I’ve been stranded on a deserted island. Unfortunately, I will never be rescued and I will have to spend the rest of my days trapped there, hunting mongoose and eating coconuts fresh off the trees.
Luckily, before I was stranded there, I was allowed the luxury of one celebrity to accompany me for my journey. And, through my political connections, I’m allowed to pick anyone and they have to join me, under threat of guillotine. Needless to say, option A is at least 5 times better.
The toughest part of the whole journey, besides deciding what to wear for the rest of eternity, was deciding which celebrity to pick.
Now, an obvious call would be to pick Katie Holmes, or someone hot like that. The downside of that is that she’ll probably get bored of me and end up trying to swim off the island and getting eaten by sharks.
Another option would be to pick someone who can help me with the hunting and gathering. This would be someone like the Crocodile Hunter. I think eventually I would get bored of his accent and he seems a little too clingy for my taste. I think after a couple of days, I would want to go Carrie on him and drench him in pig blood. And that situation wouldn’t be beneficial to either of us.
No, after much deliberation, I have found the perfect celebrity to stay with me for the rest of eternity. This is someone I would get along with and I would probably end up being Screech Powers to his Zack Morris. I, of course, am talking about Mr. Keanu Reeves.
The first conversation would probably go something like this…
Brent: Keanu, man you are the greatest. Point Break kicked ass!
Keanu: I hate you for making me come here.
Brent: I loved you in Bill and Ted:
Keanu: I hope you die.
Brent: Dude, why didn’t you do Speed 2? I loved Speed!
Keanu: They didn’t offer me enough money.
Brent: Oh.
Brent looks around. He toes the sand a little. He looks up at the sky and covers his eyes from the brutal sun.
Brent: Man, it sure is hot here.
I’m sure we’d find out we have other stuff in common over the years. He probably likes to play Domino’s and compliment me, which is everything I want in an island companion. Oh…the fun we will have!
Friday, April 29, 2005
Wednesday, April 27, 2005
Ziploc
I'm not going to lie...I don't feel safe without the red and blue makes purple seal. I feel like Sam Neil in "In the Mouth of Madness" without it. If they take it away from me, I'll most likely end up in an insane asylum with a black crayon, drawing sandwich bags all over the walls. This may just be me. Most people probably don't have strong feelings either way on this issue...
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
Served by the Belding
The other day I was not fortunate enough to sit down with Dennis Haskins, who many of you probably don’t remember as Mr. Belding from Saved by the Bell and Saved by the Bell: The New Class (though if you watched the new class you were probably in the latent stage of syphilis at the time and are most likely no longer amongst the living). Luckily for us, Dennis hadn’t any time to fit us in for an interview between his mid-morning meal and his brunch. If he had had time to talk to me, I’m sure the interview would have gone like this…
Brent Nelson: Dennis! Thanks for taking time out of your schedule to join us today.
Dennis Haskins: Brent, it’s always a pleasure.
BN: So, Dennis, tell us what you’ve been up to since Saved by the Bell was cancelled.
DH: Honestly Brent, that’s a part of my life I really don’t want to discuss. I can’t really get into it, but it involves an inflatable alligator and a bucket of sardines. Enough said.
BN: Yikes! Well, that’s understandable, what with Zack Morris starring on NYPD Blue, A.C. Slater getting his own talk show and marrying the Doritos girl and Tiffani-Amber Thiessen becoming among the hottest women in the world, while you’re hurting to earn a couple bucks in a Camry commercial. Speaking of, let’s talk about this Camry commercial. How did they rope you into that? Did they have compromising pictures of Mrs. Belding?
DH: You may have forgotten. My character was Mr. Belding. My name is Dennis. I really don’t want to touch on that today either Brent. You understand, right? I mean, there are a plethora of subjects I can explore with you. As you may have known, I have been brushing up on 19th century Russian juggling. Would you care to explore that forum?
BN: (under his breath) Wow. You are such a loser.
DH: What’s that Brent?
BN: Nothing. I think I saw an onion. Umm…let’s see. So, it says here you gained 184 pounds since the end of the show. Sounds like someone had a little eating problem! Ha-ha! How did you manage to gain all that weight, Beldo?
DH: My name is Dennis damn it! I’m really not at liberty to talk about the weight. Let’s just say I might have a deal with KFC brewing and I don’t want to jinx it. Double crosses.
BN: OK, so no Saved by the Bell, no Camry and no weight gain. I hear you’re working for Hollywood Is Calling dot com. Is that correct?
DH: Yes.
BN: So, how’s that going for you?
DH: I’ve only had one person use my services. Some kid in Wisconsin.
BN: Dennis, I’m not going to lie, you are about the most boring thing I’ve ever interviewed in my life. All of my readers are now dumber for having read this. Thanks for your time.
DH: Always a pleasure Brent. Stop by anytime. I mean anytime!
Brent Nelson: Dennis! Thanks for taking time out of your schedule to join us today.
Dennis Haskins: Brent, it’s always a pleasure.
BN: So, Dennis, tell us what you’ve been up to since Saved by the Bell was cancelled.
DH: Honestly Brent, that’s a part of my life I really don’t want to discuss. I can’t really get into it, but it involves an inflatable alligator and a bucket of sardines. Enough said.
BN: Yikes! Well, that’s understandable, what with Zack Morris starring on NYPD Blue, A.C. Slater getting his own talk show and marrying the Doritos girl and Tiffani-Amber Thiessen becoming among the hottest women in the world, while you’re hurting to earn a couple bucks in a Camry commercial. Speaking of, let’s talk about this Camry commercial. How did they rope you into that? Did they have compromising pictures of Mrs. Belding?
DH: You may have forgotten. My character was Mr. Belding. My name is Dennis. I really don’t want to touch on that today either Brent. You understand, right? I mean, there are a plethora of subjects I can explore with you. As you may have known, I have been brushing up on 19th century Russian juggling. Would you care to explore that forum?
BN: (under his breath) Wow. You are such a loser.
DH: What’s that Brent?
BN: Nothing. I think I saw an onion. Umm…let’s see. So, it says here you gained 184 pounds since the end of the show. Sounds like someone had a little eating problem! Ha-ha! How did you manage to gain all that weight, Beldo?
DH: My name is Dennis damn it! I’m really not at liberty to talk about the weight. Let’s just say I might have a deal with KFC brewing and I don’t want to jinx it. Double crosses.
BN: OK, so no Saved by the Bell, no Camry and no weight gain. I hear you’re working for Hollywood Is Calling dot com. Is that correct?
DH: Yes.
BN: So, how’s that going for you?
DH: I’ve only had one person use my services. Some kid in Wisconsin.
BN: Dennis, I’m not going to lie, you are about the most boring thing I’ve ever interviewed in my life. All of my readers are now dumber for having read this. Thanks for your time.
DH: Always a pleasure Brent. Stop by anytime. I mean anytime!
Monday, April 25, 2005
Potential Haze
Why is it in any sort of draft, everyone drafts on “potential” and doesn’t take into account what people have done in games? Anyone can gamble on “potential” but when a sure thing is sitting there, how do you pass up on it?
I specifically bring this up in relation to the NFL draft this past weekend. When the Vikings were picking, it was obvious to everyone they were going to take a wide receiver. After jettisoning Randy Moss to the Oakland Raiders for the 7th pick in the draft, everyone and their mother knew they had to replace him. It’s like Dave Nelson trying to make a poker face; everyone sees right through it.
The Vikings only had one question to ask themselves; was Mike Williams going to be available or was someone ahead of them going to snap him up? It turns out he was available and the Vikings fans rejoiced and danced around like Walter Huston. Randy Moss was replaced and the Vikes had concluded the best off-season of any team.
Then it was Nagasaki. Tice dropped the bomb on the fans when he selected Troy Williamson of South Carolina and his speed potential. Kids openly wept and cast furious looks at their parents. Parents stood dumbfounded, waiting for some sort of explanation. But none was forthcoming. I can only assume that Tice was under the “Potential Haze.”
The “Potential Haze is when someone is picked because their numbers look so good. It has nothing to do with performance and how they did on the field in their career. It has to do with what the team envisions them doing in the future. The poster children for the “Potential Haze” are Mike Mamula and Terrell Suggs.
Mike Mamula was a defensive end from Boston College who was predicted to be drafted near the top of the second round or late in the first round based on how he performed in college. Then, he went to the combine and proceeded to blind the crowd with a 35-inch vertical jump, 4.55 40-yard dash and 25 reps with 225 lbs. on the bench press. That moved him up into the number 7 pick in the draft. Three years later, he’s out of the NFL and working with Ickey Woods at a car wash.
Compare that with Terrell Suggs. Fresh off setting the NCAA record for sacks in a season with 24, he was thought to be locked in at one of the top 2 picks. Then came the combine. He ran a 4.84 in the 40-yard dash, 33-inch vertical and 19 reps on the bench press. All of that made him fall to the Ravens at number 11. Not a huge fall, but it was all because he didn’t appear to have the potential, even though he was the career sack leader in the NCAA. How has he done sense? In two years in the NFL, he has 22.5 career sacks and is just coming off a pro-bowl season. So much for potential.
This brings us to the Vikings selection. The Vikings selected Troy Williamson because he ran a 4.38 40-yard dash. The Vikings did not select Mike Williams because Mike Tice needs to be smacked in the head with a tack hammer. Let’s compare their college stats:
Troy Williamson (3 seasons)
91 receptions
1,754 yards
13 TD’s
Mike Williams (2 seasons)
176 receptions
2,579 yards
30 TD’s
You have to remember that Mike Williams sat out this last season. If he had played, he probably would have added another 100 receptions, 15 TD’s, 1,200 yards and would have become the all-time leading receiver in USC history. That right there is production. That is Terrell Suggs style production. Yet, we passed on him for the inferior, smaller Troy Williamson.
As Vikings fans, let’s hope Mike Williams doesn’t become the next Terrell Suggs and Troy Williamson doesn’t become the next Mike Mamula. Unfortunately it’s a very distinct possibility that Mr. Williamson is the next Mamula and Mr. Williams will be sipping Mai Tai’s with Suggs in Hawaii in a couple of years.
I specifically bring this up in relation to the NFL draft this past weekend. When the Vikings were picking, it was obvious to everyone they were going to take a wide receiver. After jettisoning Randy Moss to the Oakland Raiders for the 7th pick in the draft, everyone and their mother knew they had to replace him. It’s like Dave Nelson trying to make a poker face; everyone sees right through it.
The Vikings only had one question to ask themselves; was Mike Williams going to be available or was someone ahead of them going to snap him up? It turns out he was available and the Vikings fans rejoiced and danced around like Walter Huston. Randy Moss was replaced and the Vikes had concluded the best off-season of any team.
Then it was Nagasaki. Tice dropped the bomb on the fans when he selected Troy Williamson of South Carolina and his speed potential. Kids openly wept and cast furious looks at their parents. Parents stood dumbfounded, waiting for some sort of explanation. But none was forthcoming. I can only assume that Tice was under the “Potential Haze.”
The “Potential Haze is when someone is picked because their numbers look so good. It has nothing to do with performance and how they did on the field in their career. It has to do with what the team envisions them doing in the future. The poster children for the “Potential Haze” are Mike Mamula and Terrell Suggs.
Mike Mamula was a defensive end from Boston College who was predicted to be drafted near the top of the second round or late in the first round based on how he performed in college. Then, he went to the combine and proceeded to blind the crowd with a 35-inch vertical jump, 4.55 40-yard dash and 25 reps with 225 lbs. on the bench press. That moved him up into the number 7 pick in the draft. Three years later, he’s out of the NFL and working with Ickey Woods at a car wash.
Compare that with Terrell Suggs. Fresh off setting the NCAA record for sacks in a season with 24, he was thought to be locked in at one of the top 2 picks. Then came the combine. He ran a 4.84 in the 40-yard dash, 33-inch vertical and 19 reps on the bench press. All of that made him fall to the Ravens at number 11. Not a huge fall, but it was all because he didn’t appear to have the potential, even though he was the career sack leader in the NCAA. How has he done sense? In two years in the NFL, he has 22.5 career sacks and is just coming off a pro-bowl season. So much for potential.
This brings us to the Vikings selection. The Vikings selected Troy Williamson because he ran a 4.38 40-yard dash. The Vikings did not select Mike Williams because Mike Tice needs to be smacked in the head with a tack hammer. Let’s compare their college stats:
Troy Williamson (3 seasons)
91 receptions
1,754 yards
13 TD’s
Mike Williams (2 seasons)
176 receptions
2,579 yards
30 TD’s
You have to remember that Mike Williams sat out this last season. If he had played, he probably would have added another 100 receptions, 15 TD’s, 1,200 yards and would have become the all-time leading receiver in USC history. That right there is production. That is Terrell Suggs style production. Yet, we passed on him for the inferior, smaller Troy Williamson.
As Vikings fans, let’s hope Mike Williams doesn’t become the next Terrell Suggs and Troy Williamson doesn’t become the next Mike Mamula. Unfortunately it’s a very distinct possibility that Mr. Williamson is the next Mamula and Mr. Williams will be sipping Mai Tai’s with Suggs in Hawaii in a couple of years.
Friday, April 22, 2005
"Let's Ball" - My NBA reality show idea
I’ve created a new TV show that should be aired on NBC. Since reality show is the buzz word of the day (or am I two years too late?) this is going to be a contest-themed reality show.
We have already run the gamut of shows; from business, to surviving on an island to being the best comic. An untapped resource that executives have is sport-themed reality shows. We are just starting to get there with “The Contender” but there is so much more that can be utilized.
Contest-themed reality shows follow a pretty simple formula to become successful. There is a group of people and each week, one of them is somehow eliminated until there is one left standing.
I propose we put the sports angle together with the contest-themed reality show and create a show called “Let’s Ball.”
Premise: 14 basketball players are put together in a house and put through different skill contests. There are playground legends, former college players, former NBA players, and European players. Everyone has one dream; to reach the pinnacle of success that is the NBA.
There will be various skill drills throughout the show where the contestant has a chance to get a “1 seed” and advance through to the next week. Each week will also feature a 5-on-5, 3-on-3 or 1-on-1 game. The loser of each of those games will be subject to elimination by the judges.
Charles Barkley, David Stern and Bill Simmons will be the three judges, playing the roles of Donald Trump, Carolyn and George.
The last player left standing will receive a 10 day NBA contract (or possibly a one year NBDL contract).
Why people will watch it: An average of 17,000 fans comes to every NBA game during the year. Hundreds of thousands more watch games on TV. We have an untapped resource that is clamoring for more NBA action.
Many of these are die-hard fans and want to see people they saw in college play in the pros. Many of them don’t have a chance to do that, so this would be a forum for them to watch.
People are also drawn to Charles Barkley like moths to a flame. He’ll be to “Let’s Ball” what Donald Trump is to the Apprentice; instant credibility and a drawing card. People will also be drawn to Bill Simmons for his sarcasm and unique observations. Remember, at one time, no one knew who Simon Cowell was, now everyone does. Same thing with Simmons.
Why the NBA and NBC would want this: This can be an instant tie-in with the “NBA on NBC” theme. As viewers start to watch this, we can go down to a live finish and have the player signing their 10 day contract and the next day will be their first game on NBC. This player would then be a drawing card for the rest of the time he’s on this team. (Bobcats maybe?)
As we’ve seen with reality TV people, they become quasi-celebrities. The NBA and NBC can cash in on this by exploiting the person who wins. The person will be someone that America wants to see and it could draw a whole new group of fans to the NBA. There really is no loser in this situation.
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Scattered Eggs
I think Blind Justice is possibly the stupidest premise for a TV show ever, and you have to remember that Jenny McCarthy and Pauly Shore both had their own sitcoms. Makes you wonder who is really making the calls in Hollywood.
If I had to lose one sense for the rest of my life, I think I’d lose touch. I don’t know if that’s possible or not, but I think it’s the one that I would miss the least.
How do people get the jobs for those local commercials? Are there casting calls? First hick that walks by who has all their teeth? I mean seriously, it can’t be a very stringent screening process.
If I were on Let’s Make a Deal, I think I would always go for door number 3. It just seems like it’s the safest to me.
Why do they call it an American flag? It just doesn’t make much sense to me.
If I won 75 dollars in the lottery, I think I would spend it all on having Bill Paxton and Bill Pullman pretend to be in a mirror across from each other. I think I could set that up for 75 dollars.
“What happens when you put Ozzie Canseco, Frank Stallone, Don Swayze and Ashlee Simpson in a house together? Next, Don challenges Ashlee to a dance off while Frank arm wrestles Ozzie for the last Twinkie. You can only see ‘The Shallow End of the Gene Pool’ next. On UPN…”
I love knock-offs. Always have, always will. My friends had Transformers, I had Go-Bots. My friends collected Topps baseball cards; I collected O-Pee-Chee. My friends wore Levi’s, I wore Wrangler. It’s a wonder I even made it through grade school.
I once signed a Nolan Ryan card and traded it to some kid while he was under the assumption the autograph was real. Let’s do the math; how often is someone going to trade you a Nolan Ryan autograph for a Gregg Jeffries card? It’s like shopping in the cereal aisle with morons.
I don’t think I’ve ever been happier than when Rebecca from America’s Next Top Model fainted a couple of weeks ago. It still brings a smile to my face. And yes, I will probably end up next to Emilio Estevez in hell.
“I know we will be in touch” – quote in yearbook signature from Emily Schultz senior year. Why even write this? Why? Why did I have her sign it? Did I sign hers? What did I write? I never talked to her.
If I had to lose one sense for the rest of my life, I think I’d lose touch. I don’t know if that’s possible or not, but I think it’s the one that I would miss the least.
How do people get the jobs for those local commercials? Are there casting calls? First hick that walks by who has all their teeth? I mean seriously, it can’t be a very stringent screening process.
If I were on Let’s Make a Deal, I think I would always go for door number 3. It just seems like it’s the safest to me.
Why do they call it an American flag? It just doesn’t make much sense to me.
If I won 75 dollars in the lottery, I think I would spend it all on having Bill Paxton and Bill Pullman pretend to be in a mirror across from each other. I think I could set that up for 75 dollars.
“What happens when you put Ozzie Canseco, Frank Stallone, Don Swayze and Ashlee Simpson in a house together? Next, Don challenges Ashlee to a dance off while Frank arm wrestles Ozzie for the last Twinkie. You can only see ‘The Shallow End of the Gene Pool’ next. On UPN…”
I love knock-offs. Always have, always will. My friends had Transformers, I had Go-Bots. My friends collected Topps baseball cards; I collected O-Pee-Chee. My friends wore Levi’s, I wore Wrangler. It’s a wonder I even made it through grade school.
I once signed a Nolan Ryan card and traded it to some kid while he was under the assumption the autograph was real. Let’s do the math; how often is someone going to trade you a Nolan Ryan autograph for a Gregg Jeffries card? It’s like shopping in the cereal aisle with morons.
I don’t think I’ve ever been happier than when Rebecca from America’s Next Top Model fainted a couple of weeks ago. It still brings a smile to my face. And yes, I will probably end up next to Emilio Estevez in hell.
“I know we will be in touch” – quote in yearbook signature from Emily Schultz senior year. Why even write this? Why? Why did I have her sign it? Did I sign hers? What did I write? I never talked to her.
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Wolves thoughts...
Yes, the wolves are officially out of the playoffs. Nothing they can do about it now. Before two games ago, there was a slim chance. Kind of like there is a slim chance that Tara Reid gets caught making out with Colin Powell in the Pope Mobile on the way to Jamba Juice to announce that Tara is pregnant with Kang or Kodos alien love child. Yes, I mean that kind of slim. But now their ship has sailed. And we move into the next phase: the draft lottery.
Ahhh…the draft lottery. As Timberwolves fans, we haven’t got to be here for years. The ping-pong balls haven’t mattered in the longest time. But, I have to admit, I’m a little bit excited. Not for not making the playoffs and participating in the ping-pong ball selection. No, that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m excited to see Kevin McHale sitting there as the representative for the Wolves. He’s going to look like Travis Coates right before he had to go shoot Old Yeller. There’s a very real chance that he will go Rashard Lewis on us and start crying when the Wolves are announced as having the last lottery pick. I can’t wait for this. This is like Christmas for me.
Or…and this may be better…maybe he gets one of the top three picks. Along with Elgin Baylor. Then, they’ll execute some sort of awkward high-five, hand grabbing combo that makes the whole nation blush at the same time. Then, they can replay it over and over and over and over again on Sports Center. They could even make a video on “How Not to High Five” and have special guests, Robert Kraft of the New England Patriots and Mark Cuban of the Dallas Mavericks. I can’t be the only person who would watch this.
Mmmm…lottery pick. Do we have another William Avery on our hands?
Do you think Latrell Sprewell feels like Homer Simpson on the episode where Homer goes to Happy Widow’s Insurance?
McHale: Now before we give you an extension, I have to ask you a few questions.
Spree: Questions! Questions! My whole scheme down the -- [realizes] I mean ask away.
McHale: Now, under "gives a crap", you crossed out never and wrote always.
Spree: Oh, I thought that said "is out for himself".
McHale: All right. Here's your contract.
Spree: Now let me tell you something, Mr. Sucker. I just--
McHale: Wait, you haven't signed it yet.
Spree: [takes pen] Oh, yeah, I-- [gags] ...must...sign...extension!
McHale: [pulling contract] I'm sorry, sir, we can't re-sign you!
Spree: I made an L!
McHale: That doesn't count!
Spree: Looks like an X.
[McHale manages to pull it away]
McHale: We better get you to a hospital.
Spree: Can I have a free calendar?
McHale: OK.
What is Wally’s deal? All of the sudden, he’s like one of those women who say that everything is okay when it’s really not and he’s at the atomic explosion stage, where the husband would be sleeping in the car, listening to CCR and wondering what the hell happened. Is that how McHale feels now?
McHale: Wally, what’s wrong?
Wally: Nothing.
McHale: I can tell something is bothering you.
Wally: No, it’s fine. Everything is good.
McHale: OK then. (turns back to his paper)
Wally: It’s just that, I should be starting.
McHale: What?
Wally: Well, I worked really hard and I should start.
McHale: But you volunteered to come off the bench.
Wally: I thought that’s what you wanted.
McHale: Well, next time, why don’t you say what you actually mean?
Wally: I HATE IT HERE AND I DON’T WANT TO BE WITH YOU ANYMORE!
Ahhh…the draft lottery. As Timberwolves fans, we haven’t got to be here for years. The ping-pong balls haven’t mattered in the longest time. But, I have to admit, I’m a little bit excited. Not for not making the playoffs and participating in the ping-pong ball selection. No, that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m excited to see Kevin McHale sitting there as the representative for the Wolves. He’s going to look like Travis Coates right before he had to go shoot Old Yeller. There’s a very real chance that he will go Rashard Lewis on us and start crying when the Wolves are announced as having the last lottery pick. I can’t wait for this. This is like Christmas for me.
Or…and this may be better…maybe he gets one of the top three picks. Along with Elgin Baylor. Then, they’ll execute some sort of awkward high-five, hand grabbing combo that makes the whole nation blush at the same time. Then, they can replay it over and over and over and over again on Sports Center. They could even make a video on “How Not to High Five” and have special guests, Robert Kraft of the New England Patriots and Mark Cuban of the Dallas Mavericks. I can’t be the only person who would watch this.
Mmmm…lottery pick. Do we have another William Avery on our hands?
Do you think Latrell Sprewell feels like Homer Simpson on the episode where Homer goes to Happy Widow’s Insurance?
McHale: Now before we give you an extension, I have to ask you a few questions.
Spree: Questions! Questions! My whole scheme down the -- [realizes] I mean ask away.
McHale: Now, under "gives a crap", you crossed out never and wrote always.
Spree: Oh, I thought that said "is out for himself".
McHale: All right. Here's your contract.
Spree: Now let me tell you something, Mr. Sucker. I just--
McHale: Wait, you haven't signed it yet.
Spree: [takes pen] Oh, yeah, I-- [gags] ...must...sign...extension!
McHale: [pulling contract] I'm sorry, sir, we can't re-sign you!
Spree: I made an L!
McHale: That doesn't count!
Spree: Looks like an X.
[McHale manages to pull it away]
McHale: We better get you to a hospital.
Spree: Can I have a free calendar?
McHale: OK.
What is Wally’s deal? All of the sudden, he’s like one of those women who say that everything is okay when it’s really not and he’s at the atomic explosion stage, where the husband would be sleeping in the car, listening to CCR and wondering what the hell happened. Is that how McHale feels now?
McHale: Wally, what’s wrong?
Wally: Nothing.
McHale: I can tell something is bothering you.
Wally: No, it’s fine. Everything is good.
McHale: OK then. (turns back to his paper)
Wally: It’s just that, I should be starting.
McHale: What?
Wally: Well, I worked really hard and I should start.
McHale: But you volunteered to come off the bench.
Wally: I thought that’s what you wanted.
McHale: Well, next time, why don’t you say what you actually mean?
Wally: I HATE IT HERE AND I DON’T WANT TO BE WITH YOU ANYMORE!
Monday, April 18, 2005
Things I Learned in Duluth
Evan Williams does not take any prisoners.
Four dollar pitchers of Long Island Iced Tea are not a good idea. The man who came up with this promotion needs to be shot. I can’t say this often enough.
“He turned the stare and creep into the creep and take pictures.”
“Where’s that huge bitch? I gotta get a picture of her!”
Girls do not dig it when guys talk to them about their favorite websites. It frightens them and they create Bugs Bunny holes in the wall while trying to escape from you.
Some people are way too good at making togas.
"Did you take a bite out of my muffin?"
"If only someone would have taken a picture of it, we could get to the bottom of this mystery."
A house can never have too many couches.
A party is not a party unless there is rap music playing. Who wants to listen to John Mayer?
Bea Arthur used to be kind of hot when she was younger.
The triple cheeseburger at Wendy’s is very delicious but it is too much for one man; especially when you combine it with about a gallon of E-Dub later in the night.
“I saw you last night.”
“He seemed pretty cool; he let me take his picture.”
“Then I guess the whole bar seemed pretty cool last night.”
Circus performers have business cards.
Do not talk to girls about the internet!! I can not stress this point enough.
Having a wandering eye does not make you more attractive.
Some people keep a mattress in their living room. What for, I don’t know, but it sure turned out handy.
Four dollar pitchers of Long Island Iced Tea are not a good idea. The man who came up with this promotion needs to be shot. I can’t say this often enough.
“He turned the stare and creep into the creep and take pictures.”
“Where’s that huge bitch? I gotta get a picture of her!”
Girls do not dig it when guys talk to them about their favorite websites. It frightens them and they create Bugs Bunny holes in the wall while trying to escape from you.
Some people are way too good at making togas.
"Did you take a bite out of my muffin?"
"If only someone would have taken a picture of it, we could get to the bottom of this mystery."
A house can never have too many couches.
A party is not a party unless there is rap music playing. Who wants to listen to John Mayer?
Bea Arthur used to be kind of hot when she was younger.
The triple cheeseburger at Wendy’s is very delicious but it is too much for one man; especially when you combine it with about a gallon of E-Dub later in the night.
“I saw you last night.”
“He seemed pretty cool; he let me take his picture.”
“Then I guess the whole bar seemed pretty cool last night.”
Circus performers have business cards.
Do not talk to girls about the internet!! I can not stress this point enough.
Having a wandering eye does not make you more attractive.
Some people keep a mattress in their living room. What for, I don’t know, but it sure turned out handy.
Friday, April 15, 2005
Nightmare on Elm Street 52
Freddy Kruger and Udeze the Unicorn were sitting in Johnny’s Hot Spot, a little dive bar hidden away in old town Spokane. Johnny’s was just about to close up shop for the night when the most unexpected thing happened.
After years and years of torturing children, Freddy had finally met his match. Though he’d been rejuvenated more times than the cast of Saved by the Bell, this was the time he finally met his end. It all started innocently enough.
“Get me and my buddy here another shot of E-Dub!!” Freddy hollered at the bartender as he wrapped his arm around Udeze’s neck. The bartender didn’t argue. Though he thought the two of them had had enough, you don’t ever mess with Freddy and you sure as hell don’t mess with Udeze. Hell, the bartender didn’t even want to see Udeze, much less make him mad.
“Thanks for the shot. That was great of you. Hopefully I can return the favor sometime Seal.” Udeze said as he staggered to the side a bit. He wasn’t feeling too hot and this last shot probably wasn’t going to help. But the burned man had bought it for him and he couldn’t just turn down free booze.
“You know what. I’ve never seen a Unicorn before in my life.” Freddy stammered at Udeze. Freddy had been shocked earlier in the evening when he walked into Johnny’s and had spied the unusual creature.
“Well, we normally go to Tony’s down the block but I went here to look for a little action. They say the horn attracts the ladies. Apparently, they’re wrong.” Udeze complained as he looked around and lamented the fact that he had no ladies.
“Seriously though, I have never seen one of you guys ever! I thought you were extinct!”
Udeze bristled at the suggestion. Unbeknownst to Freddy, unicorns were actually mythical, like Winnie the Pooh and Andrew Lloyd Webber. They are also known for an extremely aggressive temperament and are hard of hearing. All of these are things that Freddy wished he knew before he made his innocent comment.
All of the sudden, Udeze bucked his front legs high into the air like a wild stallion. This caused Freddy to tumble to the ground, spilling his drink in the process. Freddy looked up into Udeze’s eyes and all he saw was pure hatred.
Udeze started to drive his front legs into the ground as if a race were just starting; at that exact moment, Freddy was on his knees and working his way to a standing position. Just as Freddy took a breath, Udeze drove his horn into the center of Freddy’s chest and out his back.
Freddy’s heart hung off the horn like a plastic necklace off a three year old. Freddy slowly slumped to the side as the life left his body. Udeze shook his from head side to side to get Freddy’s body to drop off of his horn. Freddy crumpled down to the ground and sunk into a ball.
Udeze looked at the terrified bartender. “Ask him who stinks now.” Udeze cried out as he spit on Freddy and galloped out of Johnny’s.
After years and years of torturing children, Freddy had finally met his match. Though he’d been rejuvenated more times than the cast of Saved by the Bell, this was the time he finally met his end. It all started innocently enough.
“Get me and my buddy here another shot of E-Dub!!” Freddy hollered at the bartender as he wrapped his arm around Udeze’s neck. The bartender didn’t argue. Though he thought the two of them had had enough, you don’t ever mess with Freddy and you sure as hell don’t mess with Udeze. Hell, the bartender didn’t even want to see Udeze, much less make him mad.
“Thanks for the shot. That was great of you. Hopefully I can return the favor sometime Seal.” Udeze said as he staggered to the side a bit. He wasn’t feeling too hot and this last shot probably wasn’t going to help. But the burned man had bought it for him and he couldn’t just turn down free booze.
“You know what. I’ve never seen a Unicorn before in my life.” Freddy stammered at Udeze. Freddy had been shocked earlier in the evening when he walked into Johnny’s and had spied the unusual creature.
“Well, we normally go to Tony’s down the block but I went here to look for a little action. They say the horn attracts the ladies. Apparently, they’re wrong.” Udeze complained as he looked around and lamented the fact that he had no ladies.
“Seriously though, I have never seen one of you guys ever! I thought you were extinct!”
Udeze bristled at the suggestion. Unbeknownst to Freddy, unicorns were actually mythical, like Winnie the Pooh and Andrew Lloyd Webber. They are also known for an extremely aggressive temperament and are hard of hearing. All of these are things that Freddy wished he knew before he made his innocent comment.
All of the sudden, Udeze bucked his front legs high into the air like a wild stallion. This caused Freddy to tumble to the ground, spilling his drink in the process. Freddy looked up into Udeze’s eyes and all he saw was pure hatred.
Udeze started to drive his front legs into the ground as if a race were just starting; at that exact moment, Freddy was on his knees and working his way to a standing position. Just as Freddy took a breath, Udeze drove his horn into the center of Freddy’s chest and out his back.
Freddy’s heart hung off the horn like a plastic necklace off a three year old. Freddy slowly slumped to the side as the life left his body. Udeze shook his from head side to side to get Freddy’s body to drop off of his horn. Freddy crumpled down to the ground and sunk into a ball.
Udeze looked at the terrified bartender. “Ask him who stinks now.” Udeze cried out as he spit on Freddy and galloped out of Johnny’s.
Thursday, April 14, 2005
ESPN
I don’t want to panic anyone, but something is not right over at ESPN. I don’t know if somehow they are drinking Mexican water and everyone is hallucinating or if Nate Newton left his water bong unattended and everyone helped themselves to it. Either way, something is terribly wrong.
Chris Mortensen and Scouts Inc are both reporting that the Minnesota Vikings are going to take a RB if Mike Williams and Braylon Edwards are gone and one of the “Big Three” (“Cadillac” Williams, Ronnie Brown, Cedric Benson) fall to them at number 7.
This is an absolutely ridiculous statement. They could say that Alex Smith can throw a football over them mountains and they would be just as accurate as saying the Vikes will take a RB.
When you have a bona-fide starter at a position, you don’t use your pick to take someone at the same position; you use the pick to take someone who is at a weak position for you. That would mean the Vikings would take a receiver, a DE/LB or an offensive lineman; not a running back. No one is claiming the Charges are clamoring to trade up with the Browns so they can take Aaron Rodgers to compete with Philip Rivers and Drew Brees; because that wouldn’t make any sense.
Yet, they are reporting that the Vikings are going to take a running back to compete with Michael Bennett, Onterrio Smith, Mewelde Moore and Moe Williams? In that group, we have a former Pro-Bowler, someone who has averaged 5 yards a carry in his career, a rookie who averaged 5.8 YPC last year, and someone who can punch the ball in from three yards out nearly every time.
The other thing that has been mentioned is that the Vikes may take Benson and then try to trade him. Really? When the Colts and Seahawks can’t move two All-Pro backs, who do the Vikings think they would get for Benson? There is no one out there to trade with. Just because you drafted him high, it doesn’t mean someone is going to give you equal value in return. James and Alexander are being shopped for less than a first round pick; yet, you want to use your first round pick on a running back and trade him?
So, as you can see, what they’re reporting doesn’t make a lick of sense and if it happens, someone needs to go “old school WWF” on Mike Tice, hit him over the head with a chair and put the loyal Vikings fans out of their misery.
In the end, I hope someone fixes the water problem or the guys can lay off the pipe for awhile so ESPN can go back to reporting things that could conceivably happen, instead of reporting blatant half-truths and misleading the general public.
Unless they’re trying to get the Bucs to draft Benson instead of Williams by trickery, then I agree with their ploy…
Chris Mortensen and Scouts Inc are both reporting that the Minnesota Vikings are going to take a RB if Mike Williams and Braylon Edwards are gone and one of the “Big Three” (“Cadillac” Williams, Ronnie Brown, Cedric Benson) fall to them at number 7.
This is an absolutely ridiculous statement. They could say that Alex Smith can throw a football over them mountains and they would be just as accurate as saying the Vikes will take a RB.
When you have a bona-fide starter at a position, you don’t use your pick to take someone at the same position; you use the pick to take someone who is at a weak position for you. That would mean the Vikings would take a receiver, a DE/LB or an offensive lineman; not a running back. No one is claiming the Charges are clamoring to trade up with the Browns so they can take Aaron Rodgers to compete with Philip Rivers and Drew Brees; because that wouldn’t make any sense.
Yet, they are reporting that the Vikings are going to take a running back to compete with Michael Bennett, Onterrio Smith, Mewelde Moore and Moe Williams? In that group, we have a former Pro-Bowler, someone who has averaged 5 yards a carry in his career, a rookie who averaged 5.8 YPC last year, and someone who can punch the ball in from three yards out nearly every time.
The other thing that has been mentioned is that the Vikes may take Benson and then try to trade him. Really? When the Colts and Seahawks can’t move two All-Pro backs, who do the Vikings think they would get for Benson? There is no one out there to trade with. Just because you drafted him high, it doesn’t mean someone is going to give you equal value in return. James and Alexander are being shopped for less than a first round pick; yet, you want to use your first round pick on a running back and trade him?
So, as you can see, what they’re reporting doesn’t make a lick of sense and if it happens, someone needs to go “old school WWF” on Mike Tice, hit him over the head with a chair and put the loyal Vikings fans out of their misery.
In the end, I hope someone fixes the water problem or the guys can lay off the pipe for awhile so ESPN can go back to reporting things that could conceivably happen, instead of reporting blatant half-truths and misleading the general public.
Unless they’re trying to get the Bucs to draft Benson instead of Williams by trickery, then I agree with their ploy…
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
Dear Webster Long,
This is a little embarrassing because I’ve never written a letter like this before. It’s just that I feel such a kinship with you, it transcends all known boundaries. I feel like we have developed a closeness that very few humans can even describe. I am sure the feeling is mutual.
I have watched you from afar for years, but I’m sure you know that. I think we have so much in common, it makes my teeth hurt! Though I am neither short, nor black, nor did my parents die and leave me with an ex-NFL football player. Come to think of it, maybe we don’t have that much in common. But I’m sure our mutual love of Transformers and Garbage Pail Kids will get us through the tough times.
I’ve always wondered; how cool was it to have a dumbwaiter? If I had a magic genie and he only could grant me three wishes and there was none of that “wishing for more wishes bull”, I know exactly what my three wishes would be. My first wish would to be able to set the world record for largest beard of bees. My second wish would to be able to have a pen that could write in two different colors at the exact same time! Can you imagine the possibilities? And my third wish would be to live in a house, for even just one night, which has a dumbwaiter! I don’t think that’s too much to ask for. But my magic genie hasn’t appeared yet. So, when I stop over to visit you the next time, hopefully we can play in the dumbwaiter.
Enclosed, you will find a 5x7 I took of you eating a Happy Meal at the McDonald’s in Queens. It looks like you were having it with a cheeseburger. Savvy choice my pint sized friend. Please sign it and send it back to me. I am your biggest fan!
Signed,
Brent Nelson
I have watched you from afar for years, but I’m sure you know that. I think we have so much in common, it makes my teeth hurt! Though I am neither short, nor black, nor did my parents die and leave me with an ex-NFL football player. Come to think of it, maybe we don’t have that much in common. But I’m sure our mutual love of Transformers and Garbage Pail Kids will get us through the tough times.
I’ve always wondered; how cool was it to have a dumbwaiter? If I had a magic genie and he only could grant me three wishes and there was none of that “wishing for more wishes bull”, I know exactly what my three wishes would be. My first wish would to be able to set the world record for largest beard of bees. My second wish would to be able to have a pen that could write in two different colors at the exact same time! Can you imagine the possibilities? And my third wish would be to live in a house, for even just one night, which has a dumbwaiter! I don’t think that’s too much to ask for. But my magic genie hasn’t appeared yet. So, when I stop over to visit you the next time, hopefully we can play in the dumbwaiter.
Enclosed, you will find a 5x7 I took of you eating a Happy Meal at the McDonald’s in Queens. It looks like you were having it with a cheeseburger. Savvy choice my pint sized friend. Please sign it and send it back to me. I am your biggest fan!
Signed,
Brent Nelson
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Great jokes!!
It's all in the delivery people!
Q: How did the kangaroo feel when the walrus stole his last smoke?
A: Hopping mad!!
Q: Knock, knock.
A: Who's there?
Q: Karl.
A: Karl who?
Q: Thompson!
An eskimo and a polar bear run into each other on an iceburg. The eskimo kills and eats the polar bear.
Q: What's the difference between ketchup and catsup?
A: Nothing!
Q: Who was the greatest explorer of all time?
A: Magellan!!
Q: If Britney Spears and K-Fed procreate, how dumb will the child be?
A: Very!
Q: What's the difference between a horse?
A: The long face!
Q: What's the difference between frosting and a tree stump?
A: Frosting goes on cupcakes!
Q: How did the kangaroo feel when the walrus stole his last smoke?
A: Hopping mad!!
Q: Knock, knock.
A: Who's there?
Q: Karl.
A: Karl who?
Q: Thompson!
An eskimo and a polar bear run into each other on an iceburg. The eskimo kills and eats the polar bear.
Q: What's the difference between ketchup and catsup?
A: Nothing!
Q: Who was the greatest explorer of all time?
A: Magellan!!
Q: If Britney Spears and K-Fed procreate, how dumb will the child be?
A: Very!
Q: What's the difference between a horse?
A: The long face!
Q: What's the difference between frosting and a tree stump?
A: Frosting goes on cupcakes!
Monday, April 11, 2005
Scattered Eggs
You know how when you get pulled over, you have that brief adrenaline rush where you think “I can beat these guys” and you think about trying to run from the cops? But then you realize that they’re gonna track you down and basically pull a Zed on you when they catch you. So, you cave in, bow to the pressure and pull over, because it’s just going to make it easier in the long run. Do you think that’s the feeling Chris DiMarco got when he found out he was in a playoff at the Masters and then found out it was against Tiger Woods?
You have to be a certain kind of guy to be able to pull off the Miami Vice look nowadays. “Out of work” comes to mind.
If I were going to go back in time and compete on American Gladiators, I think the one event I would want to do is the Human Cannonball against Laser. I’m not saying I’d beat him, but I think that would give me my best chance at victory.
If Chris Sabo could do it all over again, do you think he’d still wear the Rec-Specs? Or do you think he’d bite the bullet and get some contacts?
Has there been a better game show host than Ray Combs? If so, I haven’t seen him. Looks, personality, charm; that man had it all. If it wasn’t for his unfortunate suicide, he would have had the greatest life ever. Man, I bet he rolled over in his grave when he saw Al from Home Improvement was hosting the Feud!
I can’t imagine dating Jenna Jameson. How in the world could she not judge me? And if she says I’m the best, how can that not be a lie? If she says I’m the 1,459th best she’s had, how is that not disheartening? It seems like a lose-lose situation to me.
If I were to cross-breed any two animals in the world, it would definitely be a parrot and an elephant. I think that’s pretty obvious. I won’t even argue about that one.
You know you’re hard up for entertainment when you go running down the stairs to watch your roommate put a piece of rotten chicken down the garbage disposal. Not that that happened. I’m just sayin’…that’s the exact millisecond when you know you might want to get a life.
I don’t think I could ever bring myself to make out with a girl who was wearing a do-rag. That’s below even my standards.
If I were Jim Abbott, there is no way I go out to the mound without a hook on my nub. No way in hell. Why is this even a discussion? If you have a nub, cover it up. I don’t care if you want to go old-school pirate hook, over-sized novelty foam finger or a spork; get something on there!
I don’t think anyone ever took Oil Can Boyd seriously. Some people would say it’s because he went by Oil Can instead of Dennis but I think it had to do with that fugly blue glove he wore on his 1988 Topps card. Talk about a career killer!
Speaking of 1988 Topps, was there a more overrated item on a baseball card than the little “All Rookie Team” gold cup in the lower right corner? Jeez, the way I tried to trade for those, you would think that was made out of actual gold. I can’t believe that Mike Greenwell, Ellis Burks, Kevin Seitzer, Matt Nokes and the whole lot of them have made me nothing. Thanks a lot Topps. I guess I can take those cards out of their cases and toss them in the trash along with my garbage pail kids and sense of self worth.
You have to be a certain kind of guy to be able to pull off the Miami Vice look nowadays. “Out of work” comes to mind.
If I were going to go back in time and compete on American Gladiators, I think the one event I would want to do is the Human Cannonball against Laser. I’m not saying I’d beat him, but I think that would give me my best chance at victory.
If Chris Sabo could do it all over again, do you think he’d still wear the Rec-Specs? Or do you think he’d bite the bullet and get some contacts?
Has there been a better game show host than Ray Combs? If so, I haven’t seen him. Looks, personality, charm; that man had it all. If it wasn’t for his unfortunate suicide, he would have had the greatest life ever. Man, I bet he rolled over in his grave when he saw Al from Home Improvement was hosting the Feud!
I can’t imagine dating Jenna Jameson. How in the world could she not judge me? And if she says I’m the best, how can that not be a lie? If she says I’m the 1,459th best she’s had, how is that not disheartening? It seems like a lose-lose situation to me.
If I were to cross-breed any two animals in the world, it would definitely be a parrot and an elephant. I think that’s pretty obvious. I won’t even argue about that one.
You know you’re hard up for entertainment when you go running down the stairs to watch your roommate put a piece of rotten chicken down the garbage disposal. Not that that happened. I’m just sayin’…that’s the exact millisecond when you know you might want to get a life.
I don’t think I could ever bring myself to make out with a girl who was wearing a do-rag. That’s below even my standards.
If I were Jim Abbott, there is no way I go out to the mound without a hook on my nub. No way in hell. Why is this even a discussion? If you have a nub, cover it up. I don’t care if you want to go old-school pirate hook, over-sized novelty foam finger or a spork; get something on there!
I don’t think anyone ever took Oil Can Boyd seriously. Some people would say it’s because he went by Oil Can instead of Dennis but I think it had to do with that fugly blue glove he wore on his 1988 Topps card. Talk about a career killer!
Speaking of 1988 Topps, was there a more overrated item on a baseball card than the little “All Rookie Team” gold cup in the lower right corner? Jeez, the way I tried to trade for those, you would think that was made out of actual gold. I can’t believe that Mike Greenwell, Ellis Burks, Kevin Seitzer, Matt Nokes and the whole lot of them have made me nothing. Thanks a lot Topps. I guess I can take those cards out of their cases and toss them in the trash along with my garbage pail kids and sense of self worth.
Sunday, April 10, 2005
Yearbook Quote - Todd Casey '98
Nellie -
You're a good basketball player but by the end of the summer I will be crushing you. This summer we should go to Denny's every day. We probably will because I might work there. It's just to bad that you are stupid enough to go to Miami instead of Indiana. After one year you will be sick of it and Bobby then you'll come to IU and be a Hoosier.
- Todd Casey
You're a good basketball player but by the end of the summer I will be crushing you. This summer we should go to Denny's every day. We probably will because I might work there. It's just to bad that you are stupid enough to go to Miami instead of Indiana. After one year you will be sick of it and Bobby then you'll come to IU and be a Hoosier.
- Todd Casey
Friday, April 08, 2005
Apprentice XII
Since numerous people have requested it, I will now do the Apprentice updates in a running clock fashion, similar to Bill Simmons. And when I say numerous people requested it, I mean no one. Since I’m 94% sure that no one reads any of my Apprentice recaps. They’re kind of like Saved by the Bell: The New Class; you know they’re there, you just don’t care.
8:00 – recaps blow.
8:04 – Chris is going to stay more in control of himself. Hell, he quit chewing for two days; I don’t see why this can’t happen. What’s the over under on how fast he explodes this episode? 25 minutes?
8:13 – Chris is a moron.
8:14 – Wow, Trump steals an idea on that Domino’s commercial and makes it his own. Hmmm…just like real life. Maybe on the next commercial he should marry a pizza and divorce it ten minutes later.
8:17 – Doesn’t WT stand for White Trash? Won’t this be confusing for the consumer? Think about it. Would you name it PMS for Portable Magic Systems? No!
8:21 – Where was that card? How did it take that long to find it? Why don’t they answer these questions now?
8:24 – God this show is wearing on me. This recap is making me bored and so is the show. Man, I could go for a donut right now.
8:27 – How can you miss the presentation? Seriously, there’s only like two things you had to do the whole time; design some clothes and make the meeting. Christ, even a 4 year old can do both of these.
8:32 – Ohhh…this is painful to watch. This is the worst speech ever. Holy hell, Miss Finkenhaur would have given her an F plus. Terrible. Awful. Great balls of fire do they suck.
8:41 – I think the whole Net Worth team is terrible. I couldn’t fire as many of you as I wanted to, but I did fire one.
8:48 – Angie is judging the model just because he forgot the jacket. Sweet dumb-model voice too.
8:52 – I thought that Michelle woman was Helen Keller-esque at first. I can’t believe she finally talked.
8:57 – Well, Chris survives again. Nice. Whatever. Kendra is still gonna win. Rock and Roll.
8:00 – recaps blow.
8:04 – Chris is going to stay more in control of himself. Hell, he quit chewing for two days; I don’t see why this can’t happen. What’s the over under on how fast he explodes this episode? 25 minutes?
8:13 – Chris is a moron.
8:14 – Wow, Trump steals an idea on that Domino’s commercial and makes it his own. Hmmm…just like real life. Maybe on the next commercial he should marry a pizza and divorce it ten minutes later.
8:17 – Doesn’t WT stand for White Trash? Won’t this be confusing for the consumer? Think about it. Would you name it PMS for Portable Magic Systems? No!
8:21 – Where was that card? How did it take that long to find it? Why don’t they answer these questions now?
8:24 – God this show is wearing on me. This recap is making me bored and so is the show. Man, I could go for a donut right now.
8:27 – How can you miss the presentation? Seriously, there’s only like two things you had to do the whole time; design some clothes and make the meeting. Christ, even a 4 year old can do both of these.
8:32 – Ohhh…this is painful to watch. This is the worst speech ever. Holy hell, Miss Finkenhaur would have given her an F plus. Terrible. Awful. Great balls of fire do they suck.
8:41 – I think the whole Net Worth team is terrible. I couldn’t fire as many of you as I wanted to, but I did fire one.
8:48 – Angie is judging the model just because he forgot the jacket. Sweet dumb-model voice too.
8:52 – I thought that Michelle woman was Helen Keller-esque at first. I can’t believe she finally talked.
8:57 – Well, Chris survives again. Nice. Whatever. Kendra is still gonna win. Rock and Roll.
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
Non-sexual Man Crush
It was once wrong for a lady to show any hint of leg. (Look at the ankles on that one! Who does she think she is, Eleanor Roosevelt?) Similarly, it was once considered taboo for a man to show any outward attention towards another man. Such indiscretions could result in wedgies, Indian burns or even the gruesome Lord Flagpole.
But now the times have changed. Ladies are not looked down on for “Going Wild” to entertain the paying public (whether anyone wants to see them or not, Chyna) and men don’t have to live in fear of reprisal for having a Non-sexual Man Crush (NSMC) on someone.
This brings me to my point. Some people are behind the times. They still churn their own butter, refuse to pay the extra 12 dollars a month for TiVo and think it’s “weird” when a guy says he’s going to go see a movie just because Ryan Reynolds is in it.
Men have been doing this for years; it’s just that no one ever came up with a name for it. When our fathers were growing up, they always wanted to go see John Wayne in his new “talkie”. Was that because they were so interested in learning about the Wild West? No, it was because they had a NSMC on John Wayne and they wanted to be like him. They wanted to do everything he did, whether that meant riding a horse, shooting the bad guys or joining the Sigma Chi Fraternity and participating in the “Belt Game.” They felt a connection with him.
Other men besides actors that commonly have a NSMC on them include athletes and musicians.
I have noticed this phenomenon more since I have been participating in fantasy sports. It seems that I always want to draft or trade for the same people. I look at them like my children and I pick them to do well. When they do well, it makes me look good by winning my league. This tends to happen more frequently with younger players or people you have followed since they were rookies.
I have friends that always seem to draft football players that are right out of college for their fantasy teams. I have other friends that always seems to trade for the “next big thing” in baseball; a player who is a rookie and had outstanding minor league stats.
Is there anything wrong with this? No, as I have explained above, these people (myself included) are just displaying a healthy NSMC. It takes a man who is fully healthy in their sexual identity to be able to display such a crush.
So, unless you want to go back to the time where women wore swimming suits that were black with full length arms and legs instead of bikini’s that are too thin to floss with, you’ll evolve and keep an open mind when your friend mentions that he wants to go see the Amityville Horror because Ryan Reynolds is in it. Your friend isn’t gay; he’s just sharing his NSMC, which we all have.
Current Brent A. Nelson NSMC's:
Ryan Reynolds (Two Guys and a Girl fame? Hilarious!!)
Mark Teixeira (50 homer season? Sleeper MVP…)
Aubrey Huff (1B, 3B, OF plus .300 avg and 35 HR? Yes please…)
Michael Cuddyer (Look at his eligibility!)
Yhency Brazoban (Taking over for Eric Gagne as the next…Eric Gagne)
But now the times have changed. Ladies are not looked down on for “Going Wild” to entertain the paying public (whether anyone wants to see them or not, Chyna) and men don’t have to live in fear of reprisal for having a Non-sexual Man Crush (NSMC) on someone.
This brings me to my point. Some people are behind the times. They still churn their own butter, refuse to pay the extra 12 dollars a month for TiVo and think it’s “weird” when a guy says he’s going to go see a movie just because Ryan Reynolds is in it.
Men have been doing this for years; it’s just that no one ever came up with a name for it. When our fathers were growing up, they always wanted to go see John Wayne in his new “talkie”. Was that because they were so interested in learning about the Wild West? No, it was because they had a NSMC on John Wayne and they wanted to be like him. They wanted to do everything he did, whether that meant riding a horse, shooting the bad guys or joining the Sigma Chi Fraternity and participating in the “Belt Game.” They felt a connection with him.
Other men besides actors that commonly have a NSMC on them include athletes and musicians.
I have noticed this phenomenon more since I have been participating in fantasy sports. It seems that I always want to draft or trade for the same people. I look at them like my children and I pick them to do well. When they do well, it makes me look good by winning my league. This tends to happen more frequently with younger players or people you have followed since they were rookies.
I have friends that always seem to draft football players that are right out of college for their fantasy teams. I have other friends that always seems to trade for the “next big thing” in baseball; a player who is a rookie and had outstanding minor league stats.
Is there anything wrong with this? No, as I have explained above, these people (myself included) are just displaying a healthy NSMC. It takes a man who is fully healthy in their sexual identity to be able to display such a crush.
So, unless you want to go back to the time where women wore swimming suits that were black with full length arms and legs instead of bikini’s that are too thin to floss with, you’ll evolve and keep an open mind when your friend mentions that he wants to go see the Amityville Horror because Ryan Reynolds is in it. Your friend isn’t gay; he’s just sharing his NSMC, which we all have.
Current Brent A. Nelson NSMC's:
Ryan Reynolds (Two Guys and a Girl fame? Hilarious!!)
Mark Teixeira (50 homer season? Sleeper MVP…)
Aubrey Huff (1B, 3B, OF plus .300 avg and 35 HR? Yes please…)
Michael Cuddyer (Look at his eligibility!)
Yhency Brazoban (Taking over for Eric Gagne as the next…Eric Gagne)
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
Two quick stories and some thank you's...
- So I talked to HEH last night...and her "friend might be coming into town this week" so she'll "let me know" and "give me a call later this week" if she is "available to do something." Wow! Really? You spoil me! You make me feel so special. Cripes, I feel like Screech in gym class, waiting to get picked for dodge ball.
Man, am I ever grateful that she is allowing me to be her back-up! Think of the possibilities! If she absolutely can't find anything else to do, she might do something with me. Might! Maybe! Let me mark that one down on my calendar. I'm floating right now. I am channeling David Blaine right at this moment. I am actually floating at the prospect of possibly doing something this weekend.
You can't see it but I look like I just ate the Ziggy Piggy from Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure. Extremely happy. Elated. This is the best news I've gotten since I found out that Mountain Dew doesn’t really make your wang shrink. Holy cat’s man! She’s making me look like Milton Waddams trying to pick up chicks at the office Christmas party.
That being said, if she calls, I will still go out with her. Because, let's face it, it beats staying home and playing pinochle with my “very real” internet friends.
- I used to play basketball with this kid in 8th grade. His name was Kevin Johnson. No, he was of no relation to the real Kevin Johnson. He was the fake Kevin Johnson. Not the point. The kid's nickname was Airball. You know why? This ain't rocket science. He shot so many damn air balls we had to name him that. It’s like when you see a kid keep getting punched in the face; you start to call him bag.
Our coach was obsessed with him though. So, every time it came to crunch time, the play would call for Airball to shoot a three. Inevitably, he would air ball it. It was horrible. Talk about a horrible strategy. Isaiah Thomas couldn’t find a way to mess up a team this badly.
The coach was named Ruben. I don't know if that was his real name or if it was a nickname after the sandwich. Either way, I think Ruben had a non-sexual, man-boy connection with Airball. Not that it matters, but Ruben was black and Airball was white. I just don't think society was ready yet.
The point of this story? I still reminisce about 8th grade “B” league traveling basketball and get all uppity over a coach that didn’t have a sound strategy. Lazy volunteers.
- Thanks to Kayse for e-mailing me with comments, though they’re normally just to berate what I’ve said.
Thanks to QJL for making constructive criticism on The Cabbie. Your help is always appreciated.
Thanks to Trete for keeping me entertained with billions upon billions of potential fantasy baseball trades.
Monday, April 04, 2005
The Cabbie
Damn you Vegas!
I was next in line to get a cab. I was at the end of a marathon No Limit Texas Hold’em session and I needed to be at the airport in 15 minutes if I was going to make my flight. I’ve missed flights before, but not in Vegas. After the weekend I had, I was seriously thinking of never coming back.
The heat was that gross, muggy heat that made you wish for the sweet release of death. You could see the heat radiating off of everything. The plastic safety cones used to direct traffic were melting. It couldn’t have been hotter, even if I had taken up residency on the sun.
I couldn’t wait to get in the cab, what with the cabbies stellar grooming habits and luxurious air conditioning. It didn’t matter. Nothing could smell worse than Aqua Velva Man who was ahead of me.
I knew I would feel better if I could just get to the airport and drown my sorrows in a cold Bud Light. Maybe the beer could help me forget the $16,000 I had lost this weekend. This heat sure as hell wasn’t helping me. I thanked God the moment Aqua Velva Man got in the cab. Finally I could stop holding my breath like a corpse on CSI. I just want to leave this place and get back to Minneapolis.
“Next in line” called the taxi valet.
He was wearing a grey bellman’s suit, along with one of the spiffy bellman hats. He must be hot as hell in that get-up, I thought as I handed him a one-dollar bill. He told me to have a nice day as I sidled my way into the cab. He slammed the door behind me. I don’t think he had the highest job satisfaction in the world. But I guess I wouldn’t either if I were essentially a glorified monkey.
“Fuckin’ TA. Is that bastard still over there?” the cabbie said as I got in the car.
I looked behind me. Was he talking to me? I looked to the side. There was no one else in the cab, so he must have been talking to me. Did he want an answer? Was that question rhetorical? Why is he so angry? Cripes.
“Ummm…I don’t know if he’s still there.” I stammered like I did when I asked Jenny Lieske to prom senior year. Christ, this driver was making me uncomfortable. And we hadn’t even started to move yet!
This is possibly the ugliest cab driver I’ve ever seen and I once had one who had no ears. No ears! I could tell this driver was insane. If I were betting on what his addiction was, a fun little game to play with cabbies, I’d guess gasoline and meth. When I looked at him, he made me just want to get out of the car. This is the kind of guy who you wouldn’t be surprised if he murdered his family with a pool cue. In fact, I would be shocked if he had never ritualistically killed anyone before. Regular old homicides were a given with this guy.
He was a fatter version of Ron Jeremy. He had the long, greasy hair held in place with two quarts of 10W30. He had a scraggly beard that wasn’t quite connected to the mustache. It’s as if he couldn’t grow the connector part; a pain I am also afflicted with.
He was wearing a wife beater that looked to be at least 4 years old. We all have t-shirts that are four years old, but most of us don’t wear them everyday. He does. There appeared to be some sort of stain on his shirt, but it could be a fungus too. I didn’t really want to get close enough to find out for sure.
About this time, I started wishing I had gotten out to the taxi stand before Aqua Velva Man. But what’s the worst that can happen? It’s only a ten minute ride to McCarran Airport.
Finally, he put the car into drive. I couldn’t help but notice that he still hadn’t asked me where I wanted to go. Perhaps he has ESP? Maybe that was his gimmick. That’s how he got the big tips and such. The man has to have some reason.
“There’s that fucker. No good, piece of shit TA.” the cabbie spit out.
Apparently, this TA person has done something to offend the driver. I don’t know who this TA is, or what it is, but I know I wish on my magic lamp it hadn’t done whatever it had done to the man who held what little life I have left in his hands.
“Yeah, the TA sucks! They’re always going out and doing things. Things! Like anyone asked them to do that! Man, if I had a dollar for every time I saw one of them…I would have a butt load of dollars. ” I replied to his unasked question.
When in Rome I guess. Right now, I’m pretty much hoping he doesn’t pull a Zed on me on the way to the airport. Lord Tariq is he making me uncomfortable.
It seems to me that we’re just aimlessly driving around, like a family on a leisurely Sunday afternoon. We’ve been driving for over two minutes and the man has yet to ask me where I’m headed. I hope this ESP angle plays out but I have my doubts.
I really need to make this plane, but he just seems so angry. I want to just blurt out where I’m going but I don’t want him to go Mt. St. Helens on me. All of the sudden I was Terri Schiavo; I have no say in what is happening to me.
Screw it! This has gone on long enough. I’m tired, I’m cranky, I lost the equivalent of a mid-sized sedan this weekend, I’m hot and this cab smells like someone dropped a pine bomb and covered it with burnt hair. I’m not missing this flight! I’m going to tell him in three seconds. One…two…
“So, where you headed?” the driver finally asks me. Hmmm…maybe he does have ESP.
“I’m going to McCarran.” About time. Now we can get on the ball.
“Airline?”
“Uhhh…America West.” Finally, now it’s just time to sit back and wait for him to drop me off at the airport. No more worries. No more chatter. Now it’s just me, the smell and complete silence.
“So, where you headed?”
Damn it. Why do we have to make idle chatter? Is he going to remember this? Is he going to write about this fare in his journal tonight? Would it be rude of me to not respond?
“I’m going to Minneapolis.” Please shut up now. Please shut up. No more talking. Please.
“So, you guys got a new owner there?”
What in the hell is he talking about? Did someone buy the state while I was gone? Can you even buy a state? How much would it cost? Do you think they would accept interesting propositions?
Oh yeah, football. I forgot Reggie Fowler bought the Vikings a little bit ago. That must be what he’s talking about.
“Yep, that’s what I hear.”
“You better watch out.”
“Huh?”
“You know he’s black, right?”
“Well, that’s what the papers say, but I’ve never met him.”
“You know what that means.”
“Umm…that he’s black. Is this a riddle?”
“No, it means he’s going to start bringing in more black people. They’re gonna come in like a Tsunami. First, he’ll probably get rid of that nice, white boy Tice and bring in some black guy to coach the team. Can you imagine?”
“You mean like Denny Green?”
“Exactly! You see where I’m going. All the sudden you’ll have a black coach, doing all his black things on the sideline. It makes me sick. Then, you know what’s going to happen? They’re gonna bring in a black quarterback!”
“Umm…they already have a black quarterback. Daunte Culpepper.”
“Oh, yeah. Well…he sucks anyways.”
“Well, he was an all-pro, but whatever.”
Suddenly the cabbie looked in the rearview mirror and his eyes looked like burning coals. He started to squint at me as if he were staring at the sun. His head started slowly moving side to side. It’s as if he couldn’t believe I would talk back to him.
He quickly moved his arm and the locks clanked shut like a cell in San Quentin at the end of the day. As I grabbed at the door, trying in vain to open it, I saw the exit for McCarran pass. I quietly swallowed and looked to the sky.
“Sir. We just passed the exit for the airport.”
He didn’t even look back at me. It’s as if he had already erased me from his mind.
I looked ahead and all I could see was the desert. There was just no way this could end well.
Damn you Vegas!
I was next in line to get a cab. I was at the end of a marathon No Limit Texas Hold’em session and I needed to be at the airport in 15 minutes if I was going to make my flight. I’ve missed flights before, but not in Vegas. After the weekend I had, I was seriously thinking of never coming back.
The heat was that gross, muggy heat that made you wish for the sweet release of death. You could see the heat radiating off of everything. The plastic safety cones used to direct traffic were melting. It couldn’t have been hotter, even if I had taken up residency on the sun.
I couldn’t wait to get in the cab, what with the cabbies stellar grooming habits and luxurious air conditioning. It didn’t matter. Nothing could smell worse than Aqua Velva Man who was ahead of me.
I knew I would feel better if I could just get to the airport and drown my sorrows in a cold Bud Light. Maybe the beer could help me forget the $16,000 I had lost this weekend. This heat sure as hell wasn’t helping me. I thanked God the moment Aqua Velva Man got in the cab. Finally I could stop holding my breath like a corpse on CSI. I just want to leave this place and get back to Minneapolis.
“Next in line” called the taxi valet.
He was wearing a grey bellman’s suit, along with one of the spiffy bellman hats. He must be hot as hell in that get-up, I thought as I handed him a one-dollar bill. He told me to have a nice day as I sidled my way into the cab. He slammed the door behind me. I don’t think he had the highest job satisfaction in the world. But I guess I wouldn’t either if I were essentially a glorified monkey.
“Fuckin’ TA. Is that bastard still over there?” the cabbie said as I got in the car.
I looked behind me. Was he talking to me? I looked to the side. There was no one else in the cab, so he must have been talking to me. Did he want an answer? Was that question rhetorical? Why is he so angry? Cripes.
“Ummm…I don’t know if he’s still there.” I stammered like I did when I asked Jenny Lieske to prom senior year. Christ, this driver was making me uncomfortable. And we hadn’t even started to move yet!
This is possibly the ugliest cab driver I’ve ever seen and I once had one who had no ears. No ears! I could tell this driver was insane. If I were betting on what his addiction was, a fun little game to play with cabbies, I’d guess gasoline and meth. When I looked at him, he made me just want to get out of the car. This is the kind of guy who you wouldn’t be surprised if he murdered his family with a pool cue. In fact, I would be shocked if he had never ritualistically killed anyone before. Regular old homicides were a given with this guy.
He was a fatter version of Ron Jeremy. He had the long, greasy hair held in place with two quarts of 10W30. He had a scraggly beard that wasn’t quite connected to the mustache. It’s as if he couldn’t grow the connector part; a pain I am also afflicted with.
He was wearing a wife beater that looked to be at least 4 years old. We all have t-shirts that are four years old, but most of us don’t wear them everyday. He does. There appeared to be some sort of stain on his shirt, but it could be a fungus too. I didn’t really want to get close enough to find out for sure.
About this time, I started wishing I had gotten out to the taxi stand before Aqua Velva Man. But what’s the worst that can happen? It’s only a ten minute ride to McCarran Airport.
Finally, he put the car into drive. I couldn’t help but notice that he still hadn’t asked me where I wanted to go. Perhaps he has ESP? Maybe that was his gimmick. That’s how he got the big tips and such. The man has to have some reason.
“There’s that fucker. No good, piece of shit TA.” the cabbie spit out.
Apparently, this TA person has done something to offend the driver. I don’t know who this TA is, or what it is, but I know I wish on my magic lamp it hadn’t done whatever it had done to the man who held what little life I have left in his hands.
“Yeah, the TA sucks! They’re always going out and doing things. Things! Like anyone asked them to do that! Man, if I had a dollar for every time I saw one of them…I would have a butt load of dollars. ” I replied to his unasked question.
When in Rome I guess. Right now, I’m pretty much hoping he doesn’t pull a Zed on me on the way to the airport. Lord Tariq is he making me uncomfortable.
It seems to me that we’re just aimlessly driving around, like a family on a leisurely Sunday afternoon. We’ve been driving for over two minutes and the man has yet to ask me where I’m headed. I hope this ESP angle plays out but I have my doubts.
I really need to make this plane, but he just seems so angry. I want to just blurt out where I’m going but I don’t want him to go Mt. St. Helens on me. All of the sudden I was Terri Schiavo; I have no say in what is happening to me.
Screw it! This has gone on long enough. I’m tired, I’m cranky, I lost the equivalent of a mid-sized sedan this weekend, I’m hot and this cab smells like someone dropped a pine bomb and covered it with burnt hair. I’m not missing this flight! I’m going to tell him in three seconds. One…two…
“So, where you headed?” the driver finally asks me. Hmmm…maybe he does have ESP.
“I’m going to McCarran.” About time. Now we can get on the ball.
“Airline?”
“Uhhh…America West.” Finally, now it’s just time to sit back and wait for him to drop me off at the airport. No more worries. No more chatter. Now it’s just me, the smell and complete silence.
“So, where you headed?”
Damn it. Why do we have to make idle chatter? Is he going to remember this? Is he going to write about this fare in his journal tonight? Would it be rude of me to not respond?
“I’m going to Minneapolis.” Please shut up now. Please shut up. No more talking. Please.
“So, you guys got a new owner there?”
What in the hell is he talking about? Did someone buy the state while I was gone? Can you even buy a state? How much would it cost? Do you think they would accept interesting propositions?
Oh yeah, football. I forgot Reggie Fowler bought the Vikings a little bit ago. That must be what he’s talking about.
“Yep, that’s what I hear.”
“You better watch out.”
“Huh?”
“You know he’s black, right?”
“Well, that’s what the papers say, but I’ve never met him.”
“You know what that means.”
“Umm…that he’s black. Is this a riddle?”
“No, it means he’s going to start bringing in more black people. They’re gonna come in like a Tsunami. First, he’ll probably get rid of that nice, white boy Tice and bring in some black guy to coach the team. Can you imagine?”
“You mean like Denny Green?”
“Exactly! You see where I’m going. All the sudden you’ll have a black coach, doing all his black things on the sideline. It makes me sick. Then, you know what’s going to happen? They’re gonna bring in a black quarterback!”
“Umm…they already have a black quarterback. Daunte Culpepper.”
“Oh, yeah. Well…he sucks anyways.”
“Well, he was an all-pro, but whatever.”
Suddenly the cabbie looked in the rearview mirror and his eyes looked like burning coals. He started to squint at me as if he were staring at the sun. His head started slowly moving side to side. It’s as if he couldn’t believe I would talk back to him.
He quickly moved his arm and the locks clanked shut like a cell in San Quentin at the end of the day. As I grabbed at the door, trying in vain to open it, I saw the exit for McCarran pass. I quietly swallowed and looked to the sky.
“Sir. We just passed the exit for the airport.”
He didn’t even look back at me. It’s as if he had already erased me from his mind.
I looked ahead and all I could see was the desert. There was just no way this could end well.
Damn you Vegas!
Friday, April 01, 2005
Apprentice XI
I am so pumped for Chris to go insane, I can’t even describe it. It’s like when they unveiled the new flavor of Dorito’s; I haven’t slept for days and I’m beginning to wonder if life can even continue after such a monumental event (letdown alert! Letdown alert!) If NBC made this seem bigger than life…I may jump. Off of what, I won’t say…
I really can’t stand Trump. If I had a magic lamp, one wish is him and Mark Cuban go toe-to-toe in the Octagon…to the death. If only I had a magic lamp…
Wow! Six whole pizzas! Awesome!
I think hitting the dorms is a really good idea. Especially if the kids are stoned. Or even if they’re not stoned, they’ll probably still buy pizza. But they’ll buy more if they’re stoned. What if they made a cross-promotion with free weed but actually use oregano? C’mon folks; cross-promotion!
I don’t think Alex was hitting on those girls. I mean really, if you think about it, those were some “white ribbon at the county fair” chicks. Isn’t Alex better than that?
Physically, I don’t think Trump could have been a rapper in a former life. I mean really, rap didn’t start until the 70’s. He was born before the 70’s. Do the math Kendra.
Tana is such a nerd.
Damn you NBC! Why? Why must you always hype an event so much and then have it be such a letdown? Your previews are like the Crystal Pepsi of the cola world!
My prediction for a winner after week 10: Still Kendra. I guess. No one did anything though. Whatever.
I really can’t stand Trump. If I had a magic lamp, one wish is him and Mark Cuban go toe-to-toe in the Octagon…to the death. If only I had a magic lamp…
Wow! Six whole pizzas! Awesome!
I think hitting the dorms is a really good idea. Especially if the kids are stoned. Or even if they’re not stoned, they’ll probably still buy pizza. But they’ll buy more if they’re stoned. What if they made a cross-promotion with free weed but actually use oregano? C’mon folks; cross-promotion!
I don’t think Alex was hitting on those girls. I mean really, if you think about it, those were some “white ribbon at the county fair” chicks. Isn’t Alex better than that?
Physically, I don’t think Trump could have been a rapper in a former life. I mean really, rap didn’t start until the 70’s. He was born before the 70’s. Do the math Kendra.
Tana is such a nerd.
Damn you NBC! Why? Why must you always hype an event so much and then have it be such a letdown? Your previews are like the Crystal Pepsi of the cola world!
My prediction for a winner after week 10: Still Kendra. I guess. No one did anything though. Whatever.
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