Sports, Crushes and the lives ruined along the way

I am suffering from writer's deluge. There is so muchI want to write about, but I can't figure out what is worth the time and what will get me published in Penthouse. I did manage to write out an application to the be the new intern for The Sports Guy, however, I am not sure that was a worthwhile exercise. When applying for a position, even one at ww.espn.com page 2, it isn't good to begin with "how I have a man-crush on you." Of course I assured Bill that it wasn't about lust, I simply found his prose to be elegant and beautiful. It went downhill from there. Odds are good, damn good, that I won't be hearing back from The Sports Guy, but maybe his attorney will be in contact with me about a restraining order. One can hope.

I don't want to be a baby's mamma

I was thinking about pregnancy, how I didn't want to get pregnant, and if it was possible to self-impregnate. I know that is unlikely for a man to impregnate himself, but one can never be too careful. As you very well know--or at least should know by reading through the archives of my blog--I am not prepared (fit) for parenthood. Therefore, I must strive to prevent a little Bob from entering the world. I concluded that Yasmin , the #1 brand of birth control, is my best bet to prevent pregnancy; if that fails, there is always the forceps-to-the-skull option.

After researching the benefits of Yasmin, I was surprised to discover that it doesn't prevent sexually transmitted disease-- HIV being the notable example. Now, I don't know about you, but my sex-ed teacher said that birth control is the cure-all and end-all to my sexual promiscuity worries. Then again, I am pretty sure I can't catch a sexually transmittable disease from myself--I consider the sores, similar as they may be, on my genital region and inside my mouth to be mere coincidence.

Just remember: The pill can prevent pregnancy, but it can't protect you from your penis falling off--oh, and it causes bloating, not to mention cervical cancer (I am not sure if I have a cervix or not).

Go to Hell

Dan Rather Didn't Send Me The Memo

George Walker Bush was inaugurated today. He is only the sixteenth president to participate in--or suffer through--two inaugurations. In protest of those protesting the inauguration, I decided to post my protest.

I accept the notion of free speech, even if it isn't applied equably. Point out that Christmas, a Federal Holiday, celebrates the birth of Christ and you are violating civil liberties; illustrate that young black males are more likely to commit violent crimes than elderly Korean women and you are labeled a racist. In other words, free speech only protects the speech that you agree with it--and when I say you, I mean those people who didn't vote for Bush.

However, even if my point of view is routinely trampled upon, even if my values are mocked, and even if I believe in Christ and not affirmative action, I still tolerate the speech--stupid as it may be--of others.

So, good luck with your protest and enjoy the next four years. This might not be my country, hell, the course of history--meaning the oh-so-biased academics--will probably say its yours, nonetheless; I just wanted to say: Thanks for being such gigantic douches; demonstrating that the spirit of the 1960's is dead, not to mention retarded.

Go to Hell

My Hero: The Fuhrer

Prince Harry: Dad, I am not satisfied with being rich, handsome and a prince. Any suggestions?

Prince Charles: Hitler seemed like a happy, satisfied and well adjusted fellow. Why not be a Neo-Nazi?

Prince Harry: Great idea! Jewish interment camps, here we come. What flavor of tea goes with genocide?

Prince Charles: I found the flavor of Darjeeling quite soothing, after having your mother killed.

Prince Harry: Oh Dad, your such a card.


Go to hell

I had a good reason for killing twenty college coeds, honest!

Here is a list of mother's pet names for me:

• Bitch
• Fucking Bitch
• Fucker
• Whore
• Terrorist
• Faggot
• Faggot Bitch
• Loser
• Fat Ass
• Free Willie
• And my newest name--Embezzler

Go to Hell

He has a point

Little Brother: Petey (the family mutt--who, by the way, takes great delight in urinating on my discarded clothing) is worthless. He can't do anything.

Me: He can jump up onto the bed, which is pretty impressive considering his diminutive size.

Little Brother: What does diminutive mean?

Me: I think it means small, if not, well, it does now.

Little Brother: Ok. You know, Petey is half white and black.

Me: What? I don't follow.

Little Brother: Petey is half black, which means he can jump.

Me: Issy! You shouldn't say that.

Little Brother: It is true--white guys can't jump.

Me: That isn't true. There are plenty of white guys who can jump.

Little Brother: Name one.

Me: ...Well....umm...I am not the right person to ask. I would say to ask dad, but he would probably end up explaining instead how white people play basketball, while black people play jungle ball.

Little Brother: You are stupid.

Me: No argument here.

Go to Hell

Author's Note: I was shocked to learn that white men can, in fact, jump. Stefan Holm, 2004 Olympic High Jump Champion, is a living testimonial to this fact; however, he is from Sweden--which doesn't strictly count. The Swedes are a little too dark to be considered white; I think the term white with an asterisk is applicable in their case. Nonetheless, I, a gravity-bound white guy, will take what I can get.

Ha

I don't feel sorry for him. He put himself in this situation by fucking a thirteen-year-old girl.
(A friend responding to the sorry state affairs of a mutual acquaintance.)

Go to Hell

I am not dead--yet.

Posts will continue next week. I had a bout with food poisoning that resulted in the subsequent terror that is an empty stomach.

Go to Hell