Tuesday, January 31, 2006

"Hi Dad"

From the voice of a six-year-old, those were the words that greeted me when I answered a call from a number I didn't recognize while I was walking home from work last night. I, of course, responded by saying, "Sorry, I think you have the wrong number." Confused, the kid just abruptly said "okay" and hung up.

Immediately, I realized that I had missed a golden opportunity for tomfoolery, and thoughts about what I could have said raced through my mind. With a full 18 hours to think about it, here are some responses I came up with if that stupid little SOB ever calls back:
  1. Kid: Hi Dad.
    Me: For the last time, I'm not your fucking father, so stop calling me!

  2. Kid: Hi Dad.
    Me: Well hey there kiddo. Look, I can't really talk right now because I'm at the toy store deciding how much I love you. If I come home with a toy for you, that means I love you more than anyone else in the world. But if I come home and I don't have a toy, that means that I don't love you and that I want you to move in with another family far far away.

  3. Kid: Hi Dad.
    Me: Who is this?
    Kid: It's me, Dad, Billy.
    Me: Billy? Billy who?
    Kid: Billy Smith.
    Me: Billy Smith? Do you know where you live?
    Kid: In Kettering, Daddy. You know that.
    Me: Of course I do, but I just want to make sure you do too. And what's your address?
    Kid: 123 Main St.
    Me: Good job Billy! Now I just have one more question: how does it feel to know that you dialed the wrong number and gave a stranger your address?
    Kid: What?
    Me: You better sleep with one eye open from now on Billy, because the minute you fall asleep, I'll kill you. And if you ever tell anyone about me or this conversation, I'll kill you. And just to make sure you don't fall asleep and that you don't tell anyone, I've put hidden microphones and video cameras in everything in the world, so I'll be able to hear and see everything you say. And remember, if you fall asleep ever again, I will kill you.

  4. Kid: Hi Dad.
    Me: Hey kiddo, is your mom there? I don't want to talk to her, but I just want to know if she's there.
    Kid: Yeah Dad, she's here.
    Me: Great. Can you do a big favor for me? Can you give her a message for me?
    Kid: Sure Dad.
    Me: Can you tell her that she's a filthy whore and that I want a divorce?

  5. Kid: Hi Dad.
    Me: Look kid, I hate to break it to you, but I killed your dad and stole his phone.

  6. Kid: Hi Dad.
    Me: Hey buddy, guess what?
    Kid: What?
    Me: Do you want to know a big secret?
    Kid: I sure do, Dad.
    Me: Well, I was going to wait until I got home to tell you, but you're adopted. And it turns out that your real parents want you back. They're coming to pick you up later tonight. Now you have to promise not to tell anyone about this -- not even mommy -- but you need to have your suitcase packed by the time I get home, okay?

  7. Kid: Hi Dad.
    Me: Call me Andrew.

  8. Kid: Hi Dad.
    Me: Hey buddy, I was just about to call home. I have big news. We're going to take a big vacation to Disney World! I have to get off the phone now, but make sure you go tell Mommy.

  9. Kid: Hi Dad.
    Me: Well hey there. Hey, do you want to play a trick on Mommy?
    Kid: Okay.
    Me: After you hang up, go hide in the neighbors' bushes, but don't tell anyone. And when I get home, I'll ask Mommy where you are, and she won't know. But then I'll tell her that I bet I can find you. And then I'll come get you and we can both tell Mommy that we fooled her. But you have to make sure that you don't leave the bushes until I come to get you, even if I get home really late. Okay?

  10. Kid: Hi Dad.
    Me: So help me God if you ever call me again at this number, you will be grounded until you're 16.

  11. Kid: Hi Dad.
    Me: Hey buddy, I can't talk right now because I'm with a prostitute.

  12. Kid: Hi Dad.
    Me: Hi kiddo. Can you tell your Mom that I'm on my way home, and I'm bringing my boss over for dinner? And make sure to tell her that he's a vegan.

  13. Kid: Hi Dad.
    Me: Because of this call, I'm never going to come home again. Now go to your room and think about what you did.

  14. Kid: Hi Dad.
    Me: This isn't your dad. It's Steve, your dad's gay lover. He can't talk right now because my penis is in his mouth. Is there a message I can give him?

  15. Kid: Hi Dad.
    Me: Hey buddy. Can you do me a favor and go into Mommy's wallet and get out her credit card? I need her credit card number because I'm going to buy you a big present. But you have to promise not to tell her that you're doing it and make sure she doesn't see you, okay?

  16. Kid: Hi Dad.
    Me: Who is this?
    Kid: It's Billy, Dad.
    Me: Well that's funny, because Billy is a boy's name, and you sound like a little girl.

  17. Kid: Hi Dad.
    Me: Oh shit. Look kiddo, tell your Mom that I'm at the bar and I'll be coming home when I damn well fell like it.

  18. Kid: Hi Dad.
    Me: Hey buddy, I can't talk right now because I'm killing a puppy. I'll talk to you when I get home.

  19. Kid: Hi Dad.
    Me: Hey there buddy, do you want to play a trick on Mommy?
    Kid: Okay.
    Me: You have to promise not to tell Mommy about it, though. Okay?
    Kid: Okay.
    Me: Alright, here's what I want you to do. At dinner tonight, I want you to say, "Daddy, when I tried to call your cell phone today, a lady named His Secretary answered. Why did she say that she can't wait to be my new Mommy?" Do you think you can do that?
    Kid: Sure thing, Dad.
    Me: Good. After you say that, I'm going to pretend that I have no idea what you're talking about. And your Mom is probably going to get mad. Then I want you to say this to Mommy: "Mommy, what does 'divorce that bitch' mean?"

  20. Kid: Hi Dad.
    Me: Well hi buddy. Say, do you want me to get you a really big present?
    Kid: Yeah yeah yeah!!
    Me: Okay, but I'm only going to do that if you promise to do something for me. Okay?
    Kid: Sure Dad, what is it?
    Me: From now until I get home, I want you to say "fuck you" whenever anyone talks to you. I know it's a bad word, but that's what I want you to do. And you're not allowed to say anything else--only "fuck you." You can even say it over and over again as many times as you want. If you do that, I'll take you to the toy store after dinner and you can pick out whatever you want.

How Cliché

Post Office shooting in Cali.

Classic Saved By The Bell

As you may or may not know, I make a habit of watching Saved By The Bell every morning before work. In case you too want to join in this burgeoning tradition, it's on TBS from 7-9 Eastern (6-8 Central). Anywho, today's episode was a classic, as if it's possible for any Saved By The Bell episode not to be a classic. It was entitled "Pipe Dreams," but you probably know it as the episode where oil is discovered at Bayside HS. Everything is fine and dandy, as the oil company comes in with promises of a better Bayside: better classrooms, state-of-the-art sports facilities, floors made of diamonds and the bones of poor people, teachers that appear more than once in four years (unlike the science teacher in this episode), PE uniforms made of babies' hair, and free hookers in sex ed (clean ones at that!).

But alas, these are pipe dreams indeed. As was expected, the oil spills during some test drilling, with all of the spilled oil apparently going directly onto the wildlife refuge next to the school that is mentioned only in this episode and never before or again. Becky, the duck that Zack for some reason cared about, was one of the casualties.

Upon realizing that Becky is in fact dead (I don't know how he could tell it was Becky with all that valuable oil all over her), Zack is uncharacteristically distraught. Luckily Screech was there to provide the following words of comfort: "Zack, don't worry about Becky. She's where the oil can't hurt her." No laughs from the audience, but I sure thought it was funny and ironic -- you know, since ducks go to hell.

Not all is lost, though. The gang convinces the school board not to drill for oil. In what is probably the most-remembered final freeze-frame in television history, they all come together for a sweet six-way high five. You see, folks, they fought against a big company and their school for something they believed in. And because of their powers of persuasion, Bayside will never have air conditioning throughout the school, an Olypmic-sized swimming pool, separate boys and girls basketball arenas, high-priced call girls in every classroom, a drivers' ed 2-mile race track, or the money to fund biology class trips to save hundreds of more animals than they lost in that one little spill. Short-sighted at best.

Monday, January 30, 2006

Answers About Reunion, Sort Of

For the other eight people out there that watched Reunion, before Fox so cruelly took it from us, just like someone took Samantha Brewster's life, the nine of us don't need to fret anymore about never knowing who the killer would be. My lovely wife, Jesterio the Magnificent, sent me this link about the supposed ending(s) of the show. It's not as good as the real thing would have been, but dammit, it's all we've got.

Pee Wee Football Smackdown

There is little better in this world than watching pee wee football. Someone at work forwarded me this clip, which is one that you can watch over and over again without getting sick of it. I have already watched it 37 times, and I plan to get to an even 100 by the end of the day. What you will be watching is #1 on the yellow team. He is the free safety, although he only plays about 5 yards off the line, on account of his keen ability to sniff out opposing teams' use of the apparently predictable wishbone offense. Also featured is #3 on the red team, who has a bright future as the starting running back for the Indiana Hoosiers. I haven't seen it take that long for someone to hit a hole since the whole Ross and Rachel saga on Friends. PopoZao!! Something else to look for is #99 on the yellow team, who you might recognize as seven-time Pro Bowl defensive end Warren Sapp.

GMYH Health Update: Week Three

I thought I did pretty well this past week. The key word in there being "thought." I worked out six days, and stuck to the Abs Diet, except for 2 beers Tuesday night, 3 beers Friday night, and 3 scotches on the rocks Saturday night. Other than that, I can't think of anything that's impeding my progress. Perhaps I am now gaining muscle weight. But if that's the case, there is no corresponding loss of fat, which is confusing. Maybe my scale's body fat percentage calculator isn't accurate or hates me. I might have to get one of those caliper pinchers that we all dreaded in gym class to calculate my body fat. Regardless, I guess I'll have to ramp up my workouts this week. Nothing a little "Your The Best Around" by Joe Esposito in the ears while I'm working out can't cure.

Here are my current vitals:

Start: 182.8
Week 1: 179.4 (-3.4)
Week 2: 177.4 (-2.0)
Week 3: 176.4 (-1.0)
Total Difference = -6.4

Start: 27.0
Week 1: 26.5 (-0.5)
Week 2: 26.2 (-0.3)
Week 3: 26.0 (-0.2)
Total Difference = -1.0

Body Fat:
Start: 25.6%
Week 1: 24.8% (-0.8)
Week 2: 24.4% (-0.4%)
Week 3: 24.4% (--)
Total Difference = -1.2%

Saturday, January 28, 2006

In Living Color Marathon

For those of you who have cable and nothing to do today (which I assume is 96% of people reading this post), there is an In Living Color marathon on BET. In Living Color, of course, spawned the careers of the Wayans brothers (Keenan Ivory, Damon, Shawn, Marlon), Jim Carrey, Jamie Foxx, David Alan Grier, and Tommy Davidson. And who can forget The Fly Girls, featuring a young Jennifer Lopez. PopoZao!!

Friday, January 27, 2006

More on PopoZao

Word of the musical genius of K-Fed is spreading. I guess Conan had James Lipton on the show to recite the lyrics to PopoZao. Now that I know the lyrics, I somehow respect Kevin Federline even less than before, which I was almost positive was a mathematical impossibility, kind of like dividing by zero.

"Caught Between Heaven and Hell. Where's the Girl I Knew a Year Ago?"

After a one-week haitus, in which Hair Band Friday was kickin' some shit on the road, HBF is back at home and rockin' like a hurricane. Nothing like a week off to build up some balls-to-the-wall party anticipation. This morning I cooked up a Nikki-Sixx-sized dose of China white, and I wrote the hell out of reply brief for the next 6 hours straight, all the while wearing no pants. Meanwhile some chick named Heather was giving Adam a BJ while he was doing some research using all eight volumes of Newberg on Class Actions. It was insane. To top it off, three awesome songs just passed through my speakers (which are totally cranked to 11 right now): Poison's tale of innocence lost, "Fallen Angel," Ozzy's classic "No More Tears," and hair band party anthem "Up All Night" by Slaughter (special thanks to Greg Weeser* for sending me the link to the video, which for some reason at the end of the song tails off into "America the Beautiful" and was directed by a young Michael Bay).

Last night's The OC, which, in case you didn't know is the greatest TV show ever, was pretty good. It's the kind of show that made you want to say "PopoZao." Here's what we saw:
  1. Seth is for some reason depressed about the possibility of leaving the sun and promiscuity of southern California for the fucked up accents and dismal winters of Rhode Island (to go to Brown). For Christ's sake, it started out as a colony for people who were banished from Taxachusetts. Witches, sorcerers, lepers, nay-sayers, God-questioners, and the like.

    Perhaps he doesn't realize that Rhode Island has a Newport too. Anyway, to cope with the anxiety, he smokes them tweeds for the first time. In his room. By himself. Right before his admissions interview with the dude from Brown, who has apparently traveled 3000 miles to interview 3 kids at Harbor. The jury's still out on whether it was a good move for Seth. Only time will tell.

  2. Kaitlin Cooper's status as saucy jail-bait tart got even that much tangier (as in tangy, not as in the Tangiers Casino or Tangier, Morocco). She sold weed to Seth, turned 15, and left her birthday party early after making out with ass-haired Johnny, all in the same day. She's well on her way to becoming Newport's trailer park Lolita. For those pedophiles out there, in real life, Willa Holland (the actress who plays Kaitlin) doesn't turn 18 until June 18*.

  3. For some reason Kaitlin does not speak the Queen's English. Instead, she likes to pronounce certain words like an idiot. For instance, what you and I pronounce "me" and "see," she pronounces "may" and "say." I hope that Josh Schwartz and McG have a "Who's on First" type back-and-forth planned:
    Kaitlin: Is there some reason you don't trust may?
    Ryan: I trust May just fine. It's April I'm worried about, with the rain and all.
    Kaitlin: What? Sometimes it's as if you don't even say may.
    Ryan: I just said May.
    Kaitlin: Not May, may.
    Ryan: Right, not May May. Just May. Of course I say May.
    Kaitlin: Not say, say.
    Ryan: Do you mean "Say Say Say" by Michael Jackson and Paul McCartney?
    Kaitlin: No, I meant say, as in you say may.
    Ryan: Right, May. Is there something I'm not seeing?
    Kaitlin: That's what I'm saying.

    This type of banter goes on for another 20 minutes before Ryan finally concaves Kaitlin's skull with a swift karate chop.

  4. In what was nearly the biggest development in recent TV memory, Marissa -- God help her -- almost ate twice. First, there was enough Thai food feed a small village in, well, Thailand, and she apparently decided that the food was better served by staying in the box. Second, there was an entire birthday cake at Kaitlin's birthday party. Marissa was even offered a piece. She turned it down, as well she should have. As you can see from this photo, she's really chunking up.
  5. Summer has apparently taken to dressing like a 19th-Century Japanese mistress.
  6. Marissa has apparently taken to dressing like a 19th-Century Bavarian beer maid.
  7. Johnny got a haircut. Just kidding. That motherfucker still has the worst haircut of all-time.

All of this is well and good, but nothing compared to what we saw in the previews for next week. From all I can tell, Ryan is going to cut Marissa off until she figures out her feelings. Then Johnny is finally going to kill himself in an alcohol-induced cliff jump, which I think will bode well for Ryan and Marissa, since they have historically gained some sort of sick, intense sexual chemistry following tragedy.

Aside from that, my biggest concern is the lack of lesbian subplots this year. I think I speak for everyone when I say that we need a little more of Alex and Marissa making out while they're -- cough -- all wet. After all, this whole thing with Ryan and Johnny has probably left Marissa somewhat confused and lonely. Seems like something that can only be comforted by the warm, caring arms of lipstick lesbian with a near-perfect body.

Thursday, January 26, 2006

It Was 20 Years Ago Today...

The greatest team in the history of the NFL, led by the greatest defense in the history of the NFL, capped their storybook season by making the New England Patriots look like a Pop Warner team. Fittingly, they carried Buddy Ryan, the defensive coordinator, off the field, as well as Da Coach. The only thing that would've made it better was if they gave the ball to Sweetness on the goal line instead of the Fridge (incidentally, Ditka calls it his biggest regret as a coach). Bear Down!

Awesome T-Shirt

For any of you who love totally sweet t-shirts as much as I do, I present to you the Communist Party t-shirt. Get it? Communist party? It reminds me of my days (and years) as a member of the Red Army, perhaps Indiana University's worst Soviet-themed intramural basketball team of all-time.
Anyway, the website that sells the shirts is currently out of stock, but will reprint it if there are enough requests (there's no obligation to buy if you put in a request). Obviously I have put my request in. Click on the picture to go to the site.

K-Fed = Embarrassment to Men

I was browsing The Superficial, a wonderfully hilarious blog that cracks wise on celebrities. Anyway, I came across this post, which has an in-screen video clip of Mr. Britney Spears himself, Kevin Federline, basically sitting in a recording studio and playing his new single, "PopoZao" (which he describes as a "Brazilian ass shaker"), while kind of bobbing his head and waving his arms and hands like a conductor, all the while with a cocksure expression on his face. At times, he gives the impression that he is actually moved by the song, and at other times, he gives the impression that he's a talentless waste of space.

It's a fucking train wreck. I've watched it several times now, and I can't help but wonder how much better the world would be if he hadn't beaten all those other sperm to that egg on that fateful night 28 1/2 years ago. The song sounds like that old Listerine commercial that sampled the beginning of "Hooked on a Feeling" (the Blue Swede version, not the B.J. Thomas version), combined with random sounds of people taking painful shits and performing some sort of Santeria chicken sacrifice. His expressions during the song tell me that he must have dementia or some sort of neurological disorder because he apparently thinks this is a good song.

The song and Kevin's movements and pony tail evoke the following questions:
  1. Are you fucking kidding me?
  2. How could anyone ever love this man?
  3. Do his mother and father look at this and say, "damn, we're proud of our son"?
  4. Does Kevin honestly listen to this song and think, "I'm a talented musician. People respect me."?
  5. And what's with the guitars in the background? It's not like there are any in the song, and it's safe to assume that he has never touched one.
  6. When Britney sees this clip (or hears the song), does it at all waver her belief that it was a good idea to allow this man to plant his seed within her?
  7. In a related question, after hearing this song, will she decide that the only suitable option is in fact to suffocate young Sean Preston Federline so that he will never have to know that his father created one of the worst songs in music history?
  8. Will someone please tell Kevin that the '80s businessman pony tail is not in jeopardy of making a comeback?
  9. When he says "that's fire," does he actually mean "no one should have ever allowed me to put that sound on a tangible medium"?
  10. After watching this clip, can you think of anyone that is more deserving of a kick in the dick?

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

Tips for Interviewees

Over the last several months, many of you have expressed your satisfaction with GMYH's tips for interviewers (the links are listed somewhere on the right). But it has come to my attention that those tips have left some of you asking, "But GMYH, it'll be years before I'm in a position to interview people. Hell, I don't even have a job. What can you do for me?" I can give you some much needed advice about the types of questions you should be asking your interviewers. Nothing is more stressful than when the person interviewing you asks, "So, what questions do you have?" Next thing you know, you've got 20 minutes to kill and only a "how do you like working here?" up your sleeve. That's never a good thing. So, without further ado, I give you the first in what may one day be a two-part series of questions you can ask the next time you get interviewed.

  1. I noticed you have a CD player. Who's your favorite band? No matter what they say, respond with "Mine's Slayer, motherfucker," and then flash a double sign of the goat while you headbang incessantly in your seat.
  2. So what's the office policy on fucking?
  3. If there was one person in the office that you could kill or maim without any possibility of getting caught, who would it be? Assuming they give you a name, then you respond in one of two ways: (1) "Well sicko, now that I have that on tape, how's about a job?" or (2) "Consider it done," and then lean forward to shake his/her hand.
  4. How many dicks do you have to suck to get an office like this? This is a great first question. In fact, it should be your first question in every interview, no matter how big or small the particular office may be. If it's a small office, the interviewer will assume that you're making fun of their office, and therefore that you think you're better than him/her. In turn, it is more likely that you will be hired because you will come across as a go-getter.
  5. Is it true that if I were to get a job here that I would be able to use black or blue pens? When they say yes, say "Oh thank God. What a relief! And to think, I wasn't sure if that question was out of bounds." If for some reason they say no, then I think it's safe to simply say "okay" and get up and walk out of the interview.
  6. How often do employees get drug tests? If they say never, you say "sweet." If they say anything else, you say "you gotta be fucking kidding me" and walk out of the room.
  7. I can see from what you're wearing that today must be some sort of "dress like a bum" day. How often do you guys have that kind of thing? Ask this no matter what they're wearing.
  8. Would the health plan cover like 36 scorpion stings?
  9. How many, if any, members of the Royal Family are employed here? When they say "none," you reply by saying, "Not even on a consulting basis? That's certainly a surprise."
  10. If you could do it all over again, why wouldn't you work here?
  11. How much do you work? And don't bullshit me. Immediately follow that up with, "How much vacation time do you get?" Follow that up with, "How soon will I be able to use my entire stock of vacation days?" Follow that up with, "Sounds like you and I are takin' a trip to Tijuana next week."
  12. How many secretaries will I have? For any answer under two, mutter under your breath, "you gotta be fucking kidding me."
  13. You guys don't have any queers, cripples, or retards working here, do you?
  14. The office has a business casual dress code, right? If they say "no," then ask (in disbelief), "Really? Now is that because you hate your employees and want to see them suffer or is it because your company is just extremely behind the times?" If they say that they are business casual, mockingly say, "Well I guess that means I can wear my tie-dyed Jerry bear shirt and Birks? Fucking hippies."
  15. How's the water pressure?
  16. You won't resent me in a year after I've taken your job, will you? Again, questions like this can only increase your chances of getting the job because it shows that you're a go-getter.
  17. What's the policy on cock rings?
  18. Out of everyone in the office, who do think would win in a foot race? At first, they probably won't give you an answer. Keep prodding until you get a name, at which point say, "Oooh. I wanna meet [him/her]. [He/she] sounds dreamy."
  19. If you could describe your office as any flavor of frozen yogurt, which flavor would it be?
  20. Is there a limit on the number of blacklights I can have in my office?

That's all I got for now. If I think of any more, I'll post them.

A Couple Random Things

  1. Dammit Iowa fans, did you not read my post about rushing the court? For shit's sake, you were a favorite at home against IU (who was not ranked #1) with guys who have been in college for the past 6 years (seriously, Brunner has to be almost 30 by now). Please read this link to save yourself from future humiliation.
  2. The 2nd Saved By the Bell this morning was a classic. Kelly breaks up with Zack at the Costume Ball because she's fallen for that college-attending motherfucker Jeff (who, in retrospect, was a complete pedophile, no matter how "dreamy" he might have been). We also get our first glimpse of the Zack Attack, perhaps the greatest fictional band in TV history, who supplied the music at the ball.
  3. Cold weather blows.
  4. I have a pretty good feeling I'm not going to get AIDS today because I only plan on sharing needles with people I know.

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

Just Another Manic Tuesday

'Cause that's my news day? I don't know what that means, and I apologize to those diehard Bangles fans out there that I may have offended. Anyway, work is hella busy today, so I don't have time to say much. Instead, enjoy this:

Monday, January 23, 2006

Lebowski Fest

This seems like something that should take place in every city. Mark it zero. Next frame.

Warning to Procter & Gamble Employees: Fecal Phantom on the Loose

It is with great sadness and disgust that I must report that the fecal phantom phenomenon has spread its terrorizing and odorous wings, traveling beyond the confines of my office. I shit you not (pun intended). Recently, I received this deeply disturbing email from a Procter & Gamble employee (whose name I will keep anonymous for fear of fecal retribution from said phantom or phantoms):

"So the Fecal Phantom just struck my office. Not only did he wrap things up in about one minute with only one tear of the toilet paper roll, he then proceeds to cap things off with the half-second hand wash (where one turns the water on just long enough to swipe their hands under the faucet one time without even thinking about using soap). Needless to say, I vomited profusely before exiting the bathroom and returning to work, making sure to not make contact with the door-handle on the way out."

Absolutely sickening. Be warned P&G employees. This is not something to take lightly. Fecal phantoms have been known to strike when you'd least expect it, whether it's late morning, noon, or early afternoon. Be on the lookout for someone who fits the following characteristics:
Gender: male
Age: between 25 and 90
Height: between 5'0" and 8'0"
Weight: between 100 and 350 pounds (I assume that people weighing more than 350 pounds are not physically able to move fast enough to be fecal phantoms)
Key Traits: often gives the impression -- whether correct or not -- that he is busy; surprisingly well-dressed; absence of fear; smelly anus; unclean hands; thinks no one knows about his fecal phantomism; likes to tempt fate; cannot bring himself to sit on a toilet for longer than one minute

If you see anyone resembling these characteristics, be extremely cautious. You may indeed be dealing with a bona fide fecal phantom. If you are cornered by one of them (most likely while you are in a neighboring stall), the best thing you can do is remain quiet, time his visit, and report back to me. Under no circumstances should you confront a fecal phantom. Doing so may result in awkward conversation, unwarranted touching, and possibly the discovery that a fecal phantom is in fact someone who you used to respect.

If you are unsure whether or not you are a fecal phantom, please answer the following questions:
1. When confronted with the possibility of defecation, do you:
(a) cringe in fear (2 pts)
(b) welcome the challenge (0 pts)
(c) feel indifferent (1 pt)
2. After defecating, how many times do you wipe:
(a) once (3 pts)
(b) between one and three times (2 pts)
(c) between three and ten times (1 pt)
(d) as many times as it takes (-1 pt)
(e) wipe? what does that mean (5 pts)
3. Upon entering a bathroom stall in a public place (work, airport, restaurant, etc.) for purposes of defecation, what do you do?
(a) cover the seat using toilet paper or a supplied paper seat cover (0 pts)
(b) wipe the seat off with toilet paper (1 pt)
(c) wipe the seat off with your hand (2 pts)
(d) sit down immediately and begin defecating (3 pts)
4. After defecating and leaving the stall, what is your hand-washing procedure?
(a) what prodecure? (4 pts)
(b) rinse with water (2 pts)
(c) wash with soap and water (0 pts)
5. What is the average door-to-door time you spend in the bathroom when you defecate?
(a) between 5 seconds and one minute (5 pts)
(b) between one and three minutes (3 pts)
(c) over three minutes (1 pt)
6. On average, how many times do you defecate at work each day?
(a) 0-3 (1 pt)
(b) 4-6 (2 pts)
(c) over 6 (3 pts)

Now add up the point total corresponding to your answers. Here is what the various point totals mean:
0-6: You have nothing to worry about. You are in fact a normal shitter.
7-12: You show tendencies of being a fecal phantom. Be careful because only a couple wipes fewer or a couple fewer seconds in the can will send you over the edge.
13-22: You're a fecal phantom. For the benefit of humanity, you must either slow down or kill yourself.

GMYH Health Update: Week Two

This last week wasn't so good. Various outside forces (read: food, drink, Germans, the devil) slowed my progress a bit. And I was only able to work out 4 times last week. This week, though, I have no traveling or distractions to impede my progress. Here are my current vitals:

Start: 182.8
Week 1: 179.4 (-3.4)
Week 2: 177.4 (-2.0)
Total Difference = -5.4

Start: 27.0
Week 1: 26.5 (-0.5)
Week 2: 26.2 (-0.3)
Total Difference = -0.8

Body Fat:
Start: 25.6%
Week 1: 24.8% (-0.8)
Week 2: 24.4% (-0.4%)
Total Difference = -1.2%

Again, the weight loss was okay, but the fat loss was not as good as I would have liked. Maybe my scale's body fat calculator isn't accurate. Or maybe it was the beer.

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

Court Rushing in College Basketball

So IU beat Illinois last night. It was a good game. IU tried its damnedest to let Illinois back in the game, but pulled it out in the end. And of course Illini fans are bitching (for what reason, God only knows), since that's what they do best. When Illinois wins, their fans think Illinois is the greatest team in the history of college athletics. When Illinois loses, their fans dream up every possible excuse for losing except that their team didn't play as well as the other team. But I digress.

The most disturbing development was that the IU students rushed the court after the game. I found this to be appalling. Granted, Illinois was the #5 team in the country, but come on Hoosier fans, act like you've been there. A court rushing is a special occurrence that should be reserved for only a few distinct, monumental situations. Being an alum of such a venerable and storied basketball institution such as Indiana University, I feel that it is my duty to explain when it is and is not appropriate for students to rush the court following a victory. Here they are:

Situations in Which it is Appropriate to Rush a Basketball Court:
1. You beat the #1 team (and your team is not ranked in the top 10)
2. You clinch a conference championship
3. You beat a higher-ranked team on a last-second shot
4. You end a losing streak of 30+ games
5. You beat a yearly opponent you haven't beaten in 20+ years
6. You beat a ranked team for the first time in your school's history

Situations in Which it is Inappropriate to Rush a Basketball Court*:
*These are of course subject to the above rules regarding when it is appropriate to rush the court. When the rules conflict, go with the "appropriate" rule over the "inappropriate" rule.
1. You beat an unranked team, no matter how bad you are (rushing the court in that situation is the equivalent of Belgians celebrating their country's military victory over France)
2. You beat a team ranked lower than your team (even if you're #2 and they're #3)
3. You win a game in which you were the favorite (rushing the court in that situation is the equivalent of clapping and cheering for Carl Lewis as he breezes across the finish line ahead of a toddler with Down Syndrome)
4. You are a student at Duke, Indiana, Kansas, Kentucky, North Carolina, or UCLA (your schools are considered the elite programs in the history of college basketball, so act like it.)
5. You beat a team at home that you already beat on the road earlier in the season (rushing the court in that situation is the equivalent of calling your ex-girlfriend a week after you broke up with her to tell her that you're breaking up with her--fun, but unnecessary)
6. You beat any of the following: a team not in the ACC, Big Ten, Big East, Big XII, Pac-10, or SEC; Northwestern; a team in your own conference; any school from Mississippi, Alabama, Colorado, Oregon, Washington, or South Bend; or a team that has never won an NCAA title (in men's basketball, that is).

And if you do rush the court, for the love of Robert Montgomery Knight, make sure that everyone's with you. There's nothing more pathetic than seeing 20 drunk Nebraska students rush the court after a big win over unranked Texas A&M, only to look around and realize that they're the only ones on the court. They try to persuade the rest of the students to join them, but all they receive is the collective blank stare of hesitant confusion and outright shame.

It goes without saying that this message needs to be spread to college students around the country. Please, for the good of humanity and the future of respectable intercollegiate athletics, forward them this post or email it to them using that nice little envelope icon at the bottom of the post. Even if we can convince just one student section not to rush the court in an inappropriate circumstance, then I think we've made the world a better place. Together.

Not Rolling on Shabbos

Nothing much is going on here. Last night Jester and I bowled in our league. We got beat by a pair of couples. It was obvious that the guys wanted to bowl, but couldn't find a 3rd and 4th for their team, so they made their wives bowl. Why was this obvious, you ask? Because every time either of the wives got up to bowl, they would lackadaisically roll/drop their ball down the lane, turning away and walking back without any interest whatsoever in how many (if any) pins the ball knocked down. Bowling isn't exactly the most exciting sport, but I've never seen a team so completely emotionless out on the lanes. Even their husbands, who were good enough to carry the team in spite of their wives, didn't crack a smile, even when one dude rolled 5 strikes in a row. Our team gets excited when we get 9s. Fucking Germans. Fucking Nazis. Nothing changes.

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

Boozin' in '05

I just read an article that said that liquor sales were up 7% in Ohio in 2005 from 2004. That's not too surprising, since having to deal with the first full year of Bush's second term was probably hard on a lot of people in this modest Midwestern manufacturing state.

What was surprising (or maybe not) was the #1 brand of hard alcohol chosen by Ohioans. The top 10 list was littered with what you might expect: Jack, Beam, Jager, Bacardi, Captain Morgan, Crown Royal, and Absolut, among others. But what was at the top of list? What was the top selling brand of liquor in the whole state of Ohio? What brand of hooch stole more hearts and livers than any other in 2005? That's right, Kamchatka Vodka. Solid. At least Dark Eyes, Dmitri, Popov, Wolfschmidt, McCormick, and Barton weren't on the list. Maybe 2006 will be Barton's year in Ohio. After all, it is the only charcoal-filtered vodka.

New Classic Post

Nothing much to talk about today, so I posted another GMYH Classic™ entry. And this one is a classic indeed: the famed "puking on the L" story in all its glory.

Monday, January 16, 2006

Where's Heather Graham When You Need Her?

This past weekend was a roller coaster ride of emotions. Friday night was pretty low-key. Jessie and I just rented a couple movies. We watched Bottle Rocket, which is the first movie Wes Anderson and Owen Wilson wrote together (Rushmore and Royal Tenenbaums and are the others, and Anderson co-wrote The Life Aquatic). If you like the other movies, you will definitely like Bottle Rocket.

I slept for the first 11 hours of Saturday. It was glorious. I have to send out special thanks to my dog, Harley, for not getting up before 11 either. Every now and then that bitch does something nice for me.

The highlight of Saturday was that a guy I work with (Andy "The Reitz Stuff" Reitz) had his 28th birthday party at Skateworld, one of -- cough -- several Dayton-area roller rinks. Nevermind the fact that a 28-year-old lawyer has his birthday party every year at a roller rink--it was a great time that harkened back to my skating days as a mop-haired youngster in H-town. I was able to use muscles in my legs that had not been used in years. Jester also enjoyed it, as evidenced by this live-action photo showing her tearing around the rink, pausing only slightly to look at my well-positioned camera phone.

At some point, the staff cleared the rink to set up some sweet races, based on age group. After a disappointing defeat in last year's 13-and-up race, Andy was seemingly primed to avenge his loss. Contradicting your rational inclinations, Andy (shown in this picture in the yellow shirt to the far right) was in fact not the oldest competitor. A balding man with a handlebar mustache, who likely competed for the possibility of "accidentally" rubbing elbows with prepubescent boys and girls, was in my estimation the odds-on favorite, given the speed with which I had seen him skate earlier and given the general creepiness factor that would prevent others from coming within 10 feet of his well-groomed mustache and cut-off Harley-Davidson shirt (you can see him at the far left in this picture). Anyway, Andy ended up coming in about 5th, as shown by the picture below, in which Andy is rounding Turn 3 with no visible will to pass anyone in front of him, including the man with the cut-off shirt.
By nightfall, the excitement of roller skating had passed. Jessie and I went out with Holt and his brother and sister-in-law, who deftly passed their daughter off to the grandparents (who were also in town) for a night out. After an average time at Fox & Hound (I guarantee the one in Dayton looks just like the one in your town), we went to a new bar in downtown Dayton called J. Alan's, conveniently located about 2 blocks from my apartment.

Despite the fact that it's the closest bar to our apartments, neither Holt nor Jessie nor I had been to J. Alan's. It was a genuinely positive experience, highlighted by several hours of the 5 of us playing Erotic Photo Hunt. Not even the best efforts of the 5 of us combined could crack the Top 10 scores. All 10 places were owned by a man named "LL," who made a Keyser Soze-esque appearance, fed a dollar into the machine (good for 4 plays), helped us out for a couple minutes, and then drifted away into the shadows never to be seen again. Even with his pointers, we were nowhere close to his scores. Godspeed LL, wherever you are.

On Sunday, I basically sat on my couch and watched football. Rather than talk about the Bears game, which will only make me want to punch my computer screen until its dead, I will discuss my favorite parts of both games. In the Indy/Pittsburgh game, my favorite part was when, after that liquored-up, idiot kicker Vanderjagt missed what would have been the game tying field goal, CBS showed the reactions of Tony Dungy, Bill Cowher, Peyton Manning, and Jerome Bettis in a row, and each one of them said "he missed it" with differing degrees of excitement or disappointment. There's a Broadway musical in there somewhere. "He missed it. He missed it! He missed it. HE MISSED IT!" Then Cowher and Bettis dance around while Dungy and Manning console each other. It practically writes itself.

Now turning to the Bears game, my favorite line from the announcers was one in the third or fourth quarter by sideline reporter Pam Oliver, who was discussing one of the Bears defensive backs (Peanut Tillman I think) having cramps, when she so unabashedly told the audience that "Bears trainers were shoving bananas down his throat." A simple "the trainers are giving him bananas to help battle leg cramps" would have done. Instead, Pam Oliver makes Tillman sound like Chicago's answer to Linda Lovelace.

Speaking of Linda Lovelace, I came (no pun intended) across something disturbingly fascinating when I got the link for her imdb.com bio. It seems that in addition to inhaling many a cock in the groundbreaking 1972 porn Deep Throat, Ms. Lovelace "starred" in a 1969 movie called Dog Fucker. "Starred" is in quotations because apparently a German Shepherd was the real star. I couldn't make that shit up. The movie was called Dog Fucker. How do you pitch that one? "Boy do we have a great script for you. It's called Dog Fucker. Now, I don't want to give too much away, but it's a beastiality pic."

GMYH Health Update: Week One

Well, I've been on the Abs Diet for a week and all is well so far. No vomiting, no cold sweats, no paralyzing fear of the continuance of life. For the most part, I stuck to it, except for going out Saturday night, when I drank more than 2-3 drinks. I have actually been getting up and working out before work, which hasn't been nearly as bad as it sounds. The only casualties so far are my sore quads and glutes, since, for the past 10 years, I have made a concerted effort not to work out my legs.

Here are my current vitals (I'm not going to do waist-to-hip ratio every week because I'm too lazy to bust out the measuring tape with such insane frequency):

Start: 182.8
Week 1: 179.4
Total Difference = -3.4

Start: 27.0
Week 1: 26.5
Total Difference = -0.5

Body Fat:
Start: 25.6%
Week 1: 24.8%
Total Difference = -0.8%

The weight loss is fine, although I'm a bit disappointed in the fat loss. All in due time.

Sunday, January 15, 2006

"You Ever Hot-Wired a Bobcat Before, Hon? 'Cause I Have"

These were the words spoken to me by my wife on our walk home from the bar tonight. That, my friends, is one of the many reasons why I married her. The funny thing is, is that I didn't even question it. No one says something like that with such conviction and lies about it.

Friday, January 13, 2006

Put Your Cell Phone on the Do Not Call List

In case you haven't heard, cell phone numbers will be made public to telemarketers later this month. We here at GMYH hate that shit more than a stripper who can't say "no" but won't say "yes." Therefore, we encourage you to put your cell phone (and land line for that matter) on the national Do Not Call List: http://www.donotcall.gov. That is, unless you want some salty prick named Terry who hates his job more than Boss Hog hates those Duke boys calling you at 9am on a Saturday to explain why you can't live without Time-Life's Gods of Ragtime Collection. "For only $8.99, we'll start you out with a double CD featuring the hits the King of the Classic Rag, the Primadonna of the Pre-War Piano, the Missouri Madman himself. That's right, none other than Scott Joplin. Then each month you'll receive a new CD -- only $29.99 a piece -- featuring hits from all your favorite ragtime stars. Artie Matthews, Luckey Roberts, May Aufderheide, Eubie Blake, Zez Confrey. They're all there, and more. There is no obligation to buy, and if you don't like a CD, you can send it back within 30 days for a full refund. And you know what? You're free to cancel at anytime. Does that sound like something you'd be interested in?"

"Half Alive or Half Dead? I Just Can't Tell"

It's Friday the 13th, so I decided that today's Hair Band Friday will be a bit on the macabre side. So this morning I came in and started reviewing documents at a blinding pace, while drinking what I assume was dog's blood out of a skull-shaped goblet. Some chick named Heather was so impressed that she cooked me up one of the fattest skag injections I've had in the past few days. I've been blaring Poison's "Look What the Cat Dragged In" on repeat since 7am with my door closed. Apparently it's pretty loud. One of the partners came by and knocked. When I asked who it was, he told me and said that he was having a deposition in the conference room next door and they could hear the music through the walls, so he asked me to turn it down. Imagine his surprise when the door opened and I was standing there with a crazed look in my eyes and the stench of Maker's Mark on my breath, wearing a hockey mask, and holding a machete in one hand and a double-headed dildo in the other. I looked back at Heather and her stipper friend Jewels, who were on my desk, pouring hot wax on each other's supple, nubile bodies, then smiled and told the partner, "No can do. I'm sure you understand." Then I slammed the door and smoked a bowl.

The first The OC of the O6 was last night, and I'd be lying if I said it was anything short of brilliant. The gang enlists the help of saucy tart Taylor Townsend to get signatures for a petition to the Harbor Academy School Board to let Marissa back into Harbor. After Taylor's mom told Taylor she couldn't help try to get Marissa back into Harbor, Summer did the coolest thing a girlfriend could ever do: tell her boyfriend, Seth, to go try to fingerbang another chick, Taylor, in order to get the other chick's help in a campaign to get the first chick's best friend back into a stuffy seaside private high school (shown to the right is Seth, explaining to Taylor exactly what he was given permission to do). Even better was Taylor's response when Seth told her that he had a license to digitally penetrate her. She said, "under any other circumstance, you would be facing a long night involving candle wax, tube socks, and the latest Fiona Apple CD." I don't know what that means, but damn that's hot.

Being a fan of word combinations and general hilarity, I was also a big fan of the gang's use of the word "mocktails" to refer to virgin cocktails. Some of these included a "faux-jito" and a "safe-sex-on-the-beach." Someone also ordered a virgin Manhattan, which isn't so much funny as it is perplexing, since a Manhattan is made of whiskey and sweet vermouth, without any sort of non-alcoholic mixer other than a cherry on top. I'm not sure how the virgin version would be made--maybe stale urine and grenadine.

Anyway, back to the school board meeting. Taylor's mom (a board member), whose boobs were exploding from her shirt Areola-style, was anti-Marissa, bringing up the point that Marissa shot someone in the back. Frankly, were it not for her bountiful bosom, I probably would have disagreed with her. Students aren't allowed to talk at school board meetings, so who else but Sandy muthafuckin' Cohen gets up and talks on Marissa's behalf at the meeting, wowing the board members and audience with his oratory skills and well-trimmed eyebrows. Bam, the board lets Marissa back into Harbor. Snooch to the muthafuckin' booch. If Sandy Cohen isn't the best damn dad/lawyer on TV right now, I don't know who is.

Here are the questions we are left with after this episode:

  1. Now that Marissa is going to go back to Harbor, thus leaving Johnny (you may recall him as the surfer with the shittiest haircut of all-time) at that piece-of-shit public school Newport Union, will Johnny finally crawl into a hole and die, thus never allowing his hair to be seen again?
  2. With mini tart Kaitlin Cooper's inevitable return and Marissa's increasing hotness (shown together at the right), will they perform the first on-screen, prime-time lesbian sex act amongst TV sisters? I know they're supposed to be sisters and all, but Marissa does have a lesbianic past, and Kaitlin may as well (we don't know, since she hasn't appeared since the first season). And it's not like they're related in real life.
  3. Seriously, when is Marissa going to eat something on screen? She was actually sitting at a table during her lunch period with a tray that included a salad and an unopened bottle of water. Just as she was about to put food into her mouth, she conveniently got a call from Chili who told her to come to Johnny's house. It's pretty apparent that the anorexia lobby has Josh Schwartz and McG in it's now-loose-fitting pocket.
  4. When is Teresa going to show up with Ryan's baby? In a related question, how many asses will the baby have already kicked by that point?
  5. Now that we officially know Dean Hess has been booted from his role as Dean of Discipline at Harbor, who will make up for the discernible void in cock chugging left by his absence? My hope is that it's Marissa, Summer, Kaitlin, Taylor, Taylor's mom, Kirsten, and, well, pretty much any other female character on the show.
  6. With the revelation that Sandy has well-trimmed eyebrows (a rarity for him), will it soon be revealed that by night he is Oopsie Newpsie, Newport's hottest drag queen? My guess is "no."
  7. When Johnny finally dies, at whose hand will it be? There are several distinct possibilities: Marissa (she's almost killed before, which mean she'll probably try to kill again); Ryan (he wouldn't even have to punch Johnny, but rather just pretend like he's going to punch him, at which point Johnny's shitty hair would turn stark white and he would die of fear-induced dysentery); Chili (Aside from former MLB All-Star and all-around good guy Charles Theodore "Chili" Davis and TLC member Rozonda "Chili" Thomas, people named Chili are not to be trusted); Kaitlin (preferably after a whip-cream-filled fuck fest); or his own hair (it can only go so long being the butt of every single joke about Johnny--soon it will begin to grow long enough to choke the shit out of him while he sleeps).

Well, I hope everyone has a great weekend. Be good to each other, and for the love of God, keep that chin up.

Thursday, January 12, 2006

New Years Resolutions

With all the excitement of listening to the new CDs I got for Christmas, going to "country dance parties" with ballerina's named Brita, bowling, and encountering wannabe fecal phantoms, I almost lost sight of the fact that I made some New Years Resolutions.

Every year I try to make as many resolutions as possible. That way, I have a pretty good shot at accomplishing at least one of them, whereas if I just made one resolution and didn't end up doing it, the year would be a complete waste and I'd fall deeper and deeper into my already expanding pit of self-hatred.

So, without further ado, here are my resolutions for the oh six:
  1. Quit coke (and I'm serious this year, you guys).
  2. Start meth lab to supplant newly discarded coke habit.
  3. Write a book.
  4. Totally rock out every Friday in my office.
  5. Lose between 10-15 pounds via the Abs Diet, and then gain it all back in one of the sweetest booze and burrito binges since a man named Chris Farley walked the Earth.
  6. Find a cure for herpes; cure self, wife, and all other hot chicks.
  7. Make at least 31 New Years Resolutions.
  8. Stay married.
  9. Forego my remaining four years of eligibility and declare for the NFL draft.
  10. Become entirely hairless.
  11. Make 14 chocolate cakes. In a row.
  12. Continue to own a dog.
  13. Make a £20,000 wager with that insatiable rogue, Phileas Fogg, that he can't circumnavigate the world in eighty days.
  14. Visit the following places: Chicago, Illinois, Dubai, UAE, and Bloomington, Indiana.
  15. Dance.
  16. Kill them all, leaving the sorting out to God.
  17. After being inspired by the 2006 US Olympic curling team, begin training for 2010 games.
  18. Learn to speak Navajo.
  19. Build an ice-fishing shanty at my lakeside cabin in the Northwoods.
  20. Tear down the Berlin Wall (enough is enough).
  21. Have a good cry.
  22. Resist the ever-present lure of a career with Carnival Cruise Lines.
  23. Do it (and I do mean "it").
  24. Buy a lakeside cabin in the Northwoods.
  25. Be a flamboyant and cocksure contestant on Bravo's "Project Runway."
  26. Steer clear of AIDS.
  27. Take in a movie.
  28. Donate $40 million to the Indiana University School of Law; rename it the GMYH School of Law at Indiana University.
  29. Get really into Civil War reenactments; fight for North; use real bullets.
  30. Try to cut down on singing "Don't Worry Be Happy" or "Everybody's Working for the Weekend" whenever I see a homeless person.
Feel free to post your resolutions as well. It's quite therapeutic.

Wednesday, January 11, 2006


Just when I thought it was a slow day, I see this article on Yahoo about a cycloptic cat. I only know one one-eyed cat, Jamie and Amy's formerly stray cat, Captain Bligh (I petitioned, unsuccessfully, for them to name it One-Eyed Willie and/or Chester Copperpot), and he had two eyes at some point, but apparently lost one in a fight with Heathcliff and/or Riff Raff.

Anyway, back to this thing. Don't worry, it died. My favorite line in the article is from the owner of the now-dead cat: "I'm not going to put it on eBay." Good to hear.

Bowling and Such

Well, for the second day in a row, there's not much to talk about here at GMYH. It's raining in Dayton, which it usually does from about now until May, at which point it will be sunny for no more than one day in a row until June, when the rainy season starts over again. Anywho, I'm just rockin' out to some Zeppelin as we speak.

Speaking of "your time is gonna come," I encountered a wannabe fecal phantom in the bathroom about a half hour ago. He was done with his "business" in about 30 seconds, but it took him another 2 minutes to clean his ass in a sufficient enough manner to allow his exit from the stall. I think "pathetic" is the only word that can describe what I heard: the nervous tapping of Italian leather, hard-soled shoes, the recurrent frantic pulling of toilet paper, the faint sound of a 20- or 30-something wimpering. I don't know what's worse, someone who is actually a fecal phantom or someone who strives to be a fecal phantom but fails miserably. I would love to have seen who this SOB was, if for nothing else than to tell him that he doesn't have to become one of them; that he can enjoy his shits without fear of retribution; that the journey is just as important as the destination. Of course he was long gone when I emerged from my stall ten minutes later with a satisfied grin on my face.

So last night was the first night in a 10-week bowling league for Jester and me. Also on our team, which is currently named Courthouse Cathouse (after a fictional strip club the teammates will one day open at the vacant subterranean restaurant space at Courthouse Plaza here in Dayton) is Dan "Piss and" Binegar and Nick "Not the Bird-Headed Freak that Used to Play for Illinois" Smith. A sign that the team may need some work is that we lost to a team with 3 bowlers. Jessie bowled her ass off even though she was not a part of her family's legendary bowling prowess, which was acquired after her departure for college almost 8 years ago. I did alright, as did the others. But it's hard to beat a team that has a guy named Levon, another guy who looked like the janitor in Billy Madison ("what about you, sideburns?"), and another guy who sets the tone for an ass-kicking by dropping a 269 in the first game.

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

No Dice

Jester put her foot down and said no pictures of my semi-nude body online, or at least not on this site. Anyway, I got nothing today, so I added a couple GMYH Classic posts. Good day.

Monday, January 09, 2006

GMYH Health Update: Putting My Money Where My Mouth Is

My hatred of the obese has not exactly been a secret. Frankly, the sight of a morbidly obese man or child wolfing down a couple Taco Bell Grilled Stuft Burritos each makes me want to cry, puke, and kill, all at once. After a couple weeks away from the gym, including one week where I was basically drinking and eating every minute I wasn't sleeping, my health and body have gone into severe decline. It's time for me to step up to ensure that I do not become one of the millions of people I superficially hate.

A few months ago (6 or 7), I bought the book, The Abs Diet, which is written by the Editor-in-Chief of Men's Health magazine. Of course, I didn't read it until last week. Waiting that long was probably a mistake, but hindsight's always 20/20. Essentially, the book tells you why other diets (i.e., low-carb, low-fat, Weight Watchers, the Zone, etc.) set you up for failure and lead you to put the weight back on, either because they cause binging or are too big of a pain in the ass to follow. Then, it explains how to take weight off and keep it off. Its tenets are pretty easy to follow:
  • It gives 12 categories of "power foods" that you should eat (nuts, beans, green vegetables, dairy, instant oatmeal, eggs, lean meats, peanut butter, olive oil, whole grain breads/pastas/cereals, whey protein, and berries), and it gives you various easy recipes, so that even Christoff and Tradd can do it.
  • It tells you about various foods you should avoid, even ones that bill themselves as being healthy.
  • It's not about starvation or cutting calories, but rather eating the right kinds of food, and you actually might eat more than you did before. Therefore, you don't count calories.
  • It tells you to eat 6 small meals a day, rather than 3 big meals, to keep your metabolism up and your blood sugar levels even throughout the day.
  • It also explains that the most important part of weight loss (and raising metabolism) is gaining/maintaining muscle, but alas, all it asks you to do is lift weights 3 times a week for 30 minutes (granted, those 30 minutes will kick your ass).

The main drawbacks are that it only allows one meal a week where you can eat whatever you want. Also, it restricts alcohol intake to 2 drinks a day (and unfortunately, that doesn't mean that I can save them up and have 7 each on Friday and Saturday night). At the end of 6 weeks, assuming you stick to the plan, you will have lost around 20 pounds of fat, gained around 5-6 pounds of muscle, and severely dropped your body fat percentage. The best part is that it actually gives you a plan for after the 6 weeks so that, assuming you continue the basic tenets, you will actually keep the weight off for the rest of your life.

Anyway, here are my vitals as they currently stand:
Weight: 182.8 (not the heaviest I've ever been, but pretty damn close)
BMI: 27.0 (that would be in the "overweight" range)
Waist-to-Hip Ratio: 0.901 (not bad, but possibly inflated because of my bulbous ass)
Body Fat %: 25.6% (seriously)

So that I will actually stick to this (which actually doesn't seem like it's going to be that hard), I will be posting my vitals each week. For you fatties out there, I invite you to try the Abs Diet with me. On Amazon, the book is only $16.47 for hardback and $10.85 for paperback. After reading the whole book, the "diet" actually makes sense, and it doesn't have that "you gotta be kidding me" aspect that the low-carb diets have (i.e., "So, I can eat as much bacon, sausage, hamburger, and steak as I can shovel into my mouth, but I have to cut out fruits, vegetables, and any sort of grains? And this will make me skinny with no adverse health effects?").

I haven't decided whether or not I'm going to post "before" and "after" pictures, but ladies, rest assured, they will be all nude.

Saturday, January 07, 2006


From now on, I will only do biographies for every 5,000th visitor, starting with number 10,000. I just don't have the time to do it every for every 1000. My deepest and sincerest apologies to the future Mr./Mrs./Ms./Miss/Dr. 7000, 8000, and 9000.

Mr. 6000 - Adam McClure

***This is a fake biography. It is purely satirical and devoid of truth. Any names, places, events, etc. discussed in the following biography are not real and are purely coincidental to and have no connection whatsoever to any names, places, events, etc. that may exist in the real world.***

On the morning of September 12, 1978, in the Scottish harbor town of Portree on the Isle of Skye, Troy MacClure paced nervously up and down the hallways of Portree General Hospital. Hours earlier, his wife Selma had gone into labor with the couple's first child. He prayed to St. Andrew for a boy to carry on the tradition of his forefathers, who fought alongside Robert the Bruce at the Battle of Bannockburn, in the Year of our Lord, Thirteen Fourteen. A 1995 account of the battle had this to say: "Patriots of Scotland -- starving and outnumbered -- charged the fields of Bannockburn. They fought like warrior poets; they fought like Scotsmen, and won their freedom." Troy's prayers were answered when, at 1:14pm, Selma gave birth to a boy, who they named Adam Inverness Wallace MacClure.

Much to the chagrin of their neighbors, they had been trying to conceive a child since their traditional Scottish wedding in June 1976. Both Troy and Selma had grown up on the Isle of Skye. Troy's ancestors had remained in Scotland, unlike many, who emigrated to Ireland in the 16th and 17th Centuries. While Troy and his distant kin across the Sea of the Hebrides may no longer have shared a country, they certainly shared a deep-seeded hatred of the English.

During the day, Troy worked as a distillation assistant at the Talisker Distillery in nearby Carbost, a little less than a half-hour from Portree. At night, he headed of the Scotch-running operations of the small, but surprisingly angry, MacLeod arm of the Scottish mafia (known colloquially as "The Dunvegans"), ruled with an iron fist from Castle Dunvegan (also on the Isle of Skye). Selma was a seamstress by day, and at night, she too was involved with The Dunvegans as the lead educator for the children of Dunvegans. She taught the children to embrace their Scottish heritage and to become militant and vigilant in their hatred of the English.

Growing up in such an environment, Adam indeed embraced his Scottishness. At three, he asked Troy and Selma for their permission to have "Hold Fast" (the motto of Clan MacLeod) tattooed across his knuckles. Touched, they allowed it. At age four, Adam was in his first football brawl, shattering a beer bottle over an opposing player's head after a game. He religiously followed his favorite team, Aberdeen, each year as they marched toward the Scottish Cup.

Troy and Selma were overjoyed. As Selma explained in a 2004 interview with Bon Appetit Magazine: "I thought Troy was going to cry when Adam asked for his first caber for Christmas in 1982. How could we not get it for him? We even allowed him to drink Scotch ale, and the occasional sip of Scotch whisky, because he felt that he could become a greater Scot by doing so. It was touching. We were so proud of how Adam was turning out. He was just so damned Scottish."

But not even Adam's Scottishness could have kept MacClures in Scotland. By late 1983, Troy became increasingly infuriated with The Dunvegans. He felt that there needest to be more of a focus on "making the rivers run red with the blood of 1,000 Englishmen each and every day." Despite Troy's constant pleas for more bloodshed and hooliganism, Alistair MacLeod (aka "The Don of the Dunvegans") refused because he wanted to focus more on the Scotch-running trade to Middle Eastern countries, where alcohol (and certainly Scotch from the Isle of Skye) was hard to come by.

On the night of November 2, 1983, Troy received £523,000, in exchange for which he was supposed to have shipped about 5,000 cases of Scotch to Saudi Arabia. Instead of sending the boat to Riyadh, as planned, Troy slaughtered the boat's crew of 12, quietly and efficiently in less than 10 minutes. He then grabbed Selma and Adam, and the three of them set sail with the money and the Scotch.

After a little over a week of travel, the MacClures landed in Houston, Texas, where Troy shortened the family's surname to McClure (the Irish variation of the name). The move turned out to be a good one, since no henchmen hired by The Dunvegans would ever think that a Scot would change his last name to sound Irish. In order to protect young Adam, Troy also changed Adam's middle name to Matthew.

Troy then took the family to Midland, Texas with an extremely poorly-thought-out plan to start a single-malt Scotch bootlegging cartel, only to realize that alcohol was completely legal in the United States and, in fact, Scotch from the Isle of Skye was being imported to Texas each and every day. To make ends meet, Troy started to sell the bottles of Scotch to the townspeople out of the family's garage, and Selma got a job at a local tailor.

The adjustment to life in West Texas was difficult for the McClures. As Adam explained in a 2001 interview with Club Magazine, "It was a rough transition. First of all, for about the first year, no one could understand a word I said. They thought my kilt was a dress and tried to pummel me for wearing it. When I suggested the caber toss as an activity in gym class, not even my teacher knew what I was talking about. There wasn't a pub in the town where I could grab a pint of Auld Tartan Wee Heavy and watch Aberdeen play Celtic in '84. For Christ's sake, it was the Scottish Cup title game. And I'll be a bloody Englishman if I could find a decent haggis or cranachan around town. Not a decent piper to be found, either."

Adam was not the only one who had a difficult time adjusting. Due to the discernible lack of Scotch whisky distilleries in Midland, Troy was unable to find work in his previous line of employment. He applied to coach football at Midland Lee High School because he had heard of its status as a football powerhouse, and he thought he could "bring some Scottish fire to the team to help them stomp those no good bastards from Permian." He was not hired, since it was in fact not the kind of "football" Troy had ever played.

Furthermore, the market for Scotch in Midland was not nearly what it was in the Middle East, and Troy was forced to turn to the bottle himself, both for comfort and to clear space for the family's new Jaguar. Before long, Troy was a full-fledged alcoholic, and he began to blame his unemployment on Adam. As Adam recounted, "He would tell me that the reason he didn't have a job was because I didn't love Scotland enough. Then I would yell at him and tell him that he was the one who took me from my homeland. Then he would throw an empty bottle at me, missing horribly. Then I would yell, 'Nice shot you fuckin' Englishman,' and that would really set him off. He would throw books at me and try to stab me, all the while crying about me being a traitor. I would cut him with the shards of glass left on the floor from the myriad of broken Scotch bottles. Eventually I would say something along the lines of, 'If I don't love Scotland, then why the hell am I holding fast right now? And why do all my clothes bear the tartan of MacLeod of Harris?' Then his eyes would start to tear up, and he would say, 'You're a Scot, you little bastard. I love you son.' Then he would throw down his knife, bottle, or book, and give me a hug. This little exchange happened happened daily for well over a year."

While the unhealthy amount of Scotch Troy was drinking was taking its toll on his liver, it didn't have any effect on his sperm count. On March 26, 1986, Selma gave birth to the couple's second child, Jessica. Adam took an immediate liking to his new sister. Even when she was only a few days old, he would tell her about significant events in Scottish history and have point-counterpoint discussions with himself about the validity of various Scottish cultural phenomena. "I just wanted to make sure she saw both sides of the story when it came to such things as killing the English, football, pint drinking contests, and steak and kidney pie," he said.

As the relationship between Adam and Jessica began to solidify, so did Troy's liver. Cirrhosis had taken hold. By Adam's 7th birthday, Troy was on his death bed. On September 30, 1986, Troy passed away in his hospital bed with his family by his side. Right before he died, he motioned for Adam to approach his bed. Adam recalled, "He was barely able to talk or move, but he grabbed my shirt and pulled me close. He said, 'Cirrhosis may take my life, but it'll never take MY FREEDOM!' Then he gasped a couple times, smiled, and closed his eyes forever."

Troy's death was hard on Adam at first, but he soon realized that he had to take over the role as man of the house. To help Selma out with bills, Adam took afterschool jobs as a bootblack and a chimney sweep. And he helped take care of Jessica as well, teaching her many childhood games, including Ring Around the Rosey, Duck Duck Goose, the Caber Toss, Hide-and-Seek, Ghosts in the Graveyard, and Kick the Englishman (the Scottish variation of Kick the Can). Just as things started to get back to normal at the McClure household, on October 14, 1987, tragedy struck again while Adam and Jessica played Jessica's favorite game.

Adam recalls, "Jessica wasn't very good at a lot of the game I taught her because she wasn't even 2 yet and I always beat her, but there was one game she loved to play: Hide-and-Seek. Even the first time we played, she was excellent. I think she hid in an detached toilet we had lying around in the basement. After that, she really perfected her craft. I mean, she would hide just about anywhere: the laundry hamper, cabinets, dresser drawers, the oven, the washer, the dryer, the dishwasher, and pretty much anywhere else more than 8 inches in diameter. She would always tell me she had 'the ultimate hiding spot' that she was saving. I guess she found it."

On that day, as Adam counted to 100, 18-month-old Jessica crept out of the house, into the backyard, arriving at an old, abandoned well that had long since dried up. She hoisted herself into the bucket and slowly lowered herself to the bottom of the well. About half-way down, the teathered rope snapped, and Jessica plummeted to the bottom of the well. To make things worse, there was no grating covering the pipe at the bottom of the well. Consequently, Jessica became wedged in the 8-inch-wide pipe at the bottom of the well.

Adam spent hours looking for her, until he finally pinpointed the location of her cries. It took paramedics, led by a man in a red hat wearing a red stethoscope, 58 hours to free Jessica from the well, and her story made national headlines. Both Adam and Selma were overjoyed that Jessica was still alive. The Department of Children's Services, however, was not so overjoyed. In a strange move only allowed in Texas, the DCS awarded custody of Jessica to another family in Midland with the last name McClure, in exchange for that family's 5-year-old son, Ryan, custody of whom would go to Selma. Most people did not even notice the switch, including filmmakers, whose 1989 made-for-TV movie "Everybody's Baby: The Rescue of Jessica McClure" featured portrayals of Jessica's new parents (Selma and Adam were not even mentioned) and recounted an entirely different story regarding how Jessica came to be stuck in that 8-inch-wide pipe.

As part of the DCS's order, Selma, Adam, and Ryan had to leave the state of Texas and agree never to contact Jessica again. In addition, Adam and Selma were required to lose their Scottish accents, so that Ryan (who had a neurological disorder that prevented him from remembering anything before the move) would not become confused as to why his mom and brother had Scottish accents. Meanwhile, Jessica's new parents were not allowed to mention anything about her real family or the real events of October 14-16, 1987. As recently as a 2004 interview with Stuff Magazine, Jessica still had no idea about the real events of those fateful 58 hours.

Selma, Adam, and Ryan moved to historic Spring Avenue in LaGrange, Illinois, a western suburb of Chicago, where Adam and Ryan enrolled at LaGrange's prestigious Cossitt Elementary School. Adam's classmates at Cossitt included the following:
-Future Junior Ultimate Fighting Champion, Greg Weeser*
-Future Park Junior High School Student Council Presidential candidate, John Yates
-Future WWE Divas champion, Gina Mabin
-Future railroad conducter, James Hayden
-The inspiration behind the movie Powder, J.P. Sell
-Future trophy wife to some old guy with a ton of money, Kate Laswell.

But it was one classmate in particular that would change Adam from a boy who loved playing with Atari and M.A.S.K. toys into a full-fledged sexually charged man. It was at Cossitt where Adam would meet the first great love of his life, Cuban dissident Conchita Smith. When Adam met Conchita during Mrs. Holton's art class, he began to experience feelings that up until then he had only read about when he accidentally picked up Selma's copy of Danielle Steele's "Season of Passion."

Conchita and Adam enjoyed an on-again-off-again relationship for the next several years. He taught her how to play Kick the Englishman, while she taught him how to play some more devlish games, such as Spin the Bottle, Miss Me Miss Me Now You Gotta Kiss Me (a rudimentary game in which the 2 contestants try to tackle each other, whereby an unsuccessful tackler must kiss the missed tacklee), and Hide the Nerf Ball.

Unfortunately for Adam, Conchita had wandering eyes (among other body parts). On January 18, 1990, Adam found Conchita playing Miss Me Miss Me Now You Gotta Kiss Me with Eric Busch on the Cossitt playground. Adam didn't even get the chance to talk to Conchita about what she was doing. Instead, in a callow move, Conchita sent future stripper Katie Sylvester to tell Adam that "Conchita hate[d] [him] and was breaking up with [him]."

Losing Conchita sent Adam into a 6-year depression, plagued by awkward relationships with the opposite sex, alcohol abuse, drug abuse, eating disorders, and vigilant, steadfast masturbation. By the time Adam graduated from Lyons Township High School in 1996, he was 6'2", but weighed only 120 pounds. His coke habit was up to $500 a day, and he ate only once a month. As he explained, "Every day was worse than the previous day. In essence, every day was the worst day of my life."

It wasn't until an August 1996 encounter with a former junior high classmate, famed bullfighter Tony Zumpano, that Adam realized he needed to make changes. "Tony took me to Paul's Pizza in Westchester and bought me a beef and cheese on garlic. It was like an epiphany. Frankly, I was sick and tired of being sick and tired, and that's what I needed to turn my life around: an Italian beef sandwich," recalled Adam.

Adam enrolled in the College of DuPage in Glen Ellyn, Illinois, with the goal of getting a culinary degree. He soon changed his mind and decided to major in accounting. Then he switched him major to botany. Then he switched his major to ceramics. By 1998, he had switched his major a record 23 times. "The school just had so much to offer that I felt like I had to try everything before I transferred."

The transfer Adam was talking about came in the fall of 1998, when he enrolled at Eastern Illinois University. While graduating with a bachelor's degree was one goal for Adam, he had another goal that consumed every waking moment: to lose his virginity. During junior high and high school, Adam was too strung out to acheive coitus with a female, and while at DuPage, he was never in one major long enough to meet anyone.

Adam's dreams came true on February 19, 1999, when he met a girl named Molly at a "kegger" party. Adam and Molly became severely intoxicated while drinking lager at the party, and eventually Adam drank up the courage to ask Molly to return to his apartment with him, to which she obliged.

The next eleven hours are somewhat of a blur to Adam. However, his roommates at the time have no problem recollecting the night's events. Ryan Knudsen, whose room was next to Adam's, explained, "I had a psychology test the next morning, so I was up all night studying, as I had been for the previous 72 hours. To say that Adam had beginner's luck is a bit of an understatement. For Christ's sake, the guy went down on her for 3 hours in a row. She came like 45 times."

Sean Riesenbeck, who shared a room with Adam, has this to say: "In the past when Adam would bring someone home, I would go watch TV for a half hour or so, at which point the girl would come out of the room laughing and head straight for the door. Adam would then emerge in tears after yet another failed attempt to plow some drunk chick. But man, when he nailed Molly, I slept on the couch the whole night. I really shouldn't say 'slept' because it was hard to sleep when Adam was banging her for five hours. Without stopping. And that was just the first time that night. She was loving it, though. I mean, she must have come like 73 times."

Unashamed of his newly discovered sexual prowess, Adam began to videotape his sexual encounters, receiving full consent from each female and of course editing the tapes down to around an hour from the 8-10 hours they were initially. He began to reproduce and sell the tapes around campus, using the pseudonym Matthew Spring. Soon Adam had saved enough money to buy some high-quality video cameras and editing equipment and start his own production company, Spring Brothers Production. His fellow male actors were comprised entirely of guys who had lived on the same street as Adam in LaGrange -- Spring Avenue. Joining Adam, or "Matthew" was Anthony Spring, David Spring, Douglas Spring, and Fitzgerald Spring.

Billing themselves as the Spring Brothers, they took the adult film market by storm. Between 1999 and 2003, the Spring Brothers racked up AVN awards by the mouthful. Here are some of the awards:
-Best Male Newcomer, Matthew Spring
-Best Actor - Video, Douglas Spring, "Spring Is In the Air"
-Best Actress - Video, Air Diamonte, "Spring Is In the Air"
-Best New Video Production Company, Spring Brothers Productions
-Best Video Feature, "Spring Is Here"
-Best Anal-Themed Feature, "Springtime in Uranus"
-Best Oral-Themed Feature, "A Touch of Spring (In Your Mouth)"
-Best Supporting Actor - Video, David Spring, "The Joy of Spring"
-Best Actress - Video, Joy Spring, "the Joy of Spring"
-Best Oral Sex Scene - Video, Anthony Spring and Luscious Lipps, "A Touch of Spring (In Your Mouth)"
-Best Art Direction - Video, Fitzgerald Spring, "Springtime in Uranus"
-Best Special Effects, "Springtime in Uranus"
-Best Oral-Themed Feature, "Spring Is In the Hair"
-Best Actress - Video, Autumn Kelly, "Autumn Comes Before Spring"
-Best Cinematography, "Autumn Comes Before Spring"
-Most Outrageous Sex Scene, Sandi Bush, Kitty Kitty, David Spring, Douglas Spring, the 'How Am I Ever Going to Get this Gum Out of My Hair?' scene in "Spring Is In the Hair"
-Male Performer of the Year, David Spring
-Best Director - Video, Matthew Spring, "Spring Into Summer"
-Best Actress - Video, Summer Wilde, "Spring Into Summer"
-Best Sex Comedy - "Spring Training: Bloopers and Outtakes from Spring Brothers Productions"
-Best Group Sex Scene - Video, Carla Areola, Jenna Splitz, Anthony Spring, David Spring, Douglas Spring, Fitzgerald Spring, Matthew Spring, Dominique Zanzabar, "Spring Break Sperm Attack"
-Best Oral-Themed Feature, "Spring Showers"
-Best Actress - Video, Wind Rayne, "A Spring Wind Blows"
-Best Video Feature, "Spring Break Sperm Attack"

At the 2003 AVN Awards, Adam met female adult film star Kathleen "Volleyball Katie" Wegner, who was using adult films to help finance her dental school tuition. That year, Katie won AVN Awards for Best New Starlet, Best Actress - Film for "Back Side Out," and Best Girl-on-Girl Scene - Video for "Spike and Dykes." Adam and Katie hit it off in spectacular fashion.

Adam proposed to Katie in March of 2004, and she of course said "yes." The happy couple currently resides in Las Vegas. Using their connections from the adult film industry, Adam and Katie formed two of Nevada's most famous and successful brothels, Adam's Madam's, located outside Las Vegas, and McClure's Whures, located outside Reno. In addition, Adam and Katie became vegans in late 2004, and they formed a soy-based cheese-like product company called Dunvegan Soy Cheese Concern. Their products include the following imitation versions of real cheeses: Instead-a-Feta, Woulda-Coulda-Gouda, Better'n-Cheddar, Not-So-Rella, Free-of-Brie, Miss Swiss, Nolby, Novalone, and Withotta Ricotta. The January 2006 issue of Cheese Glorious Cheese Magazine named Adam and Katie "Cheese Moguls of the Year" for 2005.

About his life, Adam had this to say: "Hoot, I cannae get back to mae hoos in bonny Scotland. But at's been a hell of a ride anyhoo, aye?"

Friday, January 06, 2006

"Just An Urchin Livin' Out on the Streets"

After a 2-week haitus for the holidays, we're all back in the office for the first Hair Band Friday of 2006. And what better way to kick off the new year than by snorting coke off a stripper's ass right after responding to some interrogatories? Coming from the ghetto blaster, we got Time-Life's "Guitar Rock: The Heavy '80s," a delightful compilation of hair band classics, G n' F'n R's timeless effort, "Appetite for Destruction," and Def Leppard's multi-platinum masterpiece, "Pyromania." What's awesome about living only 3 1/2 blocks from where I work is that this morning I was able to watch Zack and Kelly get married on Saved By the Bell: The College Years, which ended at 8, and by 8:08, I was drinking Beam out of some hooker's belly button while rockin' out to "Paradise City" in my office.

So, there was no new The OC last night (starts back up next week). As you may or may not know, The OC's start time has moved to an hour later (9/8C), and now NBC has moved My Name Is Earl and The Office (which were both hilarious last night) to Thursday nights to go up against The OC. Maybe ABC should just go ahead and move Desperate Housewives to Thursday at 9, and next fall ESPN should make it Thursday Night Football instead of Monday Night Football, and CBS should move, uh, that one show that -- oh nevermind, I can't name a show on CBS. Thank God for DVRs, though.

On another note, while I was walking to work today, there was a noticeable lack of precipitation coming down from the heavens. That seems like an odd thing to say, doesn't it? Well yes it is. Unless you see a middle-aged Daytonian woman walk for several blocks with her umbrella open, apparently protecting herself from the harsh rays of the fully clouded sky and any gale force winds that may never occur.

Oh shit, I totally forgot to mention that on Wednesday night, Rhonda (my stylin' '91 Accord that sits on gold 24s) hit the 194,000-mile mark (as you can see, for once I was stopped when I took the picture of the odometer, rather than on the highway where I endanger hundreds of lives by taking the picture). At the rate I'm going, she'll hit 200,000 by summer.

And just chill out, Mr. 6000 is coming.

Thursday, January 05, 2006

Grand Daddy Indeed!

Man, what a game last night! Hopefully you all stayed up to watch the ending. That was more entertaining than Down Periscope and McHale's Navy combined. With all the hype building the Rose Bowl up, I assumed the teams would somehow find a way to play a terrible game, with USC winning 59-21 or something like that. But alas, the stars were aligned, giving us a game for the ages.
  • Vince Young was unbelievable. 267 yards passing, 200 yards rushing, 3 rushing TDs, including the game-winner with 19 seconds left. It was the best individual performance I've seen since Chris Elliott in Cabin Boy.
  • LenDale White, USC's "other running back," bowled over Texas defenders for most of the game, racking up 124 yards and 3 TDs.
  • Texas's defense came up HUGE, stopping White short of a first down twice in a row with less than 2 minutes in the game.
  • Reggie Bush made some sweet moves, including a 26-yard TD run that would have been a no-gain if it was anyone else. That guy gets to the corner faster than anyone since -- dare I say it -- Gale Sayers.
  • USC WR Dwayne Jarrett caught the ball at the 2 yard line and caused not one, but two, Texas defenders to leave the game after they failed to prevent Jarrett from finding the end zone.
  • The stark duality of the Texas cheerleaders' uniforms. On one hand, you had the worst male cheerleader outfits of all-time, complete with tassles and fairy dust. On the other hand, you had the best female pom outfits of all-time, complete with mid-rif shirts and assless chaps. Shame on you Texas and bravo (!) Texas, respectively.
  • And a big "way to go" to Matt Leinart for being a fat bag-o-douche in his postgame, on-field interview where he said USC was "a better football team" than Texas. Obviously.

And don't worry, Mr. 6000 will be coming soon.

Tuesday, January 03, 2006


In case you haven't heard, Fox is likely going to cancel its hysterical, Emmy-winning show Arrested Development. Mr. Wendel would certainly not approve of such a foolish maneuver, and neither should you. There is a petition to save Arrested Development. Click on this link to sign the petition, and forward it on to anyone who likes well-written comedic masterpieces. I will also post the link on the righthand side of the blog so that people can easily access the petition.

Happy New Year

Welcome 2006. The Year of the Blog. If the past few days are any indication of how 2006 will pan out, I should be dead by March. From Friday to Sunday, I rained blows upon my liver like an Irishman on, well, pretty much any day of the year.

Friday night, Jesterio and I went to the birthday par-tay of Jeremy "Floppy Burrito" DeMuth at the Big Downtown, a bar in the Palmer House Hilton in downtown Chicago. Among the thousands of devout attendees were Jeremy's younger brothers, who I probably haven't seen since 1992 (Justin, who is 23 or 24, and was rockin' a suit with a khaki camelhair overcoat, and Clayton, who I think just recently turned 21). Anyway, several of us end up going to Burton Place (a bar in Old Town) afterward. Jeremy, Greg "Stormin'" Bohmann, and Dennis "The Body" Ventura engaged in what can only be described as a riveting conversation about their intramural basketball team from their undergrad days together at Illinois, blaming everyone else for the team's shortcomings.

After 45 minutes of listening to them go back and forth, I went over to talk to Justin and Clayton. I came to find out that Clayton is a drummer in a band called Hellz Funk. He described his band as "stoner rock," which I assumed meant that they were trying to fill the void left by Phish's demise. Boy was I wrong. I went to the band's MySpace webpage. First, I was greeted by an image of a naked woman in the crucifix position with a goat's head. The song that plays starts off kind of slow and acoustic, then about 30 seconds into it, turns all death metal on me. I scroll down the page to see some macabre photo with skulls, candles, and deer horns. Hellz Funk's MySpace friends include the likes of "Satan," "Death," and "Eye Hate God." Never did I think that the kid who used to worship the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles would go from Splinter to Satan so seamlessly.

On a random note, also at Burton Place, I saw a guy I used to work with who recently got his ear sliced up pretty good in a street fight when some dude punched him in the ear with a pool ball. Who carries around a pool ball?

I woke up Saturday morning with no hangover, which always surprises the hell out of me. Saturday night was, of course, New Years Eve. In an unprecedented move, Jessie and I decided to spend New Years Eve at separate events. She went to Vaughan's Pub on Sheffield in Chicago with her friends. I went to the hizzie of Mike and Kelly Jones in Aurora (yes, the very same Aurora, Illinois from which Wayne Campbell and Garth Algar used to broadcast their zany, sophomoric TV show). Attendees included: Tony "T Dawg" Zumpano and his wife Megan, Ryan "The Great Dane" Knudsen and his wife Carrie, Mike "The Single Guy" Lynch, Paul "I Look Enough Like Mike to Cause Confusion" Jones and his wife, Sean "Treasonbeck" Riesenbeck and his life partner Bridget "Please Don't Post Any Pictures of Me" Spanbauer, Adam "Soon to Be Mr. 6000" McClure and his fiance Katie "Bathroom Floor" Wegner, Jon "J-Diza" Dudek and his girlfriend Tracy "I Can't Remember Her Last Name Right Now," Bill "Kill" Lehnhardt and his girlfriend Lauren, and Allison "I Hate Frat Rats" and her husband. Aside from the 2am tequila shot that came right back up, the night was a rousing success. Here are some pictures from the evening:

All was going well. Katie and Bridget shared a midnight tongue-touching on the dance floor. It's amazing what a ton of champagne and a blogger's camera phone can lead two women to do.

Everything seemed to be going well. People were dancing. Jon was pouring fruit punch all over himself.Megan was slapping Tony's ass repeatedly. Onlookers couldn't contain themselves.

All of a sudden, the song "Murder on the Dance Floor" came on and Megan completely flipped out, apparently taking the song to heart. Before anyone could stop Megan, she grabbed several knives and stabbed Lauren in the back somewhere between 2 and 48 times.

Kelly vigourously cleaned the blood stain left by Lauren's carcas. A sobbing Megan looked on, still unsure of what she had done.

Lauren turned out to be alright afterall, though, because this whole scenario took place entirely in my distorted imagination.

On Sunday, I woke up sans hangover for the second day in a row. Confused, I returned to the city with the kind of hubris that would make Donald Trump blush. I watched the Bears lose a meaningless game to the Vikings, 42 minutes after which Mike Tice was fired. Ouch. In the evening, it was off to my favorite bar in the world, the Burwood Tap, for Hillbilly Sunday. I hate country music, but ain't nothin' wrong with $6 pitchers.

While there, some chick named Mary sits down at a table with me, Christoff, and Bohmann while she was waiting for her friend to take a dump or something. She was only there for a couple minutes and had the balls to ask us what our New Years resolutions were. Ryan, who told Mary that his name was Steve and that he was the part-owner of a Taco Bell in Oswego, told her that he was going to try to give up heroin in 2006. I told her that my goal in 2006 is to kill as many stupid chicks named Mary that come up to me in bars and ask me what my New Years resolution is. Then she left for some reason.

After the Burwood, a bunch of us went to a "country dance" party at one of Ari's friend's houses. Also in attendance was a ballerina named Brita that some of the guys had met earlier in the day while she was watching the Steelers game alone at a bar. She kept telling everyone about her brothers, Pur and Culligan. It was kind of annoying. Then Bohmann and I got to a pizza place just in time to grab a couple slices before the place closed at 5am.

The next morning several of us (Jesterio, Ari, Liz, Ryan, and me) went to get some breakfast. While dining, we came up with the perfect public shaming for people we don't like: depantsing at a bar. Here's how it goes down: I depants some stupid, stuck-up bitch that millions of people hate. Before she even knows what I've done, Ryan pushes her over me (since I'm kneeling behind her). We then punch her in the gut and pour drinks all over her. The finale is when everyone in the entire bar points, laughs, then pours their drinks on her. This should make said bitch feel uncomfortable. I ask all of you to go forth and make our dream come true.

And don't worry everyone, Mr. 6000 will be coming soon.