Friday, December 26, 2008

Merry Belated Christmas

Can you wish someone a Merry Belated Christmas? I really don't think so. And yet, here we are, days after Christmas, and I'm wishing you a merry one. So you put it together.

I promise I have plenty of blogs to come. Real entries with real comedy attempts at comedy. I've just been busy these last few weeks. I'd like to tell you that it was because of my girlfriend, and shopping, and holiday parties, but it was mainly drinking and gambling. The good news is I'm up 3k. The bad news is I have Adult Fetal Alcohol Syndrome.

If you know my track record, then you probably don't believe my promise. But you know what? Believe whatever you want. I'm not beholden to you. You want to believe that we are celebrating the 2008th birthday of a carpenter but you won't believe me that I have another blog entry before New Year's? Well you know what?? You're probably right. There it is. I won't be posting again. You can still get fucked.

In the meantime, I know you come here for your bi-monthly dose of week-old news. So here it is. These individuals are celebrating a very Merry Christmas this year...without the use of poker and JD.

Tell em Busta:





Thursday, December 04, 2008

Adam Jones and The Game of Life

Adam Jones' Brain: Connect four.

Adam Jones' Hands: Wait.....hold on............

Brain: You see, it's diagonal. I started in the corner and-

Hands: Hold on then the red one went here and......awww FUCK!

Brain: Sorry.

Adam smacks the game off the table.

Hands: Yo I hate dis game! Why we gotta sit inside all day playin pussy games? I wanna play dat old game we usedta play. Memba' dat? Shit, what was it.

Brain: I don't know. It was so long ago.

Hands: Fuck, Brain, don't play me. You know dat game. Wit the runnin and the brown thing and the tacklin bitches..... Oh, touchdowns! I remember touchdown. What game has dat?

Brain: Sorry. Doesn't ring a bell.

Adam Jones' Legs: That's football, son.

Brain: Legs!

Hands: YYYEEEEEAAAAAA. Football, nigga! Yo I luuuudddd dat game. Why you holdin out on us BRAIN?! I know yo' thinkin ass knew what I's talkin bout.

Brain: What's the point? We're done with football. Commissioner Goodell suspended us, so we have to stay away from anything related to the NFL. There's no sense living in the past. This is our life now: staying home, staying sober, and staying out of trouble.

Hands: Yo but look. We could tell Commissioner Gordon dat we aint been drinkin or smokin or nothin. And you know how we fuck em up? It be true!

Brain: Well maybe you should have thought about doing that before we got suspended and then we would still be playing the game you "lud." But it's too late and we are done with the NFL. We have plenty of board games we can play.

Legs: But why does it always have to be board games?

Brain: BECAUSE. Board games. Are. Fun. Now what is it going to be, guys? Candy Land or Shoots and Ladders?

Hands: Candy Land.

Legs: No, Hands.

Hands: But I wanna hit up Gumdrop Mountain and get me some peanut brittle!

Legs: No I mean I'm done watchin Brain beat you in every kids' game we got in dis house. I'm restless as shit. I'm takin us outside.

Brain: No, Legs. NO. Do not leave this house. DO NOT WALK US OUTSIDE.

Legs: Fuck it.

Adam gets up and walks to the front door.

Brain: Legs! Don't forget I do control you!

Legs: Oh word? Control me then.

Brain: Well, I'm sayin...I'm not sayin I would, I'm just sayin that if-

Legs: See if you can stop me from running through this window. Let's see what happens.

Hands: Yeah! And see if you can stop me from juggling these knives. Let's see what happens!

Brain: Guys! Stop. Please. Why does it always come to this?? This is what gets us in trouble! Why do we feel the need to fight until we hurt ourselves?

Legs: Aight, Brain. We good. But I'm still walkin outside.

Brain: Okay, fine. But just for a little fresh air.

Adam opens his front door and steps on the newspaper.

Legs: I stepped on somethin. Hands, pick it up.

Hands: I got it. Yo what the fuck is dis? Dis be the shittiest magazine I ever SEEN. Haha it's all grey and shit. Shit's all fallin apart look. Aint even glued together right.

Brain: You know what, Hands? You're right! That sure is one crappy magazine! Let's just throw it out and play some more Topple.

Legs: Shut up, Brain. Hands, it's not a magazine. It's a newspaper.

Hands: Oh.

Legs: Yo look at the front page.

Hands: Yo dat's dat nigga Plax! Read dis to me, Brain.

Brain: Wouldn't you rather go inside?

Legs: I'll read it. Aw, shit. Plax was totin in the club and when he reached for the whistle he let off on his own leg.

Hands: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Oh mah god. OH MAH GAWD! Dis nigga shot hisself in the LEG. He shot hisself. HISSELF. Wit his own gun! Brain. BRAIN! DIS NIGGA SHOT HISSELF IN THE LEG.

Brain: Yeah. Saw that. I just hope him leg is okay..

Legs: Hands, you pull any shit like that wit me and we gon be da first nigga to chop his hands off wit his own feet.

Hands: Nahhh don't you worry bout dat, playbwoy. You know Hands good wit da heata'. Mah gunplay tight. You saw me in da club. Memba dat? Dat stripper was like "Ooh lemme get dat cash," and Hands be like, "Sho' bitch. Don't forget deez shells." And I'm like blakka, blakka, blakka. I dead all dem bitches. Didn't hit mahself once.

Brain: Hey, Hands. Maybe you can call the commissioner so he can enjoy that story as well.

Hands: I would but he don't give me the number to dat Bat Phone.

Brain: Can we go back inside now? We have a lot of chores to do today and football isn't a part of our lives anymore.

Legs: Does it say which thigh he hit? God, I don't know if I had to choose...

Adam flips through the pages of the sports section.

Hands: Nah I don't see where-....YO DAT'S PACMAN!!!

Legs: What?!?


Brain: Ahhhhhhhh shit.

Legs: This says we reinstated in the league, Brain. What the fuck, man. Why you aint tell us?!

Brain: BECAUSE THIS IS WHAT ALWAYS HAPPENS. We always get into trouble, we sit out for a while, then we go back to playing. Well I don't care if you guys tricked Goodell into reinstating you because I DON'T WANT TO PLAY ANYMORE. I can't stand babysitting you..A-HOLES all day, just so that we can play a neanderthal game for a few weeks and then fuck it all up again next time one of you decides to befoul a limousine or rob a bank or whatever the frick you guys are gonna do next! What about what I want to do?! What about my dreams?!? I want to see a musical. I want to go on a camping trip. I want to write a romance novel. But do we ever get to do what I want to do?? NOOOOOOOO. And we never will, so long as we stay in this freakin cycle. So I'm done. I'm done with all it! I'm done with all of you!! And I'm done with football!!!

Legs: ....I'm walkin us to the Hummer. We gon drive to practice. Hands you got the wheel.

Hands: Yee-uh. Yo I got madd drivin skills. I'm gon drive and shoot at the same time like GTA4. Blakka, blakka, blakka.

Brain: God I hate you guys. I'm gonna call Plaxico. Maybe he could have some use for me.