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 wait......how......and 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?!?

Hands: YO! DAT'S PACMAN! IN DA GREY MAGAZINE! PACMAN BE IN DIS GREY MAGAZINE!!!



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.

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'!

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!"