More Bullets: The Game of the Year?

Let me start of by saying, I just finished watching one of the best College Basketball games this season. And my apologies to the Oklahoma St.-Texas game, but I didn't see that one live. In case you missed it, Texas just beat Texas A&M in Double over time in a brilliantly played game. And it's sure to garner a slobber job from Bill Simmons in his fraudulent College Hoops Blog, but more on that in a minute.

First, quite a night in College Hoops and on the eve of March 1st, nonetheless. It felt like March Madness, frantically flipping back and forth between watching Duke lose (fuck yeah!) and the Texas/Texas A&M game. Once the outcome of the Duke/Maryland game was in the balance and I gave myself a "self" high five for negatively rooting Duke onto a loss, my full attention was devoted to the "other" game.

What can I really say? Just an amazing game. Back and forth, money shots, an All-American performance from both Acie Law and Kevin Durant. At the end of regulation Durant triples to put Texas up by 4 points, as Simmons orgasms. Dominique Kirk for A&M triples with 12 seconds left on the other end to cut it back to 1, another Simmons orgasm. A&M fouls and puts Augistin at the line with 9 seconds to go, where the freshmen buries them both. After a foul and couple timeouts, Acie Law sticks a dagger triple over Durant to send the game into overtime, Simmons has now fainted from ejaculating in his pants to a basketball game.

Texas seemed to control the overtime from the get go and actually never trailed in either the overtime or double overtime. And they even led by 7 points with about a minute to go before A&M went on an 8-0 run (5 from Law, including another dagger triple) to send it to double overtime.

Both teams were a little gased in the double OT and Texas finally put A&M in the grave, but it took fucking forever and that team just wouldn't die easy. And that doesn't suprise me much. Of course, I'm not shocked. Both of these teams could wipe the plate with Ohio State and Wisconsin -- book that all you Big 10 knob slobs.

Let me go on record...here first (just kidding)...that both of those teams are locks to get to the Sweet 16. Nobody is sleeping on either and nobody ever really was. In fact, either of those teams could very well slip into the Final Four and who knows...winning it might be a stretch, but you never do know. And the thing is, this fraudulent Hoops Blog by Simmons would like to lead you to believe he discovered these teams and that nobody else is down with them, or at least down with A&M.

That's just not the case. And let me apologize for going after Simmons again, because honestly he is more of an inspiration than an enemy, but he must be stopped at once when it comes to his College Hoops Blog.

Once Again, I just had to email him today to dispute several of his claims and again I've not gotten a response and I don't expect one. I needed to "correct" several things he stated in his latest blog that continue to irk the shit out of me, much like a Kevin Bacon movie.

Again the cock-knocker couldn't go a day without referencing the '86 Celtics in some way shape or form, comparing Greg Oden to Robert Parish. Yeah, great comparison prick. That must make the Oden family proud...hopefully he doesn't get caught with 10 pounds of brick weed like the Cheif, ass.

And of course he gave us his usual, "I'd take it from Durant in any direction." Yawn!!! And again he drops a "don't sleep on A&M"...ah, yawn again...get a fucking clue. A lot of people probably had A&M moving along in their bracket, until they read your fucking blog, because they know your wife can handicap better than you pal.

Yet, these are the Simmons points that pissed me off the most.

"During the Kansas-Oklahoma game, Julian Wright submitted the single best half I've seen from a college player this season."

Sweet, a new guy for you to give hj's, bj's and zj's to. Well Simmons do your fucking research, he is no more consistently dominant than your whipping boy Brandan Wright. Your buddy Julian dropped a 33 and 12 on Mizzou a month back and followed that up with no double digit rebounding performances and 5 straight games where he only scored over 8 points once. I guess it would be kind of funny if the Celtics took him 3rd overall...jack ass.

"But can you let me enjoy the Neitzel era for a few more weeks, please? Thanks."

Nice call Simmons, but he is fucking Junior. And did I mention he is banging the Sports Gal and Erin Andrews?

"As for Brandan Wright, he bricked the game-tying free throws at Maryland in the final three seconds and looked terrified the entire time"

Fuck you and fuck you. Look, we get your point - you've seen 5 maybe 10 minutes of Wright and North Carolina play. Just stop pretending that you have the book on this kid. He can dominate just like anybody else, but just happens to play on the deepest and most talented team in the country. So, is he going to get 25 and 10 every night...no. Yet, you give him no credit at all, which just further proves your ignorance. And BTW...he's a terrible free throw shooter prick, of course he was scared.

"The Jayhawks have the highest ceiling of any college team (including Florida).

Look douchebag, you obviously read the Basketball Bullets post and attack on you earlier in the week and jumped on the Kansas bandwagon. Well, guess what? The cat's long out of the bag on that one. Like I've said in this very space...they've been obliterating teams, yup obliterating teams for over a month now. And I love the fact that you fail to mention North Carolina in the same breath as "highest ceiling of any college team", but I guess you've only seen 15-30 minutes of them play this year. So nice body of work for your reference points prick.

And you even had the nerve to mention that ESPN should create an ErinMobile for Erin Andrews. What a fucking jerk...just stick with the Sports gal, asshole. Stay the fuck away from EA.

And I'm out now, I gotta go call my buddies and slobber about Durant.

What? A little Turd on the way??? Could be

So the other day I found out that there might be a little Turd in the oven of my little lady (I use that term lightly, she is 6’4” 190 See Pic). She is all women and she is all mines. So it made me want to put together a list of people who should never be aloud to reproduce.

Me – In Leaving Las Vegas Nick (yeah I call him Nick, we are close) Cage pretended to be someone trying to drink himself to death. What a lot of you don’t know is that he spent a week with me to prepare for the role and originally he was supposed to be alive at the end of the movie.

Kevin Bacon – Oh I hate this mutha fucker. AHHHHHH!! There is not enough time to go into it.

Jimmy Fallon – Umm Pepsi wants their money back you fucking asshole.

Christina Ricci – If I can’t fuck her no one should.

Anyone who has been on The Real World or Road Rules (challenges included) – Have fun working at a bar the rest of your life. “Be good. Be bad. Be MIZ.”

Please feel free to add to this list

Trader Joe's - Complaint

Trader Joe's is a great place to get groceries for a fairly affordable option of quality food. Today, however, I decided to sample the New Zealand Grass Fed Sharp Cheddar and oh boy was it taste-tacular. So I figured, "I gots to get some real goood crackers". So I see these crackers called 'wisecrackers' and I chuckle and say, "ya, wisecrackers ahaha". I get home open the box (which is trisket size) and see a total of 8 crackers. I have never felt so ripped off in my life. I could normally care less about a small portion, but this is too much to stand man. So if you ever are thinking man what a witty name for some crackers...don't get fooled like me. They short you. Not just a little.

On another note: I heard Whole Foods bought out Trader Joe's...can anyone confirm this?

EMO Jokes

This may be in poor taste of this site, but since I have no understanding of etiquette I was inquiring if anyone could contribute some good EMO jokes. Living where I am it is nice to have a large arsenal. Thanks and Respect to Mr. Fontes, Rodney Pete, and Jerry Ball. Is Andre Ware still red shirted? What about Koko B Ware (sp?)

Stop Messing with Us, Texas

In one of the more egregious violations of the golden rule in recent years, Texas continues to mess with us, despite their decade’s long plea for us not to mess with them. I find it appalling that they refuse to reciprocate our acquiescence to their request, by repeatedly messing with us. I’m calling them out for it.

I’ll start with the glaringly obvious examples. I’m sure you saw these coming, so I’ll gloss over them. George W. Bush forced us into an optional war for reasons unbeknownst to literally everyone, including his own cabinet and advisory staff and also got everyone addicted to oil and gasoline when there are many other more sustainable alternatives. For example, one of my favorite bluegrass bands, the Hot Buttered Rum String Band tours the country, tens of thousands of miles per year, in a van that runs on vegetable oil. Way to go guys. This is a rippin’ band if you’re into the pickin’.

One of Texas’s more bizarre attempts to mess with us is their cuisine. Has it ever occurred to you that Tex-Mex is really just Mexican food? There is no difference. If anyone can clarify this I would appreciate it, but as far as I know, they are the exact same! At least southwestern food (i.e. New Mexican) utilizes the local green chile peppers and is a slight variant from traditional Mexican, but Tex-Mex is just a rip off. Don’t mess with perfection; just leave that hot, delicious, sloppy goodness alone.

I don’t even know where to begin with the higher education system. First of all, one of the premier institutions has fluorescent orange sports teams. I guess that helps your wide receivers sneak into the defensive backfield unnoticed? Another top college was apparently named when the founder couldn’t decide what to call it, but happened to be enjoying some tasty Tex-Mex and wanted a side of _____ (A little trivia there for you guys). Finally, the third powerhouse popularized the ubiquitous A&M name for a center of higher learning. Hey Texas, nobody knows what that stands for anymore. You might want to remind us every 5 years or so, because the other 49 aren’t weird enough to call their colleges A&Ms. We prefer the term “university.”

In the miscellaneous category, shotguns, the NRA, cowboy hats and boots, NASCAR, and “Roid Rage” Roger Clemens are all big negativos too. Also, thanks for the most boring team in NBA history. Sweet fundamentals Tim, it’s no wonder you have so many endorsement deals. There are some big pluses in this section though I must admit. Austin seems really cool with a great live music scene and I do enjoy Stubb’s BBQ sauce. Austin City Limits looks like a really good time and is great exposure for up and coming bands. Also, I get a big kick out of Matthew McConaughey as well, although I am sorry that One for the Money was so bad. I was hoping that one would end up in my DVD collection, but it really sucks. Finally, the Texas Chain Saw Massacre (the original) was by far the scariest movie I have ever seen. I don’t even really like horror flicks, but this one is pretty amazing. I still remember the night I watched this vividly, just because I was so freaked out, and it was about 12 years ago. I haven’t seen it since.

Nevertheless, heed my warning Texas. You better step off or else get ready to dance. The Ghosts are watching you.

The New Guy - Growing Moss on his Cheese?

I will keep this short and sweet. Rumor has it that Randy Moss may be traded to the Packers under the dilapidated arm of Brett Favre. This has to be the worst combination of QB/WR combination I can think of without really putting too much thought in it at all. Brett Favres' ducks simply cannot fly with the speed of Randy Moss. The combo of the two is like peanut butter and mayonaisse. You think Randy Moss wants to listen to an old southern boy whose most dynamic route thrown is some sort of crypt-golemnesque-shuffle pass that looks more like a three year old in a shot put contest. Anyway I am excited to see the results nonetheless, and even more excited to attempt at spitting some blog out. Since the blogging thing is new to me. Comments and Feedback?
____________________

Randy Moss: Packers Reportedly Interested - 2/28/2007 8:25:29 AM Update: The Packers are reportedly interested in acquiring Moss if the enigmatic receiver agrees to a restructured contact, the Contra Costa Times reports. Moss is scheduled to earn a base salary of $9.75 million this coming season and $11.25 million in 2008.

Recommendation: Raiders coach Lane Kiffin said last week that a phone conversation he had with Moss went well and that he expects him to be a part of this year's team. Still, it's clear that a change of scenery is probably the best thing for Moss and the Raiders would benefit by getting rid of him on two levels: cap relief and purging a player some have accused of quitting on the team last season.

Yours Truly,
Dale

Hockey? Anyone?

Hailing from the Northern Wales region, where ponds and poor dentistry are plentiful, hockey has always held a place in my heart. It's easy for one to imagine my saddness seeing the sport hemmorraging fans in recent years from walk-outs, poor management, and competitive play overseas. However, when the NHL rules were changed which now allow for more goals and more action, I was curious to see whether the rest of the world would take notice. Apparently not.

I watched in disbelief as ESPN announced it would not be broadcast any regular games. They must be citing the high ratings of Poker, International hot-dog eating contests, dog shows, more interviews with Steve Smith, late-night duck hunting competitions, and more reruns of steriods.

Okay, I thought, at least the channel 'VS' will broadcast during the interim period for fans to jump back on board. Well I was wrong.

In a down-right bizarre move, ESPN has announced that it will carry regular coverage of the AFL- which Spanish for "A Fucking Liability." As I sat at my local pub yesterday, watching satelite broadcast of ESPN and ESPN2, instead of broadcasting any of one of the several interesting games going on, I was forced to stare at John Fucking Bon-jovi, speak on the limitless possibilities of his AFL football team as a fan breezed through his Anchorman-esque hair. Is this really what America wants?

Let me bring America up to speed.

The NHL Has Raw-Fights
That's right ladies, you can tune in to see bruts slugging it out on the ice for no better reason than a funny look. Last week there was a 5 on 5 fight after El Capitian, Chris Drury, got sent home in a stretcher, in one of the best no look hits the game has ever seen.
We're talking goalie on player action here just for the hell of it. Senator goalie Ray Emery was litterally grabbing players for a lick. This type of action brings a tear to my eye thinking back to the good old days where Bob Probert could be found, hopped up on cocaine, fighting thugs because he forgot how to skate. (Bob Probert was banned from any NHL games in Canada after being caught at the border with cocaine hidden in the lamp of his Harley-Davidson Motorcycle.)


Sid the Kid is No Joke
This kid can skate. So much so that Wayne is on the cell to his wife telling her to lower the line in Vegas. The Great One is scared, and he should be. This kid has moves like Nancy Kerrigan on ice. And a shot that cannot be stopped to compliment. Just check the stats people, this kid is leading the NHL in assists, goals, and overall points. Wayne is pissed, and someone should be monitoring any phone contact between him and Tonya Harding very closely.
The Stanley Cup is the Best Tourneyment Ever
Need I say more? This cup has been found at the bottom of lakes, in Siberian ditches, at strip clubs, hospitals, Nation Capitals, schools, mountains, and recently garbage-dumps. It has caused riots, moments of civil peace, and recently, selling a city completely out of alcohol. This cup has seen it all. Players have said there is no feeling like hoisting it. The blood, the sweat, the tears, the broken limbs, this cup embodies it all. And now I must watch washed up football players: I'm moving to Canada.

Random Thoughts while watching Michigan State shit the bed.

Seriously, how many fucking years have Courtney Simms and Lester Abram been at Michigan? 10-15? No joke here...I want answers and birth certificates. This is ridiculous...first they get to keep Doogan Fife for 8 years, then they get to give money to Webber and the crew and now this? Yet, my biggest question is why are they are cheating to keep these losers around for so long...what gives?

Hey Amaker get a fucking tie, you prick. The mock neck sweater thingy you wear is starting to piss me off. Coach K tought you better than that.

What ever happened to Maceo Baston?

What ever happened to Shawn Respert?

Goran Sutton, quite a name, quite a man, quite a beast. I think he is trying to break the backboard tonight. He just slammed a lefty hook off the glass that made me wonder.

Erin Andrews is definetly BANGING somebody on Michigan State's basketball team. She has been at three straight MSU games and reports have seen her taking Jager Bombs and Shark Bowls at the Landshark this past week. Is it Drew? Either way, I'm going fuck up somebody's day when I find out who it is.

I wonder where Tommy Amaker's next job is going to be? Enjoy the fucking NIT...

Now, I understand why Michigan fans are a little upset about the Maize Rage. Talk about a lame ass effort. On the flip side, a couple more years and UofM hoops fans may finally overtake the Izzone as the dorkiest fans in the State of Michigan.

This is clearly Izzo's best coaching job.

Get a fucking rebound.

How far has Michigan Basketball really fallen? Did the Fab Five really set them that far back? Or was it all Brian Ellerbe's fault?

Wasn't that great when the State fans chanted "Jalen can't Read?" Nearly 14 years later and NBA fans still douse Jalen with the same chant.

This isn't happening.

Why tonight for Neitzel?

He is still got to be considered for Big 10 player of the year.

Ok, all Big 10.

Naymick you fucking red head.

Bullshit.

Michigan is still NIT bound.

I don't care...fuck it.

I'm not answering this phone call.

I'm not looking at this text message.

Just show me Erin Andrews, so I can call it good.

Amaker is still gone and I hope you enjoy Steve Lavin as your next coach Rupert.

Out.

Sing us a Song you’re the Piano Man, Sing us a Song Tonight!

…for we’re all in the mood for a melody and you got us feeling alright. Oh, la-da-da-da-di-da-da-oh-la-da-da-di-da…

The Miami Dolphins have said goodbye to the Piano Man, Joey Harrington on this sad day. And me personally, I can't help, but reflect for a moment on the all the good times ole' Joey Blue Skies had during his days with the Detroit Lions.

Let's take a moment - (Short Pause)

Ok, really it was mostly bad times, but was Joey ever really that bad of guy? I mean he was always a little gay, but should we really hold that against him when most QB's are notoriously gay?

You have to think this is the end for Joe-Joe. I mean if he got beat out by a dude named Lemon and a gimp of a Culpepper, it's probably over. Of course, some team may scoop him up to hold their clipboard and their starting QB's balls sac, but that's all speculation. And besides why on earth would Joe-Joe want to shame himself like that...he's Joey "fucking" Heisman for god sake?

Me, I think the man is done. Yet, I don't think the legend of Joey is done. No sir, his career has many avenues it could take and below...you will find a select few.

Grow the beard full-time and change his name to Joe.

This is the obvious choice and the one that could’ve saved his NFL career. Nobody wants a dude named “Joey” running their football team. And for year’s I said nobody named “Joey” will ever lead the Detroit Lions to the Superbowl. The beard gives him the bad ass edge he needs and often prevents people from referring to him as a fucking pussy on a regular basis.

Dancing with the Stars.

This reeks of success for Joey. His feminine ways and ballerina like composure could sure win a few hearts in this competition. Let's face it, he's an overall nice guy with a sincere heart and a baby face. America would eat him up and he could do no wrong. Jerry Rice, Emmit Smith...eat your fucking heart out. Make way for Joey "the kid."

Work as a studio analyst/or "E" Network Correspondent.

If Tiki can do this why the hell can’t Joey “fucking” Harrington? You don't think he is media savvy? You don't think he knows football? He'd be perfect on any pre-game show in America. Or I could just as easily envision him as the next Ryan Seacrest. Why not? He could work the red carpet, keep us posted on all the Celeb gossip and even spurn hot chicks, further confirming his gayness, just like Seacrest.

Harrington Out!

Arena League Football.

If it worked for Kurt Warner it could work for Joey Harrington. He’d have to sell his soul to the Devil and marry a man, as Warner did, but I have a gut feeling this one could work. He could set Arena football records and become a legend. And if he was ambitious enough this could be his ticket back the to NFL. Or he could flounder and carry John Navarre's clipboard and end up even more humiliated...so let's rule this one out.

Get Hired on at Dueling Piano Bar as a Performer.

Like you wouldn't go to hear Joey Harrington sing a little diddy about Jack and Diane? Yeah, thought so...you'd be there doing Jager Bombs trying to get a photo with the Joey for your fucking myspace page. This seems like the most reasonable option for Joey, but reason has never been a forte for Joe-Joe.

Write a tell tale book about being gay in the NFL.

Not that I am implying any such notion, but we are talking about a grown man who still calls himself Joey right? His bio lists Elton John and Bette Midler as role models, favorite movie is 'Beaches', loves Barbara Streisand and track lighting. I mean, I’m not saying anything is wrong with that and it’s perfectly OK, you know if that’s your sort of thing.

And we did mention his fondness of the Piano right?

Date Neil Patrick Harris.

I guess if all else fails…why not? And again that’s not to imply anything. Just an option. NPH loves the beard.

Ah, poor Piano Man...we are all rooting for you, dude!

So Ya, Thought Ya, Might Like To, Go to the Show?

To feel the warm smell of confusion, that space cadet glow?

If you were Tommy Amaker and had one last chance to save your coaching job as well as your career in division 1 hoops, what would you do in the next 3 hours? I don’t mean, if you were Tommy Amaker for real, because we all know he would shout profanities in the mirror as he tries on various sweater vests, trying to find the one he wore when Coach K took him out to Applebees for pie and ice cream. I mean if you were in Tommy Amaker’s brain, but could make your own decision on how to win tonight. For the record, the Wolverines are playing MSU and it is a certainty that if Michigan loses, they will be headed for the NIT…. Again!

Well, if I was Tommy Amaker, I know what I would do. I would take a quick drive to Jackson State prison and call my friend Zorba (See photo). She’s a prison guard there and for spare cash, she’ll pull a Tonya Harding on Neitzel’s knee cap, no questions asked. Or better yet, she’ll crash her transport bus right into the side of Chrysler Arena and blast the whole Spartans team with her AK47. This one is a two fold plot, because it will not only wipe out the Spartans starters for tonight’s game, but it might bury the hatchet in that dump arena once and for all. On a side note, my friend once barfed on the floor right in the middle of that arena during halftime of a football game and we had to run out of there, because we were underage. That is probably the only memorable thing I have ever seen in that cruddy building. At least I’ve seen Phil and Friends and Bob Dylan at the Breslin. They need to start selling beer at Chrysler, so at least the 85 people who show up will get loud by the 2nd half. Otherwise, forget it. RIP.


Since, neither of my ideas are not going to save Amaker tonight, I’m going to just cross my fingers and hope Chris Webber shows up for the game to loan these guys some balls. The Spartans are on a rampage and are running over opponents like Mexicans run over the Texas border, just kidding, I wanted to see if you were still paying attention. Not to mention, the Wolverines suck. So, I’m putting my money on Lester Abram. He owes the fans captain’s finish at home, since he has essentially played like shit all season. On a positive note (I’m reaching here) he got arrested last night for speeding and driving with a suspended license, so he might have some aggression to blow off on the Spartans. I’m not overly optimistic here, but fortunately Drew Neitzel has the flu and missed practice on Monday, so we still have a chance.

So, prove me wrong and show us what you are made of Blue. It’s now or nothing. The tournament is going to be overflowing with overrated Big Ten teams for the umpteenth year who get socked in the round of 64. Isn’t about time you are one of them?

Basketball Bullets.

Hey Simmons, eat your heart out you cock knocker who won’t post my comments on your chats or respond to my emails in response and dispute of your “College Hoops” blog. Well, let me be one of the many to lend some support to anyone moronic enough to drink the cup full of man juice and seminal discharge that is Bill Simmons knowledge drop of College hoops.

Like the commercials for the WWL…Mr. Boston (and not the Mr. Boston from ‘I Love New York’, but just as equivalent in dork stature) is talking out of his ass once again. He is trying to lend us all a hand and impart his pure knowledge and wisdom of College Basketball. Huh, great…expect he knows not a god damn thing about College Hoops.

He watches one game and makes candid, albeit retarded observations like, “Texas A&M is going to spoil somebody’s bracket – you heard it hear first.” No, actually we didn’t hear it from you first dip shit…we heard it first from Reece, Digger, Jay, Hubert, Andy Katz, Dick Vitale, Clark Kellogg, even Erin Andrews or by watching more than one fucking game this season.

Trust me pal, nobody is sleeping on A&M and everybody knows you would go top or bottom, mouth, nose, and/or belly button…basically any option that Kevin Durant proposed to you. We get it…you love the dude and he reminds you of the ’86 Celtics. You know what, why don’t you break down a classic game from the ’86 season and do a running diary of it dip shit? Yeah, one where you blew a load in your pants cause LB made eye contact with you.

Just do me a favor and stay the fuck away from College Basketball, because that is my Red Sox, my Tom Brady, my NBA, my Patriots, my Basketball Jesus and of course my ’86 Celtics…you smug prick. I think Tim Hardaway could very well loathe you.

Look that will be my last Simmons bashing, just had to get that off my chest. I can’t have him tainting College Basketball with crappy insights and no frame of reference. I don’t speak out on the state of Tom Brady’s shared new fetus…so, you get my point.

And without further ado, here is my new focus from here on out, from now through “One Shining Moment” on a springful Monday night. I will be dropping my reference points or better known to you as the Basketball Bullets. Take from them what you will, as they could save your bracket in March.

Don’t over-panic on Florida losing.

Everyone begins to abandon ship and print code red pieces on “What’s wrong with the Gators” for losing one game on road? Get off the ledge. Starting five wise, there is no better in College Basketball. They have been mailing it in for most of the season and shown that when they want, the switch is pretty easy to flip.

No team has more experience in the country. Talent wise, only North Carolina can match them. Like any defending champ, they coast, dominate, coast, dominate, get stoned, coast, dominate, get stoned, play video games, rinse and lather…repeat the cycle over and over.

Erin Andrews is even more appealing in HD.

No blackheads or zits popping up on the ever loveable Erin Andrews when it comes to ESPN in High Definition. You simply can’t find her flaws. And maybe this obsession with EA is going a little extreme, but look…it’s not going anywhere. EA will be a part of every College Basketball post I make from here on out. Her bang-a-ability and upside is through the roof right now. Deal with it.

If those are #1 and #2…then you may as well rip up your bracket now!

If there has ever been a worse #1 vs. #2 match-up please send me an email. I’m sure my inbox will be empty, as per usual. Regardless, what I saw on the court on Sunday were a couple “nice” teams that just happen to dominate a watered down Big 10. You heard it hear first, you won’t be seeing either of these teams playing in Atlanta next month.

For starters, I’d take Florida, Carolina, Kansas, UCLA, Texas A&M and Georgetown over either OSU or Wisconsin. Yet, there will always be those people in your office pool who peg both en route to the final four…only to watch them both get dumped in the Sweet 16 by a team like Virginia Tech, Vanderbilt or USC. Mark it down. And of course…you heard it hear first.

The Big 10 is going to flop in the Tournament.

And on that note, you can gather what I feel about the Big 10. Considering only one team made it past the 1st weekend last year…I’ve got that same gut feeling this year. I’ll eat my fucking words with a side of coleslaw if the Big 10 pulls a 2005 and gets 3 teams into the Elite Eight and 2 teams in the Final Four, but I don’t see it happening.

When the #1 and #2 teams in the country can’t break the 50 mark…it spells trouble. Ain’t no way the defense is that good. Give me a break, puh-lease.

The least likely team in the PAC-10 will go further than UCLA.

And that team is going to be Arizona or USC. It happens every single year. The Top Team in the Top Conference gags on its food at some point early in the Tournament. All of the sudden there is this one team that had all the ingredients, but struggled to put anything together in league play. Yet, once they hit the Tourney, they no longer feel burdened by having to grind it out against the same foes week in and week out.

I’m going to flip a coin in the next few weeks and decide who is going further ‘Zona or USC. Regardless, watch those teams. You heard it here first.

North Carolina is dangerously close to falling apart.

It happens once, it’s an aberration. Twice, it’s nearing a trend. Three times, it’s a habit. And that’s what’s happening to the intensity and toughness, or lack there of, for good ole North Carolina these days.

Coughing up a 12 point lead with 7 minutes to play at home or on the road is alarming. Failing to get off a good clean shot or even having an option with 30 seconds or less with the game on the line in the span of two weeks is maddening. Is it really conceivable that this team is faltering down to the #2 seed line and in danger of losing out on the regular season ACC crown?

One thing I will tell you is that this is not the 2005 team. NO sir, there is no David Noel or Raymond Felton. There is no true vocal leader. Reyshawn Terry…please, gag me with a spoon. He is no leader. He is no Jack Sheppard.

They may have peaked already and played the best game anyone has played all season at Arizona; too bad that was in January.

I’ve been saying all season to watch Georgetown.

And now I will rub it in to everyone. I felt they were the best team going into the Big East this year, yet everyone was slobbering on Pitt. Well, we are about t-minus 13 days until selection Sunday and the Hoyas are nearly a lock to be a #2 seed. I’ll forewarn you “here first” that they will be overlooked in most brackets, but are a legit Final Four option.

You may recall they are the only team that decided to compete against Florida last season in the tournament. And they doused Ohio State in the Sweet 16 with much ease last season. Throw in a much more mature and polished Roy Hibbert, who is also 7 feet tall and you have a trendy, albeit legit pick to make a run to Atlanta.

Knock ‘em all you want, but Kansas may just be the best team.

They Jayhawks are no doubt on par starting five and talent wise with North Carolina and Florida. And in case you haven’t noticed, they have been obliterating teams from the onset of every game. None of this, Florida or Carolina bullshit of, “oh we can get tough and play D and turn on the switch”; nope…this team walks out onto the court and turns it the “fuck” on.

Names like Julian Wright, Brandon Rush and Mario Chalmers garner the household reputation, but the freshmen Arthur and Collins have been equally as impressive as any freshmen in the country. I know the idea is that Bill Self’s teams tend to blow their load during the season and clunk out in the Tournament.

I’ve been just as guilty as you if you’ve pegged Kansas as making a run year after year, only to eat your bracket. Yet, something stinks with this team. Stinks like fucking “One Shining Moment.” Yup, that was heard here first.

And lastly Drew Neitzel will bang you.

He will bang your girlfriend, your wife or even your mom. Not only does he bang Erin Andrews, but he also bangs the Sports Gal. And you heard that here…FIRST.

George Washington was in a cult, and the cult was into aliens, man

As a follow up to the article I wrote about the Grammy's and all the crap that was honored, I have a similar award for the movie industry that was not honored at the Oscars last night as well. Granted, the Oscars honor significantly better material than the turds that win awards at the Grammys, but they are still heavily commericial and studio-based movies. I have been lobbying to get this award into the forefront for years, but fortunately now that the Ghosts are going global, I can do it myself. The award that I am refering to is the best performance by an actor or actress playing a drunk or somebody on drugs. This category is continually overlooked, but only a very select few of even the finest performers in show business can achieve this skill. It requires not only the finest acting ability, but also a great deal of research into counterculture, including music, clothes, slang language, etc. Playing a retard is easy, playing a trainwreck drunk is a far more challenging task. This year's award goes to Rory Cochrane for his portrayal of Charles Freck in a Scanner Darkly. Congrautaltions Rory for his second win of this prestigious award, first winning for his timeless interpretation of Slater-san in Dazed and Confused.

I had my eye on a Scanner Darkly for a while, but hadn't made the effort to see it in the theaters, so I was elated to see it release on DVD the other day. A Scanner Darkly is not only worth seeing, but it's worth owning. Ever since Dazed and Confuzed, I have followed the career of its director, Richard Linklater, relatiively closely. Since D&C, he has released consistently good follow-ups, such as A School of Rock, Before Sunrise, Suburbia, Waking Life, and Fast Food Nation. Additionally, he has created some stinkbombs, such as the dreadful Bad News Bears remake. Regardless, he is a good director who clearly identifies with the young troublemaker audience, and its aging older brothers, better than anyone.

The movie follows a star-studded cast, including Keanu Reeves, Woody Harrelson, Winona Ryder, Robert Downey Jr., Rory Cochrane, through their trials and tribulations with a fictional drug called Substance D. The film gives a futuristic look at a society faced with epidemic levels of addiction, presumably aimed at the drug companies of today, pumping our culture full of addictive prescription drugs such as oxycontin and anti-anxiety medications. The charachters, Cochrane in particular, provide a gripping look at the discomfort and social ineptitude of an addict. The opening sceme is particularly powerful as Cochrane's character imagines bugs crawling all over his skin and in his hair and he showers with himself and his dog to try to rid himself of these imaginary insects. The film is visually stimulating as well. I couldn't say for sure how they do this effect, but I have seen something that looks very similar in Adobe Photoshop where you can import a photograph and then modify it to look like a cartoon. This is exactly what the film looks like. The actors have been made to look like cartoons, but they are clearly the original actors. I assume that the acted their roles as they normally would and then Linklater's team edited the film in postproduction to give it the cartoon, surreal effect later. Then again, I really don't know for sure.

Surprisingly, a Scanner Darkly made no waves at the Independent Spirit Awards either, which is typically my favorite of all of the awards shows. Sarah Silverman host the show with her somehow awkward, but good combination of hot, sluttly, funny, and sexy. The presenters and audience tend to get a lot more loose for this ceremony and you can always discover some good movies that you probably didn't already know about. Anyway, a Scanner Darkly will likely have to find it's future in a cult following, which I believe it will, becasue it is cool, entertaining, and definitely rewatchable. Let me know what you think in the comments section if you like it as much as I did. Until then, I'll see you in the cubicle.

Jason the Kidd Speaks Out

"What did you think of the game tonight bab-"

[*#SLAP#*]

"Owww...what th' fu'"

[*#SLAP-POW!@#$}

"But Baby, you knaw i love you.."

[#*SLAP, BOOM#*#*POW]

"I'm done! wit you, wit you thinkin we are us- with you thinkin u black- with you thinkin that wearing a face mask is even sexy in bed! OVER!"

These are the things I constantly have to deal with when I come home from work. I work on a team that is governed by a man that looks like he is my stepson. Not even me playing every minute of the game can overcome our massive deficit of talent.

I am Jason the Kidd, and I Am what I Am. Hate me, love me; my wife is a beater. I cannot deny this, she hits with fisticuffs of steal that sharply penetrate my photogenic mug. But I hit back, after all, I am Jason- the Kidd.

Her name is 'Jumana' and I love her just as I would love any woman that could stand my company for over 3 minutes. Our private battles are the same tribulations you all face every day: fight back or be knocked out. I cheat, she cheats, we cheat, hell- it doesn't even matter any more- all that matters is that i can't remember when or how this vicious cycle began. After all the punches i have taken to the dome tonight- i'd be surprised if you could either.

You see, our relationship cannot be explained in words. The only way the public will ever understand is through the kisses I send every-time I shoot a free-throw. Actually, I take that back, because I am usually sending them to the three strips i have waiting for me in the lockerroom. K-Mart hand picks that shit you know.

I know you will all judge me by what you read in the papers- so this is my only opportunity to make my voice heard. I am Jason- now and forever; and I love her, always have, never will.

Shaq on Patrol – A day in the life

This will be an ongoing saga, so tune in regularly to follow Shaq’s adventures as an officer of the law in Miami Beach, FL.

Sgt. Dolens: “Oh great, here we go again. Bensinger, where the hell is O’Neal?”

Officer Bensinger: “I don’t know Sarge. He was supposed to be here by now. We cuffed the suspect and tossed him in Shaq’s sidecar. I had to follow up on a dispatch, so we were going to meet back here to question this guy. He probably stopped to pick up a Cubano. He eats about 4 of those a day these days. It’s really gross too, because his gas is awful. The other day we were undercover out back at the Delano and he blasted ass. I mean really blasted it. Everyone turned and looked at us and than ran for the hills.”

Sgt: “That guy is insane. So, you brought down that pervert who was circulating rumors on the internet that Jon Benet Ramsey is alive and working at that S&M club in Coral Gables? I was hoping to get O’Neal over to the mall to recruit high school kids for the police academy, but I suppose that can wait till Thursday. We’re losing all the good recruits ever since Ricky Williams has been out enrolling kids for the Marines.”

Bensinger: “Yeah, we raided his club and were going to bring him down for questioning. We probably won’t book him on anything, but we really want to get after him to see if he knows anything about where Esquandolez disappeared to. We were so close to nabbing that guy last week and he just seemed to disappear out of thin air after we raided his place in the gallery district. I figure these scumbags probably know each other or know someone who knows someone.”

The police station door bursts open and in comes Shaq. He’s dressed in a Mexican tunic and a sombrero and has a sleazy looking greased up white guy handcuffed in tow.

Shaq: “Good afternoon Sergeant Dolens. What’s up Bensinger? You guys, come outside really quick. I have to show you something awesome. You won’t believe this.”

Sgt: “What the fuck is that thing doing here?”

Shaq: “It’s mine! I traded in my chopper for this beauty. I figured it would help me, you know, not get noticed as much when we go undercover.”

Dolens: “You're a loose cannon O'Neal. You must have shit for brains. You traded in your motorcycle for a horse?”

Shaq: “Yeah, it’s sweet. I was driving back to the station and I saw James Blunt riding it on the beach while he was recording footage for his gay new music video. We decided to trade straight up once he finished the shoot. And then I got these new clothes so nobody would notice me. Now when I go deep cover, I’ll be disguised. I’m going to call the horse, Mutombo.”

Sergeant Dolens and Officer Bensinger look at each other and chuckle to themselves while Shaq takes Mutombo over to the bike racks and ties him up. They all head in to the station to question the owner of the Coral Gables Club to see if they can get some insight as to the whereabouts of one of Miami’s most dangerous henchmen, Marco Esquandolez. Shaq and the boys have reason to believe that Esquandolez is operating a complex crime ring in Miami involving child pornography and recently raided an old abandoned warehouse in a downtrodden area of Miami. Shaq, Sgt. Dolens, and officer Bensinger all swear they saw the perpetrator in the building seconds after bursting open the door with the battering ram, but after a short chase through the building, he mysteriously disappeared and there has been no sign of him since. Concurrently, the child pornography ring that Esquandolez allegedly runs has been inexplicably booming. According to the Precinct IT department, Esquandolez has been developing new publications and websites as well as arranging live shows at the most alarming speed in Miami history, leaving the force perplexed as to Fontorez’s whereabouts.

Shaq:“Alright Slime ball, what is this we hear about Jon Benet Ramsey performing lewd acts at your club last weekend? By the way, I am not Shaq in case you were wondering.”

Bad guy: “Gimme a break, dude. That is absurd. How on earth could Jon Benet Ramsey perform at my club? She’s dead for fuck’s sake. How can a dead girl perform an act of anything? Need I remind you she is dead?”

Shaq: “Hmmmm. You have a good point. Sarge, how can she perform if she is dead? Was it a look-alike then? Regardless, you still had underage girls performing at your club you damn pervert. You are pathetic. I ought to rip your neck off and stuff it down your throat. Err, stuff it up your ass I mean. Whatever. You’re a piece of shit. Where’s Esquandolez?”

Shaq gives the henchman a death grip around his neck with his fingers easily wrapping all the way around his neck and lifts him to midair, completely cutting off his airways.

Bad guy: “Can’t breathe, choking.”

Shaq throws him violently to the corner and he tumbles into the wall gasping for air.

Bad guy: “Alright, you twisted weirdo. You think you're fucking Jack Bauer? What is that about? I’ll talk, I’ll talk. I hate Esquandolez to be honest. He’s using my club as one of his rotating exhibitions, but after the heat comes on he immediately disappears and then pops back only when he has an act all ready to go and he will never use the same club twice in a row to keep you idiots a step behind. I truthfully do not know how he does it or where he goes. It’s a mystery to everyone. He pays well though. Last I heard about his whereabouts, he was staying at the Eden Roc, but I haven’t really heard from him.”

Shaq: “Let’s go. You get out of here and stay out of trouble, ya hear? Come on, we’ll take my horse!”

Sgt: “Shaq, we are not riding your horse all the way to the Eden Roc. Get in the car, let’s go. Actually, hurry up and get in your uniform. You look like a fucking idiot.”

The crew jumps in the ever stealthy black Chevy Impala and drives up Collins Avenue from the South Beach Police Station and heads for the Eden Roc to find out the details on Esquandolez’s stay.

Shaq: “Hey, follow that pimped out Escalade. I bet that’s a basketball player, it’s got to be. Who else would want a pimped out Escalade? They look so stupid. Oh shit, it is. It’s Damon Jones. Pull his ass over. Look he’s going too slow. Nail him, he’s a Cavalier now. Let’s bust his ass.”

Sergeant Dolens rolls his window down and slaps the siren and flasher on top of the car and peels out after the Escalade. They pull the car over and Shaq swaggers out of the car toward the driver’s side window.

Damon Jones: “Oh shit. What’s up boy? I can’t believe you are a cop, Shaq. That is sick, cuz.”

Shaq: “Step out of the vehicle, sir. This is a serious matter. You were going 8 in a 25. We’re going to need to search the car for grass.”

Shaq flips on his flashlight to check out the rest of the car. There are two other gentlemen in the car. One of them happens to be none other than Bill Simmons. It seems Simmons is in town for the Super Bowl weekend and was hanging with Damon Jones for some dumbass promotion.

Shaq: “Out of the car. Now Simmons! Hands on the car and spread ‘em. You really stepped in it this time. It’s mutha brotha payback time. What’s that smell Billy Boy? You guys been smoking the downtown brown in here? Oh, what’s that in your pocket? Oh, yep, sure enough. Looks like you are coming with me for marijuana possession.”

Simmons: “Oh come on dude. You’re the best Shaq. I’ll do anything, what can I do? I can’t go to jail. It’s Superbowl weekend. I have stories to write. Come on, I’ll write that you were the best ever, anything you name it.”

Shaq: “Tell me the ’86 Celtics sucked. Say, the ‘86 Celtics sucked and Larry Bird couldn't hit a free throw.”

SImmons: “OK, OK. The ‘86 Celtics sucked and Larry Bird couldn' hit a free throw.”

Shaq: “Get out of here. The '86 Celtics did suck. The Bad Boys wiped the floor with Larry Bird and Kevin McHale was a hack. Don't let me catch you causing trouble in Miami Beach or especially for the Heat from now on, Simmons.”

Idle Time is the Devil's Wine

Idle time is the Devil's wine.
Here he can curse all, at the expense of the Rhine.
Every moment we waste brings him a growing passion.
Our time is spent aimless, in desperate need of ration.
We long for our work to transform into leisure.
But all our stagnate minutes are clearly at his seizure.
In these vast endless spaces we lust, consume, and greed.
In the spectrum of life we should be considering all those we can feed.
The remedy is obvious and how easily it can be obtained.
But he desperately needs us, for his muscle to sustain.
Still we need our days, to indulge all that is fine.
However, this has already been considered, by he who enjoys wine.

Poor Tom's Almanac

You might not know this, but Tom Brady and I are actually pretty good friends. You see, I used to be a Sandwich Artist at Subway back in Ann Arbor in 1998. Tom Brady on the other hand used to eat at that Subway sometimes. Although our conversations were usually based on his sandwich, OK fine all of them were based on his sandwich, I think I can shed a little light on how he is feeling right now.

First of all, he is certainly proud and overjoyed to be bringing a little jesus into the world with his former love Briget Moynahan. Tom would like nothing more than to bring a perfect little being into the world of only beautiful people. Unfortunately, Tom is utterly devastated about how Bill Simmons must feel right now. Although, Tom and Bill never officially exchanged vows or conceived a child together, they share a special place in one another's hearts. Tom and Bill have a long history together, so Tom's fate being sealed with Briget is a exasperating blow for Bill. And let it be known, Tom is a very sensitive guy. He would never purposely hurt Bill. These two men have shared so many memories together, ranging all the way back to when Bill was at Holy Cross and he used to spend countless evenings alone with his Tom Brady posters and magazines in the dorm room stalls.

At this point it is not clear how Tom and Bill's future will turn out, but it will certainly be painful to see this transpire. Surely, this will be a very public breakup and Bill's writing will only get uglier as the media frenzy escalates around Tom's new addition. We feel for you Bill. We've all been through a breakup and only time can heal your pain. At least you will always have Bellichek.

Goodbye Gotham

This poster shall no longer be writing from the fabled town of the shirt-tails and horse droppings; from the place that trade, cash, and commerce won; from the city of dreams and 4 a.m. screams; from the land where the buildings touch the sun. For you see I Leopold Mellonbottom am leaving New York.

There is plenty to bitch about of course. Astronomical rents, crumbling infrastructure, lack of space, ugly people, beautiful people, difficult to get laid (by the latter anyway) -but at the end of the day, it is one of a kind and I shall miss it. But just like anything one does and anywhere one goes in life. I will miss the people I know much much more.

Adieu New York City, adieu.

You might have laughed if I told you
You might have hidden A frown
You might have succeeded in changing me
I might have been turned around
It's easier to leave than to be left behind
Leaving was never my proud
Leaving New York, never easy
I saw the lights fading out

M. Stipe (2004)

Heather Mills Gains Sponsorship in Upcoming Competition

U.S. Robotics has announced it will sponsor Heather Mills in the upcoming “Dancing with the Stars” competition. Ms. Mills, the estranged wife of Sir Paul McCartney, has decided to participate in the American raunchy competition to “promote awareness of the robots living among us.”

Ms. Mills is an amputee who lost her limb in a horrific accident involving a dildo, a meat grinder, and a 25ml vile of liquid acid. The details of the accident remain murky at best, but close friends have described her as “one kinky chic.” Sir McCartney could not be reached for comment on the matter.

Ms. Mills has been scorned by rabid Beatle fans for her treatment of the Knight during their marriage. Sources close to Sir McCartney have stated that “She polluted his soul, turned him into a vegan, made him watch seal [the animal] videos, and forced him to convert to the vegetarian God Soy.”

Ms. Mills has responded to her critics by stating [not a joke] “When you're vilified for doing nothing but falling in love with an icon . . . I'd rather have all of my limbs cut off, that's the God's honest truth."

Drew you believe?

I sure do.

Erin Andrews had a chance to catch up with our buddy Drew Neitzel immediately following Michigan State's triumphant win over Wisconsin last night. Here is what took place.

Andrews: Drew simply an amazing game for you tonight. Tell me, what was going through your head when you decided to just take the game over down the stretch.

Neitzel: That's just how I roll some times. Give me the green light and I'll step on your throat. Also...honestly, I was thinking about your tits and sticking my bald ass head all up on them.

Andrews: What's it been like for you as the team leader this year?

Neitzel: I always tell people I'm straight up "gangster" so really it's no sweat of my balls sac.

Andrews: Obviously this win could be the signature win that Coach Izzo spoke of for this particular Spartan team...do you feel the same?

Neitzel: No doubt and you could be the signature "bang" on resume.

Andrews: Thanks Drew and best of luck for the remainder of the Big 10 season and hopefully post-season.

Neitzel: Do you want to come back to the locker room and shower with me?

Andrews: Look dude, you are about what 5'5"? Um, no thanks...I only bang Florida Gators and genius Sports Bloggers.

Neitzel: Fuck you bitch, I scored 28 "mutha fucking" points against the #1 team in the country. I could have my pick of any piece of pussy walking down M.A.C or Grand River. Your loss. Now, I'm going to go listen to "3rd Bass" and get ready to go out tonight.

What I wouldn't give to "BANG" Erin Andrews.

Soft, Scintillating, Sensational.

Dick Vitale couldn't have hand picked better adjectives to personify the sexiness that is Erin Andrews. She's a wet dream, a goddess...interview me, blow me, bang me. Erin Andrews is undeniably fucking hot. She's every sports fans boner. She's Dick Vitale and Dan Shulman's Viagra.

There hasn't been a sideline reporter this fucking sexy since...well since never. Please save yourself the embarrassment...Kolber, Olvier, Nichols, Visser, Berstein? They hold not a candle to the level of "come fuck me" sexiness and swagger that Ms. Andrews carries herself with.

Yes, I said "Ms."...I see no ring on that finger...do you?

I watch closely. I am not a stalker. I am an admirer...there is a fine difference. And besides you're gay if you aren't the least bit intrigued by the divine Erin Andrews.

What is she saying in those interviews? Who cares? Is it relevant? Probably is, but I just want to see how tight her shirt is.

A former Florida Gator cheerleader is our fine lady. And what I wouldn't do to get her to dress up in that tight little cheerleader outfit and prance around the room. Yup, interview me, take me, make me...what I wouldn't give to bang Erin Andrews.

Go ahead and ask yourself the same question, while I turn myself into the authorities.

Yet, I can't help, but think I'd have a chance. How could she not "crave" a highly successful Sports Blogger? A world renowned "blog" artist. Lemme check her profile...she has to be down with that...right?

OUT.

Duke needs to find a new "Douche Bag" to lead the way.

To be honest, I’m a little worried about the state of Duke Basketball. Everyone and their mother seems to be concerned and offering an insight as to why Duke is struggling. Many media outlets are proclaiming Duke to be on the “proverbial” bubble in terms of making the NCAA tournament.

Gargamel (Coach K) just can’t seem to cook up a concoction for success. The five or so McDonalds All-Americans he’s recruited are getting armed for life, but minus the jump shot. Duke Vitale can only ward off the masses by using the “lack of talent” theory for so long.

People are demanding answers and Gargamel needs to come up with something fast. Does he take another leave of absence (ala 1995) in order to get any record of this season expunged from his immaculate coaching history? Does he play out the string and just hope the selection committee will reward them with a #2 seed, because they are Duke?

Well, on the surface it may seem like it’s time to press the panic button, but really all Gargamel needs to do is a little bit of personality tweaking. Let me explain if you will…

Role call: Christian Laettner, Bobby Hurley, Danny Ferry, Quin Snyder, Chris Collins, Steve Wojo-fucking-kowski, Erik Meek, Cherokee Parks, Marty Clark, Mike Dunleavy, Nick Horvath, Redick, Lee Melchionni and Shane Battier. Ok, did I miss anybody?

Didn’t think so? What you see before you is the long line of descendants in the proud tradition of Duke Basketball. What this entire collection of fine young men has in common is that they are not only equipped with a good jump-shot or an American Express card; rather they help to assemble the elite group of “white” douche bags that personify Duke Basketball.

Judging from all things considered, you can probably gather I don’t fancy Duke very much at all. And I don’t really need to guess, because I know you don’t like Duke very much either – who does?

The sheer joy of my life is a natural reaction to my hatred for Duke Basketball. Yet, what is missing this year is that these guys just aren’t that easy to hate. We can all agree that honor roll above set the douche bag bar pretty damn high for Duke Basketball.

Regardless, I need Duke. I need them to make me feel the joy from the hate. I know this is sounding pretty insane, but like every hero needs a villain…I need Duke. And that’s why I’ve decided to give Gargamel a hand. I’ve decided to analyze the three most ideal candidates on this year’s Duke Team to take the douche Bag label to Redick, Ferry, Hurley or even Laettner heights.

It must be done; Duke can’t survive without token white douche bags. With my advice they can achieve that elite status and be welcomed into the fraternity of “great white douche bags of Duke Basketball.”

Jon Scheyer

Jon is Jewish. And not that it’s of real significance or to be used in an anti-Semitic intent. Rather, it’s a simple observation, as he probably fits the profile of your typical Duke student. Yet, Jon is from Illinois and not New Jersey. Ok, I better stay off this road.

Jon is certainly no J.J Redick. If anything, he is J.J-lite and that’s a compliment. However, he has shown the signs of emerging as the potential leading “douche bag” of this team. His emotional outbursts during the North Carolina game last week, gave a national TV audience the chance to experience his Scheyerism’s (see image - courtesy of truthaboutduke.com) up close and personal. The occasional fist pump and over reaction to hitting an open 21 footer have laid the ground work for more expectations.

Josh McRoberts

It was beginning to look as if McRoberts just wasn’t cut from the Duke mold. Outside of styling his hair perfectly before every game, nothing else pointed to McRoberts ever achieving Duke level “douche bag” status. And certainly, nothing we’ve seen thus far has given any indication of an NBA career for McRoberts either.

His stats are pretty hollow, although decent, he’s proven he is far from a leader; he shows little emotion on the court and has proven he can’t take over a game. Yet, there he was on the sidelines against North Carolina, with his team leading no-less, when he begins to cry profusely into a towel.

Excellent work Josh, did you learn that from Redick? I had you all wrong…you are on the write track and Gargamel is proud. Ladies and gentleman take a look at Josh McRoberts career ceiling – the next Troy Murphy.

Greg Paulus

Paulus has probably been the biggest disappointment out of anyone that’s ever graced a Duke uniform. And it has nothing to do with his inability to effectively run the offense, his gaudy turnover to assist numbers, his horrendous shooting or his total lack of knowledge in clutch game situations.

As put more candidly by one of the dorks…err…Cameron Crazies:

“To play point guard at Duke is honor like no other. Paulus seemed poised to be the perfect heir to Hurley and Wojo’s throne. Yet, his floor slapping abilities are anything, but up to par. He has regressed in his on court antics and outbursts since his freshman season.

At last year’s ACC tournament it could be argued that he took the head douche bag helm from J.J and ran with it. He kept the crowd engaged with WWE like antics, gestures and spastic episodes that ignited us as fans and more importantly the team.

Sadly, not only has his play suffered, but more importantly his annoyance, pestering and agitation ability has been in a steady decline. He could’ve been one of most annoying ever to play point guard for Duke. Yet, now opposing fans seem only minimally if at all irritated by the site or mention of Greg Paulus.”

As you can see, a brutally sobering take on Duke’s point man, which only makes the recovery process seem bleak. Yet, as long as Scheyer and McRoberts continue to progress towards the elite level…we can only hope that Paulus learns to follow their lead.

For if not, a whole lot of us out there will be depraved of our joy to hate against Duke this March.

Barack Obama Relapses...

Presidential candidate Barack Obama recently experienced a relapse at a posh Chicago nightclub. Escorted by security, Mr. Obama emerged with a bloody nose and a joint hanging out of his mouth.

Aides to Mr. Obama confirmed the relapse but argued it wasn't technically a relapse, per se, because he never truly gave up his closet habits. Political consultants in Chicago, rumored to be staunch advocates of Mr. Obama despite not knowing anything about him, hailed the recent move as "savvy brilliance- unparalleled since that of Jack Sparrow."

"Clearly this is an example of B.O. appealing to the right-wing constituency on Wall Street. This type of brilliance can only come through the vast experience he has under his belt in Springfield, Illinois. When looking back, people will compare this maturity to that of Honest Abe."

Mr. Obama has shocked the conscience of old-school political strategist with his bold rhetoric on his previous illicit drug-use, despite having been unprovoked. "I've toked...and tried blow," Mr. Obama recently stated in an interview with 60 minutes.

Sources close to the neophyte Senator remain optimistic about his swagger despite being labeled a long-shot. "Would you want a President who has to cancel diplomatic appearances because of yeast infections? We're willing to bet not."

NASA Issues Grave Warning to the World...

NASA issued an uncharacteristic statement of simplicty today. "An asteroid will end the world on April 24, 2036. Let's Party!" the bulletin read. Top management desperately tried to gain order among the mass chaos in the NASA control room as the bulletin flashed across the overhead consoles.

Moments later, NASA scientist were spotted huffing space-grade Nitrous-Oxide from the units used to cool the elite space rockets. "Whooohooo!" screamed Dr. Rupert Anderson III, as he violently phished out of control on the launch pad. When his face regained its color, he promptly grabbed the tube again and exclaimed, "Let's get this party a rockin' before the asteroids come a knockin'!"

The news sent shockwaves through the scientific community. French scientist scheduled a massive world-wide rave in Ibiza allegedly procurred by selling nuclear-grade plutonium and uranium on the streets in Iran.

Meanwhile, Canadian scientist took the news quite seriously. "We have been studying the movie Armagadden intently," Jacques Pierre stated. Indeed Canadian Intellegence, no pun intended, indicated they were seeking the whereabouts of Bruce Willis, Harrison Ford, Hulk Hogan, and George Lucas for strategic solutions to the problem.

The news was met, largely, with a shrug from the rest of the world. "It's going to take that long? Really?" asked Sonia Peterson of Australia.

President Bush Calls 'Tonie' Blair a Pussy

In a rare public critisim of his only allie, President Bush called Tony Blair a "pussy" for setting a timetable on British troop withdraw in Iraq. In recent years, Mr. Blair has come under heated attack from biligerently intoxicated Brits over his postion as the White House's "bitch."

Mr. Blair's troubles escalated last week when it became publicly known that he intended to send British royalty to Iraq to "give motivational speeches on the origins of imperialism." Prince Harry, second in command to a mostly meaningless thrown, was rumored to be shippping out to Iraq.

"This is bloody outrage!" exclaimed Winston Avery seated at the Paddington pub. "First it was John Lennon, then David Beckham, and now America is trying to steal our Prince? Bullocks!"

The trite remark came as Mr. Blair gave a pep rally for troop support in San Antonio, Texas. "This just goes to show that we are the most strongest nation in the world! We finally won! Now that we are the only nation in Iraq, we can reap all the benefits from a stable country," Mr. Bush stated to a crowd of oil-enthusiast.

"I always knew 'Tonie' was a pussy, and he ain't comin back to my ranch!" Mr. Bush declared.

When told of the remarks, Mr. Blair quietly set down his scrumpet and said, "I'm just so tired, you know, can't we just talk this out love?"

Brad Pitt Reported to be Sterile...

Several ex-lovers of Brad Pitt confirmed today that the movie heart-throb is indeed sterile. Mr. Pitt's recent escapade in Africa had curiously raised eye-brows all over the world for his ardent dedication to human rights. However, the staff at 'Ghosts' has recently confirmed that this was all smoke and mirrors.

Ex-lover Gweneth Paltrow recently confirmed that Mr. Pitt is sterile, and that the couple had sought to have kids "about twice" when they were dating. (In an unrelated story, Ms. Paltrow, also confirmed that she thinks her current husband may be writing love songs for Mr. Pitt.)

Based on this revelation, Jennifer Aniston also confirmed reports that the man is indeed barren. Ms. Aniston has chosen to remain out of the spotlight in an effort to focus the attention on the circus surrounding Mr. Pitt and his girlfriend, Angelina Jolie. Ms. Jolie, the distant relative of Queen Sheba, has reportedly felt the urge to have kids ever since her father, John Voigt, made her feel a little too comfortable as "Daddy's big-girl."

Shocked and dismayed that she had formed a civil-dating-union with sterile Mr. Pitt, Ms. Jolie encouraged him to seek the advise of spritual doctors in distant Djiabouti regarding a cure for his lack of swimmers. Upon direction of special UN council George Clooney, the pair were given extended VISAs and dropped off in the Dijabouti village of Zweleagarki, known for its secret organic cures to fertility.

Mysteriously, the couple dropped off the radar from the Western world for a total of three-seconds when the helicopter made a brief touch-down, but was quickly picked up again on popparazzi radar when the couple refused to land citing mud from a recent rainfall.

Knowing that they couldn't return empty-handed, the couple quickly arranged to have a local baby delivered to their hotel-room at the nearby Ritz-Carlton. The couple quickly realized that this idea may have been conceived on peyote, and that this would not be the best course of action for them upon returning to Bollywood.

It was at this time that Mr. Pitt, in his ever present lucid-thought-process, became enlightened by the song "Ray of Light" which had been on repeat ever since Ms. Jolie put the CD in nearly 56 hours prior when they had ingested the potent Dijaboutian peyote. Mr. Pitt picked up his cell phone and had his agent put him in contact with his part-time-lover Madonna.

The couple arranged for Madonna to arrive at the heli-pad, located at the Ritz, to ensure proper transfer of the recently acquired new-born infant, which despite reports, later proved not to be Mr. Pitt's. The media was invited to view the exchange in a ceremony of good-will studded with friends such as Bono, the cast of Ocean's Sixteen, and curiously, John Voigt.

Britney Spears Joins Unspecified Cult...

Britney Spears enraged friends and family yesterday when she announced she had formally joined an unspecified cult. Ms. Spears, clad in a 'bad-girl' tank-top, jeans, and a visible thong, emerged from a tattoo art studio with a shaved head. "This is like totally a new me, and I plan to use this time to focus on me," said Ms. Spears from the seat of her convertible.

When pressed about her child, Ms. Spears responded, "I've decided to put him in protective custody because I just feel too stressed right now- and I can't deal with all this pressure with being famous."

"I never asked for any of this," added Ms. Spears.

Ms. Spears has been the subject of intense debate in Hollywood as to whether close-friends and family should have an intervention. It was reported that Ms. Spears' mother had encouraged her friends to stage a formal intervention to help Ms. Spears get her life back in order. However, this plan was quickly abandon after close-friend Paris Hilton declined citing a massive hang-over after a late night spent with Ms. Spears in the Hollywood Hills.

Former husband, Kevin Federline, popularly known as 'K-Fed', offered to take time off his two-township tour to help Ms. Spears get her life back in order, but sources close to Ms. Spears indicated she refused because his pending restraining order from anyone connected to the music industry.

Ex-boyfriend Justin Timberlake also refused to take part in any intervention because "I'm raking in millions off songs at the expense of that wench." Indeed Mr. Timberlake has enjoyed much entertainment success with hits such as "Cry Me a River, What Goes Around, and Rock Your Body", allegedly penned about Ms. Spears. Mr. Timberlake has prided himself in his resilience shown after the couple parted ways. However, it remains unclear as to why the pop-jester is still writing songs about a woman he ended a relationship with over five years ago.

Family has urged any well-wishers seeking to aide Ms. Spears to visit her at any establishment that serves alcohol in California.

Blunted in Vegas with Sheed, C-Webb and Jalen: Part I

Detroit Piston players Rasheed Wallace and Chris Webber weren’t selected to the All-Star game in Las Vegas this past weekend. However, the two of them still made the trip to support their boys Rip and Chauncey. Of course, it wasn’t all just about the game…it was about the two of them getting to bond and spend some time rollin’ around and getting blunted in Vegas.

Editor’s Note: The following is an “alleged” account of what happened when they met up with C-Webb’s boy Jalen Rose and cruised the Vegas strip.

A Maroon Hummer pulls up into the Valet circle at the Palms Casino in Las Vegas. Approaching the passenger side of the vehicle entrance is Detroit Piston, Chris Webber. Seated in the drivers seat is fellow Detroit Piston, Rasheed Wallace.

Sheed: Up from the 36 Chambers!!!!...it’s the Ghost------face Killah!!! Wu-Tang Killah bees we on swarm, Wu-Tang killah bees we on swarm…WU-TANG KILLAH BEE’S WE ON A SWARM!!!

Sheed is “highly” energized and animatedly rapping a loud to the Wu-Tang Clan, as he flips some bills toward the parking attendant and slaps fives with Webber. He is sporting a throwback Herman Moore #84 Detroit Lions Jersey, jeans, a pair of Air Force One’s and an all black fitted baseball cap.

Webber enters the car with the usual ‘nonchalant-cocky-smile-Webber-face’ as he greets his buddy Sheed. He is sporting a Fubu hoodie with jeans and Dada sneaks. He half smirks every time he speaks…the usual in terms of Webberisms.

C-Webb: You know man, I’m just chill…just chillin’ for now.

Sheed: Dog, I am SO fucking HIGH…(bellows out laughter) ha-ha-HA-HA-HA!!!

C-Webb: I hear that. What’s the plan for today?

Sheed: Figured we’d roll down the strip a little, check out some sights…(pauses)…here hit this.

He then pulls out a ¾ ignited blunt and hands it to C-Webb.

Sheed: (continued): I gotta head up to the spot and hollah at Damon (Stoudamire) for some more of the “cough” and then it’s on your clock dog.

C-Webb: I’m cool with that, we gotta hit up Jalen first though, and he’s at the Imperial Palace.

Sheed: Cheap ass busta! (bellows out another laugh)…just kidding fool. I’m with that.

Sheed then turns to the open window and blows out a fresh wind of the chronic smoke into the Las Vegas air and hammers out more of his favorite lyrics…

“Cash rules everything around me CREAM, get the money, DOLLAR DOLLAR bills YA’LL!!!”

The Hummer pulls up to the Imperial Palace Valet service where Jalen Rose of the Phoenix Suns meets them and gets into the backseat. Sheed and C-Webb have already made their pit stop by Damon’s (Stoudamire) and picked up enough of the “cough” to last them most of the day.

Jalen: Fellas…what’s percolating?

Sheed: Shhhhiiiittt is that even a word.

Jalen: It is in Jalen’s vocabulary.

C-Webb: Nice dog, using that high end vocabulary.

Jalen: I smell that. Jalen needs to get high dog…come on now – share that shit homie.

Sheed: Here you go fool…smoke this and it’ll make your dick hard. (bellowing laughter again).

The crew rolls off onto the Las Vegas strip, while Jalen roles a few more blunts in the back seat. The sun is shinning in Vegas and the windows are cracked on the hummer to let out the sounds, the scents and for our crew to take it all in. They roll “deep” for about an hour getting blazed, shooting the shit back and forth and occasionally stopping for a Grape soda. Eventually, they decide to hit a casino to play blackjack or maybe get some food.

C-Webb: Man dog, I am really fucking stoned.

Sheed: No doubt, the blunt don’t lie fool.

Jalen: Man I’m fucking hungry dog. Jalen has the fucking munchies.

C-Webb: I hear you.

Sheed: I hear and feel you; I could lock on some grub right now.

C-Webb: Hit up that Mickey D’s.

Jalen: Nah dog, hit up Carl’s Jr. Jalen wants a six dollar “mutha fucking” burger.

Sheed: Dog, ya’ll making me crazy… and I need to fucking lock.

The Hummer pulls off on impulse into a Wendy’s drive thru nearly side swiping traffic to feed the urge. The vehicle remains stationary about 5-10 feet before the drive-thru speaker, while the crew decides on an order. Smoke is seen emanating from the vehicle along with the sounds of laughter and Total Devastation’s “I wanna get Blunted” echoing throughout the parking lot.

Drive Thru Speaker: Welcome to Wendy’s may I take your order.

(Silence)

(More Silence and a long pause)

Laughter bursts throughout the Hummer and Sheed tries to compose himself to get the order dialed in.

Sheed: (whispering to C-Webb and Jalen) Shhhh, chill I got this…don’t make me laugh.

Jalen: Do this dog.

Sheed: (semi-chuckling to himself). Yeah, cat I need like a #2 with a Sprite, a #4 and #5 with Grape Soda (if you got it) and biggie size all them. Also, need four of the 5 piece Nuggets with extra honey and barbeque sauce.

Drive Thru Speaker: Will that be all?

Sheed: (chuckles) Nah, make that a seven count on them nuggets. And three Jr. Bacon’s with cheese and a Frosty…BIGGIE size that shit.

The crew spends the next 10 minutes waiting at the window for their order. They are very much blazed, but still maintaining a semblance of composure. Sheed tips out the drive thru clerk that put up with their antics. Upon arrival of their food they drive off to glee and satisfaction that the food has arrived.

C-Webb: Man dog, I am really fucking stoned.

Sheed: Shit man, you said that 10 minutes ago. I gotta pullover to eat this food. Where we playin’ blackjack at the Palms?

C-Webb: Yeah, them cats should hook us up.

Jalen: Jalen is cool with the Palms.

They pull the Hummer into the short term parking at the Palms…skipping over the Valet service. Sheed demands a Bacon Jr.

(A long moment of silence)

(5 minutes later)

Jalen: (to C-Webb) What’s it like being back in the “D” dog?

C-Webb: It’s tight man. You know it’s just tight. It’s the “D” dog, how could it not be tight?

Sheed: What’s it like playing with a sick ass white dude like Nash, always dropping dimes?

Jalen: Come on now, Steve ain’t white. Everybody knows he’s Canadian. Even Jalen knows that.

The crew shares some more laughs and another blunt in the parking lot before finally exiting the parking structure and making their way towards the Casino entrance.

Sheed: Maybe Scoop Jackson will interview our crew this weekend?

To be continued…

Stay tuned for more tails of “Blunted with Sheed, C-Webb and Jalen”, as their adventures in Vegas continue. We’ll catch up with them at the tables, slot machines, in the club, at the pool, when they finally meet up with Damon Stoudamire and at the gentleman’s club. Consider this your all access to the NBA life in Vegas…at the All-Star game.

Open Calling...

The staff at "Ghosts of Wayne Fontes" will be offering a nominal award to anyone who puts forth stories detailing sexual encounters with J.J. Redick's sister...

One Timers

,
I’m way to hungover to write a full fluid thought today, so I am going with the odds and ends style. By the way, I tried to have a few dark beers last night, ok maybe it was more like 15, and just feel awful today. I think I can feel my own blood pressure. Is that possible? From now on, weeknights are for light beer.

Keep your eyes peeled on ESPN Page 2 in a couple days. The Ghosts are going global baby! I decided to drop a hundred bucks and put up a little advertisement and link. There is a chance that EPSN might reject the ad, since they despise sites like this, but if not, it’s on. Next stop, the big time. (Fade up Peter Gabriel)

Despite my considerable hatred for every single thing about the Fox network, they have done something amazing without really trying. One thing on that really quick - I hate you fucking Ernie Anastos and Rosanna Scotto. I am convinced you are both really aliens and just biding your time here on Earth before you self-destruct and spread a mutating virus aimed to wipe out all forms of life as we know them. As I was saying, Fox started a soccer channel on US television and it has actually succeeded in making a soccer fan out of me (it is channel 124 in NYC if anyone cares). It all started with the World Cup, which is just a tremendous sporting event and will probably rival March Madness from now on in terms of my favorite periods in sports. After it ended, I found myself genuinely wanting to watch more soccer. So Leopold and I thought we should arbitrarily pick a Premier League team. We used SG’s piece on picking a as a starting point and thought it would be fun to go to a pub and watch a match here and there. Needless to say, that didn’t work at all. We picked Blackburn, who didn’t really do it for either of us. Then I found this great soccer channel, which is so awesome because the matches are live, which means they come on at 11 am on both Saturday and Sunday. This means I don’t even get out of bed. I just wake up and turn on the TV and there’s an absolutely perfect form of entertainment for a hangover. The play never stops, except at the half obviously, and it’s non-stop action with the Brits just going bananas for 90 minutes. It really helped that I caught the Arsenal-Manchester United game a couple months ago, which was amazing. Arsenal was down 2-1 about 70 minutes into it and tied it up. Then Henri scored on a header in extra time about 93 minutes in. An outcome like this is really incredible in soccer (by the way, I am refraining from calling it football, because that seems like a stupid thing to do, since I’ve called it soccer my whole life. It was bad enough I was saying “match” earlier”). I also caught a great Newcastle win over Tottenham and found my favorite team and player. I really like Newcastle and particularly Obafemi Martins from Newcastle. Martins is a big bad black dude from Nigeria and they like to refer to him as “rocket boots,” which is pretty awesome. Plus, I figure Nigeria would be a pretty fun random national team to root for as well. Newcastle also has a great player named Nicky Butt, which is obviously a sweet name. Lastly, I just picked up FIFA ’06 for the PSP and it is just incredible. All told, this is a pretty exciting new development for me. Discovering a whole new sport is a pretty huge deal. I have full Saturdays and Sundays of sports now just when I was feeling depressed that football season ended. No pun intended?

I am going on location on Saturday night to see the Disco Biscuits. I have not seen them, or any bands for that matter, in quite a while. It should be pretty interesting to see how out of place and old I feel. I’m planning to cut loose on the dance floor though, so look out New Jersey. There’s a storm coming in. Stay tuned next week for details and hopefully some pictures.

The countdown to Simmons’ love affair with Daisuke Matsuzaka is T minus 2 days. In a fearless prediction, I’m going on a limb to guess that he will recommend him for our fantasy baseball teams. I just have this gut feeling.

I’m nervous about Lost. I thought the first episode was solid, but the general direction is really not good. If Kate and Jack start making out, it’s as good as done. The Kate and Sawyer love scene was the beginning of the end and the minute they go for the triangle, I’m calling it quits immediately.

The Ghosts of Wayne Fontes team is looking for a qualified hacker. We offer a comprehensive benefits package that includes

By the way, the advertisement I mentioned at the beginning of this post already got rejected. We’re still local.

Rare Display of Goodwill...

In a rare display of goodwill, First Lady Laura Bush agreed to mud-wrestle House Speaker Nancy Polesi. Ms. Polesi, known for her stinging critisim of the Bush administration, remains hopeful in her outlook on the match. "I was hoping for a stab at G.Dub, but I'll take anything they throw my way, including those two lushes they call daughters."

First Lady Laura Bush retorted, "I killed someone when I was a teenager for christ-sakes!" The match has been scheduled in coordination with charity-planner Mr. Bill Gates. "I am hoping these two, once fine-pieces of ace, can work together on a bipartisan solution to alleviate world hunger."

Several foreign heads-of-state are expected to be in attendance, including, former vegetative P.M. Ariel Sharon, who will be flown in on life-support. P.M. Sharon's personal physicians welcomed the match as a way to "stimulate brain-cells that have not shown any activity since it was reported that Cat Stevens was converting to the Nation of Islam.

Existential Corner

Here is a collection of my favorite philosophical quotes that give great insight to the human condition.

"Work is the curse of the drinking class." --Oscar Wilde

"If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face - forever" -- George Orwell

"Just because you're paranoid, doesn't mean they aren't out to get you." --Jim Fetzer

"You are terrible at everything you do and by almost any measure you are a miserable failure." --Leopold Mellonbottom

"If rubbing dirt on your crotch is wrong, I don't want to be right." --Anon.

J.J Redick: My NBA Rookie Diary

Editors Note: NBA.com has rejected all transcripts from this diary. Fortunately, the Ghosts of Wayne Fontes have been able to obtain an illegal and un-authorized copy.

Do you need me to go into this game already? I’m ready when you are. Maybe somebody wants to let Brian Hill know he has a bonafide fucking superstar just sitting on the end of his bench. This has to be some kind of joke…right? You do not keep the best shooter on the fucking planet off the court for this long.

He must think my back is still hurt…has to think that. Does he not know that I am the all-time leading 3 point shooter in NCAA history? I think he needs a refresher by way of a video montage filled with highlights of the “38” I dropped on Wake in ’04 or what about the “41” I splashed on Texas in ‘05? Coach K told me I was the best. He told me he loved me. He consoled my tears, wiped away the pain and touched me in warm places.

Oh wait a minute, I think Coach Hill is looking my way…is he…I’m ready…oh what the fuck? I just got passed over for Keyon “fucking” Dooling. Uh hello, I’m J.J “fucking” Redick you prick. I’m a fucking oozy behind the 3 point line, a marksman, an assassin…a must register in all 50 states. Six foot four, 190 pounds, cheetah like reflexes with a laser rocket precise jump shot…go fuck yourself Peyton Manning.

I am a coach’s wet dream. Extremely coach-able, excellent fundamentals, great agility, a high basketball IQ, ability to move without the basketball, can get my shot off from any angle, lethal when popping off a screen and incredibly fucking hot if I must say so, as does my mom. Shit, not only am I a coach’s wet drum, I am a fucking boner to Dick DeVos and the owners of this franchise. I’m truly a marketing machine that could make the entire state of Florida ejaculate.

Look at Grant Hill on the end of the bench. What a pussy? What a disgrace to Duke Basketball. Get your sorry ass off the bench and go put an ice pack on your vagina, fucker. Newsflash for you pal…Coach K told me I was his favorite ever. He told me my heart and my emotion were the most genuine things he’s ever touched, queer.

Oh well, the more big pussy nurses his mangina, the more likely it is that yours truly will continue to see a spiked increase in my fucking PT. Stat line for everyone…I dropped 14 points last week, deal with it. If they put me in this game right now, I’ll drop at least 21 on 7 triples in 5 minutes. Shit, I will outperform that god damn autistic kid from the ESPY’s last year. They’ll rename the award after J.J “mother fucking” Redick…you pricks.

I am going to drop some new poems later this week. “I can’t hide these scars, from behind these metal bars?” Ah, fuck it…I’m starting a poetry blog. If you’re cool, you’ll get the fucking link…if not, well too bad. I want people to start using my nickname as J-Red, it’s cool and it rhymes with K-Fed.

Where is my mom? I know she is in the crowd somewhere with my sister. Mom? I can’t see either of them and it’s making me insecure. Oh wait, there she is waiving to me…love you mom. She hasn’t missed a game in my entire career. She’s knows all the moments, maybe she could explain to this doucebag Brian Hill that he has a god damn legend in the making only getting 10 minutes per game.

My mom and my sister love coming to the “O” arena much more than they liked going to games at Maryland or Chapel Hill. Nobody fucks with them here and do you want to know why? Because, I am a god damn celebrity and a professional basketball player now. Yes, I get paid to play basketball, because I am the best fucking shooter in this solar system and you are not.

“Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend…Somewhere along in the bitterness…And I would have stayed up with you all night…Had I known how to save a life!” Man, I can’t get that song out of my head. “Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend…Somewhere along in the bitterness…And I would have stayed up with you all night…Had I known how to save a life!” I love that fucking song. The Fray is definitely the shit.

Yeah, I am going to wear my new Polo shirt after the game tonight. And you know I’m popping that collar. It’s hanging in my locker right now...the one that says “Oozy #7.” Mom ironed it this morning even though it’s 100% pure cotton.

I like showering next to Dwight Howard.

I think I am going to get fucking ass faced drunk tonight. Why not? And for the record, I don’t ever drink and drive anymore. Don’t worry about me…I will not end up on Deadspin or the Smoking Gun tomorrow…I already learned my lesson. There is a liquor store near my house that sells Zima and my favorite Boones Farm flavors.

Am I picking my nose right now…oops, I am.

What am I going to do if I get in this god damn game already? Definitely coming off a pick and pop for the J.J special “trifecta.” Do I wag my tongue, give ‘em the shocker hand signal or just strike a pose of the prettiest fucking jump shot this century? My mom loves it when I do the smile and shake my head, like “you can’t stop me.” Tough choices.

I’m actually pretty pleased that Duke sucks this year. That Jon Scheyer is just a wannabe me. The difference is, I won when I was at Duke and carried my team. I only lost to Carolina three fucking times in 10 games over 4 years. Little Jon Scheyer is 0-1 and Paulus and McRoberts are 1-2 against Carolina. Does this not further prove just how important I was to Duke Basketball?

Coach K still sends me emails all the time, reminding me how great I am and telling me how much he misses me. Sometimes his email attachments get blocked for “Explicit Pornographic Child Material – Under Federal Investigation.” There is definitely something wrong with you if you don’t just love Coach K.

Is it just me, but are Dwight Howard and I, the only All-Star caliber players on this tea----

------WHAT COACH!!!…WHO ME?…OH, yup I’m READY. Shit it took forever, but I’m finally going into this game --- keep your eyes on #7. Don’t bother keeping the seat warm. I’m about to spray this court with triples from every angle imaginable to man. I’ll hit one from the mother fucking equator if need be. Pass me the fucking pill, my mom is watching.

The first triple is for the punk guarding me. The second one is for that steaming vagina Grant Hill. The third one is for that little punk bitch Jon Scheyer. The 4th one is for the Fray. The 5th one is in honor of Coach K. The 6th one is for Travis Deiner’s punk ass getting into the game before m---

---OH SHIT, I got the ball. Shoot mother fucker. Come on; come try to guard me Brandon “fucking” Roy. You hear them chanting my name? They are chanting “J.J” and they are not making fun of me. Get out of my fucking way Darko; move man…set a pick. I am not passing this god damn basketball. This shot is going up…

SPLASH!!! Triple time. Hibachi my ass. Guess what? Vegas just took “Is J.J fucking tonight?” completely off the board. Now blow me like your name is Dick Vitale.

Rules of the Road.

Almost Friday. The Ghosts are going to haunt you.

Bored.

Drunk.

Maybe.

We Blog when we are drunk.

We usually don't blog on the weekend.

And our identities will never be revealed.

If this is your first visit...share our link...join us!!!

Valentines Day Causes Rioting

Rioting occured in all parts of the world today as it was reported that women over 40 now have a greater chance of being attacked by a terrorist than getting married.

Do You Hear What I Hear?

Do You Hear What I Hear? Tommy, we are coming for you. That is the sound of footsteps outside your office. We’re outside your bedroom. We’re in your locker room. The bloggers are turning on you. Your job is on the line. You’ll never make the NCAA tournament. You can’t win in East Lansing. You can’t win in Madison. You can’t win in Columbus. Shit, you can’t even win in West Lafayette. Your name sounds like you are seven years old and make forts on Saturday morning to watch cartoons and eat Fruit By the Foot.

These are the voices in your head, Tommy. We are calling for your resignation. We ask you to please stop driving our beloved basketball team further into the abyss of mediocrity. We do not want to succumb to your Mike Krzyzewski ways of running a program anymore. You are not a worthy skipper and we want our boat back. One good year at Seton Hall and a mentorship from Coach Gay does not give you tenure at one of the most storied college basketball programs in the history of the NCAA. In fact, Seton Hall is a pretty storied program in itself and your record there, with the exception of one Sweet 16, was nothing to write home about. Not to mention, we hate Duke, remember? How did you get this job in the first place anyway?

I’ll tell you how. You built up a tiny bit of momentum with “Coach K protégé” on your resume and fooled everyone into thinking that you were blossoming into a phenom. We all thought you just needed a few years to develop. Now, it is 6 years later and you are still hiding behind a scandal and a bunch of sprained ankles. This is not Necessary Roughness and we do not need Ed “Straight Arrow” Genaro. We want a winner a lot more than we want your turtle necks and sweater vests.

AND WE STILL HAVEN”T BEEN TO THE NCAA TOURNAMENT!

How can you not recruit a top class at the University of Michigan? You are talking about the premier brand name in college sports. The scandals of Chris Webber, the Fab Five, and Tractor Traylor are ancient history. Has there been a single NBA draft pick in your entire career at Michigan (my research assistant is snowed in today)? This is pathetic. Michigan State hasn’t exactly run the tightest ship in the shipping business and they still bring in marquee players year in year out. Granted, the Spartans have had a better run in recent years than the Wolverines, but half of the athletes at MSU are drug dealers and the other half are their clients. The Spartans are doing something right. First of all, their seats are full. Chrysler Arena is rarely even half full. Give away some free tickets if need be. Whatever needs to happen to get that building rocking? For god sakes, do it. Also, Michigan basketball games are no longer TV worthy and they are getting less so with every turd that gets laid on national television. I cannot think of a single televised game this season that wasn’t at least a ten point blowout. Coach Izzo at least makes himself known publicly and goes out to push for the kids he wants on his team, instead of sitting back and waiting for them to come to him. Clearly, the draw of the Big Blue alone is not enough anymore and we can’t give out the ho’ed out Explorers either, so we need some recruiting audacity.

You know what makes me the angriest about your impact on Michigan Basketball. You gave us the Maize Rage. That is by far the dumbest name for a student section of all time. I don’t want to talk about that anymore.

I think last night’s outing against the Spartans just sealed your fate, Tommy. In an absolute must win for the Wolverines, the boys put up a putrid 44 points. The game started out a defensive struggle and showed you plenty of opportunities. In fact, the Blue lead by 5 at one point and it was a one point game at the half. I’m sure your halftime speech was full of insight and inspiration, but an exasperating 21 point second half and a fifteen point loss ensued. I can’t take these gut wrenching, ass whooping defeats anymore. We haven’t even come close against a decent team this year. If you want to pretend an Illinois victory is clutch, nice try. The Illini suck this year. If I were you, Tommy, I would polish up my résumé. Either that or start drinking. Look on the bright side, your god damn NIT banner at the end of this season will make a nice duffle bag.

Existential Corner

Can one be considered human if one does not posses a Razr and an ipod?

Discuss.

I'd also be curious to hear your opinions on mango salsa. Did it replace sun-dried tomatoes as they lamest trendiest food? And what's going to be the new Thai food? What kind of restaurants are going to charge a lot of money for cheaply made food and spring up on every goddamn corner in the USA? Malaysian? Are we ready for that?

Schottenheimer goes on a Bender in Pacific Beach.

Editor's Note: A report about former Chargers coach has been leaked, but nothing of this account has been verified as factual.

The San Diego Chargers waited for the entire cupboard to be completely barren before they finally pulled the trigger and fired head coach Marty Schottenheimer. Whether the loss to the New England Patriots or the loss of assistant coaches Cam Cameron and Wade Phillips was to blame, either way Marty left Qualcomm today amidst the presence of starved reporters.

Schottenheimer couldn’t resist temptation and pulled down his khaki pleated Chino’s, made by Dockers San Francisco, and mooned the sea of reporters. When asked for a response Schottenheimer simply responded by saying he was going to get “Fucking Dah-riz-unk.”

Reports link that the bender started around noon today in Pacific Beach. The old ways of conservative Marty Ball were thrown to the wind, as Schottenheimer and a very small entourage rifled down Jager bombs and Irish Combs at Longboard’s on Garnett St.

The crowd seemed to be picking up steam accompanied by several females, as Schottenheimer and his crew went from bar to bar. One eye witness says they were visibly belligerent by the time they made it to Moondoggies and were cursing up a storm. At one point, Schottenheimer kept referring to the birthmark on former Chargers QB Drew Brees as a shit stain, while he pinched the waitresses’ ass cheeks.

Schottenheimer became enamored with the phrase, "it’s a shit stain" and several accounts claim he began to yell this just before he vomited out in front of Denny’s next door. At this point in the bender the females began to disperse from Schottenheimer and company.

It’s alleged that he took a piss in the street before passing out on Mission Beach by screaming “I am completely miserable San Diego.” Some eye witnesses claim Schottenheimer arose after an hour nap near the pier and proclaimed Tijuana as the only viable option left.

Fortunately, San Diego Beach Patrol caught the entire Schottenheimer escapade on the Beach and it will be shown in it’s entirety on Court TV later this month. He was never detained; although upon him noticing the camera in sight he immediately dropped his pleated Chino’s once again for a full moon viewing.

He was last seen in route to the Mexican border in a 1999 Ford Astro-van with Chargers stickers all over it. Eyewitnesses on I-5 accounted that it was indeed Schottenheimer and he kept uttering the phrase “Go Fuck yourself San Diego” over and over and over and over…and…over.

Whether or not he made it to TJ or not, is not known. Yet, it’s still a sad day in San Diego. What the fuck are they going to do for a coach now? This team was so god damn close and should’ve beaten the butt Fuckin’ Brady Bunch Patriots!!! This was their season…LT man, LT man…Lights Out…come one now!!!

Vegas released their odds on Superbowl favorites for next year just last week with the Chargers taking the cake at 9:2 and the Colts just a notch behind them at 5:1. It may be time to reconsider putting the mortgage on the Chargers, even if Marty ball is gone.

AHHH, I am completely miserable San Diego!!!

Really, that is the Album of the Year?

To me this was more shocking than finding out there is a 3rd Lachey brother on TV, 12-Pack from VH1’s “I love New York.” Anybody, but the Dixie Dykes…umm…Chicks, sorry my bad. Honestly though, how did they win the Grammy for Album of the year?

Look, I’m not here to be the sexist bashing music critic on the scene. I know the Dixie Chicks are excellent musicians who reach a much broader audience than the Country music scene alone. I know they are influential artists who aren’t afraid to chase and stand by their beliefs.

I just don’t see where they came about winning the “Album of the Year” Grammy Award. I mean when we look back at 2006, shouldn’t we have chosen the album that will stand the test of time. I know it sounds cliché, but honestly in 10 years who is going to be listening to “Taking the Long Way”?

Sadly, the Grammy’s aren’t always about the best there is to offer…it’s all about politics and the people who vote. Take for example last year when Bono psychologically scared the voters into giving U2 and unprecedented 250 Awards, including the Best Hip/Hop album.

In 1989 Jethro “fucking” Tull ruined Metallica’s first formal breakthrough into the mainstream, by stealing the Hard Rock Album of the Year. Shameful, but it’s what we’ve come to be expect. So instead of a much deserving band like the Red Hot Chili Peppers or even Justin Timberlake rightfully winning the award we have two skinny ladies and one chunky one, called the Dixie Chicks with the best album of 2006. Ladies and Gentlemen…that’s the Grammy’s.

To me this was a two leg race with one obvious winner, “Stadium Arcadium” by the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Not to discredit John Mayer’s “Continuum”, but he didn’t have enough sorority girls with votes this year. And no offense to Gnarls Barkley’s “St. Elsewhere”, but is that album really even that good? Name another song outside of “Crazy” that really stands out to you?

In 10 years they will be performing at county fairs alongside the “Spin Doctors.” And logically nobody will know any of their other songs and demand they both play an entire set of “Crazy” and “Little Miss Can’t Be Wrong.” That’s just one man’s opinion.

So, I guess that leaves JT’s “FutureSex/LoveSounds” against the Chili Peppers masterpiece, “Stadium Arcadium.” And yet, I’m willing to give JT some of his due. Shit, I’d be lying and you’d be lying if at one time or another you didn’t find yourself bobbing your head and humming, “I’m bringin’ Sexy back…yeah!” He even gave us the classic, “Dick in a Box”, which sadly isn’t available as a bonus track on the album…yet.

Anyhow, “FutureSex/LoveSounds” still comes up just a hair short to the brilliant “Stadium Arcadium.” There was a general buzz about this album when Spin magazine and Rolling Stone did their features on its impending release. I thought to myself it’s the Chili Peppers, of course it’s going to be good. Yet, reviews of the album were using the catch phrases “masterpiece”, “amazing”, “best Chili Peppers album to date”, etc.

I was worried as I often am by critics spoiling the album with too much flattery or slander to the point that I don’t quite comprehend the genius of the album. I tend to be one of those people that can easily form an initial prejudice, by just a 5 sentence customer review from on Amazon.com. That’s just me.

Yet, “Stadium Arcadium” delivered on every account, as to what I was told to expect. It’s an album littered with anthems that, umm…will stand the test of time. You know I could use adjective after adjective and make this sound like a cheesy infomercial, but there is no need.

You get my drift, this album leaves nothing short. It’s an easy listen with a familiar sound that anyone who’s listened to the Chili Peppers can relate. It’s the type of album that should represent 2006, 10 years from now.

It’s not as if the Red Hot Chili Peppers have been off the map for the past 15 years, but this is the best effort they have put forth with since “Blood, Sugar, Sex, Magic.” And that’s not meant to discredit anything they’ve done in the meantime, just a testament to just how good this album really is.

I could give you the song-by-song breakdown or attempt to get all warm and fuzzy about the albums lyrics, but hey that would be “a waste of time.” No, I’m just going to tell you to find out for yourself and download the album from itunes.com if you don’t already have it. There’s no need to give anymore undue flattery…this was no doubt the best album of 2006, but the voters missed it.

Now, if you don’t mind I am going to start another blog called www.theDixieDykesruinedthegrammys.com.

Out.

And the Award Goes To……

An odd fact about the Grammy Awards is that every year some of the most prestigious awards are distributed prior to the prime time airing of the ceremony. For some reason, the network execs feel that it is more important to make sure we all catch up on Imogen’s hairdo infused with tree branches, which was entirely po-mo in my opinion, in case we might want to wear that to work the following week. Well, I wanted to make sure that everyone knew who won one of the most prestigious awards of the night. The award I am referring to is the “Year’s best album that makes you remember the days when you could eat two Double Quarter Pounders, and large fry, a chocolate shake, and an apple pie at McDonalds and not feel bad about it.” This award is truly one of the most crowning achievements in the music business, because it is not just about making a great record, it’s about making great record that transports people somewhere else. It’s like in Office Space, when Peter asks the hypnotist if he could make him think he had gone fishing all day even though he was really at work. That is exactly the same idea with this award and the Old Crow Medicine Show did just that with their album, O.C.M.S.

I first became aware of how unique this album was when I was walking through the Grand Central subway station at rush hour, which as you can imagine, is typically about as relaxing as going against the grain into a stampeding herd of bison. Instead, I was listening to the album and it felt like everyone was just rollicking along in no hurry at all. I thought it must have been a coincidence. Maybe I just wasn’t paying attention or got lucky. So, I put it to another test. I listened to it on the treadmill. For me, in order to make it 20 minutes on a hamster wheel form of exercise, I have to listen to something that I am really excited about or else the time goes too slow. Yet again, I was totally transfixed. I daydreamed the whole time and thought about all sorts of funny memories like road trips with my family when I was a kid and a bunch of made up ones that never happened, but I wished they did. I thought about me and my friends getting drunk and fishing for catfish and playing our banjos out on the front porch. So what if we never actually did that, it seemed like we did.

The songs tell stories and most of them aren’t true, but it doesn’t really matter. Judging by the picture of the band, I think it’s safe to say none of these guys were gambling at the wagon, when the army man came to sign them up for Vietnam. The songs have some good take home messages as well. One we could probably all learn from is, “Just drink your corn whiskey, leave the cocaine be.”

The music has a really unique sound. The crux of the sound is bluegrass, which I am sure you have guessed by now, but the singing is much more old timey than most bluegrass. They work in well timed voice cracks and sing loud as hell at times to really give it the feel that this is old music. The harmonies are great too. The instrumental parts are crisp and to the point, but you can feel that these guys could be playing in a funk band if they wanted. They have a little more spunk than the average bluegrass band. They do keep the songs pretty focused, not going into much improvising, but they definitely maintain a lot of energy throughout. I imagine that they stretch out the jams a bit more in concert, but most of the songs come in around 3 or 4 minutes on the album.

While I am sure some of you actually think that Natasha Bettingfield and Justin Timberlake are on the cusp of what is going on in the American music scene, there are still plenty of good tunes coming from the real American music hotbeds like Nashville and New Orleans. I can’t wait to check out the Old Crow Medicine Show live in concert and hope to see you all there. So hop in your 18 wheeler and pick me up along the side of the highway on the way to the show. I might even share my moonshine.

That's My Bush

By Leopold Q. Mellonbottom

After five years of macho posturing and sabre-rattling from the White House, it has been revealed that they are ready to make a deal with North Korea over its nuclear weapons program. The trouble is, this deal is almost identical to the one hammered out in 1994 under Bill Clinton --the so-called Agreed Framework. You know, the agreement that Republicans called 'appeasement' and 'giving in to bribery.'

In 2001, Bush declared the Agreed Framework dead in what was one of the most undiplomatic instances in US history. Then-president of South Korea, Kim Dae Jung, was making his first visit to the White House, after having just been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for being a tireless fighter for democracy. Kim had been assured just days before by the State Department that the new president, Bush, would not change Clinton's policy of rapproachment with regard to North Korea. So imagine Kim's shock and embarrassment for being blind-sided by Bush's announcement that the US will resume hostilities with the Pyongyang regime.

From that moment, Washington and Pyongyang have been at loggerheads, various threats being lobbed from both sides, and with the Seoul government shitting its pants for once again being caught in the crossfire. And then yesterday came the big breakthrough.

So let's take stock. What do we have after five years of cowboy talk and stubborn childishness? We have the same deal that was made in 1994 with the added bonus of Kim Jong Il now possessing several nuclear weapons. It just goes to show that when Democrats make deals it is called 'appeasement,' and when Republicans do it, it's called 'diplomacy.'

Nice victory George. Nice victory.

A Loving Haiku on Arvydas Sabonis

one glass eye
howling wit
evinced his travelling spirit

The Dark Veil Behind Imperialism

Yesterday, "top U.S. officials" reported the missing link between the Iranian Army and the roadside bombs being used to thwart "allied efforts" in Iraq. We all know where this one is going. This seems like something straight out of the terrible movie "Groundhog Day"- albeit some sick realistic version of the movie Groundhog Day. Are these the same "top US officials" that got the smoking gun on WMD's in Iraq? The same "top US officials" that recently publicly admitted abandoning their search for Osama Bin Laden? The same "top US officials" that, when confronted about the credibility of their evidence, unleashed a crusade of leaking classified information regarding their critics and spouses?

I can't help but feel ill over this. Ill over the war, ill over the escalating sectarian violence, ill over our elected officials, but most of all, ill over how naively idealistic our Top Commander remains. I hope this country realizes that G.W.B. may remain the most ambitiously idealistic president the world has ever seen. No longer is this a crusade against tyranny, oppression, and the usual buzz words that will get the masses motivated. Rather, this is a crusade to spread the fundamentals of Western civilization. I can't help but drawing parallels to the crusades.

On the brink of this failure is also the failure on the part of ANY of our elected officials to articulate a cohesive, viable strategy for addressing the all out civil war in Iraq. I can at least dictate a starting point: "Let's stop using bold rhetoric that allows all anti-America factions to unite in a quest against us." It's hard to forget though that diplomacy has never been a cornerstone value for this administration.

I miss Clinton; I miss Monica; hell, I even miss seeing Chelsea's gangly smile. However, I do realize that 9/11 changed everything in the modern world. But there are many ways nations must counter-attack. Acting unilaterally is NOT one of them, and tacking on countries that can't help but come along doesn't count either. Time and time again America has proven itself a Nation built around resilience. I hope that a new administration can come in-from either political party- and restore our moral credibility that has allowed us to maintain the status we have all enjoyed since inception.

Punch in the Crotch Nominees for 2006

Please submit your nominations for the individuals who most deserved a punch in the crotch in 2006. Keep in mind that a nomination for Bono is invalid. We simply take it as a given that he deserves a punch in the crotch every year. We will choose the five best. My nominees are:

-Brad Pitt
-Sasha Baron Cohen
-Those Youtube pricks
-That British actor everyone beats off to -- Clive Cussler or whatever
-ipods
-Canada

The Greatest Show on Earth

By Leopold Q. Mellonbottom

Step right up. Come one, come all to the greatest show on earth where a lazy-eyed public will buy shit they don’t need with money they don’t have and believe outlandish things that are not true.

I am talking, of course, about the American public. There is literally nothing you couldn’t package and brand and shovel down our fat throats. From Kentucky fried twinkies to pine-scented quarries, you can have it all in this the greatest of one-stop bazaars. We even package and buy and sell people.

With this in mind, we mourn the passing of great American patriot. Whether or not Anna Nicole Smith died of a drug overdose or whether she was murdered does not matter. What matters is this woman’s American life. She was born in Podunk, Texas, married, had a kid, and divorced before she was 20 and went to the big city (Dallas) to become stripper. It was there where she was discovered by Playboy. She later became Playmate of the Year, landed the Guess Jeans contract and then took the next logical step of marry an 89 year old multi-millionaire. Surprisingly, her husband died shortly after, and Anna battled her husband’s children for the old man’s fortune.

It wasn’t until she ‘redeemed’ herself with her reality TV show that she became to resemble America. She was constantly doped-up, ditzy, horny, past her prime, overweight, greedy, slothful, and without single shred of dignity or tact. She was the embodiment of American society.

And now she’s dead. And she died young.

Take heed America. Take heed.

The Circumstances Surrounding Ms. Smith...

Ms. Smith, or “Vikki, Anna, Niki, Tits, Sugar-tits, butter-twat, XL, Diesel” as she was popularly known amongst her closest friends, passed away today casting a legacy that few will be able match in the land accustomed to the bizarre downfalls of the rich and infamous.

Ms. Smith was born somewhere in America yearning for the opportunity to make a dime the hardest way possible. Knowing right away that school was not the path of ambition, she visited her local meat-butcher for the answer to her problems. After a brief consultation with the butcher, it was mutually agreed that a service would be performed that would soon leave the whole world marveling at the exoticness and of her physique, crafted at the blade of the butcher’s scalpel. After a few hours, a dead prized bull, a bottle of morphine, and two-and-a-half pints of blood, Ms. Smith emerged a new species.

After a lengthy recuperation period, fueled by martinis and Quaaludes, Ms. Smith hit the pole. It was here that the stars aligned in the Universe of Zartopia to create the now infamous glance by Ms. Smith that she would later declare was both “the gift and the curse,” of her illustrious 3 hour career at The Mermaid Lounge.

Little did Ms. Smith know, but in the corner sat sexual predator turned oil-tycoon Howard “How-r-u-alive” Marshall. Mr. Marshall had visited the joint after a brief bought of depression brought on after he learned one of his young associates had inadvertently been tricked into conveying a significant plot of Mr. Marshall’s oil-rich land to a man impersonating the late-great President George “one-dollar-bill” Washington. (It was later discovered that, coincidentally, the impersonator shared many of the same initials as G.W. and indeed had a fetish for crisp, rolled-up, one-dollar bills.)

Mr. Marshall saw what he thought was the look of desire in the contorted face of Ms. Smith as she tried to shimmy down the pole, which much to the chagrin of local patrons, created a ereekkeekkk noise to the beat of Mr. Hammer’s “Adams Family” jingle. Confused by the laughter, and still somewhat blind from certain impediments obstructing her near-sided vision, Ms. Smith sauntered off the platform and into the lap of the man who was said to be holding the same one-dollar bill that was allegedly later used to fuel a massive secretarian war in parts of the world still unknown to both parties.

It was at this moment that sparks flew- although local patrons on the scene have recently argued that while sparks did indeed fly, the source was a short-circuit in Mr. Marshall’s wheelchair after he, in a disillusioned state, thought his wheel chair contained go-go gadget arms due to the hit series “Inspector Gadget” playing on the overhead consoles.

It was agreed that Ms. Smith would wed Mr. Marshall in a private ceremony closed to all people except the supporting cast of Ms. Smith’s entourage at the local Mermaid Lounge. The details of the ceremony still remain challenged, but recently, Access Hollywood reported that Ms. Smith looked “oddly confused” as to why her dress- clad in all diamonds- had two watermelon incisions smartly tailored in the mid-section by none other than the late Mr. Versace himself.

After the wedding it was also agreed that Ms. Smith would make 2 public appearances a year with Mr. Marshall, though the details of the private wedding “vows” have been rumored to contain acts too incendiary to print in such an upstanding forum. It has been said that this was the highest point of Ms. Smith’s life- indeed she was hopped up on methamphtimes scored off of the Mexican gardener in exchange for a peak at the prized bull brains. The Mexican gardener- Emilio Estevez- declined to comment on the matter other than mumbling “It was first grade fertilizer that me and Charlie discovered in the hinter farmlands surrounding Tijuana.”

Ms. Smith then decided to shy away from the local limelight she had created for herself on the Planet Earth due to her recent photo-shoots in a popular magazine oddly known for its toilet jokes, and sharp political insight from leading editors in the pornographic field. Ms. Smith decided to stay at home and be the wide-angle picture perfect housewife. During this time, Ms. Smith and Mr. Marshall were often spotted bathing, joking, and taking long walks that may even be viewed today on the commercial featuring the “Off-Road Racal.”

Tragically, like so many icons before her, the lust dried, literally, and Ms. Smith was forced to switch roles from the housewife to the hospice wife after Mr. Marshall admitted to Ms. Smith that he was suffering from the black-lung from his days in the field, and was not the popularly rumored 27- but rather 107. Shocked and betrayed, Ms. Smith turned to the only person she knew she would be able to trust: her lawyer, Mr. Stern. Mr. Stern, coincidentally, was present and drafted the liability waiver for the butcher merely 10 days prior (a copy may be viewed in his treatise entitled “A butcher, a bull, a lawyer, and Ms. Smith”).

Scorned by his colleagues, Mr. Stern managed to gain Ms. Smith’s trust by breaking attorney-client privilege and informing Ms. Smith that Mr. Marshall was worth more than “A few nameless countries in the middle-east.” Rumored-minds may differ, but it has been widely accepted that it was at this time that Ms. Smith decided to take charge of her destiny…..(t.b.cont’d)

Brief Excerpts from 2nd Edition:
“My son was worth more to me than a bull to his butcher”

“Shockingly, the baby emerged unscathed, white as powder, yet darker than the landing of the recent space-shuttle.”

Man Disguised as Chris Webber Signs with Pistons

In a truly bizarre sequence of events, Leon Weaver, a Wyandotte, MI native, has been playing basketball for the Detroit Pistons for the past several weeks under the pretense that he is Chris Webber. A dead ringer for the real Chris Webber, Weaver joined the team about three weeks ago and has been making a remarkable contribution to the team. In fact, since joining in January, the Pistons have won nine of their last eleven games. Piston’s guard, Chauncey Billups grew wary when he noticed that Webber was playing defense and jumping and took it upon himself to mention it to coach Flip Saunders. “It really started in Indiana game when Chris, or should I say Leon, grabbed 6 boards on the defensive end and added 3 blocks,” explained Chauncey. “I mean, I went into the C Webb trade with an optimistic attitude, expecting that he would come in and give us some size and attitude in the post and maybe kick out some nice passes for open looks, but never in my wildest dreams did I expect him to put in 35+ minutes a game and drop double-doubles on a nightly basis,” continued Big Shot.


“When Chauncey mentioned he thought something fishy was going on with Chris, I started paying closer attention. I couldn’t help but notice that he had a little spring in his step that wasn’t there in the tapes I had been watching pre-trade. He started exhibiting traits that resembled competitiveness and work ethic. So, I decided to call the front office in Philly to see what they thought. It turns out, that they did in fact waive Chris Webber, but they had no knowledge of a signing with the Pistons,” Coach Saunders added.

It turns out, since his release from the 76ers, Chris Webber has actually been on vacation with Ray Jackson in Atlantic City. “I don’t believe this shit man, that guy looks just like me dog. Ray told me about this dude on the Pistons the other night when we was hangin back at the Borgata. I watched the game last night and that boy be nasty. I wasn’t gonna say nothin. I thought it was funny as shit,” articulated Webber.

We at the Ghosts of Wayne Fontes caught up with Leon Weaver for a few words. “Well, I’ll be honest; I thought it was a stupid idea at first. The guys at my church league just kept pestering me week after week. They were like, ‘Yo Beave Weave.’ That’s my nickname. ‘I swear you look exactly like C Webb. You should try out for the Pistons.’ Anyway, one thing led to another with Webber getting dumped by the Sixers and I had been playing great in church league and all, so one of the guys initiated talks with the Pistons front office. He’s a real smooth talker, so they bought it straight away. They thought he was some big time agent. The timing just worked out perfectly, so the whole thing was totally flawless. I guess some of the guys got suspicious that I wasn’t playing with the same catatonic daze that they were used to seeing in Chris. It was a great run either way, but I sure hope they let me stay with the team.”

When asked about Weaver’s future with the team, Coach Flip Saunders was guarded, yet optimistic. “We’ll just have to see how this whole thing pans out from a legal standpoint. Barring any issues, I’d love to keep him around. He’s made a great impact on the team and we’re winning games.”

Correspondence from the Odyssey of Bison Dele - Part Uno

In June 2002, NBA legend Bison Dele (formerly known as Brian Williams) and his girlfriend, Serena set sail on a spiritual journey along the South Pacific Ocean. They were accompanied by only Dele’s personal skipper Bertrand Saldo and his brother Miles Dabord (born Kevin Williams). Dele, Serena and the skipper were never heard from again after being seen in Haiti on July 8, 2002. His brother Miles was the lone survivor in this mysterious odyssey, yet he committed suicide amidst the investigation.

Their journey remains a mystery to many, but recently a note of correspondence signed by Dele himself in a Corona bottle was washed upon shore on a remote inhabited island near Tahiti. Scribes have done their best to make translation on what the note said and believe that Dele has left many more correspondences that can help piece together many hidden clues. This is believed to be the first piece of the puzzle.

(Warning – this has NOT been proven as actual fact and therefore can only be used as a theory in the mystery of Bison Dele).

It is day 11, but I can’t be all that sure…we could be lost and we could be in trouble. Yet, that’s neither here nor there in my train of thoughts. It is very cold tonight on the vessel, the sea breeze has brought chills and the waters have become violent and angry. Perhaps, we’ve stirred up the ferociousness of an angry sea god by using the sacred waters to take pisses and poops.

Miles (my brother) and I have been in constant power struggle since we vanished from the remote island off Fiji (I believe) on our last stop. Serena has confided in me that this is a result of his pure jealousy over my illustrious career as a professional combatant in the American sport of Basketball. I don’t know if I trust her though. I feel confused and a wee bit depressed over the falling out we had in Fiji.

He is my brother and I love him, but he must know that jealousy puts up invisible barriers to the soul. Wow, I’m taken back by my own thoughts as I write – now that’s really going fucking deep. Forgive me, for my soul is like a vacuous landscape on the cusp of rural America. It’s innocent, yet on the verge of becoming tainted by outside corruption and capitalism.

This is one of the reasons I chose to leave the sport and combat of American Basketball. I could no longer restrict my soul from breathing and drinking from the refreshing cup of life. The marketing and endorsing of me, one Bison “fucking” Dele, was stealing a part of my identity. And I really could no longer tolerate playing with Mikki Moore, Don Reid, Eric Montross or Jerome Williams…to name a few.

Again forgive me; I have gone off on another tangent – placing myself and god on a similar plateau. Perhaps, such thought is why Grant Hill never really liked me? My quest and journey of soul searching has taken a turn for the worse with the dissolving of relationships amongst my brother and our travel companions.

I believe it was two, maybe three days ago we all ingested Peyote off the coast of an abandoned Island, I believed to be Fiji (Serena and my brother both stressed it was not Fiji and that I was possibly going insane). Upon consumption of the magical potion sent from the Gods, I shaved off all of my pubic hairs and sacrificed them to the seas.

As an ancient tradition I smeared goat shit all over my face as war paint. Where I found the goat and/or the goat shit is of no concern to you. I am Bison “fucking” Dele --- do NOT ask such insulting questions.

We wandered the jungle for days amidst the lure of our spiritual encounter with the ancient medicine. About the time our experience was reaching its foreclosure is along the same lines that the strain between my brother and I came about. I insisted we stay on the island and explore more of the jungle. He insisted we move on at once and return to the sea.

We haven’t spoken since and I’m also starting to lose the confinement I once found in Serena, as a source of my resolve. Secretly, I think they are plotting against me, to overtake me, because I am Bison “fucking” Dele.

As I write this correspondence – they are both in the boats lower cabin, asleep. I am on the ship’s deck, because my anxiety will not allow me to sleep. I am beginning to suspect my brother may be engaging in a secret coital affair with Serena. Yet, I can’t let outside influences affect my journey, for if I do I am already letting them win and surrendering my soul.

As I glance out at the open angry sea I can’t help, but think about my own secret. My dear love John-John…oh how I miss you. “Anhelo y quiero tener mi Amaechi!” I’m sorry, but you know I had to leave – I had no choice, Stern knew. I know someday our story will be told, but understand John I needed this time to discover the inner being that is Bison “fucking” Dele. I shaved my pubes for you…not just the seas!!!

I am sending this correspondence off into the bowels of the sea on this eve of our 12th day on this journey. The moan I hear from the cabin only reaffirms that my brother is indeed performing coitus upon my Serena. The bastard will be murdered upon our next port, while I devise a plan to lure him into the jungle and the hide the body.

Should you find this correspondence, give my love to John and tell him I’m sorry for leaving and just know that Bison “fucking” Dele is still alive.

With love-
Bison F. Dele

There once was a girl named Manjula
Who wanted to move to Missoula
But Apu got mad
He wanted Riyadh
So she Quantum Leaped with Scott Bakula

Really, what the hell are they going to do with this pick?

There is no such word as “optimism” when it comes to being a fan of the Detroit Lions. Why? Let me count the ways and I’ll Fedex you a bible full of fucking reasons with a picture of Scott Mitchell that I used to wipe my ass with.

The Lions currently are holding the #2 pick in this year’s NFL Draft. Yet, there is no reason to even consider excitement for I know and you know the Lions will collectively fuck this thing up as they always do. There are so many areas for the Lions to address that it’s hard to even figure out where to start.

What exactly should they do with the pick?

For starters, umm --- they need a god damn QB. Jon Shitna looks like a white supremacist and although he is a devout Christian and overall seems like a pretty nice guy – he’s not getting it done for the Lions. Maybe, if he were to pick up a clipboard, a headset and hold Mike Martz’s ballzac on the sidelines --- then I’d feel better about him on the team.

You take away the Chicago and Dallas games at the end of the season; he went through a stretch of about 10 games where he threw 1 or fewer TD’s per game. Fucking pathetic right? Also, let’s consider he accounted for 33 turnovers (22 INT’s and 11 Fumbles). Yes, that’s no typo it’s an overwhelming average of over 2 turnovers per game from our fucking QB.

That’s just not getting it done. Enjoy the KKK rally brother, say hi to Clayton Bigsby for us all and take a seat on the fucking bench when you get back.

Yet, I promise I will send fresh human fecal matter to the Lions front offices if they even think about drafting Gay D. Quinn. We’ve been down this road before with Joe-Joe and can’t handle another 4 years of an emotionally challenged QB, with questionable accuracy.

The Lions not having a viable QB is an ageless issue with this organization, but sadly enough it would seem much too exhausting to give it a go with Quinn, Russell or any of the other 1st round prospects. Good fortune just never happens to the Lions, never has and never will.

Other teams seem to pull out these decent to very good players out of their asses in the draft, yet the Lions continue to grab fucking clunkers. Every single year the Patriots and Colts draft in the late first round, yet every year their draft picks are seeing substantial PT, while the Lions are the butt of everyone’s jokes.

Look, spare me the Charles Rogers or other WR jokes. You don’t think we’ve heard them before? Shit; Lions fans are the ones that made the jokes up you fucking morons. Go ahead, pop off the joke about how the Lions are going to take a WR this year with the second pick…ha ha ha…that’s hilarious, never heard that one before, prick.

We all know Rogers would rather smoke the finest brick weed Saginaw county has to offer and don’t hold back on the seeds and stems please. We all know that Mike Williams is fat, lazy and unmotivated – please just stop, the Lions are not drafting Calvin Johnson.

The next best thing on the board would be a RB, but the Lions will argue they have Kevin Jones. Yes, Mr. Durability has played an average of about 10 games per season. Eat shit he’s nothing special, but I doubt Adrian Peterson is really the answer. Considering he had durability issues in college – I’m going to pass.

What do I really know though? He’ll probably be the next Eric “fucking” Dickerson and shit all over the Lions for the next 10 years. That’d be fitting after all. So essentially, I’ve wiped out the notion of a QB, WR or RB. Frankly, there aren’t any first round caliber TE prospects on the big board, so the idea of an offensive skill position player is shot.

Of course, the Lions could always attempt to trade the pick. Maybe the Eagles would be willing to part with McNabb? Who am I kidding that makes no sense – no – the Eagles will probably cut Garcia and his gay ways loose. Thank god he utterly hates the Lions organization and would rather take his whole “I’m not gay” act all the way to the grave before he’d ever reconsider the Lions. Fine by me, dude sucks and can only run the west coast offense.

Ok, let’s not lose track here. Basically, outside of some amazing freak show popping up at the combine there isn’t any “stand-out-must-take” defensive prospects in the Top 5 of this draft. That’s partly based on my own opinion and lack thereof full knowledge, but cut me some slack I did read Kiper this morning before trying to sound like Johnny “fucking” know-it-all.

Essentially, there is really only one choice on the table for the Detroit Lions. And sadly enough, they may not be able to fuck this one up. And sadly enough, it’s nothing sexy, nothing the fans are going to go “ape shit” excited over. It’s your basic meat and potatoes order, not the surf and turf – ladies and gentlemen say hello to Joe Thomas.

Yeah, I know absolutely nothing about this guy other than that Mel Kiper tells me he is an “imposing lineman with great quickness and a giant ball bag.” Those aren’t his exact words, but that’s how I interpreted them (feel free to find your own meaning). He’s an offensive tackle, which is hardly the lucrative pick you like to see your team make in the #2 slot of the NFL draft. He’s by no means sexy, but I’d still bang that dude.

Maybe, he’s exactly what the Lions really need. I mean if they are sticking w/ Shitna maybe he’d be better if he wasn’t on his ass all the time. A little protection up front may not be so bad. Yeah, I agree taking an offensive lineman that high up in the draft is basically waiving a flag to your fans saying – “ah, fuck you go buy a Thomas jersey.”

Regardless, how many offensive linemen taken this high in the draft haven’t panned out? Ok, fine you’ve got Tony Mandarich, but whom else? Robert Gallery? Yup, I’ll just shut up now. Really, let’s face it no matter what the Lions do with this pick…they are ultimately going to fuck it up.

And if you know the Lions well, you won’t be surprised.

Knights of Hilarity

By Rupert Entwistle

I find it simply amazing how corporate America (and England of course, since I’m British) never ceases in its endless quest to create an entire language of downright horrible terminology. I alluded to my least favorite of these terms in my inaugural blog (I think blog is actually one of the more annoying ones), but didn’t really get into detail. The people I work with like to close meetings by summarizing the “action items” from that particular meeting. There are certainly a hundred other, more tolerable ways to say this. For example, “Alright, anything we need to follow up on?” Then, after the meeting we actually get a company-wide email that has “action items” in the subject line. The following sentence is copied from a real email from a real person. “Just a quick email to say there were no action items from today's meeting.” Was that just a blatant excuse to say it one more time? She (obviously a girl) could have said, “Just a quick email to say there are Tarantulas running loose in San Antonio” and it would have had exactly the same impact on everyone’s day. Another one that drives me bananas is an “FYI.” My mom actually started my hatred for this one. She really bites on the nerdy corporate lingo. I think some people actually think they sound cool when saying dumb things like this. Anyway, I get messages on my phones all the time that start out like this, “Hey Rupert, just an FYI…” And I could go on and on about the jargon I hear all day. For example, I work in bonds just like Glen Gouliet. There are two particular ones that annoy me. One is “bips” which is the toolbox bond guy way of saying basis points and the other is “paper” which is another way to say bonds.

Anyway, none of this actually has much to do with the purpose of this segment. The only point of it all is that I look forward to going home after work to watch TV as a refuge from this nonsense. Although, for the vast majority of my life I was not one those people who had their regular shows to watch every week, suddenly I have invested in a whole boatload. The list includes 24, Lost, Weeds, possibly Battlestar Galactica, and the newest member to the list, the Knights of Prosperity. This is what I was leading up to: the Knights of Prosperity is a truly great show. The premise is random and the characters are totally hilarious. The show is basically about a janitor and a posse of cronies that get together and plot to rob Mick Jagger. The star is Donal Logue, who has enjoyed rather limited success in his career, but I’m sure you know him from somewhere. His most notable roles to date are Grounded for Life, the Tao of Steve, ER, and Jimmy the Cab Driver from MTV. Logue plays Eugene Gurkin, the fearless leader of the Knights of Prosperity. Eugene is the more or less the coach of the Knights. He demonstrates stick-to-itiveness (another one of those words) when the rest of the team is down on their luck or ready to quit. For example, when Rockefeller Butts lands a job with the security company who guards Mick Jagger, he is presented with a task to deliver a case containing 150 large in cash to Atlantic City. The Knights undertake the mission to AC by piling in Gourishankar Subramaniam, Gary’s, cab, but trouble unfolds along the way. Fortunately, Eugene reverts the Knight’s desire to split town with the 150k and give up on their fate to rob Mick Jagger. Eugene even goes on a date with a gay guard’s at Mick’s building after their attempt to coerce information out of him fails. It sounds like he learns his coaching methods from the great gay, Coach K.

The real highlight of the show is Gary. He is an Indian cab driver, who delivers hilarious jokes, primarily because of how they sound in his Indian accent. In the gay episode, he refers to the guard as the “homosex,” which may not sound funny, but I assure you, it is. And make no mistake about it, the word “homosex” is a good word, especially in an Indian accent, and I will be sure to incorporate it on a regular basis. Lest be clear here, we at the Ghosts of Wayne Fontes place sexual orientation and racial issues on a pedestal and by no means do we mean to offend anyone. In fact, one of our primary goals at the Ghosts of Wayne Fontes is to break down barriers and improve anti-American sentiment (and British sentiment, because I am British). Having said that, all is fair in comedy, so I feel no shame is making jokes about anyone and everyone, so look out below. I happen to think that Indian accent jokes are a breakthrough area in comedy. Chinese is good too. They have the good economies now anyway, so the Americans have every right to piss and moan now. As for us Brits, it is questionable, but we’re along for the ride. One of my favorite barrier bursting moments was a couple weeks ago, when I went out to lunch with an Indian friend of mine. Don’t ask me how, but this buddy absolutely loves the Mellencamp Chevrolet song. He sang it nonstop like he had never heard anything like it and it was hilarious. It was cool that he felt psyched about it though. When people actually liked America it was probably pretty cool to witness and meet new people. Also, speaking of Chinese jokes, I met a Canadian fellow at work today, and we were talking about some global economic themes and we got to commodity prices. As you may or may not know, commodity prices have been really high. So I asked him what he thought about this, and in the most tactfully Canadian way, he responded, “The Chinaman can not buy a bicycle made from one thousand dollar steel.” That was a really good one. It’s moments like those that make all those other ones worth while.

Surge Baby Surge

By Leopold Q. Mellonbottom

By now we all know about President Bush’s plan for a ‘surge’ of troops to Iraq in order to help stabilize Baghdad. Indeed it is well underway. However, this is not the only surge afflicting our society and thus I went to mention a couple of other surges that may have been slightly over-looked and/or not been given their due.

First of all, there is the ‘surge’ in Hollywood interest in Africa. Not only are the beautiful Los Angelinos adopting African babies and soothing their consciences by spending a negligible amount of their vast resources on ‘raising awareness’ about issues that affect the continent, but they are also, oddly enough, making movies about it. Blood Diamond, the Constant Gardener, Lords of War, The Last King of Scotland, and Babel have all been praised for their courage to tackle important African issues. Of course none of the films stars an actual African, and there is an implicit racism in the idea that the handsome white man is the only one who can save the day, nonetheless this surge in African interest is a welcome break from the white kids getting stuck in Southeast Asian prisons theme we had in the late 1990s.

Second is the surge in famous young girls feeling free to act like sluts in public. This isn’t really anything new, but the recent escapades of Britney Spears has put it over the top. Yes, you are young, rich, and pretty. And no, I don’t blame you for getting drunk, doing blow, and getting laid. But have some shame for Christ’s sake! When I go on a bender and act like a total fool and do really ridiculous things, I have the decency to feel like a complete schmuck the next day. Britney and Paris, on the other hand, relish being on US Weekly so obese women in the checkout lane can see what a starlet whore looks like, to say nothing of the impact it has on their fan base.

But in the end, the most important surge is the ‘surge.’ This year the Pentagon will receive $439 billion in discretionary spending and an additional $120 billion for the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Our military needs to be fully funded so it can do its job, but can we really trust this current batch of leaders to chose what jobs it should do? Why on earth should we be expected to believe that this ‘surge’ is going to have even a minimal effect on quelling the violence in a nation that has been torn asunder by internecine conflict? The people saying the surge will work are the same people who said that we would be greeted as liberators, that there would be WMD, that the violence would lessen after we got Saddam and after we got Zarqawi, that in early 2005 we were in ‘the last throes’ of the insurgency. After all those sloppy predictions, adding a measly 20,000 extra troops (which brings the troop level back to where it was in late 2005) is going to help? These people couldn’t predict who will win the next Globetrotters – Generals game.

When are we going to demand they listen to us? When are we going to get angry about it? It’s not going to stop until we do. After all, this all very easy for King George. He is not paying for this mess. He has no stake in it. All he has to do is whip out America’s platinum charge card and let us pay back the Chinese so he can use 20,000 more of America’s disposable heroes as kindle for the world he has set on fire.

Super Bowl Hangover

By Rupert Entwistle

I hope you find joy in knowing that I will be fighting off vomit all day today. Already this morning, I nearly went into the bathroom on the Metro North train to throw up, which as you may or may not know, is arguably the most disgusting environment on the planet. Now I am faced with a lousy team meeting in 35 minutes in which various people will discuss action items for the week. Meanwhile, I will concentrate on not breathing through my mouth, so nobody will smell the gross scent of a random mixture of flavors, most notably stale beer, chicken wings, prosciutto, Chinese dumplings, and cheese. If you can’t already tell, I am really angry right now. This happens every year and I’m so fed up. Sure, I could learn my lesson, but I rather not and it’s time to put a stop to the pure stupidity of this my greatest grievance. Why does the blasted Super Bowl have to be on a Sunday?

If you can tell me one single good reason why this is a good idea, then I will give up on my annual tirade, but I have thought this through in depth and there is not even one. Let’s think about it. Perhaps you are worried about the ratings? Dumb. It’s Super Bowl. Do you really think if you put it on Saturday night, people would actually decide not to watch it? On the contrary, this would likely increase viewing as religious weirdos across the globe could tune in, who might otherwise be doing some weird religious crap on Sundays.

Or maybe it’s that Super Bowl Sunday is a time honored tradition? Dumb again. You a-holes do not have any problem ripping down historic stadiums to replace them with random monstrosities that look like bike helmets. Or my personal favorite, you put futuristic robots all over the TV (who do nothing but loosen up the whole game) during the games.

I’m guessing the reason behind the Sunday Super Bowl is a thoughtless result of regular season games being played on Sunday. Granted, it seems logical that if regular season games are played on Sunday, why shouldn’t the Super Bowl? Let me explain why. It is a wholly unselfish cause I assure you. The world economy suffers a tremendous shock, as its entire workforce is utterly dysfunctional as they suffer through the day in sheer agony. The result over the Sunday Super Bowl is amazing when you think about it. There are literally hundreds of millions of people all over the world pretending to work right now. Every single one of them is staring at a computer screen just wishing the lights were lower and typing emails to other hungover friends.

Maybe you are worried about interfering with the important Saturday night programming? I guess the thought of interrupting the most annoying ass clown on TV, Jimmy Fallon, on Saturday Night Live would be a devastating blow. I actually just brought this point up simply because I hate Jimmy Fallon and wanted to ridicule him. Ever since I watched Fever Pitch, I cringe at the sight of him and I hate how he does that cutesy voice where he acts nervous and runs his words together. Holy crap that movie sucked. Saturday Night Live is suffering from a blatant lack of drug abuse. Anyway, I’ll get back to the point. TV on Saturday night is bad; TV on Sunday night is good. Therefore, that’s another piece of ammunition in my fight against Sunday.

I think I made my point loud and clear and it should be obvious that there is no good reason for the Super Bowl to be on Sunday. Good, I’m glad we got that sorted out. By the way, now it is Tuesday and I am really depressed, because I am realizing now that the sports abyss that is late winter is upon us. I love the NBA, go 1986 Celtics, Larry Bird is sweet, Kevin Durant lottery. Entwistle out.

The Beginning

...And so it shall be written on this day February the 6th of 2007, we are the Ghosts of Wayne Fontes. We are not here to enlighten you on how Eli gave Peyton a BJ or was it a ZJ to loosen him up for the big game. Nope. We're not here to enlighten you about how Wayne now serves fries out of Mr. Burger in Comstock Park, MI. Nope. We aren't here to talk about the past at all, well maybe a little about the past. No point to argue or confuse here. Essentially, we don't know what the fuck we're doing really.

This is just our "how ya fucking doing today" blog. Direction? Who needs fucking direction. Are we sports? Are we politics? Are we Comedy...entertainment? Well, you can say we'll dabble in column A, B, C and fucking D - if you don't mind.

And with that we are off.