No Masterpiece

Now, as many of you had heard, I was planning on moving to the Masterpiece to take a job with Cramer. Well, apparently, that is now not the plan.

A good piece of fortunate news came my way on Thursday and I got offered a different job with the same company I work at now, which allows me to do the three things I want to do most:

1) Stay in Minnesota and not move to the Masterpiece so I can still be close to the love of my life Alison. So, that's one down, two to go.
2) Get an increase in salary. Yep, that mission is accomplished too
3) Change positions. That's the trifecta.

So, my new job here in Minneapolis will accomplish everything the job in the Masterpiece would have, except I get to stay by my girlfriend (alleviating some difficult decision making at this point) and a bunch of my friends.

So, this is good...

Guest Blog: The Wedding Story 2 w/director commentary

Introducing part two of the Kevin Urban saga, as told by my esteemed pal Justin Petredis. As you all remember, Kevin and Kristen met at the Trete's wedding and spent a "boff" filled weekend over Thanksgiving. Kristen is in the process of moving out to Vegas...and that's where our story begins. As always, I will fill in the details in red where I see fit. Enjoy!

Kristen recently got a job in Vegas. ( I understand it's tough to get a job there. Real hard.) Huber doesn't know where. I assume as a stripper. (Hooking is also legal in the Vegas. That's just an aside...kind of an FYI...not saying anything about Kristen) And she is moving out there on January 16th. (The Lord's Day) That is the date she moves into the condo. (Holy buckets. I wonder what kind of condo they can afford on her hooking...er, stripping salary) Kevin moves in later. Yes, they are living together. (Well...they've physically seen eachother twice...so why not?) They are leasing a condo about 8 miles off the strip. (8 miles??!!? Firk!) Kevin is giving up his nice, although small, apartment that was 1/4 block away from work, and 2 and 1/2 blocks away from the strip to move 8 miles off the strip in with a girl whom he first met drunk for 3 hours, went on a first date throughout the entire Thanksgiving holiday, and has only know for 83 days. I actually counted. (Um...Justin. That's just sad. Might want to keep that one to yourself. And this is coming from the guy who creates fake dialogues to amuse himself)

The last time Urban had a girlfriend, he was a Junior in college. (So...that's gotta be about 8 years...but what about do-rag girl??) I was a sophomore. Her name was Marley. (She sounds...special. Marley, eh? What was she, one of the Ghosts of Christmas?) She was nice. I never saw them kiss. (Not a great slogan for the Petredis Spy School...but I get your point) I think they broke up because he spent much more time with his "friend" Tash. (It's alllll making sense now) The last time she had a boyfriend, well that was the day she met Kevin, and they were living together and had been dating for 6 years. (Well, Kevin is charming) So with his vast experience with women, and the fact that she actually went from boyfriend to boyfriend without being single for one second, this relationship should be filmed for our enjoyment. (This would be a great reality show...rivaling "I Just Boffed Your Daughter" where we put dads into a living room, waiting for their daughters boyfriend to exit their daughters room. Hilarity ensues...)

Kristen is driving to Findley to meet Kevin, then meet Kelly, and Mr. and Mrs. Urban for the first time. (That shouldn't be awkward in the least..though the Urbans are finally glad to find out that Tash was indeed just a friend...) I hope the phrase, "Kevin where did you meet this whore again?" will be used at least once. (We don't know for sure she's a whore...it may be stripper, but I get the gist) His mother seems like a good candidate to drop the "whore" word. (I prefer play the Whore Card, but potato-tomato) I also hope Kelly gets drunk and really tells both of them her thoughts on the subject, because as you and I (and every other man at Miami knows) Kelly is an obnoxious drunk. (This is true...but I can't really say anything, because I have legendary exploits under the influence)

Sidenote: This really sucks. Not that they are getting together, but that Urban now lives 8 miles from the strip. (I concur. I mean, seriously...think of us) We have little incentive to see him now when we go to Vegas. (Nothing like using a man for his pad. Urban is a good egg though...but I loved that apartment) No more crashing for free, unless you want to catch a Taxi for 8 miles. (Nope) No more walking home. Actually no more crashing at his place. I would rather just stay in a bad hotel, but be able to walk to the good places. (Plus, then you wouldn't for sure have to see Kristen, unless you pass the street corner of Las Vegas Blvd and Flamingo...but perhaps I've said too much)

You know what sucks??

You know when you get back from the beach and sand has engulfed your entire person and all you want is to get it off yourself before you go all Jack Torrance on the next person who says a word to you? Then, when you finally get into the cool, refreshingly cooltastic shower and you get some of that sand in the bar of soap? Then, as you try to cleanse yourself of the smell of the beach, the little pieces of sand proceed to cut you as you move the bar of soap over your body? You remember that and how you wish it would never, ever, ever happen again?

Well, luckily, Irish Springs has managed to capture that feeling in their new bars of Irish Spring Micro Clean soap!! Yes, the tiny micro beads feel like little pieces of sand, knawing at your very soul until all you want to do is collapse into a tiny fetal ball in the corner of the shower and never feel anything again. So, Irish Springs, I salute you!

From what I understand, Neosporin is working on a lemon juice infused ointment for cuts! Mmmm...excalibur!!

The Gift...

"I can't believe you broke the ornament? Why the hell did you get them a sand dollar anyway?" Jillian yelled at me as we drove to my uncle's house.

"Umm...HE'S FROM IRAN, DUH!!" I yelled back.

"What in the hell does that mean? You're retarded!"

"I'm retarded? Did you hear that, she thinks I'm retarded. I'm retarded? Oh yeah, well......SHUT UP!!"

"That is the lamest thing I've ever heard. OK, we need to calm down. What's open on Christmas?"

"Ummm...Kvotzki's Deli?"

"I hate you."

"OK, let's see if we can stop in the Quick-O Mart."

"Do you really think they'll have a gift there? What are you going to get him; jerky and a 48 oz. cola?"

"Maybe they'll have sand dollars in there?"

"Get off your stupid sand dollar horse and get in the actual gift mode. You cheap bastard."

"HE'S FROM IRAN!!"

"Don't they have enough sand over there Hawking?"

"It'll remind him of home. I don't care, the gift is a sand dollar and if Jonny Giftman at Quick-O Mart doesn't have another sand dollar, I'm getting some Kra-Zee glue and putting that bitch back together."

"That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard. Next to you getting him a sand dollar because he's from Iran."

I pulled the car to a fast stop and went into the Quick-O Mart. Luckily, they did have a tube of Kra-Zee glue. I purchased it and came back to the car.

"See...Kra-Zee glue. Akmed is going to love it!" I said vicotiously.

"So, you just going to glue it together?"

"Umm...no, smart ass. I'm going to make Akmed glue it together himself."

"WHAT? You're going to give him a broken sand dollar...and a tube of Kra-Zee glue?"

"Yep. He'll love it. It'll be the three things Iranians love most: Sand, Puzzles and Glue."

"You are retarded."

*Thanks to The Vance for the virtual premise of this story. Keep fighting the good fight.*

Some Free Advice...

I was walking down the hall at LifeTime today, and sometimes when I walk, I'll kind of rap the last song I heard in the car to myself. So, as I was walking past this guy, this comes out of my mouth:

First tip is to nevah tip ah strippah

And, I just kept walking by him. As I turned to head out the door, I caught him out of the side of my eye, and he was standing there, staring at me with his mouth agape. So, I assume that he heard my potent advice and he was thinking either one of two things:

1) Why is he telling me that?
B) STUY!! Why didn't I think of that??

But, I guess we'll never know the true answer. Either way, it sounds like sage advice to me...

The Truth to Live By...

I hear pirate's don't like to call their peg-legs "peg-legs" anymore. Too many negative connotations. I guess they prefer to call them "portable replacement stick leggings", but then again, just because you call a midget a "little person", it doesn't change the fact that that bastard is still a midget...

The Urinal Oaf

I turned the corner into the Lifetime Fitness bathroom, and my worst fear was in the back of my mind, like it is whenever I enter a restroom.

I looked to the left. SNOK!! There was some guy who looked like a tall taco leaning against the wall, makin' noise in the left urinal.

I whipped around to my right, hoping that the right urinal was open. WERT!!! It was occupied by the creepy Asian dude in the green Speed-o.

That's when I realized my worst fear had come true! No, not that Yanni and John Tesh were forming a holy alliance to brain wash the country into choosing Capri-Sun over Kool Aid (though I do worry about that often). No, my greatest fear is that the only urinal available to use is...the middle urinal.

So, that left me with exactly three options:

A) Stand back and wait for Tall Taco of Sir Creeps-A-Lot to finish up and grab their urinal
2) Go into a stall and use the toilet, ninja style
D) Bite the bullet, and become the Oaf who takes the middle urinal, risking both the Taco and Creep-bot leaving and having it appear that I want other dudes to pee around me.

Since all the stalls were full, the ninja option was out of the question. And, since I had just consumed two Super Big Gulps (don't ask), I couldn't wait, because who knows how long the Taco would be peeing for. So, I bit the bullet and went with D.

Right as I sidled up to the urinal, I saw movement out of my left eye. YIK!! The Taco was shakin' it out! He was done!

The Taco backed away from the urinal, and it was just me and Creepzilla. But, I figure it takes him about 20 minutes to walk four feet, how fast can he...he's done too?? MILK!! He's backing away in his creepy walk and I'm still dispensing Super Big Gulp numero uno.

Now, I am living my worst fear. I'm all alone at the middle urinal and no one is on either side of me. I can jsut feel all eyes in the locker room on me. In my head, people are tapping eachother on the shoulder and pointing at me while saying, "Hey, look at that Oaf at the middle urinal. What a douche!"

Come urine!! Expel yourself from my body! Faster! Faster!

Finally, I was finsihed. No one had come to use either of the other two urinals, so maybe no one noticed. Hopefully. I backed away and headed to my locker.

As I passed a couple guys sitting on the bench, I heard one of them whisper, "Hey, there's that Oaf that was using the middle urinal! He made me have to use the stall, ninja style. What a douche!"

SPLORT! I suck.

The Archives...Feb. 15, 2005

Today, I have gone into the archives of my e-mail and pulled out an e-mail conversation between myself and Mr. Justin Petredis on Feb. 15, 2005. Enjoy!

Brent:
Here's your quote "this will be the GREATEST 3-DAY WEEKEND (OR TWO DAY WEEKEND FOR YOU) OF ALL TIME!!!!!!!!! the beer will flow like wine, the pocket rockets will fall from the sky like rain, and blackjack will be a common word............from the dealer when he sees our cards. "
See, you're like Lee and Pavlik, going into the weekend with super high hopes. Then, even if it turns out to be a good weekend, it won't live up to what you're expecting and will be a disappointment in retrospect. The Theory is the Truth and will bite you in the ass if you're not careful. If you go in with lower expectations, it will make it seem more fun. I'm just warning you.

Justin:
I was kidding you f____g horse's ass. I go in with mediocre hopes. Knowing at above all it will fun to drink and laugh at other people with friends. Nothing more nothing less. Hopefully it will be awesome, but I don't expect or need that. Maybe Jeff Ketchum does...

Brent:
As was I dillhole! I just wanted to plug the Waterboy Theory, get it started in people's minds and one day see it on Pardon the Interruption when they're talking about the next Red Sox-Yankees series. It's all part of my plan.
But Ketchum probably is coming in with high hopes. can we make him sleep in the car? Then, when he falls asleep, tape all the doors shut? Can we? Huh, huh? Can we? please?

Justin:
I know you were kidding dickhead. (sidenote. whatever happend to "dickhead"? One day it just vanished. No one says it anymore. It didn't slowly vanish like "rad", it was just gone. And FYI, I am bringing it with me to Vegas. I hope they let me carry it on. And I hope they like to be called dickhead whilst I order my free beer (I have coupons))
I say we try to take away Ketch's will to live by constantly berating him with mean comments and jokes until people like Kevin, Billy and others are like "Hey guys, thats enough, it's not funny" and "Stop you assholes, he's already crying" and "Why do you hate this kid so much?" Now that would be spicy.

Brent:
Yeah, you better hope they don't make you check "dickhead". What if they lose it? You'd be stuck the whole weekend with nothing but dickfor and dillhole. Still good, but not "dickhead" good.
I was thinking of making a "Stop Starig At Me, Ketchum" t-shirt to wear around. Do you think he'd get the point? I hope so.
I like your crying plan. It seems good. A little too good. Have you been planning this out? Complete with shovels and a treasure map? If so, I am in your debt sir...

Justin:
No treasure maps, but shovels to bury Ketchum's dead body in the desert outside of Vegas. Sometme early sunday morning, before dawn. Actually not dead body, kind of like how they killed Joe Pesci in casino, where he and his brother's bodies were still twitching as they poured the dirt on them. But I like the shirt idea to. but why don't we make it say "Stop staring at me!" leave out ketchum, he may still get it, and we can plead ignorance since it doestn say his name.

Brent:
Yes, I will make myself a stop staring at me t-shirt. You may also make one, but it will look pretty gay if we both have them. I might make a "stop being creepy" one instead. I don't know for sure. One or the other.
What is the room plan? Am I still staying at Urban's? Is Ketch in a car? Are we going to the topless pancake house? I need to know the game plan man. Man. man. Let me know about the shirts.

Ummm...if you read that whole thing...really, you might want to find something better to do with your time. I hear the senior center teaches you how to make a meeeaaan tapioca pudding. G'bye!!

Figure Skates...

When I was in college, I used to take a basic ice skating class. And, every morning, we had to line up to get skates. The norm was for dudes to get hockey skates and chicks to get figure skates. That's just the way the world works.

Unfortunately for me, I have weak ankles. Now, as almost no one knows, figure skates offer much more ankle support than hockey skates, so me and my weak ankles were forced to get figure skates everyday.

Now, as if this wasn't awkward enough for me, there was a lady there who made the ordering process an absolute living hell for me. Everyday it was the same thing...

Ice Skate Lady: What size?
Brent: 9
Ice Skate Lady: Hockey skates?
Brent: (drops head in shame) No...figure skates.
Ice Skate Lady: That will be fifty cents.

Until finally I just snapped.

Ice Skate Lady: What size?
Brent: 9
Ice Skate Lady: Hockey skates?
Brent: Listen up you skate whore. Every firkin' day you ask me the same damn question and everyday I have to demean myself to answer it. How about we stop this dance, and you remember that I need figure skates without me telling you, because if you ask me again if I want hockey skates, I'm going to shove that skate sharpener so far up your ass, your lungs will be sharp for the rest of your life. Are we clear? Huh?
Ice Skate Lady: That will be fifty cents there Nancy Kerrigan.
Brent: (jumping over counter to attack the Ice Skate Lady) I'll show you Nancy Kerrigan.

So, the point of the story is...yes, I wear figure skates when I skate...and I might have an anger management problem.

Soooo...Me and Phones...

Ring....ring...ring..

I reached over and picked up the phone without looking at the caller ID. "Hello."

"Hello, Brent."

"Yes."

"Hi, it's Grandma."

"Oh. Hi Grandma! How are you doing?"

"I'm doing well. What's new with you?"

"Oh, nothing too much new with me. I started dating a girl I really like about a month ago."

"That's great Brent."

"Anything new with you Grandma?"

"No, nothing really new with me in the romance department."

I shook my head furiously. What?? Romance department. Oh God, I don't like where this is headed.

"Yeah, after your Grandpa, I really don't think there will be too much new in the romance department for me."

Oh dear. Come on, no details, come on, no details, come on, no details!!

"But I'll be sure to let you know if there is anything on that front."

"Okay, that sounds great Grandma. I meant anything new in general, not really about your sex life, but thanks for the update. Great talking to you."

Maybe I just shouldn't answer the phone anymore...

Jerky Results!!

As everyone knows, I was in a very heated race for Mayor McJerky through KSTC45. After pulling ahead with what was thought an insurmountable lead, my fellow nerds and I retired with the lemon face at Williams for a night of celebration and patting ourselves on the back for a job well done. While resting on our laurels, one of my competitors got a whole nerdery to start voting for him and I lost in a landslide. And I thought that was the end of it.

But wait!

Today, I came home and there was a quasi-large package sitting in my mailbox. And what was it? That's right...5 packages of jerky, as a consolation prize. The sweetest word in the English language...consolation. It's like constellation...without the stars. But I digress. I got a sampler pack of all the different kinds of jerky they make:

Turkey
Original
Peppered
Teriyaki
Sweet & Hot (both...at the same time!!)

I wish I would have won the contest and seen how much jerky they would have given me, but this is nice too. It's not enough to throw a jerky party, but it's quite enough to taunt passing children with. And that's exactly what I'll do. So...to all who helped me in my glorious run to the consolation prize...thie jerky's for you!!

Business Cards

So, the company where I currently work is moving to a new location. Therefore, people are going to need new business cards with the new contact information for the company on them. The task of finding out who needs how many business cards fell to our CEO's administrative assistant. This is the actual "conversation" that took place when we discussed my business card needs...

Kara: Brent, you got a second.
Brent: (slowly turns around and nods, but slowly, as if to intimate he actually is busy)
Kara: I'm checking with people to see how many business cards they need that have the new office location on them. Most people get 200, but some people are ordering up to 500, if they have to give them to customers or vendors often. How many business cards do you think you'll need?
Brent: I think I gave a business card to my mom once.
Kara: (stunned silence)
Brent: (apathetic)
Kara: Okay. I'll put you down for one then.

Yep...I am an integral cog in the Sagebrush wheel. Hooray for Sports!

Christmas Cards Pt. I

Every year, my family receives Christmas cards from various friends, families and general well wishers. Sometimes the cards make me laugh, sometimes they make me cry and sometimes they make me want to ram the corner of a Nerf football through the cornea of my eye (awwww). Regardless, during this festive holiday season, I will be providing my little Nelstalkers with my thoughts on the cards we receive. Want to be recognized?? Send a card Blimp-o!!

1. J. Winch - Simple card, nice card stock, generic card, John's signature.

2. Gary and Lisa Kleinman - Obnoxious letter overall. I get the feeling they just moved to Texas. On one side, they included "The Night Before Christmas In, TEXAS, That Is", which made me want to gag reading it. Seriously vomit inducing. Then, they also gave us 'The Kleinman's Year in Review - 2005' which offered not one insight on any TV show. We did to hear that Lisa's mom just got a new PT Cruiser! (fan-cee!!) They talked about more Texas crap then you can stuff in one of those over-sized novelty Texas hats. It was absolutely ridonkulous.

*sidenote: the following was not a card, but a message left on the answering machine* B.C. called and left a message. She said she was sure you were back from Arizona now. Apparently, you haven't kept her in the loop. Also babbled on about how she doesn't have your new address and she'll get it when you send out the Christmas cards, because she's sure you already have them done, and then I grabbed a shrimp fork and severed my jugular.

I'm Back! In Pog Form! HOLLER!!

First off, I must apologize to my adoring fans for my lengthy absence. I was undergoing a very difficult medical procedure and the recovery length was much longer than anticipated. Luckily, everything went well, so now I can continue to update my glorious blog for all the "Nelstalkers" as I'm starting to call my my readers. And, if you're wondering what the surgery was, I don't really want to brag, but let's just say that Gary Busey and I now share a similar look in the tooth department.

I only really have one update/story that I want to talk about, but otherwise, I will try to please all the Nelstalkers by posting on a semi-regular basis. Ahhh...semi-regular...the constipated man's dream! Uhhh...right.

Anyhoo, for Thanksgiving I went to Alison's aunts house with her family. There were probably 25 people there, all of them family except for me and Alison's sisters future husband, which is just like family. Plus, it was my first time meeting them all besides her immediate family, so I had to strap on my fancy shoes, slap on some Aqua Velva and impress them, like David Blaine making himself levitate!

And boy, did I ever! Or, at least I didn't make a complete jackass of myself. The key word...complete. As all the Nelstalkers know, I am like the Koko B. Ware of small talk, so this presented a roughshod situation. But, I think I handled it admirably...highlights included:

- During dinner, stuffing my face with copious amounts of cheesy potatoes (a middle east delicacy)
- Having to fill out a "turkey feather" with what I was thankful for. I didn't think putting TV would endear myself to the family, and putting Alison would be a blatant attempt to curry favor from Alison and her family, so I decided to put 'making new friends'. 'Lascivious, Salacious, Outrageous, Courageous.
- Adriann (Alison's sister) putting TiVo on her feather
- When asked where Alison and I met, me stating Match.com and everyone staring at me like I'd just eaten the last fig leaf at a Vegetarian orgy.
- When asked where we first met when we got together from Match.com, me having to say we met in a parking lot and watching her family look at eachother in looks of shock and awe.

So, yeah. Then we came over to my house and proceeded to play drinking Trivial Pursuit. So, let the good times roll!

The Line...

OK, so I'm seeing a girl named Alison right now (at least right this second...in an hour or so, that might be a different story). We met on Match.com. Now, she forwarded me an e-mail that some guy sent her. Remember, this is all there was...no name...no intro...nothing else:

ally you's a window shopper
Mad at me, I think I know why
ally you's a window shopper
In the jewelery store, looking at shit you can't buy
ally you's a window shopper
In the dealership, trying to get a test-drive
ally you's a window shopper
Mad as fuck when you see me ride by

Classic!! HOLLER!

So, my question; does this ever really work for this guy? And if it does...he has the greatest dating system in the world. And I also like his use of swearing. Nothing gets a girl hot like a random f-bomb when you first talk. I know from experience. That is all...

Open Letter to KA

Brother Holzhauser -

I must say, it certainly been a long time! From what I hear, you're still living in the house! Let the good times roll, right? Amen to that! Hail Satan! The attic is still the pliz-ace to biz-ee. Feel?

But reminiscing about the past isn't exactly what this letter is meant to accomplish (though we should spill some Crown Royale for the past. Can I get a HOLLER?). I've been intrigued by all of the correspondence I've been receiving regarding alumni relations with THE Kappa Alpha Order. I just feel that I haven't been as much a part of "the scene" as I should be!

Since I am currently living in Minnesota, it makes it hard for me to make it back to hang out and watch our mighty Redhawks take on the fearsome rivals that are Bowling Green. It's also difficult to come and participate in Hold'em Tournaments. But that doesn't mean I don't want to help.

Unfortunately, I am unable to make a monetary donation. Due to some bad advice from my financial planner, I worked out a contract that pays me in super bounce balls instead of US currency. I now see the folly of my ways, and would be happy to share my insights with any of the current members of THE Order.

I was also thinking of starting a THE Kappa Alpha Order - Epsilon Llambda - TC Alumni division. For all the members of THE Order of Miami who have moved to the Twin Cities. Though this might just be me, I will have the meetings on a thrice-monthly basis in my parents basement...aka where I live. I will be sure to forward you the minutes and send for approval any initiatives we pass.

You're more than welcome to attend any meeting you want. They will be held on the first three Mondays of the month, at 8 o'clock, during the commercial breaks of Prison Break. My mom will provide us with juice boxes (none of that Capri-Sun shit) and homemade Kosher Rice Krispie bars.

It's because of you that we've kept everyone in touch and I just want to help continue on with the tradition...and good workings...of THE Order.

Fraternally,

Brother Nelson aka The Don

Guest Blog: The Wedding Story w/director commentary

The following story comes from my esteemed colleague, Justin Petredis. Anything that is added in red is added by me, the director. If you don't know these people, you might not enjoy this story as much as I do. But, after reading it, I almost pulled a Lisa and needed a pair of Depends. About 4 of you got that joke. On to the Blog!!

OK. Here's the deal with Urbs. (This is all about Kevin Urban...who lives in Las Vegas. As a sidenote...Urban loves to get it on with girls who are wearing do-rags.)
Meets Kristen (Huber's date) at my wedding. (When asked if his date at the wedding was his girlfriend...Keith replied "Not really." When questioned further and asked if she thought he was her boyfriend, Huber replied, "Probably." So...facts, shmacts) When everyone goes to Splitsville (you were there right?) (indeed I was at Splitville...physically) he talks with her for 2 hours or so alone (technically, I was passed out at the table for part of that time) , and both drunk. They don't exchange numbers, emails, they don't kiss. That is it. Or so he thought. Plus she had a boyfriend (who wasn't named Keith Huber) of 6 years who lived with her.

He tries to get a hold of her, and she is trying to get a hold of him. (Mmmm...Fatal Attraction. Plus, Kevin is fun...but not fun enough to try to get ahold of for months) They finally talk, FOR HOURS, about how much they loved talking to each other. (An interesting and well thought out topic of conversation. Many a relationship have been built on this tenent) How much they dig each other. Etc. (They probably also talked about how hard it was to talk when they were blasted off rum at the wedding...the only other time they have ever spoken) Then she says she just broke up with her boyfriend. (Nice) Now I have conflicting stories. One is it was a concidence. (Bullshit) Another is that it was b/c that 2 hour conversation with Kevin was more interesting that 6 years with her boyfriend (I like that one more). (That has to send that old boyfriend to the razors) But apparently neither can remember what they talked about, just that they really enjoyed it. (I remember bits and pieces...but I could be making it up. I also remember running into a Puma that night...but again, bad memory)

And now it gets real good. She is going to visit him. (Hell yes!) For the entire Thanksgiving weekend. (Ummm...that's a looooong first date) This will be the first time they will have talked while sober in person. (Urban doesn't talk about anything besides the Riz and sports) I assume she is staying with him. (What an awkward situation) Huber and I plan to harass them then entire weekend with phone calls. (A very noble idea) Feel free to do the same. (Done and done...hope we got extra weekend minutes that month mom)

Also Kevin tells me, although this is not certain, that she is thinking of moving out there in April. (Yes, this sounds like a good idea. Well, I can't say too much. I've been seeing a girl for two weeks and am contemplating asking her to move to KC when I move. If things are still going as well as they are in a month. Which they probably won't be. Off Topic!!) What??!?!? Yes, that's right.

Then last night it all got even better. (Impossible!) How you ask? (You read my mind) Well, settle down and I will tell you: (Thank Allah!)

I get a call from a number I don't recognize. Answer it, its Kristen. She's pissed. (That sounds like fun...that's why I don't answer the phone unless I know the number. But no one calls me anyway. Back to the story) Asks why have I been telling people she was my high school girlfriend. I say I never have. ( I told everyone we went on a few days over a couple/few weeks, then went to a dance as friends, which is the truth). (That is the truth...that's what the Trete said. He also told me in confidence that he rounded first base and was at second base with her. But that was in confidence. So don't tell anyone) She says she heard it from a reliable source. (Urban). (Urban is not reliable. He...um...lies) I deny it again. She says, "OK, just checking up on you" (whatever that means) and hangs up. Whole conversation, approx. 39 seconds. Good times. (Checking up on what? I mean, if she were smoking hot, maybe you'd lie about going out with her. Or if she had a Guiness World Record in DVDA, you might mention you had dated her, but she';s just some girl who is falling for...Urban?)

So now apparently Urban is selling me out by telling lies to that whore, and for whatever reason, this really pisses her off. (Apparently she's had enough of the Britney and K-Fed baby stories and she wants something else to harp on) Why she cares about high school is beyond me. (I went to high school!) But there it is. Now you are up to date. And I will keep you informed.

I just wrote him an email calling him out, and telling him to tell that "slut to lose my number" which he will no doubt forward to her, so this may lead to more phone calls and bridges burned. I can't wait. (And I'm sure your little screenplay with director commentary won't help the matter. Well played Mr. Trete...well played indeed)

Uncomfortable....

It was noon and the phone rang. I had gotten up about 15 minutes ago and Alison had left about 5 minutes ago. I looked at the caller ID and the name was no surprise. Since my mom is about the only person with the number to this house (besides the people that keep calling to offer an upgrade on DirecTV), the odds are it was her.

I picked up the phone and answered sleepily, "Casa de Brent...Brent Nelson speaking."

"So, what's new at the Casa de Brent?" my mom inquired.

"Well, nothing too much. You'll probably here this from dad when you talk to him later, but Alison spent the night last night."

"So, how'd that go?"

"Um...fine."

"No...how'd that go??"

"Uhhh...what are you getting at here...mom?"

"You know what I mean."

A million images flashed through my mind. I really had no idea how to answer. Did she want the truth? Were there supposed to be details involved? How graphic was I supposed to get...talking on the phone...with my mom...about sex?

I sighed deeply, "Yeah...we didn't."

"Well, is something wrong with you?"

And then, my face spontaneously combusted and my soul tried to escape my body through the gaping wound where my head used to be.

"Hello? Brent? What's wrong with you?"

Ahhh...the start of another perfect Sunday...

The Pi Effect...

Here are 3.1415 things I was thinking about on the Hohn (that's John...in Spanish) today...

1) The turn-around on The Show To Be's "Hey Jerky, What's Your Beef" has been both epic and astounding. I think it rivals Moses lasting all 40 days of the flood and the 1993 Braves catching the San Francisco Giants for the pennant. Maybe it's all my tireless campaigning and annoying all my friends with e-mails. Maybe it's because Pete has figured out it's pretty easy to delete the cookies and vote again. Or maybe, and I strongly think this is the real reason, just maybe, the Macho Man Randy Savage really wants me to snap into a Slim Jim. If this were sponsored by Slim Jim's. Which it's not. Either way, if we keep this up, I'm gonna have the biggest Jerky Party this side of the Mason-Dixon line! So, go vote for me!! Holler!!

2) Hi...Fred Smoot...you need to stop all that Jibber Jabber until you can learn to cover a one armed girl scout in a wheelchair. Yeah. Scottie Vines worked you yesterday. Who's Scottie Vines? Exactly! Hope you enjoy your time in the Federal-Pound-Me-In-The-Ass-Prison. (In the Kool-Aid Man Voice) Oh Yeah!!

3) I was accosted in the LifeTime locker room today and I barely survived. I feel just like Bambi, if Bambi had been mentally raped by some fat Asian dude in a green speed-o who walked with a limp and took about 15 minutes to walk 4 feet while staring at him the whole time. Yeah, me and Bambi have a lot in common...mentally.

.1415) On a scale of 1 to awesome, adding is an 8.

Peace it!!

Scattered Eggs...

Last Saturday, I heard someone say the dumbest thing I've ever heard in life. IN LIFE! Some woman at LifeTime was walking past a trainer and commented to her that she wasn't dressed up. The trainer replied, "I guess I should have weared costume." Weared?Is she Scottish? Moron.

There's something about a 60-year old woman wearing a Playboy shirt that makes you instantly contract gonorrhea.

Apparently, when I drink, I think it is hilarious to yell "Hoo-ray for School!" and "Hoo-ray for Sports!" constantly throughout the night. Yeah, that's funny. Big time funny. That's Carrot Top funny right there!

Did anyone else who got that KA decal from the National Office instantly put it through the paper shredder? And how in the world do they keep finding me? It's like the Shadow is secretly a mole working for Holakhjnjjkijher and crew.

Have you ever seen the ugliest person in the world working out? And then, they're straining to do a lift, so they do the official "Fred Flinstone on the Rock Pile" face? Then, did your soul instantly turn to Jell-O and you seriously contemplated giving them a plastic bag? Or is that just me?

They say 50% of marriages end in divorce. But that's only true half the time.

I wish I wasn't DA absolute BOMB at adding, because I'd like to give others a chance.

I was at the movies last night (No, not alone. I was there...with a girl) and there was some creepy old couple. The dude was sitting there and all the sudden the lady laid down and put her head in his lap. About five minutes later, the guy put his hands behind his head and leaned back. Imagination, you're on...

Devo drank a pitcher of Long Island Iced Tea in 16 minutes on Saturday, breaking Dan's seemingly unbreakable land speed record of 20 minutes. Nothing funny there, just impressive. In a related note, Devo smashed his head on a dryer doing the three-point stance. Would have been funny if I weren't too busy yelling.

I did 315 on the floor press today. Nothing funny, just happy.

I'm just saying, when a girl you like asks you to spend the night, you might want to do that. For future reference. Put it in the back pocket...in case it happens...again!

Reasons to go to Duluth for Halloween...

#3 - Fidel Castro isn't going to Duluth for Halloween. Do you really wanna be linked with Fidel Castro?

#6 - Who's going to be there? Webster, yeah Emmanuel Lewis 'cause he's the Anti-Christ!

#9 - Two words: Opposable Thumbs! HOLLER!!

#13 - If you don't go, the Communists win!

#22 - It will be a "blast", but blast or not 150 miles and all the dope I could smoke still couldn't separate me from my problems. And this was good dope. I mean it was growing everywhere. Oh my God! This one time we got so baked we ended up eating all the food at the food the World Health Organization had airlifted in. Oh man those villagers were so pissed! They tried to chase us, but lemme just say thank God for polio.

#27 - It shows Tony 'Who's the Boss'!

#30 - You can see the unimaginable; a pig that won't eat Jews!

#34 - Becasue in Duluth, first you get the sugar, then you get the power, then you get the women.

An EBay find!!

So, I was on EBay today, looking for autographed photos of Dustin Diamond, when something caught my eye. When the page first loaded, one of the ads on the page said, "Find wedding and engagement jewelry on EBay!"

WHAT??!!

What kind of cheap assed bastard is going to go to EBay to find an engagement ring for the woman he loves? Seriously. "Well, I love you honey...but not enough to pay retail...or get something new."

Would this ever fly? It might, because I have no luck in relationships and have no basis for my opinion, but it doesn't seem like starting your lives together with a used engagement ring is the way to go.

"EBay: profess your love to her with someone else's shattered dreams; at wholesale prices!!"

Protected by Viper????

Now, as many of my dear readers know, I drive a 1998 Pontiac Grand Prix GTP. In it, I have an "investment" (for the purposes of this article, I will use investment very loosely, since the whole premise behind an investment is that said investment will rise in value and this actually decreases value. Moving on...) of about $6,000 worth of various stereo equipment, including (but not limited to) 4 12-inch Kicker Solobaric subs, MB Quartz speakers throughout and an Alpine Infinity head unit. I say all of this as background to the fascinating yarn that I am about to weave.

To protect the money that I have thrown into my car, I thought it pertinent to get a loud, annoying burglar deterrance device (i.e. a car alarm). Now, as we all know, loud, annoying burglar deterrance devices don't actually work and all they do is annoy everyone when a stiff wind sets them off. But Kayne West is racist and we still enjoy his music. Moving on...

So, I got my loud, annoying burglar deterrance device to make me feel better about my car. It came with various bells and whistles and a tiny remote to turn it on and off. Nothing could be simpler.

Until the battery firkin' runs out on the remote!

Yep. This fancy little remote doesn't open and there is no visible evidence that you need to replace the battery, or that there even is, in fact, a battery. But it doesn't run on pineapples, so I assume there is a battery in there somewhere.

Now, the crux of my story. I was at Lifetime today and set my loud, annoying burglar deterrance device like I normally do. When I came out, I pressed the loud, annoying burglar deterrance device button and nothing happened. This isn't unusual, as it happens on occasion and I just need to move closer to the car. So, I did that.

Nothing.

So, I was stuck. Didn't know what to do. I felt like Lisa after Corynn went off on her. Like the tree, I was stumped! (boo-yeah)

I thought "Maybe if I open the door, I can just start the car and kill the alarm that way."

The last idea I had that was this bad was when I said, "Normally I wear protection, but then I thought, 'When am I gonna make it back to Haiti?'"

So, I opened the car door and immediately the loud, annoying burglar deterrance device starts blaring. Everyone is looking at me! I think I saw someone on the Mir spacestation point at me and laugh. I felt like Eddie Murphy after he picked up Atisone Seiuli, only I didn't have anyone to sue for 5 million dollars for my mistake.

I jumped in while I was Tupacin' (all eyes were on me) and stuck the key in the ignition to kill the alarm and start the car. Small point of reference...the key doesn't work when the alarm is going!

Sprot!

OK, so I have the keys, but no remote to turn off my loud, annoying burglar deterrance device. How in the butt am I going to get home?

I got out of the car and shut the door, to get some air and think. And the damn loud, annoying burglar deterrance device went off again!!

Now, it felt like I was urinating on the Great Wall and the eyes of a billion people were watching my every move. That's two billion individual eye balls!

I started bouncing around, here and there and everywhere. I must have looked like Tom Cruise on Oprah's couch. Seriously, if anyone was ever going to report a car being broken into because the loud, annoying burglar deterrance device was going off, this was the time. And it didn't happen.

So, I'm still stuck in the parking lot, trying to figure out how to pump some life into this battery so I can go to my house, where my bed and TV...is. And then, it struck me!

I used my quick goat thinking and rubbed the remote starter as fast as I could. I thought this may create friction, heating up the remote, hence warming up the battery. And it worked!! The damn remote worked, and I turned off the loud, annoying burglar deterrance device. Unbelievable!

Now, for all of you who beared through this mostly unfunny, blatantly unreadable story, I thank you. And, as a little treat, I will let you all in on a little embarrassing secret of mine that, again, shows how much I turn girls off (which is why I know most of you read this anyway...)

The other night, I took a date to Acme comedy club, for a night of laughs and enjoyocity. So, Dave Mordal was performing (very funny, even the opener was good...7 out of 9 mics for the night of comedy) I had my own little witty remark to make. Not wanting to annoy Dave and receive his wrath, I leaned over to whisper the joke into my dates ear. Apparently, she thought I was going in for "The Kiss", because she recoiled as if I were Dustin Diamond and the look on her face was like she had just eaten a huge handful of Mike 'N Ikes. So...at that point, I realized there probably wasn't going to be a future with this lady.

Thanks for staying with me!! Swing low, sweet chariot!!

The Halloween Explanation

Now, as we all know, Halloween is coming and that can only mean one thing; I'm gonna be drinking Long Island Iced Teas in Duluth and makin' out with ugly chicks. Hoo-ahh!!!

But in a more traditional sense, it means candy for all the good little boys and girls and verbal insults for the nerds and runts, until my vocal chords can't handle it anymore. I kid, I kid. I love the little munchins just as much as anyone else. Maybe a little bit more *wink, wink, nudge, nudge* Moving on...

Have you ever wonder what the candy you give out to the trick or treaters says about you as a person? Have you ever stood in front of rows upon rows of delicious candy, trying to decide what kind of statement you want to make to the little marvels that ring your bell? Well, look no further, because Doctor Nelson is about to give you the low down on the goods...

• Snickers - Ahh, the grand-daddy of them all. This is the Rolls Royce of Halloween candy. With a delicious blend of caramel, nougout and peanuts, the little whippersnappers will be bouncing aound like Tom Cruise on crack when they come to your house. FYI...if you give out the full size bars, the kids will love you, but you have too much extra cash. Express mail me half of each of your paychecks for October and get fun size Snickers. America will thank you.
• Milky Way - You couldn't quite spring for the Snickers. This is like the cousin you hang out with at family reunions; sure, he's okay when there are a bunch of freaks and weird-o's around, but he's still a freak when you get out in society. Avoid these, if there are Snickers.
• Baby Ruth - As both Chunk and Sloth know, Baby Ruth's pack a mean punch that will make you do the Truffle Shuffle to get some of the sweet, sweet innards of these delicious bite sized tastes of heaven. This is what Corey Feldman and Corey Haim would eat after getting stoned on the set of License to Drive, so you know they're top notch.
• Candy Cigarettes - You want everyone to be as miserable as you, so start the kids young.
• Three Musketeers - Their logo is three men running around in tights. The only way they could get any gayer is if Richard Simmons came with every bar. Not that there's anything wrong with that...
• Ribbon Candy - Christ Grandma!
• Skittles - You believe in a healthy diet and want the youngsters to get their fill of vitamin C. Unfortunately, these contain no vitamin C and are a poor man's version of Starburst.
• Starburst - Ugh. Gross. Might as well give our Mike 'N Ikes.
• Mike 'N Ikes - Jesus Christ! I'm in hell! I have been taken from earth and deposited in candy hell!!
• An Apple - You're an asshole.

And, there you have it folks. Which group do you fall in??

A week of firsts...

Well, the time has finally come. Even in the merry-go-round that is the NFC Norris division, the beloved Minnesota Vikings look like they've run into Dahmer at a steakhouse and they're just waiting for the inevitable. Is there a chance they can turn the season around? God, I hope so, but it looks less than promising. Some of the foreboding events that have taken place this week, all leading to the conclusion that the Vikings are essentially chum for everyone else...

• I benched Culpepper in my fantasy leagues. Yes, my number one pick in numerous leagues is being sat for Jake Delhomme and (if Delhomme can't start next week) Josh McCown. That sound you just heard was me trying to strangle myself with another Culpepper interception.
• In my leagues for picks, I picked against the Vikings. I'm an ardent supporter of picking your favorite team if you think they have a chance; and I thought they had no chance. I don't care how many M.I.T. grads you stuff in a room, there was no chance they were going to win today.
• I changed the channel halfway through the game, to watch Jacksonville (without it's star player) take on Pittsburgh (without two of their stars). Ugh. I probably would have changed it to watch Gary Condit judge Jon Benet Ramsey's last talent show if that had been on. That Bears game was B-R-U-tal. Like getting elbowed in the eye.

Swing low, sweet chariot...

David Koresh is not "The Man"

I don't care what anyone says, David Koresh is not the man. Though many talk show hosts are starting to talk about him like he's some sort of Ronald Reagan-esque figure who should be revered and put on a pedastal, you have to remember that the man played 'hide the pickle' with 12 year olds.

I was watching some show yesterday where the host wanted to put Koresh in the HALL OF FAME!!! I was so shocked I dropped my monocle and my glass of Tang! I hadn't thought about David Koresh since I told that Waco joke last week (How many of the followers of Koresh can you fit in a glove compartment? All of them!) and I didn't realize this was such a hot topic.

But apparently, this is all the rage. As I'm sure you all know, the debates have been raging for weeks and it has gotten national coverage on all the major websites. People are writing impassioned letters to their Senators and Congressman, begging them to allow Koresh into the Hall!

So, I stand before you today, on this hallowed Indian burial ground, to beg and plead with you to help the United States (and the world in general) and write your Congressman and tell them, in no uncertain terms, that they will lose your vote, if they support the people who want to put Koresh in the Hall.

It's little things like this that will make this world a better place.

NO KORESH IN '05!!

Quotes from Trete's Wedding...

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Freddie

I think Freddie, the new ABC "comedy" looks like the worst show ever, including the Brian Bosworth vehicle Lawless, which lasted on the air for slightly less than an hour (they actually cut it off before it had finished airing the credits, which had to be disheartening for the former Sooner).

But Freddie looks like something that would have been created if bin Laden, Hitler and Olowokandi got together and tried to figure out the worst torture for Americans that doesn't involve an errant "jump hook".

Here's the plot outline, courtesy of our friends at IMDB.com (IMDB.com...it's not just for movies anymore. Hoo-ahh!!)

Plot for Freddie: A successful chef living in Chicago inherits three generations of family: his niece, his sister-in-law, and his grandmother; and learns to survive living with three very different women.

If I had a choice between watching Freddie and being shocked with a stun gun in the liver, I would be slicing myself open with a sterile cutting blade and forcing you to shock the hell out of my liver.

I don't think I can accurately describe how much I already loathe this show. Imagine your favorite band is the Rolling Stones. Then, they decide to get rid of Mick Jaggar and replace him with William Hung. How much would you hate the Stones then? That's how much I hate Freddie. Times a billion.

Do you hear that sound? It sounds...a...little...bit...like...DEATH!

Milestone...

I used to make fun of those people who would get freaked out whenever they reached one of life's eventual milestones like a birthday, graduation or the first time you ever touched a boob. But now, sitting on my 26th birthday, I think I actually understand what the deal is.

I was sitting in bed last night, thinking about where my life was and feeling pretty confident about everything. I mean, sure, there are things that I would love to change, but all-in-all, I thouth things were going pretty well. And then, I got to thinking about the things that I wanted to change more and the list began and it started to grow like the weight on Kirstie Alley.

So, here it is; everything is going well, except for the following things:

• I have no girlfriend or even any prospects. The last girl I took out was kind of a family friend and now I think there's a chance that she hates me just a little bit. Which is nice.
• I'm in a job that I don't really enjoy, but at least I don't really have any chance for advancement either. Fantabulous.
• I moved back into my parent's basement, so it's like I'm 12 again. This may have something to do with problemo numero uno.

So then, once I thought about those things, I kind of woke up in a cold sweat, in the fetal position, there was "mess" all in my diapers, I was sucking my thumb and crying for my mommy. Luckily, she just lives right upstairs now since I moved back in.

I will now excoriate myself.

The All Show-No Go?

I was out walking this morning when two people riding bikes together rode past me. One of them was on a TREK Madone SSL and totally dekked out in an official Lance Armstrong USPS bicycling jersey and helmet, with Oakley M sunglasses. The other guy was on a Huffy, in a black Megadeth T-Shirt and jean shorts that he had fashioned himself from jean pants.

I got to thinking, how in the world did these two hook-up to go riding together? I mean, normally, when you see two people out riding, they're dressed sort of similarly. Something similar to this phenomenon I witnessed would be if I walked by a football field and some guy in a tank-top and jean shorts was playing catch with a guy in full football pads with an official Gus Frerotte jersey on. It makes no sense.

So, please, if you're going to go out and do something with a friend, at least know what you're doing and wear something similar so I don't have to be confused and wonder if you were both biking separately and decided to join together or if you're like the Odd Couple of the biking world.

Well, I suppose if I hadn't seen them, I probably wouldn't have had anything to write about and would have had to talk about poop some more. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Good times...no great times!!

...and clean up your dog's feces!

So, I'm walking along the trails behind my house today, when I stop and take a closer look at the sign I pass everyday. It says (well, not actually says, because it is not the mythical talking sign that they wrote about in The Bible, it's just a regular sign, so, I guess it would be more proper to say it is written or something of that nature, but as we all know, I am really not a stickler for details, so bear with me)

"No Motorized Vehicles; No Alcoholic Beverages; Leash Your Dog and Clean Up Your Dog's Feces."

What? When did we get all technical with signs? You almost have to be firkin' Robert Langdon to decipher this, if you're a hill person. And, as much as we try to hide the fact, almost one out of every three Americans is actually a hill person. All of our other signs are dumbed down:

Stop
Yield
Merge

It's not like you see signs that say (instead of the previous):

Cease Progressing
Surrender the Way
Become United

So, why all the sudden are we trying to educate America with this sign? Why don't we just say:

No Cars, No Brews, And Pick Up Your Dog's Poop

Then, we won't have some Jethro standing at the sign for 4 hours, trying to figure out the meaning of feces while his dog stands there with her legs crossed and a back issue of Maxim sitting next to her.

Plus, everyone likes to see the word Poop. It makes us smile :)

Congratulations!

It seems that congratulations are in order for my brother Eric and his girlfriend, Becky, who got engaged over the weekend in New York. Way to go, young man, way to go.

Now, on a more personal note, that moves me one step close to being Creepy Uncle Brent, the Confirmed Bachelor. I assume that I will be getting my first cat any day now, and start referring to them as my kids. It's probably not too far in the future that I'll start celebrating their birthdays with cake and ice cream and send out Christmas cards signed "Brent and The Gang".

I am also going to start knitting stuff soon. Most likely sweaters for my cats. Yep...

Seems to me...

...that wearing a moustache out in public has become the 00's equivalent of wearing a T-shirt with a swear word on it. I mean sure, it's funny to joke around about with your friends and it might get a couple of chuckles, but when you wear that thing out to an Applebee's, you're demeaning yourself and everyone else in the place. I mean, come on man; there are impressionable women and children out there. Take that stupid mouse nest off from under your nose!

On a sidenote, if your boyfriend moves away and you haven't talked for a couple of weeks, you may not be dating anymore. I don't know, maybe it's just me, but that just seems to be the way it is. But, then again, we all know we shouldn't take relationship advice from me.

Wow, starting Mewelde Moore produced good returns. Who would have thought that? Craziness! Strange how sending Williamson deep seemed to work too. God damn, I should be coaching that team!

The Appendix...

Apparently the Vikings forgot to read the Appendix of the Super Bowl Book. I will delve into two very important topics that I totally forgot about. I admit, like Manfred Mann, I was Blinded by the Light. Here goes...

The Redskins Corallary (formerly the Oriole Corollary) - States that you can not sign an aging group of players who were solid two years ago, plug them in your line-up and expect to win. Real football and fantasy football are different, which is why I toil away at a desk instead of being general manager of an NFL team.

The Elway Axiom - States that you can not lose a star player, expect to replace them with someone moderately as talented and expect to win. Brian Griese and Mike Shanahan found this out the hard way, just like Mike Tice is doing right now.

Now, does this mean I've given up on the season after the drubbing at the hands of the Bengals?

A thousand times no. I never doubted them for a minute for I knew that their monkey strong bowels were girded with strength like the loins of a dragon ribboned with fat and the opulence of buffalo... dung.

There are some simple solutions that Mr. Tice (or whoever the head coach is after the bye week (hint, hint)) needs to do to resurrect the Viking ship.

• Let Smoot do his job. Put him on an island. Have him be Urkel to the other team's Laura. He talks as much yap as Deion, why not let him back it up? It doesn't help to have Winfield cover number one receivers. He's a good tackler, but not a great cover corner. Let Fred go out there and back up his trap.
• Pick a flippin' running back! You're not doing anyone any favors switching it all around. Pick a guy and stick with him for more than six plays. When people are watching their back because they know they can be pulled at any second, they play tight. And that's when mistakes happen. If they know they can continue to play after making a mistake, maybe they'll make fewer? Hmmm...wow! It's like rocket science for morons.
• Ummm...hi. Stretch the damn field! You drafted a guy with 4.2 speed; use him! Send him on a fly. Do something to open up the field. Cripes.
• Go back in time and let Birk play this year (this is the toughest of all suggestions). Better yet, maybe go back in time and teach your father the value of a condom. I'm just sayin' Tice; it may be something to look into.
• Work with Culpepper on pass progressions. He locks on one receiver and when he's not open, he freaks out, like a deer in the headlights, or a girl when I try to kiss her. So, lead him through some progressions, just like you would with a rookie.
• For the love of God, don't panic. It's a long season. You've started 7-0 and not made the playoffs. This is far from a done deal.

See, I'm still on the wagon. Who's with me? Who's coming with me??

The Goggles Do Nothing!

I stepped out of the car, already feeling a bit self-conscious. Since I was having LASIK surgery in a week, I had to wear my glasses, and since I'd worn my contacts since sixth-grade, my glasses had not been updated in quite some time. It was almost like looking into a time-machine to that awkward stage that everyone goes through; only I was living it right now, at twenty-five.

I had already taken jokes from everyone at the office, who had taken to calling me Mr. Magoo, which went right over my head, since that's a show from the 30's. And, let's face it; I wasn't around in the post-depression world.

Even my own mother, who is supposed to unconditionally love her son, said that I looked like an owl. And not the good kind of owl either. She said I looked like Mr. Owl from the Tootsie Pop commercials and made me play along to the commercial.

"Come on Brent, you have to do it, " my mom said.

"I don't want to."

"Mr. Owl how many licks does it take to get to the tootsie roll center of a tootsie pop?"

"Ugh…fine. You better appreciate this."

"Oh, I will. So, Mr. Owl how many licks does it take to get to the tootsie roll center of a tootsie pop?"

"Let's find out," I said while I mimed unwrapping the Pop and licking it once.

"One ... Ta-whoooo," I said and then acted like I bit into the Tootsie Pop. "Three... ahem... three licks," I cried as I ran away in tears while a vicious smile appeared on my mom's face.

So, you can see that I had been mentally abused over the past two days. And the weekend had finally arrived, so I was going over to hang out with my friends.

Since we normally hang out with people similar to us, my friends are a sarcastic bunch of assholes, so I knew I was going to get ripped to shreds. I was nervous, because it's normally me who is doing the ripping on people.

I started walking up the stairs towards Paul and Joe's apartment. Each step felt like my legs had gained twenty pounds so by the time I got to the top, it felt like I had the combined weight of Delta Burke and Rosie O'Donnell on my back.

I reached the door and took a deep breath before turning the handle.

I turned the handle and walked in, expecting the worst.

Joe took one look at me and said, "Wow. So, wearing the glasses huh? I'm not going to lie; they make you look gay."

I really didn't know what to do with that. Sure, they were a little big and oversized, but does that preclude anything about sexual orientation? I didn't know, but I thought I should explain a little about why I'm wearing the glass.

"Well, I'm having LASIK in a week and they make you wear glasses so your eyes have time to revert back to their natural state," I said as a way of explaining why I was wearing my glasses.

"Yeah, but did they have to be special glasses?" Paul quipped from the kitchen.

Joe broke out in a laughing fit that would have ended with milk coming out of his nose, had he been drinking milk at the time.

Damn it Paul, I thought. I had not a one comeback to that one. But, again, I figured an explanation was in order.

"No, these are just old. You see, I've been wearing contacts for so long, I never updated my glasses," I said, hoping that would end all the discussion.

"Oh, I see. Well, I guess they're good if you were in some sort of industrial accident or something. They'd probably keep your eyes in tip-top shape," Paul said.

"Fallout Boy will untie Radioactive Man and pull him to safety moments before he's hit with a forty-foot wall of sulfuric acid that will horribly burn everything in its path. Now, that's real acid, so I want to see goggles, people!" Joe said while doubled up on the floor with laughter.

"My eyes...the goggles do nothing!" Dan chimed in from the bathroom in a Rainier Wolfcastle voice, whilst sitting on the toilet.

He hadn't even seen me, only heard their laughter and he was making fun of me too? Damn him and his sarcastic nature.

I took a seat on the couch next to Tom.

Paul said, "Tom, aren't you even going to make fun of Brent and his glasses?"

"Oh, that's Brent? I didn't even recognize him and I didn't want to make fun of someone I didn't know," Tom said.

And with that, I hunkered down into the fetal position as my fragile ego shrunk by fifty percent. There was nothing to comeback with and I knew it, they knew it and it seemed like all of America knew it. I knew the jokes would keep coming all night.

So, I sat back in the chair and got ready to take whatever they said, while silently making notes to rip on each of them when my surgery was over with.

"Hey, Nelson looks like Hitler; if Hitler looked like a gay fourth grader with stupid glasses," Dan said as he came out of the bathroom.

Crap, I thought. This is going to be a long night.

Possibly the Lamest Dedication Ever

Today, as I was doing some research for work, I stumbled across what could be described as the lamest dedication ever. Heck, it could possibly be the lamest thing ever, sending Emilio Estevez into a shame spiral that very few could recover from.

Now that I've whetted your appetite and your anticipation has shrunk smaller than Culpepper's hands, I will not keep you in suspense anymore. Currently, we are in the (drumroll please)

The Bone and Joint Decade!!

That's right. I know you didn't know this. This whole decade (that's 10 years for you guys who went to Roger Bacon) is dedicated to healthy bones and joints. Huz-zah!! If only I would have known earlier, maybe I could have particpated in the Stretch for Life or maybe even the Bone Density Walk for the Boneless. Gosh, I could have helped so much, because I am huge into joint health.

Now, while this cause may be a ridiculous reason to dedicate a whole decade (while it would take 120 years of Black History months to match the amount of time dedicated to joint health), I haven't even mentioned the strangest part.

The craziest thing about this is it began in 2002. That's right, they picked a year out of the blue and decided to run a decade from that point, so this asinine stunt lasts until 2011...or until about 3 years after Barry Bonds's neck snaps in half from his cranium being too large and his neck not having enough density to sustain that massive sphere. Hmmm...maybe this knowledge is useful and this is a worthwhile cause.

Have I spoken too soon? I mean, we're only 3 years into this decade. I'm sure they'll start bringing out the heavy ammunition in a couple years, what with ticker tape parades featuring Marty the Musculoskeletal Disorder and Carl the Curved Spine. I, for one, can't wait until this decade hits America like a ton of bricks! Let's do it up...Chiroprator Style! Who's with me??

Mike Tice is a douche.

Um...Mike Tice is a douche. A laundry list of gripes from the Vikings game this week for Mike Tice...

• Pick a running back and let people know who it will be. And don't have it be Michael Bennett or Moe Williams. I think it's nice that Moore had more rushing yards than Bennett even though he didn't get one play in the backfield. Yep. Bennett had -1 rushing yards.
• Your ball control offense blows. You have the QB and receivers to open it up. Every pass does not have to be a three yard out to Wiggins or Kleinsasser.
• Your punter had the best performance of anyone this week.
• You suck will the challenge flag.
• Your mom is a hermaphrodite (just throwing it out there).
• Good signing of Sharper. He looked solid.
• Might want to stop covering receivers with linebackers.
• Ummm...Troy Williamson is on the team. Just an FYI.
• You look like a gorilla who doesn't know what is going on.

Well, with all the being said, I still think they're going to go deep in the playoffs this year. My butt is in the Vikings bandwagon driver seat. Hop on...if you dare.

Pumpkins??

So, I'm at Target today, stocking up on various Target items, such as t-shirts, trail mix and a kayak when I saw something out of the ordinary. In the back of the store were two pins, stacked to the gills, with pumpkins for Halloween. It's September 9th!

How long does a flippin' pumpkin last once you cut it? Two weeks? Then it starts to liquify into a pool of it's own putrid innards? Wouldn't this be akin to buying a Christmas tree at the beginning of November? What kind of brain dead mountain person is going to walk their butt into Target on September 9th and buy a Halloween pumpkin?

This is going to be the same moron who's going to be in front of me in the Target return line in three weeks with his sack of liquified pumpkin remains, wondering if he can get a refund because his pumpkin didn't make it until Halloween. How about you just come up to me, I'll punch you in liver and take your 5 bucks and we can call it a day?

Mountain people; the human Opossum.

Have you read the new Harry Potter?

So, Vanessa (VR) stopped in my cube today to chat about world events, politics, you know, the whatnot. Of course, the conversation quickly got streamlined to more of what America wants; my "love" life. After deciding not to see Katie anymore after 3 dates, Vanessa wanted to know if there were any new ladies on the line. What follows is how the conversation unfolded.

VR: So, there any new ladies on the line?
BN: Nah. I got nothin' right now.
VR: Nothing?
BN: Yeah, Why don't you hook me up?
VR: (long, uncomfortable pause)
BN: Um...so, why don't you hook me up?
VR: Well, all my friends are either engaged or washing their hair, so that won't work.
BN: I see.
VR: See, that's why you should have lived with Paul and Devo. Then Carla could hook you up. She has girl friends.
BN: Yes, she does, but the only two times I've hung out with her, I've made out with girls. Probably not looking like I'm the guy she wants to hook up with her friends.
VR: Yeah, that could be a problem. Well, you could try going to a Barnes & Noble.
BN: Ppphhhh. Right. And what am I supposed to say? Read the new Harry Potter? Get outta here.
VR: Okay. You could try poking around a Blockbuster then.
BN: Ppphhhh. Right. And what am I supposed to say? Seen the new Harry Potter? Get outta here.
VR: (frustrated) Fine. Maybe you could try Sex World?
BN: Ppphhhh. Right. And what am I supposed to say? Have you done it Harry Potter-style? Get outta here.

And people wonder why I'm single. Or maybe they don't.

New Blog fools - and Scattered Eggs

I have been sub par on my updates to the blog. For my various fans and allies, I apologize. While I'd like to blame my strenuous sex life, exotic night life and sheer amount of things going on in my life, I can't. I basically have to chalk it up to pure and utter laziness. I've turned laziness into a new artform and people are starting to call me DaVinci. Which utterly rocks...and/or rolls. Like Snapple.

So, anyhoo, I have started a fantasy sports advice site. It can be found at rotocop.blogspot.com. See, I call myself the Roto Cop. It's like Robo Cop...but not. So lame. So lame indeed. I feel like my right arm when I sleep on it; lame and useless. But I will offer sage advice there and would like people to feel free to ask questions, make fun of me and generally enjoy themselves. Like Snapple.

The Sports Guy is finally coming out with a book. I have been anticipating this for quite awhile, then I heard what it was. It's him stringing together 50 of his columns about the Red Sox. Are you firkin' kidding me? First of all, I pretty much want to rip my fingernails off everytime he writes a column about the Red Sox and now there's a whole book? Cripes! Why didn't he just throw together a bunch of his reader mail and make that a book? Ooops...I probably stole his next idea. (For the record...I will still get the book and probably enjoy it...but I was a bit disappointed.)

I hate Lacey on The Real World. She's such a joke. Two thumbs for Danny on calling her on being that seterotypical person who bucks music just because it's popular (I sometimes do the same thing). Too bad he didn't do it to her face. He's exactly like me; except he has a hot girl fawning all over him and is on TV. Otherwise, we're like Siamese Twins born to different mothers. Like on Perfect Strangers.

So, I like Prison Break. Duh. I knew I would. Now, of course, there's people complaining that it's not realistic. Who cares? It's not a flippin' documentary. Seriously, if you want realistic, go rob a liquor store at gunpoint and spend the next 5-10 in a cell. That will be the realism for you. I'll take full body tattoos, sneaky hot girls and cell phones made of soap. Kick it...

I was walking around the lake at my new house today and the whole thing was covered by either pond scum, algae or the Toxic Avenger in liquified form. I prefer to think it's the Toxic Avenger...mostly for selfish reasons.

Apparently, Duluth turns me into the make-out king. 2 for 2 this summer, so rock it and roll it people. Were the girls hot? Ummm...well, short answer short...no. Did I care at the time? Not one bit. Do I care now...well, besides the fact that Carla probably thinks less of me than Shawn Kemp, I really don't. See, I've ruined any chance of Carla hooking me up with any of her friends I would suppose. But that's the way it goes when you go to drink pitchers of long island iced tea. Butt happens. Deal.

If I ever get shot, I hop it's a glancing blow off the elbow. Just seems like the safest place to me. Can't be sure though.

I know someone who complained about how mad he was he was forced to watch hurrican coverage instead of Friends, Seinfeld or The Simpsons. I can't tell you how bad I felt for this person, not getting to watch what he wanted and having to watch all these people lose their homes and...um...lives. Actually, I was watching The King of Queens, so I'm totally not one to judge. I'm coming Emilio.

I never want to see another Kevin Costner movie again in my life. I've had enough. Can't he just retire and leave us all in peace?

My goal is to bench 315 lbs. by February. Right now, I'm at 265 lbs. It can be done. We'll see.

If anyone is interested in specific lifting or diet advice, feel free to contact me. I am setting up personal diet programs for $50 set-up and then $20/month maintenance fee. I will do the same for a lifting program. If you combine the diet and lifting programs, I will cut it to $75 set-up and $30/month maintenance fee. Feel free to ask about the friend benefit, which offers reduced rates to folks I consider friends. Spread the word.

I hope to update more often...and will try to be funnier than I have been today. I think I'm broken. On a scale of 1 to sucking, this was like a 6. Sorry.

Till next time...

Gas Prices

*The events described here are based on historical facts…except the ones that aren’t*

I was sitting at Costco the other day, pumping some 87 grade octane into my Grand Prix, when I stepped back and took a look at the price. $2.69 a gallon! I couldn’t believe it. Then, I looked towards the sky and had an epiphany. All of this could have easily been avoided if it weren’t for those two dreaded words; Magna Carta.

Allow me to elaborate.

The Magna Carta was signed on June 15th in the year of the Lord 1215. Agreed upon by Patrick the Timid and the Duke of Sandwich (no relation to the Earl of Sandwich), it was essentially an agreement to rid Norway of Erik the Red and his illegitimate son, Leif Erikson (no relation to Leif Garrett). Due to their plundering, and pillaging, the citizens on Norway had had enough and sent the Vikings on their way. As a parting gift, they received 12 drums of heavily cured meat, two yaks and a portable gazebo for all their gaming pleasure.

So, the Vikings took off towards the Great Beyond, which is what Egypt was called in those days. On their way to Egypt, where they had planned a rendezvous with little Freddie Tutankhamen (who would later become King Tut), they got lost. Since there are very few road signs in the open sea, they floated towards the edge of the earth, when fate took over.

Just as they were about to fall off the edge of the world (in those days, the world had an edge and that wasn’t fixed until the Mayans put together all of their resources and curved the earth in 1631), they ran into Christopher Stickupass (who later changed his name to the more politically correct Christopher Columbus). He was looking for Isabel, Queen of the Nile, and as a joke, the Vikings pointed him due south! Little did they know that there was land ripe for the taking that way.

Well, Mr. Stickupass took the Vikings at their word, because he figured if you couldn’t trust Erik the Red, who could you trust? And trust he did. Luckily for him and his weary crew, they made it to shore just over twelve hours later, thanks to their rocket powered engine (which was destroyed in the Great Chicago Fire). When they got there, they immediately started breeding with the natives.

One of the crew members, Hieronymus Jefferson, took up with a native lady named Sheila. And nine months later, the great president, Thomas Jefferson, was sprung from her swollen womb.

Throughout his childhood, TJ (as his friends called Thomas Jefferson) dreamed of creating, and then becoming President, of the United States. As luck would have it, his magic 8 ball was correct and he did become President.

While President, TJ forced his white slaves Lewis and Clark to go all the way to the west coast to fetch a pail of water. While waiting for them, TJ grew bored and assumed they had died, so he decided to purchase Louisiana.

What TJ didn’t know is that Lewis and Clark had not died! Not only had they not died, they also had found gold in the west! This led to the Gold Rush of 1849, and the creation of California as a state.

Since so many people were moving to California, the city of Hollywood decided to move there too. The film industry had hit a snag in Hoboken, Ohio and it too was looking for greener pastures. The gold in California seemed just the place to find it.

And find it, it did! Through the years, Hollywood started producing hit movies and actors, including Ronald Reagan. Little Ronnie Reagan decided to parlay his movie stardom into the Presidency of the United States. As his running partner, he chose George H.W. Bush. This would prove to be an unwise move for future generations.

While H.W. eventually became President, he and Barbara spawned the great white Devil, known to America as George W. Bush. Since George W. wasn’t qualified for many things, he decided he should be President too. And America agreed.

This angered many foreign terrorists, who decided to hold back oil production to teach America a lesson. And a lesson we have learned. For, if any of these events had not happened, we would have elected John Kerry, gas would only be a nickel a gallon, Friends would still be on the air and we’d all have 40 acres of land and a mule.

Damn you Magna Carta. Damn you to hell. It’s all your fault! I want my flippin’ 40 acres of land and a mule, dang it!

The Pawnshop

It was finally nine o’clock, so I flipped the sign on my little pawn shop to “Open”. Christ, another Monday already. I couldn’t even recall how long I’d been running this shop, but I really wanted to close it and retire. The whole neighborhood had gone insane. Yesterday, some guy who looked like Scott Baio came in and tried to sell a gold watch. Hell, it might have been Scott Baio for all I knew. Unbelievable.

As I walked back towards the counter, I heard the door open. My back was to whoever it was, so I didn’t know what kind of freak had graced me with his presence. I turned around and, though the man was hideous, I showed no surprise.

“How’s it going buddy. Got some good stuff to pawn today?”

The man stared at me with his one good eye. The other socket was covered by a patch. At least I think it was a patch. He was wearing a Zorro-type mask, so all I could see was blackness in his right eye; kind of like Kenneth Lay’s soul. He also had on some sort of ballerina unitard along with hot pink hiking boots. He was hatless, but his hair formed three horns, like a mini triceratops.

“Sir, I have for you the find of a lifetime! You’ll be telling all your pawn shop union friends about this at your secret meeting beneath Mt. Saint Helens next week. I am about to make you a legend!!”

“Well, that’s great, just great. It’s crazy how you knew about those secret meetings. So, what do you have there?” I asked him.

There are no secret meetings and there is no pawn shop union. After years of agreeing with the customer, nothing surprised me. He could have ripped off his mask and had Paris Hilton engraved into his eye socket and I wouldn’t have batted an eye.

He approached me with a jeweler’s box that an engagement ring would come in. It was closed and he was holding it like he was about to propose to me. I slowly reached under the counter and grabbed my lucky “Freak Baton”.

“How much would you pay for something like this? It’s one of a kind! No one else is going to have anything this special.” He said to me as he opened the box in my face.

My jaw dropped and my hand fell off the baton. I looked at him incredulously. I was finally at a loss for words. “Um…is that plastic?”

“No, this is as real as they come.”

“But, how did you get it? And where did you get it?”

“It’s mine! I just took it out and put it in the box. Pretty nice, eh? You don’t see that shade of blue too often, do you?”

“No, you really don’t. Um, sir, I don’t know how to break it to you. I am really…uh…not in the market for, um, a human eye ball. I just don’t see what I would do with it. Plus, it looks like you didn’t do a great job separating it from the nerve endings.”

His face dropped. “But, then what the hell am I supposed to do with this eye? I take it out to sell it and you can’t use it? Now, I have to wear this patch all over the place and feel like Christopher freakin’ Robin!”

“Christopher Robin didn’t wear a patch. I think you…”

“Shut up!!” He cut me off. “Damn it. So, you have no use for an eye at all? I’ll take a trade. Maybe for that shovel??”

“No, I really don’t need an eye here.”

“Great! That’s the last time I take advice from that bitch Ann Landers!”

“Ann Landers told you to take your eye out and sell it to a pawn shop?”

“Not in so many words, no. She said to keep the house and rent it out as another source of income, but it was the way she said it. I knew what she meant.”

“Um…I don’t know what to do with that.”

“How about you shove it up you ass along with that hamster and block of cheese?” He screamed at me as he stormed out of my store.

I turned towards the back of the store to compose my thoughts, when I heard the door open again. I rolled my eyes and turned around to see the next freak that would brighten my doorstep.

Little League World Series Thoughts...

Is there anything lower on the umpiring chain than being the right field foul line ump in the consolation game of the LLWS?

Why are there 12 year olds that are bigger than I am?

Why do I get to know these kids and then get excited to watch them?

The California team has a kid who shaves as often as I do. That's disheartening.

Khalen Pimentol hit 35 homers this year and also was clocked at 82 mph from 46 feet. Ummm...yeah.

The California team is 58-0 this year as I write this. That's incredible. I don't think all my teams combined in my life have won 58 games. But we did have "The Code", so I guess we're even.

Does it make me a bad person because I laugh when the kids strike out?

I'm just going to throw it out there; There's something not right about a Little League coach who doesn't have a son on the team.

Breaking News!!

Now, you better be sitting down when you read this, or sitting in a chair like position. So, grab onto your hats, button up your coats and put the A/C on high because this is going to shock and awe you!

Randy Moss has smoked weed!!

Beep, beep, beep, beep. Wait a second. Back the truck up there. Weed? Moss? Are you kidding me? This is unfathomable. I'm in shock. I almost fell right on my liver when I read this. Yep...pretty unbelievable. Bryant Gumbel must have had a mole deep, deep into the Randy Moss congregation. God, he must have had pictures of Randy violating a pineapple to get him to admit such shocking information; on national TV no less!

Man, if this story hadn't worked out, here are some other possible breaking news items for Mr. Gumbel to report on:

~ It's not good for you to brush your teeth with pudding.
~ In the battle of peeing versus 'holding it', peeing will always win.
~ Dennis Haskins can't use the "Hey, I used to be Mr. Belding" line to pick up chicks.
~ The sky is blue.
~ Randy Moss smoked weed. (oops...too late)

Thank you, Mr. Gumbel, for keeping America informed of things that aren't totally obvious and tid-bits of information that even a blind man could see. It's because of people like you that the merry-go-round keeps spinning. I salute you!

Moron.

This is terrible

So, I'm sitting in my room right now and it is excruciatingly hot. I have already swat through both pairs of boxers, my shorts and my Nike t-shirt. I feel like Hambone standing in a frying pan. On a scale of 1 to Comfortable, it's about negative Satan in here. Wondering why?

The morons painting our townhouse have covered up my window with plastic. Now, as if that weren't bad enough, they also covered my A/C with plastic. Why don't they just come in, put a plastic bag over my head and put me out of my misery. They've already taken my soul...they may as well take the earthly remains too.

T-minus 14 days until I move. Thank God! Mom and Dad...here I come!

Class Act...

I drove through Cannon Falls, Minnesota, which has a population of 3,795. So, it's just a small town, in the middle of nowhere, where they talk about corn, cheese and putting shredded cheese on popcorn. Oh, they also have a strip club called "Class Act".

Whenever I drive by small town strip clubs, I always wonder what kind of ladies they have there. I mean, they have a choice of probably about 50,000 people total. We'll count everyone in a 30 square mile radius. Then, divide that by two, to get rid of the men (seeing as this isn't a he-bitch strip club). So, we're down to 25,000. Then, we need to get it down into "stripping age", which is defined by 18-30 (normally 30 would be past your stripping prime, but we don't have that many ladies here). So, we figure we have somewhere around 4,000 in stripping age. Then, you have to take away the girls that won't take off their clothes for money. So, now we're down to the choices of about 250. Then, we have to take away the girls that are willing to strip, but no one wants to see strip. We are down to about 10 possibilities.

So, I figure there are maybe 10 girls in that area that anyone would want to see strip...and the question is, did Class Act bring them in? Or are there one limbed girls flapping their nubs all over yonder on the stage? If someone has been to a small town strip club, please let me know what goes on there. Thanks.

Apple Juice Now Served?

I drove by a White Castle tonight and in the spot where fast food places normally highlight their specials to entice hnugry patrons to come in, they said "Apple Juice Now Served".

Do you think anyone who is willing to eat at White Castle gives a crap that they're serving apple juice now? Seriously. Do you think Bubba and Bob-Tom are driving down the road and have the following exchange?

Bubba: Hey Bob-Tom, I am starvin'! You wanna stop at the White Castle?
Bob-Tom: Nah, can't stop there. They ain't gots the apple juice.
Bubba: Yep. Dag. If only the Castle would start serving The Juice.
Bob-Tom (staring in the distance): Wait! What the hell does that say? Apple juice now served?!! Hot damn!
Bubba: We're eatin' Sliders tonight.
(Bubba and Bob-Tom do an awkward high five and then Bubba puts his teeth back in)

I can't believe anyone in their right mind would put that in their key ad space. After all the positive vibes that Harold and Kumar put out, they're going to ruin it with apple juice? What's next? A rattle with every value meal? Buy one slider, get a carrot free? Now serving cucumbers? Where does it end?? God, it's like Emilio Estevez is giving the White Castle CEO career advice.

Emilio: That's right. Advertise the apple juice. The people will come.
CEO: Really? Well if you say so. Are you going to stop in?
Emilio: I can't. I'm on my way to film Mighty Ducks 4: The Ducks Don't Die. But the people; they will come.

Morons.

Felix Hernandez

Did you see his start against the Twins last night? He mowed them down! Well, at this point, Danny Almonte would have a fair chance at mowing them down. Hell, you put Kelly Leak on the mound and there's a fair chance at a shutout.

But this was a 19 year old kid in his second major league start pitching shut out ball for 8 innings. Then, he went out and snorted cocaine off a hookers ass. Before you know it, he's going to be getting DWI's all over the place and have hios bank account frozen for "forgetting" to send his ex-wife 50% of the profits from the sale of their house. But, then again, he'd be taking these Dwight Gooden comparisons waaaayyyy too literally.

Maybe Felis should just stop the comparisons at the dominating pitching performances and leave the rest of following in Dwight's footsteps to his real son, Dwight Gooden Jr. I think the world would be a better place; we'd have Felix dominating major league hitters for the next 15 years and Dwight Jr. sitting in jail, waiting for DJ Strawberry to become Corey Haim to Dwight's Corey Feldman.

Antoine Walker trade

The problem is, they're going with the Dallas Maverick, Phoenix Sun, Baltimore Oriole and Washington Redskin philosophy of "Fantasy Team...for Real." Sure, that would make a sweet fantasy team, just add a little Theo Ratliff down in the box to win the block title with Shaq and you're good to go.

I don't get why GM's and owners don't understand that putting a bunch of "highlight" people together doesn't make you a winning team. Does it help for awhile? Sure. And regular season titles are fun. But, you need to put people together who are role players to go along with your superstars. You can't have a team of superstars because then no one is going to want to clean up the shit (i.e. rebound, play defense, make it with the less attractive groupies, set picks, etc).

In basketball, you need your "star", your "second fiddle" and a bunch of people who listen to The Rock (know your role!). The Heat had that last year. Now, they have a mess of people who are going to want to be on Sportscenter, want to lead the team in scoring and not care about errant passes. Essentially, they have become a rich man's version of the Dallas Mavericks; a team that can do well in the regular season but has virtually no chance of winning in the postseason.

You'd think that they would have learned something from the Spurs and the Pistons; get role players, defensive stoppers and a scorer and you can advance far. But hey, I mean Antoine Walker is just sitting out there for almost 10 million a year; he can't hurt the team, right? Right??

Average Joe

OK, so the girl finally picked the "Average Joe". But this had the biggest flaw ever! The guy was already eliminated! The only reason he got to come back is because he got a haircut, they got rid of his goatee and he got his grill fixed. So, was he really still an "Average Joe"? No! He was just some guy who got a makeover. This is not kosher with the Road Rules team...

Adventures...

This morning at 8 am, I was casually strolling around Gays Pond, as I am known to do on the weekends. I walked past the two lesbians sitting on the Rainbow Swing and didn't bat an eye, since they were the traditional "Real Life" lesbians and not the Internet Lesbians that we have all come to know and love.

I made my turn around the pond and headed for Velociraptor Hill, to do my dinosaur walk and then go home. As I started up the summit of the Hill, I noticed a man standing at the top, next to a bicycle. He was decked out in his best hippie gear, inluding (but not limited to) a tye-died shirt, cut off pants, nappy hair that hadn't seen a comb or water for weeks and an overpowering stench that reminded me of the time I was in Hell and Satan pinched off a loaf.

I headed toward the man and he raised his right hand towards me. There was something in it. Did I know this guy? Had I offended him when I broke up one of his "Hippie Drum Circles"? Was he going to treat me like Shadow's cell mate treated him? Should I turn around and head the other way, like Christian Guzman does with a ground ball? So many questions...but I forged ahead up the mighty Hill.

As I got closer, I noticed what was in his hand. It was a can of Miller Lite! At 8 am! And he had a brown sack next to it, probably containing the other 5 brothers of the brew in his hand, because all hippies carry their drinks Norris-style.

I continued getting closer and his hand was still raised in the air, as if he had the answer to a question in second grade and Mrs. Sorenson wouldn't call on him. Then, he moved his hand and the can towards his head and it appeared he was saluting me, like he would have done if General Dwight D. flippin' Eisenhower was there!

I quickly looked around to see if he could possibly be saluting someone else, possibly Middle Aged Man or his friend Drinking Buddy had appeared. Alas, there was no one else on the Hill, so he was obviously making a connection with me.

As I walked by, I raised my coffee mug towards him and said, "At ease soldier."

He brought his can down, chugged what was left of his beer and continued on his merry way to the bliss that is total drunkennes.

Meanwhile, I continued on my journey, wondering what other adventures were waiting for me in the Oak Hill Park neighborhood. Only time will tell...