Charlie Murphy, Carry Me Through My Hangover

I just got back from an impromptu mid-week trip to St. Louis to hang with some of the Kentucky Derby gang-- since, sadly, it looks like I'm not making it back to the Derby in 2014.  We went way too hard, so I'm way too run down to try and put any kind of coherent and/or funny thoughts together, so I'll let Charlie Murphy take it from here.  Carve 10 minutes and 14 seconds out of your day to watch this.  You're not that busy.  (Or at the very least, go to the 6:15 mark.  I KNOW you have four minutes to spare.)

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OK, one funny thing I can describe quickly from STL, that's all I can manage:  On Tuesday night, we hopped around downtown, finishing the night at a little hole-in-the-wall bar with a fun little jazzy, bluesy band rocking the house.  After the band's set, we got to bullshitting with them-- in particular the drummer, a portly middle-aged black guy that Schne was calling 'Huell' because he vaguely resembled the henchman from Breaking Bad.  We ended up talking about Stevie Wonder, although not before Huell questioned the validity of a Stevie discussion with a prepster white boy (once again, my reputation as a bro preceded me, and I'm sure my zip-up-sweater-over-button-down-shirt outfit didn't help my cause.)  Anyway, after about five minutes of me holding my own with a crew of black people in their 40s and 50s, Huell stopped me mid-sentence, clapped me on the back and laughed, "Damn, white boy, I apologize, I was wrong!  You DO know your Stevie!" 

And my face lit up like the 4th of July-- or better yet, like the kids from The Sandlot during the 4th of July fireworks.  (Hamilton Porter at the 2:20 mark is perfect.)  Probably the greatest compliment I've ever received in my life.  Maybe a close second to when Paul and I rapped 'Whoomp! There It Is!' in a sketchy bar in downtown Indianapolis, failed to edit ourselves even a little bit (they drop the N bomb in that song) and walked off the stage right into a group hug of a bunch of hoodstas who thought we put up a dynamite performance.  Either way, my self-esteem is probably a tiny bit too tied up in what black people think of me. 

The whole scene was probably a fitting end to Black History Month for me.  Now if you don't mind, listen to the black guy above tell stories for ten minutes.  And have a good weekend.

Oh Hi Olympic Athletes

One of the most enjoyable things about the Olympics (besides watching some random sport for 15 minutes and then starting to make judgement calls on their performance like you're an expert) is all the hot athletes from around the world.  Ho's in different area codes, to say the least.  In no particular order, here are my favorites.

{A special thank you to the other members of the Research & Development Team: JDub, Hendo, and Double D.  Emails, texts, live discussions, jokes like "Yeah, I'd like to show her my long program"....really a lot of hustle.  Also, I suppose a shout-out to Teens is due, since she sits and listens patiently as we hammer Gin & Rockstar out of mason jars and debate the physical merits of other women for ridiculous amounts of time.}


Ashley Wagner, USA, Figure Skating

She's definitely not as good-looking as the rest of the bunch, and I've definitely had to spend some time defending this pick, but what can I say?  Her saucy attitude just does it for me.  She's constantly flashing "Come here and get some, I'll let you put it anywhere" eyes at the judges and audience; she performs her routines to Pink Floyd songs; and she gives quotes like "I'm a woman and I know what I want" during interviews, apropos of nothing.  She has more than a little Tonya Harding in her, and I'm not gonna front, 11-year-old Jum had some moments with Tonya.  She was sorta hot in a white-trash, "I bet I could get an old-fashioned from that chick as long as I took her to Arby's for dinner first" kind of way.  I'm babbling.



Tessa Virtue, Canada, Figure Skating 

And on the flip side of that coin is my favorite athlete to come out of Canada since Andrew Wiggins (I know that's not very long ago, but still.)  Virtue reminds me of a nerdy drama girl from high school who grew up and got smoking hot, and takes great pleasure in lording it over all the now overweight-and-balding jocks as they trip over themselves trying to hit on her at the 10-year reunion.  You can look, but you're absolutely not going to touch-- but while you're at it, sure, I'd love it if you bought me a drink!  Vodka cran, please.


Anna Sidarova, Russia, Curling 

Choosing my favorite Russian curler is kinda like choosing what flavor of Hot Pocket I'm going to eat for lunch.  There's really no wrong selection, and I usually have an erection while trying to decide.


Torah Bright, Australia, Snowboarding 

Snowboarders get bonus points because they just seem so low-maintenance.  You probably wouldn't even have to be that great of a boyfriend; it wouldn't take more than a small gesture to get them stoked or amped or geeked or whatever about the relationship.  Probably not a lot of knock-down, drag-out fights over stupid things, either.  Besides the potential argument when you forgot to pick up more Mountain Dew on your way home from work, it would all be pretty chill, I imagine.  They're just tryin' to have a good time, maaaaaaan.


Linn Haug, Norway, Snowboarding

My thought process when I first started reading her bio:

AHHH!  She wasn't born until 1990!  This got creepy quick.  Well, more creepy than it already is.

Wait.  1990 means she's almost 24 years old.

Holy hell, am I getting old.


Anna Fenninger, Austria, Alpine Skiing

I had a tough time selecting a photo for Ms. Fenninger, to be real honest with you.  Blonde, brunette, dolled-up, bundled up in winter clothes, covered in leopard skin body paint.....she's versatile.


All these women may not have medaled in Sochi....but they all deserve gold medals in my book.

May The Links Be With You

 At any given time, Star Wars is never too far from the front of my mind.  If my brain was a bus, it would kinda be like Rosa Parks that way.  It doesn't care what civil injustices are prevalent at the moment, or whether or not the timing is appropriate within the accepted societal niceties-- it's not going to sit at the back of the bus.  But even by these standards, these last few weeks have been ridiculous.  During my snow days a couple weeks back, I played Star Wars video games for so long that I was having nightly dreams about the Cloud City level.  And since then, I've stumbled into three different links on the interwebs, each one more awesome than the last.

(I know I'm good for one of these Star Wars link-fest posts roughly every year or so, alienating all my friends who make fun of me for being a nerd, but what can I say?  The internet has a lot of Star Wars fan fiction out there.  Sorry for partying.)

- First was this site, which illustrates Star Wars characters as stereotypical high school students in the 1980's.  Even if you hate Star Wars, you can probably appreciate this one, as long as you appreciate sketch drawings and/or 80's fashion.

- Then there's this one, which re-imagines all the NFL team helmets as Star Wars teams.  Even if you hate Star Wars, you can probably appreciate this one, as long as you appreciate football and/or logo artwork.

(My thoughts:  The Titans one is pretty sweet, we got a good draw here with Boba Fett.  My top 5 in some order is probably Denver, Tampa Bay, Jacksonville, Carolina, and Buffalo.  Also, Pittsburgh's is awesome, if only because any time I was justifying betting on Pittsburgh and referencing their opponent, I would get to dust off the line "They're no match for Droidekas....")





- Lastly, an article that Tupac was in talks to play Samuel L. Jackson's role of Mace Windu in the prequels.  Even if you hate Star Wars, you can probably appreciate this one, unless you don't respect Black History Month and/or hate rap music.

I don't even care how true that story may or may not be.  If I would've heard this rumor back in 1996, instead of almost 20 years after the fact, my head might've exploded.  Talk about finding something right in my wheelhouse.  If you took a cross-section of my interests at that point of my life, I'd be hard-pressed to come up with a better combination.  Maybe Kelly Kapowski getting a basketball scholly at KU?  Sega Genesis releasing a video game where the object is to not talk to any girls at a 7th grade dance, then to sneak outside the gymnasium to smoke cigar butts you stole from your dad's ashtray? 

Frickin' Tupac playing a frickin' Jedi.   Dare to dream big.  Glad my google image search paid off too.  Never change, internet.  Never change.

Close But No Cigar(ette)

A few posts ago, I pulled an Unsolved Mysteries and asked everyone to contact me if that they had any knowledge of the whereabouts of the last cigarette I smoked.  I was reminded of the following picture of me attempting the rarely seen Quint-fecta (chew, beer, liquor, cigar, cigarette) at Jared's pre-wedding round of golf, back in October.  However, after further review, that wasn't a cigarette, it was technically a cigarillo.  So for now, my last cigarette-- as well as the elusive Quint-fecta-- remains at large.

I'll Take Boners In Society For $600, Please

If you're ever on Jeopardy, and Trebek happens to ask:  "And the answer is:  The opening lyric to this song is the most accurate reflection of a human male's inner monologue in music history."

Your response should be "What is 'Too Close' by Next."

Hopefully it's the Daily Double, and you can really clean up on it.





It's been 17 years, and this song still makes me laugh in disbelief.  How did a song about boners become so popular?  It's a conundrum.

Happy Valentine's Day.  Hopefully all the single dudes out there get to have this thought tonight.  When you're married, a lot of the mystery goes away, and you can just straight up ask your wife this question, instead of having to wonder.  It's both good and bad, I suppose.

When Grizzly Met Sally

Yesterday I went to my home-field advantage gas station (what up, Kwik Shop on Kasold & Bob Billings!) to pick up a tin of Grizzly wintergreen pouches.  Side note:  I switched from Skoal to Grizzly over Christmas break in North Dakota by pure accident.  While at the bar, I ran out of chew, started bumming Grizzly from Tom because I didn't want to walk down the street to a gas station-- as it was approximately negative one million degrees Fahrenheit-- and fell in love immediately.  My five-year deal with Skoal had just expired, so I signed a two-year contract with The Griz on the spot, with a player option for a third year.  I might start calling Tom 'Aladdin', because he took me on a magic carpet ride and showed me A Whole New World.  I feel like when he offered me that first lipper, he should've held out the tin, flashed his biggest street-rat smile, and said "Do you trust me?"  But let's not fall into a super-elaborate Aladdin discussion, or we'll be here all day.

So.  Back to the gas station.  The girl in front of me in line pays for her gas and asks for a tin of Grizzly wintergreen pouches.  The man behind the counter makes an obligatory joke about the girl's husband being too lazy to get out of the car to get his own chew, and the woman kinda scoffs, rolls her eyes, and says "No, actually....it's for me."  Cue awkward silence.  The girl gets her merch, and apparently offended, she stomps out the door.  The employee looks at me and gives his best "Sorry for partying" look.  I shrug, step up to the counter, and say the only thing that pops into my head at the moment:  "Ummm, I'll have what she's having."

I got a hearty laugh and a high five from the guy behind the counter, so at the risk of tooting my own horn, I think I nailed the joke.






{Editor's update:  I relayed this story to Tom, and his response was "Yeah, I had a girl bum a grizzly pouch off me on Sunday at a country concert."  Dude.  Unbelievable.  In Dave Chappelle voice:  "Women be chewin', baby!  Women be chewinnnnnn!!!!!"}

Sneaux Days

I'm coming off back-to-back days of not having to go to work due to a lil' bit of snow, and between all the shoveling I did, video games I played, and the aftermath of watching this Anna Kendrick commercial over and over.....my wrists are killing me today.

I have to say, though, my driveway looks immaculate-- especially compared to everyone else around here.  I've probably used this line before, but I love how, when it relates to snow removal, I'm like the shittiest North Dakotan, but I'm in the 99th percentile of Kansans.  Makes me feel like a real man for once.

I even put on my good samaritan hat and shoveled out the end of my neighbor's driveway, where the snow plow piled her in.  Not that that weirdo will ever thank me for it.  Whatever, I suppose a true Good Samaritan isn't supposed to be in it for the acknowledgement.  Recognition?  Respect?  A Jedi craves not these things.