It's A Beard-Off, Folks.....It's A Beard-Off

Beard-Off 2008 has officially begun. From today until November 7th, neither Mike nor Noles will be shaving, in order to settle the dispute of who has the better beard. There has been a considerable amount of hype leading up to the event. Beard-Off promoter Don King is calling it "The Shave of the Century: Big Trouble Over Facial Stubble" and claiming "There hasn't been two beards this important, together in the same forum, since Ulysses Grant and Robert E. Lee negotiated the end of the Civil War."

Noles is the People's Champion, the overwhelming favorite, so much so that Vegas has officially taken this match off the board. None of which has stopped Mike from running his mouth in an attempt to intimidate Noles' facial hair folicles. Mike has been calling Noles the deragatory term "White Man's Champ" at every turn. He was quoted recently as saying "I'm fast. I'm so fast that last night I turned off my lights and was in bed before the room was dark." When asked what that had to do with growing a beard, he replied "I'm gonna lather like a butterfly and shave like a bee. Your face can't grow what your eyes can't see!"

"It's gonna be a chilla, and a thrilla, and a killa, when I get to that Gorilla. He gonna be drawing in his beard with pencil filla!"



Noles, in turn, has responded with the quiet confidence befitting of a champion. With a cool assurance about him, he confidently stated "I ain't too worried about this punk. He can call me the White Man's Champ all he wants. He may as well be the White Man's Chump. Forget that fool....I've been shaving since I came out the womb, son. I was born at noon and I had a 5 o'clock shadow. Shit, my moms was gettin' Mach 5s at her baby shower, since they already seen the ultrasound and they seen stubble on my face."

We will have a one week update to gauge the process, and then on Friday, November 7th we will have a vote where you, the people, will be deciding the winner.

In one corner, from Chicago, Illinois.......the challenger, the Monster of the Midway, the Caucasian Sensation, the Best of the Rest of the Whole Midwest.....Mike!!!!!

In the other corner, from Fergus Falls, Minnesota, and the pride of Grand Forks, the People's Champion, the Nightmare of the Northland, the 6th Grader Razor Raider.....Noles!!!!

As William Shakespeare once said,

"He that hath a beard is more than a youth, and he that hath no beard is less than a man."

Open Letters

Dear writers of The Simpsons,

I owe you an apology. Over the last few years, I have been quoted on numerous occasions as saying that Family Guy is funnier than your show. I have purchased every season of Family Guy DVD's, but none of yours...until recently. I went online and bought season 6 (your absolute prime) and laughed my ass off, which caused me to buy season 7, and I laughed my ass off some more. I regret to say that I have refused to watch your new episodes for about 6 years now. Your movie was pretty decent, but you do have to admit, your show is just a shell of its former self. Regardless, how I could ever say that another show is funnier than yours is a severe oversight on my part. Family Guy may be Dwight Gooden (insanely good for a few years, then began falling off) but you're Greg Maddux (the best in the game for many, many years before the inevitable decline due to age.) You almost single-handedly built my sense of humor. As I was re-watching old episodes, I couldn't even count the number of mundane, everyday phrases I say that came from your throwaway jokes. You are the funniest cartoon of all-time. I just needed to be brought back to 1994 to remember it.



Dear CEO of Sonic,

Thank you. Over the last couple of weeks, my already-awesome-the-way-they-were chili cheese wraps have been crammed completely full of cheesy goodness. These little gems started out with the circumference of oversized soft-shell tacos, and have now become bigger than Chipotle burritos. It's at the point now that I can't eat them without making a huge mess of myself, and I've been forced to construct a makeshift placemat, made out of old payroll registers and tax deposit coupons, at my desk at work. Additionally, I received 5 mints at the bottom of my bag last week, as opposed to the standard 1 or 2. What may have happened: a series of random coincidences, or perhaps even a new company policy to double the size of chili cheese wraps, combined with a disgruntled employee who has sticky fingers when it comes to mint distribution. What I believe actually happened: you have finally discovered this blog, and have decided to reward me for all the shameless pimping of your fine eatery over the last 14 months. And for that I thank you. I'll continue to do it for free, but the compensation is greatly appreciated.



Dear flock of geese that reside on the 12th hole at Eagle Bend Golf Course,

Get off the damn fairway! You make noise, you poop all over the place, and you don't even move when my ball lands in the middle of your stupid goose party. Even though it's a long par 5, sometimes I unrealistically go for the green in two, just so my ball doesn't have the chance to roll through your minefield of shit. And if my ball does happen to land in the Terror Zone, then at least fucking move when I'm hitting my shot. Aren't you supposed to be scared of humans? I've never fired a gun in my life, but I bet I could take down at least 7 of you before the rest got away. A couple weeks ago I hit a shot and my divot smoked one of you in the back of the head, and another time I had to chase one of you away so I didn't clip you on my backswing. I'm not some psycho who enjoys mutilating animals in the first steps on his path to becoming some serial killer, but I swear that the next time one of you waddles over and tries to pick up my Titleist, I'm going to take my pitching wedge and jack you so hard in the face that your beak ends up on the back of your neck like Daffy Duck.


Dear Dick Vitale,

If it isn't too much trouble, could you please let me know the results of your coin flip? You know, the one where you choose either Duke or North Carolina as your preseason #1? The season is rapidly approaching, and I know that I, for one, am on the edge of my seat wondering which one it could be. Oh wait. You already flipped it and it came up North Carolina. Sorry for wasting your time. That was not very Awesome with a capital A of me to do that. My bad.

You Give A Little Love And It All Comes Back To You

Well, what can I say? Tough loss in Game 7. I was just happy that, at the very least, there were two extra games of baseball to get fired up for. As shitty as it is to lose a Game 7, I'm definitely left with a better taste in my mouth than if the Sox would've gone down meekly after 5 games. They showed a little heart the last few games. Obviously it would've been nice to be totally healthy (Lowell, Beckett, Ortiz) but in no way am I blaming the loss on injuries. Tampa is legit, and will be for years to come. They are a team full of young guys who are all starting to come into their own, and they'll be scary good for awhile now. Hats off to them. The only thing left to do now is listen to some Bugsy Malone on repeat, go home tonight, and throw in my DVD of Game 7 of the 2004 ALCS. Today is the 4-year anniversary of that game, in case you care.

But as it turns out, I won't have to wait too long to be excited about sports again. I googled something called the "NHL" the other day, and whaddya know, their season just started up! I'll have to familiarize myself with the rules and the terminology (the only 'Face-off' I know of is a kick-ass movie starring Cage and Travolta) but I already have my favorite team: the Philadelphia Flyers. Their jerseys were the prettiest, in my opinion. Go Flyers! Put the....biscuit....in the.....um, basket.

OK, I apologize to the NHL fans who may be reading (should that even be plural?) That jab was a little unnecessary (and not really funny anyway.) In actuality, I loved following hockey when I was a kid, and my favorite team was the Flyers because apparently Bobby Clarke is my third cousin or something vague like that. Now, though, I couldn't name a single player on their roster. Lindros retired, right? Thought so.

See the resemblance?

In other disappointing sports news, the Civil War Cup was won by the Southerners on Saturday. If you don't care about golf, or you're just a dick, you can skip this next paragraph.

The first six holes of the match were a scramble format, and it started out as a back and forth battle (actually most of the match was back and forth; we didn't halve a hole until the 13th.) We were All Square on the 5th when Jud dropped a 60-footer for birdie, and that unnerved the Northerners a little bit. I began spraying balls all over the course (joining Lane in the process) and suddenly we were 4 down thru 10 holes, and it looked like we were going to get closed out early. Lane and I recovered to win holes 11 and 12 to finish the alternate shot portion 2 down, which is exactly where I hoped to be going into best ball. Sure enough, I started hitting some golf shots, the lead was cut to 1 down thru 14, and Jud and Wing were starting to come unglued. But then both Lane and I turned 15 into an adventure (so now we're 2 down) and we both lipped out 15-footers for par on 16 when either one of them would've won the hole, so the South was dormie going into the par-5 17th. Both Jud and Wing found water off the tee and made bogey, so I had about a 2-footer for par to win the hole and extend the match.....and I missed it. Just like Old Jim would. Definitely a fitting end, considering I had my 'D' game for about 12 of the 17 holes. But at least there was some drama, it was a ton of fun, and we look forward to taking the Cup back next spring.



Lane, Jud, Wing, me. As a joke, we bought some shitty suit jackets at Goodwill that the winners were forced to wear the rest of the day at the bar (however, this backfired, and instead of getting ridiculed, everyone there seemed to love them.) My sweater vest, sadly, is not a joke. Also, I need to take pictures next to Wing more often. I look like I'm about 6'8''.


Question of the Day:

You are presented with an offer to fight Mike Tyson in a boxing match. (Side note: pretend you're fighting the version of Tyson that is the most intimidating for you. It can be "devastatingly awesome boxer of the mid-80's Tyson" or "convicted rapist of the early 90's Tyson" or "becoming unhinged a little bit, might bite your ear off Tyson of the late 90's" or "face covered in tattoos, hanging out with pigeons, unquestionably insane Tyson of the 2000's."

Speaking personally, the most intimidating of all the Tysons was definitely this one:




ANYWAY, this is a special boxing match. There will be no referees, no trainers to stop the fight, no one to save you from your imminent beating. Once the fight starts, it goes until the time is up. The money you stand to receive is as follows:

A) 1 minute for $1 million
B) 3 minutes for $5 million
C) 5 minutes for $15 million
D) 10 minutes for $30 million

Keep in mind the following factors: Tyson is allowed to keep pummeling you, even if you are suddenly missing an ear, unconscious, or dead. You are allowed to fight back anyway you can, as long as you stay in the ring. If that means you just try and run circles around the ring and avoid him for as long as possible, you can try that. Any hospital bills come out of your pocket. So if you choose the 10 minutes, and then you're hooked up to life support for a month, figure those costs out of your winnings. Also remember that most brain damage is permanent. You can, of course, choose none of the above and just not do it.

Which option would you choose?

Friday Thoughts (That Aren't About The Red Sox)

-- OK, maybe just a little about the Red Sox. Games like that one last night are why you never turn off the TV early in the playoffs. Ever. After spending the first few innings frantically mashing the panic button (similar to the way Lane mashes my iPod looking for Ted Nugent songs the moment he steps into my car) I basically gave up and packed it in for the winter emotionally. That series was over, and there was nothing in Boston's body language to indicate otherwise. But I never completely gave up (I just gave up enough to write a smarmy post comparing myself to Jack Nicholson- scroll down.) Fast forward a couple hours later, and I am running around my apartment like Jimmy Valvano looking for somebody to hug, and cleaning up the beer stains off the walls because I forgot to hang up plastic again when I was celebrating a playoff victory. Dammit I love sports.


-- My belt broke at work the other day. NO, not because I'm morbidly obese (yet), but because the belt was many years old, and reversible, so the twisting buckle part snapped off. However, when I was standing at the copier looking confused, with pieces of my belt in both hands, that fact didn't stop one of the M.O.M. Squad from asking, "Hmm. So, are you still going to Sonic for lunch on Friday?" Ha. Ha. The whole thing turned into a blessing in disguise though. When I went to JC Penney's for my new belt, they must have been having like a 98% off sale or something on UnderArmour golf shirts, so I snapped up a few $50 shirts for around $3 each. Now I'm no mathematician, but that's like $47 of savings per shirt. Holler at your boy. Oh and by the way, of course I'm still going to Sonic for lunch on Friday.



-- A few of us have caught Ryder Cup fever after the incredibly exciting matches last month, so we're having our own competition this weekend. It's Lane and I vs. Jud and Wingman, the North Dakota natives vs. the Kansas natives. The first 6 holes are scramble, the next 6 are alternate shot, and the last 6 are best ball. Losers have to pay for a nice dinner and drinks the entire night, so there is actually a decent amount of money on the line here. We're calling it the Civil War Cup, since in theory it's the North vs. the South (we're conveniently ignoring that Kansas was a free state in the Civil War, and North Dakota wasn't even a state at all, so any historians out there just humor us and please don't point out these quote/unquote "facts.") This is my excited face. Side note: I realize that all the non-golfers probably don't give a shit about this paragraph, but every golfer who read it is probably getting excited just thinking about it, and is possibly setting up their own competition in their mind. There is nothing like team match play golf. Just trust us.


-- So I suppose I'm going to see Zack and Miri Make a Porno sometime soon after it comes out. However, this is an important movie for my boy Seth Rogen and his loyal band of misfits. After 40-Year-Old Virgin, Knocked Up, Superbad, etc. he was firmly entrenched in the Will Ferrell Zone, where I will gladly pay $8.75 to see any movie he is even the tiniest bit associated with, no questions asked. (Side note: Ferrell himself was removed from the Will Ferrell Zone after Semi-Pro, but might be right back in it after Stepbrothers.) I had high hopes (no pun intended) for Pineapple Express, but that movie sucked. A lot. I was basically checking my watch the last half hour of that movie, begging for it to end. So now Rogen has to prove himself to me again. I'm sure that pressure is keeping him awake at night. (Either that, or the stack of thousand dollar bills under his pillow is a bit lumpy, or the exotically beautiful women he just had a threesome with are heavy snorers. Definitely one of those three things is keeping him awake at night.) One more awful movie and he is out of the Will Ferrell Zone.....that is, at least until Fanboys comes out next month. I might as well just buy my ticket for that movie today. I mean, a raunchy teen comedy about Star Wars fans? Hello, wheelhouse? My name is Jim, it's a pleasure to meet you.


Happy Friday. The Civil War Cup is tomorrow morning, KU plays Oklahoma in football, Red Sox/Rays Game 6 is on, Alex is out of town, and I haven't drank in two weeks, since ADawg's wedding (excluding last night's stress relieving/celebration beers.) Add all that together, and things could get sloppy tomorrow. Pray...for...Mojo.

Jack Torrance Guest Blogs Game 5

Strangely enough, my moods while watching Game 5 tonight have closely mirrored those of Jack Torrance from The Shining, although not in the same order as the movie.


Here's me after B.J. Upton goes deep in the 1st inning to make it 2-0 Rays:







Here's me after Carlos Pena and Evan Longoria go back-to back to make it 5-0 Rays. I can't even be mad at this point, Tampa's hitters are so hot right now.

It is now the top of the 7th. This has been my face for the last two hours or so:

Here's an artist's rendering of what I will look like in the morning after I sleep on a pedestrian bridge overlooking the Wakarusa River:

All work and no play make Jack a dull boy.
All work and no play make Jack a dull boy.
All work and no play make Jack a dull boy.
All work and no play make Jack a dull boy.
All work and no play make Jack a dull boy.
All work and no play make Jack a dull boy.
All work and no play make Jack a dull boy.

ChewGate

So lately I have been dabbling a little bit with chewing. This is far from my first dalliance with chewing tobacco, but this is probably the hardest that we've ever flirted. If chew was a girl at a bar, after she walked in, I would've been bragging to my friends how I already 'hit that' a few years ago, and exchanged some high fives. Then, a couple hours later, I would've noticed how good she was still looking after all these years, so I would've wandered over and bought her a couple drinks and chit-chatted a bit, and we would probably be exchanging our new phone numbers right about now.

Previously, I only chewed when I was struggling to catch a buzz from drinking, and I needed a kickstart. Since I don't do it regularly, one chew for me is the equivalent of chugging around 5 or 6 beers. It just makes sense fiscally, kids. The economy is down, haven't you heard?

However, my intake has increased (just a little bit) in the last couple weeks. Alex is far from a happy camper regarding the situation (hence ChewGate) but I have plenty of friends who already chew, and my friends are nothing if not wonderful enablers. Paul was so delighted to see me with a sold-out lower level during his wedding weekend that he showed up at ADawg's wedding with my very own tin, my first since around 2003. That turn of events was both unexpected and unwelcomed in Alex's eyes.

Anyways, we were having quite a spirited discussion about it on The Boards the other day (listening to Horp and Noles talk about chewing is like listening to Siskel & Ebert talk about movies, only if every single movie gets a double thumbs up) and we were discussing how my dad and brother would be secretly pleased with me if I were to start. Both of them chew a lot, and if I were to all of a sudden throw one in right after Thanksgiving dinner, I would finally be living up to the Hammen family name.

Don't get me wrong, I have a great relationship with my dad, but as I get older, I've developed a sneaking suspicion that he has always been (secretly, of course) a tiny bit disappointed in me. He and my brother hunt, fish, ride motorcycles, work on cars, and get a large portion of their wardrobe at Cabela's. Meanwhile, I play video games, wear t-shirts with funny slogans on them, attach the suffix "skis" to the end of half of my nouns, and was genuinely devestated when The O.C. was cancelled. Maybe if I chew, I will be a little bit more of a man in my father's eyes.

In any event, Horp summed it up best:

One tin of chew: $5
A year's worth of chew: $300-$500
Chin replacement surgery: $15,000-$30,000
Having your dad finally look you in the eye and tell you you are a man: priceless

What A Difference 3 Years Makes

Back in 2005, these were three of my favorite people in the entire world. Now, just three short years later, I can't stand any of them. I found that interesting.



Johnny Damon- traitor. Latest material = slightly above average. Can still reminisce over his old material and enjoy it, though it makes me a bit sad.






Kanye West- egomaniac. Latest material = mediocre. Still love his old material.

Dane Cook- douchebasket. Latest material = a stain on American society. Starting to affect my appreciation of old material.

It is about noon on Sunday, and my plan is to not move from the couch all day except to go to the bathroom, and go pick up some subs from Jersey Mike's. I've got 2-for-1 coupons stocked up like it's my job right now. Think I can take down four footlongs today?

I wouldn't bet against it. Happy Sunday.

The Feud Continues

Just in case anyone is wondering why I seem to rip on the Minnesota Twins more than necessary, it might be good for you to know that in the last 3 days I have received no fewer than 6 texties from various Twins fans that say something to the effect of "Go Rays!"

Go wave your 1991 World Series homer hankies.

1.21 Gigowatts?!?!

To answer the question I received earlier: Can a brotha get an ADawg wedding post up in this bitch?

Yes. Yes you can.

Quick side tangent (is it possible to even have a side tangent when you haven't even started a topic yet? My vote is yes.)

Back in the day, my 6th grade girlfriend and ADawg's 6th grade girlfriend were best friends, and so naturally we went on a lot of 'double dates' together. Dates, of course, consisting of ADawg and I meeting the girls at a movie theater, speaking around 17 words to each other, then going home, firing up some Streets of Rage on the Sega, calling them on the phone, and talking for 6 hours.

They bought us R.L. Stine books for Christmas, and even came up with a little dance routine that they used to perform for us while blaring some Crystal Waters. I probably heard that song around 400 times in 1994-1995. I don't know if I've ever seen ADawg happier than those days. I always secretly hoped we would reunite with our 6th grade loves. Alas, I have no idea what happened to his, and the last time I saw mine, about 4 years ago, she tried to cut in front of me in line at El Roco. When I told her how I felt about that, she let loose with a verbal assault so vicious that I'm fairly convinced she had been practicing in front of a mirror for 9 years, waiting for exactly that moment. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, especially if she is scorned in front of everybody during recess. When I eliminated her in four-square by spiking a waterfall in her face, she knew it was over between us.

But now I can see that I have to leave the past where it belongs: in the past. The only thing from 6th grade that ADawg still needs are all his clothes. Bobbi loves him for who he is. He doesn't have to be the wolf around her, just like when he dated Boof in high school. OK, obligatory Teen Wolf joke out of the way. Now on to the wedding festivities:

I don't know why I talked shit about going to a small podunk town for the wedding. I forgot one of the cardinal rules of North Dakota: the smaller the town, the more you drink your face off. There was initial concern about the meeting of the two wedding parties. Virtually none of the groomsmen had even met any of Bobbi's bridesmaids, and although the vast majority of people that meet us Grand Forks kids enjoy our shenanigans, well...there's always that chance. It's either "Oh man, those guys were funny! I loved them!" or "I hope we never hang out with those douchebags again!" There really isn't a middle ground.

However, it was established within about 2 hours after meeting these small-town ladies that they were at least as crazy and outgoing as we are, if not more. They put down the gauntlet right away that they would outdrink us, and they weren't shy about calling us names the entire Friday before the wedding, trying to intimidate us. Don't worry, we outdrank them. But it was a stellar performance by the females. This is my impressed face.

We were also re-united with Chris and Tim, a couple of ADawg's buddies from NDSU that I hadn't seen since the drunkest night of my life back in the summer of 2004 (a story for another time.) The last time we partied together, Paul almost choked to death when he bragged he could gargle Southern Comfort, and I literally fell out of my ex-girlfriend's car and puked in the middle of the busiest street in Grand Forks. We quickly picked up where we left off.

Napoleon has a pretty sweet golf course, so we were able to get in a quick nine holes both mornings. We played teams, ADawg and I vs. Bergman and Fundy the first day, then Paul and I vs. Bergman and Fundy the second day, since ADawg had pictures early that day. Both matches were birdie-filled, exciting affairs, and both came down to at least the 8th hole. The course was filled with strategically laid out par 4s and reachable par 5s; it was perfect for team match play. It was one of the courses where you just grab your own cart and go, there aren't any employees on the course. So we had Timmy fill up a cart with beer and drive all over the course being everyone's beer bitch. Score another point for small towns.

The worst thing about small towns, which we encountered Friday night: the attitude of all the regulars and bartenders in their bars. Sometimes I don't understand how North Dakota has a reputation for being the friendliest state in the country. One on hand, what the hell is the big deal if out-of-towners are in your bar? We spice things up a little bit, we usually have good-looking ladies with us, we tip well, and it's not like we'll be boozing there every single night for the rest of your life, like 75% of the people drinking in there will be. On the other hand, if I was at my normal bar, and a bunch of douchebaskets with striped shirts and product in their hair strolled in acting afool, taking over the shuffleboard table, making up names for different drinks, playing MC Hammer on the jukebox, and then laughing about how awesome and hilarious they are for playing MC Hammer.....I might be pissed too. So I guess I can't entirely blame the small-towners. (But I did redeem myself on the jukebox by feeding the locals a steady diet of Eddie Money, Journey, and Styx the rest the night.)

The wedding the next day was an absolute booze-a-thon. Immediately after the ceremony, the entire wedding party piled into someone's Winnebago and spent the next 45 minutes or so cruising the streets of Napoleon pouring alcohol down our throats. I don't think I've ever had so much booze in such a small time frame before, nor have I ever been peer pressured to do so by girls as much as by guys. For real, those girls were badass. By the time dinner was about to start, and I suddenly found myself in the middle of conversations with a bunch of parents (including my mom) I was struggling to stay coherent.

Another negative of small towns (we're at 2-2 now, by my count) is the amount of good-looking girls who are dating trash dudes, simply because their options are so limited. The wedding photographer was pretty cute, and- let's be honest here- stacked. So we had spent most the afternoon blatantly hitting on her, only to watch in dismay as her husband sauntered into dinner in a dirty baseball hat, tucked in flannel shirt, and Wranglers. To a wedding dinner. Keep it classy, guy.

The dance was a shitstorm. I would guess that there were around 600 people at dinner, and by the end of the dance it was close to 800. It was an absolute madhouse in there. Towards the end of the night, I was growing frustrated with the deejay continually telling me that they didn't have any of the songs I was requesting, even though I knew he could search for songs on the internet and play them easily. On top of that, he was playing polka after polka after polka, which the locals were loving. Finally, I gave up requesting songs, and announced I was boycotting the dance. (Just a little tidbit for future reference: when I start getting irrationally angry over trivial things, then you know that I am borderline blacked out. I refused to get back on the dance floor, until Bobbi went up and pulled some strings and got some songs played. After SexyBack came on, I had to be almost literally dragged out to the dance floor. Probably around 45 seconds later, I am dancing away and loving life. What can I say, alcohol's a hell of a drug.)

The rest of the night passed without incident. The drive home the next day was probably the worst road trip since those kids' car broke down in Texas Chain Massacre.

We don't have as many awesome pictures as last time, mostly because we didn't have Chelsey running around snapping away (Chelsey, I think we know your true calling in life.)

The wedding party, the only time all weekend where we were all sober.




A tip of the cap to the ladies. They brought their 'A' game. Watching our drinking competition would be like going to a Battle of the Bands between Pearl Jam and Nirvana in 1993. There's really no loser, and the people who get to watch it all go down are the real winners.

Here is the wedding party ruining ADawg and Bobbi's first dance as husband and wife. I don't know whose idea this was (I'm gonna go ahead and blame the girls) but somehow it became a good idea for us to gather around the newlyweds and sing and dance while people are trying to take pictures of them. That picture looks familiar, where have I seen something like that before.....

....oh, OK, we're stealing ideas from the Who's in Whoville now. Word up.

Here's Bergman and I trying to console a little girl who was throwing a tantrum after being accidentally squeezed out of the dollar dance. This is not to be confused with the tantrum I threw after the deejay told me he didn't have Whoomp! There It Is on his computer.

Here's Paul with his new wife, Mandy. Oh wait. That's my girlfriend. Then how come.....

Why....

What...

Wow you two are camera whores. With each other. Luckily Mandy and I aren't the jealous type- as in, we don't like spending our entire evening in front of the camera, so you two do what you want.

It took most of the evening, but finally we got ADawg and his siblings together in front of the camera. But wait! ADawg, your brother's head is faded out! You know what this means.

Where we're going, we don't need roads.....

Walk-Offs Are Neat

Tremendous game last night, even with the 8th-inning meltdown from the bullpen that I predicted as soon as Okijima went to a 2-0 count on Texeira. It was worth it though, just for the chance to see a walk-off in the 9th by my boy Jed Lowrie. There is nothing quite like celebrating a walk-off hit in the playoffs. Alex squashed my fun though, when she wouldn't let me drape plastic all over the apartment and spray champagne everywhere. I even offered her goggles, but it was a no-go.

And now here comes the typical bitching from the Angels after another year in which they win a ton of games and fall short in the playoffs. Maybe you only won so many games because you played in the shitty AL West, while the Sox played in a division where the 4th place team was 10 games over .500. Quotes from "BIG-GAME PITCHER" John Lackey:

"It's way different than last year. We are way better than they are. We lost to a team not as good as us."

"On Sunday they scored on a pop fly they called a hit, which is a joke. On Monday, they score on a broken-bat ground ball and a fly ball anywhere else in America [except in Fenway Park]. And Pedroia's fist-pumping on second like he did something great."

What a fucking baby. Those are the kind of quotes you would normally expect from a little leaguer after they lost the state championship or something. I love watching Lackey show up his teammates on the mound after they botch a ground ball too. It's safe to say that I officially hate John Lackey.

And Mike Scioscia....why is he still considered a great manager? Because his team got hot in the playoffs in what, 2002? It seems like every year in the playoffs he over-manages and makes some ridiculous call that totally backfires. To me, it seems like he's the kind of guy who wants to make sure he gets credit for a win, instead of just going out there and guiding the ship and letting his players do their jobs. He didn't think Aybar, who had the game-winning hit the previous night, could get that runner in from third another way? There's a reason it's called a suicide squeeze.

But enough negativity from me. The ALCS is coming, and you know it's a strange season when the one team I didn't want to play in the American League is the TAMPA BAY DEVIL RAYS. They remind me of the 2004 Red Sox, in that they're too crazy and/or stupid to realize the pressure of the playoffs.

Yes, I'm still calling them the Devil Rays, they can send me a bill for the $1 fine or whatever it is.

Craptastic Voyage

Another wedding weekend in the books. Details to come soon. This one wasn't as rough on my body as Paul and Mandy's, but by no means do I feel anywhere close to healthy today. Listening to the Red Sox lose in extra innings last night on crappy, static-filled radio stations while driving in a constant rain was a pretty fitting end to my day. Just an awful drive.

Also, after the Cubs' shocking meltdown against the Dodgers, the Chicago trip is officially postponed until further notice (meaning not anytime soon.) For the Chicagoans who may be upset with me, here is a list of people you can pin your blame on, if it makes you feel better:

Ryan Dempster (7 walks in 4 2/3 innings)

Alfonso Soriano (.071 batting average)

Kosuke Fukodome (.100)

Aramis Ramirez (.182)

Geovany Soto (.200)

My condolences go out to Fundy. If Psycho T suddenly transfers to Duke or something, then you will basically be living my life as a sports fan, circa 2003. Needless to say that so far you are, um, handling it slightly better than I did back then.

Cubs fans could also probably get a little angry with my boy Manny, who hit .500 with a couple homers, an on-base percentage of .643, and an OPS of 1.743. That's ridiculous. I know that the media is telling me that I should hate Manny now, especially with the slight possibility of a Dodgers/Red Sox World Series, but I just can't do that. I'm not ready. Plus, the Sox still have to finish off the Angels tonight in Game 4. After a tough loss last night, the bright side is that John Lackey is terrified of Fenway Park in October. I'm usually too pessimistic to be cocky before a playoff game, but I don't think this will end well for the Angels. REDRUM! REDRUM!

Come play with us, Lackey......forever.....and ever.....and ever.

October Weddings: Why?

Anyone who gets married in October may as well just set the flag on fire, since it's obvious that they hate America. C'mon, baseball is our national pasttime. Don't these couples see the commercials? THERE'S ONLY ONE OCTOBER!

(Side note: I know that listening to Dane Cook scream that about 9 times a day last year was annoying, but I don't think it's much worse than the commercials this year where we get to watch Spanish from Old School sitting and blogging about playoff baseball on his computer. Please ignore the fact that I am currently sitting and blogging about playoff baseball.)

Tomorrow I leave for Napoleon, ND (pop. 794) for ADawg and Bobbi's wedding, and I'm missing far too much baseball for me to be comfortable with it. At least the Red Sox don't play on Saturday during the reception, or we'd have some problemos, amigos. The silver lining is that I get to watch some games in Fargo with Fundy on Thursday. Octobers at Culligan Manor were always a shitshow. Getting the two of us together for some beers and playoff baseball is like Kobayashi and Joey Chestnut meeting for a nice dinner at a hot dog stand.

The last October wedding that made me miss a Sox game was back in 2004, when a wedding in Minneapolis took place during Game 3 of the ALDS against the Angels. That worked out OK though, as it was open bar for the first part of the evening, so I would just fill my pockets to the brim with Miller Lite, sneak upstairs for a couple innings, go back down and get my funk on for awhile, then repeat the process. When Ortiz hit the walk-off, I started celebrating, until Travis came into the room and asked me why I was shotgunning a beer...by myself. Ahhh October 2004, I'm still in love with you, as much now as when I first met you.

I should probably be a little more worried about the Angels, considering they went 8-1 against Boston this year, and had the best record in baseball, and there are nagging injuries galore for the Sox (I don't want to sound like a homer, but screw it: if Boston had been anywhere close to healthy this year, they would've won at least 102 games.) But until the Angles prove they can win a game against Boston in the playoffs, I won't be overly concerned, at least by my standards. I think Danny Torrance wants to go back to the Overlook Hotel more than John Lackey wants to return to Fenway Park to pitch in the playoffs. If Lackey starts talking to an imaginary friend and writing REDRUM on his bedroom walls, they should probably skip his turn in the rotation.

I'm also a pseudo-Cubs fan this year, as it looks as though we're heading to Chi-town next weekend, and besides visiting people, a main reason I want to go there this time of year is to see that town rock out when the Cubbies are making a run. Not the White Sox though. Fuck the White Sox, the only team I hate more than them is the Yankees. That was pretty sweet how a bunch of their players have been bleaching their hair and/or chin pubes. I didn't know this was the North Dakota high school hockey tournament. That's bush. I wanted the Twins to win last night, just for the possibility of a Boston/Minnesota ALCS. Things could've got rowdy here in our little corner of the World Wide Web. 17-21 record for the Twins since the day Jon-Jon threw out the first pitch.....just a little food for thought.

All joking aside, I am very excited for ADawg's wedding, baseball or no baseball. In the spirit of the constant ADawg/Michael J. Fox jokes, there is a pretty good chance that this dance is getting dusted off sometime on Saturday night (skip to about the 30-second mark or so.) If it were my choice, it would be the dollar dance, but I probably shouldn't get my hopes up.

In An Mmmbop You're Gone, In An Mmmbop You're Not There

After we went tailgating for the Nascar race in KC last year and had a blast, Lane, Skye, Alex and I were all about going again this year. We spent the last few weeks hyping it up to whoever would listen, in an effort to add more people to our party. A bunch of people said they were going. Then, with visions of an all-day Drinking Olympics dancing in my head, people started bailing out, until all that were left were the original four. Normally that is two more people than I usually need to get crunk, but my weekends have been crazy lately (and will continue to be crazy the next few weeks) so we all bailed too. As a result of everyone ditching out on Nascar festivities, the following friendship points have been subtracted:

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?

Yep, Still Champs

Hey, remember when KU came back from 9 points down with 2:12 left to win the national championship? That was pretty neat.

Happy Friday, bone diddleys. Nascar returns to Kansas City again this weekend, and tailgating begins at 8 am on Sunday. Bergman, there could be some Drexlers flying around pretty early. As my boy MyShawn would say, as he shrugs his shoulders: "Could be fun."

Are You Kidding Me?

By writing this, I hope I don't discourage people from having their own opinion and disagreeing with me, but just know that if you are ridiculous about it, then you're gonna get made fun of...

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.

Little-Known Facts About Alex Rodriguez

--When A-Rod is on the first date with a new girl, he immediately grabs the check as soon as the waiter sets it down. When she makes the token offer to pay, he thinks it over for a couple seconds, then lets her pay for her half of the meal. But he gets the tip.

--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.

--When A-Rod is riding in the car with someone, and he gets a call on his cell, he turns the radio way down so he can hear. But if his buddy has to make a call, and he goes to turn down the music, A-Rod yells, "Hey! I was listening to that!" and cranks the volume back up.

--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.

--A-Rod is one of those guys who includes his nickname in his facebook profile, so it says Alex "A-Rod" Rodriguez.

--If you're splitting a pizza with A-Rod and you're down to the last two slices, he'll take the bigger one, then only eat half of it and waste the rest, because he wasn't that hungry anyway.

USA! USA! USA!

The Ryder Cup is my second favorite sporting event after March Madness, but it's been a long time since I've been able to really celebrate it. It's mind-boggling to think that the last time the United States won, I was a junior in high school, and even then they needed a miracle to do it. This was easily the most likable U.S. team of my lifetime. Congrats to Captain Paul Azinger, Phil Mickelson, Anthony Kim, Boo Weekley, J.B. Holmes, Kenny Perry, Jim Furyk, Justin Leonard, Hunter Mahan, Chad Campbell, Steve Stricker, Ben Curtis, and Stewart Cink.

In other news, it appears as though Julio Lugo's season may be done. I'm crushed. Get well soon, Julio!***

***Sarcasm.

I, Paul, Take You, Mandy...

My favorite moments, stories, and pictures from the week that was:

THURSDAY

Paul, Bergman, Me, Fundy, ADawg. This was such an awful round of golf. Fun, but awful. I couldn't make a putt, like normal. Fundy was playing well until the beer kicked in. After that, the wheels flew off his round so violently that bystanders were nearly injured. ADawg should've probably just traded his golf cart for an ATV or something, since he was in the woods far more often than the fairway. Did he check for wood ticks?

We started off the evening playing blackjack at the bar. I don't miss much about North Dakota, but $1 blackjack is certainly up there. Who needs Vegas when you've got charitable gaming? We turned that blackjack area into a near-riot. Later that night, Buffalo Wild Wings was nearly our undoing. Noles puked in the bathroom, and ADawg couldn't have come any closer to puking up his tequila shot right there at the table (leading the rest of us to tell everyone around us that it was his 21st birthday.) Paul decided (in classic Old Paul form) that he wanted to run to the river to throw up, a good six blocks away. Naturally, he doesn't tell anyone first, so after we finally realize that no one's seen him for like half an hour, I have to go chase him down. Ironically, we were trying to be responsible when we went to BWW, as we realized it was 11 pm and we hadn't eaten yet. Unreal. We would've been better off mainlining everclear and going to a strip club.

My favorite part of Buck's that night was that when you were at the blackjack table, you could watch a monitor that showed the dance floor. When we first got there, there weren't a ton of ladies shaking their tailfeathers yet, but Fundy and ADawg ventured out there anyway. They would try and saddle up to some random chicks, get shot down, and then nonchalantly mosey back to the middle and dance with each other, wait a couple minutes, and repeat. I could barely concentrate on the cards I was laughing so hard. Later on we ran into Mandy, Tara, the Zidon sisters, and the rest of the bridesmaids (and I mean literally ran into; we were supposed to drink on our own that night, and we ended up at the same bar. Fucking North Dakota towns) and Paul was dancing with a woman who was, um, a little on the heavy side of the scale. Mandy comes up to Noles and I and asks, matter-of-factly, "Is Paul dancing with the fattest girl in the entire bar right now?"

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.

FRIDAY

After struggling through breakfast, picking up my tux, the wedding rehearsal, and my allergies, after just an hour and a half of sleeping on the floor underneath a table, I am energized by the fact that the cavalry is starting to arrive. Alex, Chelsey, Russell, Jason, Pete, Lindsey, and others begin to filter in to the groom's dinner/BBQ, and then at the Broken Oar we add Lane, Skye, Amber, Sweeney, and Moose to our crew, so we're rolling pretty deep now.

The Broken Oar turned out to be pretty awesome. If you ever find yourself partying in Bismarck (God forbid) try and make it there. The best part of that night was Lane introducing TechnoBall on the dance floor. Since he invented that after he moved to Kansas, basically none of our friends had seen it yet; they had only heard me talk about it on here. As Noles said afterwards, "When I read about it I kinda thought it was bullshit, but that was fucking awesome!"

After the bar we went back and hopped from room to room partying, not being quiet at all. It wasn't until the next day that we found out Paul's family was staying NEXT DOOR to us. Whoops. Sweeney may or may not have flashed the pizza guy.

SATURDAY

We turned the picture taking session into a complete shitshow. If you know this group of guys, it really isn't too shocking. Basically, any time we're supposed to be on our best behavior, we are anything but. The wind kept blowing our jackets and ties around; Noles and Fundy were repeatedly grabbing my ass right before the flash went off, causing me to giggle and squirm and jump around; I was telling the photographer not to put ADawg in any pictures, because if he can't reunite his parents at the Enchantment Under the Sea dance and get back to 1985, he won't even show up in the photograph anyway; and Fundy and I pretended to be conjoined twins (in our defense, Stuck On You was on TV that morning, and letting us watch that right before picture taking is like giving a hyperactive kid a six-pack of Red Bull before dropping him off at day care.) By the end of the session, the photographers either loved us, or they wanted us to die a slow, horrible death. One of the two.

The ceremony, which was held outside, was equally hectic. The wind picked up and wreaked havoc on things:

-During Chelsey's scripture reading, she was facing the wind, and wearing a wrap dress. I'll let you draw your own picture. Use your imagination.

-I had to help Tara hold her music book while she was singing, since the wind blew the pages around. I failed horribly in my simple task:

Tara, handing me the book and whispering "Don't fuck this up."

Me, IMMEDIATELY fumbling the book and losing the page "Ummm I fucked it up."

Tara, not whispering anymore "Are you kidding me?!?"

Me, flipping through pages to reclaim her song "If you wouldn't have said anything, I would've been fine!"

-The microphone kept shorting out, so when Paul started his vows, he wasn't sure if it would be on or not, so he leaned in and yelled "I Paul, take you, Mandy!".....the microphone was on. On the bright side, this led to the first Unamused Mandy Face of the day! Best face ever.

This all contributed to make the ceremony awesome, in my opinion, as it kind of took the pressure off and put everyone in a festive mood. Right before the kiss, when Paul pulled out the binaca and sprayed it away from his mouth, Dumb & Dumber style, it brought the house down.

During dinner, we got our first look at Ike, who I hadn't seen since his wedding in June. He was sporting, quite simply, the shittiest beard in human history. He only grows facial hair on his moles, and in about 4 other spots on his face. So he grows out the hair in those places until they can at least cover 75% of his face. He calls it his comb-under. I would estimate that 50-60% of the conversation at the head table were beard jokes at Ike's expense.

My favorite moment of Paul's speech: when he starts out by saying, "You know, I look around tonight, and you know what I see...." and during his pause everyone just dies laughing. Because every single person in there knows Paul and in their mind is saying, "Oh sweet Jesus what is he going to say next..." The kid doesn't even have to make a joke and he gets people to laugh at him. It must be a good feeling. Or an awful feeling, I haven't decided yet. My second favorite moment: when he dusted off the "I love you Dad" straight from Old School. The only shocking thing about him pulling out a Will Ferrel quote at his wedding was that he waited so long to do it.

The dance was a typical dance, but the deejay unfortunately ignored all my songs (no word on what happened with that yet) except we finally did get Apache played, and it was as magical as I dreamt it would be. TechnoBall and VirtualJumpRope were also pulled out at some point. During the dollar dance, Tara and I were competing to see who could raise the most money, so I started a 3 for 1 deal where you paid your dollar, got to dance with me, then I passed you to ADawg, and then he passed you to Paul. So you barely had to stand in my line, while Tara's line stretched out forever. Somehow she still beat me by 3 dollars.

(Side note: Moms LOVED dancing with ADawg. I usually brag about my skill in hitting on Moms, but this was ridiculous. They were loving the shit out of him. Probably because they see his shirt and it reminds them of when they shopped for their own kids at Baby Gap.)

To break it down SAT style:

Middle-aged Moms : ADawg :: Me : Chili cheese wraps

Best part of the dollar dance: every time someone would come through the line, I'd grab them, start dancing with them, and go through my little spiel about the 3 for 1, batting my eyes and sweet-talking them the whole time. Well, this one elderly lady comes through (no idea who she was, I think she may have been on Mandy's side) stops me and says, "Ummm, I'll pass." I stop, dumbfounded. "You don't want to dance with me?" "No, I'll just stand over here until Paul is free." And she did just that. I have to give her props for dissing me like that though. It would've been much cooler if she would've waved her hand in front of her face and yelled, "You can't see me, you can't see me!" and some of her friends from her Bridge game came up around her yelling "Ohhhh snap! You just got served, bitch!" But alas.

Maybe my favorite part of the entire evening was when Lane had some drink made that included apple pucker, green slushee mix, and some other shit, and called it a Slimer. Now, if you know us personally, or just pay attention on this blog, you know where this is going. It started with a couple of Ghostbusters jokes. Then it turned into me telling the bartender he should only put one straw in the glass instead of two, because you NEVER cross the streams. Then, it escalated so that every time someone at the bar would order one (word spread fast, they were selling like crazy) we would all gather around and sing the Ghostbusters song. Loudly. And not just the words. Oh, no. The tune and everything. We were loving every second of it, but I'm sure the bartender wanted to shove each and every one of us into his proton pack.

Earlier on in the night, a bunch of the girlfriends/fiancees/wives decided that since they always watch us dudes get silly drunk while they stay relatively under control, they were going to flip the switch on us tonight and get crunk sauced. The commanding officers of this little rebellion (Smapes, Bobbi, Natalee) started out guns blazing, doing shots, loving life, but.....well, you learn pretty early on in your life that

girls + tons of liquor + chip on their shoulder + wedding = A FUCKING DISASTER

And this was no different. There were lots of emotional girls struggling to stand up by the end of the night. I hope you ladies learned your lesson. And I can sound sexist because of all the heat us guys are taking from the ladies for not giving up our jackets to the bridesmaids during the ceremony. We're men. Men who built the Eiffel Tower out of metal and brawn. And you're just women with a brain 1/3 the size of ours. It's science.

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.

Now we come to the picture portion of the post:

Noles trying on Sweeney's dress, and me picking some lint out of his sweater. Take a good look at this, Mike. Do you REALLY think you can beat him in a beard contest?

Pastor: Oh yeah? Well, the proper girl in the hat just eye-fucked the shit out of me.

Paul: Hee hee hee. That's from Wedding Crashers.

Pastor: I know, right? Up top, bro.

Paul: You just inspired me to quote Old School during my speech, my man.

Just after the binaca spray. People love to be in the presence of true love. It's powerful stuff.

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.

Me, Fundy, Noles. ADawg was late to the dinner because he was still in the woods off of hole 7 looking for his tee shot.

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!

A developing story: if I keep using Back to the Future jokes at this rate, will I have any left for ADawg's wedding in three weeks? Stay tuned.

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.

Here's Ike getting ready before the wedding. The valmorification is complete.

Chelsey, Alex, and Sweeney. A.k.a. Miss February, Miss July, and Miss October of the "Girls of Room 276."

The lovely bride and me. It was somewhat awkward during this dance when I heard her whisper "If only it was you and me, Jim..." but it was pretty quiet, so I just pretended like I didn't hear it.

All in all, a fannnnntastic weekend. Congrats to the happy couple. I'm sure I left out a lot of stories that I forgot about, or there were some good ones that I wasn't present for and didn't get the story on. Comment it up with those.

Oh, and Weisser- since Salwey and I were unable to accomplish our dream of live-streaming video of Kuntz's wedding and Paul's wedding, which were going on simultaneously, I'd like a report on that. Minimum 500 words. Go.

Eff You, DeSean

Gotta love the little stunt that DeSean Jackson pulled last night at the goal line. I played Skye this week in fantasy football, and she has Brian Westbrook, and I have Jackson, so that was a nice little 12-point swing in her favor....and I lost by one point. Did I mention that Westbrook also had 2 fumbles that the scorers later took away and gave to McNabb instead? Sweet. I guess the Fantasy Gods just didn't want me to win this week. Fair enough.

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?

That Escalated Quickly

I love how just recently I wrote about my tumultous relationship with alcohol, and mentioned how I don't even drink very often anymore, and then I experience a stretch like Paul's wedding week.

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."