Great Moments in Fantasy Football History

I am what you might call the Vince Lombardi of Fantasy Football.

I never realized it before but it turns out I am a true brain genius when it comes to Fantasy Football strategy. As of last weekend, I am now 135 dollars richer for kicking the crap out of my fellow office drones in a brilliantly executed line up of the best and the brightest in the NFL.

Well, actually it really came down to Donald Driver sucking some major ass in the Monday night game against Baltimore. This girl I had to play for a shot at the championship got incredibly lucky by having Tiki Barber play one of the greatest games of his career the night before. Because of that, I only had a 10 point lead and Donald Driver was Brett Favre’s go-to guy with the entire team having crippling injuries and all.

As much as it pains me to say this, Brett Favre really did me a solid by getting stomped by the Ravens. I thought I was in the clear until Aaron Rodgers, with 2 fumbles and an interception in a glorious debut, made one last attempt to restore some sort of dignity to the Green & Gold. He had 4 chances in the red zone to connect with Donald Driver and shatter my dreams at Fantasy Football glory. I promise you that no one was more on the edge of their seat with the Pack down 30 points late in the fourth quarter than me.

Needless to say, Rodgers followed through with his mediocrity and Driver only put up 6 points which paved the way for Larry, Rudi, and Chad or as I have affectionately labeled them, the Johnson Trinity, to triumph in the super bowl.

And the Vikings didn’t make the playoffs. Could this be the best football season ever!? Oh wait. 3-12. Inevitably 3-13. Shit.

... and THAT was the most drunk I ever got on Christmas.

Every story should somehow end up on that note.

Before I get into the tomfoolery that transpired over Christmas break, I would just like to wish all of you a Merry Christmas and a Merry New Year. I’d especially like to thank my friend Cody Langeness for being a good sport about last week’s interview. I don’t think he had any idea of what he was getting himself into and the portrait I painted of him kind of made him out to be a huge asshole when in real life, he’s just kind of an asshole. Thanks again, Cody.

Back to Christmas Day, it was a particularly exciting Christmas because I happened to come across a box seat ticket on the 50-yard line for my beloved Packers. I thought the Pack had a reasonable shot at trouncing the Bears until I received a bad omen when I couldn’t fit into my favorite Packer shirt from high school before going to the game. For that reason, I take sole responsibility for last Sunday’s loss.

No, check that, I blame McDonald’s damn dollar menu for last Sunday’s loss. It’s tough to be bitter at those magnificent bastards though. Their introduction of the double cheeseburger (or DCB’s as we affectionately referred to them) to the dollar menu was the greatest innovation to the college food budget since ramen noodles and the 7 Palmero Pizzas for 10 bucks deal at Woodmans.

So anyway, my spirits quickly lifted when I got to the box and found a wide assortment of top shelf booze at my disposal. Free Tanqueray and Grey Goose on Christmas!? I must have been a good boy this year.

I had to restrain myself for most of the game since my boss and his wife were also in attendance, but he left at the start of the fourth quarter which was gametime for me. There was still a lot of drinking to be done and the Bears were making it especially difficult by trying to run out the clock. I started drinking ravenously. It’s impossible for me to enjoy free shit in moderation.

The rest of the night is somewhat of a blur but I do know that I passed out roughly around 9:30 and that my brother was the one who saved me as I was wandering aimlessly down Holmgren Way. Thanks, Joey.

I’m always trying to explore new ways to exploit my blog and in writing this, I found a new one: a public forum for day after drunken apologies. No more “Sorry about last nite, 2 much 2 drink :(” text messages for me. Apologetic blog posts are the way of the future.

Sorry, patrons of Stadium View Bar. I am painfully aware of my lack of dancing skills and had no intention of thrusting them upon you last night. You have complete authority to knock my ass out if I attempt another stunt like that again.

Better yet, you could put a temporary hold on Pour Some Sugar on Me the next I come in. That would really help me out a lot.

Ego Gone Wild: A Candid Interview with C_

Student. Intern. Drunk.

C_ is all of these and more. This former T.Wall Properties Intern and Real Estate Club President will be finishing up his Real Estate and Finance Degree from the University of Wisconsin-Madison this Spring. An impressive career to say the least. I was able to track down this rising superstar to see what makes his larger than life personality tick. Below are the contents of our interaction:

C_, you’ve just completed a coveted internship with Principal Financial, one of Fortune Magazine’s most admired and respected companies to work for in the country. I think the question everyone is dying to know, what is the tail like down there in Des Moines?

It’s okay, I guess. It gets a lot better when you live there long enough. You have to learn to adapt.

Spoken like a true asshole. It is a well known fact that you are an outspoken advocate for the rights of Pan-Sexual Americans and other like-minded sentients. You’re not fooling anybody, which side do you really sway?

Bite Me

A little hostile tonight, are we? If you died today and went to heaven, what would God say to you?

You wanna beer?

Good answer. You’ll need a drink after hearing this. A recent poll from the Fall 2005 School of Business graduating class revealed that no one likes you. In fact, you only had 5 votes for people that liked you and I’m pretty sure they didn’t understand the poll because they were foreign. One student was quoted as saying,”C_ is a f*%@ing douchbag. That caffeine slut’s term as Real Estate Club president will forever be a stain on this once hallowed institution.” Strangely enough, that was a response from a Chinese kid that voted in favor of you. Your response?

I don’t think that poll is accurate at all.

Well, it is. Statisitics never lie. Don’t dodge the question.

What kind of interview is this?

Fine. We’ll move forward. What would you rather take, a punch in the face from Ivan Drago or a roundhouse kick to the face from Chuck Norris? Because both are going to suck really bad.

Probably Ivan Drago because he doesn’t really exist.

Tell that to Apollo Creed.

What was the other option again?

Nevermind, I’ll ask the next question. Some members from the online and facebook community have said that you might be the next Donald Trump. What do you think of that?

I’d say they are right. Damn Straight.

I was kidding, no one actually said that about you, you arrogant bastard.

Fuck Off

What’s that smell?

Your mom goes to college.

Well, I think this interview went really great. We got a glimpse of the man behind the myth that is C_. Thank you for your time and good night.

Random Things that are the Greatest - Part I

The following are the greatest because saying that they are my favorite has a lot less impact.

In no particular order:

1. Greatest rock band of all time with an acronym as a name: ELO
2. Greatest rock band of all time in general: ELO
3. Greatest video gamer: Eric Dingledein
4. Greatest gamer at Dr. Mario and Streets of Rage for Sega Genesis: Ben Wollin
(Also, I’m the only person I’ve ever met that can beat Mike Tyson’s Punchout and Rad Racer but I can’t verify if I’m the Greatest at them)
5. Greatest beer ever invented: Miller High Life
6. Greatest Flip Cup Team ever assembled: Me, Busse, Rave, and two guys I don’t know from Minnesota – June 7, 2005 – The night was young, the beer was flowing, magic was in the air. Chugging beer never looked so cool as the five of us decimated a pack of undergrads in three straight survivor tournaments. We had a team average of 1.28 flips per person. It was a fuzzy night to remember.
7. Greatest Quarterback ever: Gee, I wonder…
8. Greatest homemade mayonnaise ever made: Aaron “Dude” VanLieshout’s homemade mayonnaise
9. Greatest Sport: Man Style Air Hockey – An extreme version of Man Style Ping Pong where after every point scored, you get to hurl the air hockey puck at the opponents bare chest. The welts can last up to several weeks. Highly recommended near bar time at The Pub.
10. Greatest War: World War II
11. Greatest new show on television: Nip/Tuck
12. Greatest new show on television without featuring Dr. Troy: Lost
13. Greatest new show on television without featuring Dr. Troy and haunted lottery numbers that is about to be cancelled because people don’t like to laugh: Arrested Development
14. Greatest nerd from Revenge of the Nerds: Booger
15. Greatest zombie movie: Dawn of the Dead
16. Greatest Blog Ever: You’re reading it.

Cell Phone Plans that Kill Relationships

I have had two potential relationships fail due solely to faulty cell phone plans. Before you sign your life away for two years in order to get that spiffy new flip phone, heed my words of caution:

Faulty Plan Number 1: No Nationwide Calling

Last Spring, I went to Paris for a Real Estate Class and met up with this really cute girl from Pennsylvania. We met at this Canadian bar or something and just really hit off. My friends and her friends ended up at this cozy little After Bar where we drank wine all night and the two of us ended up roaming the streets of Paris til the wee hours of the morning. It was like something from a Robert Doisneau picture, I swear to God.

Talk about having an IN, right? Here’s how US Cellular messed it up. Shortly after I got back, I wanted to call her but I only had a Midwest plan and a bullshit one at that. I anticipated talking to her for a long time to catch up (not remembering much about her, tequila and wine don’t mix so well) so I borrowed my buddy’s phone with a nationwide plan to call her. However, she entered MY phone number in France, so, like myself, she probably did not answer a strange number with a fucked up area code.

Self destruction occurred when I tried to explain to her my shitty cell phone plan on her voicemail followed by a suggestion to call me back on my friend’s phone. That didn’t go QUITE the way I planned. Apparently, I learned absolutely NOTHING smooth to say from my stay in the most romantic city in the world. I guess nothing says affection more than wanting to spend 65 cents a minute to talk to a person.

Faulty Plan Number 2: Free Incoming Minutes

So that last girl was a long shot anyway, but this next girl was a little more closer to home. I met her in Milwaukee and she was pretty cute too.

The problem here was that I had free incoming minutes, a sparse amount of anytime minutes, and ZERO night and weekend minutes. When she called me it was fine but when I called her, every conversation started like this:

Ben: Hey, how was your day?
Girl: It was terrible, my dog died, my house burned down, I lost my job, my cat died from a totally unrelated incident to my dog dying, my…
Ben: Oh that sucks, but you know what else sucks? I’m using my limited anytime minutes when you have unlimited night and weekend minutes. Call me back, okay?
Girl: ummm sure. Omigod! My Hamster! It was just alive a minute ago…
Ben: Thanks, babe. Talk to you in a sec.

That got old really quickly. That or she was just too blown away by my amazing sensitivity to her feelings. In either case, whatever relationship we had disappeared like the signal bars on my Kyocera driving through a long tunnel.

Maybe the cause of all this is something more. Like the fact that chicks just hate it when you try to save money around them in general. Or that I’m just used to talking to my buddies on the phone, where we talk in clipped sentences and no conversation lasts more than 15 seconds. All I know it that it wasn’t anything I did at all and scapegoating my cell phone service provider for all my women woes is a hell of a lot easier than a timeout for personal introspection.

If that’s the case, I will be Cingular for a loooooooong time.

Greg Altmann is my Best Friend

Greg Altmann is my best friend but NOT because of the following reasons:

1. One time in high school he threw me into a big pile of lunch trays for no reason.

2. On my 18th birthday, my parents threw me a huge party at a park and invited all my friends. We were playing football and my dad inadvertently threw the ball like a girl and everyone at the party laughed. I wasn’t even that embarrassed. Everybody has seemed to have forgotten about the incident except Greg, who reminds me and makes fun of me every time I see him.

3. He was an accomplice to the time that Mike Servais robbed me of my coat and shoes and made me walk home from the airport in the middle of Winter. It was freezing outside. Greg was the getaway driver and he laughed at me a lot while it was happening.

4. He sucks at Ping Pong.

5. One time I saw Greg talking on his cell phone and he dropped it into a pint of beer.

Other than that, like I said, he’s a pretty good guy.

Here is a brief synopsis on how I feel about my roommates:

Joe Daniels: Big dork and kind of stinky
Aaron Van Lieshout: Jerkstore
Abbey Selle: Girl
Dave Dimmer: Sucks at Mario Kart
Andy Copely: He’s okay

Here’s a picture of the worst roommate of them all:















Yeah, his name is Hercules and he likes to bite at my feet and ankles all the time. One time, he came barging into my room and began to chew on my good dress shoes. I politely asked him to stop. Then he looked right into my eyes and took a huge dump in the middle of my carpeting. The poop was gross and disgusting. Then Hercules started biting my ankles and feet again. I was super pissed.

Chicks and Dudes

Some of my female friends have recently got on my case about my abundant use of the word “chick” in my blog. They feel that the term is degrading or whatever. I think that’s crap and I’ll tell you why.

For all my ramblings and rules and proclamations of relationship know-how, I’m actually operating under one very simple assumption. In my world, you are either a chick or a dude. I realize there are a lot of nutjobs in between but that’s for Dan Savage to work out, not me. In any case, a “dude” is someone who is very logical in nature and a “chick” is very emotionally adept. The clashing of these radical ways of thinking is what makes life interesting.

You really can’t get on my case either because this principle is based on scientific fact. Sure I’ve met a few women with a thought process like a cold calculating computer just as I have met a few men who are intimately in touch with their feminine side. However, in order to simplify things and drive my point into the ground, EVERYBODY is on one polar opposite of the logic/emotion spectrum or the other. It’s also far more entertaining.

If you have any other doubts about my vast reservoir of human knowledge, I also have first hand experience living among the female species on two non-consecutive occasions. I liken the experience to what Jane Goodall did studying gorillas in their natural habitat, except the exact opposite where it is the primates that are trying to figure out Jane. I learned all sorts of crazy shit from having female roommates. For instance, did you know that women hate it when you leave empty beer cans all over the house. I know, it’s weird!

I am going to continue to assert that I know damn near everything about chicks and dudes because it’s fun and it annoys my roommates and my roommate’s girlfriends.

In the meantime, ponder this, because this is ONE question I don’t have an answer for: How is it that I live with 5 other dudes including myself and the day my 6th roommate Abbey moved in, the entire house instantly smelled 50 times better? She didn’t even have half her stuff moved in and that distinctive boy smell (a hybrid odor of feet, laundry, and leftover farts) that plagues college housing across the country was completely gone.
Crazy.

I am a Blaze Orange Cowboy

It’s that time of year again. Deer Fighting Season. Every Saturday before Thanksgiving, the conspiring white-tail deer of Wisconsin band together to wreck havoc on the innocent constituents of Wisconsin. It’s up to us, the hunters, to keep them in check. Deer may seem like peaceful creatures but deep down they’re a bunch of war-mongers; ready to attack when we least expect it. They’re kind of like Canadians. I don’t trust either of them.

A lot of people think that deer hunting is a barbaric sport. These people don’t realize that if deer had access to firearms and had opposable thumbs, they would kill you and your entire family. You just can’t show mercy to these violent creatures.

Being the compassionate man that I am though, I like to give the deer a sporting chance. That is why I have stopped using conventional weaponry like rifles, bows, and bo staffs to take down the enemy. Instead, I like to come up with new and creative ways to hunt the elusive white tail.

This year, I used a Fighting Crane style Jujitsu to take down and humiliate an 8 point buck. The year before, I used a Grecko Roman maneuver to wrestle and grapple a 185 lb doe into submission. In 1998, I actually negotiated the surrender of a herd of deer, using subtle psychological mind games and eventually convincing them they’d be happier as a delicious venison tenderloin sandwich as opposed to roaming free in the wilderness. That last victory is my personal favorite.

I have a hair on my chest for every deer I’ve ever conquered. My friends have started calling me Austin Powers for the glaring similarities. I actually have to hunt shirtless now because my man fur gets too hot for me, even in the sub-arctic temperatures of the great Northwoods. Just call me Benny of the Jungle, swinging from tree to tree, tackling deer and other wild game where I see fit.

In reality, my freezing ass was parked in the woods all weekend and I didn’t see a goddamn thing. Which is fine. People just don’t understand that hunting is much more than just shooting a deer. It’s also more than playing poker, drinking lots of beer, and bonding with family, which is another common and valid argument in favor of the sport. It’s the little things that make deer hunting great, like the funny way the mind begins to wander after being in absolute solitude for hours on end, the wild turkey and homemade bread that my uncle cooks every year, or just inventing colorful new ways to describe a bowel movement. Deer camp is “roughing it” at its finest and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Even though I didn’t bag my trophy buck this year, I’m STILL pretty much the most manly guy that I know of.

On a completely unrelated topic, I saw the midnight screening of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire last Friday and let me the first to tell you, its awesomeness will go unrivaled for any movie coming out this year. I’d tell you more but I’ve got some serious chest scratching to attend to…

Ladies: Never Date a Guy who has a Blog

Sorry, everyone.

I did not mean to get on that Brett Favre tangent for so long. The first Brett Favre post was just an expression of my unwavering loyalty to #4 and I was planning on just sitting on the second post until the Pack would win again which they did last week. Who would have thunk they would beat the Falcons in such a decisive victory?

But now that it’s out my system, let’s talk about the date I recently embarked on. Yes, I know what you’re thinking, how did I manage to trick this girl into giving me three hours of her time on a Friday night. A valid question indeed and it’s one that I don’t have an answer to.

Clearly, she hasn’t read my standards which I will recap:

1. The Hallmark Rule
2. The Volleyball Rule
3. The Parthenon Test

I never made the Parthenon Test an official rule before but I’m going to make it a rule now. At some point when I’m about to settle down with a chick, she has to watch me and my friends eat Gyros at bar time after a typical Saturday night on State Street. It will be and always has been, a seriously offensive sight to anyone bearing witness to this spectacle. If she isn’t pissed off about the inevitable cucumber sauce stains from the feeding frenzy and still has the gumption to talk to me or even make eye contact with me the next day, I’m reeling her in.

Back to my date, to make matters worse for the poor soul, she has to deal with what I’m labeling the November Rule which I think is pretty much universal for all guys but I’m just going to clarify. The November Rule is simply the fact that no guy wants to just start seeing a girl right before the holidays because:

1. There is no Christmas present in the world that sends the appropriate message for someone you’ve been kind of seeing for a month.
2. Explanations of your sort-of-girlfriend status to relatives really blows
3. Valentines Day is lurking just around the corner and every guy hates Valentines Day

Yup, right about this time of year, most guys usually call it quits and start making plans for love around Spring time again. Sorry, ladies, that’s just the way the primitive male brain works. I find it humorous that the same minds that can invent interstellar space travel, artificial hearts, and high definition television can stress out on such trivial matters like gift exchanges. Logic is funny.

In any case, this girl is really cute and pretty sharp so I’m going to nix the November Rule and maybe even cut her some slack on my previously mentioned guidelines. Gee, I’m swell!

I'm not going to lie to you though- this girl is REALLY lucky to be dating me. I think I finally understand what my mother has been trying to tell me all these years; I am a really handsome and charming guy. If you can't trust an unbiased opinion like my mother, then who can you trust?

Thanks, Mom. I'll never doubt you again.

The time I taught Brett Favre how to throw a football.

Imagine one of those picturesque Saturday autumn afternoons, Martha Stewart style; the air is crisp, the leaves are changing color, mom was cooking homemade apple pie in the kitchen, and me and my best chums were playing a game of schoolyard football in the empty lot across the street. I was in the fifth grade at the time so I was about 11 years old.

Out of nowhere, this man emerges on the field. Right away, I was on my guard.

“Hey, you’re Ben Wollin right,” the man said.

“Who wants to know?” I replied smugly.

“I’ve been watching you play here and I just have to ask. Where did you learn how to throw such a tight spiral like that? You’ve got an arm that I’ve only read about in books.”

At this point, I started chuckling to myself. “Listen, guy, you’ve got a lot of guts coming here and interrupting my game here with my friends. I like that. It shows you got courage. If you stick around I’ll show you the secret to the perfect pass.”

After the game, the stranger stuck around so I went over the finer points of where to grip ball, how to pump fake, and pretty much all the basic arm mechanics for throwing the ultimate spiral. I could tell he was impressed. The sun was starting to set but the stranger insisted that we get it right.

“Alright one more, and then I have to go home for dinner,” I said.

The last throw of the evening was a stinger. I caught the ball and then shook out my hands because it burned a little.

“There it is,” I said. “That’s the pepper I’m talking about.”

The stranger smiled sheepishly at me. “Thanks, kid. Thanks a lot.” He then took off into the night in the same mysterious fashion that he appeared. I never thought I would hear from him again.

The very next day, my old man took me to watch Don Majikowski and the Packers play the Cincinatti Bengals in a now legendary game at Lambeau Field. The “Magic” was injured in the first quarter and all hope was lost. Then to my amazement, the strange man I just saw the previous day came trotting onto the field. The man was, you guessed it, Brett Favre.

The rook was a bit shaky at first, you could tell the crowd did not have much faith in the new quarterback. The situation looked bleak for the Packers as they entered in the 4th quarter down 14 points. Brett Favre started scanning the crowds, looking for somebody, anybody, to get him out of the quagmire.

Then Brett Favre saw me and a big smirk, the same smirk you see every time he throws a touchdown, came across his face. I gave him that look, that nod of approval that just says, yeah, you know what to do. Brett Favre gave me the thumbs up, then put his helmet in and ran out to the huddle, a few inches taller, a little more spring in his step.

The rest, as they say, is history. Brett Favre engineered a stunning defeat against the Bengals which eventually paved the way for him to become the greatest athlete in the history of sports. I wish I could take more credit for his numerous titles and records but I had absolutely nothing to do with his innate talent to read the field, his almost mutant-like super stamina, or his preternatural ability to look awesome and grizzled all the time. The man is a champion and no one can take that away from him.

What can I say, I’m a modest guy, I want to give credit where credit is due. You know that actually reminds me of the story of the time Steve Jobs stole my idea for the ipod…

I love Brett Favre and when I grow up, I'm going to marry him.

It’s hard to say when I first developed my man crush on Brett Favre. I think it all began when Brett Favre threw his fabled pass to Antonio Freeman to defeat the Vikings in the fall of 2000. It’s funny, I’ve already forgotten my graduation day, losing my virginity is a blur, and I barely remember what I did last weekend but I will NEVER forget that epic battle and the aftermath that ensued. My roommate and I decided to set up our massive speakers in the hallway of the 8th floor Witte Hall and blast I Don’t Want to Work, I want to Bang on the Drums all Day because Todd Rungren is the ONLY musician that has ever captured the true essence of shame in a single song. The defeated looks on the faces of my jerkstore Minnesota friends remains in my memory as clear as a photograph to this day. Those truly were the glory days.

Some critics argue that Brett Favre has lost some of magic over the years but I say they can all kiss my pasty ass. The man brought home a Super Bowl title back to Green Bay after 30 goddamn YEARS for Christ sake, what else do you want? I don’t care if Brett Favre throws an interception after every pass for the rest of the season, no, scratch that, I don’t care if he throws an interception after every pass and then gives the middle finger to all the fans as he walks off the field for the rest of the season, I’ll STILL love the guy.

Brett Favre is the reason I support embryonic cloning research. As morally reprehensible as I find the idea of mankind altering genes, essentially “playing God” and thus reducing the grand beauty and complexity of human nature into sub-atomic DNA code, it still doesn’t outweigh the benefits of having a second #4 suiting up in the green and gold for the 2031 NFL season.

When the current Brett Favre retires, I foresee two events happening, neither of which are very good. The first is that mass hysteria will break out, fires will overtake the city, riots and pillaging will be rampant, and the streets will run red with the blood of the infidels. It won’t be pleasant to say the least.

The second, and MORE LIKELY scenario, is that at the ceremony where Brett Favre’s number gets retired, the clouds in the sky will part and a thunderous voice will boom, ”Citizens of Green Bay, you won’t be needing THIS anymore,” at which point a tremendous earthquake will form around the stadium and proceed to swallow Lambeau Field and everyone inside, but not before the mighty hand of God bursts from the heavens and plucks Brett Favre from the crowd to set him down safety on top of a very tall mountain.

Actually that probably wouldn’t happen either because everyone knows Brett Farve has the gift of flight so he could probably just fly away if he needed to. I bet he would save a bunch of little kids and some senior citizens on the way out too, that’s just the Brett Favre way.

Brett Favre’s infinite talent actually transcends the football field and on to the silver screen. Who could forget his unforgettable acting in the major motion picture There’s Something About Mary. His breakthrough role in the film defined a generation and his performance will forever be a benchmark for aspiring actors and actresses around the world. I actually wept, wept with joy, when he uttered those eight magical words, “I’m in town to play the Dolphins, dumbass.” The fact that he hasn’t received a star on the Walk of Fame is a true testament to the wanton corruption that plagues Hollywood today.

I propose that we all honor Brett Favre’s greatness by using his name as an adjective to describe something that’s awesome. For example:

A: “Hey, this pizza is pretty tasty.”
B: “Yeah, dude, this shit is Brett Favre!”
A: “Well, its good, but not Brett Favre.”
B: “You’re probably right. Hey, let’s go watch highlights from Super Bowl XXXI.
A: “Yes. I would like that a lot.”

The only problem is that it’s not very applicable to a lot of situations because nothing is more awesome than Brett Favre. What else more can I say?

Thanks, for the memories, Brett Favre. Thanks for the memories.

Halloween is the new Christmas

The perennial favorite holiday, Christmas, in my mind, is about to be unseated by a new contender. Even though the juggernaut is responsible for presents, great food, and a day off from work, Halloween could quite possibly be the most fun and obnoxious day of the year. (Note: I use the two adjectives synonomously). It’s the one day where you are completely free and actually encouraged to make a complete jackass of yourself without any repercussions. Remember, it’s not YOU being a jackass, it’s (insert whatever costume you could scrounge up at Ragstock) that drank too much, passed out in the bathroom, and allowed a phallic symbol to be drawn on his or her forehead with permanent marker. You YOURSELF are off the hook!

I take my Halloween festivities very seriously. But this year, for the first time in my life, I was at a complete loss to materialize an outfit for maximum embarrassment potential. Fortunately, in a divine moment of creativity, I came up with what I humbly consider one of the most original costumes of the year. By original and creative, I mean, incredibly dorky and only about 10 people are going to “get it” but the people that “get it” are REALLY going to “get it.” The costume I am referring to is my rendition of a human sudoku puzzle.

The following things were yelled at me on State St:

1. “What the hell are you!?”
2. “Bingo!”
3. “I hate you.”
4. “You’re that thing, what are you called, again?”
5. “You’re math!”
6. “Are you like a puzzle or something?”
7. “I don’t get it.”(By far, the most popular saying)

I left a lot of people very confused. Mission accomplished. My biggest regret was that I didn’t get to bust out my pick-up line, “Hey! If you take a picture of me now, you can do me later.” It’s probably okay though, there’s no way I’d be able to say that cheese with a straight face anyway.

And speaking of hot girls on State Street, yeah, there were plenty of them. I know I am 24 years old and I’m supposed to be a responsible adult and everything but how can anyone get sick of watching young co-eds in scandalously short skirts and how-much-more-cleavage-could-you-possibly-show outfits shivering in the cold October air? As long as I have a pulse, that will ALWAYS be cool. What’s not cool is me becoming a creepy old man, but I still have a few more years before I have to worry about that. Whew!

Everybody knows that a chick can dress up as slutty whatever and guys are going to love it. In this case, everybody is right. But I think it would be an absolute riot if a girl, with the proper assets, went as a slutty guy for Halloween. The confusion factor that I am so fond of, would be through the roof. “Oh my God, look how hot that guy is! Did I just say that? Shit.” Just imagine the look on a dude’s face when he has to explain to his buddies about the super hot man he just saw. Priceless.

What’s not priceless are all the Richie Tennenbaums, free mammogram guy, and guy dressed up a present that says To: Women From: God. Those costumes were sooooooo Halloween 2003, hello-oh! My vote for best costume is a 3 way tie between Tampa Bay Buccaneer head coach John Gruden, my brother the drunken leprechaun, and my buddy Robert Goulet, who actually went as that last year, but was so convincing, especially seeing all the wannabe Robert Goulets last night, makes the cut this year. Kudos to you, gentlemen. Thanks for making our night a little more surreal.

Tis the season for drunken revelry. I hope you all enjoyed Halloween 2005 as much as I did. I know Christmas was always the best time of year as a kid but I think Santa Claus will understand if you change your mind about your new favorite holiday. In fact, I know he will. I saw him do a keg stand at a house party on Saturday night and he seemed to be pretty cool with the whole idea.

Well it sure as hell beats milk and cookies…

Greatest Villain Ever: Darth Vader Vs. The Dean of Discipline

Okay, clearly there is no competition between everyone’s favorite high school administrator and the Lord of the Sith (even with that no-talent vagina Hayden Christianson under the helm), in fact, putting the two in the same arena is kind of an insult to one of the greatest villains in cinematic history. I just didn’t want anyone questioning my sexuality with a title like “Top 5 Reasons why I just loooove the O.C. and why it’s the greatest show ever!”

That last statement is obviously an exaggeration as well but I would be lying if I didn’t think this prime time soap opera was a mighty fine distraction from reality. The lesbian subplot last season was mildly entertaining but I am glad to see the show is going back to its roots, mainly Ryan brooding and fighting a lot. And who can blame the guy, with that evil Dean of Discipline strutting around the school like he owns the place. He’s EXACTLY the type of asshole you see wearing a pink shirt and thinking he’s the shit. I hope Ryan knocks that shit-eating grin right off his stupid monkey face.

But without further ado, I present:

The O.C. Survival Guide

1.) If you have a secret or are doing something you aren’t supposed to be doing, it is 100% guaranteed someone will inadvertently catch you in the act. You could be in a sealed bank vault and you can bet your ass that Marissa or Summer will accidentally wander in there because it’s Take a Tour of a Sealed Bank Vault day at Harbor High or some other cockamamie reason like that. The writers of the show certainly have their situational irony nailed down, but I’d like to see a plot advance through other means; natural disasters are always a crowd pleaser. I bet the drama of a surprise volcano eruption in Newport Beach would bring out Ryan’s true feelings for Marissa.

2.) You have to listen to Emo. There’s no getting around this one here, people. If you don’t listen to wiener rock 24/7, you’re destined to be an outcast. I just wish there was some way the producers could shamelessly promote a new crappy band every week so we could know what to listen to…

3.) Infinity pools are sweet. Get one as soon as possible.

4.) Unless you’re incredibly attractive or a lovable comic book geek, you have zero chance for survival in Orange County. Fortunately, I happen to rock both worlds so this won’t be a problem for me.

5.) You know what? Screw the O.C. What the hell do they have that good ole’ Wisconsin doesn’t have to offer? I don’t know about you but I like my winters cold, my women slightly rotund, and my binge drinking socially acceptable.

AND we have Brett Farve. Checkmate, California.


A Typical Day on the Set of the O.C.

“Okay, Ryan, for this next scene we need you to be real upset and troubled. You’re dark and mysterious.”













“Great! Now give me real angry. You’re pissed off at the world and you want everyone to know it.”













“Excellent! In this next shot, you are in love with Marissa and everything is going great. I need happy and joyous.”












“Perfect! I really felt the emotion there, Ryan. That’s a wrap, people, let’s call it a day.”

What will YOU do when the Zombies come?

If Hollywood has taught me anything, and it has, it’s that our wonderful planet is due for some kind of inevitable zombie attack. Right now it is unclear if the assault will come from an army of the formerly deceased by an apocalyptic gesture of God or merely the spread of an airborne virus from an evil corporate conglomerate (Halliburton comes to mind). One thing is for certain, there is no stopping them.

I, for one, would like to welcome our new undead friends. I feel it will finally give me the chance to fulfill my destiny as the shotgun wielding, cigar smoking, hell-bent motorcycle warrior I was to born to be (I still haven’t decided if I’m going to wear shoulder pads with spikes protruding from them yet, but I definitely wouldn’t rule it out). Nothing gets me through a boring day at the office more than the possibility of slaying a pack of flesh-eating people freshly diagnosed with a scorching case of zombiism. I wouldn’t hesitate what to do in a second and neither should you.

That’s why it is important to formulate a game plan for dealing with the zombies in various scenarios you may find yourself in. For example, when you’re in lecture or something, you’re going to want to know where all the exits are and where to find the nearest fire hatchet or at least a blunt object to strike down the zombies when they try to eat your brains.

I’d like to take a moment here to dispel a rumor that eating asparagus will make your brains less tasty to the zombies. It won’t. Don’t waste your time listening to that bogus advice, it might just get you killed or eaten.

I STRONGLY recommend that at the very least, stock up on plenty of ammunition, and if you can, get your ass to the target range to work on your head shots. Don’t be fooled by the zombie’s soft flesh, a good blow to the dome is the only way to take down the walking dead, unless you have time to remove all their arms and legs but who has time for that? Don’t get fancy out there in zombie world. Vince Lombardi once said “Stick to the fundamentals” and that advice rings true for eradicating zombies as well as winning Super Bowls.

I have hordes of other useful knowledge for exterminating zombies but I’m keeping them to myself and for all the beautiful dames I decide to rescue along the way. In the meantime, practice those head shots and just pray we don’t have to deal with the zombies in 28 Days Later. Those fuckers were FAST.

I am an original disciple of the Bubble Gum Punk revolution

You are not a punk rocker.

I hate to burst your bubble but listening to Blink 182 and Good Charlotte does not mean you are into punk. Don’t get me wrong. I love the genre. I enjoy those soapy lyrics and juicy guitar hooks just as much as the next pre-pubescent teen. But let’s get the facts straight.

Before you take heed of my words you should probably know I’m not underground music listening hipster guy with a vendetta against corporate rock. Far from it. But I know a thing or two what constitutes punk.

Punk is something you would never hear on the radio. It’s something that would never be recorded in a fancy studio with fancy bells and whistles added in post production. Punk is having a shaved head and stomping the shit out of someone wearing steel toed boots at a Sex Pistols concert. That’s about as simple as I can explain it.

Enter 2005. I recently attended a Green Day concert here in town. I was a little confused at when I first got there. What the hell were all these rugrats doing here? Is fucking Raffi in town? Maybe there was a different Alliant Energy Colliseum in Madison that I supposed to be at? I was clearly the oldest person in the crowd with the exception of the chaperones in the top bleachers (those kids need a ride home somehow, I suppose). Although it was a huge boost to my ego beating the crap out of a bunch of toddlers in the “mosh pit” as it were, I realized this was the end of an era.

It’s not all sad though. I enjoy both worlds of rock. If Zeppelin were a four course meal for your lobes, then Simple Plan would be the equivalent of taking one of those awesome bags of flavored sugar you used to eat as a kid and pouring it directly down your ear canal. Thanks to MTV, we can complete the analogy by taking that weird sugar paddle spoon thingy and jamming into your eye. Both are great, whatever you are in the mood for.

I'm getting a little preachy here, so I'm just going to shut up and let you keep on a boppin’ along to your high octane bubble gum punk if that’s what does it for you. Just do us all a favor and take off that ridiculous Ramones T-shirt. Joey Ramone doesn’t want you wearing it and neither do I.

If Lizzie McQuire were on the cover of Maxim...

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Rule Number 2

The girl cannot suck at Volleyball.

I know that may seem weird and random, and it is. I’m not all that great at Volleyball myself. I don’t even particularly like the sport that much. It’s just when screening potential candidates as relationship material, it’s really important to me that the girl has the rudimentary skills to knock a soft inflated rubber ball over a stupid net.

This all stems back to middle school when nothing was more important than winning the whatever game of the week in gym class. Can you think of anything more annoying than that one girl in every class who ducked and screamed whenever the ball was hit to her? Or when it was her turn to serve, could not hit the ball over the net to save her life? And then she would giggle because she thought she was being cute. You weren’t. You cost the team a point and you wasted everyone’s time. The only thing you could do about it was pray she wasn’t on your team next week. On a side note: I was definitely the asshole who always hit the ball in her direction if that girl was on the other team - like I said before, gym is super important at that age.

Objectively, if I was to continue seeing a girl, I would have to get her to play beach volleyball at some point and I’d like to see her serve the ball in bounds at least 57% of the time and she we would have to be good enough to not be singled out as an automatic point by our opponents because, sadly, those assholes still exist. I’d even be willing to cut the girl some slack if we were drinking lots of those barley and hops flavored soda’s that I am so very fond of. I feel I am being pretty fair about this and I think a lot of dudes would feel the same way.

You can tell a lot about someone by how they play volleyball. Ladies, please don’t be a giggle monster out there.

The Roommate of Emily Rose

I want to know the story of Emily Rose’s college roommate.

You thought your roommate was bad. Seriously, just imagine the stories this girl came home with on that first Thanksgiving freshmen year. I think it would go a little something like this:

“Omigod, my roommate is such a bitch. I was listening to my Britney Spears CD and she was like, could you turn that down, and I was like, whatever. Can you believe that!? What a slut!”

“Yeah, I kinda know what you mean. My roommate sometimes wakes up at three in the morning and gets all contortled on the ground and starts screeching in 2000 year old dead languages. Normally, I wouldn’t mind but I have class at 8 in the morning.”

And what’s the deal with this boyfriend guy she has? This guy was SO lonely, he had to resort to the possessed girl down the hall? Did he lose a bet or something? I mean I’ve been alone on a Saturday night before but C’Mon! On the bright side, your women problems pale in comparison to this dude.

“Hey man, did you get in a fight or something?”

“Yeah, sort of, my girlfriend tried scratching my eyes out again. I guess I deserve it though, I mean I DID try to stop her from eating those cockroaches in her room. She hates that. But it could have been worse, it’s not like she has fingernails, right?”

Exorcism’s rock. They’re almost as cool as zombies.

3 Pick-Up lines that could potentially be really great

#1 “I’m Wayne Gretsky, the Greatest Hockey Player ever!”
This line isn’t theoretical actually, my buddy actually used this line once, even though I’m pretty sure he doesn’t remember it. It wasn’t so much aimed at a particular girl either, he just kind of sprayed this line in every general direction, not caring who it hit. In any case, it attracted the attention of some pretty cute girls. Whether they thought it was amusing or they just thought my friend was an idiot (more likely the latter), who knows, he got a conversation started. Drunk Assholes: 1 Chicks: 0.

#2 “Hi, did you know that my grandpa was one of the forefathers of modern flight? He was that one guy you see in old-timey movies about airplanes before the Wright Brothers. Not that guy with the bi-plane with like 5 stacked wings that falls apart after about 2 seconds but that one dude with the contraption that looks like 2 giant horizontal cymbals that’s just pumping away but you know that jackass isn’t going anywhere but no one is that fucking stupid to think something like that would work.”
I know this line is little long winded to say the least, especially in a packed tavern, but I’ll give you 2 reasons why it will work:

1.) Old-Timey movies are funny. I think, at least subconsciously, everyone has seen that footage somewhere in their lives. It is arguably the definitive old-timey movie.
2.) Who’s going to call you out on that shit? The key to a good lie is make something up that no one can verify.

#3 “Hi, my name is John Smith. I really like your insert article of clothing here. What’s your name?
I’m just kidding. This would never work. Back to the outrageous claims!

Real #3
This is more of a maneuver than a line but here goes: It requires at least two other wingmen. When bar hopping, casually have one friend toss another friend into a pack of women walking in the opposite direction, knocking some of them over if necessary. Yell at your friends for being jerks, then do damage control with the ladies, help them up, apologize (important note: do this while of kind of chuckling so they know your nice but still kind of an asshole because we all know women tend to flock towards assholes; bonus that you keep the company of other assholes), ask them where they are going and offer to buy drinks. Repeat this procedure as necessary, taking turns with your buddies to be the hero. I know it’s juvenile but since when has being mature ever worked out for anyone?

Eat it, Hallmark

I do realize I go out of my way to make myself damn near unmarketable to the opposite sex. I don’t why I make dating so difficult for myself but I do. I think its because instead of waiting for that one special someone out there for me, I’ve decided to start with every girl in the world and weed them out one by one until I find that last remaining magical special person just for me. Romantic, I am.

Test Number 1:

When I find woman that I would consider a keeper, I am going to drop the following bomb. I am going to offer her a thousand dollars cash for the privilege of never having to buy a greeting card for her ever again. No Birthdays, Anniversaries, not even the sham of all holidays, Valentines Day. Before you say Ben, you cheap worthless bastard; hear me out.

If I love this woman, I am going to go beyond the call of duty to make sure she knows it. I will be more than happy to give her nice thoughtful gifts on those holidays. I am even more than willing to express my thoughts and feelings or whatever she wants to hear on some nice stationary. Fine. Great. I expect this.

I just don’t need some jerkass from Hallmark to tell me I need to shill out five bones to say I love you. That’s their whole gimic. There wouldn’t be a greeting card industry if they didn’t stamp the price on the back of those cards. “Oh honey, thanks for the card but I guess you only love me $3 dollars worth and not $4 or $5 dollars worth. No ass for you tonight.” Bite me, corporate stooge at American Greetings. I’m on to your scam and I intend to bring down your conspiracy like the house of cards that it is.

The truth is, all you really care about the personal message inside anyway. And I don’t have to scramble around at the 11th hour buying a card and waiting in line with all the other suckers. AND you get a thousand bucks. Buy yourself some nice ear rings or shoes or whatever. Who loves you, baby?

Who wants to Snog!?

Yeah I like Harry Potter books. They’re great. The first couple books were kind of childish but the latter ones are actually pretty dark and deal with some pretty mature themes. I think any adult fan of the series would agree with me but I would like to go one over and scrutinize some trivial details that I promise will have absolutely no bearing on your opinions one way or another. Reader beware: you are about to get a little bit stupider.

I am going to make a weak case that Harry and Ginny are doing the deed. I basically just wanted to believe this and then proceeded to find evidence to prove it. I found none. But just think about it for a sec.

There are more hook ups going on at Hogwarts than ever before. It’s straight out of the OC, seriously. Just remember when you were 17 and in high school. You were horny, curious, and desperate to lose your virginity. I know they’re wizards but they still have raging hormones like the rest of us.

Now imagine that you found a pretty little witch or sorcerer to so some serious snogging. I think snogging is more than just making out, otherwise they would just be making out. Snogging to me is a combination of sloppy kissing and dry humping, with a dash of heavy petting for good measure. You can only do so much snogging before it leads to other things. For lack of a better word, “blue balls” is the term the kids are using these days to describe that condition. Plus they’re all cooped up in the castle so what’s more fun than snogging when you are bored?

Now look at Harry and Ginny’s situation. They are both very mature for their age. They’ve been through a lot of shit. Ginny is a saucy little red head that seems to know how to get any guy to do what she wants. She’s ready for the next step. Harry on the other hand, has to be thinking that he could eat it at any time. Nobody wants to die a virgin, I don’t care who you are. Rowling can’t write it for the children’s sake but you’d be a fool to think that killing Voldemort would be a priority before knockin’ boots with some comely lasses.

I guess the only documentation I can muster is when Harry reflects on that one amazing afternoon they had by the lake. I know it’s a stretch but you can use your imagination. I won’t even get into the fact they could probably do some pretty sweet maneuvers with their magic and abilities to levitate.

Admit it, you think about this stuff too. Tell me I'm not the only one out there!

Just when I thought I kicked my Minesweeper habit...

My crippling addiction to Minesweeper was a long and enduring one. I don’t blame Minesweeper necessarily, just simple mind games in general that manage to burgle my precious time. They never seem to go away, just morph into different forms. First it was just Solitaire proper, then you graduate to Minesweeper, and then the deviants at Solitaire Inc. win you back with Spider Soliaire. The bastards. Who are these people, anyway? Why do they hate free time so much? It’s like someone woke one morning and said, “I think progress has been happening too fast lately, if only there was some way to make people less productive. Who needs a cure for cancer or a longer lasting light bulb when we can point and click at stuff for hours on end.” They should all be kicked in the testicles.

After taking off all those pointless games off my computer, my brain started seeking new ways to distract itself. It found the solution on my last visit to B&N where there was a big display of Su Doku puzzle books. I knew I should be studying but instinctively I reached for the book and low and behold, many hours of my life have disappeared like that period between midnight or so and bar time on a Saturday night.

If you have never done a Su Doku puzzle, don’t. If you have, you probably know what I am talking about. Since when has the process of elimination ever been so fun? The Japanese really have that shit figured out. Thanks Japan. I could have been a doctor, you know.

Someday, I’m sure I’ll find a girlfriend or something that will occupy my time in more acceptable ways but until then, I’m going to exercise the utmost care to avoid addicting logic games that … wait a sec, I never saw this Hearts game before. I’ll just try it once…

Crispin Glover: Greatest Actor Ever!

You know who doesn’t get enough respect ever. Crispin Glover, the genius who played George McFly in the Back to the Future movies. It is arguably one of the greatest performances in the history of cinema. I’ll give you one solid reason why:

If you had the choice of getting punched in the face by anyone or George McFly, the correct answer would be anyone else. Why? Because not only are you going to get knocked out, but your entire life will be ruined. You will deduced to waxing cars or some other comparable monkey job and you would end up kissing people's asses for the rest of your life. Not bad for someone who loves peeping into windows and chocolate milk.

That’s why I personally implore the Academy to honor this man with a lifetime achievement award or possibly even inventing an award in his name. It his high time this mighty thespian be recognized for this monumental role.

Sex and Gyros

I don’t know what’s more gross. The fact that my buddy got on some chick last weekend after about knowing her for about 10 minutes or the fact that this girl messed around with him after he just ate a gyro. Seriously, that’s just wrong.

A gyro is something you eat as a last resort. Nobody in their right mind would eat a heaping pile of lamb meat, onions, and cucumber sauce unless they were a 100% sure they would not be making contact with another member of the opposite sex for at least 24 hours (I usually go 48 to be safe). It’s a forbidden fruit. It always seems like a good idea but you almost always regret it the next day.

In a way though, it’s kind of like that test that Wayne brought up in Waynes World. “If you blow chucks and she’s still there, she’s your, if you spew and she bolts, it was never meant to be.” Classic.

I think it would be a good test to bring a date to the Parthenon for a change. If she still sticks around after watching you shovel all that food… well, half of it getting it in your stomach the other half on your face and hands (has anybody in the history of mankind ever ate a gyro without making a complete mess, I’d like to meet the Greek that thought this would be a good idea), and reeking like onions for the rest of the weekend, then I say hold on to her like the treasure she is.

If you have any doubts after that, there is always the dutch oven test too

Everything you wanted to know about getting Pee Shy

(in my best jerry seinfeld voice) “What’s the deal with getting pee shy?”

Pee shy. Gun shy. Stage Fright. Call it what you will, I’d like explain this phenomenon out and maybe somehow a solution will present itself.

Peeing was never a big deal to me. It was kind of relaxing. I used to be able to enjoy a good piss and maybe some pleasant conversation with my urinalmate next to me. “So how about them Packers last Sunday, huh?”

Incidentally, if I wanted to watch a film about the Fantastic Four, I would watch highlights from Super Bowl XXXI.

Anyways, back to my situation, one day I was in Van Vleck hall for some reason and the whole building was completely cleared out. Way too quiet for me but I thought I would have the bathroom to myself at least. So I’m doing my thing when all of a sudden this dude comes in and walks up to the urinal right next to me. There was like 7 other urinals to use and he picks the one next to mine! Who the hell does that? I started really thinking about the situation, I mean I was just confused. That’s where the trouble begins; when you apply complex thinking to a process that occurs naturally and automatically in the human body. Yup, don’t do it.

So now whenever I go to the bathroom, I get this spidey-sense for what is going on around me. I’m trying to think about waterfalls and running through a forest and all that nature shit, but all I can think about is what other people are thinking. “Is this guy behind me waiting for me? He’s probably wondering why Im just standing here. Goddammit I can’t perform under this kind of pressure! Im outta here.”

I know I’m not the only one with this problem otherwise we wouldn’t have names for this condition in our lexicon. I suspect there are even people that have obtained absolute mastery over the problem. These are the guys you see at Monday’s at bar time peeing in the sink or in the garbage can because they don’t want to wait in line. What’s your secret?

So ladies, I hope you learned how primitive we really are and fellas, if you got any solutions, I’d like to hear them. I think the problem stems from over analyzing the situation which I tend to do a lot even away from the john so any advice to shut down my brain for a few moments would be great.

I swear to God, the older I get the more sophisticated my bathroom humor becomes…

I once gave lip to G. Dubya - True Story!

So I am kind of new to this whole blog thing so I figured I'd start out with a humorous encounter I had with our current President of the United States.

So back in 2000 when Bush was running in the Republican Primary Elections, he made a stop in my hometown Ashwaubenon at Pioneer Elementary School (real gimmicky, I agree). Anyways, he gave his canned speech and then took questions from the crowd. I raised my hand and asked what he plans on doing on the skyrocketing cost of college education? He responded in typical politician fashion i.e. completely skirting the issue with “I want to lower taxes for the middle class so everyone can go to college yadda yadda yadda.”

So afterwards, Dub’s going around shaking hands and, recognizing me from the question I asked, approaches me, shakes my hand, and asks ‘Where are you going to school next year, son?”

I respond “The University of Wisconsin, sir.”

Bush says, “Oh that’s a great school, me and Laura are still figuring out where we want to send our daughters.”

Recognizing the opportunity, I put my hand on his shoulder and reply, “why don’t you send them to Madison, I’ll show em’ a good time.”

Then, in his patented smirk, he says to me as he walked on, “Yeah, I bet you would.”

Okay, so it may not be the greatest story in the world but I think it’s damn funny and I got plenty more of them. Stay tuned for the next exciting episode of the saga that is me.


Me.