Friday, January 2, 2009
From the Penthouse to the Cellar
W-T-Fuck?
I'm really not used to this. This shouldn't be happening.
The season started on such a good note. 6-0-1. The last unbeaten team in the NHL. And only two of those games were with Gaborik in the lineup. But now...18-16-2, basically .500. 3-8-1 in the last 12.
Save for last game against the Sharks, the Wild can't score. Gaborik returned for two games, now he's out again, and may never return to the Wild, without the team even receiving anything for him. Its extremely frustrating.
When did the wheels come off this team? Over at Five Hole Fanatics, they had a pretty concise, but good analysis of the team's woes. While Koivu is fucking amazing, he has very little support. Injuries are hurting what little depth the Wild had to begin the season. Brunette is good, but not doing all that much at the moment. Miettenen started the season off on an up note, but hasn't done shit in months. Cal Clutterbuck (not to be confused with Cutlerfuck) is showing extreme promise. That dude can hit. He's like a Boogard who can actually play hockey. I hate to say it, but it seems as if Lemaire doesn't know how to make the necessary adjustments to turn things around. I'm not saying he should be fired at all, but we need some new strategy here. Being the best defense in the league doesn't do shit if you can't score a goal. The distraction that is Gabby can't help, either.
Back to Gabby. This shit has somehow taken a turn for the worser-er. If he has surgery, I'm probably gonna blow my brains out, or maybe jump from the Bunge Tower. I just want to know why Gaborik hasn't fired his "agent" yet. Good job, bumblefuck. You turned down $8 million a year for your employer, most likely so you could get a bigger piece of the pie. Now you're gonna be in the fucking poor house. No one will pay more than $5 million a year for a guy who can't play more than half of his games because he's got hips rivaling those of a fucking golden lab. I even got a new hockey stick with a Spezza curve because I was so excited to get some talent in Minnesota who doesn't call in sick 38 hours a week.
Also, FUCKING RE-SIGN BACKSTROM ALREADY, YOU CUNTMUSCLES! For fuck's sake! And work on getting Hossa at the end of the season, don't let him go to Vancouver with Demitra.
Maybe I should run this fucking team.
Haven't seen this in a while...
I'm really not used to this. This shouldn't be happening.
The season started on such a good note. 6-0-1. The last unbeaten team in the NHL. And only two of those games were with Gaborik in the lineup. But now...18-16-2, basically .500. 3-8-1 in the last 12.
Save for last game against the Sharks, the Wild can't score. Gaborik returned for two games, now he's out again, and may never return to the Wild, without the team even receiving anything for him. Its extremely frustrating.
When did the wheels come off this team? Over at Five Hole Fanatics, they had a pretty concise, but good analysis of the team's woes. While Koivu is fucking amazing, he has very little support. Injuries are hurting what little depth the Wild had to begin the season. Brunette is good, but not doing all that much at the moment. Miettenen started the season off on an up note, but hasn't done shit in months. Cal Clutterbuck (not to be confused with Cutlerfuck) is showing extreme promise. That dude can hit. He's like a Boogard who can actually play hockey. I hate to say it, but it seems as if Lemaire doesn't know how to make the necessary adjustments to turn things around. I'm not saying he should be fired at all, but we need some new strategy here. Being the best defense in the league doesn't do shit if you can't score a goal. The distraction that is Gabby can't help, either.
Back to Gabby. This shit has somehow taken a turn for the worser-er. If he has surgery, I'm probably gonna blow my brains out, or maybe jump from the Bunge Tower. I just want to know why Gaborik hasn't fired his "agent" yet. Good job, bumblefuck. You turned down $8 million a year for your employer, most likely so you could get a bigger piece of the pie. Now you're gonna be in the fucking poor house. No one will pay more than $5 million a year for a guy who can't play more than half of his games because he's got hips rivaling those of a fucking golden lab. I even got a new hockey stick with a Spezza curve because I was so excited to get some talent in Minnesota who doesn't call in sick 38 hours a week.
Also, FUCKING RE-SIGN BACKSTROM ALREADY, YOU CUNTMUSCLES! For fuck's sake! And work on getting Hossa at the end of the season, don't let him go to Vancouver with Demitra.
Maybe I should run this fucking team.
Haven't seen this in a while...
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