Monday, September 29, 2008
Ashley- going to Nebraska to see your new manfriend. Yes, he is very cool- he definitely has my seal of approval- but you should've had him come down here. Nascar would've been more fun than watching Cornhusker football. Yeahhhh Go Big Red!
-100 friendship points.
Jud: out late the previous night at a bachelor party. Definitely an acceptable reason, but I hold you to a higher standard than others. You're supposed to be a drinking champion.
-50 friendship points.
Shaun- going to church. I won't comment further as I don't want to get struck by lightning.
-0 friendship points. That's WJWD.
Jenn & Ringer- helping Janelle with wedding invitations. Are you kidding?!? Why don't you just kick my dog while you're at it?
-1,000 friendship points
I award myself -10 points, as the argument could be used that "Old Jim would've still gone." But if I was gonna go, it was gonna be all or nothing, so I chose nothing. As a very wise man and his Funky Bunch once told me, "If you're not in it to win it, then get the hell out."
Question of the day: Let's say you are accused of a crime. A very high-profile crime that is intensely scrutinized by the public. You are 100% innocent. Suppose you have two options:
A). You are acquitted of all charges, but the vast majority of the world believes you are guilty. Your entire world is turned upside down. Virtually everybody except your family and your very closest friends shun you. Your spouse/significant other leaves you. No company will hire you. Everywhere you go, people are heckling you, calling you names, vandalizing your car, to the point that you rarely go out in public. Basically you become O.J. Simpson, except you don't lose a civil trial, so you won't be bankrupt. You can write a book that will make a lot of money, which will offset the fact you can't find work anywhere. Your legacy is forever tarnished; you will go down in history as a scumbag. All these things happen to you, but you do not set foot in jail.
B). You are found guilty. You go to a maximum security prison for 15 years. During this time, you experience unspeakable torture. Picture all the bad things you've seen from any prison movie, and they are all happening to you. Once again, your spouse/significant other leaves you. The general public considers you guilty, and your reputation is destroyed by the media. However, everyone else you know believes you are innocent and stands by you. After 15 years, evidence arises that completely exonerates you, and you are pardoned. You win a lawsuit for enough money that you will live in incredible luxury for the rest of your life. You write a book on your trials that becomes an award-winning movie, and establishes you as a national hero, to be remembered for generations to come. You find a new spouse, although it's unclear whether she loves you, or just your money and celebrity status. And you have lost those 15 years of your life, which are filled with enough bad memories that you have trouble sleeping for the rest of your days.
Which option would you choose?
Friday, September 26, 2008
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
So when I listed a bunch of random, stupid, made up "facts" about Alex Rodriguez the other day, I thought I had a pretty good idea of how it would go down. Some people would laugh. Some people would think it's horribly boring and unfunny. Some people would skim through the post and barely even read it, since they don't follow baseball. Some people would heartily agree, and maybe come up with some of their own, since they share my dislike of A-Rod. And some people would disagree, since they enjoy A-Rod. I thought there was even a possibility of a few jokes about Manny or Youkilis or Papelbon, or maybe some other anti-Red Sox sentiments would turn up in the comments, especially from my buddies who are Twins fans.
What I didn't expect was that some rando from the Bronx named "Evelyn" would take severe offense to a clearly--let me repeat--CLEARLY satirical topic. Among other things, here's what she had to say (go check all the comments from yesterday if you feel like this isn't enough to make you laugh):
"It is incredible that you have all this time to post this garbage..YOu probably don't even know the guy.
So who cares if A-Rod collects magnets in the shape of a state..My mother collects magnets in the shape of fruits, animals, vegetables and every possible eatible thing out there, and you know what is the bottom line..nobody cares.So what if he eats the biggest slice of pizza, guest what we all do.. And regarding the women comment, with the kind of money this guy has I doubt very much, women are not flocking to him...Remember money talks and BS walks. He would not need to get a fake phone number if I was around. He would get it without asking."
Well now. Ignoring the numerous spelling and grammatical errors (because this isn't a column for the New York Times, it's a fucking blog, and its contents probably shouldn't be, ahem, taken so seriously) this is quite the piece of work. I will give you some propers, Evelyn: you made a lot of people laugh their asses off with that last paragraph. You brightened up the work day for a sizable group of people.
Normally I love it when people either disagree with me or make fun of me in the comments; everyone knows I enjoy a good healthy discussion that borders on an argument, especially when it is about a particularly trivial subject. And Lord knows I rip on a lot of people and a lot of things; it would be incredibly lame if I gave it out but couldn't take it.
But are you for real?
Yes, Evelyn, you are correct when you say that I "don't even know the guy." I have no idea what A-Rod's thoughts are concerning Lord of the Rings. I am unsure of his tipping policy in restaurants. I don't have his paper-rock-scissors lifetime winning percentage at my disposal. He may or may not enjoy magnets in the shape of different states....I've heard those are popular. I can't say for sure what his workout playlist sounds like (but I'd bet there's lots of Madonna in it.) I have never shared a pizza with A-Rod, so I have no knowledge of what his etiquette is when he's down to the last two slices. You're probably right, he probably doesn't have to fake getting a woman's phone number (I mean, YOU'D give it to him without asking, so he'd get at least one, right?) I highly doubt he even has a facebook account...but he should look into it, then he and Jeter could message each other all day, LOLZ.
The point of all this, if it wasn't obvious the first time around, is it's all a FUCKING JOKE. Please act accordingly. I would have loved it if you would've said something like "When Hammen is losing in Online Madden, he 'accidentally' unplugs his internet connection so the game doesn't count on his win/loss record." That would've been funny. But instead, you treated me like I was Kramer at the Laugh Factory.
So "Evelyn", if you are a buddy of mine posing as someone else, then come forward, reveal yourself, and take a bow; you have forced me to write an entire post directly to you. I died a little bit inside when I typed this. Good prank, you win. Well played.
If you are a real person, however, then I can do nothing but wish you well as you travel the internet searching for blogs that make fun of A-Rod, and staunchly defending him when it is unnecessary. Keep fighting the good fight.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
--A-Rod thought that the last Lord of the Rings movie could've used some more endings, because "it just didn't tie up all the loose ends."
--A-Rod says he'll be the DD, but then gets drunker than everyone else and makes someone else drive his car home because he really needs it the next morning.
--A-Rod claims he knows what is in the briefcase at the end of Pulp Fiction, but won't tell anyone because "it's much cooler if you figure it out yourself."
--When A-Rod is taking a road trip with his friends, he has to stop in a gas station in every state to get a magnet in the shape of that state, even if they don't need gas and no one needs to go to the bathroom.
--When A-Rod eats at Olive Garden, he'll give less of a tip because the free breadsticks were a little on the dry side.
--While at the bar with buddies, A-Rod will go up to buy a beer, make sure no one is looking, grab a coaster, and scribble down a fake woman's name and fake number, then come back to the table and brag that some random chick just came up and started hitting on him, so he got her number, but he's probably not gonna call her.
--A-Rod claims to have the best workout playlist ever on his iPod, but really it's just the live version of Thunderstruck by AC/DC repeated 18 times.
--A-Rod says things like, "No excuses, play like a champion!" and tries to pass it off as his own, because he doesn't think that many people have seen Wedding Crashers yet.
--If you go golfing with A-Rod and you get a cart, he won't let you drive once the entire 18 holes.
--When A-Rod goes to a wedding, he wears a tux to the reception so it looks like he was in the wedding party too.
--When everyone else in the group is on their phone texting people, A-Rod feels left out, so he pulls out his phone and starts texting people too. Only he doesn't have anyone to text, so really he's just scrolling through the main menu over and over again, but it totally looks like he's texting someone.
--When A-Rod plays paper-rock-scissors, he always hesitates for a split second before he shoots so he can see what the other person is doing first. He still doesn't win very often, though.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Thursday, September 18, 2008
After the bar, most everyone goes to sleep at a decent hour. Bergman, the Zidons, and I decide to take the party to the hotel hallway, and we keep going.....and going.....until we saw a hotel employee carrying a breakfast tray to someone's room. We realized it was 8 am and decided to wrap it up. Sara may or may not have slept in the closet.
Anyway, afterwards, we after-partied for awhile at our hotel, ADawg and Bergman sang "You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin" to Chelsey, then we passed out around 4. Sweeney didn't flash the pizza guy this time. He seemed disappointed.
Pastor: Oh yeah? Well, the proper girl in the hat just eye-fucked the shit out of me.
I put this picture up only because there is some speculation that I may have been crying here. I would like say that in actuality, I am trying to hide the fact that I'm laughing because Mandy is getting ready to bust out the legendary Mandy Unamused Face.
Rachel, Sara, Katie, Mo, Tara. Us guys have been getting absolutely raked over the coals for not giving up our jackets during the ceremony when it was cold outside. Let the record show that as soon as we stepped inside, we gave them right up. We're likely huddling together for warmth during this, freezing our asses off. What was the air conditioning set at, like 71? C'mon, who says chivalry is dead?
Mandy and Lane. When there's somethin' strange, and it don't look good...who ya gonna call?
Bergman and Sweeney. If I was an artist, and this was my portrait, it would be titled If We Can't Be Lovers Then We Can't Be Friends.
See? I told you the Moms loved ADawg. Look how excited they are! Oh, wait. That's ADawg's mom. Is this how you spell Oedipus Complex?
Katie and I. My recollection of this moment = low. Now I'm not a betting man, but the safe bet would be that is this during the Dollar Dance.
ADawg, it's happening! You're starting to fade out of the picture now too! You have to get your parents to kiss and get to the clock tower, the lightning's gonna strike soon!
Ike, Bobbi, Casey, Jake. The good news about Ike's beard is that he won a Worst Beard bet with the Shoebomber Richard Reid, and he has a crisp $5 bill coming his way.
Chelsey, Alex, and Sweeney. A.k.a. Miss February, Miss July, and Miss October of the "Girls of Room 276."
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
To those of you who have been giving me the "Jimmy Shaker in Ransom" treatment and increasing your demands: I promise the post on Paul's wedding is coming. My mental and physical strength is increasing by the day. Be patient.
Question of the Day: Imagine you were told that tomorrow you were going to be entered into a competition against one other individual. You don't know who the opponent will be, just that it will be someone completely random. You get to choose what event you're competing in. There are no limitations to what event you choose. It can be athletic, an eating contest, a video game, a cross-country race, trivia, beer pong, paper-rock-scissors, anything. However, the loser of the competition will be killed on the spot. What event would you choose?
A more succinct way of putting it would be: What do you think you are better at than anybody else in the world, if your life depended on it?
Monday, September 15, 2008
I am absolutely catatonic today. This is an extended hangover on the same level as coming back from Vegas. (Side note: after one of my Vegas trips, I was completely strung out, and my first night back at Culligan was rough. Jon-Jon was leaving for work at around 7 a.m. the next morning, and when he came out into the living room, he found me sitting on the couch, eyes glazed over, double-fisting 24 oz. energy drinks and watching Richie Rich on TBS. And that's about how I feel like today.)
My eyes are completely dried out. So far today I've only eaten an apple and a nutri-grain bar (so I'm about 6,000 calories under my daily average.) My lips are roughly the same color as A-Rod's in the 8th inning of a chilly October playoff game. My tongue feels so furry, it's like somebody stuffed a teddy bear inside my mouth. I could brush my teeth for 3 hours straight and my mouth still wouldn't feel fresh. I have absolutely no sense of what time it is, and can't understand why there isn't a beer in my hands at any given moment. My back hurts, my head hurts, my life hurts.
I'll write an extended review of the shenanigans, once pictures start surfacing and I can have some visual aids, but for now here's a crude breakdown of Wednesday-Sunday:
Wednesday: Work 7am-3pm. Drive from Lawrence to Fargo, 4pm-1am. Have a couple beers at Fundy's place. Go to sleep.
Thursday: Drive from Fargo to Bismarck 10:30am-1:30pm. Drink 2pm-8am (not a typo.) Sleep 8am-10am. We're actually well into Friday now.
Friday: Pick up tux, do wedding rehearsal, load up on ibuprofen, tums, claritin, go to groom's dinner. Drink 4pm-4am.
Saturday: Swimming, pictures, wedding, wedding dance, after-party. Drink 6pm-3am.
Sunday: Gift-opening, drive from Bismarck to Fargo 12pm-3pm. Eat with family, Bergman, and Russell. Drive from Fargo to Lawrence 4pm-1am.
Today: re-evaluation of life.
I originally had today off from work, but since I got back to town ahead of schedule last night, I decided that I would just go in and work today, and I could save that vacation day for later this year. I immediately regret that decision.
Don't misconstrue this as me looking for sympathy. I know that I have no one to blame but myself. I'm just trying to give an accurate portrayal of my current physical state. If you're scoring at home, once I set foot in Bismarck on Thursday afternoon, I logged 39 hours of drinking and 11 hours of sleeping over the next three days.
As Barney Gumble would say, "Don't cry for me, I'm already dead."
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
They didn't dance again after that.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
And here are my NFL predictions that no one cares about. I pretty much just do this for myself, I like looking back on these. Now I'm not a gambling man or anything, but when I do, I usually clean up during the season gambling on individual games; but for some reason my pre-season predictions are garbage. It's a crazy world we live in.
3. NY Giants
2. Green Bay
1. New Orleans
2. Tampa Bay
3. St. Louis
4. San Francisco
Wild Card Round: Green Bay over Minnesota, Philly over Arizona
Divisional Round: New Orleans over Green Bay, Dallas over Philly
Championship: Dallas over New Orleans
1. New England
2. NY Jets
1. San Diego
4. Kansas City
Wild Card round: Jacksonville over NY Jets, Indianapolis over Pittsburgh
Divisional round: Jacksonville over San Diego, New England over Indianapolis
Championship: New England over Jacksonville
Super Bowl: New England over Dallas
And as I'm sitting here typing this, I now have a new favorite commercial: the one where the Williams sisters and the Manning brothers are arguing. The very end part where Eli pounds the table and yells, "And stop copying us!" makes me giggle every time. I'm sure once they play it like 37 times in the next few hours, I might not like it so much.
Friday, September 5, 2008
I say blaze it up, as long as that weed was the shiznittle bam snip snap sack!
Every year I attempt to add every KU basketball player as friends on facebook. It's admittedly nerdy, and it doesn't really serve any purpose. I've only had 3 of them accept the friend request in 3 years now, and it's not like we write on each other's walls or send each other bumper stickers or recruit each other for Ninjas vs. Zombies or Hobo Wars or any of that other ridiculous shit that people actually use (I know you like drinking, so I got you a little gift....a tiny clipart picture of a mug full of beer!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA ;) LOL !!!!!)
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
It's odd. Some days I can drink aggressively for 20 hours, barely eating anything all day, and still be functional at the end of the night. I mean, I'm completely shithoused, but I'm still technically functional. I can remember all the horrible decisions I made over the course of the day. Then, the very next day, I can drink for just a little over 4 hours, and before I know it I'm emptying the contents of my stomach into a urinal and subsequently blacking out the next six hours. Some days I can be hitting it hard all afternoon and all night, and still be reasonable and coherent enough to talk my friends out of getting their ass kicked, or keeping an eye on girl friends who are about to get taken advantage of by some rando at the bar. Or I can drink for just 5 hours and be so hammered that I'm trying to get thrown out of the College World Series, and leave my buddy behind to hang out with people I just met a couple hours earlier in a strange city. I can't explain it.
Some days I'll be pregaming before the bar, and I'll be on my third beer, and I'll feel that little tingle, that familiar little tremor of excitement that rolls through your body and alerts you that you are, in fact, starting to get a little buzzed. On only my third beer. Other days I can put down a 12-pack before I feel much of an effect. No rhyme or reason to it.
And so it went last Saturday. We went tailgating for the KU football game at about 2 in the afternoon. Beautiful weather, an abundance of beer, good food, random people aplenty to talk too, games of beanbags to dominate people in. So I polish off my 12-pack, score a bunch of beer from other people, some more from the Budweiser tent, plus I have to shotgun a couple more since we finally lost a game of bags and that was the running bet. I have somewhere in the neighborhood of 20 beers or so. I'm at the perfect level of drunkenness; drunk enough to act afool and make a bunch of new friends, but not be an over-the-top idiot. I probably met about 15 new people over the course of the day, and I can still rattle off every single one of their names, four days later. I was still completely coherent at the end of the football game. But then, a few hours later, I'm sitting at home with Alex, finishing my shitty Burrito King chicken soft tacos, casually sipping on a few Pooh BeaRs and watching season 2 of The O.C., and all of a sudden Jim Hammen syndrome breaks out.
This symptoms of this unfortunate affliction are red splotches all over my body, light-headedness, and shortness of breath. In short, it's a horrible allergic reaction to alcohol. It happened often enough during college that it became a running joke with my friends (hence the name.) The weird thing is that I only get it when I consume large amounts of vodka, rum, etc. It would go away as soon as I switched to beer. Sometimes I would get it when I had got really drunk for a bunch of nights in a row, and the cumulative effect would hit me on Sunday night. Either way, I had never got it from just drinking beer before. Once again, I can't explain it. I hadn't had it for a long time, since I don't get hammered that often these days, and I was hoping that JH syndrome was a thing of the past. Apparently not.
So once again, Alcohol and I had a little falling out. I've locked myself in the bathroom, tending to the gash on my face while sobbing uncontrollably and promising myself that this is the last time I let this happen. Meanwhile, Alcohol is quietly knocking on the door and telling me that work has been stressing him out lately, and as soon as the bank approves that loan he applied for, things will turn around, he promises. When I ignore him, he stomps out, slamming the screen door behind him, and the last thing I hear before I break into tears again is the sound of a Def Leppard guitar solo blasting over the squeal of tires and gravel as he tears off into the night.
As I go back and read this, it kinda sounds like I have an awful drinking problem, and I'm writing this on my way to rehab or something like that. You don't have to stage an intervention or anything, I barely even drink these days. I'm not going John Daly or anything. I CAN QUIT ANYTIME, I JUST DON'T WANT TO RIGHT NOW! GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!!!