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18 Clues He's Still Crazy About You
You say your husband can't express his feelings? Here are all the funny little ways he says, "I love you."
By Ann Hodgman
1. When you wear a T-shirt, boxers, and socks to bed, somehow he still thinks you're cute.
Hey we're off to a great start. Feeling confident, ladies? Even when you look like a slob because you're not decked out in a skirt and a push-up bra and a thong and crazy boots with buckles on them and one of those weird scarf belts that hides your fopa, somehow he thinks you're still cute.
Well guess what, ANN. Any guy who is worth your time likes that look. Presumably he thinks you are cute, so all the deception and misdirection of your clothing shouldn't really matter. Lingerie and the like are okay, but the idea is that we're in it for you. Plus, the t-shirt and boxers look shows off more than you think. Sometimes you can catch some hard nips, and if you find the right angle, you might even get yourself a box shot.
There is a limit to this look of course. But as long as the boxers aren't shitstained and the t-shirt doesn't say COCK DEPOT, you should be alright.
2. He doesn't laugh when you pronounce former hockey star Mark Messier's name as "Mark Messy-er."
Andddd we have our first swing-and-a-miss. It was fun while it lasted. One in a row, though. That was a nice streak.
First of all, ANN, Mark Messier plays hockey. Nobody watches hockey. Are you writing this from Canada? Did you run out of names of jockeys? Even professional soccer has more recognizable names.
Also? Messier last played in the NHL in 2004, and he hasn't been relevant since 1994. But I like your attempt at being topical. Got any Lewinsky jokes coming?
Finally, he will laugh. Mispronouncing his last name is retarded. It's not retarded because you don't know sports, it's retarded because you don't know language. But there's good news. You're women. You're all retarded. And we love you anyway. In fact, we might even love you because you're retarded. I know that might not seem romantic, but I think it's time we all admit it.
3. The only framed photo on his bureau is of you at age ten — with short bangs, cat glasses, and metal braces. (If he kept it in his wallet, you would have to kill him.)
First of all, what the fuck is a bureau.
Second of all, HOLY SHIT WHAT KIND OF CREEPY MOTHERFUCKER ARE YOU DATING?!? His only picture of you is from when you were age ten? TEN! If it was a baby picture, that would be adorable. If it was a picture up to age 5, that would be endearing. If it was a picture of you as an adult, that would be romantic. If it's a picture of you when you were ten, that would be a felony.
If your boyfriend has this, he may in fact still love you....in a not-so-appropriate way. Just make sure you don't have kids.
Separate questions that should have been asked if I wasn't trying to wash my brain of the image of a guy biting his lip while thumbing the picture of a ten year old girl:
What are cat glasses?
What kind of non-metal braces would have been available when you were ten?
Why would he keep that in his wallet?
Why would you have to kill him?
Why are you trying to be funny?
4. He automatically smooshes all spiders for you.
Is he wearing a dress while he does it? Guys don't "smoosh" things. Sorry. We kill bugs, yes. But we do not smoosh. Which is unfortunate because we all know how attractive it is to see your man kill a spider and then go, "Don't worry, honey. I smooshed him. I smooshed him good. Now he's bye-bye-all-gone. I made him all squishy-wishies. Sooo do you want to have some straight sex now? Because that's definitely what I'm into."
5. He tried — unsuccessfully, but he tried — to clean the rust ring his shaving-cream can left on the sink.
What the fuck would this prove. If a guy is doing that, then he is a beaten man who has chosen to do what you say rather than listen to you nag. The rust does not need to be cleaned off a fucking can of shaving cream. A can of shaving cream is not a permanent fixture in the house. It is disposable. It will be gone and you will buy a new can. It is not something she uses or needs to look at. There is absolutely no need to clean it, let alone attempt a rust-removal procedure. This is a complete fucking horseshit task that a woman asks you to do just to maintain control over you. You need to slap that bitch in the mouth and tell her that you're the man of the house and your manly products are under your manly jurisdiction.*
That or just clean it anyway. That's what I do.
6. After you rear-ended that Lexus in the parking lot, his very first words were "Are you OK?"
*I misread Clue #5 and thought she meant that the shaving can itself had rust on it. I was unaware that there were shaving cans still making rust rings on sinks. I guess you can always cover the rust ring with your bottle of hair tonic. At any rate, my diatribe made me look like an asshole. Luckily, Clue #6 slams women drivers, and I think that will take the attention away from me quite nicely.
Apparently, even fellow women think you are terrible drivers. There will continue to be unequal pay in the workplace so long as women drive like idiots claiming men's lives with car accidents and road rage-induced heart attacks.
I tried to imagine what my natural reaction would be in this case. I think there's a very high chance that I would say "Are you OK?" There's a small chance that my reaction would be, "Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME," if the accident was preceded by, "Babe, watch out for this car. You can text her later."
7. At this point, his wedding band is so tight, it makes his finger look swollen — but he swears he'd feel naked without it.
Clue #7 is completely transparent. It is not a "clue" about him loving you at all. It's her way of saying, "Look, I know your husband got fat. I know he probably got a little more than fat. Not like a healthy fat or a thick fat. I know he got fat-in-all-the-wrong-places fat. But he's still wearing his wedding band, and that's worth something. I know that, additionally, the sight of his fat fingers swelling around the ring disgusts you and is a constant reminder of just how not sexually attracted you are to him. But come on, you're no Heidi Klum yourself. Have you looked in the mirror lately? You haven't, have you? Can't stand the sight of it? Don't want to know? You think he likes all that extra cottage cheese in the house? Well, he doesn't. The years haven't been kind to either of you. But at least he still wears his wedding band. I guess what I'm trying to say is that it shows that your husband is still committed to you even though you have become two slovenly beasts."
8. He doesn't try to guess what you want for your birthday — he asks your best friend.
I don't know who is still guessing what their girlfriend wants at this point. We may not get you the perfect gift. We may not get you the right size. We may get you something you hate. But as a culture we're done guessing.
The last guy to guess was Fred Flinstone and Wilma was NOT happy with that bowling ball. I think we all saw that episode, and I think we all learned a little something.
9. He's incapable of putting dishes into the dishwasher but has learned to stack them in the sink.
At times this article reads more like, 18 Ways to Cope with Your Constantly Disappointing Boyfriend.
And I have no problem with that. Please continue to set the bar as low as possible.
10. He understands which old boyfriends are fair game and which aren't.
I'm sorry, what? What exactly does "fair game" mean? This isn't one of those jokes where I pretend not to know what she's talking about in order to make some deliberate obvious joke. I really don't get what the fuck that means, and the more I read it the angrier I get.
Seriously. I just sat here and stared at that sentence for five minutes with the idea that I would write the possibilities of what that could mean. I have no idea. Someone please help. If there is a "fair game" rule in the female handbook that we haven't discovered yet, we need to know about it.
11. He doesn't "whoop!" while watching the Super Bowl anymore. OK, he does, but he's definitely cut back the whooping by about 20 percent.
See, this is why you are single and writing relationship advice columns that are 0% helpful and 20% hurtful. No one "whoops" during the Super Bowl. No one "whoops" during football at all. "Whoop" sounds like the noise a gay man would make while watching America's Next Top Model, making tiny little claps, and jumping on a mini-trampoline. You're an idiot who obviously knows nothing about football or men.
I apologize for the gay man comment. I do not know any gay men who would actually "whoop."
12. He'll pick up a box of tampons at the drugstore without wincing.
You may not have noticed it, but there is always wincing. Even if you're just a crushed soul in a shell of a man who doesn't blink at your wife's commands, you still wince at that request. If only on the inside...
I had to pick up my first box of pads two weeks ago. It was a nightmare. There are like a million different brands and a billion variations. Always. Always with wings. Always with extended wings. Regular. Heavy flow. Super. Family size. Overnight leak protection. Ultra thin. Overnight leak protection ultra thin with extended wings.
When I got to the counter, I felt slightly uncomfortable buying tampons and pads for the first time, with no additional items. I put them down and told the checkout girl, "Guarantee I got the wrong kind." She said, "$21.43." I don't think she appreciated my quip.
I learned 5 things from my first time picking up feminine hygiene products:
1) Tampons go in and pads go out.
2) Always get Ultra Thin.
3) Never get the CVS brand of tampons. Sorry about the papercuts, Xmas Girl.
4) Family size is a quantity.
5) After you get them once, you are now officially in charge of picking up pads for the rest of your life.
13. Though you've had several kids together, he's never once announced, "We're pregnant!"
That would be a bad thing? I think I saw a movie where the girl wanted the man to say "we're" pregnant rather than "you're" pregnant. I thought that was supposed to be important to women because it shows that you consider yourselves a team and that you always go through everything together.
Are you suggesting that saying "we're pregnant" would not be masculine? Is he supposed to say, "Heyyy you're pregnant that's great let me know that works out for you. Now could you go ahead and fuck off, I'll be in the waiting room tell me when it's out."
Seriously, ladies. Figure out what the fuck you want.
14. He wears that "Kiss Me, I'm Irish" sweatshirt you bought him during a weak moment — sometimes even in public.
I can't think of a more effective way to determine the state of your relationship than buying your boyfriend this shirt.
If your girlfriend buys you this shirt, you should dump her because that shit is corny.
If your girlfriend buys you this shirt and you like it, then you should propose because you are two corny motherfuckers.
15. He's careful never to deal with nose hairs in your presence.
Why is this considered disgusting? I've never done this, but from what I've seen on Queer Eye, it's a little electric buzzer the size of a pen that the guy puts in his nose for 2 seconds. That is so gross that it is to be done in private?
Ya know what? If that bothers you, then go fuck yourself. Because no one else is going to.
16. When you drag him to sentimental movies, he doesn't sit there and snicker. (He may fall asleep, but he won't snicker.)
HOW DO YOU NOT [LAUGH] AT SEX AND THE CITY?!?
Listen I'm a sensitive guy. Very sensitive. Too sensitive. But not about vapid chick flicks that masquerade as "sentimental" movies. I saw the sex and the city movie. It was boring and pointless. I'll give you the rundown of the movie fromthe actual Plot Keywords on IMDB. *Spoiler Alert*
Marriage
Sex
Friendship
Honeymoon
Writer
Wedding Dress
Apartment
Mexico
Marital Separation
Valentine's Day
Overeating
Soiling Pants
Personal Assistant
Limousine
Cell Phone
Brooklyn Bridge
Wedding Planner
Fashion Show
Male Frontal Nudity
New York City
Birth
New Year's Eve
Hospital
Legs
Brooklyn New York
Sunbathing
Shoe
Gay Stereotype
Purse
Diarrhea
Getting Cold Feet
Female Nudity
Magazine
Adultery
Narration
Sequel To TV Series
Blockbuster
Actor
Body Waxing
Closet
Los Angeles California
Forgiveness
Shower
Fashion Magazine
Voice Mail
Costume
Flashback Sequence
Swimsuit
Pregnant Woman's Water Breaks
Library
Courthouse
Male Female Relationship
E Mail
Sex With Food
Dog
Based On TV Series
Break Up
Child Swearing
Love Letter
Depression
Sushi
Nyotaimori
Gay Kiss
Based On Television Series
Pregnancy
Sex Standing Up
Covered Female Frontal Nudity
Magazine Editor
Canceled Wedding
Fashion
Interracial Adoption
I had a joke written where I run down the fake plot points, but the real ones are actually much funnier. Have fun picking your favorites.
My personal favorite is that Sex and the City is the only movie on IMDB that uses both the "Soiling Pants" and "Diarrhea" tags.
17. He doesn't comment on your new haircut unless you ask him to. And then he lies.
Lies: the hallmark of a loving, healthy relationship.
Ladies, I'll save you the time. We don't care about your haircut. Up, down, bangs, straight, dyed, whatever. Do what you gotta do. So long as it's not a boycut. Guys want to date Kim Bauer, not Teri Bauer.
So please, leave the short hair to the men. We can't both look like a lesbian elf.
18. He may forget to give you a card for Valentine's Day, but at least he understands this is a criminal offense. And he's prepared to pay the price.
The price? Having your girlfriend read you an article out of MSN Lifestyle.
Showing posts with label football. Show all posts
Showing posts with label football. Show all posts
Friday, February 20, 2009
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Mercury: The Roman God of Hubris
As you all know, the Tennessee Titans are undefeated ten games into this NFL season. 10-0 is a very impressive mark at this point in the season. In fact, it's perfect. But nothing in the NFL is truly impressive until Mercury Morris weighs in on it.
You see, Mercury Morris played for the 1972 Miami Dolphins, the only NFL team to ever complete an undefeated season and win the championship. But of course, you already knew that, because this douche never shuts up about it. Morris and all hissurvivors teammates from the '72 Dolphins are so proud of their accomplishment that they have a party every year when the last undefeated team in the NFL takes its first loss.
Beyond that, each year Mercury also takes it upon himself to become the resident NFL expert. He analyzes the last remaining undefeated team to see how they compare to the '72 Dolphins. And wouldn't you know it, they are never quite as good as his beloved 'phins. So now that the Titans are 10-0, it is time to start hearing from Mercury Morris again.
But you see, things have always been this way for Mercury. And the world.
JUNE 1512. VATICAN CITY. SISTINE CHAPEL.
Mercury Morris looks up at the ceiling.
Mercury Morris: Yeahhh. I see what you did there.
Michelangelo: You do? Which part are you referring to?
Mercury: Well. Ya know. All of it.
Michelangelo: All of it?
Mercury: Sure, sure. It's great, man. Seriously. It was a great try.
Michelangelo: Grazie, grazie. I really thought--wait. I'm sorry. Did you say "great try?"
Mercury: Of course. You really gave it a great shot. I mean I see what you went for. Bible. God. Jesus. Paint. I get it. It was truly a valiant effort.
Michelangelo: Effort?? But, sir. I have been painting this for four years. It's taken an enormous toll on my body. I've given my life to this project!
Mercury: And I surely respect you for it.
Mercury puts his arm around Michelangelo and walks with him.
Mercury: Hey. You gave it your all. No one can take that away from you. Some of us are just bound for perfection, while others splatter paint on the ceiling of a chapel and call it art. But you still gave it your best. Now you go ahead and keep that in your pocket for a rainy day.
Michelangelo: What on Earth are you saying?!? Splattered paint?? Who are you to judge what is perfection?!
Mercury: Well, I didn't want to bring it up but... A few years back, me and a couple buddies got together and painted the ceiling of our church. Just a bunch of old school dudes, watchin each others' backs, and paintin' ceilings. Well it took us eight long weeks, but when it was all said and done, the townspeople decided that our church had the nicest painted ceiling of any church in town. It was a proud day for me and the boys. In fact, we still get together every so often to look at other church ceilings, and celebrate that ours is still better.
Michelangelo: Let me get this straight. You only painted for eight weeks?
Mercury: It doesn't matter how long it took. What matters was that it was perfect.
Michelangelo: And your competition was other churches within your own town??
Mercury: Yeah but that was a tough town, man. Not like the weak watered-down towns you guys got now.
Michelangelo: And you yourselves are now the judges on what could possibly live up to your own creation???
Mercury: Of course, Mike. Who better to judge perfection than the perfect ones themselves? I'm not saying you could never be perfect. You just aren't now. And. Even if you were to ever be perfect, you still wouldn't really be perfect because we did it first. So you would still be second place to our perfection.
Michelangelo: You are not perfect. No man is perfect. God is perfect.
Mercury: Now hold on. I gotta stop you right there. Let's be clear about a few things. I am not perfect. You are not perfect. God is not perfect. The only thing that has ever been perfect in this world was me and my buddies during that one Spring when we painted the ceiling of our church. Now don't get discouraged because you're not quite there yet. Think of it this way: you made it to the party, but you still gotta pin the tail on the donkey!
Two members of the clergy drag Mercury out of the chapel.
JUNE 1941. FACTORY IN DRESDEN, GERMANY.
After the conclusion of a brief pro-German announcement over the loudspeaker, Mercury tosses his gloves and puts his hands on his hips.
Mercury: Man, what's all this I keep hearing about this Germany being the best Germany ever. Man this Germany aint shit. Back in my day, we had us a real German Empire. Yall don't know about Kaiser Wilhelm II. He puts all yall to shame. Dude had a spike on his helmet. You believe that? Who's that guy you got now. Adolph Nippler? Zing!
German Guy: Adolph Hitler. And I wouldn't let him hear you say that. He would have you and your entire family murdered.
Mercury: ...A spike on his helmet. A motherfucking SPIKE. Shit, you younguns just wouldn't know about how we did things. Our war was serious.
German: This war is much bigger.
Mercury: Oh, really? How can it be better than The Great War? They called it that 'cause it was the greatest! They're callin this World War II 'cause that's just what it is--second place.
German: You are offending my typical German sensibilities of reason and order.
Mercury: What you know about this, my man. In my day? Our war totaled over ten million casualties. Ten million.
German: I predict that by the end of all this, we'll have fifty million dead.
Mercury: Ha! Ho, ho, ho! Mr. Prediction Man. Fifty million! How's that Charlie Chaplin-lookin motherfucker gonna manage that, huh? No country can kill that many in a war. Shit he'd have to start straight exterminatin people if he plans to hit that number.
The German man begins writing.
German: Go on...
Mercury: Look, brotha. Maybe I can help you better understand. Let me put it to you like this:
(rapping)
So you think that Hitler is really keen
Well I can tell you now he aint so mean
The Great World War, that was the best
Doesn't even matter that we lost that mess
Today yall Germans are just pretenders
I heard Hitler himself was quite the bender
Kaiser would surely kick his butt
Cause he aint nothin but a quarter-jew mutt
Two SS members swiftly drag Mercury out of the building.
JUNE 1994. AOL HEADQUARTERS WITH STEVE CASE.
CEO Steve Case finishes a presentation about the upcoming release of AOL 1.5 for Windows 3.1. As the clapping of Board members wanes, Mercury Morris continues slow-clapping with his feet on the conference table.
Mercury: Ha ha ha. So the internet, huh? That's it? Ooh-wee. Yall are pretty easily impressed for some executives. Now I know why they call it "tech-no-logical."
Mercury winks.
Steve Case: I'm sorry?
Mercury: Man, this internet aint shit. Cmon now. World Wide Web? Umm, maybe yall forgot about a little invention called the telephone? Those things reach all over the world. The phone did it way before the internet. And it did it better.
Steve Case: With all due respect, I'm not sure I know what you're saying.
Mercury slaps his thighs and stands up.
Mercury: Well I'll tell ya what I'm sayin, son. I'm sayin the phone is the best there was, the best there is, and the best there ever will be! If you want to talk to your wife, you don't wanna to get caught in no web! If you want to talk to your dad, you don't wanna get dragged in no net! You wanna make a call, you use the phone, because it's the best of all.
Mercury folds his arms.
Steve: Right, but the internet can provide so much more than a telephone conversation can. You can use it to email, sure. But you can also use it to shop online. You can use it to expand your business. You can look up virtually any fact and have it right in front of you in seconds.
Mercury: Man, you want facts? A phone can give you facts! Watch this.
Mercury picks up the phone.
Mercury: Beep-beep-boop-bop-bop-boop-beep. Hello? Yes, hi. Can you tell me who the first president of the United States was? Abraham Lincoln? Ah thank you!
Steve: Well, actually that's not correct. The first president was George Washington. Also, you didn't dial the phone. You just picked up the phone and started saying boops and beeps with your mouth.
Mercury: (into phone) I gotta go.
Mercury hangs up the phone.
Mercury: Look, we can argue over who the first president was all day, but there's no way to find out for sure. The only thing that's important is that everyone here understands that the phone is better than the internet.
Steve: But we didn't invent the internet. We're not saying we invented the internet.
Mercury: Now there ya go. That's it. Champions stay humble. Humble like the perfect Miami Dolphins of 1972.
Steve: (frustrated) Furthermore, why are you saying the phone is better than the internet. That's like saying an apple is better than a pencil. I don't think they even compare.
Mercury: Exactly. The net cannot compare to the perfect phone.
Steve: ...All we're saying is that this will be a great tool we can use to make our company the best in our field.
Mercury: Ah, ah, ah! You're not the best yet. No, sir. Let's just say this: you're in the right ballpark, but you still gotta find your seats!
Two security guards drag Mercury out of the building.
November 2008. New York, NY.
Mercury: This recession aint shit...
You see, Mercury Morris played for the 1972 Miami Dolphins, the only NFL team to ever complete an undefeated season and win the championship. But of course, you already knew that, because this douche never shuts up about it. Morris and all his
Beyond that, each year Mercury also takes it upon himself to become the resident NFL expert. He analyzes the last remaining undefeated team to see how they compare to the '72 Dolphins. And wouldn't you know it, they are never quite as good as his beloved 'phins. So now that the Titans are 10-0, it is time to start hearing from Mercury Morris again.
But you see, things have always been this way for Mercury. And the world.
JUNE 1512. VATICAN CITY. SISTINE CHAPEL.
Mercury Morris looks up at the ceiling.
Mercury Morris: Yeahhh. I see what you did there.
Michelangelo: You do? Which part are you referring to?
Mercury: Well. Ya know. All of it.
Michelangelo: All of it?
Mercury: Sure, sure. It's great, man. Seriously. It was a great try.
Michelangelo: Grazie, grazie. I really thought--wait. I'm sorry. Did you say "great try?"
Mercury: Of course. You really gave it a great shot. I mean I see what you went for. Bible. God. Jesus. Paint. I get it. It was truly a valiant effort.
Michelangelo: Effort?? But, sir. I have been painting this for four years. It's taken an enormous toll on my body. I've given my life to this project!
Mercury: And I surely respect you for it.
Mercury puts his arm around Michelangelo and walks with him.
Mercury: Hey. You gave it your all. No one can take that away from you. Some of us are just bound for perfection, while others splatter paint on the ceiling of a chapel and call it art. But you still gave it your best. Now you go ahead and keep that in your pocket for a rainy day.
Michelangelo: What on Earth are you saying?!? Splattered paint?? Who are you to judge what is perfection?!
Mercury: Well, I didn't want to bring it up but... A few years back, me and a couple buddies got together and painted the ceiling of our church. Just a bunch of old school dudes, watchin each others' backs, and paintin' ceilings. Well it took us eight long weeks, but when it was all said and done, the townspeople decided that our church had the nicest painted ceiling of any church in town. It was a proud day for me and the boys. In fact, we still get together every so often to look at other church ceilings, and celebrate that ours is still better.
Michelangelo: Let me get this straight. You only painted for eight weeks?
Mercury: It doesn't matter how long it took. What matters was that it was perfect.
Michelangelo: And your competition was other churches within your own town??
Mercury: Yeah but that was a tough town, man. Not like the weak watered-down towns you guys got now.
Michelangelo: And you yourselves are now the judges on what could possibly live up to your own creation???
Mercury: Of course, Mike. Who better to judge perfection than the perfect ones themselves? I'm not saying you could never be perfect. You just aren't now. And. Even if you were to ever be perfect, you still wouldn't really be perfect because we did it first. So you would still be second place to our perfection.
Michelangelo: You are not perfect. No man is perfect. God is perfect.
Mercury: Now hold on. I gotta stop you right there. Let's be clear about a few things. I am not perfect. You are not perfect. God is not perfect. The only thing that has ever been perfect in this world was me and my buddies during that one Spring when we painted the ceiling of our church. Now don't get discouraged because you're not quite there yet. Think of it this way: you made it to the party, but you still gotta pin the tail on the donkey!
Two members of the clergy drag Mercury out of the chapel.
JUNE 1941. FACTORY IN DRESDEN, GERMANY.
After the conclusion of a brief pro-German announcement over the loudspeaker, Mercury tosses his gloves and puts his hands on his hips.
Mercury: Man, what's all this I keep hearing about this Germany being the best Germany ever. Man this Germany aint shit. Back in my day, we had us a real German Empire. Yall don't know about Kaiser Wilhelm II. He puts all yall to shame. Dude had a spike on his helmet. You believe that? Who's that guy you got now. Adolph Nippler? Zing!
German Guy: Adolph Hitler. And I wouldn't let him hear you say that. He would have you and your entire family murdered.
Mercury: ...A spike on his helmet. A motherfucking SPIKE. Shit, you younguns just wouldn't know about how we did things. Our war was serious.
German: This war is much bigger.
Mercury: Oh, really? How can it be better than The Great War? They called it that 'cause it was the greatest! They're callin this World War II 'cause that's just what it is--second place.
German: You are offending my typical German sensibilities of reason and order.
Mercury: What you know about this, my man. In my day? Our war totaled over ten million casualties. Ten million.
German: I predict that by the end of all this, we'll have fifty million dead.
Mercury: Ha! Ho, ho, ho! Mr. Prediction Man. Fifty million! How's that Charlie Chaplin-lookin motherfucker gonna manage that, huh? No country can kill that many in a war. Shit he'd have to start straight exterminatin people if he plans to hit that number.
The German man begins writing.
German: Go on...
Mercury: Look, brotha. Maybe I can help you better understand. Let me put it to you like this:
(rapping)
So you think that Hitler is really keen
Well I can tell you now he aint so mean
The Great World War, that was the best
Doesn't even matter that we lost that mess
Today yall Germans are just pretenders
I heard Hitler himself was quite the bender
Kaiser would surely kick his butt
Cause he aint nothin but a quarter-jew mutt
Two SS members swiftly drag Mercury out of the building.
JUNE 1994. AOL HEADQUARTERS WITH STEVE CASE.
CEO Steve Case finishes a presentation about the upcoming release of AOL 1.5 for Windows 3.1. As the clapping of Board members wanes, Mercury Morris continues slow-clapping with his feet on the conference table.
Mercury: Ha ha ha. So the internet, huh? That's it? Ooh-wee. Yall are pretty easily impressed for some executives. Now I know why they call it "tech-no-logical."
Mercury winks.
Steve Case: I'm sorry?
Mercury: Man, this internet aint shit. Cmon now. World Wide Web? Umm, maybe yall forgot about a little invention called the telephone? Those things reach all over the world. The phone did it way before the internet. And it did it better.
Steve Case: With all due respect, I'm not sure I know what you're saying.
Mercury slaps his thighs and stands up.
Mercury: Well I'll tell ya what I'm sayin, son. I'm sayin the phone is the best there was, the best there is, and the best there ever will be! If you want to talk to your wife, you don't wanna to get caught in no web! If you want to talk to your dad, you don't wanna get dragged in no net! You wanna make a call, you use the phone, because it's the best of all.
Mercury folds his arms.
Steve: Right, but the internet can provide so much more than a telephone conversation can. You can use it to email, sure. But you can also use it to shop online. You can use it to expand your business. You can look up virtually any fact and have it right in front of you in seconds.
Mercury: Man, you want facts? A phone can give you facts! Watch this.
Mercury picks up the phone.
Mercury: Beep-beep-boop-bop-bop-boop-beep. Hello? Yes, hi. Can you tell me who the first president of the United States was? Abraham Lincoln? Ah thank you!
Steve: Well, actually that's not correct. The first president was George Washington. Also, you didn't dial the phone. You just picked up the phone and started saying boops and beeps with your mouth.
Mercury: (into phone) I gotta go.
Mercury hangs up the phone.
Mercury: Look, we can argue over who the first president was all day, but there's no way to find out for sure. The only thing that's important is that everyone here understands that the phone is better than the internet.
Steve: But we didn't invent the internet. We're not saying we invented the internet.
Mercury: Now there ya go. That's it. Champions stay humble. Humble like the perfect Miami Dolphins of 1972.
Steve: (frustrated) Furthermore, why are you saying the phone is better than the internet. That's like saying an apple is better than a pencil. I don't think they even compare.
Mercury: Exactly. The net cannot compare to the perfect phone.
Steve: ...All we're saying is that this will be a great tool we can use to make our company the best in our field.
Mercury: Ah, ah, ah! You're not the best yet. No, sir. Let's just say this: you're in the right ballpark, but you still gotta find your seats!
Two security guards drag Mercury out of the building.
November 2008. New York, NY.
Mercury: This recession aint shit...
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
A.J. vs. P.A.C.
Adam Jones' Brain: What did I say..
Adam Jones' Hands: Yo. Aight first off-
Brain: What did I say..
Hands: Yo, I'm sayin'-
Brain: WHAT. DID I. SAY..
Hands: Shiiiit. Aight. You said don't do anything wit'out axin you first.
Brain: Thank you. But did you listen to me? Nooooo. Do you ever listen to me? NOOOOO.
Hands: But yo I'm sayin' it wasn't even my fault!
Brain: Of course it wasn't! It's never your fault! It wasn't your fault when you didn't want to pay the valet so you said, "I'll just hit her." It wasn't your fault when we got pulled over for 75 in a school zone. It wasn't your fault when you wanted to "make it rain" in that strip club in Vegas that coincidentally got shot up after we left. And it certainly wasn't your fault that we got in a drunken fight when we are under a zero tolerance policy from the commissioner of the NFL!
Hands: Exactly. Thank you.
Brain: THEY WERE ALL YOUR FAULT!
Hands: How is the speeding ticket my fault?
Adam Jones' Legs: Don't drag me into this, boy.
Hands: Aight, aight, you wanna blame Hands. Fine. But yo. For real? Shit is going on in the streets, man. Yo niggas is in the grind. Where you be at, man? Niggas be buckin. Why you never buckin? Where you be at, man??
Brain: First of all, I'm a brain, and you are hands. We are a part of the same body. I am always, inherently, in the same place that you are. That's where I "be at." Second of all, if bucking means "shooting a gun," then being that I am a brain, it would be physically impossible for me to shoot a gun. Third of all, those guns are what got us into trouble in the first place. How could you glorify gun violence when that's what essentially cost us our career? Someone almost died behind that!
Legs: Yo, he just stole those lines from a song.
Brain: What?
Legs: Those are lyrics.
Hands: No they aint!
Legs: It's Nas. It's called Destroy and Rebuild.
Brain: Really? What the fuck, Hands. You think this is a joke?
Hands: Nah, man. It's just...I don't know. I don't know what they want from me. It's like the more money we come across, the more problems we see.
Brain: Exactly. That's what I've been saying. All this money and fame can get us into a lot of trouble. Thank you for finally-
Legs: It's another song, Brain.
Hands: Nah, man. I made that up.
Legs: That's BIG man. Everyone know that.
Brain: Seriously? This is what you wanna do all day, Hands?
Hands: Yo. We out there every day and people be throwin' dirt on our name. They be testin' us. They be talkin' shit 'bout Pacman.
Brain: You mean "Adam."
Hands: Nah, fuck that, man! We Pacman! We always been Pacman and we always gon' be Pacman! And when people disrespect Pacman, Hands is on the front line! That big ol' bouncer tried to talk shit and I did what I's 'posed to! I popped that fat bitch in the side of his head!
Legs: Man, you only waited until people were around to separate you.
Brain: Legs, I saw you kicking him too!
Legs: Well, hey, man. You know what they say. Bitches get kick-es.
Brain: That is not an expression.
Hands: Why you so mad, Brain? You act like you surprised.
Brain: I know, I know. I shouldn't be. But it was all going so well. We started out 3-0. Everyone said we were the best team in football. Fans were screaming our name...
Legs: It aint that bad, man.
Brain: ...we led the team in tackles against Green Bay, we recovered a fumble...
Hands: It'll be aight.
Brain: ...it was almost as if everyone forgot. It was all going just as I planned. And now, Jerry Jones is going to kill us.
Legs: Nah, man. JJ loves us.
Brain: That's just for the press! He told me that if we messed up, even once, he would give us a Texas Funeral. And we'd never see it coming.
Legs: You really think he'd do that?
Brain: We were standing at the grave of Frank Cornish when he told me.
Legs: Fuckin shit.
Hands: Nah, man. We good. How he gon' kill family? JJ won't do that. You can't kill family.
Brain: What are you talking about? What is he talking about?
Legs: "Jones."
Brain: Jesus Christ.
Legs: Look, we can't just sit here cryin' all day.
Brain: Well we got four weeks off now. Maybe even more. So what do we do now? What the fuck do we do now?
Adam Jones' Dick: ...Wanna go to the strip club?
Adam Jones' Hands: Yo. Aight first off-
Brain: What did I say..
Hands: Yo, I'm sayin'-
Brain: WHAT. DID I. SAY..
Hands: Shiiiit. Aight. You said don't do anything wit'out axin you first.
Brain: Thank you. But did you listen to me? Nooooo. Do you ever listen to me? NOOOOO.
Hands: But yo I'm sayin' it wasn't even my fault!
Brain: Of course it wasn't! It's never your fault! It wasn't your fault when you didn't want to pay the valet so you said, "I'll just hit her." It wasn't your fault when we got pulled over for 75 in a school zone. It wasn't your fault when you wanted to "make it rain" in that strip club in Vegas that coincidentally got shot up after we left. And it certainly wasn't your fault that we got in a drunken fight when we are under a zero tolerance policy from the commissioner of the NFL!
Hands: Exactly. Thank you.
Brain: THEY WERE ALL YOUR FAULT!
Hands: How is the speeding ticket my fault?
Adam Jones' Legs: Don't drag me into this, boy.
Hands: Aight, aight, you wanna blame Hands. Fine. But yo. For real? Shit is going on in the streets, man. Yo niggas is in the grind. Where you be at, man? Niggas be buckin. Why you never buckin? Where you be at, man??
Brain: First of all, I'm a brain, and you are hands. We are a part of the same body. I am always, inherently, in the same place that you are. That's where I "be at." Second of all, if bucking means "shooting a gun," then being that I am a brain, it would be physically impossible for me to shoot a gun. Third of all, those guns are what got us into trouble in the first place. How could you glorify gun violence when that's what essentially cost us our career? Someone almost died behind that!
Legs: Yo, he just stole those lines from a song.
Brain: What?
Legs: Those are lyrics.
Hands: No they aint!
Legs: It's Nas. It's called Destroy and Rebuild.
Brain: Really? What the fuck, Hands. You think this is a joke?
Hands: Nah, man. It's just...I don't know. I don't know what they want from me. It's like the more money we come across, the more problems we see.
Brain: Exactly. That's what I've been saying. All this money and fame can get us into a lot of trouble. Thank you for finally-
Legs: It's another song, Brain.
Hands: Nah, man. I made that up.
Legs: That's BIG man. Everyone know that.
Brain: Seriously? This is what you wanna do all day, Hands?
Hands: Yo. We out there every day and people be throwin' dirt on our name. They be testin' us. They be talkin' shit 'bout Pacman.
Brain: You mean "Adam."
Hands: Nah, fuck that, man! We Pacman! We always been Pacman and we always gon' be Pacman! And when people disrespect Pacman, Hands is on the front line! That big ol' bouncer tried to talk shit and I did what I's 'posed to! I popped that fat bitch in the side of his head!
Legs: Man, you only waited until people were around to separate you.
Brain: Legs, I saw you kicking him too!
Legs: Well, hey, man. You know what they say. Bitches get kick-es.
Brain: That is not an expression.
Hands: Why you so mad, Brain? You act like you surprised.
Brain: I know, I know. I shouldn't be. But it was all going so well. We started out 3-0. Everyone said we were the best team in football. Fans were screaming our name...
Legs: It aint that bad, man.
Brain: ...we led the team in tackles against Green Bay, we recovered a fumble...
Hands: It'll be aight.
Brain: ...it was almost as if everyone forgot. It was all going just as I planned. And now, Jerry Jones is going to kill us.
Legs: Nah, man. JJ loves us.
Brain: That's just for the press! He told me that if we messed up, even once, he would give us a Texas Funeral. And we'd never see it coming.
Legs: You really think he'd do that?
Brain: We were standing at the grave of Frank Cornish when he told me.
Legs: Fuckin shit.
Hands: Nah, man. We good. How he gon' kill family? JJ won't do that. You can't kill family.
Brain: What are you talking about? What is he talking about?
Legs: "Jones."
Brain: Jesus Christ.
Legs: Look, we can't just sit here cryin' all day.
Brain: Well we got four weeks off now. Maybe even more. So what do we do now? What the fuck do we do now?
Adam Jones' Dick: ...Wanna go to the strip club?
Sunday, October 05, 2008
Threat Level: Purple
I don't want to alarm anyone, but our country is in grave danger. You may or may not be aware of it, but it stands to threaten each and every person in America. We need to band together in a bipartisan effort to fight this evil before we are all subject to the most dire of consequences.
In case you haven't seen it already, a California Raisin is on NFL Countdown.
In case you haven't seen it already, a California Raisin is on NFL Countdown.
If they've already infiltrated ESPN, how much longer before they infiltrate a main network? And then perhaps, our government? What if it becomes mayor? Governor? Or even Vice President? Stranger things have happened.
But maybe that won't be so bad. Who am I to argue with God's plan?
Thursday, October 02, 2008
Revenga!
Willie Randolph walks up to an unlit house reading a piece of paper. He knocks on the door.
Willie Randolph: Hello? Umm...I got a letter that said I should come here? Is- is anyone there?
Willie slowly opens the door and the lights go on.
Everyone: SURPRISE!!!
Willie: "Surprise?" But it's not my birthday.
Bill Buckner walks forward.
Bill Buckner: See, guys, I told you "surprise" was stupid. Hey, Willie. Remember me? It's Bill Buckner. And I'm still alive!
Willie: Hey, Bill. 'Course I remember. But what- what is all this?
An old man holding his goat dives out in between Bill and Willie.
Old Man: IT'S THE REVENGE CLUB! YA IN ER AIN'T YE?!
Goat: Whoa, hey. Slow down, Old Man. Give him a chance, huh?
Bill: Willie, he's right. This is a Revenge Club. Everyone here has been wronged by someone or something and we have vowed that we would take our revenge. And we tortured souls rely on each other to make sure our revenge is complete. No matter what it takes. No matter how long it takes.
Goat: But we don't do curses.
Bill: Oh, that's right. We don't do curses.
Goat: Old Man was gonna make a sign, you know, for your first night. "Revenge Club: We Don't Do Curses." But, uh, he got fuckin' piss-drunk out of his mind again and, uh, well, Willie, I'd just like to say welcome.
Old Man: SHUT UP, GOAT, BEFORE I SHOVE MY HICKORY STICK UP YOUR SMELLY GOAT ASS!
Goat: Ahh that's right. Again with the hickory stick. We get it, Old Man.
Willie: I'm sorry, Bill. Who exactly is this Old Man and his Goat?
Bill: Well in 1945-
Old Man: IN 1945 WE GOT KICKED OUT OF WRIGLEY FIELD DURING GAME 4 OF THE WORLD SERIES. I brought ol' Goat here fer good luck. "We got yer Goat" I told Detroit. They didn't seem to appreciate the joke.
Goat: I tried telling him it was a terrible joke.
Old Man bludgeons Goat over the head with his hickory stick.
Old Man: When'and the rain came, the Cubs owner forced me and mah goat out of the stadium. They said we stunk! Since that day I've vowed that the Cubs and their stinkin' fans won't never see another championship ag'in.
Willie: ...Could that possibly be true?
Old Man: YOU CALLIN' ME A LIAR, BOY?!? YOU THINK I'M SOME URBAN LEGEND?! YOU MUST BE READIN' THAT WIKIPEDIA TOO!
Goat: Easy, Old Man, Easy.
Willie: Fine, I believe you. Jeez. So how do you guys get revenge?
Old Man: Every year if they get close, I make'n sure they don't get too close. Heh heh.
Goat: Yeah 'cause we fuckin' rig the games!
Old Man: Shut up, GOAT!
Willie: Oh my god. Did you cause them to lose in 2003?
Old Man: Heh heh. Some of my best work. Ya see, I kidnapped that Steve boy about a month before the playoffs. I had him in my basement tied up right next to the goat, listening to hypnotic mind-control tapes for 24 hours a day! Then when Game 6 came and them Cubs was gittin' too close, I unleashed my Bartman zombie into the game, and planted him real close to the field. He had those tapes playin' his headphones, makin' him listen to mah every word. And when the time was right- BAM!
Willie: Oh my god!!!
Bill: Just like Naked Gun!!
Old Man: NO FOUL BALL FOR YOU MR. ALOU! HAHAHAHA, GAME OVER! CUBS LOSE!!!!!
Willie: That's amazing! You made Steve Bartman interfere with that foul ball through hypnosis?!
Goat: Nah, man, we just paid Alex Gonzalez to tank that ground ball. Mark Prior too. It barely cost anything, man. I almost felt bad doin' it.
Old Man kicks Goat in the ribs.
Old Man: SHUT UP, GOAT! YOU KNOW IT WAS THE BARTMAN ZOMBIE!!
Goat: Fackin SHIT. Ahh, god damn. Okay, okay, fine you're right. It was your zombie with the cassette tapes or whatever.
Willie: What was your revenge Bill?
Bill lowers his head and casts a devilish smile.
Bill: I'm glad you asked, Willie. As you may know, I had this tiny little error in Game 6 of the 1986 World Series. Some people seem to think I cost Boston the World Series and that I perpetuated some kind of curse. For about the next 18 years after that, I got my house egged every weekend. I'm not sure if it was related to the error, but just to be safe, I joined the Revenge Club.
Willie: Oh god, Bill, I remember. I'm so sorry you had to go through that. It's just that I was with these guys, and they were like, "Hey we have these eggs." And I was like "But I really like Bill." But they were like, "Well, are you cool or aren't you?" And they were my ride home so..
Bill: It's fine, Willie. It's fine. Because I exacted my revenge in most spectacular fashion. Muahahaha.
Willie: What did you do?
Bill: I'll tell you Willie, but you are sworn to secrecy. I saved up every penny I had, and I paid Mariano Rivera to take a dive and blow the 2004 ALCS! Then the Red Sox rolled over the Cardinals with ease and they were champions for the first time since 1918!
Willie: But, um, where is the revenge?
Bill: Don't you see?! By making the Red Sox win I convinced everyone that there is no curse! They wouldn't be mad at me anymore for blowing the '86 Series because they finally won one! Hahaha! Revenge is mine! How sweet it is!
Willie: How exactly does-
Goat: Don't even try, Willie. We've all told him. That plan doesn't make any fucking sense.
Bill: Hey! Shut up, Goat! I didn't criticize your creepy hey-let's-kidnap-a-kid-and-make-him-a-zombie-who-catches-a-routine-foul-ball-alou-will-have-no-shot-at-anyway plan!
Goat: Fuck me. For the hundreth time that was just the Old Man's Jim Beam talking!
Bill taps Willie on the side of his arm over his windbreaker.
Bill: Cmon, Willie. It's a good plan, right? Pretty cool, right??
Willie: Yeahhh, Bill. Cooool. You got 'em good.
Bill: Thanks, pal. So now you know what we are capable of Willie. And that's why we sent you that letter to meet us here. We want you to join our club.
Willie: But why me?
Bill: We saw what happened to you this season. The way they fired you in the middle of the season? On a road trip? Via email? That's just awful.
Willie: Yeah that was pretty rough.
Old Man: YER GOD DAMN RIGHT IT WAS ROUGH! THOSE SONS A BITCHES-
Bill: Alright, Old Man. We got it.
Willie rubs the back of his own neck.
Willie: Well. I. I dunno...
A baby comes up and yanks on Willie's pant leg.
John Moynahan: Are you fuckin' in or not.
Willie: Good god! That baby can talk!
Goat: Really? The talking baby shocks you?
Willie: Who are you?
John: I'm Tom Brady's son. I joined this club 8 months ago. And I'm serious as a fucking heart attack about exacting revenge against my dad.
Willie: Against your own father? But why?
John: Because that motherfucker left Mommy for some tarted-up glassy-eyed Brazilian slut who isn't even that hot.
Everyone: Whoa, whoa, whoa!
John: Okay, look. I'm not saying she's not hot. I'm just saying, not my type.
Goat: Gorgeous Brazilian models with perfect bodies aren't your type?
Old Man: THAT BITCH IS A DIME!!!
John: Fine, she's really hot, alright? I know that. That's obvious. I'm just saying. Overrated, okay?
Bill: I can live with that.
John: My dad just up and left us for some piece of ass. So now, I plan on making him feel the pain that I feel every day. That's why before the Super Bowl I paid the Patriots offensive line to dog their blocking assignments. That's why I paid Peyton Manning to wear Eli's uniform for the Giants. And that's why I paid Bernard Pollard to destroy Dad's knee.
Goat: That's a lot of money to be paying out.
John: Well, that's the one nice thing about being Tom Brady's kid. So. William. I ask you again. You in?
Willie: Gee it's just that-
Old Man: JUST FUCKIN' JOIN OUR CREW OR I'LL SHOVE MY HICKORY STI-
Willie: Alright, alright, with the hickory stick. Boys. I will join the Revenge Club. I'm in!
Bill shakes Willie's hand heartily.
Bill: That's great, Willie! Welcome. Now let's get down to business. We've got a lot of work to do if we're gonna screw those Mets and keep them out of the playoffs!
Willie: What?
Old Man: Tonight we gon' beat those Mets like a red-headed step-goat!
Willie: Are you guys serious? That wasn't you?
Bill: What wasn't?
Willie: You guys didn't pay Schoeneweis to give up that homerun? You didn't have the Marlins steal the signs for Helms? The guy has 68 career homeruns in 9 seasons!
Bill kicks at the carpet beneath him with his hands in his pockets.
Bill: Shoot. We thought the game was tonight.
Goat: I tried telling them, Willie. It's no use once they get an idea in 'em. It's like working with a bunch of animals.
Willie: Wow. So...they did it all themselves.
Bill: Damn they really fucked up!
Goat: Yeah, Bill. Someone should really egg their houses.
John: I guess the Mets really just suck.
Old Man bursts into the middle of the group.
Old Man: HOLD ON! WAIT. HOLD! ON! YOU TELLIN' ME THE PLAYOFFS ALREADY DONE STARTED??
Goat: Yes, Old Man.
Old Man scrambles out of the house.
Old Man: AW FER FUCK'S SAKE! I GOTTA GET MAH BARTMAN ZOMBIE! STEVIE BOY, I'MA COMIN'!
Willie Randolph: Hello? Umm...I got a letter that said I should come here? Is- is anyone there?
Willie slowly opens the door and the lights go on.
Everyone: SURPRISE!!!
Willie: "Surprise?" But it's not my birthday.
Bill Buckner walks forward.
Bill Buckner: See, guys, I told you "surprise" was stupid. Hey, Willie. Remember me? It's Bill Buckner. And I'm still alive!
Willie: Hey, Bill. 'Course I remember. But what- what is all this?
An old man holding his goat dives out in between Bill and Willie.
Old Man: IT'S THE REVENGE CLUB! YA IN ER AIN'T YE?!
Goat: Whoa, hey. Slow down, Old Man. Give him a chance, huh?
Bill: Willie, he's right. This is a Revenge Club. Everyone here has been wronged by someone or something and we have vowed that we would take our revenge. And we tortured souls rely on each other to make sure our revenge is complete. No matter what it takes. No matter how long it takes.
Goat: But we don't do curses.
Bill: Oh, that's right. We don't do curses.
Goat: Old Man was gonna make a sign, you know, for your first night. "Revenge Club: We Don't Do Curses." But, uh, he got fuckin' piss-drunk out of his mind again and, uh, well, Willie, I'd just like to say welcome.
Old Man: SHUT UP, GOAT, BEFORE I SHOVE MY HICKORY STICK UP YOUR SMELLY GOAT ASS!
Goat: Ahh that's right. Again with the hickory stick. We get it, Old Man.
Willie: I'm sorry, Bill. Who exactly is this Old Man and his Goat?
Bill: Well in 1945-
Old Man: IN 1945 WE GOT KICKED OUT OF WRIGLEY FIELD DURING GAME 4 OF THE WORLD SERIES. I brought ol' Goat here fer good luck. "We got yer Goat" I told Detroit. They didn't seem to appreciate the joke.
Goat: I tried telling him it was a terrible joke.
Old Man bludgeons Goat over the head with his hickory stick.
Old Man: When'and the rain came, the Cubs owner forced me and mah goat out of the stadium. They said we stunk! Since that day I've vowed that the Cubs and their stinkin' fans won't never see another championship ag'in.
Willie: ...Could that possibly be true?
Old Man: YOU CALLIN' ME A LIAR, BOY?!? YOU THINK I'M SOME URBAN LEGEND?! YOU MUST BE READIN' THAT WIKIPEDIA TOO!
Goat: Easy, Old Man, Easy.
Willie: Fine, I believe you. Jeez. So how do you guys get revenge?
Old Man: Every year if they get close, I make'n sure they don't get too close. Heh heh.
Goat: Yeah 'cause we fuckin' rig the games!
Old Man: Shut up, GOAT!
Willie: Oh my god. Did you cause them to lose in 2003?
Old Man: Heh heh. Some of my best work. Ya see, I kidnapped that Steve boy about a month before the playoffs. I had him in my basement tied up right next to the goat, listening to hypnotic mind-control tapes for 24 hours a day! Then when Game 6 came and them Cubs was gittin' too close, I unleashed my Bartman zombie into the game, and planted him real close to the field. He had those tapes playin' his headphones, makin' him listen to mah every word. And when the time was right- BAM!
Willie: Oh my god!!!
Bill: Just like Naked Gun!!
Old Man: NO FOUL BALL FOR YOU MR. ALOU! HAHAHAHA, GAME OVER! CUBS LOSE!!!!!
Willie: That's amazing! You made Steve Bartman interfere with that foul ball through hypnosis?!
Goat: Nah, man, we just paid Alex Gonzalez to tank that ground ball. Mark Prior too. It barely cost anything, man. I almost felt bad doin' it.
Old Man kicks Goat in the ribs.
Old Man: SHUT UP, GOAT! YOU KNOW IT WAS THE BARTMAN ZOMBIE!!
Goat: Fackin SHIT. Ahh, god damn. Okay, okay, fine you're right. It was your zombie with the cassette tapes or whatever.
Willie: What was your revenge Bill?
Bill lowers his head and casts a devilish smile.
Bill: I'm glad you asked, Willie. As you may know, I had this tiny little error in Game 6 of the 1986 World Series. Some people seem to think I cost Boston the World Series and that I perpetuated some kind of curse. For about the next 18 years after that, I got my house egged every weekend. I'm not sure if it was related to the error, but just to be safe, I joined the Revenge Club.
Willie: Oh god, Bill, I remember. I'm so sorry you had to go through that. It's just that I was with these guys, and they were like, "Hey we have these eggs." And I was like "But I really like Bill." But they were like, "Well, are you cool or aren't you?" And they were my ride home so..
Bill: It's fine, Willie. It's fine. Because I exacted my revenge in most spectacular fashion. Muahahaha.
Willie: What did you do?
Bill: I'll tell you Willie, but you are sworn to secrecy. I saved up every penny I had, and I paid Mariano Rivera to take a dive and blow the 2004 ALCS! Then the Red Sox rolled over the Cardinals with ease and they were champions for the first time since 1918!
Willie: But, um, where is the revenge?
Bill: Don't you see?! By making the Red Sox win I convinced everyone that there is no curse! They wouldn't be mad at me anymore for blowing the '86 Series because they finally won one! Hahaha! Revenge is mine! How sweet it is!
Willie: How exactly does-
Goat: Don't even try, Willie. We've all told him. That plan doesn't make any fucking sense.
Bill: Hey! Shut up, Goat! I didn't criticize your creepy hey-let's-kidnap-a-kid-and-make-him-a-zombie-who-catches-a-routine-foul-ball-alou-will-have-no-shot-at-anyway plan!
Goat: Fuck me. For the hundreth time that was just the Old Man's Jim Beam talking!
Bill taps Willie on the side of his arm over his windbreaker.
Bill: Cmon, Willie. It's a good plan, right? Pretty cool, right??
Willie: Yeahhh, Bill. Cooool. You got 'em good.
Bill: Thanks, pal. So now you know what we are capable of Willie. And that's why we sent you that letter to meet us here. We want you to join our club.
Willie: But why me?
Bill: We saw what happened to you this season. The way they fired you in the middle of the season? On a road trip? Via email? That's just awful.
Willie: Yeah that was pretty rough.
Old Man: YER GOD DAMN RIGHT IT WAS ROUGH! THOSE SONS A BITCHES-
Bill: Alright, Old Man. We got it.
Willie rubs the back of his own neck.
Willie: Well. I. I dunno...
A baby comes up and yanks on Willie's pant leg.
John Moynahan: Are you fuckin' in or not.
Willie: Good god! That baby can talk!
Goat: Really? The talking baby shocks you?
Willie: Who are you?
John: I'm Tom Brady's son. I joined this club 8 months ago. And I'm serious as a fucking heart attack about exacting revenge against my dad.
Willie: Against your own father? But why?
John: Because that motherfucker left Mommy for some tarted-up glassy-eyed Brazilian slut who isn't even that hot.
Everyone: Whoa, whoa, whoa!
John: Okay, look. I'm not saying she's not hot. I'm just saying, not my type.
Goat: Gorgeous Brazilian models with perfect bodies aren't your type?
Old Man: THAT BITCH IS A DIME!!!
John: Fine, she's really hot, alright? I know that. That's obvious. I'm just saying. Overrated, okay?
Bill: I can live with that.
John: My dad just up and left us for some piece of ass. So now, I plan on making him feel the pain that I feel every day. That's why before the Super Bowl I paid the Patriots offensive line to dog their blocking assignments. That's why I paid Peyton Manning to wear Eli's uniform for the Giants. And that's why I paid Bernard Pollard to destroy Dad's knee.
Goat: That's a lot of money to be paying out.
John: Well, that's the one nice thing about being Tom Brady's kid. So. William. I ask you again. You in?
Willie: Gee it's just that-
Old Man: JUST FUCKIN' JOIN OUR CREW OR I'LL SHOVE MY HICKORY STI-
Willie: Alright, alright, with the hickory stick. Boys. I will join the Revenge Club. I'm in!
Bill shakes Willie's hand heartily.
Bill: That's great, Willie! Welcome. Now let's get down to business. We've got a lot of work to do if we're gonna screw those Mets and keep them out of the playoffs!
Willie: What?
Old Man: Tonight we gon' beat those Mets like a red-headed step-goat!
Willie: Are you guys serious? That wasn't you?
Bill: What wasn't?
Willie: You guys didn't pay Schoeneweis to give up that homerun? You didn't have the Marlins steal the signs for Helms? The guy has 68 career homeruns in 9 seasons!
Bill kicks at the carpet beneath him with his hands in his pockets.
Bill: Shoot. We thought the game was tonight.
Goat: I tried telling them, Willie. It's no use once they get an idea in 'em. It's like working with a bunch of animals.
Willie: Wow. So...they did it all themselves.
Bill: Damn they really fucked up!
Goat: Yeah, Bill. Someone should really egg their houses.
John: I guess the Mets really just suck.
Old Man bursts into the middle of the group.
Old Man: HOLD ON! WAIT. HOLD! ON! YOU TELLIN' ME THE PLAYOFFS ALREADY DONE STARTED??
Goat: Yes, Old Man.
Old Man scrambles out of the house.
Old Man: AW FER FUCK'S SAKE! I GOTTA GET MAH BARTMAN ZOMBIE! STEVIE BOY, I'MA COMIN'!
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Gotta Work Everyday. Gotta Not Be Cliche.
If all I had to do was write a blog, I could generate original material every day. But that's not the case. I have a shitty job that crushes my soul. I have an hour commute that sucks the life out of me. I have a dog that is not house-trained. I have a girlfriend who wants to watch the Sex and the City movie at a volume of about 96 that makes it hard for me to even follow my own thoughts much less complete this sentence coherently. I have a shitty blog with even shittier readers who insist on keeping this very blog on a check rarely-to-never basis.
That, my friends, means that I don't have any absurd dialogues for you to not appreciate today. You'll just have to settle for a quick recap of my trip to Giants stadium this Sunday. If you're still in dire need of absurd dialogue, I suggest you pick up the Sex and the City movie. I'm almost positive that the writers of this movie are intentionally trying to misinform women about men. That way the show's faulty advice and morals will continually ruin women's relationships in order to keep them coming back for more counsel, enabling them to sell more DVDs.
So about that game. I haven't been to the stadium in five years, and I don't know if I have changed or the tailgating has but HOLY SHIT WHAT A FUCKING ZOO. In college I would start tailgating at 7 AM and drink straight through the day, so the drunkenness isn't shocking to me. I, myself, was quite drunk this Sunday. But the characters at this place were out of their fucking minds. They were screaming nonsensically, randomly assaulting each other, and generally threatening anyone who did or did not step in their path. Did I mention that my girlfriend came with us?
By the way, she's still watching that god awful movie next to me. I have to tell you I think it has lowered my IQ 10 points just from having the inane chatter of those four retarded broads blaring in the background.
As we walked up the many, many steps to our seats, we had several gentlemen attempt to engage us in some form of discourse. While most chose to cat call, others seemed to prefer the wolf whistle. Some of the more clever types chose to look at my girlfriend and come up with an inventive chant. Ordinarily, this would bother me, but I took it in stride on Sunday. Am I really to be concerned that my girlfriend might leave me for a guy in a fireman helmet, shorts above the knee, and work boots like THIS? Hopefully not, but it would make for a funny blog.
Oh, so apparently this entire movie is about the fights that girls have with each other. Didn't you think it was about sex? Wasn't that somewhere in the title? No. The movie is just watching one giant bitch fit.
The game itself ended up being pretty exciting. The Giants defense came through at just the right time to sweep Carrie off her feet. As the game went into overtime, some brunette had a baby on the street with a bald guy. The game was capped off by a field goal from John Carney that won Carrie's heart with a contrived proposal and a lame post-wedding reception at some diner.
Okay, I can't even follow this movie anymore. Are they supposed to be 50 and having sex? And they're proud of the way they act? People pay to see this? Girls emulate these hogs? Thank god my girlfriend is not like that.
Now they just toasted to "the next 50 years" as the movie wraps up. Nice try, ladies. Your show is cancelled. Fuck the next 50 years, I don't have to watch your flapping plastic faces for one more second.
Christ, what was I saying? I don't know, the Giants won or something. It was a good time I think. I don't know. All I can think about is these fucking beasts ruining an entire generation of women. This is why I can't blog. I blame women. In all forms. But I promise I'll try to post more often. I got more in the can. I just need to talk to my girlfriend about setting aside some free time where I can pursue my writing with a little less distraction.
The movie finally ended. My girlfriend just stood up and said, "I can't wait to watch it a million more times!"
That
So about that game. I haven't been to the stadium in five years, and I don't know if I have changed or the tailgating has but HOLY SHIT WHAT A FUCKING ZOO. In college I would start tailgating at 7 AM and drink straight through the day, so the drunkenness isn't shocking to me. I, myself, was quite drunk this Sunday. But the characters at this place were out of their fucking minds. They were screaming nonsensically, randomly assaulting each other, and generally threatening anyone who did or did not step in their path. Did I mention that my girlfriend came with us?
By the way, she's still watching that god awful movie next to me. I have to tell you I think it has lowered my IQ 10 points just from having the inane chatter of those four retarded broads blaring in the background.
As we walked up the many, many steps to our seats, we had several gentlemen attempt to engage us in some form of discourse. While most chose to cat call, others seemed to prefer the wolf whistle. Some of the more clever types chose to look at my girlfriend and come up with an inventive chant. Ordinarily, this would bother me, but I took it in stride on Sunday. Am I really to be concerned that my girlfriend might leave me for a guy in a fireman helmet, shorts above the knee, and work boots like THIS? Hopefully not, but it would make for a funny blog.
Oh, so apparently this entire movie is about the fights that girls have with each other. Didn't you think it was about sex? Wasn't that somewhere in the title? No. The movie is just watching one giant bitch fit.
The game itself ended up being pretty exciting. The Giants defense came through at just the right time to sweep Carrie off her feet. As the game went into overtime, some brunette had a baby on the street with a bald guy. The game was capped off by a field goal from John Carney that won Carrie's heart with a contrived proposal and a lame post-wedding reception at some diner.
Okay, I can't even follow this movie anymore. Are they supposed to be 50 and having sex? And they're proud of the way they act? People pay to see this? Girls emulate these hogs? Thank god my girlfriend is not like that.
Now they just toasted to "the next 50 years" as the movie wraps up. Nice try, ladies. Your show is cancelled. Fuck the next 50 years, I don't have to watch your flapping plastic faces for one more second.
Christ, what was I saying? I don't know, the Giants won or something. It was a good time I think. I don't know. All I can think about is these fucking beasts ruining an entire generation of women. This is why I can't blog. I blame women. In all forms. But I promise I'll try to post more often. I got more in the can. I just need to talk to my girlfriend about setting aside some free time where I can pursue my writing with a little less distraction.
The movie finally ended. My girlfriend just stood up and said, "I can't wait to watch it a million more times!"
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
With Tim Meadows as Mark Ingram
Mark Ingram is going to prison.
If ever there was a picture that was made for The Sports Hernia.
Have you ever seen one of those old movies where a guy would escape from prison, and a guard in a tower would shine a giant spotlight on him, and he would freeze, and his eyes would fixate like a deer in headlights? Well if you have, Mr. Ingram would love for you to show him that movie, because he is surely going to be trying to escape from prison soon.
From the article:
For Mark's sake, let's hope those skills don't fail him once he's in prison.
Eventually, Mark decided to defend himself. Luckily, I was able to obtain the court transcript:
Judge Denis Hurley: Mark, I want to thank you for finally showing up to my courtroom. I've heard you haven't been feeling too well.
Mark Ingram: That's right, Judge, sir. In fact, I'm still not feeling too well.
Judge: We'll I'm sorry to hear that.
Mark: Ya know, in the ass area... May I go to the "bathroom" please?
Mark makes air quotes with his hands.
Judge: See if you can hold it. Today we will complete this trial once and for all.
Mark: Ya'hona', what we really doin here, hmm? What we doin in this courtroom today? This room of court. This place of justice and truth. Conviction and eviction. Attorneys and prosecutors-
Judge: Mr. Ingram? We know where we are.
Mark: Of course, ya'hona'. Now where was I? Oh yes. The wrongful persecution of Mr. Mark Luther Ingram, Jr. Now, have I done wrong? Of course. I have committed many, many crimes in my lifetime.
Mark Ingram slowly walks down the aisle of the courtroom.
Mark: But I ask you. Are you not just as wrong for accusing me of these crimes? Does not the good book say that man "judge not best, when he be a judge?" And we are to turn to Mr. Judge to tell us what is right and wrong? I think not. I rest my case.
Judge: Mr. Ingram, stop.
Mark: Oh I think I've made my point, Judge.
Judge: I mean stop moving.
A bailiff steps in front of Mark just as he is reaching for the courtroom's exit door. Mr. Ingram turns around smiling.
Mark: Yes, ya'hona'? Are we just about done here? Do you need me to sign something before I leave?
Judge: You're not going anywhere, Mr. Ingram. Bailiff, please show him to his seat. You have elected to represent yourself, Mr. Ingram, so I am obliged to ask you if you have anything else to say before I read your sentence.
Mark: Okay, fine. So what's the big deal with a little marijuana? Who here hasn't smoked some weed in their lives, huh? Who here has never just ever-so-slightly blazed a little of the bubonic chronic?
Mark Ingram smells his fingers, inhaling deeply.
Judge: Mr. Ingram, I'm not sure-
Mark: And who among us, has not sold a little of the sticky icky to get by? Just to pay the bills? Or, perhaps, to turn a small profit?
Judge: Mr. Ingram-
Mark: Or a large profit.
Judge Hurley bangs his gavel.
Judge: MR. INGRAM! We are not here for a drug charge.
Mark: Really? I knew you had nothin' on me! I'm free! Oh lord, oh lord, I can't believe I'm free! I'm gonna party tonight!!
Judge: Mr. Ingram, you're being charged with money laundering. It's a federal offense. Kindly proceed with any final statements before I announce your sentence.
Mark: Umm...final statements, final statements. Umm......please?
Judge: Please what?
Mark: Please don't?
Judge: Mr. Ingram, I have to sentence you.
Mark: But why?
Judge: Mr. Ingram, clearly you have no remorse, explanation or excuse for your crimes. Seeing as how this is by no means your first offense, I sentence you to ninety-two months in a federal prison.
Mark: Really ya'hona'? Damn. Alright. If that's what it has to be, then that's what it has to be. I'll take the two.
Judge: Excuse me?
Mark: I'll take two months.
Judge: No, Mr. Ingram. You are to serve ninety-two months.
Mark: You said, "Nine to two months." I choose two.
Judge: I most certainly did no-
Mark: You goin back on your word, ya'hona'? Oh so you can change the rules of the game? Who's really on trial here?
Judge: MR. INGRAM. You are to serve 7 years, and 8 months.
Mark: Oh I see. I see how it is.
Judge: Good.
Mark: Now you gonna add years to my sentence just because you got your numbers miscalculated? How you gonna keep increasin shit, Judge?
Judge Hurley bangs his gavel several times.
Judge: Bailiff, get him out of my sight! Take Mr. Ingram to prison!
Mark: Wait, wait, ya'hona' please! I just have one more question.
Judge Hurley sighs.
Judge: Go ahead.
Mark: Thank you.
The bailiff unhands Mark as he straightens his suit and tie.
Mark: Ahem. So ya'hona.' Exactly when does my trial start?
If ever there was a picture that was made for The Sports Hernia.
Have you ever seen one of those old movies where a guy would escape from prison, and a guard in a tower would shine a giant spotlight on him, and he would freeze, and his eyes would fixate like a deer in headlights? Well if you have, Mr. Ingram would love for you to show him that movie, because he is surely going to be trying to escape from prison soon.
From the article:
His sentencing was delayed as he tried to revoke the plea, fired several court-appointed attorneys and made what prosecutors termed “outlandish” legal arguments, including a claim that he was immune from prosecution because he enjoyed diplomatic status as a head of state.
In his most notable game - the 20-19 victory over the Buffalo Bills in the 1991 Super Bowl - Ingram caught five passes, after one of which he fended off tackles and hopped on one leg for a crucial first down.
For Mark's sake, let's hope those skills don't fail him once he's in prison.
Eventually, Mark decided to defend himself. Luckily, I was able to obtain the court transcript:
Judge Denis Hurley: Mark, I want to thank you for finally showing up to my courtroom. I've heard you haven't been feeling too well.
Mark Ingram: That's right, Judge, sir. In fact, I'm still not feeling too well.
Judge: We'll I'm sorry to hear that.
Mark: Ya know, in the ass area... May I go to the "bathroom" please?
Mark makes air quotes with his hands.
Judge: See if you can hold it. Today we will complete this trial once and for all.
Mark: Ya'hona', what we really doin here, hmm? What we doin in this courtroom today? This room of court. This place of justice and truth. Conviction and eviction. Attorneys and prosecutors-
Judge: Mr. Ingram? We know where we are.
Mark: Of course, ya'hona'. Now where was I? Oh yes. The wrongful persecution of Mr. Mark Luther Ingram, Jr. Now, have I done wrong? Of course. I have committed many, many crimes in my lifetime.
Mark Ingram slowly walks down the aisle of the courtroom.
Mark: But I ask you. Are you not just as wrong for accusing me of these crimes? Does not the good book say that man "judge not best, when he be a judge?" And we are to turn to Mr. Judge to tell us what is right and wrong? I think not. I rest my case.
Judge: Mr. Ingram, stop.
Mark: Oh I think I've made my point, Judge.
Judge: I mean stop moving.
A bailiff steps in front of Mark just as he is reaching for the courtroom's exit door. Mr. Ingram turns around smiling.
Mark: Yes, ya'hona'? Are we just about done here? Do you need me to sign something before I leave?
Judge: You're not going anywhere, Mr. Ingram. Bailiff, please show him to his seat. You have elected to represent yourself, Mr. Ingram, so I am obliged to ask you if you have anything else to say before I read your sentence.
Mark: Okay, fine. So what's the big deal with a little marijuana? Who here hasn't smoked some weed in their lives, huh? Who here has never just ever-so-slightly blazed a little of the bubonic chronic?
Mark Ingram smells his fingers, inhaling deeply.
Judge: Mr. Ingram, I'm not sure-
Mark: And who among us, has not sold a little of the sticky icky to get by? Just to pay the bills? Or, perhaps, to turn a small profit?
Judge: Mr. Ingram-
Mark: Or a large profit.
Judge Hurley bangs his gavel.
Judge: MR. INGRAM! We are not here for a drug charge.
Mark: Really? I knew you had nothin' on me! I'm free! Oh lord, oh lord, I can't believe I'm free! I'm gonna party tonight!!
Judge: Mr. Ingram, you're being charged with money laundering. It's a federal offense. Kindly proceed with any final statements before I announce your sentence.
Mark: Umm...final statements, final statements. Umm......please?
Judge: Please what?
Mark: Please don't?
Judge: Mr. Ingram, I have to sentence you.
Mark: But why?
Judge: Mr. Ingram, clearly you have no remorse, explanation or excuse for your crimes. Seeing as how this is by no means your first offense, I sentence you to ninety-two months in a federal prison.
Mark: Really ya'hona'? Damn. Alright. If that's what it has to be, then that's what it has to be. I'll take the two.
Judge: Excuse me?
Mark: I'll take two months.
Judge: No, Mr. Ingram. You are to serve ninety-two months.
Mark: You said, "Nine to two months." I choose two.
Judge: I most certainly did no-
Mark: You goin back on your word, ya'hona'? Oh so you can change the rules of the game? Who's really on trial here?
Judge: MR. INGRAM. You are to serve 7 years, and 8 months.
Mark: Oh I see. I see how it is.
Judge: Good.
Mark: Now you gonna add years to my sentence just because you got your numbers miscalculated? How you gonna keep increasin shit, Judge?
Judge Hurley bangs his gavel several times.
Judge: Bailiff, get him out of my sight! Take Mr. Ingram to prison!
Mark: Wait, wait, ya'hona' please! I just have one more question.
Judge Hurley sighs.
Judge: Go ahead.
Mark: Thank you.
The bailiff unhands Mark as he straightens his suit and tie.
Mark: Ahem. So ya'hona.' Exactly when does my trial start?
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
And They Road Off Into The Sunset Together...
Carson Palmer and Carl Pavano talk on the phone while they watch Monday Night Football.
Carl: See, Carson? We could have hurt ourselves if we attempted that high five. A handshake is always your best bet.
Carson: You're right, Carl. You're always right. You're the best...
via Deadspin:
video link
Carl: See, Carson? We could have hurt ourselves if we attempted that high five. A handshake is always your best bet.
Carson: You're right, Carl. You're always right. You're the best...
via Deadspin:
video link
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Self-Delusional Sports Rehab
Self-Delusional Sports Rehab: Where Athletes Go to Pretend They Can Become the Athletes They Once Were
Carl Pavano: Hey, Carson! How you been, man? Great to see you.
Carson Palmer enters carrying a large gym bag.
Carson Palmer: Not so good, Carl. What are you doin here?
Carl: Oh, I'm always here, man.
Carson: But didn't the Yankees call you up?
Carl: Ehh. Yes. But I prefer it here. But what's up with you, man. Why so glum?
Carson: Have you seen us this year? Week one we got our asses kicked, and I SUCKED. Week two we got our asses kicked, and I SUCKED. Someone recommended I come here for some rehab assignments. (looks around) What is this place anyway?
Carl: It's just a gym for elite athletes like us, but without the pressures of a normal gym. No crowds. No coaches looking over your shoulder. No teammates calling your desire into question.
Carson: Well, I guess that's good. This place could be just what I need. Man, I'll do anything to get back to the playoffs. I guess it's going to take a lot of hard work. (exhales) Alright, let's get started.
Carl: Whoa, whoa. What's your rush, buddy? You just got here.
Carson: But coach said-
Carl walks behind Carson and sits him on a workout bench.
Carl: Shh, shh.
Carl rubs Carson's shoulders.
Carl: Now, who knows your body better: you or your coach?
Carson: Well, me, but-
Carl: And how does your knee feel?
Carson: My knee? Why does everyone keep asking me that? It feels fine. That was like 3 years ago.
Carl: See? You're fine, pal. Let's just relax a bit so you're nice and fresh for next season.
Carson: Next season?
Carl: Or the year after. Whatever you're comfortable with. But the important thing is not to rush it. Look at me. I could have rushed it to get back to the team, but what if I got hurt again? Who's going to pay my bills then?
Carson: Don't you have 40 million dollars from your contract?
Carl: Exactly! How am I going to live off of 40 million dollars? Thankfully, I'm only 32 years old, and because I didn't rush back and hurt myself, some other team will pay me another 40 million this off-season.
Carson: I never thought of it like that.
Carl: Well you better start. Don't push that knee, Carson. I know it's been 3 years, but better safe than sorry.
Carson: Maybe you're right, Carl.
Carl leans in close to Carson's ear.
Carl: (whispers) And you know what? When you come back? You're going to have the best season EVER.
Carson leans his cheek on Carl's hand.
Carson: Thanks, Carl.
Allan Houston jogs into the room.
Allan Houston: Hey, guys!
Allan jogs in place.
Allan: Who's ready to have their best season ever?!
Carson: Me!
Carl: You guys!
Allan: I'm so pumped!
Allan shadowboxes in the mirror.
Allan: I'm trying out for the Knicks!
Carson: But, Allan, didn't you like, retire...like, three years ago?
Allan continues shadowboxing.
Allan: Yes but now I'm back, and I'm in the best shape of my life!
Carl: That's great, Al.
Allan: Take that, Barkley! In your face, Jordan! What do you think of THIS, Mourning?!
Allan sits down clutching his chest.
Carson: But, Allan, all those guys are retired now.
Carl: Not Alonzo.
Carson: Seriously? How come I don't see him in here?
Carl: He comes on weekends.
Carson: Ah.
Carl: Allan, you okay? Need a drink?
Allan: (gasps) Ohgodyesplease. Toss it.
Carl throws a gatorade; it lands five feet short of Allan.
Allan: Don't worry I got it.
Allan bends over to pick it up.
Carson: BE CAREFUL!!! MY KNEE!!!!!
Allan: Carson. I'm across the room from you.
Carson: But still...
Allan: That's okay. Keep the drink. I think I'm just gonna lay down.
Carson: You really think you can make an NBA roster, Allan?
Allan: It's just the Knicks.
Carl: Listen, we all need to take it easy so we can all make our successful comebacks. And when you're back out there in two or three years, having a huge season and signing a mega contract, you'll look back and see that all the long hours we spent resting were worth it!
They all stand up for a group high-five, but instead just shake hands.
Tom Brady walks in with his head down, reading his blackberry.
Tom Brady: Uhh, coach said I was supposed to report here to work out. (looks up) What the-
Tom looks at Carl, then Carson, then Allan.
Tom: Awwwww, FUCK.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Adam Jones' Innard Monologue
Adam Pacman Jones' organs have a conversation.
Adam Jones' Brain: That was amazing. What a game! I can't believe we went a year without playing football!
Adam Jones' Legs: Hell yeah, man. I'm tired as shit but it was worth it. So much fun gettin back out there.
Adam Jones' Hands: Word, son. I'm gonna have a hun'id innaceptions.
Brain: Okay, okay I'm excited too. But we still have work to do, boys. Their only touchdown was a result of your pass interference penalty, Hands.
Hands: Say what?! Yo that was Legs' fault. All Legs, boy.
Legs: Fuck that, I was in position. You got lazy, Hands.
Brain: No matter, no matter. The most important thing is that the team won. But we still have a lot of work to do. Let's get back in the gym and prepare for the Philadelphia Eagles!
Legs: Nah, man. I'm too tired.
Brain: But what about next week?
Legs: I got nothin in the tank. I need a break. I can barely move.
Hands: Cmon, Brain. We got til Monday. Free day, yo!
Brain: I suppose you're right about that.
Legs: Let's just cool out.
Brain: Okay then. So what do you want to do tonight?
Legs: I dunno dude.
Hands: Whatever's clever.
Adam Jones' Dick: Wanna go to the strip club?
Brain: I'm sorry? Did you say something, Dick?
Dick: I said.....wanna go to the strip club.
Brain: What the fuck?! Are you kidding me, Dick? Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME?!?!
Hands: Whoa, whoa, easy playboy.
Dick: Why would you talk to me like that?
Brain: Wha...wha...what are you saying. I don't know what you're saying. I didn't hear that.
Dick: Listen-
Brain: No!
Dick: Just hear me out!
Legs: Brain, listen to him, man. We all in this together.
Brain: Ugh. You're right, Legs. Fine. Go ahead, Dick. I apologize for my language.
Dick: Look, all I'm sayin is. We back in the league, right? We 1-0, right? We been good, right? Why can't we just relax in the club?
Brain: I listened. The answer is no.
Dick: It won't be like the old days. I've changed. We've all changed. Have we even gotten in trouble in the past 12 months?
Brain: Yes! Hands punched a stripper in the eye in January!
Hands: ...Why you gotta bring up old shit...
Dick: But! We didn't get arrested.
Brain: Because I paid her off!
Dick: Look we can go back and forth all night. I think we all know that our rightful place is in that strip club. We need that strip club. We make the strip club. We are the strip club.
Brain: What the fuck does that mean?
Legs: I'm in.
Brain: WHAT?! You said you couldn't even move.
Legs: Fuck it.
Brain: Umm, "Fuck it?"
Hands: You heard him, you fuckin nerd. (sings) We goin striiiiip cluuuub. We goin striiiip cluuub.
Brain: Gentlemen, please. Let's just discuss this like civilized-
Dick: What's up, Balls. You in?
Adam Jones' Balls: Ehh, I don't know. I'm partial to Hooters, personally.
Hands: Shiiit we went to Hooters for your ass last time.
Dick: Why would you take Hooters over a strip club?
Balls: I like to have a bit of mystery.
Dick: That is retarded.
Balls: Ya know what? You're a DICK.
Dick: Wow, that's really fresh. Never heard that one. Original.
Legs: Fuck this noise. I'm walkin.
Brain: Legs, stop. Look we don't have to-
Hands: Can I slap a bitch?
Brain: No!
Dick: Yes.
Brain: NO! What the fuck, Dick?!
Dick: We're goin, Brain. You know it and I know it. You may as well come with.
Brain: I will NOT.
Dick: Suit yourself. But you know what happens when you don't come. Things get....unfortunate...
Brain: Fine. Look we'll just go for an hour. JUST AN HOUR. Then we come home.
Hands: (sings) I'ma grab some tittays in da strip cluuuub.
Brain: No, Hands. No grabbing. No drinking. No shooting. Everyone got that?
Dick: Of course, of course. There's just one problem. Jerry Jones ordered all the strip clubs in Dallas to bar Pacman Jones from entering.
Brain: That's why I changed it to Adam last month.
Legs: Wow.
Dick: I am impressed.
Hands: Yo Brain, you's a genius!
Brain: You know it. So should we call Tank?
Adam Jones' Stomach: Nah, fuck that. That fat bitch eat all my wings.
Brain: Good call. Alright let's go. Hands, get the weed.
Adam Jones' Brain: That was amazing. What a game! I can't believe we went a year without playing football!
Adam Jones' Legs: Hell yeah, man. I'm tired as shit but it was worth it. So much fun gettin back out there.
Adam Jones' Hands: Word, son. I'm gonna have a hun'id innaceptions.
Brain: Okay, okay I'm excited too. But we still have work to do, boys. Their only touchdown was a result of your pass interference penalty, Hands.
Hands: Say what?! Yo that was Legs' fault. All Legs, boy.
Legs: Fuck that, I was in position. You got lazy, Hands.
Brain: No matter, no matter. The most important thing is that the team won. But we still have a lot of work to do. Let's get back in the gym and prepare for the Philadelphia Eagles!
Legs: Nah, man. I'm too tired.
Brain: But what about next week?
Legs: I got nothin in the tank. I need a break. I can barely move.
Hands: Cmon, Brain. We got til Monday. Free day, yo!
Brain: I suppose you're right about that.
Legs: Let's just cool out.
Brain: Okay then. So what do you want to do tonight?
Legs: I dunno dude.
Hands: Whatever's clever.
Adam Jones' Dick: Wanna go to the strip club?
Brain: I'm sorry? Did you say something, Dick?
Dick: I said.....wanna go to the strip club.
Brain: What the fuck?! Are you kidding me, Dick? Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME?!?!
Hands: Whoa, whoa, easy playboy.
Dick: Why would you talk to me like that?
Brain: Wha...wha...what are you saying. I don't know what you're saying. I didn't hear that.
Dick: Listen-
Brain: No!
Dick: Just hear me out!
Legs: Brain, listen to him, man. We all in this together.
Brain: Ugh. You're right, Legs. Fine. Go ahead, Dick. I apologize for my language.
Dick: Look, all I'm sayin is. We back in the league, right? We 1-0, right? We been good, right? Why can't we just relax in the club?
Brain: I listened. The answer is no.
Dick: It won't be like the old days. I've changed. We've all changed. Have we even gotten in trouble in the past 12 months?
Brain: Yes! Hands punched a stripper in the eye in January!
Hands: ...Why you gotta bring up old shit...
Dick: But! We didn't get arrested.
Brain: Because I paid her off!
Dick: Look we can go back and forth all night. I think we all know that our rightful place is in that strip club. We need that strip club. We make the strip club. We are the strip club.
Brain: What the fuck does that mean?
Legs: I'm in.
Brain: WHAT?! You said you couldn't even move.
Legs: Fuck it.
Brain: Umm, "Fuck it?"
Hands: You heard him, you fuckin nerd. (sings) We goin striiiiip cluuuub. We goin striiiip cluuub.
Brain: Gentlemen, please. Let's just discuss this like civilized-
Dick: What's up, Balls. You in?
Adam Jones' Balls: Ehh, I don't know. I'm partial to Hooters, personally.
Hands: Shiiit we went to Hooters for your ass last time.
Dick: Why would you take Hooters over a strip club?
Balls: I like to have a bit of mystery.
Dick: That is retarded.
Balls: Ya know what? You're a DICK.
Dick: Wow, that's really fresh. Never heard that one. Original.
Legs: Fuck this noise. I'm walkin.
Brain: Legs, stop. Look we don't have to-
Hands: Can I slap a bitch?
Brain: No!
Dick: Yes.
Brain: NO! What the fuck, Dick?!
Dick: We're goin, Brain. You know it and I know it. You may as well come with.
Brain: I will NOT.
Dick: Suit yourself. But you know what happens when you don't come. Things get....unfortunate...
Brain: Fine. Look we'll just go for an hour. JUST AN HOUR. Then we come home.
Hands: (sings) I'ma grab some tittays in da strip cluuuub.
Brain: No, Hands. No grabbing. No drinking. No shooting. Everyone got that?
Dick: Of course, of course. There's just one problem. Jerry Jones ordered all the strip clubs in Dallas to bar Pacman Jones from entering.
Brain: That's why I changed it to Adam last month.
Legs: Wow.
Dick: I am impressed.
Hands: Yo Brain, you's a genius!
Brain: You know it. So should we call Tank?
Adam Jones' Stomach: Nah, fuck that. That fat bitch eat all my wings.
Brain: Good call. Alright let's go. Hands, get the weed.
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