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.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Saturday, June 13, 2009
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
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.
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.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
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.
- 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.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
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.
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.
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