Thursday, March 31, 2005

Not Alone in Death

I hate to put something on top of Donnie's Schiavo/Tube post, because that's just awesome stuff right there...

But Mitch Hedberg died this week -- maybe last night, maybe before, nobody really knows just yet. It also hasn't been confirmed by too many people, but it's starting to come out. Howard Stern broke the story this morning, and now Comedy Central is carrying it as well. I thought it might have been a pre-April Fool's Day hoax, but now it appears to be true.

Anyway, if you haven't seen this guy do stand-up or heard his act, you truly missed out. I never saw him live, but he cracked my shit up any time I saw him on TV. In honor of Hedberg's passing, here are some of my favorite bits:

--I used to do drugs. I still do drugs. But I used to, too. (Since he overdosed, this one may not be that funny anymore).

--I think Pringles initial intention was to make tennis balls. But on the day that the rubber was supposed to show up, a big truckload of potatoes arrived. But Pringles is a laid back company. They said "Fuck it. Cut em up."

--I want to be a race car passenger: just a guy who bugs the driver. "Say man, can I turn on the radio? You should slow down. Why do we gotta keep going in circles? Can I put my feet out the window? Boy, you really like Tide."

--I had a bag of Fritos, they were Texas grilled Fritos. These Fritos had grill marks on them. Hell yeah, reminds me of summer time, when we used to fire up the barbeque and throw down some Fritos. I can still see my dad with the apron on, better flip that Frito, dad, you know how I like mine.

--Alcoholism is a disease, but it's the only one you can get yelled at for having. Goddamn it Otto, you are an alcoholic. Goddamn it Otto, you have Lupus... one of those two doesn't sound right.

And lastly, one of my favorites:
--When you go to a restaurant on the weekends and it's busy they start a waiting list. They start calling out names, they say "Dufrane, party of two. Dufrane, party of two." And if no one answers they'll say their name again. "Dufrane, party of two, Dufrane, party of two." But then if no one answers they'll just go right on to the next name. "Bush, party of three." Yeah, what happened to the Dufranes? No one seems to give a shit. Who can eat at a time like this - people are missing. You fuckers are selfish...the Dufranes are in someone's trunk right now, with duct tape over their mouths, and they're hungry. Bush, search party of three, you can eat when you find the Dufranes.

Wednesday, March 30, 2005

Tube (Try It With Music)

Play this song by Phish and read along...

The front lobe crashed and nothing breathed,
It made me wonder,
Does Terri sleep on linen-ed mattress,
Does Jeb Bush know his blunder?,
Thumpers preach in my left ear,
Cochran's gone but she's still here,
Ssshhh, I kinda think Terri just said "Glurgh",
Nah, she's only kept alive by science,
The Bible couldn't help,
By science, the Bible couldn't help.

Paranoid the doctor ran,
Fleeing the Christian protestation,
Kids bring water,
Prayer books and crucifixes,
Spewing forth their fervor,
They purposely waited 'til courts were done,
To knock on the hospice door,
Accusing Mike of cutting off their fun,
"Blagh surr ifka blor",
Huh? "Blagh surr ifka blor"

All the tubes were all inside,
Mouth was wide agape,
To put forth Congressional testimony,
To overrule the courts,
For a vegetable, in Florida,
Now the feeding is all done,
There's no pain in this lobotomy,
The time to help has passed,
There's no Jesus in the hosptital,
Are there no more brain cells left?

What's that kid with water doing here?
How's that video for some proof?
She overdid the diet there,
For a chance to shed some pounds,
Terri Schaivo is a pawn,
Again, again, again,
It's so stupendous, feeding through this tube,
So stupendous, feeding through this tube.

Insensitively Hilarious

Terri Schiavo's Blog. 'Nuff said.

And it ain't Fluffhead, but here's a funny sign from the crowd gathered around the Schiavo Family Media Circus.

Pullin' More Tubes

"In another sign of the diminishing health of Pope John Paul II, the Vatican said today that he has begun to be fed through a tube inserted in his nose."

Uh ohhhh, here we go again. Is this the fucking world strategy of the religious nutbars here, "Less death, more tubes?" This fad's catching on quicker than slap bracelets. Before you know it Certified D-Bag Jerry Falwell will get one today or tomorrow, considering he's still in critical condition.

Incidentally, who dies first: Schiavo, the Pope or Falwell? And which one of the latter two would be the first to flip out about these marrying cousins?

Sorry, people, Blogger still sucks. I apologize, but you really do get what you pay for...

Tuesday, March 29, 2005


My newest hero: "Eli Lilly & Co. said on Monday it fired an employee who wrote a book about his tenure as a Pfizer Inc. sales representative which boasted about how little he worked and how much money he earned." [More...]

And as an added bonus, here's a picture of Governor Ah-nold's fat stomach these days. Sad to see the man in this kind of shape.

Downhill From Here

The best part about every fantasy baseball season is the draft, which I'm sure I've noted here before. There's just something special about nine guys you went to college with sitting around a room for six to eight hours talking baseball, watching basketball and eating, in this case, the terriblest pizza in Manhattan. It's something special allright: the action fast-paced and nonstop, the interaction intense, the air thick with tension and cockiness and cannibis, the jokes flying faster than Ron Albertson's "You remember my wife Sheila from previous bills..." barrage outside the auditions for Red, White and Blaine.

Our commissioner tried unsuccessfully to procure an amateur stripper/hooker, but we surprisingly got no response from this CraigsList post: "Need nude model for 5 hours of assistance in premier Soho fantasy baseball draft on Saturday March 26th at 1 pm. Nice and fun atmosphere...alcohol and food will be provided. Services will include serving drinks and standing naked while filling out names on draft board while players are selected. Must have limited baseball knowledge and good sense of humor." [Ad]

My favorite part about that is "limited baseball knowledge." If we somehow found and hired a college-aged stripper/hooker with any baseball knowledge whatsoever, I'd marry her on the spot. If there are two things I love unconditionally, it's baseball and hookers. But I digest...

Stripper-less, we started the draft. I had the second overall pick, and when Mitchell VergerDartz III took Albert Pujols with the number one pick, I happily selected Alex Rodriguez, who may hit .475 with 85 homers this year after the motivation Boston gave him in the offseason. I followed that pick with AL-to-NL, Leo Mazzone-coached Tim Hudson at 19 and Roy Oswalt on the way back up at 22. Couldn't be happier about that start. Solid start.

I tried to concentrate on pitchers and infielders, as the talent pools at those individual positions are generally more shallow than in the outfield. So I didn't take an outfielder until the ninth round, when I put an end to a great social injustice by picking Brian Giles, five rounds later than when someone jumped the gun on his younger brother Marcus. You see, Brian is clearly the better Giles (I bet even their parents would admit that). But because Marcus is a second baseman, and there's a shortage of quality second basemen, he's more valuable to someone's fantasy team than his clearly better brother. As I said on draft day, "I don't want to live in a world where Marcus Giles is taken before Brian." It's the very reason fantasy baseball makes no sense.

As the draft progressed I added the ageless Steve Finley and the incomparably disappointing Pat Burrell to the outfield. Then I waited until the very late rounds and put Operation Draft Every Young Rising Star Outfielder That May Be Great Or May Suck Balls into full effect. So for the final two starting outfield slots, I drafted Cleveland's Grady Sizemore, Toronto's Alex Rios, Seattle's Jeremy Reed and Oakland's Nick Swisher. And I make this promise to you, right here and now: By season's end, two of these guys will finish one and two in the AL Rookie of the Year voting. Mark those palabras, ese.

Without further (Freddy) ado, I present to you Even Wider Slider:

C Joe Mauer, Johnny Estrada
1B Carlos Delgado
3B A-Rod
Corner Troy Glaus
2B Ron Belliard
SS Michael Young
Middle Carlos Guillen
OF Brian Giles, Steve Finley, Pat Burrell and two of the four young stars mentioned above
DH Lyle Overbay

Other two young outfielders who don't start, Nick Johnson, Matt LeCroy, Aaron Miles

Nine starting pitchers (and my five interchangeable bench arms)
Tim Hudson, Roy Oswalt, John Smoltz, Francisco Cordero, CC Sabathia, Jaret Wright, Kevin Brown, Kris and Anna Benson, Scott Kazmir (Jeremy Affeldt, Mike Adams, Randy Wolf, Huston Street and Zach Day)

Let's go get 'em EWS...this is the year.

And now, several numbered unrelated items for you:

1. Allow me to boast for one second...My brackets aren't great. They're not all that good. Two of my Final Four teams were gone well before the weekend and the left side of my sheet is filled with X's. But, for the first time in my history on this planet, I selected a perfect regional bracket. That's right, the Syracuse bracket (with #1 seed UNC advancing) was all mine: perfection.

All eight first-round games, including Bucknell over Kansas, all four second-round games, including Wisconsin over UConn, both regional semifinals and then the UNC over Wisco call. Fifteen games, 15 wins. You don't see that every day. I don't mean to sound like Rikki Lake, but "You go, girl."

2. Deadwood (cocksucker) has started a little slow this season, but it's still riveting. When the Doc isn't jamming a metal rod up Al Swerengen's pee-hole, the storyline is building and the characters are starting to show their cards. I have to hand it to the producers, though: They added the all-time greatest That Guy -- Ned Ryerson/Werner Brandis/Sammy Jankis -- to the cast. I can't tell you how awesome it is to see That Guy escaping his 19th century garb to be bathed by a whore and yell "Your titttttties" before diving into the cleavage of this young "cunt." Have you ever imagined what it would be like to see Ned Ryerson get head in a bathtub? Look no further, Deadwood at your service. You should be watching this show.

3. Luke Donald blew it. He blew it! The Players' Championship was virtually rained out this weekend, but they finally had themselves a winner after yesterday's 95 holes in windy and wet conditions. Northwestern's own Luke Donald shot a final-round 76 (which wasn't so bad for the final round, 16 players failed to break 80), relinquishing the third-round lead to finish tied for second. I mean, the guy's still gonna collect $600,000 for a weekend of work, and he's made $1.3 million since the start of this year, but I selfishly want to be able to say I sat next to a TPC winner in The Italian Diaspora class junior year.

Hoobs and I thought this class was going to be all Puzo novels and The Godfather. Instead it sucked big time. The only redeeming quality was the time our I-tal immigrant professor declared "Dwarves are malicious people" in all seriousness before asking "What, you do not have that stereotype in the United States?" That, and the time when Luke Donald was called on in class and he gave his answer with a British accent. I looked at Hoobs puzzled. "This guy is fucking British?" This was spring quarter junior year and I had no idea the best college golfer in the country that lived down the street was British. Lymie fuckface.

4. I've had many Google and Yahoo! visitors come to Slack lately looking for "Mila Kunis Oklahoma State." It makes sense, as in the past couple weeks I mentioned Kunis in a Family Guy post and Oklahoma State in my college hoops posts. But what are these people looking for? What's the impetus behind all these searches? Anyone? Help.

That is all at this time.

Monday, March 28, 2005

Tsunami II: Coming Soon?

An 8.2 magnitude earthquake struck in the sea off the coast of Sumatra at 4.09 p.m. British time, the U.S. Geological Survey has told Reuters.

A USGS spokeswoman said the quake struck 125 miles west northwest off Sibolga, Sumatra or 880 miles northwest of the Indonesian capital of Jakarta, close to where a 9.0 December quake triggered a devastating Tsunami in Asia.

The USGS spokeswoman could not say if the quake on Monday would trigger a Tsunami.


The Black Crowes Report Card

I've had never been more excited to see a band that I knew less about than on Friday night.

I mean, I know Chris Robinson is cool as hell, and I know he's got a brother Rich that plays the gee-tar and writes the music, and I know Marc Ford is a great guitarist and he's back in the band for the first time in like 8 years, and I know this is their reunion tour after about three or four years on a break, and I know about six songs they play. Other than that, all I really knew is that the Crowes kick ass. So we went, and here's what we found out:

Opening Act: The Soundtrack of Our Lives
A buddy of mine from work recommended these fellas after he saw 'em a few months ago. And while they weren't terrible, they weren't all that good either. They were, however, the most wildly entertaining up-and-coming rock band I've ever seen, although I'm not sure how intentional that part was. These guys either learned how to be a rock band by watching concert videos of old-school rockers like Townshend and Angus and Keith or by strictly following Jack Black's lessons and tips to the talented, yet un-rock-educated kids in School of Rock.

The two guitarists wore matching red button-down shirts, and one even had his wide open by the end of the set; these two jokers also windmilled and jump-kicked and synchronized twirl-jumped at every conceivable opportunity; two dudes converged to sing into the same mike on occasion; the lead singer, clad in a dashiki of sorts, thought he was rocking the fuck out of this tambourine, playing games like Switch Hands with the Mike and the Tambourine Real Fast, tossing the tambourine up real high and, get this, catching it; the keyboardist stood up the whole time and peered into the audience, clapping along to the beats with arms raised high above his head. These guys were just unimaginably cliche and unintenionally hilarious.

Grade: Music C-/Entertainment A+

Resemblance to Stillwater
From about 30 feet back on the floor where we were standing, I coulda sworn we were seeing the fictional band Stillwater and their hit "Fever Dog." Chris Robinson looked exactly like Jason Lee in that movie, a moustachioed Marc Ford looked exactly like Billy Crudup, the rest of the band was fairly nondescript and fucking head Band-aid Penny Lane was hanging out on the side of the stage. I half-expected Ben Fong Torres to call me up and ask me if I could send over my notes via the Mojo. Eighteen minutes a paaage. Crazy.

Grade: A+

Chris Robinson's Coolness
What if I told you I was gonna wear a Blanche Devereaux-like scarf on stage the whole night? Would you believe that I could be the coolest rocker in the world? Of course not. But C-Rob is soooo cool it's frightening, a guy with crazy ass pipes and a whole lotta soul. Plus he sticks his P in Kate Hudson's V, so he's got that going for him.

Grade: A

The Venue
I've never liked the Hammerstein Ballroom. Donnie's never liked the 'Stein (ever since a hippie chick pushed him down during a Trey show last year). And I didn't like it Friday night either, being waaay too packed on the floor. The acoustics were decent, almost too loud, but I really don't like the general admission on the floor there. Gotta figure out what to do before Trey comes back to town in May.

The lone bright spots were the sightings: Ms. Hudson was in the VIP section to the left, Little Stevie/Sylvio Dante in the VIP section to the right. Donnie also swears he saw the Olsen Twins, but I didn't get verification on that, and the Crowes didn't cover Jesse Katsopolous' "When Michelle's Smiling."

Grade: C-

Now...The Music
The Crowes opened the night with a rousing rendition of "Don't Do It," a song made popular (at least to me) by The Band. At that point Donnie looked at me and said, "We should probably walk out right now, it's not gonna get better than that." And it didn't.

Well, I enjoyed most songs, but they never once blew me away (after the opener). They didn't blow me away with their jams, their songs, their lyrics, whatever. I had a great time, danced to a few songs, bobbed my head to the rest, but had I known I'd have to pay $50 for only 100 minutes of just above average music, I never would have gone. That's not entirely true, but you know what I mean.

"Thick 'n Thin" was pretty cool, "Good Friday" was both super-appropriate (hey, it is Good Friday today!) and musically pretty good and "Soul Singing" is one of my favorite Crowes songs.

But this is a reunion tour for a band with a fairly limited repertoire...where's "Hard to Handle"? Where's "She Talks to Angels"? Where's "Remedy"? I understand this was a six-show run, but they couldn't play any of their biggest hits and best songs that night? (I know that sounds ironic coming from a Phish fan that loves how his favorite band plays different songs every night, but this is quite a different band with a much smaller cache to choose from).

Grade: B

Overall Thoughts
I liked the show, I really did. But when the band stopped playing at 10:45 before taking a mellow three-song encore, I wasn't entirely disappointed it was over. And that's saying something, I guess. That's a reaction I never want to experience after a show. You always want the music to go on forever, you want the band to turn into Benny Mardones and take you into the night and show you love, like you've never seen, ever seen. I didn't feel the Mardones touch on Friday, as much as I wanted to.

So in summation, see The Soundtrack of Our Lives for hilarity, see the Crowes for resemblance to Stillwater and check out the VIP section for Penny Lane, Sylvio Dante and the Olsens.


More rain and nasty weather this morning...excellent.

What a weekend: action-packed, footloose and fancy free. We'll have some commentary on the Black Crowes concert Friday, the sweet-ass-sweet college hoops and the sixth annual Mustard's fantasy beisbol draft up in a little bit.

But for now, here's the greatest Google or Yahoo! search that brought someone to Slack in the history of Google and Yahoo! search referrals: "Uncle Jesse raped Kimmy Gibler."

'Til later, here's a short clip of Tigger humping Elmo.

Friday, March 25, 2005

First and Last Thoughts

This 10-year-old is just the latest in a string of minors -- nay teens and pre-teens -- to have been arrested for trying to bring Terri Schiavo a glass of water. I've tried, but after this I just can't hold my tongue any's what I'm thinking, in numbered order:

First of all, like Gloria Clemente, maybe Schiavo doesn't want a glass of water, maybe she just wants us all to empathize with her and tell her that we too know what it's like to feel dry-mouthedness, instead of us needing to solve her problem by bringing her a glass of water. We're Beelly Hoyle, and we so stupid.

Secondably, are these Christian D-Bags really so delusional that they're willing to send children into harm's way just to perform the futile act of bringing this shell of a woman a cup of the universal solvent? Go away. Please, you fucking assbags, go the fuck away.

Thirdsky, I love how the judicial decisions in favor of gay marriage were handed down from "activist judges," yet when these hypocrite fuckfaces need the courts to come through for them they're saddened the judges didn't take matters into their own hands.

Fourth-slice, don't Republicans believe strongly in smaller government? How much bigger can government get than when it makes laws for one person?!

Fifth James Olmos, this chick was fucking bulemic. She was so concerned with her looks that she ate meals and then intentionally threw them up in a vain attempt to look better. Do you think she'd want to be paraded around as everybody's favorite vegetable (she replaced brussel sprouts I believe)? No, if she could see herself now, she'd want the feeding tube out of her faster than she can say, "Ahwufhqeuomnuihpwef."

Seis De Mayo, what about the starving children in the streets every day? What about the soldiers dying in Iraq and elsewhere around the world? Where's the outrage? Seriously, I can only imagine how much better this world could be if these Mayors of Psychoville actually put their faith to work in creative and beneficent ways.

And lastable, how can Terri Schiavo really be dying if she's been a guest star on The OC, frequenting NASCAR races and hangin out with Mr. T (thank EB for the brutal link)? Is this all just an illusion?

Good Friday

Ehhh, it's pretty good. Not great. Just good. Anyone else workin' today? Bueller?

Meanwhile, as noted in yesterday's "Five AM Things" post, a couple of people were talking about going down to the Terri Schiavo Media Circus and holding up a Fluffhead sign. So as ideas were floating around on the actual wording of the sign, someone came up with: "Pulling Tubes is Fun" with a picture of a huge bong. Now that, my friends, is the definition of hilarity.

Some guy did take a sign down there and someone else says they saw it on TV...if screen shots become available, I'll post 'em on here. I love absurdity.

Dorsey Levin just passed this note along from today's NY Post: "A batting practice home run by Giambi struck a man on the head beyond the right-field fence of Field 2 at Legends yesterday morning. The man dropped to the ground and when he recovered he accused Gary Sheffield of throwing the ball at him from inside the field. Sheffield, who had witnesses that the man wasn't telling the right story, was stunned at the accusation but agreed to sign the ball for the man."

And lastly, this linky is crazy. TJ in OH rocked my world this morning with this little clip...looks real, but I pray to Jebus it's fake.

Thursday, March 24, 2005

Seinfeld's Dad

RIP Barney Martin.

I always liked you better than that asshat Jack Klompus...

Five AM Things

--Yesterday we brought you the heroic story of Pat O'Brien getting all yacked up and leaving sexy voicemails for some woman...and today we bring you the sexy voicemails in question (thanks to poophop for sending these over).

--Anyone remember the whole Fluffhead sign fiasco that I couldn't stop laughing about? Well, there is talk on the PT boards today from some guy down in Florida...he may be taking one to the Terri Schiavo Media Circus. And considering the first line of the song is "Fluffhead was a man, with a horrible disease/Could not find no cure, won't you help him if you please?" the sign seems rather appropriate. Do it!

--"Look at my button down striped shirt! Fucking look at it!" This is a pretty fucking funny piece...

--I'm declaring today National U.S. Blues Day. In honor of today's unofficial holiday, take five minutes, throw the headphones in the CPU and take a listen to the 10/17/78 Winterland version of U.S. Blues. Do it for your ole pal Ace.

--Top three Google or Yahoo! searches that brought people to Slack yesterday:

1. Stories of women who like to drink horse semen
2. Soak myself in lamp oil and burn myself in front of the crowd
3. No roughhousing make you gay

Wednesday, March 23, 2005

Best. Link. Ever. (For Real, B)

Coming out of college I tossed aside my overpriced journalism degree and entered the hilarious world of day trading. For about a year, I traded NASDAQ stocks from 9:30 to 4, sometimes fairly well, sometimes very poorly. And aside from being across the street for that whole 9/11 thing, I had a great time that year.

But the best part about the gig was that I got to sit right next to my brother, Red Cowboy, who also doubles as a great guy and best friend. When the two of us start giggling like little schoolgirls, it's tough to get us to stop.

So you can imagine what the scene was like every time CNBC discussed a stock called BJ Services, a Texas-based oilfield services company for the petroleum industry that specializes in pressure pumping. That's right, BJ Services. And pressure pumping. I feel for the anchors that have to say it with a straight face.

Anyway, CNBC this morning did a story on UBS' upgrade of the stock -- and the network either has some jokers in the graphics department or a whole slew of oblivious fools.

CNBC Screen shot of this morning's story. So, many, jokes...

That Girl Just Ate Shit

Some girl in my office literally just face-planted right in front of me. Apparently, her heel got caught in her long pants and she just bit it.

My laughter cannot be contained.

Headline O' the Day

"Document: Bin Laden Evaded U.S. Forces"

Seriously? We just found a document that shows bin Laden escaped the U.S. military? I really thought we had him, nabbed the bastard some time a few years ago. But now that there's an all-knowing document with information counter to my original belief, I stand corrected. Maybe he did evade U.S. forces after all.

In other news, the hard news juggernaut that is CNN just alerted me that that today is Richard Grieco's 40th, um, happy 40th birthday Richard Grieco.

And Pat O'Brien's in rehab -- who knew? I'm not usually one for gossip, but this story is too good to be true. Now read some of these quotes attributed to the guy, classic stuff here. I can't wait 'til I'm famous and stuff like this comes out about me. 'Cuz it will.

Tuesday, March 22, 2005

Next Stop: Coffin?

"A dejected Barry Bonds said Tuesday that there's a chance he might not return this season because of multiple knee surgeries." [More...]

Sucks for everyone that had their fantasy draft already...hey, at least he's not dead already.

Random Thoughts

Mrs. Featherbottom
I'd like to know why Fox's Nanny 911 and ABC's Super Nanny are both on television the exact same night. I'd also like to know why there are two weekly shows about the tenets of proper nannying, let alone one. But I'd really like to know which network copied the other on this one (that answer seems obvious with Fox in the mix)?

What pathetic go-getter gathered his douchebag executive cronies 'round a well-lacquered oblong table in the eighth-floor conference room one sunny afternoon and chirped, "You know what you guys, I overheard at the bathhouse last night that another network is developing a Mary Poppins-type reality show about slightly above-average nannying...Sheila, we gotta steal that idea, it's ratings gold. Boffo!" Seriously, how much money do these fuckers make to do this? $75,000? $150,000? More? If you're gonna pull the feeding tube out of anybody, let it be these people. Please let it be these people.

Outback Steakhouse has created a whole ad campaign around its brand new concept: "Call Ahead Seating." Doing my best old-school SNL David Spade impersonation here...I liked this idea the first time I saw it, when it was called "Reservations." Clever girl, Outback.

The Name Game
The sixth annual Mustard's Fantasy Beisbol League draft takes place this weekend, with five out-of-towners flying into the Large Apple to join the four NYC-based owners for the live draft on Saturday (not surprisingly, Spanish Miguel will be drafting via Instant Messenger in, where else, Madrid). Here's the rub: I need a funny team name for the year. Got any suggestions?

The casual sports fan thinks fantasy baseball is a made up of a bunch of dorks loafing in front of their computers and checking their team stats 17 times a night. And it totally is.

But there's also tons of comedic value: in the Grade-A shit-talking, in the war-rooms at the intense five-hour draft, and most of all, in the team names. My favorite team name was several years ago, when Chuck B and I managed "Verger's Mom Stankiewicz," an homage to former Yankee scrub middle infielder Andy Stankiewicz and our friend Verger's mom's poon.

Two years ago the native Manhattanite CB and I were the "Great New York Boobs." But when we kicked out an unsatisfactory owner and needed to fill another spot last season, the league performed a mastectomy and split up the Boobs. So in the interest of poor taste and high comedy, I skippered "Nancy Reagan" to a disappointing fourth-place finish. Hey, what can I say, I like my First Ladies like I like my custom suits: single-breasted.

So now I need a name for this season...this is clearly the toughest part about fantasy baseball.

While We're Talkin' Baseball
I'm not sure how this happened, but over the course of the past 15 months, I've read seven books about baseball (No, no, not six, seven! I said seven! Nobody's comin' up with six). And I strongly recommend every single one of 'em to you sports-lovin' folks.

The Longball taught me about the 1975 baseball season and postseason, about the Big Red Machine, about the Oakland A's, about Foul Pole Fisk and the Boston Red Sawx. Ball Four turned former Yankee hurler and author Jim Bouton into a social leper, cast aside as a pariah after revealing baseball's secrets to the adoring public. David Halberstam's Summer of '49 chronicled the amazing 1949 seasons of Joe Dimaggio's Yanks and Frozen Teddy's Sawx. Rob Neyer's Big Book of Baseball Lineups is one of the greatest bathroom books in history, as is Allen Barra's Brushbacks and Knockdowns, in which the author constructs fantastic arguments for some of the best debates in pro baseball.

But the last two, both of which I've read in the last two weeks despite being a slower reader than Eric Clapton's son (30 stories in 5 seconds, ouchhhhhh), have been the best. My favorite sportswriter of late, Buster Olney, scripted the definitive book on the 1990s Yankees, brilliantly describing the birth and collapse of baseball's first post-free agency dynasty. The Last Night of the Yankee Dynasty (excerpt here) basically brought tears to my eyes: After watching largely soulless Yankee teams try and fail to win the World Series the past few years, I've really longed for the Pauly O's and Scotty Brosiuses and Tinos and Sojos that brought the heat each and every night. And Olney takes you inning by inning through the final night of the dynasty, Game 7 of the 2001 World Series loss to the Arizona D-Bags, while weaving through the personal and professional stories of each Yankee. He mocks the Boss, he empathasizes with Cashman, he tells the tale of the greatest team for which I've ever rooted. Ten out of ten.

As much as I enjoyed the Yankees' story, this book pales in comparison to the greatest nonfiction sports book I've ever read: Jeff Pearlman's The Bad Guys Won! A lifelong Mets fan, Pearlman so unbelievably describes the story of the 1986 Mets that I could not possibly do it justice here. All I can say is, READ THIS BOOK IF YOU LIKE SPORTS. Seriously. Team planes and buses were moving bars where the players got absolutely shitcanned beyond all recognition, great stories about Doc and Darryl, the ego of Gary Carter, the hilarious pranks of the Roger McDowell and the Scum Bunch (Jesse Orosco, Danny Heep and Dougie Sisk), gangster thug Kevin Mitchell beating the fuck out of everyone including Straw, pre-Seinfeld Keith Hernandez facing a suspension for coke...the truth is stranger than fiction, and you couldn't make up a better story.

Plus there's that whole World Series Bill Buckner thing you may have heard about once or twice. And there's also a 16-inning clincher against the Astros in Game 6 of the NLCS, which kicked off the greatest team flight in sports history...I'll leave y'all hanging there, you have to read this book.

Greatest Ending Ever?
While waiting for SportsCenter to come on last night, AGU and I caught the last 30 seconds of the Vanderbilt v. Wichita State NIT game. With just three seconds left and Wichita State on the line down by three, the free throw shooter drained the first freebie. Then he intentionally missed the second shot, WSU actually got the rebound and put it in for the tie with less than a second left! Unbelievable, that never works! But after a timeout, the Vandy inbounds passer ran the baseline and heaved one about 92 feet, where a Vandy teammate was left WIDE OPEN under the opposing basket. He caught the ball and laid it up in one motion, and Vandy won it.

One team ties it up on a free throw, a board and a bucket with three seconds left, only to lose when they fall asleep on defense with less than a second left. I'm calling this the greatest ending to a basketball game I've ever seen, whether that's true or not. What a finish...

And speaking of finishing, this piece is over. Brain now overrrr.

Monday, March 21, 2005

Great Band Name

Terry Schiavo's Parents

(debuting their new album Err on the Side of Life)

Spade's NosePenis

Take this, Joe Camel:

"It’s been a while since Saturday Night Live regularly inspired an 'I can’t believe they did that!' reaction in viewers, but the March 12 show came pretty close.

Keen observers of a sketch about a celebrity roast of Clint Eastwood might have noticed something peculiar about how the show’s host, David Spade, was made up to look like Owen Wilson.

His nose looked like a penis. Not 'kind of like a penis'; it looked like a urologically-correct appendage, right down to what we believe is called the dorsal vein." [More...]

How You Doin'?

Anyone got a nice-lookin' bracket this morning?

After the first day of the NCAA tournament, my brackets had more X's than a teenage girl's math test. My Tourney Time predictions were mostly waaaay off, or as the experts say, "Samsonite."

But following yesterday's games, I'm liking my chances here, with three Final Four teams still alive, including my Oklahoma State championship pick. And one of my ridiculous predictions actually did come true, as #14 Bucknell actually beat #3 Kansas, making me look wicked smaht in the eyes of nobody but me.

But best of all, in the first bracket I filled out on, I haven't lost a game in the Syracuse region -- not one loss. If UNC and Wisconsin advance, and then UNC beats Wisco, it'll be my first perfect bracket of all-time, an incredible feat if you ask me. So at least we know that won't happen. Bet the farm on either or both of those teams to lose.

As far as gambling goes...imagine you just won $100,000 on a scratch-off ticket. Oh wait, despite following the rules and falling prey to a mistake by the printer of the lottery game card, you did not just win $100,000 on that ticket. We're sorry, now go fuck yourselves.

How was Spring Break Shark Attack? Anyone?

Friday, March 18, 2005


"Wal-Mart Stores Inc. will walk away from criminal charges by paying $11 million to settle a four-year federal probe into allegations it used illegal immigrants to clean its stores, the company said Friday."

But here's the kicker: "The $11 million the government is set to collect from Wal-Mart represents a mere 21 minutes worth of the retail giant's 2004 sales.

"The $11 million works out to 21 minutes worth of Wal-Mart sales by averaging out the company's more than $285 billion in revenue during 2004. The figure represents sales spread out over a 24-hour period for each of the year's 366 days. Some Wal-Marts are open 24 hours but many are not, and hours of operation vary from store to store. The company also made $10 billion in profits last year." [More...]

How fucking awesome would that be if you got fined $11 million and it took you 21 minutes to re-coop that loss? That's the fucking Webster's definition of craisins. I've grown to really dislike Wal-Mart, but that's just cool as shit.

Inhalants Beat Weed

Looks like my 12- and 13-year-old sons picked the wrong week to stop sniffing glue.

Here's the study's best finding: "They also were six times as likely to have stolen or tried to steal something valued at more than $50." Who thought of asking that question?

Family Guy Live!

PB passed this along to me this morning, although it seems a little too pricey for my go on sale at 10 am today:

"Show mastermind Seth MacFarlane is teaming with 20th Century Fox Television and Just for the Laughs, the folks behind the Montreal Comedy Festival, to produce a theatrical stage production of the animated comedy titled Family Guy Live!

The show, billed as a two-hour, multimedia extravaganza, will feature the flesh-and-blood cast behind the 'toon Griffin family: MacFarlane (who voices several characters, including portly patriarch Peter, gin-swilling pooch Brian and would-be megalomaniac Stewie), Alex Borstein (wife Lois), Seth Green (son Chris), Mila Kunis (daughter Meg) and Mike Henry (pal Cleveland, among others).

The actors will read from a classic episode, take part in a Q&A and perform a musical number from the upcoming Family Guy Lie in Vegas comedy album. They will also preview the first new Family Guy episode in three years.

Family Guy Live! is scheduled to premiere with two performances at Los Angeles' Wiltern Theater on Apr. 15 followed by four shows at New York City's Town Hall on Apr. 29 and 30. Tickets go on sale Friday." [More...]

Thursday, March 17, 2005


I've been busted...obviously Bart Starbux's Alabama Crimson Tide ain't rollin' to the Elite Eight like I planned!

Good start to the Dance. How's everyone doin'?

Tourney Time

The greatest reality show in television history is back on the air.

That's right, the NCAA Tournament hits the small screen at noon today, giving all employees something to do instead of work and read blogs. One firm calculates the loss of productivity at $889 million over the 16 business days of the tournament. But that study also assumes that people actually work hard the other 200+ days a year, which is blatantly false. Blatantly.

So, as the tourney unfolds and brackets are busted, here are some quick predictions for this year's Madness:

Biggest Upset
I don't quite know how this happened, but I have two 14 seeds advancing to the second round. And strangely, I feel pretty strongly about both teams: Bucknell beating Kansas and Utah State knocking off a hit-or-miss Arizona squad. Bucknell this season beat then-seventh-ranked Pittsburgh on the Panthers' home court just days after a seven-point win at St. Joe's. The Patriot League champs feature three players that average more than 12 points a game, and that balance is going to take down the recently struggling Jayhawks.

Utah State has the potential to win two games in this tournament, although they'll probably fall to LSU in the next round. But the Aggies are legit...they cracked the Top 25 last season and have made the tourney for the fourth time in six years. Utah State beat Andrew Bogut and Utah by 26 points this season, beat #20 Pacific once this year (although they dropped two other games to Pacific earlier) and they even beat the Powerhouse in Evanston, Northwestern. Senior Spencer Nelson is taking over.

First #1 Seed to Fall
Believe it or not, the only top seed I have advancing to the Elite Eight in this year's tournament is North Carolina. I've got Duke, Illinois and Washington all falling in the Sweet 16 to Syracuse, Alabama and Louisville respectively.

Duke just doesn't have the depth or the top-tier McDonald's talent this season, and I'm not sure they can win with a guy that got teabagged while passed out at a UNC frathouse.

I'm sold on Illi-noise, I think they're a damn good team with great guards and more than serviceable big men; but for some reason I just don't see them putting it all together and winning the title. It might be Bruce Weber's nice guy demeanor, it might be his orange coats. As much as I really enjoy watching this team, I say they're out.

Washington is a fun team to watch, but I think even Pitt and their big men can take the littler Huskies to task in the second round should they meet. I'm rooting for Washington to bust my bracket though, as Nate Robinson is one of the cooler guys to watch in the country.

Best Match-up of Teams/States that Fucked the United States for the Next Four Years
#4 Florida vs. #13 Ohio

Best Name in the Tournament
Leemire Goldwire, Charlotte 49ers.

When Donnie and I were watching Brendan Plavich nail like 14 three-pointers from eight feet behind the arc, we also noticed this dude's awesome moniker. Even though I have the 49ers losing in round one (streaky shooting teams always go out early), I almost want these guys to go all the way so I can hear "Leemire Goldwire" a lot. Depaul's Cliff Clinkscales may have won this category if the Blue Demons had made the tourney.

Obligatory #12 seed Advancing
Almost every year for the past decade and a half, a five-seeded team has gone down in the first round like your mom on the poolboy. Who will it be this year? Well, I actually have only one #5 team moving on (Alabama), but I'm not so sure if that's gonna work out like I planned. So if I had to pick one, let's go with Old Dominion over Tom-to-the-Izzo's Michigan State team. Look for the Alex Loughton and the Monarchs to knock off Paul Davis and the Spartans.

I Hate This Pick
Why did I pick Syracuse to go to the Final Four? I think they easily could win the whole thing with one of the best inside-outside combos in the game, but Taylor Coppenrath and the Vermont Catamounts could just as easily knock them out in the first round. If they can get past UVM, they're going to the Final Four...but I don't know how to write that in my bracket.

Final Four Picks

Chicago bracket: Oklahoma State d. Alabama
Al-B-Que bracket: L'Ville d. Wake Forest
Syracuse bracket: UNC d. Wisconsin
Austin (Massachussets) bracket: 'Cuse d. Utah


Oklahoma State d. Louisville
UNC d. Syracuse

And in the final game, when the big story will be about Roy Williams at long last taking home an NCAA title at his alma mater, it'll be Eddie Sutton leading his Cowpokes to the trophy, as he wins his first title after years of near misses. I love Oklahoma State this year, and I've been singing their praises all year long: Joey Moonlight Graham, John Lucas, Ivan McFarlin and JamesOn(.org) Curry are NOT losing this tourney. Done deal.

Good final game or not, I just hope we get those Bryce Drew-type moments, those Laettner-esque shots, those Jimmy V runs or Hampton coach's all about the lasting memories.

Now let's go have a good show, everybody.

Wednesday, March 16, 2005

Comedy Madness

64 comedic movies...fill out the bracket and pick out your Final Four. Let's hear who ya got goin' all the way and who ya got winning the whole goddamn thing.

It ain't perfect, considering the two greatest comedies of all time aren't even on here (Bottle Rocket and Waiting for Guffman), but it's a nice little exercise.

Two New Rules

Case #1: "Only 23 men's teams in the 65-team NCAA Tournament managed to graduate at least 50 percent of its student athletes..." [More...]

OK, new rule #1: Either we start giving a shit about educating our nation's student-athletes or we stop reporting about graduation rates. I would love it if college athletes got a good education, and for graduation rates to be as close to 100 percent as possible. But we're not even really trying, so we shouldn't be expecting to see any number above zero percent.

These guys are not recruited to go to school, they're brought in to play basketball and raise cash and visibility for the university. They're at college to bang white chicks and look good on television, that's it, that's all, next fucking case. So let's get serious, or let's stop the charade of acting like we give a shit. And for a re-hash of my thoughts on the NCAA and how they blow goats, click here.

Case #2: "Saje Beard's half-hour commute to class is the envy of her four classmates at a one-room schoolhouse just south of here. Most mornings, the third-grader makes the trek on Ruth the mule." [More...]

OK, new rule #2: This is not fucking news! This is not the 8th most important story of the day! This should not be the most popular story on, and this should not be mentioned by Wolf Blitzer (who prides himself on "hard news") on the noon network show! Ruth the mule is a cool word-of-mouth anecdote, but the fact that this is a national news story is lamer than FDR's legs. What, too soon?

Now, here are the top five Google and Yahoo! searches that brought people to Slack this week:

1. Church your wife fucking someone else
2. Carter drunk at P Diddy's White Party
3. John Chaney I'll kick your ass
4. One-armed stripper (again!)
5. Greetings Dunph, what's happening?

**And in a late addition...I just asked my work neighbor here to get me some stamps from the Post Office, as long as she was going. So she comes back with 10 stamps that feature a young black mother kissing a young black baby in a diaper, with the words "TEST EARLY FOR SICKLE CELL" on the top. And I get to send these out to people?! Awesome! Simply awesome!

Tuesday, March 15, 2005

10,000 Barefoot Children Outside

Langerado 2005: "Tell everyone not to tell anyone."

'Cuz if word gets out about how absolutely perfect this weekend was, the festival organizers are gonna have to sell 25,000 tickets next year. Langerado had it all -- perfect weather, perfect lot scene, perfect crowd, perfect bands. I woulda done the perfect cheer if I had the uniform and the intestinal fortitude. I can't say enough about the beauty of this laid-back festival. This was the Anti-Coventry.

A special thanks goes out to EB, whose Floridian hospitality was second-to-none. He hooked up a free place to stay, a handy little green bag and a crew of party girls that switched off entertaining me and annoying the fuck out of me. So we rolled into the lot about 10 deep in three cars, hung out all day in the sun and passed around whatever needed to be passed. Once inside we watched band after band come out, kick ass and take names, I met up with some old friends, made some new ones, randomly bumped into others I knew would be down there. I felt like Yakov Smirnoff all weekend long: What a country!

In total we saw 12 bands, and we caught four hours of String Cheese Incident, who headlined both nights of the festival. I've written about SCI before, but this is the new era of Cheese, I think. They added a percussionist, they're tighter than ever, they're jamming in ways I've never heard -- it's as if they woke up and said, "It's time to take the Phish crowd." There are plenty of Cheese-haters on the scene, and that's cool, but I've never been more impressed with them before. They encored with Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough to close out the first night of this fest, and that's a must listen, folks...funny stuff, but more importantly, great jam. As far as covers go, the odd version of Ring of Fire they did with Karl Denson was fantastic as well.

I'm a notoriously good grader, but I wouldn't give a single band we saw this weekend less than an A-minus. Well, maybe I'll give Karl Denson's Tiny Universe a B+ because Denson just refuses to play the saxomaphone these days -- he's one of the greatest sax players around, yet he'd rather sing and play the flute or cowbell while dancing to his awesome band. C'mon, Karl, yer better than that.

And I'd give A-pluses to Toots and the Maytals, Keller Williams, MMW and the Benevento/Russo Duo. The rest get solid A's or A-minuses (New Monsoon, Robert Walter's 20th Congress, Particle, De La Sol, Umphrey's McGee (most potential award) and the Dirty Dozen Brass Band). Not even Steve Sanders can legacy key his way into my files and change these grades.

My personal highlight of the weekend: EB and I watched the first-night SCI set with an old camp counselor of mine (the twin brother of a guy I saw SCI with on 12/29/04 ) and his friend from college. After the show ended we stumbled back to the lot, where we said our goodbyes, hugs and fist-bumps all around. EB and I went one way, they went another. Then we heard the hissssssss. So obviously the two of us made our way to the nitrous tank and walked away with two blue gas-filled balloons each. We walked about 15 feet from the tank and saw two characters coming our way, each with two orange gas-filled balloons from another tank.

As we approached, it was clear that our goodbyes were premature. Clearly, fate had brought the four of us together to get nitrousilly as the group we were inside. Classic. We sat there for about a half-hour doing balloons, making more runs to the source and frying our brains right in front of a live drummer in the lot, who was simply amazing. That drummer was key: Aside from being a fantastic backdrop to our activities, he even served as a landmark to help us find the car on night one, and he brought me to run into a random friend I hadn't seen yet after the second night. Go drummer, it's your birfday.

By the way...If you've never seen the full-on frenzy around a nitrous tank, you're missing out on bearing witness to the ugliest part of the human character. Picture the line on Black Friday at 6 am when the mechanical doors open at the Wal-Mart in a blue-collar imagine those charged up customers are coming down from a host of various Schedule I narcotics, have no place to go for the next hour or two and view the merchandise as essential for future sustenance.

Unwashed elbows are flying like a Best of Macho Man Randy Savage video montage, price are gouged at August '04 East Coast Blackout levels, the timeless art of line-cutting (including but not limited to Chinese cut-sies) is being attempted by everyone on queue...general unrest ensues. It's a free-for-all: a throng of hippie-crack addicts fighting their way through a mob of rowdy gas-lovers to lay their hard-earned money down, all for the fleeting joy of the greatest minute-long high ever recorded. It's utter madness.

In my later years I've become one of the least aggressive people on Earth, almost to a fault. But place a hissing tank of the glorious gas in a sun- or moon-lit field and watch your fucking back, brah. On several occasions this weekend I went from the back of the horde to a fistful of balloons in less than a minute. One time the operators had to move the tank about 10 feet and I surreptitiously positioned myself right in front of the tank's new home, much to the chagrin of a handful of yelling dudes in front of me. I was even grandfathered in at $5 per as the gougers raised the prices to one-for-$10 and three-for-$20. If my father could see me now...the Bronx, street-smart son he always wanted me to be, slickly maneuvering his way through the crowd to claim what was rightfully his. I'm Ace, and I'm a hippie-crack addict.

But Langerado 2005 will forever be known as the festival that everyone I know missed out go ahead and reserve some time around this weekend next year, because we're all going to this thing in 2006. No security and no police (none whatsoever), but also no misbehaving and no horseplay, no roughhousing and no tomfoolery. Langerado was all fun, all games, all chill, just perfect.

Just fucking perfect. Tell everyone not to tell anyone.

The Ides of March

The Ace Cowboy is baaaack...we'll have a full report on Langerado in a few hours, after I can catch up on some work and collect my thoughts. I will say this: Wow. Wow, wow, wow. This weekend blew my mind.

You know it's a good festival when you get your name prominently in the Miami Herald article covering the Fest:

''It's good to get away from the winter and come down to the warm embrace of Florida,'' said Ace Cowboy, 25, from New York. "These are 25 of the best bands going, all for a low, low retail price."

Check it out (if you need a username and pass, feel free to use and herald1).

Until today's post, here's a good joke via the e-mail of Dad Cowboy:

A man goes to a public golf course. He approaches the man behind the counter in the pro shop and says, "I would like 18 holes of golf and a caddie."

The man behind the counter says, "The 18 holes of golf is no problem, but all of the caddies are out on the course. What I will do for you is this. We just got 8 brand new robot golf caddies. If you're willing to take one with you out on the course and if you will come back and tell me how well it works, your round of golf is on me today."

The golfer obviously accepted the man's offer. He approached the first tee, looked at the fairway and said to himself, "I think my driver will do the job." The robot caddie turned to the man and said, "No sir. Use your 3 wood. A driver is far too much club for this hole."

Hesitantly, the golfer pulled out his 3 wood, made good contact with the ball, and the ball landed about 10 feet to the right front of the hole on the green. The golfer, delighted, turned to the robot and thanked him for his assistance.

As the golfer pulled out his putter, he said, "I think this green is gonna break left to right." The robot then again spoke up and said, "No sir. I do believe this green will break right to left."

Thinking about the last time the robot corrected his prediction, he decided again to listen to the machine. He made his putt and birdied the hole, thanks to the robot and his advice. But his luck didn't end there. His entire game was the best game he ever played, thanks to the assistance of the new robot golf caddie.

Upon returning to the clubhouse, the man behind the counter asked, "How was your game?"

The golfer stated, "It was, by far, the BEST game I ever played. Thank you very much for letting me take one of your robots. See you next week."

A week passed, and excited, the golfer returned to the pro shop. Upon entering the pro shop he turned to the man behind the counter and said,
"I would like 18 holes of golf and one of those robot golf caddies, please."

The gentleman from behind the counter turned to the man and said, "Well, the 18 holes is no problem. However, we had to get rid of the robots. We had too many complaints."

Confused, the golfer cried, "COMPLAINTS? Who in the heck could've complained about those robots? They were incredible."

The man sighed and said, "Well, it wasn't their performance. It was that they were shiny silver metal, and the glare from the machine was blinding to other golfers on the fairway."

The golfer said, "So then why didn't you just paint them black?"

The man nodded sadly and replied, "We did. And then four of 'em didn't show up for work, two filed for unemployment, and the other two robbed the pro shop."

Friday, March 11, 2005


Took off work, woke up late, IMed with the Ambiguously Gay Uno for a few, now I'm all showered and ready to go. I said I'm read' t' go. Slack LaLane will most likely go dark for the rest of the day and all of Monday. So go somewhere else, ya no-good fonzanoons.

I'm on a 5:35 pm flight. Let the over/under on wheels up be set at 6:55 pm -- what's your call, over or under on the little Song flight that could departing a JFK runway 80 minutes late? I'm goin' under. And tell my wife I love her very much, she knoooows.

Go Northwestern at noon...

Thursday, March 10, 2005


Blogger still sucks big floppy donkey deeck, so sorry for any personal inconvenience this may have caused you and your procrastination.

In other news...despite being the absolute worst shooting team in the history of college sports and perhaps all mankind, the Ace Cowboy's Northwestern Widlkits eked out a 58-56 victory over Brother Red Cowboy's Michigan Wolverines.

While TJ Parker tried his darndest to lose the game with crucial missed free throws down the stretch, the Cats hung on and will face Illinoise tomorrow in the quarterfinals. I expect an upset, harkening back to the near-upset of Cleaves' Spartans in the first Big Ten tournament ever. Man, we were so close. Expect victory...who's a Cats fan?

Anyone want a celebratory brownie?

Countdown to Langerado

That's right, folks, Ace Cowboy is taking a little vacation for the first time since August. Tomorrow I'm off to my least favorite state in the Union: Florida.

Seriously, can we cede this motherfucker back to eSpain? After the last two elections, terrorist flight school, constant hurricanes, blue-haired drivers and Jews everywhere, I say we give up on this horrible experiment and just quit Florida altogether.

But the great state is putting on a dyn-o-mite-lookin' music festival this weekend -- 25 supersweet bands on three stages over two days, playing to a fairly limited crowd of 10,000, all for the incredibly low price of $75. Sign me up. OK, I signed myself up.

And I can't fucking wait another day. Originally I was planning on coming into work tomorrow morning before my afternoon flight, but now I'm not so sure. After this morning's commute actually, I don't feel like coming into work ever again. The 9 train was so packed this morning that I was literally resting my left arm on this short, dumpy woman's enormous chest. For real, B, my right arm was crammed at my side, and my left arm got caught, eventually resting comfortably on her boobage. She loved it. The tables turned, however, after the train stopped at the 50th Street station...some people got off, we all shuffled around but stayd cramped, and then I'm pretty sure her finger made its way in my ass. Great train ride after that.

Just get me out of here already. I'm pastier than a Siberian albino.

In an unrelated note, take 2 minutes and watch this clip...some fucking moron cop giving a lecture on gun safety. You may be able to guess what ensues: Bring that other gun out! Watch with sound.

Wednesday, March 09, 2005

Turd Ferguson

Wanna send someone you love a great gift?

Now, for something that doesn't involve large pieces of shit for breakfast...Our favorite writer is at it again, breaking down the job that lies ahead for the NCAA Tournament selection committee.

If you're a serious sports fan, or even a casual fan that loves the tourney, take 10 minutes and read this awesome fucking article, a GREAT behind-the-scenes look at the tough task of doling out dance cards. The article even has the first-ever public look at the computer screens of the NCAA committee members, like this shot.

Talented dude.

No Love?

I know comments are hard to post these days due to Blogger's general suckiness of late, but nothing yesterday? Nothing? Well, my shorts.

My head hurts a little bit and I'm tired as balls, although drinks with the boss again last night resulted more in conversations about horsecock than in a wicked hangover. Yes, you read that right. Horsecock. And horse semen. The perks of working for a former cowpoke.

Anyway, duty calls this morning (hehe, he said "duty") enjoy this ridiculous story about licking wounds and let's do some commenting.

Tuesday, March 08, 2005

Total Crudeness

Just heard this joke:

What's the difference between Neil Armstrong and Michael Jackson?

Neil Armstrong walked on the moon and Michael Jackson fucks little boys.

Damn, that's funny.

Kin Korn Karn

I think they should baptize this guy in battery acid instead...

These born-again d-bags always ruin the fun for everyone else (see: G. W. Bush, 2000-present).

Blackrecruits Down

As if our nation's military needed any more problems...

We're fighting a virtually unwinnable war against Iraqi insurgents that look remarkably like friendly Iraqi citizens, we're hunting Osama bin Laden and his terrorist fuckhead cronies somewhere along the Pakinstani/Afghani border, Iran is presenting an imminent threat that may call for American military might (all options are on the table), North Korea is still freakin' out like a misbehaving child on a sugar binge that craves the attention of a neglecting mother, and if we have a little time to spare, some of our soldiers have to riddle a freed Italian journalist's speeding car with bullets.

But now the strongest military power in modern history faces another dangerous challenge: Operation Get Behind the Darkies is in serious jeopardy.

Black volunteers for the U.S. Army have fallen 41 percent over the past four years -- they've gone from 23.5 percent of recruits in fiscal 2000 down to 13.9 percent in the first four months of fiscal 2005, according to the Army of One, aka the Army of Fewer Black Guys. Good luck out there, Darkies. Sheeet.

Monday, March 07, 2005

Caption This Pic

Ethan's blog has a little caption contest thing goin' on, so I came across this article with a hilarious picture and felt we could do the same around our makeshift water cooler. Give it your best shot, which is what this guy looks like he's doing to Lefty...

Apparently Blogger's being a douche and comments are hard to post today, but keep tryin' Slackers, you'll break through eventually.

And The Winner Is...Sloth

As my morning Krispies snap, crackle and pop in their styrofoam bowl, I can't help but reflect on yesterday's amazing day of Sloth. It's been a long time since we've followed such an exceptional day of sports with such an entertainment-packed night of television.

Ahhh, yesterday, how I heart thee. What a glorious day for parking yourself in front of the teevee from noon to 10:30. Outdoors and fresh air are overrated. Here's the recap:

Set I: Reveille, Bagel Run, Illini Looking Perfect > Whoooa Boy, Ohio State Upsets Illinois > First Half of UK/Florida > Coverage of the Doral Begins > Florida Upsets Kentucky > Bonus Coverage of Mizzou Upsetting Kansas > Doral's Back Nine > First Half of Duke/UNC > Unbelievable Finish at the Doral > Unbelievable Finish in Chapel Hill

Set II: Mediocre Simpsons, Arrested Development (Part I) > Deadwood Premiere...Cocksucker > Roommate's Girlfriend Made Us Some Bananas Foster > Arrested Development (Part II)

w/ special guest, 100+ pages of The Last Night of the Yankee Dynasty

Same as the old boss
After NBC's golf coverage kicked off at 3, I kept flipping back and forth to as much college hoops as I could find, but the main event of my day was the Doral. It may be March, but a day like this in golf hasn't come around nearly enough. After birdies on the first four holes, the world's top-ranked golfer Vijay Singh had played his way into third place, trailing Mickelson by three and Tiger by two. Now you had three of the world's best four golfers on the same course, with Lefty and Tiger playing together in the final pair. That's madness.

I don't really like playing golf. I'm not nearly good enough to enjoy it. To me it usually is a good walk spoiled, and I haven't set foot on a course in about two years. But watching golf is an entirely different matter: I love it (I've been swimming in raw sewage, and I love it). Yesterday was perfect -- the perfect duel, the perfect leaderboard, two guys firing perfectly on all cylinders at the same time for the first time since Tiger's initial ascent, with Vijay and Toms just a few strokes back. This was something to watch, two competitors in a personal and professional dogfight. We hadn't seen nearly enough of this.

All looked lost for Lefty when Tiger eagled 12 to take a two-stroke lead, but Phil showed remarkable resiliency with birdies on 13 and 14 to tie it up. Nobody fights back after one of Tiger's patented fistpumps, yet Phil did. It was like a newly popular Hulk Hogan breaking out of the Iron Sheik's Camel Clutch. Nobody did that. Now we're gettin' interesting, folks.

They both parred 15 before trading bogeys on 16 (the par-4 hole where Tiger drove the green on Saturday, unleashing a fucking 373-foot drive), sending both men to the 17th tee 23 under par. Tiger sank a 20-plus foot birdie, giving him a one-stroke lead going into the last hole. And with Tiger playing a little safer than usual, Phil had the chance to square it up on 18, nearly chipping in from 30 feet to send the tournament into bonus cantos.

But much like every other legitimate sport, golf is a game of inches...and Phil will be seeing that ball lip out of the cup and past the hole in his sleep tonight. What a match, though. Lefty is still as hot as can be (although I think he needs to work on his putts), but Tiger is back, baby. It's good to see Tiger draped in Championship Red and winning again.

Say what you will about the upsets in college hoops yesterday, but this match-up was the heat. This was golf at its finest, this is the Golden Fucking Age, the GFA. The only top-five golfer not around for the final round of the Doral was Ernie Els, who was instead winning the Dubai Desert Classic with an eagle on 18 to win by a stroke. I can't wait for the majors this year -- Tiger, Phil, Vijay, Ernie, Goosen, Toms, Adam Scott, Sergio...the Golden Fucking Age.

The Hoops
If you didn't think it felt like March yet, I'm sure yesterday changed all that.

Undefeated Illinois blows a late lead and loses by one on a three-pointer with less than five seconds left; third-ranked Kentucky gets stripped of the ball and stripped of the lead, missing a three-ball in the final seconds to salvage a win, falling to SEC rival Florida by one; seventh-ranked Kansas loses what seems like its 700th game over the past two weeks, falling to Mizzou by four; Chris Paul runs the floor and beats NC State with a ridiculous, off-balance jumper with no time left to give fourth-ranked Wake Forest a win it desperately needed with everyone else losing; and of course, Duke blows a nine-point lead in the final three minutes in Chapel Hill, cementing Sean May as the nation's most likely recipient of six blowjobs by Tuesday.

As parity continues to wreak havoc on the NCAA, this is going to be one of the greatest tournaments on record. Get Nantz, get Packer and his Iversonian "tough monkey" jargon, get Gumbel and Kellogg and the rest of the CBS crew...we're goin' dancing soon enough.

Woo woo, W-U.

Cocksucker Motherfucker
And so it begins. If you're not watching Deadwood, well then gosh, I don't even wanna know ya. I didn't buy into the first season, and I didn't bother watching the show. Too Western, too weird, I'm not interested in another Sunday night affair. Donnie and TJ and countless others pleaded with me to catch up, and I still refused. Until the last two weeks, I couldn't care less.

But then I watched the first two episodes of last season on demand, and then two more, and then two more, and now I'm as hooked as the dopers that killed Mister Wu's opium deliverymen. "Swegen...two coc-suckas." So I finally caught up. And you know what, this is the best show on TV right now. It beats the West Wing, the Sopranos, 24, you name it -- this show's better (well, Sorkin-written West Wings are clearly better, but right now, it's no contest).

Al Swearengen might be the greatest character in history, an even cooler Tony Soprano if that's even possible. How this guy didn't win an Emmy this year is beyond me. Completely beyond me. Swearengen is my new personal hero, the proprietor of a saloon and brothel, which leads him to great lines like this: "God rest the souls of that poor family... and pussy's half price for the next 15 minutes."

Watch this show if you're not. That's all I'm sayin'.

--For the New York Jews in the house, buy tickets to the off-Broadway show Jewtopia and take your parents. Then tell them to take notes. Fucking hilarious.

--Spank your kid or suspend that ass. Ahh, I miss Illinois.

--Barry Bonds reads Slack, I'm convinced. A day after I called out the hat and helmet makers, who may hold the best proof as to his growing noggin due to steroids, he unleashes this rant: "'What's all this about my head size?' Bonds asked. 'My hat size is the same today as when I started. My head hasn't grown. I've always been a 7-1/4 to a 7-3/8 my whole career. You can go check. Sometimes you get one and you sweat, it gets smaller, so you go a size up or a size down. Those things shrink when you sweat or they get wet during a season.'" [More...]

--Oh, I nearly forgot: WE GOT LA-LA-LA-LAVERANEUS COLES BACK! Way to go Jets front office, this is the best move I could have imagined. Coles and McCareins, with Cottchery and others filling the third receiver slot: Fannntastic. We signed Derrick Blaylock to back up Curtis, which is a great we just need some DT help and some CB help and I'm a happy boy. Super Bowl champs next year.

Go fuck yourselves.

Friday, March 04, 2005


Anyone read today's Bill Simmons column on the sports equivalent of U2? What a weird little article. I've been a big fan of Simmons lately (like you, I'm sure, we've had our ups and downs), but this is just crapola. At one point he wrote, "Take everything you ever read or heard about MJ, then double it -- that's what we'd have if U2 had played ball." Get outta here with that...

Interested to hear some opinions on this...and on U2 in general, because after Rattle and Hum I just tuned 'em out.

My World = Rocked

A colleague of mine just rocked my world. Maybe this is common knowledge, but I've been in the dark about this...

Did anyone else know that Billy Crudup, aka Stillwater's Russell Hammond, is the voice of the fucking Mastercard "Priceless" commericals? I seriously cannot believe that. I'm sufficiently rocked.

Leaving your hot-ass girl (and Ace's future wife Mary-Louise Parker) while she's seven months pregnant for Claire Fucking Danes: Apparently priceless.


After a string of surprisingly hot teachers corrupting our nation's youth, along comes this monstrosity. Yikes. I don't care how horny middle school kids are, there's just no excuse for giving in to the temptation of weenie-touching from Ms. Woods.

Here's an actual scrolling headline from the news crawl on the bottom of CNN, the once-proud news network that no longer remembers what it's like to be good: "HILARY SWANK TOOK A VACATION IN THE MEXICO RESORT TOWN OF PUERTO VALLARTA AFTER WINNING BEST ACTRESS OSCAR AT ACADEMY AWARDS." Now I can die in peace.

Donnie came by last night, and the two of us watched much of the Louisville/Charlotte game. If you like 3-pointers, this was your game (now I tell ya). Bombs a-fucking-way last night, especially from a Charlotte gunner named Brendan Plavich, a 6-2'' senior that looks like a post-accident Mark Hammill with a much longer face. Plavich is a white-boy shooter in every sense of the word, looking totally lost on defense while just camping out behind the three-point line on the offensive end. But man can this guy shoot -- if they're playing in the Tourney, make sure to watch their game just for Plavich.

In a span of about two minutes, he drained a three from about eight feet behind the line, then swished one from about six feet behind the arc the next time down the floor. Then he sank an off-balance practically running three a few possesions later. This guy was making JJ Redick look like he shoots lay-ups. Unfortunately he also gave up just as many points on the defensive end, getting taken off the dribble almost every time, looking like a first-time understudy in a camp play, having no clue where he was supposed to be.

But here's to you Brendan Plavich, thanks for letting us witness one of the more incredible sequences of three-pointers in the history of the game. And I mean that, this was an awesome clinic to watch. And here's to you Charlotte coach Bobby Lutz -- you can't really tell, but this guy has a moustache. It's light, but it's a moustache.

Non-fluid exchange of the night, during one of the many Sonic commercials airing on ESPN:

Donnie: Does anyone actually eat Sonic?
Ace: I don't even know where they are.
Donnie: I don't even know what it is.

Nice, seems like that advertising is really paying off. Well, it's Friday, folks, let's play a little today. We shall.

Thursday, March 03, 2005


I'm watching the Yankees take on the Pirates on ESPN right now, first Spring Training game of the year for the Bombers. Could I be any happier? I could try, but I would not be successful.

In honor of Yogi Berra and Bill Dickey, here are 8 things I'm thinkin' about as I watch this and don't do any work:

1. Tanyon Sturtze is going to be a big part of the Yanks' pitching staff this season. He's not just going to be a long reliever or a spot starter, he's going to be a full-fledged starter by July or August. And he's gonna be good. Plus, I love the fact that he looks like a combination of John Rocker and Bill Paxton after getting stung by a handful of Africanized bees (that's racist to bees everywhere). Six up, six down in his two innings of work.

2. Jason Giambi looks like he's got a lot of extra neck fat right now. When I called Donnie to tell him the game was on and that Giambi has a lot of neck fat, he said:"That's what happens when you stop taking the juice, you get lots of neck fat." Good call, Donald Fiedler.

3. Something about seeing Tino Martinez in pinstripes gets my motor running. I was at Tino's last game in Pinstripes (Game 5 of the botched 2001 W.S. -- the Brosius game) and I'd love to be at his first game back at the Stadium. His performance with the Yankees, save his subpar 2000 campaign, was both steady and excellent. Not sure those adjectives can work in conjunction with each other, but it's as true as can be. Just look at his stats with the Yanks, and also keep in mind his defense is sexy.

4. Hideki Matsui really might make a run at the AL MVP Award this season. He improved in just about every offensive category in his second season last year, and all signs point to continued improvement. I'm putting him down for 162 games of consistent defense in left field to go along with his .312 batting average, 110 runs scored, 38 homeruns and 118 RBI. Slipples for all!

5. While we're talking bold predictions, let's take a look at Randy Johnson's Ace-projected stats for the upcoming season: 25-3, 1.74 ERA, 248 strikeouts, 16 complete games and 9 shutouts. I've never been more excited about a New Guy than I am about the Large Unit.

5a. By the way, if Randy's numbers look familiar to any Yankee or baseball fans, they're Ron Guidry's ridiculously amazing 1978 stats, one of the more underrated pitching seasons in baseball history.

6. I mean, who wouldn't make like a circus seal and fellate the hell out of Derek Jeter? I said Goddamn. Goddamn, goddamn, goddamn.

7. My Larry King-ism of the day: Officer Tony Womack could end up being a decent signing.

8. I'm pretty optimistic about the upcoming season. Why wouldn't I be? We won more games than anyone in the AL last year (101) and added Randy Johnson, Carl Pavano and Jaret Wright, maybe a healthy Jason Giambi, plus we upgraded out lefties out of the bullpen and shored up the defense with Tino back at first. We're talking 105 wins this season, unless we collapse.

Many of my fellow Yankee fans are clucking that the sky is falling -- or has fallen -- but I don't see it. All I see is another trip to the postseason and our first World Champion pennant in five seasons. I'm currently reading The Last Night of the Yankee Dynasty and it troubles me greatly. But as I watch a little bit of this game, I feel like I'm watching the first warm-up game for the first day of the next dynasty.

Slipples for all, I say, slipples for all.

The Bad Lieutenant

The Trey Anastasio Band is hittin' the road for a three-week Spring tour...Here's a look at if and when the redheaded fuckface is comin' to your town (he'll help you party down).

Two nights at the Hammerstein...hmm hmm, Danny, hmm. On the day Phish broke up, in an blinded rage I told TJ in OH he can kick me in the teeth as hard as he can if I ever pay good money to see this d-bag with his new band. Well, unless tickets sell out before I can get my hands on 'em, someone better get me an appointment with an oral and maxillofacial surgeon for May 15th.

Let the Dave Matthews Wannabe Tour commence!

Wednesday, March 02, 2005

Live Aid

I'm sure this rawks...four discs of one of the more incredible concert lineups since Woodstock.

Imagine That

Someone uttered the phrase "rude awakening" at work yesterday. And because of my freakish brain wiring, my thoughts immediately drifted to the finishing maneuver of Ravishing Rick Rude, one of the greatest heels in WWF history. Then I had an odd thought...

Barry Bonds turns 41 years old in July. And trailing The Bambino by only 11 homeruns, he'll probably pass the immortal Babe in baseball's record books sometime before then, perhaps around that time if he's still hurt when this upcoming season starts. That'll put Barry just 41 homeruns behind one of his idols, Hank Aaron, a task well within reach by season's end given his post-millenial totals. But Barry's homerun performance of the past three seasons (46, 45, 45) indicates he'll most likely hit that goal in April or May of the 2006 season, just before his 42nd birthday.

Now let us assume for argument sake that Barry had been ingesting steroids pretty regularly for three or four years, which seems like a safe bet considering he's admitted to using performance-enchancing drugs in the past, albeit unknowingly. Let us also assume that despite not knowing the long-term effects of relatively new drugs like Human Growth Hormone, the cream and the clear and all the other new cocktails designed in the BALCO lab, they're probably still pretty harmful to one's health -- maybe as harmful as anabolics, maybe worse. And let us finally assume Barry hits only 40+ homeruns this season and needs the extra month or two of next season to pass Hammerin' Hank. it possible in the offseason before his 42nd birthday, or some other time before he hits 755, maybe tomorrow, is it possible that the guy gunning for the all-time homerun crown could die from sudden heart failure or another steroids-related defect?

You know, Bonds sitting on 750 with a trip to Colorado coming up, and then reports come that "he just never woke up this morning." I mean, could you even imagine how unbelievably tragic that would be, or how enormous the media circus would become? The world might implode.

The really strange part of this thought is, it's not entirely outside the realm of possibilities. The national symbol of steroid abuse, former All Pro defensive end Lyle Alzado, died at the age of 43. And according to a Real Sports investigation, more than 60 professional wrestlers under the age of 45 have died since 1998, capping off the "juiced" era of WWF-style wrestling.

Obvious Juice Monster/British Bulldog Davey Boy Smith died of a sudden heart attack at 39. Brian Pillman died of heart failure at 35. The master of the Perfect Plex, Curt Henning, died of, what else, heart failure at 44. One of my all-time favorites Hercules Hernandez died at 46, Road Warrior Hawk at 45, and most recently, Cobb County's finest, the Big Boss Man at 42 (Miss Elizabeth also died recently at age 42, but that was under far different circumstances).

And Ravishing Rick Rude died in 1999 at the ripe ol' age of 41. Sad, sad shit. All these wrestlers actually gave their lives for Vincent K. McMahon's, Ted Turner's and Paul Heyman's squared circles.

Here's the portion of this post where I concede some shit: Could Barry wake up tomorrow, come to work and get hit by a bus on the way? Sure. Could those wrestlers and Alzado (and others like Ken Caminiti) have died from poor genetics, sports-related internal injuries and/or drug use other than steroids? Absolutely. Could HGH and the new BALCO drugs not be as bad for you as anabolic steroids? Of course.

But whose to say Bonds never even took anabolic steroids...he never once took a test, and who knows if he's lying or not? Look at this picture of Bonds from a decade-plus ago and then look at this one. That's just abnormal, no? That can't be healthy. I'm not saying he's guilty of anything, especially since steroids weren't even illegal until recently, it's just abnormal human body growth for a man in his late 30s. And I really don't even care if he's been juicing, just pointing out the health problems of some other well-known steroids abusers.

(By the way, doesn't the best circumstantial evidence lie with the hat and helmet makers? Why can't they track down his hat and helmet size from the early '90s and compare that to today's sizes? If steroids really do make your head grow big like Sheldon Williams, let's see what the deal is.)

Anyway, this is a pretty morbid post, so I'm just gonna bow out here. This is quite possbily my weirdest post on this here blog, predicting the sudden death of one of baseball's most immortal mortals. Anyone wanna start a pool?

Tuesday, March 01, 2005

"Everybody Dance" (C. St. Clair, 1996)

This one takes a few seconds to develop, but it's well worth the long set-up. Goddamn this hidden camera video is some funny shit.

And while we're on the subject of dancing, here's an oldie (but a goodie) one I just found. Break down.

Strange Doings in the Windy Apple

This story is fucking craisins: "A federal judge who was once the target of a failed murder plot by a white supremacist found two bodies in a pool of blood in her basement, and a source said the victims were her husband and her mother." [More...]

The strangest part is that the white supremacist in question, Matt Hale, is pretty well-known amongst us Northwestern kids. Halfway through my junior year, Hale followed his hate pamphlets by trying to organize a student group on our campus, attempting to start a chapter of the World Church of the Creator right in our E-town backyard.

That, and the fact that a follower of his, Benjamin Smith, killed two people the summer before, including former Northwestern basketball coach Ricky Byrdsong on a two-state killing spree. Smith eventually turned the gun on himself, but Hale's message got more press in his death. Hale is behind bars awaiting trial, but I'm sure he's involved.

Just weird stuff, especially considering none of us really cared all that much about this little episode at the time. I can't imagine how I'd react if I weren't a 20-year-old kid that was most likely sleeping off an unbelievable ecstasy binge or Beirut madness. I'm sure I'd be outraged about Hale coming to my town (while protecting his right to free speech!) and trying to organize like-minded douchebags. If I knew then what I know now...or something.

Eh, the innocence and ignorance of youth. Gotta love the protective bubble of academia.

A Victory

About a half hour ago, some breaking news: "A closely divided U.S. Supreme Court on Tuesday abolished the death penalty for those who were under the age of 18 when they committed murder, a major victory for opponents of capital punishment." [More...]

Finally you can scratch us off the very, very short list of countries that execute minors...I was just wondering when we would depart the prestigious and civlized company of Iran, Pakistan, The Congo and China (even Saudi Arabia wants no piece of this anymore).

Well, better late than never I guess. Kill, kill, kill...the white man.

Are All Chaney/Cheneys Evil?

March 1st...Thank fucking God himself that Black History Month is finally over. Jeeeez, if I had to endure one more story about some coloredly challenged poor ol' soul I was gonna go BTK on everyone. OK, I get it, some guy broke the race barrier in lacrosse.

I jus' keeding, folks, I love black people. I am Mr. Black People. Who's your motherfucker, Jerry? But speaking of black and history, we may be witnessing the last days of Temple head coach and three-time winner of Weirdest Looking Man Alive, John Chaney. Quick recap: Chaney came under fire last week when he sent a goon into a game against rival St. Joseph's to rough up the opposing team. After ordering the roughhousing in response to some illegal screens, Temple's Nehemiah Ingram fouled out in four minutes and broke a St Joe's senior's arm, ending his college career.

At least half of the sports punditry is now calling for Chaney's ouster, which I wouldn't be opposed to by any means. I like the goon squad as much as the next guy, but I'm pretty sure this decree crossed the line. Over the line, mark it zero, I say. Look, Woody Hayes was a big-time legend of a college football coach, but he crossed the line when he punched an opposing player -- and one of his own -- in the heat of the moment. And he was fired, rightfully so. This really is not much different, and in some ways it may be worse.

It may be worse indeed...yesterday they were recapping Chaney's greatest hits on SportsCenter, which include his threatening of then-UMass head coach John Calipari's life ("I'll kill you, I'll kick your fuckin' ass, you remember that, I'll kick your ass. Kick your ass") at a post-game press conference. But immediately after that, what most people don't remember is that Chaney said something to the effect of "If your players keep it up I'll have my guys punch yours in the teeth." That's horribly bungled, but it's basically the jist.

So this situation with St. Joe's, this retaliation on Chaney's part, is not really a "heat of the moment" affair. This is the guy's modus operandi, and this time it's gotta come back to bite him on the ass, Marv Albert-style. Sorry, John, I vote you out. This way you can go defend your title in the "Which John Would Look Ugliest Naked?" contest: John Chaney, John Clayton or John Paul II post-tracheotomy.

And on the sports tip, here's a little story relayed to Slack from Mitchell Verger Dartz III, via Phil Mushnick's awful column in the NY Post (I despise Mushnick like Newman hates Keith Hernandez):

"Ch. 4's Len Berman, from spring training on Thursday, reported that the Knicks had acquired Malik Sealy. He meant Malik Rose. At the close of his segment, Berman corrected himself. But then Sue Simmons, back in the studio, chirped, 'Who's Sealy?'

'That's another player, altogether,' replied Berman.

Malik Sealy, a onetime star at St. John's, was with the Timberwolves when, five years ago, he was killed in a car crash."

Way to go, Lenny, great work. Good talk, see ya out there. It's a screw-up, sure, but at least nobody's chasing their neighbors around with a sword in the buff. I love Iowa.