Random Thoughts (12-13-09)

I haven't blogged in a while, mostly because I'm lazy. That and I really don't have much to say. Let's see if I can't scrape a few thoughts out of the empty abyss that is my mind.

-- I realize that I'm the boy who cried wolf on this, but I have to warn you- the donks are going to get destroyed today. The colts will bitchslap them. It's going to be ugly. I know I say this every week no matter who the donks are playing, but this week I mean it. The colts will win by at least two tds. Probably three. Why am I so sure? Because of the morons I help at the bank, that's why. All week, all I heard from the customers was how the donks were going to upset the colts. Not one donks fan said they'd lose. Everyone in donks land thinks that the orange and blue will actually win. Even my naysaying powers can't overcome that kind of jinx. The donks are screwed.

-- Steph dragged me to an X-mas party last weekend hosted by one of her coworkers, a gig I didn't want any part of. Being that I'm socially awkward and a tool, going to a party to meet a bunch of Steph's coworkers was the last thing I wanted to do that night. For the most part, the party was dreadful, as I spent most of the night mumbling greetings and staring into my glass-- you know, being myself.

Have you ever seen the movie "The Bad News Bears in Breaking Training"? A classic. You really should rent it. There's a scene in the opening of the movie where the kids of the baseball team teach a mentally-challenged groundskeeper how to say "hello", "how are you?", and "nice to meet you", all so that they can deceive their parents into believing that they have a coach who will be with them on their upcoming road trip. Anyway, I realized at the party that night that I'm that guy. I'm the mentally-challenged, fake coach. I mutter the three phrases that I've memorized and that's it. After that I just smile and get destroyed drunk. Poor Steph. It's a wonder why she even brings me. She should just hire a male escort next time.

My toolish behavior aside, the party was quite interesting. The hosts were a doctor and his husband, and four of the doctor's kids. The kids were all on drink duty, making sure that no one had an empty glass, and they did a fantastic job. I plowed through so many Singapore Slings that they ran out of it about a half hour after I arrived. From there it was on to wine, which just about dropped me to the floor. Those kids can really push the drinks.

The highlight though were the lesbians. One of Steph's coworkers is a hottie lesbian, and she brought her girlfriend with her to the party. At first the two just sat together, chatting and drinking. Eventually though they started holding hands and petting each other, and I couldn't have been more enthralled. It's no secret that I'm into lesbians, but even I didn't realize I was that into them. I couldn't keep my eyes off of them, and all they were doing was snuggling. I spent the whole night trying to fight off a stiffy. I told my penis, "it's not polite to point." And he said, "Stop staring and I'll stop pointing." Touche, penis. Touche.



-- Have you seen the latest cover of golfer's digest? Hilarious.

-- The bank is short about three tellers right now, so we've been going through the interview process for the last few weeks, trying to bring in a few more people. One day while I was in the vault with my supervisor Paula, she told me that one of the applicants mentioned that he was a writer during his interview. He'd written a novel, but it was as yet unpublished. She told me that they probably wouldn't hire him, since they already "have one of those." What I'm wondering though is- how many bank tellers are there in the world who are unpublished authors? Is this what happens to unpublished writers? They become bank tellers? I think it's a sign. I'm never going to be published. For the crime of writing such a terrible book, I've been sentenced to the purgatory of being a bank teller. Who knew?

I love you, Hot Bartenders/ I Hate You, Denver Broncos

What is it about hot bartenders that is so damn cool?

Just the other night, Z-man and I hit up the Larimer Lounge to check out a band called Electric Six. Good times, they were. Loud music, lots of booze, and girls shaking their asses always makes for a swell time.

The bartenders at the Lounge that night were top shelf. Or maybe I just had lust-goggles on. It's hard to tell. There's just something about women leaning over the bar across from me, flashing their A through Ds against a backdrop of liquor bottles and asking "What would you like?" that gets this tool's ratchet clanked. That's customer service at its finest, peeps.

Zach and I were greatly entertained by the eye candy working the bar, as well as the thought of ordering overtly, sexually-named drinks from them. The running joke of the evening was to say, "When she asked me what I wanted, I told her a blow job. And she brought me a drink!"

Zach and I did variations of this all night long. It never once got old.

"So then I said, a slow comfortable screw up against the wall. And she brought me a drink!"

"So then I said, I want to fuck you doggy-style while your eating out another chick. And she brought me a drink!"

"Finally I just ordered a Long Island, and she slapped my in the face and told me to go to Hell."

The evening eventually took its toll on me, as I didn't get home until about 1:30 am and I had to work the next day, but really it was all worth it. In the debate of whether I'm officially old or not, youth won out that night. Well, I'm still young at heart anyway. Plus, I have yet to go to a concert and officially be the oldest person in attendance. Until I'm the creepy old guy that really shouldn't be there, I'll consider it all good.

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There's only one rule to being a true, hardcore naysayer. Never, under any circumstance, believe in your team. It is the first and last commandment of being a naysayer, and I broke it. When the donks beat the Chargers to go 6-0, earning a 3 1/2 game lead in the west, I bought into the lie. I drank the predominantly orange kool-aid. I completely and totally sold out. Now, I'm paying the price.

This will be the second time I've had to come to terms with burying the 09 Broncos. I already did it once back in the preseason when it was obvious to everyone that the Broncos serviced well hung goats. Everything we thought about the Broncos going into the season was true. They are who we thought they were, and we let them off the hook. Or at least I did. At 6-0, the donks had converted me. I was a believer, and I was singing their praises. Josh McDaniels is a genius! Kyle Orton is the greatest game manager ever! At one point I'd even considered betting on them. When the donks wre at Baltimore even! How sad. Now, after three horrid losses, I am no longer blind to their propaganda. The Broncos are a joke. They're frauds, and I will never believe in them again.

The 09 Broncos are dead. They're deader than dead. I took them out back, hit them over the head with a shovel, and buried them next to fluffy.

If there are any believers out their who yet cling to hope, just let it go. The donks don't have a chance. As Woody Paige would say, "Look at the schedule!"

Tomorrow they lose to the Chargers, which you have to admit, is sweet sweet irony. You gotta love that the bolts have managed to yet again come back from a three game deficit to bitch-slap the donks. Epic. Just epic. Kyle Orton? Chris Simms? It doesn't fucking matter who's taking the snaps. The donks go down either way. It won't even be close.

After that, the donks will lose to the giants (I'm so glad I'll get to see that in person), at Kc, at Ind, and at Philly. Their only wins for the rest of the season will be their home games against Kc and Oak.

8-8. That's how it'll end. I've already put it on their tombstone.

Bring on the draft.

Good News, Everyone!

Yet again, everyone's favorite Dr. Chris and I had a bet going with the donks/skins game. Well, the donks lost, and that means I don't have to post line picks any more. That means you don't have to read them any more.

You're free. You're finally free.

Random Thoughts/Lines (11-14-09)

I was reading the newspaper the other day when I stumbled across an article about some new, quite alarming types of computer viruses that are floating around the net. These new types of viruses were created by pedophiles so they could store child porn on someone else's computer. Once a computer is infected, it begins doing searches for child porn, then downloads the pics it finds and stores them in secret files. The pedophiles then hack into the infected computers whenever they want to look at the porn, allowing them to keep their own computers free of the material. The worst part of all is that some of the people with infected computers, people who aren't pedophiles and who don't even know that the porn is on their computer, have been charged by the police for child abuse crimes after the porn is discovered. According to the article, it is very difficult and costly for victims of these viruses to prove their innocence, as the viruses are often difficult to find. As well, pedophiles often use the "it's not mine" excuse when caught, so authorities are highly skeptical when anyone suggests that the material found on their computer isn't theirs.

Horrified and a bit paranoid after reading the article, I raced home that day and did a quick search of my computer. The good news is that I didn't find any child porn. The bad news though is that I discovered a similar styled virus has infected my computer. Instead of downloading child porn though, this virus downloads unpublishable fantasy novels and poorly written short stories to my computer. Not only that, but apparently this novel has been submitted several times in my name to various publishing companies. I'm so embarrassed. The novel, called "The Dagger of Lokin" is 944 pages of the most unoriginal, poorly conceived crap I have ever read, and there are people out there who think that I wrote it.

What kind of person would do that to someone? It's just not right.

-- There's a show on Showtime that Steph is a big fan of called "Nurse Jackie" about a nurse juggling the difficulties of her job, an affair she's having with a coworker, and her addiction to pain meds. It's not as exciting as it sounds. Anyway, one of the characters on the show, a Dr. Fitch Cooper, suffers from a unique form of Tourettes. Basically, whenever he's nervous, he reaches out and gropes the nearest tits and ass he can find. When I first saw the show, I was outraged. As someone who suffers from this same exact form of Tourettes, I felt ridiculed and offended. How dare Showtime mock my disorder? Now though I realize how important it is that the general public learns of this terrible affliction, and I'm glad that the show is doing its part to help end the inexcusable amount of ignorance there is about this disease. Thanks to Nurse Jackie, I have finally found the courage to stop taking my prescribed medicines, and to just be myself. Thank you, Showtime. Thank you.

-- The irony is so rich and creamy, you can't help but ask for seconds. The 6-2 Broncos, who should really be 2-6 at this point, have been revealed as frauds. The team we all thought they would be at the beginning of the season has finally emerged, just in time to let the San Diego Chargers make yet another comeback to win the west. It's like clockwork. The donks start off hot, then choke the season away. The bolts start off cold, everyone writes them off, and then they bitchslap the donks into submission. Such is the joy of being a donks fan. The only question now is, can the donks slip into the playoffs as a wildcard? Well, tomorrow's game will tell us. Let's do some lines!

-- Was +4 Vs Den- It's a classic trap game. Classic! The 6-2 donks are clearly the better team. The 2-6 Redskins are faltering. They're a joke. The skins don't have a chance, right? Then why did Vegas set the line at -4? Why hasn't the line jumped to -7 or -8? Vegas knows, as do the gamblers. They know the donks are playing at 11 am on the east coast. They know the blueprint for beating the donks has been layed out. They know that Kyle Orton sucks balls. Plus, the donks are looking past the skins to the bolts game next week (a bolts team that is going to win by the way). This isn't me just naysaying, people! The signs are all there! Trap game. The donks will lose their third in a row. Then next week, they lose their fourth. Rich and creamy irony.

-- Oak -2 Vs Kc- I can't explain why, but I have a feeling about this one. It's all gut.

-- Sd -1 Vs Phi- Damn this is a sweet game. It sucks they play in the morning. My punk ass will be watching the redskins upset the donks. But this will be my plan B. So why am I taking the bolts? Simple. The donks need the eagles to win, which means it won't happen. Plus, I need McNabb to throw up 10 billion pts for fantasy, which means it won't happen. The football gods hate me, see.

-- New England +3 at Ind- The colts haven't played a real team yet. The Pats are off the radar. And fuck if I know.

-- NO -14 at Stl- This line couldn't be high enough.

-- Min -16.5 Vs Det- This line couldn't be high enough.

That's it.

The Dud Picks More Lines

Shortly after I started working at the bank about three years ago, my coworkers came up with a nickname for me. They decided to call me "the dud". Of course, I wasn't supposed to know about it. The name was a secret. People talk though, even to a dud, and so eventually I learned what everyone was calling me.

Though I much prefer tool, dud does work. It fits. I have to say, my coworkers did a fine job of picking my nickname. It hints at my complete lack of charm or personality, as well as my inability to communicate well with others.

Anyway, last night I attended my second poker tournament hosted by Mark (Debbie's brother), and boy did I feel like a dud. Steph wasn't there because she was still at work, so I pretty much found a corner and hid most of the night. I don't think I said two words to anyone, even though almost everyone there made an effort to include me in their discussions. Honestly, I don't know what my problem is. I just don't converse well with people. I'm good for listening noises and the appropriate facial expressions, but that's about it. If you're looking for opinion or insight into whatever we're discussing, it's just not likely to happen.

Besides being a dud socially, I was a dud at poker as well. I'm way out of my league with this group. I can't bluff at all. I don't have the nerves for it. Nor can I read when anyone else is bluffing, which means I end up playing overly conservative. Basically, I fold on nearly every hand until the blinds have piddled my chips away to nothing. That about sums up my playing style. I'd like to think that it's just my inexperience, but I'm starting to wonder if the same things that hold me back socially are a hindrance for me at poker.

I am king of the duds.

Well, it's time for the dud to make his line picks, even though it pains me to do it. It kicks me square in the nuts not to be able to bet on sports. I had so much fun in Vegas, even if I left down a couple of hundred. It was a blast, and I really wish I could do it every weekend.

Maybe I should reopen my gambling account.

Cin +3 over Bal- This is just a spite pick. Despite the ravens winning me a good chunk of money last week, I still despise them for exposing the donks for the frauds they are.

NO -13.5 Vs Car- Assuming that the donks, bolts, and eagles were all eliminated, the super bowl match-up I'd be most interested in watching would be the undefeated Saints going up against the undefeated colts. Yeah I know, it's a pipe dream to think either team will be undefeated going into the Super Bowl, but how cool would that be? The '72 Dolphins would be fucked.

Sd +5 at NyG- Here's where the bolts start making their comeback. Write it down. Bolts win the west.

SF -4.5 Vs Ten- Fuck if i know.

These last two picks are the ones I'd put money on. Not only that, but I'd parlay them and drop two bills on it. Easy money.

Phi -3 Vs Dallas-
Pit -3 at Den-

I've got blue balls for sportsbooking.

30 Second Blog (A Vegas Quicky)

Since coming home from Vegas, I've been somewhat depressed. I'm not sure if it's because I already miss Vegas, or if I'm sad that I didn't come home a winner. Maybe its because I won't be sportbooking again any time soon. Whatever it is, I'm sad.

Overall, the trip was great. Halloween was a blast. People watching in Vegas is fun anyway. On Halloween it gets kicked up to the extreme. The highlight was easily a hottie cowgirl in assless chaps strolling through the New York New York with a few of her friends. That was some serious eye candy. Really, Halloween was a complete slut parade, and it was great.

As far as gambling goes, I ended the weekend down $226. I did very well on Pro Football and and the Roulette table, but that's about it. Slots, Craps, College Football, Hockey, and Baseball didn't go so well for me. I should know better than to gamble on anything but the NFL. If I'd just stayed to what I know, I would have come home up.

I'm not sure when I'll make it back to Vegas. If I can swing it, I'd love to make Halloween a tradition, but we'll see. It all depends on school and such. Depending on how things go, it could be a long time before I get back.

Sad, isn't it.

The V Plan

Vegas is so close I can almost taste it. The taste is somewhat muted mind you, because I have a cold. Colds suck. Vegas on the other hand rocks. Vegas trumps everything, even a cold. Tomorrow at work I'll be miserable. Saturday morning, flying to Vegas, I will suffer the torment of an annoying cold while believing that at any moment I will die. When the plane finally lands (assuming it lands), the cold will have no power over me. I will be in Vegas.

Vegas cures all.

I think I have things figured out. I've crunched the numbers. I've dissected every plausible outcome, every possible reality. I've closed my eyes and thrown the darts. Most importantly, I've consulted my gut. And my gut says drink. Drink a lot. Then I won't care whether to donks win or not. I won't care if my bets win. Inebriation is the key to my happiness. Drink and all will be well.

So that's the plan. I'll drink and then I'll bet. Here's what I'm thinking-

Actually, I'll hold off a moment on that. First, let's do Ed's picks. Ed is an officer at my bank who loves football and loves betting. He's me, but with a real job. When he heard that I was going to Vegas this weekend, he dropped a bundle of cash in my hands and said, "here's what I want you to bet. I want Den, Buf, Min, Sf, Mia, Jac, Car, and NyG. Take the points on all of them. Put $20 on each." Now, most people would cringe at having to place bets for someone else while chillin in Vegas. They would think it was a chore. Not me. I love it. I'm totally down. As soon as he asked me if I'd bet for him, I realized something about myself that I knew under the surface for quite some time. I was born to be a bookie. It's my dream job. Too bad it's illegal.

I wish Ed the best, but here's how I see it.

Clv is going to shock the world, and I'm going to bank on it. The line is currently Chicago by 13. I'll money line that and make a killing.

Ok, that's not going to happen. I mean, I'll bet it like I said, but there's no way it fucking wins. It's a sucker bet. I know it. But I'll be having a blast for the first five minutes of the game hoping for the impossible. Then the Bears will score 17 in the first quarter and I'll be the tool who moneylined the inept Browns. It would be like moneylining that the Dagger of Lokin would get published. Just stupid.

Speaking of stupid... I've got two parlay bets I want to drop. First I'll go Ind -12 (over Sf), Sea +10 (at Dal). Then I'll get really crazy and throw down Mia +3.5 (at NyJ), Vikes +3 (at Gb), and Jac +3 (at Ten) (assuming the line doesn't disappear now that Young is the starter).

Next come the straight up moneylines.

Mia to win. Jac to win. Buf to win. Vikes to win.

That's it. That's all I got. Oh, there will be plenty more bets than that, but I'll figure the rest out when I get to Sin City. Whether I bet on the Broncos/Ravens game, or how I'll bet on it, I'm just not sure. I probably won't decide on that until right before the game. Whatever I decide, just know, I'm going to be wrong. But I'll also be drunk, so I won't give a fuck.

Gambling Heaven Vs Gambling Hell

It would be the ecstasy of gold, or it would be the torment and the torture.

Do I even have the balls to do it?

Since the donks/ravens line opened at 4, it has since dropped an entire point. It currently stands at Den +3, Bal -3. I like this line a lot better. In fact, if it drops any lower, even just to -2.5, I'm taking the ravens with the pts and I'm not looking back. Or am I?

Despite every fiber of my being telling me not to do it, I'm actually considering taking the moneyline on the donks. Damn it, I just vomited in my mouth again.

It would be the greatest gambling joy ever if it worked. Could you imagine if I dropped $200+ on the donks to win, and they did? Not only would I be thrilled at the donks victory, but I'd bank off it as well. It would be the ultimate, gambling high. Of course, if I bet on the donks and they losi...it would be a kick square in the nuts. I'd end up rolling on the ground cradling my boys, screaming like Nancy Kerrigan. "Why? Why? Why?"

No one needs to see that.

I am truly torn. But not just with the donks game.

Clv +14, Chi -14- It's the sucker bet of all sucker bets, but I'm considering it. I'd bet Clv with the moneyline. There's no way it wins. None. Don't even entertain the idea. Of course, if the browns did, by some miracle, find a way to win... Nope. No chance. I'd just be throwing my money away, but I'd be OK with that. It's fun to play sucker bets sometimes. No, really.

Speaking of sucker bets, I love the moneylines. Look at these games- Hou -3.5, Buf +3.5. Mia +3.5, NyJ -3.5. Jac +3, Ten -3. Min +3, Gb -3. Call me a tool, but I think I might moneyline every single one of those. I'm not kidding.

I like Ari -10 over Car. Kinda. I like Sea +10 at Dal. Sort of. I guess I'd take Ind -13 over Sf. I guess. The San Diego/Oakland line scares the shit out of me. Oak +17/Sd -17. Damn.

But it all comes down to Denver at Baltimore. Is it worth the risk? Is it worth the potential heartbreak? Or do I avoid this game entirely and put all my money on the Giants to beat the Eagles?

There are some tough fucking choices ahead.

Vegas' Revenge (Part II)- Triple L Loses His Mojo

Vegas knows what I know.

Vegas knows that the Broncos are overrated. Vegas knows that the donks are due for a reality check.

Vegas also knows what I was planning.

See, this is what should have happened- the 6-0 donks should have been favored over the 3-3 ravens. Maybe by 3. Maybe even 3.5. That was step #1. Step #2 was me strolling into the sportsbook and dropping a few hundred dollars on a Baltimore moneyline bet. Step #3 (and this was going to be my favorite step) was me collecting my winnings and buying all my peeps lap dances.

Yeah, that was what was supposed to happen. One problem. Vegas knows.

Ravens by 4.

Now I don't know what the fuck to do. I'm rattled. They got in my head. Do I bet on the ravens covering? Do I take the points with the donks? Do I, dare I say it, throw down a Broncos to win bet?

Oh yuck, I just vomited in my mouth.

Vegas got me and they got me good. Looking at the lines, I'm stupefied. It's all Greek to me. I'm as confused as an adolescent male trying to unfasten his first girlfriend's bra.

My instinct is to grab the moneylines, take the underdogs, but I don't know.

Look at these lines- Vikes +3 at Gb. Mia +3.5 at NyJ. My instincts tell me to take the moneyline and never look back. But my confidence is shot. My security blanket is gone.

Vegas knows what I know, and they know I know they know.

I Didn't Realize

I didn't know this until Steph pointed it out to me- the time change will occur while we're in Vegas. That means we get an extra hour of Sin City! It means we get to sleep in an extra hour the morning we get up early to secure good seats at the sportsbook!

I don't know why this makes me so happy, but it does. I think it's an omen.

Greatest Vegas trip ever.

Random Thoughts (and Line Bets)

I had a really weird dream the other night, and I'd like to share it with you if you don't mind. Don't worry, I'll give you the cliff notes version.

Basically, I dreamt that I had died, and that I was sent to Hell. Waiting for me at the gates to Hell was Bill Cosby who was assigned to be my guide and show me around. Bill was very unhappy to have to do this, and he didn't put much effort into it. He just pointed and said, "there's the lake of fire" and "there's the smoldering abyss", without any kind of enthusiasm what so ever. He was very unpleasant, and no matter how hard I tried to convince him, he refused to say, "Eat the pudding." What a dick.

-- Here's a riddle for you: Who has two thumbs and is going to the Giants/Broncos game on Thanksgiving Day? Answer: This guy! (Oh, you should picture me pointing at myself with my thumbs. Thanks). I'm super psyched. I got the tickets from one of my customers at the bank. He can't go to the game because he's spending the week in Mexico, and so he asked if I'd like to buy them from him. I said, "Fuck yeah." The next thing you know, I'm handing him cash and he's handing me tickets. Crazy cool, right? Of course, chances are pretty strong that I'll die in a plane crash next week and won't get to go. In case that happens, I'd like to make it official right now that I want the tickets to go to whoever calls me a tool the most times at my funeral.

-- As most of you may have heard, Daniel and I had a wager going last week as to which of our teams would win in our Core de la Hard fantasy football league. I thought his team would win, and he thought mine would. Of course, I won. Daniel is a fantasy football genius. The terms of the bet were that whoever lost would have to write the first sentence of the Mace of Dominion. Well, that and the winner gets to pick the loser's first drink in Vegas. Just today I received Daniel's opening to the MoD, and I have to say it's damn good. But don't take my word for it. Read it yourself.

"An ill wind billowed from the mouths of the Caverns of Chaos, spinning gnarled balls of devil's briar across the plains of Abaddon, breezing unnoticed past the impervious midnight black Tower of Sedimm, which failed even to reflect the silvery splotches of dueling moonlight that adorned the barren rocky landscape." -- Daniel C.

If Daniel is cool with it, I'm going to go ahead and use his sentence. The rest of the book will suck, but at least it'll start off good.

-- I really want to talk Vegas, but first let me get these stupid week 7 picks out of the way. I was 4-3 last week (my best performance yet), putting me at a dismal 12-19 for the year. My goal is to be better than .500 by the end of the season. Yeah, that's not happening. Actually, I don't care how I do for the year. What matters is how well I do next week when it really counts. Anyway, here are my picks.

Clv +9.5 Vs Gb- So here's my theory- the Browns are the best of the worst. They're awful, but there not as bad as Vegas seems to think they are. So until I'm wrong about this, I'm going to take points with the Browns and assume that though they will lose, they won't lose as bad as predicted.

Stl +14 Vs Ind- I'm cringing even as I type this, but something tells me that the Rams get their shit together just enough this week to make a game of this. Again, I'm not picking the Rams to win, only to lose by 13 pts or less. I know, I know. Manning is going to torch them and I'll probably look the fool. I told you I was lousy at this.

Pit -5.5 Vs Min- Here's why I'm taking the Steelers- because the gambling gods know I want the Vikes to win, and thus they won't let it happen. If the vikes were to win, they'd go to Green Bay next week undefeated, setting up the perfect moneyline bet. Just imagine, Bret Favre going back to Lambeau at 7-0. The Vikes would be favored, and I'd bet heavy on the pack. But NO. The vikes will lose to the Steelers and next week's line won't be worth betting. Lame.

Oak +6.5 Vs NyJ- Something strange is happening in Oakland, and I don't like it. The jets had better not let these punks win.

NyG -7 Vs Ari- Fuck if I know.


The Vegas Attack Plan- I've been thinking about Vegas for weeks now, and I think I've finally come up with my strategy for the big weekend. First off, I'm going to keep a detailed account of all my wagers. No more estimating how much I'm up or down. When the weekend is over I'm going to know exactly how I did, good or bad, and I'm going to post the results right here for all the world to see (the world being the three people who read this).

Here's what I'm thinking- I'm going to start with $100 walking around money (or in other words, slot money). Since we'll probably be wandering around on Halloween night, I figure I'll set aside some cash to play random slots just for the fuck of it. A couple of bucks here, a couple there. Maybe a high limits machine or two. Whatever whatever, I'll do what i want. So basically, I pretty much plan to start off the trip down a hundred. Hey, it's for a good cause.

Next I'm going to throw down about $100 on a couple of Saturday games. Most likely it'll be on hockey, but I might dabble a bit with college football as well. According to Zach, Buffalo over the NY Islanders and Montreal over Toronto are solid bets. Maybe I'll parley them. It's going to get crazy, folks.

The rest of my money will go to betting Pro Football, and most of that to betting against the donks. I know it seems crazy with the donks being 6-0 (both in wins for the season and against the lines), but my gut still tells me that they can't win in Baltimore. Everyone and their pet chinchilla has been warning me not to bet against the donks, and I can see their point. This isn't the same donks team that always lost to the Jags, or the team that always got blown out by the Chargers. This isn't a team I can just assume is overrated.

That being said, this team is highly overrated. They're this years Tennessee Titans. Sure they'll finish with a pretty good record, but they'll just get bumped by the first team they play in the playoffs.

Hey, betting against the donks is what I do. It's who I am. It's in my blood. Just like I'll always be certain that the plane I'm on is going to crash, I'll always be certain that the donks are going to choke.

So I'm pushing all my chips in. Well, a lot of them anyway. And for those of you ready to pronounce me a fool, I have two words for you. Kyle Orton. The man is due. He's due for a game filled with mistakes, with picks and fumbles and sacks galore. He's due for a game that reminds everyone who he is. He's Kyle "can someone please hand me a tissue" Orton.

Against the Ravens, it will finally happen, and I'm going to be in Vegas to bank on it when it does.

And if the donks do somehow win, well it's only money. Well, Steph's hard earned money. But she won't mind. She'll be just as happy as I will be that the donks are 7-0.

Vegas' Revenge

Everyone's favorite Dr. Evil Chris must be laughing it up right now. He's probably lounging at some Indonesian beach resort with a couple of topless beach babes and sipping on Balinese rice wine, all while enjoying a good laugh at his cruel joke in having me pick the lines again.

I'm glad he's stuck in paradise, drinking coconut milk off the tits of sun-soaked hotties while he searches in vain to find a WiFi hotspot that doesn't exist. If he was back in Japan, or anywhere with Internet and phone service for that matter, we'd probably have a bet going for this week's donks/bolts match up, which would inevitably end with me having to write the Mace of Dominion. Chris will not rest until I have completely exposed my full range of ineptness to the world.

I was 3-4 in my mighty return, putting me at 9-16 for the year. I realize now this is more than just a slump. This is a curse. I'm trapped in a horror movie called, "Vegas' Revenge", a low budget B movie staring Vincent Price, Pam Grier, and myself. It's about a sports betting tool who after several successful trips to Las Vegas has discovered that the gambling gods are onto him and have decided his luck has run out. Already, the cruel and heartless gambling gods have slain my fantasy football teams, hunting them down one by one and leaving them in a pool of blood and guts. Now all that's left is the final showdown in Vegas where the gambling gods will chase me through the sportsbooks with knives and chainsaws, and then finally bleed me dry. I just hope there's a couple of tit shots in the movie to make it worth renting some time.

Here are this week's picks, because I'm obligated to post them.

Bal +3 at Minn- Favre is due for a bad game, and I just don't believe that the NFC is as good as the AFC. But what the fuck do I know?

Clv +14 at Pit- Taking pts on the high lines is going to be the death of me. Even lines this steep can be covered. Just look at the giants and eagles kicking ass last week. Throwing down a Benjamin on a super long shot in Vegas doesn't seem like such a good idea any more. Maybe I should drop it down a few tiers to a slight underdog. Nah. What fun is that? I'll roll like I always do. Parley bets and money lines, baby! And this time, I go for broke on a sucker bet. We haven't seen the week of big upsets yet. Hopefully it'll come on November 1st.

KC +6.5 at Was- Fuck if I know.

NyG +3 at NO- I like the giants D better than I do the Saints. That's the only reason I'm taking the points here.

Sea -3 over Ari- Seattle is a tough place to play, and Arizona is all over the place. One week they're good, the next week they suck. Well, this week they suck.

Atl -3 over Chi- I just don't trust Cutler on the road. Plus, Forte isn't the back he was last year (as my records in fantasy football clearly show). Throw in Turner starting to find his groove and you got yourself a Falcon's win.

Sd -4 Over Den- It's a lock! You can bet your kidneys on it.

With Apologies to the Byrds

To everything. Turn. Turn. Turn.
There is a season. Turn. Turn. Turn.
A time to every purpose under heaven.

A time to go 4-0, then lose the next ten.

A time to have lesbian sex (while your husband watches).

A time to watch the new "V" series on ABC (I'm super excited).

A time for peace, I swear it's not too late.


I was singing various versions of the classic Byrds song in my head today and it got me thinking. Maybe it's time I started making line bets again. Maybe, just maybe, giving up so early on them was a bad idea.

Actually, it was a great idea. I suck at picking lines. But that damn doctor won yet another bet with me, and now I have to pay up by making picks the rest of the year. Yeah, I know. What the fuck kind of terms is that? That's about as lame as a pg-13 movie. Well, that's what the doc wanted, so that's what he gets. He must really enjoy my public displays of ineptness.

So, despite me misgivings about this, I present to you my Week 5 picks.

Cin +9 at Bal- Call me a tool, but I just don't see a blowout in this one. The ravens will win, but I think the bungles will at least keep it close. In fact, I predict that the bungles will be winning for most of the game, only to lose at the end. They won't lose by 9+ pts though. More like 3.

Car -4 against Was- The redskins are awful. And they're on the road. And their quarterback is Jason Campbell, who's almost as bad as Kyle Orton. Despite his fetish for throwing to the other team, I think Delhomme will get enough passes to Steve Smith to carry the Panthers to a td or better win. So let tit be written, so let tit be done.

Tampa Bay +15 at Phi- This is an old school Lance pick. I'm not making this pick because I think the Bucs can hang with the eagles. Hell no. I'm making this pick because I really really really need McNabb to do well for me in fantasy this week, and this is my feeble attempt to reverse jinx him. Knowing my luck, Mcnabb will take a shot to his ribs and leave the game early, and then Kolb will go into the game and lead the eagles to a 16+ pt victory. Will the football godz ever grant me mercy?

Atl +2.5 at Sf- I refuse to believe in the 49ers. Refuse!

Ne -3.5 at Den- Do I even need to explain this one? Its Tom Brady vs Kyle "I think I left the stove on" Orton. The donks defense is highly overrated and will be exposed this week. Plus, Orton is due for an interception or five. It's a lock.

Ind -4.5 at Ten- I'm riding the colts train until it derails.

Oak +15.5 against NyG- Wow. How bad are the raiders? They're playing at home against a team that will most likely sit their starting qb, and yet they're still more than a two touchdown underdog. Now that's bad. For reasons though I can not explain, I think this one will be close. My gut says this is a fg game. Giants win by 9, maybe 10. Not by 16.

Random Thoughts

Where is my mind? Out in the water I see it swimming...


-- Sign #247 that I'm an alcoholic- the smell of booze on my customers makes me jealous. It used to be that some customer would stumble to my window smelling like beer and I would think, "How pathetic are you, pal?" Now I get a whiff of beer from a customer and I think, "Damn, I want a beer." Bad sign.

-- Billy Talent is the greatest punk band of all time. There, I said it. Steph, Zach, and I hit up the Billy show last week at the Gothic and it was a little slice of punk rock heaven. The band threw down a vicious set, and it was easily my favorite Billy show so far. Very cool. One of the highlights of the evening came when Zach decided to banter a bit with the band. We were sitting on the left side of the balcony section which hangs nearly over the stage, so it was easy for Zach to shout at the band and be heard. Between songs, the lead singer of Billy asked if anyone in the audience watched "True Blood". Steph, Zach, and I all do, so of course we screamed an affirmative. He then mentioned that he couldn't help but notice how often the lead vampire character growls his girlfriend's name in every episode. "Sookie," Mr. Bill Compton will groan about every thirty seconds. This is why I made a drinking game out of the show. Every time Mr. Compton growls his girlfriend's name everyone takes a shot. Anyway, Zach mentioned this to Billy's lead singer (yelling down to the band that it's a drinking game), and Billy replied, "Holy shit, you'd be shitfaced in no time." A week later and I'm still amazed at the strange collision of my various, personal pop-culture interests. I can only hope that the next time Billy Talent watches True Blood they're playing my drinking game.

-- I'm done. No more picking the lines. After three weeks of putrid picks, I'm a miserable 6-12. Ouch. I officially suck. The magic is gone. I think in Vegas I'll play a lot of keno.

-- Speaking of bad bets, Steph and I played in a kick ass poker tournament last Saturday. It was hosted by Debbie's brother, and there were about 28 players total. The buy-in was $20, so the pot was quite big. I didn't fair too well, which isn't much of a surprise. As most of you know, I'm not very good at poker. It's all the luck of the draw for me. I can't bluff, and I can't read the other players. Well, I made it to the second table, but I was quickly bounced after that chasing after a flush. It was fun though, and I plan to attend again if given the invite. Mark (Debbie's brother) has a beautiful home, and his basement made me jizz in my pants. There were three, plush poker tables, flat screen TVs playing the Rockies game on seemingly every wall, and a keg fridge where I spent most of my time suckling from the spout.

-- Sign #182 that I'm an alcoholic- I'm giving myself exemptions from my no drinking rule for the month of October. But only two. One will be for the cowboys/donks game next week, which Tad and I will be attending. How the hell can I go to a donks game and not drink beer? That would be like going to an orgy an only doing some heavy petting. The other will either be a Sorenson beer party (some of you know him a Seventh in the Steak or Death fantasy league) or my second try at Mark's poker tournaments, whichever one of those I decide to attend. Other than that, I won't drink a drop. Well, except for Vegas of course.

-- One last thing before I let you be. Steph, Matt L., and I will be at the Rockies game tomorrow. Everyone's favorite Dr. Chris L. hooked us up with some great seats for Matt's b-day. We'll be sitting in the club section right next to the press box, so there's a chance we might end up on TV. If you have a chance, tune in and see if you can spot us.

-- Lance is a tool.

Weak/Week 3 Picks

5-7. I'm as bad at picking lines as I am at writing. Oh well. Let's try it again...

Atl +4.5 against Ne- My guess is that this will be a very high scoring game, but that ultimately the falcons will either win or will at least keep it close. Gotta take the points on this one.

Hou -4 against Jac- The jags burned me last week by getting blown out at home to the cards. Meanwhile Houston threw down a billion points on tenn, all while Matt Charles Schaub was on my bench in two different leagues. This week I start Schaub and I win this line.

Ten +2.5 against the NyJ- OK, maybe I'm a moron about this, but I refuse to believe in the jets. Last year it was Miami, this year its J-E-T-S. They could go undefeated and I'd still tell you they suck donkey balls. I'm glad they beat the pats though.

Chi -2.5 against Sea- Here's where all the talk about the Cutler/Orton trade turns back in favor of Cutler. Maybe all the idiot customers I help at the bank will finally shut up about how great they think Orton is.

Oak -1 over Den- It's a lock. A gimme. A sure fucking thing. I may miss on the rest of the lines, but I'll win this one.

Mia +6 over Sd- Everyones favorite Dr. Chris L. says that taking points against the bolts is the sure way to win a line bet. I'm going to trust that his nay saying is not a product of hate-goggles, but is an accurate reading of a professional sports team by a true fan that knows them better than they know themselves.

Bitchfest

Somebody hand me a rape kit, I've got evidence to collect. The football gods had their way with me yet again, then left me bruised and bloody by the side of the gridiron. It was ugly. For the second week in a row I went 1-3 in fantasy. I am now 0-2 in both my big pay leagues. Stick a fork in me, I'm done. The dream of reaching the playoffs in either of the leagues I care about is dead. The season is as good as over. Goodbye, cruel fantasy world.

I've got some good news though. You won't have to hear me bitch about this any more. Since the fantasy football season is dead to me now, there's nothing more to say about it. It's buried in the backyard next to Fido and the Dagger of Lokin. May they rest in pieces.

The cruelty of the football gods did not end with fantasy. In Broncosland, they dangled the carrot of hope, leading me to wonder if the donks aren't as bad as I thought. This will not end well. Hope is the kissing cousin of disappointment and despair. They're probably making out right now, those dirty sluts. It's really too bad the donks have won their first two games. It'll only make the next eleven consecutive losses in a row feel all the worse. The unraveling will begin with Oakland and won't end until the donks lose to the colts on Dec. 13th. Then, as if to give us an early x-mas gift, the donks will win their third game of the season against the raiders at home on Dec. 20th. Mark it on your calender, boys and girls. You won't want to miss it.

What else, what else? Oh yes, the line bets. Everyone and their insurance selling duck told me my picks were a joke. Well, they were right. I went 2-4 this week, which brings me to a less than stellar total of 5-7. Were I actually betting on these games, I'd be in the red and dropping.

My government has saved me from myself.

I have six weeks to figure this shit out before I go to Vegas. Something tells me though I won't. The football gods, you see, are cruel. And they aren't done with me yet.

Week 2 Lines

Let's forget my poor outing last week. 3-3 is shameful. I play to win, not to break even, and this is the week I make my move.

Here are my picks for week 2.

Jac -3 over Ari- You gotta love week 2. There's all kinds of mystery in week 1. Vegas doesn't know who the teams really are in week 1, and really, neither do the bet makers. As week 2 rolls around, Vegas is still hesitant to call it how they see it. They're careful not to overextend themselves, and that's why there are gimme lines like this one. The cards lost last week to the 49ers at home. The Jags almost beat Indianapolis. Despite reports to the contrary, the AFC is by far the superior conference. Jags should take care of the cards easy in this one.

Phi (even) over No- Every year, football fans across the nation jump on the Saints bandwagon, declaring that this will finally be their season. Don't get me wrong, the Saints are an offensive juggernaut, but their defense is as woeful as ever. They're the same Saints we see time and time again. They score a lot of points, but they give up a lot of them too. Against a team like the Eagles who are strong on both sides of the ball, the Saints will struggle. Plus, it's in Philadelphia. Eagles go 2-0.

Buf -5 Over Tampa Bay- The Bills should have won last week against the Pats. If not for a boneheaded play by their kick returner, the Bills would have had the biggest upset of the week. They're a good club, and they can handle the bucs.

Det +10 Over Min- I'm not picking the Lions to win, but the line seems a little to high to me. I don't trust Brett in this one. Something tells me he'll throw a pick or two that will keep the lions in it.

Dal -3 Over Nyg- I'm going with my gut on this line. No other reason.

Den -3 Over Clv- I'm going to regret this one.

Line Results/The Despair of Fantasy Football

I was talking on the phone with everyone's favorite Dr. Chris L. last night during the Bears/Packers game when he kindly asked me how I was doing. The Broncos, miraculously, had won their game against the Bengals, I was loaded on beer, and I was winning by quite a large margin in my CBS fantasy football league (the league I care about the most), so I was doing pretty well. Barring some kind of crazy ending to the packers game, I told him, I would win easy in my CBS league. There would be much rejoicing.

Unfortunately, something crazy happened. My opponent had the lethal combo of Aaron Rogers and Greg Jennings, a combo that until the last few minutes of the game had done very little to help his cause. Suddenly, and with no provocation on my part (I assure you), Mr. Rogers goes and throws a Td pass to Jennings. Ouch. And if that wasn't bad enough, the two hooked up yet again for the 2 pt conversion. Adding all the yardage to these two measly plays and my opponent suddenly jumped 19 pts to be within 5. You would think I would know better than to declare victory before it's official, but nope.

Then, with one player left in his line-up playing on Monday night (McFadden), my opponent scored the six points he needed to leave me in misery. The final score was 73-72, with me on the losing end.

Now, I realize that most of you out there reading this could care fucking less about the inconsequential game of fantasy football, and that listening to me bitch about my various misfortunes is the last thing you want do. But, I need an outlet. I need a way to spew the hatred and contempt that fills me on Sundays when the football gods decide to take a crap on my hopes and aspirations. This blog will be that outlet.

My heart is black with despair. Of the four leagues I'm playing in, I won one game. I went 1-3 this weekend. The only win came in my Steak or Death league, the league in which I root for everyone else. How sad is that? It's really sad. It's somewhere between your dog ran away sad and no one is interested in having sex with you sad. It's growing up in a third world nation sad.

Please, don't try to console me. The pain goes too deep. These wounds can not be healed.

Do you know what the worst part is? I have two players on my bench in my CBS league who would have given me the win if I'd only decided to start them. Chad Ochocinco scored 8 pts and Fred Jackson scored 19. Again, I lost by 1.

Why, football gods? Why?

Speaking of bad calls, I went .500 in my first round of guessing the bet lines. Had I actual money riding on the bets, I would have broken even. Oh well. You can't win them all, and breaking even isn't losing.

Unfortunately, it looks like I won't be drinking any alcohol for the majority of October. The donks, inexplicably, won their game against the Bengals, resulting in me losing the bet I made with myself. Damn me! Damn me for being such a fool.

1-3 in fantasy. 3-3 in betting the lines. A very tough start to the season. Beware, my friends. My bitching has only just begun.

$50 Says You Won't Care About This, But...

It seriously pisses me off that I can't legally bet on football.

I made the mistake of swinging by my former gambling site to take a peek at the week 1 lines, and it kicked me square in the nuts. Why the fuck is online gambling illegal? It makes no sense to me why the government should care if I want to drop $50 on my suspicions that the Bengals are going to bitch-slap the donks on Sunday. None.

Seeing the old site got my juices flowing, to say the least. Like a lot, a lot. I'm like a 13 year old boy who's stumbled across his first batch of porn. The urge to gamble got so bad I called Zach up and begged him to let me use one of his credit cards to open an account (the nice people who run the gambling site informed me that they can now take MasterCard, which I do not have. I only have Visa). Zach agreed, but I eventually came to my senses and back tracked on my request. Knowing my luck, Zach would get arrested for illegal gambling, thrown into the slammer, ass-raped by some guy named Bubba, and then he'd blame me for it for the rest of our lives.

As much as it pains me not to have money on this weekend's games, I'm going to suck it up and do the next best thing. I'm going to pick the lines and see how well I would have done. If it turns out I would've done poorly, than praise Jesus and the U.S. government both. If it ends up I would've scored a towering pile of cash, then I will wallow in bitterness and write an angry letter to my uncaring congressman (who's probably banging his mistress even as I type this, that no good, cheating bastard).

For the next 17 weeks of the NFL regular season, I will pick the lines I would have bet on and keep a running tally of the results. Plus I'll throw in a Vegas blog after Halloween weekend detailing the bets I made there and how I did. At the end of the season, we'll see if I would have made money or lost it.

Alright, enough explanation. Here are my picks for week 1.

Cin -4.5 over Den- Talk about a gimme. This line is just begging to pay out. It's a complete and total slut of a line. How is Vegas only giving the Bengals four points on this? They know Kyle Orton is our QB now, right? They know Josh McDouchebag is running the show now, right? Four points? Seriously, this is the Lindsay Lohan of betting lines. Just slip on a condom and go to work. In fact, I am so sure that the Bengals will cover the spread that I'll throw down my own personal wager on it- if I lose this bet, I won't drink a single drop of alcohol between Oct. 1st and Oct. 3oth. For the month of October, I won't drink until I'm in Vegas on Halloween. Lucky for me though, there's no way I'm losing.

Atl -4 over Mia- Here is a perfect example of how Vegas doesn't know shit about setting lines for week 1 of the NFL season. Atlanta is an offensive juggernaut waiting to happen, and they're playing at home against a team that overachieved last year. The Dolphins are not as good as people (or Vegas) think. The wildcat formation is so last year, as are Chad Pennington and Ronnie Brown. Atlanta will win easily by at least a TD.

Houston -4.5 over NyJ- OK, maybe the Houston Texans aren't going to be as good as everybody says they will. But I have five words for you- Rookie Quarterback on the Road. I'll take a home team going against a rookie quarterback in his first start any time.

Phi -2.5 over Car- Remember last years playoff game between the Cards and Panthers? This game will play out pretty much the same, only the visiting team will be wearing green and white.

Green Bay -4.5 over Chi- Don't get me wrong. Cutler is a pimp, and the Bears will have an epic season. This game is at Green Bay though, and the Pack are about to reclaim the NFC North. Pack by at least a TD.

New England -11 Over Buffalo- Fuck I hate New England.


Check in next week for the results and a new batch of picks for week 2.

30 Second Blog (9-3-09)

A few days ago, a coworker of mine told me (and everyone else at the bank) that she thought I looked a lot like Josh McDaniel's. Most of the bank, to my astonishment, agreed, and now when people see me they say "Hi Josh" and "what the fuck are you doing to the Broncos, Josh." Personally, I don't see it. OK, we both shave our head. We're both brunettes. We're both tools, and we're both losers. We both slouch. We're both quickly headed towards becoming full blown alcoholics (me because I love drinking, and Josh because it'll be the only way he can cope with everyone in this city hating him). Other than that, I don't see any resemblance.

By the way, I forgot to mention my Super Bowl prediction in yesterday's blog. Write it down, kids. This is a sure thing.

It'll be the Philadelphia Eagles Vs the San Diego Chargers, which means one of my good friends will be partying like its 2099, and another will get kicked square in the nuts. Chris and Daniel, you have five months to come up with the terms for the most epic Super Bowl bet of all time. Don't disappoint me.

Orange and Blue Tears Running Down My Face

This is the last time I will post a blog about the Broncos this year, barring some kind of miracle. If the season unfolds the way I suspect it will, then there will be little more to say about the donks than what will be said here. After you read this, consider the 2009 Broncos dead to me. Now, that's not to say that I won't endure watching their games, or that I won't discuss specific week to week details of the season as they unfold, but as far as the Broncos and what they've become (or more specifically, their head first dive into the depths of mediocrity), I shant mutter another word.

Without having played a single game under the McDaniels administration yet, the Broncos are officially a joke. The once proud organization is in shambles, and they're a disgrace. Cutler is gone, banished to Chicago for not being Matt Cassell, where he'll be punished with Super Bowl rings, keys to the city, and pussy as far as the eye can see. Take that, cry baby. The second of our only two Pro Bowl players from last season, Mr. B. Marshall, has seen the wisdom in Cutler's departure and is doing everything he can to take his 100+ receptions a year somewhere else. The Broncos will undoubtedly trade him, and then squander the draft picks they get in return. After all, that's exactly what we did with Cutler.

Do you remember what we got for Cutler? A quarterback named Orton recently seen running off the field with a boo boo on his finger, and two first rd draft picks (one this year and one next year). McDaniel's, who apparently doesn't understand the greater value of a 1st rd pick over a second, traded next years 1st rd pick so he could have an additional pick this year. But here's the best part- he didn't trade the #1 pick we got from the bears, he traded the donk's pick, which means when the donks finish in last place of the entire league this year, thus earning the #1 pick in next years draft, the pick won't be ours. It'll belong to the Seahawks. The only pick we'll have is the one we got from the bears, who'll probably win the Super Bowl, thus giving us the 32ND pick in the draft.

Cutler is gone. Marshall is soon to be gone. Our 2ND ranked offense was completely dismantled and replaced with journeymen quarterbacks, discarded running backs and receivers, and a playbook far too complex for the level of talent that we have. Oh, and our defense still sucks balls. Gigantic, furry goat balls. The Broncos are suddenly, inexplicably, a team rebuilding from scratch. They have no one, NO ONE, to build a team around. And thanks to McDaniel's throwing away our first round pick, we have no way of bringing in anyone to build a team around any time soon.

Every team in the NFL has a losing season once in a while. Some have more losing seasons than not. And others can do nothing but lose. The Broncos, thanks to Pat Bowlen firing Mike Shannahan and bringing in an unproven, arrogant whelp to coach the team, has joined the donks with teams like the lions, the Bengals, and the raiders. We are inept and pathetic, and both will become a tradition we can not escape.

I predict that the donks will go 4-12 this year, and the next, and the next. I predict they will be 4-12 forever. The Cutler Curse is upon us.

30 Second Blog (8-7-09)

I am officially the biggest loser.

The on again/off again Biggest Loser contest held at my work ended this week, and I finished in 1st place with a final result of 21 lbs. Not too bad. For finishing in first place I won $45 and a free lunch. I haven't decided yet what to do with my money. I'll either add it to my gambling stash for the cruise or buy Staind/Shinedown/Chevelle tickets. Tough call.

I told those fools at my work they were making a mistake letting me compete with them. I don't lose weight loss bets when there's money on the line. Or lunch. I didn't even really try and I still won.

I'm the biggest loser, baby! But we all knew that.

Random Thoughts

When I woke up this morning, I immediately began sifting through my memories of the previous night like I always do after a night of heavy drinking. And as always, my general sense of the evening was that I was a loud, inarticulate buffoon. Somewhere between sobriety and drunken foolery is the happy median of lowered inhibitions and fluid communication that I long for. Unfortunately, it's probably somewhere around 2.5 drinks. I shudder at the thought of moderation.



-- Speaking of vices, I foresee a very interesting dilemma arising while cruising Alaska in a few weeks. The closer we get to the trip the clearer our spending budget is, and it looks like Steph and I will have a little less personal spending cash than I thought. So here's what I'm wondering- which of my vices is going to win out on the cruise, drinking or gambling? With the limited budget, one of the two activities won't get nearly as much attention as it deserves. At first I thought I'd spend a lot less on gambling and leave most of my money for booze. Now I'm not so sure. Reading about the ship's casino online I found out that on some voyages they have Texas Hold 'Em tournaments, and there's no way I'm missing out on that. Plus, could I really pass up a chance to roll the bones? Not likely. But somethings gotta give, and I can't imagine walking around the boat without a drink in my hand. Damnation, what a mind fuck. It's like trying to choose between tits and ass.

-- As some of you have already heard, I recently scored Broncos tickets from one of my co-workers who's a season-ticket holder. She's not going to be able to make the week four game against the Dallas Cowboys, so she sold the tickets to me. I'm terribly excited about it. I can't wait to have the chance to scream at Josh McDaniels in person! Maybe I should wear my Cutler jersey to the game.

-- Check out this article posted on yahoo. It's about a bank teller who chased down a bank robber and lost his job for it. Silly bank teller. He should have known better, but I can sympathise with him.
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090802/ap_on_fe_st/us_odd_robbery_teller

-- That's all I got. Consider yourself lucky.

I am Implore You To Employ Your Eyes For This

I think my brain is officially broken.



For some time now I've been noticing that I seem to have difficulty finding the right words I want to say when having a conversation. Sometimes I end up rattling off a bunch of nonsense while my brain desperately searches for the word I want to use, while other times I end up saying the wrong word instead and continuing on with whatever lame ass shit I have to say. I used to think I was just being paranoid about this, since it mostly seems to happen when I'm drunk. Lately though its been happening quite a bit when I haven't had any alcohol at all. Maybe it's social awkwardness. Maybe its because I'm a tool. Whatever the reason, it irritates the shit out of me.



Take last Saturday night for instance. While hanging out at R and R's, the subject of Vegas came up, and I mentioned to everyone how the next time I'm there I intend to employ a similar strategy as the one Daniel used the last time we hit up the sports book (he threw down a bet on a heavy underdog and nearly banked on it. Tit was damn cool.)



Anyway, I didn't say the word "employ." I meant to say "employ." What I ended up saying was "implore." What the fuck? Why the hell did I say implore? What, I'm going to beg Daniel's strategy? I'm going to beseech his strategy?



As we were driving home that night, Steph confirmed my slip up. As always though she told me not to let it bother me, but I can't. I hate the idea that I might sound like a moron. Of course, there's not much I can really do about it. Not really. So instead, I've decided to embrace it.



Let's turn it into a drinking game! Here's how it'll work- any time you're hanging out with me, have a shot glass filled with your favorite alcohol somewhere close by. If we're out on the town, say at a restaurant or something, be sure to bring shooters with you. Then, any time I use a word that doesn't quite fit, take a shot. Now, I promise not to do this deliberately. My goal isn't to get you drunk. I just think it would be a fun way for everyone to help me with my problem. If I'm rambling on about something and everyone around me suddenly takes a shot, I'll realize I said something stupid and then rephrase it.



How fun is that? We should have been doing this for years.

Damage Report: Supplemental

In the light of the morn, the full results of last night's storm were finally revealed to us, and it wasn't good.

All of Steph's flowers were gutted and decapitated, their broken bodies left scattered about the patio. Our once beautiful car is now littered with craters, like a pasty-faced teen with severe acne. There is a crack in one of our sky lights that looks like the beginnings of what will become a canyon. My liver appears to have hepatotoxity and cirrhosis, which I didn't even know could be caused by hail damage. Aries is an emotional wreck. Now every time he sees ice he hisses at it. We can no longer put ice cubes in his water dish. Perhaps worse of all though, since the storm, Steph hasn't been able to reach orgasm.

Damn you, mother nature. How could you do this to us?

Mother Nature, You Cruel Bitch

Mother nature, that heartless whore, just raped all of Steph's pretty pretty flowers.

About two minutes before mother nature unleashed her fury on Castle Carlton, Zach buzzed me to tell me about the brutal hail storm pounding his apartment. His description of power outages, lightning scorched skies, and marble-sized hail were prophetic to what Steph and I were about to endure.

Then, at about 10:35 pm, mother nature bitch-slapped the Carlton town home. The power flickered in and out, threatening to fail. Icy projectiles pounding the skylights drowned out the sounds of the TV, screaming cats, and frantic Dolphin.

It lasted but a minute or two, but that's all the time mother nature needed to lay waste to what was once a decent looking patio.

I took pictures. If you listen closely as you gaze at these photos of devastation, you can almost hear the marigolds and daisies weeping as they die.

Random, Scattered Thoughts

-- Thanks to everyone who sent me links to the doctored videos showing Obama throwing the ceremonial first pitch at the All-Star game the other night. It's amazing what they can do with special effects these days, isn't it.

-- Steph and I was surfing channels the other night when we stumbled upon the Denver episode of Man Vs Food on the Travel channel. In it, the shows host hits up the Cherry Cricket (my favorite burger joint in the whole wide world) and does his usual routine of checking out the place and interviewing customers. While in the kitchen talking to the chef, they let him try an array of burgers that they make, including specialty burgers they don't list on the menu. You just have to be in the know that they exist. So guess what. The Cherry Cricket has a peanut butter hamburger! Fuck yeah. They call it the Goober Burger, and they also put a fried egg on that shit. Peanut butter, fried egg, and hamburger. Holy shit I can't wait to try it.

-- It hurts my heart considerably that Black Hawk and Central City have had craps and roulette for two weeks now and I have yet to go hit it up. Mostly it's because of that damn Alaska trip stealing all my cash, but it's also because of all the awful stories I've been hearing from customers at the bank. According to people in the know, our gambling towns have gone the way of Vegas in having more higher end tables available than they do cheap ones. Depending on when you go (so I've heard), it's nearly impossible to find $5 tables for any of the games. The only ones that are open are the $10 and $25 minimum bet tables. Dear goodness, I hope that's not the case. Why do all my good times keep getting ruined? First liver disease, now this.

-- As you may recall, I posted a blog a while back detailing the several bets I have going with a few of my friends. One of those bets was with Zach over which of our teams (Broncos or Avs) would have the worst record next year. Well, Zach's friend Matt heard about the bet and decided he wanted in. He agrees with Zach (try not to laugh) that the Avs will be greater fuck-ups than the donks. So I now have the same bet with Matt as I do Zach. Should I lose, I will have to grow out my hair and get a flat top, as well as keep my face shaved, so that I look exactly like I do in my driver's license photo from 2003. Should I win, Matt has to shave his eye brows off. Completely. Yeah, I'm not sure why he agreed to my terms either.

30 Second Blog (7-15-09)

Hey, guess what! I have a bulbous, irritable mouth sore sitting directly underneath my tongue. It's been there for about two days now, and it's driving me nucking futs. I can't stop tonguing it because it keeps bumping into my fucking tongue. Being that I've been prone to mouth sores my entire life, I'm not really worried about it despite its unusual size, coloration, and disposition (it's about the same size as a clitoris, the same color as a clitoris, and seems to respond in a similar fashion to tongue action as a clitoris). It's most likely just a canker sore that's taken up an unusual residence at the base of my Lingual Frenulum, but who knows. Maybe it's more. Maybe it's something else. Just in case, I've given it a name.

I shall call it Marla.

Conspiracy!

Did you watch it? Did you see it? Fox didn't even show the president's pitch. They only showed him throwing it, but not where it landed! I declare shenanigans! I declare tomfoolery! This is bull shit. This is a sham! The government is covering up the truth- the truth that our president can not throw a fast ball!

Our only hope now is that someone who's actually at the game tonight captured the truth with their cell phone video recorder and will post it to youtube for all the world to see.

We can not stand by and let this happen, my friends. It is wrong, and it is unamerican.

Obama Vs Bush

I'm not really a big fan of baseball. Occasionally I jump on the Rock's bandwagon whenever they start to make a run for the playoffs, but otherwise I don't pay much attention to the game. It's fun to watch live, but on TV it ranks right up there with Murder She Wrote. That's why typically I wouldn't bother tuning in to watch MLB's All-Star game. Tomorrow though I think I'll make an exception. At least for the opening anyway.

I just found out today that President Obama is throwing the ceremonial first pitch, and now I'm compelled to watch. Why? Because it's going to be a disaster. This was the guy who bowled a -4 while on the campaign trail in Pennsylvania. He bowled so bad, the pins actually started multiplying. OK, he actually bowled a 37, but how awful is that? I could bowl a 37 even if I was blindfolded and on roller skates. Now of course, the pres likes basketball, so maybe you can argue that if he can shoot hoops he's more than capable of throwing a baseball. But I don't think so. Obama doesn't strike me as being naturally athletic. He can shoot a basketball because he's had a lot of practice. Well it's my guess that he's never thrown a baseball in his life (being that he's a communist and all), and just like with his failed attempts at bowling, he's going to look the fool when he throws that pitch.

Does this man not have advisers? Who let him agree to this? Does no one see the political catastrophe about to occur?

If Major League Baseball wanted a president to throw out the first pitch, they shouldn't have asked the current one, but instead should have brought in the man he replaced. Say what you want about George Bush, but he was the greatest first-pitch president this country has ever known. The man threw strikes. Nothing but strikes. The catcher didn't even have to move his glove. The ball was a heat-seeking missile that always found its target.

You can't follow that. It's just not possible. And you'd better not follow that with a pitch that doesn't even make it to home plate, which is what I suspect Obama will throw.

Oh yes, it's going to be ugly. Can America survive?

Random Thoughts

But it's thoughts like this that catch my troubled head...

-- Super Groups- There aren't too many examples of great super groups out there (members of different bands coming together to form a new, greater band the likes of which we've never seen), yet the idea of an all powerful super group consisting of top tier performers from various bands has always intrigued me. History has shown that for the most part, super groups aren't really all that super. The Damn Yankees for instance, consisting of Tommy Shaw of Styx, Jack Blades of Night Ranger, Ted Nugent of Ted Nugent, and some guy named Michael Cartellone, were a catastrophe of 80's metal that, as far as I can tell, were the catalyst for the rock Apocalypse known as Creed. More recently we had groups such as Hell Yeah emerge, a heavy metal super group made up of former Mudvayne, Damageplan, and Pantera members, that proved somewhat successful and at least vaguely interesting. Velvet Revolver, which was basically Guns and Roses with the heroine addicted Scott Weiland taking vocals, was a band of great potential that ultimately was a disappointment. And then there's Chickenfoot (a band I assume you've never heard of), which consists of the curious union between Sammy Hagar of Van Halen: The Bad Years, Michael Anthony of Van Halen (the fat bass player), Joe Satriani, and drummer Chad Smith from the Red Hot Chilli Peppers. Like the Damn Yankees before them, Chickenfoot has only managed to summon the end times upon us (Creed is back together, if you haven't heard) and is yet another stain on rock history.

Despite all the evidence that super groups are doomed to failure, it will always be my hope that someday, a truly great Super Group will come together to make the greatest rock album of all time. If I had my way, it would be an Alt-rock group born from the ashes of the post-grunge era that combined intrinsic guitar work with screaming vocals and ironic lyrics. The group would be fronted by Trent Reznor of NIN, who would have to be put on suicide watch after the album was finished because of all the dark places it took him. There would be dueling lead guitarist in the band- Jack Black of the White Stripes and Billy Corgan of the Smashing Pumpkins, both of whom would claim that they are the only lead guitarist in the group and would steadfastly refuse to acknowledge the other's existence. Sitting at drums would be Dave Grohl (Foo Fighters), who would also be the band's producer, agent, director, manager, and lone roadie. And finally, the band's bass player would be some random hot chick with an aversion to clothes. They would call themselves the "Smashing Nine Inch White Fighters," and they would lock themselves in a music studio where they would indulge in an endless supply of cocaine, hookers, and Doritos until the record was done.

Go ahead. Tell me that wouldn't be the greatest album of all time.


-- Considering the enormous economic downturn in California right now, not to mention most of the country, how disastrous would it be if the Big One hit right now? Not that there would be a good time for California to suffer a monster quake, but just imagine an 8, 9, 10 earthquake striking LA or San Fran sometime soon. It would be a disaster of epic proportions, and Roland Emmerich would direct it.

-- Speaking of Roland Emmerich, have you seen the preview for 2012? The poor Mayans. How can anyone take their doomsday prophecy seriously after Hollywood made a blockbuster movie out of it? And why didn't anyone make a Y2K movie a few years before Y2K? Huge missed opportunity.

http://movies.yahoo.com/movie/1810045661/video/14045555/20090618/179/14045555-100-flash-s.87698655-,14045555-100-wmv-s.87698639-,14045555-300-flash-s.87698656-,14045555-700-flash-s.87698657-,14045555-1000-flash-s.87698659-,14045555-300-wmv-s.87698643-,14045555-700-wmv-s.87698652-,14045555-1000-wmv-s.87698654-


-- Bad Moon Rising- Steph and I spent the 4th at Debbie and Eric's, enjoying great food and good company. D&E were stellar hosts, which is why I feel especially bad about my ass making an unwanted appearance at the barbecue. I was drunk, and we were all enjoying the arsenal of fireworks D&E had picked up, when Eric's friend Paul and I decided to leap over the bursting pyrotechnics as a show of our manliness. Though the leap over dancing flames was a success, it wasn't without consequence, as my poorly belted shorts and underwear did not make the journey into the sky with me. To Debbie and Eric I must send my deepest apologies for what they witnessed, and I can only hope they will forgive me for the resulting loss of appetite, the nightmares, and the challenges to their faith that seeing my moon may have caused.

-- The Diet Blog's Triumphant Return- With the 4th of July now behind us, it's time for me to renew my goal of dropping lbs. Currently I'm at 201 lbs, and my goal is to get down to 190 by the end of the month. For the rest of the month, I'm going totally hardcore. Come August, I'll be slimmin.

-- Hell's Elevator, the unfortunate and cheesy tale of one man's descent into the depths of Hell, is almost finished. Almost. No really. I probably won't let anyone read it though. Trust me, it's bad.

30 Second Blog/5 Minute Blog (6-24-09)

Two blogs for the price of one! Let's get to it.

The 30 Second Blog-

The following is a word for word conversation one of my customers was having on her cell phone while I helped her today. She came to my window without being called, tossed her bundle of cash ($250 in one dollar bills) across the counter, and proceeded to blah-blah without once saying a word to me. She didn't even look at me. Not once. I may as well not have existed. Which is fine. It gave me ample opportunity to stare at her tits. Anyway, as soon as she left I jotted down everything she'd said.

After tossing her cash to me, she dropped to a crouch, her hands grabbing hold of the counter as if to keep her from falling to the floor. When she finally stopped laughing and stood back up, she said,

"Just rub it all over me. I mean, seriously. Or poke me with it."

"No, I'm serious."

"They even sent some girls home. I think one was pregnant."

"Exactly. I mean, what guy would even want to?

"I know!"

And then she left. Man I love my customers.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The 5 Minute Blog-

People! You're not nearly as excited about fantasy football as you should be, which is why I'm posting my own top ten player rankings list for you to peruse. As you'll recall, I posted a similar list from yahoo a short while ago, showing you how ridiculous the first round of our upcoming drafts will be (based on the absurdity of who the "experts" think you should pick). Well here now is a list that will help guide you through the maelstrom of potential low value picks and busts. Use it to safely navigate the rift raft in your search for top tier performers. If you do, you will be guaranteed to make the playoffs in whatever league you play. You're welcome.

#1) Trade. Yeah, you read it right. Trade. If you have the #1 pick in your draft, get rid of it. Trade as far down as you can. It may sound ridiculous, but chances are whoever you pick here is going to be a bust. Unless you have the balls to gamble in this spot and take a more risky pick (an upcoming Rb or top tier Qb), you'll most likely spend the rest of the year cursing whoever you pick for not panning out. Plus, having the #1 pick, you're next selection won't come until either pick 20 or 24, depending on the number of teams in your league. Trust your inner Josh McDaniels and drop this pick like it's hot.

#2- 4) Michael Turner, Matt Forte, or Steve Slatton- Taking any one of these guys in the 2-4 slots is a low risk gamble with lots of upside. Turner, who finished 2nd in yards last year, is a goal-line beast on a team that gets into the redzone often. Forte will benefit greatly from the addition of Cutler, especially in catching balls out of the backfield. And Slatton, I believe, is on the verge of a breakout season with the Texans. Slatton though might still be around by the 2nd round, if there's a run on Qbs. He's the biggest stretch here.

#5) Drew Brees. Talk all you want about Brady and P. Manning, but Brees has played better than both of them over the last two years (yes, I know Brady didn't play last year. So what?). He threw for 5,069 yards and 34 tds! Brees is in his prime, he's healthy, and he still has something to prove.

#6) Tom Brady. The Patriots are going to win the Super Bowl. Start dealing with it now by drafting Tom to your fantasy team. You may as well enjoy fantasy success while the golden boy continues living the dream.

#7, 8)- P. Manning or P. Rivers- As much as it pains me to admit it, the days of drafting only running backs in the first round our over. They're as dead as the Dagger of Lokin. Not only is drafting a qb in the first round wise, but unless you draft in the first half of the round, you may as well nab a top tier qb while the getting is good. At this point, you'll soon be making your second pick where you'll have another chance to get a decent rb (possibly DeAngelo Williams, Frank Gore, or Brian Westbrook).

#9)- Adrian Peterson- There's no way Peterson drops this far. In most leagues he'll probably go #1, which to me is absurd. The man ranked first in rushing yards last year, but was 13th in tds among Rbs. He's not worth a first rd pick unless you can grab him late in the round, which means you should just try to avoid him. If you can get him this late, try pairing him with another decent back with your second pick. That's the only way I see Peterson being of serious value here.

#10) I don't fucking know- Listen to me go on about who you should pick. What do I know? Fantasy drafts are nothing but crap shoots. So don't listen to me. And don't listen to experts. Go with your gut. Why are you even reading this any way? It's June! Call me in late August and we'll talk. Goodness.

Random Thoughts (A Semi-Drunken Blog)

Let me pick your brain for a second.


Imagine you wake up one morning to find that everyone's view of what is considered sexually attractive in a lover has changed. The change is universal for everyone (except you). Whatever a person's tastes were before, it is now agreed by everyone (men and women both) that obesity is the ultimate in sexual attractiveness. The fatter a person is, the hotter they are. Skinny and athletic people are considered completely unattractive. Skinny and athletic people wish they were fat. They want to be obese, and they want their lovers to be obese.

For you though, your tastes in the opposite sex are unchanged. What was attractive to you before is still hot to you now. However, the way others see you (and of how they rate your attractiveness) is changed by this new world prerogative. If you aren't obese, you're just not hot. Not even close.

So here's my question- despite the health risks still associated with obesity, do you let yourself go, and how fat do you let yourself get?

Personally, I go Fat Albert.


- Poor, silly Zach. He's seen over the years how unwise it is to make bets against me, yet still he comes to me with a sports wager, hoping to beat the odds and steal a win from me. Before I reveal the bet we've made, dear reader, let me first give you the terms. If Zach wins I have to write pro-broncos blogs (with positive elbow swinging galore) for three whole months. Nothing but love. If I win, Zach has to take over the duty of making New Shit burns for three months. Not bad, eh? So here's the bet- which team will have a worse winning percentage next season, the donks or the avs? As you may have guessed, I have picked the donks, and Zach has taken the avs. Silly Zach.

- What ever happened to cloning? Remember when, like five minutes ago, cloning was the big topic everyone was talking about. Scientists were cloning just about everything- cows, cats, dogs, rice, organs, Jango Fett, Ted Williams. It was the epic controversy of our time. Suddenly, not a word.

As most of you know, I'm not really keen on the idea of being a dad. It's just not me. I'd rather spend my time and energy wasting my own life instead of shaping the life of another. Still, I might be tempted to have a kid if it was my very own clone. Not for any narcissistic reasons mind you, but just to see how different a genetic duplicate of me could be. It would be a fun experiment. How much of who we are is nature, and how much of it is caused by the shit thrown at us? Would my clone be a tool? Would he write an unpublishable novel? Would he develop the same fetish for lesbians?

Curious minds want to know.

- Daniel, Steph, and I just got back from a Rockies game. We left in the 8th inning with the Rox down 7-4. They tied it in the 8th with a three run homer, then won it in the ninth with a two run homer.

You're welcome, Rox. Had we stayed, you would have lost.

It's June 15th and I Want to Talk Fantasy Football

Don't say it. Don't even say it.

I'm fully aware it's too early to set up a fantasy football league. Way too early. It's only June! Well, I did it anyway. Hockey is over. Basketball is done. Baseball is pointless until October. We're stuck in sports limbo, people. I'm sorry, but it's time to start over hyping the next football season. And what better way to do just that than to get the mighty Steak or Death fantasy football league up and running?

If you're one of the lucky invites, I encourage you to hurry over to the league page and set up your team. Do it now! Make a team, read the commissioner's note, and let's start talking football.

Football, baby!

I've been waiting since February to talk fantasy football. I've been dying to talk about it. And so have you, true fan, whether you're willing to admit it or not. How could you not be excited about it? After all, this year's fantasy draft is going to be the most interesting, most intriguing, most difficult draft in the history of fantasy football. It's going to be the coolest thing ever.

Don't believe me? Then just look at yahoo's current player rankings (listed below). Look at their top ten players and tell me the list isn't totally fucked up. It's a complete mess, because there's no sure thing. There's no clear value no matter what position you draft. It used to be you would take a player like LT at #1, and he'd get you 2-4 Tds a game (6-7 if he was playing the Broncos). There wasn't the slightest worry in the pick. You knew, knew Lt would pay out. Now? Now there's no such thing as a sure thing. In fact, chances are whoever you draft in the 1st round is going to be a bust.

Look at the list.

1. Adrian Peterson (A safe pick at #1, but not sexy. He gets yards, but not enough Tds. Yawn.)
2. Michael Turner (Turner the Burner was a bad ass last year. Is he worth the #2 spot though?)
3. Maurice Jones-Drew (Are you fucking kidding me? Anyone who takes Jones here is a complete moron).
4. Matt Forte- (Like Peterson, safe but not sexy. Will Cutler's presence help? Maybe.)
5. Brian Westbrook- (Can Westbrook even stay on the field?)
6. DeAngelo Williams- (Started out slow, then had huge numbers late. Not worth the six spot though.)
7. LaDainian Tomlinson-(Here's your wild card. If LT can produce like he once did, this could be the steal of the draft. That's a big if.)
8. Larry Fitzgerald- (Usually, taking a Wr with your first pick is unwise. This year, it might work.)
9. Steven Jackson- (How many years in a row has this guy been a bust? You want him, you got him.)
10. Frank Gore- (OK, at the ten spot, this is a decent pick. Maybe.)

Do you see what I'm talking about? Combine the fact that the list above is awful with the fact that people will reach for top tier qbs early and you have yourself a completely fucked up draft.

I for one can't wait.

I Love You, Man

The second round of the poker night just ended, and I'm drunk enough to finally tell you all exactly what I think of you.

Before I do that though- I am not responsible for anything I say or do beyond this point. I am way too drunk to be responsible for my words or actions. This is all Steph's fault. She poured the drinks.

k.

I am a tool.

You're all my friends because you're cool with that.

Dr. Chris, I don't blame you for killing me in a helicopter crash. Who knew?

Fuck you, Kyle Orton. Thanks for ruining my 2009.

Aries, I understand you're angry because we cut off your balls. I think I'd spend the rest of my life hissing at everyone if that was done to me.

Daniel, your pathwords score proves that the Dagger of Lokin will never be published. Why? I'm not sure. But I'm certain you can print me out a spread sheet that proves just that.

Gotta go pass out now. Sorry I couldn't keep this going all night long.

I'm all in.

My feet are warm because I wear socks.

Goddess bless.

-LLL

30 Second Blog (6-13-09)

Don't everyone go running off to your nearest sports apparel store all at once, but Kyle Orton has been named the starting quarterback of your mighty Denver Broncos. Rejoice, true believers. The Kyle Orton era has begun.

Apparently a spleen is necessary for quarterbacking in the NFL.

Still no word from Bears camp as to whether Cutler has been named their starter yet or not. I'll keep you posted.

Oh wait. I guess it was a given.

30 Second Blog (6-11-09)

Lost in the Cutler trade-drama of the Broncos off season is that the Rivers/Cutler rivalry that had been brewing these last few seasons is now officially dead. It was, as you'll recall, a rivalry that P. Rivers was winning, and quite easily at that. Now though, none of it matters. Cutler fled to the bears where Rivers can no longer pick on him. In fact, I'm starting to think Rivers is the real reason why Cutler wanted out of cow town. He knew so long as he stayed in the AFC West he'd be Rivers' bitch, and that the only way of escape was a trade.

How did the media not pick up on any of this? Oh well. I am SO looking forward to the upcoming Orton/Simms/Rivers rivalry. Good times.

30 Second Blog (6-10-09)

Though I'm not completely out of the woods yet, I don't think 1st Bank is going to fire me. The situation has calmed a bit, and I think at the worst I'll just be scolded. And maybe water boarded. But I'm cool with that.

Though getting fired is on my things to do before I die list, I'd much rather scratch that one off when a publisher decides to drop me. That would count as being fired, right?

It's hard to get dropped by a publisher though if they won't pick you up to begin with. I may need to rethink my things to do before I die list. The items on it now might be too ambitious.

Random Thoughts

It's 9:53 a.m. as I start typing this, and do you know what sounds good to me? A margarita. Maybe I should have a little talk with myself about this...

- Do you know what's starting to annoy the hell out of me? I mean besides people who tell me 9:53 a.m. is too early to have a margarita. People who insist on describing the hail that fell down in their backyard as being golf-ball sized when it's not even close. Every night on the news, reporters interview morons who will tell you that the hail that pounded their car was the size of golf balls. They'll even show pictures of the hail they took with their cell phone. Guess what- not as big as golf balls. Yes, I know, occasionally a hail storm will produce hail as big as golf balls, or tennis balls, or Josh McDaniel's balls, but it's not that common. Not nearly as common as people like to suggest. Have you never seen a golf ball before?


- Still no word on whether I'll be fired from the bank or not. I didn't ask, they didn't tell. Actually, the incident is still under review as facts continue to be gathered. Currently, I'd put the odds that I'm fired sometime this week at about 76.6%.


- According to a recent article in the Los Angeles Times, the Seti Institute, the world's best-known organization dedicated to the search for alien life, has started a program called Earth Speaks that asks you and I and everyone else on the planet to think about what we would say when, or if, we finally make contact. What exactly should our first words to our new alien friends/enemies be?


My suggestion- "Lance is a tool." I'm going to their website right now to suggest it.


- Where the fuck is virtual reality already? Of all the things we were promised we'd have once the future arrived (flying cars, wars with robots, legalized sports betting), the one I'm most disappointed to still be waiting for is virtual reality. Besides the obvious enhancements to masturbation it would provide (think hot tubs filled with lesbians), virtual reality would take roll playing games to a whole new level. Just think how cool it would be for players to slip on their virtual reality helmets (or whatever) and suddenly be transported to a dungeons and dragons world where they become their character. Too fucking cool. And of course, I as the dungeon master would inevitably write in a scene or two featuring hot tubs filled with lesbians, for some down time in between raiding dragon dens and cleaning out vampire lairs. Seems like a good way of recouping hit points to me.


- Stop me if you've heard this before. Oh wait, you have. I've got to be the most repetitive person on the planet. I'm a fucking parrot, squawking the same stupid shit over and over again. Only parrots have larger vocabularies. Didn't I write that last random thought in a previous blog of mine? And enough with the lesbians already. And swinging. And women going topless. Shut up already. We've heard it.


- I want a luxury yacht, and I want it now. I really need to figure out how to become a billionaire, and quick. This 9-5 lifestyle is crushing my soul. If I was a billionaire, the type of billionaire whose money works for them so they don't have to, the first thing I'd do is buy a luxury yacht, and I'd spend the rest of my life traveling the world. I'd take all my friends and family with me, and we'd spend our days cruising the oceans, and our nights soaking in hot tubs with topless lesbians. How sweet it would be.

What's the Worst that Can Happen?

This may come as a shock, but I am a pessimist. I always assume the worst possible outcome will happen (the Broncos will lose, my book will never be published, the plane I'm on will crash), and I'm stupefied when my predictions are wrong. With the exception of plane crashes (so far) and the donks two Super Bowl victories, I think I'm usually right about these things, to a certain degree.

My mother spent my entire childhood battling my negative tendencies. As the queen of positive thinking, she wanted desperately to instill in me a sense of optimism and self-worth. Well she failed miserably.

Though not as passionate about staying positive, Steph tends to dismiss my predictions of despair and demise as needless worry, though she herself is often plagued with a similar perdition. Recently she picked up the book, "How to Stop Worrying and Start Living", a book that claims to reveal time-tested methods for conquering worry. In it, the author tells his reader's to use the following formula when faced with worry-

1) Ask yourself, "What is the worse that could possible happen?"
2) Prepare to accept this outcome if you have to.
3) Calmly proceed to improve on the worst. (or in other words, imagine yourself moving on from this terrible calamity that makes you fret so, and even gaining from the experience).

Since learning of this magic formula, I've started using it whenever I'm burdened by the fear of the future, and with great success. Well sort of. I do step one anyway. Steps 2 and 3 are complete bull shit, and in my opinion, impossible.

Currently I am applying the magic formula (step 1) to my worry that I will soon be fired. I don't want to go into all the details, but suffice it to say I screwed up and the bank is not pleased. But should I really be tossing this possible scenario around in my head all weekend long? I have to ask myself, "What's the worst that can happen?"

Well, First Bank could fire me, and I could get hit by a truck on my walk home from work. That would suck. But it's not very likely. I'm pretty good at spotting trucks and avoiding them.

How about this? First Bank fires me, and for weeks I fail at finding another job. Eventually, filled with self-loathing and disgust, I am forced to apply to McDonalds, the only place that will hire an unpublished writer with a Psych BA. Embarrassed by her husband and his lowly career aspirations, Steph divorces me, forcing me to move in with my brother and mother. Eventually the three of us move up to the shack my uncle lives in in Idledale, where I finally cross over from a semi-habitual drinker to full blown alcoholic, thus leading to my death from liver disease a few years later.

Of course, there's always the possibility I won't be fired. Perhaps, just perhaps, First Bank will find a way to forgive me, thus delaying my death by liver disease by at least a month or two. I'm crossing my fingers.