Ola amigos, sorry for the delay, I have been swamped these past two weeks which left me little time for bloggin’. Most notably, I spent the last weekend in Las Vegas, Nevada. I wish I had some crazy stories to bring back from my trip, but I have none so I’m just going to rant for a little bit and hope I can save you, the reader, a little bit of money the next time you are in Sin City.
The trip started off with a dubious omen. My plan for this trip was to be Mr. Too Cool For School when gallivanting around town and by that, I mean I wanted a slick new blazer so I went to Macy’s the night before and found this sweet Calvin Klein pinstripe blazer that was expensive but it was 40% off. The sales guy sold me when he told me I could save an additional 15% by opening up a charge card.
Denied. Which is impossible because I have awesome credit so that put me in a foul mood. I later found out it was because I gave them conflicting address information. Either way you look at it, I was down fifty some dollars and I hadn’t even rolled the dice yet. This would be the least of my worries.
The first night I lost $400. Fast. I played poker for a few hours and promptly got my ass handed to me. Then I lost 17 out of 18 hands of Let It Ride, which I’m pretty sure is statistically impossible. Then I piddled away a few bucks playing roulette and craps and then went to bed around 2:30 am, ridiculously early for Vegas time but it has been a long day.
My only consolidation was that some dude told me I had a slick blazer at the craps table. At least my plan for looking like Mr. Too Cool For School was panning out.
The next day I foolishly took the over bet on Wisconsin (it was only 115, a lock in my opinion) and made some other crazy parlay basketball bets that never came to fruition. Then I lost another hundo playing this goofy blackjack variant. The highlight of the day was discovering Earl of Sandwich. That place makes awesome sandwiches.
It was now time for me to consult the ATM machine. Denied. Again. For reasons unknown and that I still need to figure out but, in any event, I had to take a cash advance on my credit card which only cost a teeny tiny surcharge of $37. I would never advise this course of action under any normal circumstances, but it wasn’t like I was just going to hang out and not gamble for the rest of the weekend.
So I ended up paying the fee and played a four hour session of $3/$6 limit Hold ‘Em at Planet Hollywood. I walked away from the table with negative five dollars, a clear and resounding victory for me. Plus I saw…yep, you guessed it, David Hasselhoff. He was hanging out in the bar right behind me. The place went nuts, he took a bunch of pictures with some fans and then presumably went back to his hotel room to drink whisky and eat whoppers. I guess the stars really do hang out at Planet Hollywood.
Exuberating Teddy KGB-like confidence from my negative five dollar bonanza, I walked back to the Aria where I set up shop at the $9-$18 high/low Omaha table where me and $150 quickly parted ways. A word of advice, never sit down at a poker table with solemn looking guys peering behind huge stacks of chips and looking like they are not having any fun whatsoever. The guys at that table were clearly local sharks and I was their meal for the evening.
Feeling like my luck couldn’t possibly get any worse, I tried to turn things around at the craps tables where I immediately crapped out three times in a row before ever hitting a point. I ran away from the table before getting my ass kicked. The minimum bet was $25 and there were at least 8 people at the table, I effectively wiped out $600 in value in less than 2 minutes. My bad luck was spreading.
This was a new low for me. I know I was going to lose money on the trip but not this fast and not without winning a little in return. I was getting irate about everything. I was annoyed that the hotel was too big and you had to walk 10 miles to get anywhere. I was pissed that my friends were split up most of the time and we didn’t go to any shows or anything. And most of all I was disgusted with the idea of gambling. It’s a dirty, sinful, rotten business which is why these casinos need to be so glitzy and spectacular in order to disguise the fact that they are openly robbing you. I was depressed and I wanted to go home and I still had one more day to go.
Of course the next day was a blast. I ate a kick ass breakfast, hung out pool side, rode the roller coaster at New York New York, ate cheese steaks, and most importantly, finally won a five hour poker session playing with a bunch of locals. I made a $170 of pure profit, I was playing smart poker on top of hitting a lot of big river cards. I was unstoppable.
And that’s what Vegas does. Just when you are about to swear Vegas off forever, the force that is luck gives you a little nibble and you are already planning your next trip. Such is life.
One final tip, the smartest way to gamble and drink in Vegas is to play low limit poker. You could theoretically just throw in your blinds and get really drunk over the course of a few hours. The waitresses are really fast in the poker pits. Plus you could sit around and wait for pocket aces and have your tips and antes paid for on no-brainer hands. You’re welcome.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Monday, March 08, 2010
Long John Silvers? Never. Again.
Before I embark on this particular rant, I would like to direct your attention to the following thing of journalism concerning the capture of the two skanks that robbed my roommate the other weekend.
ATM Card Thieves Targeted Drunks in Downtown Green Bay, Police Say
Justice is served! I say we send Mandisa and Brittaney to the Big House. You know what I’m talking about…Alcatraz!
Yep, they are not going to be taking advantage of any drunks like Greg Altmann where they are going. But on the plus side, going to jail would SIGNIFICANTLY lower the possibility of dining at a Long John Silvers, which is what I really wanted to get at tonight.
Last Saturday, I was driving down Oneida Street, not even hungry, when I passed that unholy marriage of a restaurant, the Long John Silvers/KFC and I thought to myself, you know what, I have never eaten there before. In fact, I have never even met anyone who has ever eaten there before either.
Now I know why.
I whipped a quick u-turn, pulled up to the menu, and was immediately skeptical. First, they don’t have chicken, they have chicken PLANKS. Why couldn’t they just call it chicken? It’s like they had to remind you that the food you are about to eat is extremely processed. Nothing, and I mean nothing, comes from mother nature in plank form, I don’t care what anybody says.
Second, all of the fish options looked disgusting. I’m sorry, trapezoidal fish sticks do not appeal to me. When you are a multinational fast food conglomerate specializing in seafood and you can’t even make an appealing menu board, you know you got problems.
But I settled on the popcorn shrimp combo and went on my merry way, specifically reminding the cashier that I wanted cocktail sauce. Of course they then forgot to give it to me. That was the least of my worries.
The meal was served in one giant container, all mashed together on what appeared to be material mice collect to sleep on in their dens. Except that would be an insult to mice dens. Seriously, it looked like they just swept the floor, gathered the crumbs on a pan, and then thought it would be a good idea to serve my food on it. Gross.
The shrimp and fries were soggy and mediocre at best. But there was light at the end of the tunnel because I had two donut holes that apparently came with the meal. Or so I thought. I mean, they looked like donut holes and they felt like donut holes, but brother, they ain’t donut holes!
These things had the consistency of donut holes but they must just deep fry it in the same vat as the trapezoidal fish sticks because it tasted like cod bread. Boy was I surprised. A perfect end to a perfect meal.
I still had a bad taste in my mouth the next day so I went to a place where I could get real food i.e. I went to Culvers. That place is the gold standard of fast food, fo sho.
You probably think my food habits are disgusting but it was my last hooray before going on this crazy diet for the next 10 days where I only eat fruits and vegetables as part of a cleansing process. You think I’m joking, but I got an honest to God pineapple in the fridge to prove it. That is going to be meal for me at some point his week. A pineapple. Who buys a real pineapple? It’s craziness I tell ya.
ATM Card Thieves Targeted Drunks in Downtown Green Bay, Police Say
Justice is served! I say we send Mandisa and Brittaney to the Big House. You know what I’m talking about…Alcatraz!
Yep, they are not going to be taking advantage of any drunks like Greg Altmann where they are going. But on the plus side, going to jail would SIGNIFICANTLY lower the possibility of dining at a Long John Silvers, which is what I really wanted to get at tonight.
Last Saturday, I was driving down Oneida Street, not even hungry, when I passed that unholy marriage of a restaurant, the Long John Silvers/KFC and I thought to myself, you know what, I have never eaten there before. In fact, I have never even met anyone who has ever eaten there before either.
Now I know why.
I whipped a quick u-turn, pulled up to the menu, and was immediately skeptical. First, they don’t have chicken, they have chicken PLANKS. Why couldn’t they just call it chicken? It’s like they had to remind you that the food you are about to eat is extremely processed. Nothing, and I mean nothing, comes from mother nature in plank form, I don’t care what anybody says.
Second, all of the fish options looked disgusting. I’m sorry, trapezoidal fish sticks do not appeal to me. When you are a multinational fast food conglomerate specializing in seafood and you can’t even make an appealing menu board, you know you got problems.
But I settled on the popcorn shrimp combo and went on my merry way, specifically reminding the cashier that I wanted cocktail sauce. Of course they then forgot to give it to me. That was the least of my worries.
The meal was served in one giant container, all mashed together on what appeared to be material mice collect to sleep on in their dens. Except that would be an insult to mice dens. Seriously, it looked like they just swept the floor, gathered the crumbs on a pan, and then thought it would be a good idea to serve my food on it. Gross.
The shrimp and fries were soggy and mediocre at best. But there was light at the end of the tunnel because I had two donut holes that apparently came with the meal. Or so I thought. I mean, they looked like donut holes and they felt like donut holes, but brother, they ain’t donut holes!
These things had the consistency of donut holes but they must just deep fry it in the same vat as the trapezoidal fish sticks because it tasted like cod bread. Boy was I surprised. A perfect end to a perfect meal.
I still had a bad taste in my mouth the next day so I went to a place where I could get real food i.e. I went to Culvers. That place is the gold standard of fast food, fo sho.
You probably think my food habits are disgusting but it was my last hooray before going on this crazy diet for the next 10 days where I only eat fruits and vegetables as part of a cleansing process. You think I’m joking, but I got an honest to God pineapple in the fridge to prove it. That is going to be meal for me at some point his week. A pineapple. Who buys a real pineapple? It’s craziness I tell ya.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
What's Scarier On a Plane? Snakes or Fat People?
I know this story is already a week old but it had been on mind for quite some time. Last week Kevin Smith was kicked off a Southwest plane for being too fat. This isn’t exactly a new phenomenon, for many years now obese people have been paying for two tickets in order to fly and I think that is perfectly legit but this latest story has me concerned for two reasons.
First, I don’t think Kevin Smith is THAT fat. Sure, he’s kind of husky but I wouldn’t classify him in the his ass has his own congressman category where his rolls are spilling out in aisles and adjacent seats and what not. I’m sure he is quick enough to get out of his seat in case of an emergency, too.
To tell you the truth, I can conceivably see myself getting as fat as Kevin Smith someday. If I won the powerball or when Jumping the Shark surpasses Avatar in gross domestic proceeds at the box office or if I got married, then I would totally let myself go to Silent Bob-like proportions. But the humiliation of missing a flight because of a fondness for DCB’s worries me.
Bottom line, Kevin Smith should have gotten kicked off that plane for making Clerks II, not because he is a tubby bastard.
Second reason for concern, nothing to do with Kevin Smith, but the last time I flew, there was a delay because they needed someone to take another flight because the aircraft had exceeded some kind of weight restriction.
What the hell is that about? You mean the difference between lifting off safely or barreling off the runway and suffering a horrific fiery death is a couple hundred pounds? That’s the margin of error!? I’m sorry but that is terrifying.
What if you were on a flight and the majority of passengers were on-average, 10 lbs overweight? Not difficult to imagine since we are from America and we invented this thing:
If the plane could seat 100 people, then the aircraft could potentially be 1000 lbs overweight. You could kick a couple of people off and still be f’ed. I don’t like that. I don’t like that one bit.
First, I don’t think Kevin Smith is THAT fat. Sure, he’s kind of husky but I wouldn’t classify him in the his ass has his own congressman category where his rolls are spilling out in aisles and adjacent seats and what not. I’m sure he is quick enough to get out of his seat in case of an emergency, too.
To tell you the truth, I can conceivably see myself getting as fat as Kevin Smith someday. If I won the powerball or when Jumping the Shark surpasses Avatar in gross domestic proceeds at the box office or if I got married, then I would totally let myself go to Silent Bob-like proportions. But the humiliation of missing a flight because of a fondness for DCB’s worries me.
Bottom line, Kevin Smith should have gotten kicked off that plane for making Clerks II, not because he is a tubby bastard.
Second reason for concern, nothing to do with Kevin Smith, but the last time I flew, there was a delay because they needed someone to take another flight because the aircraft had exceeded some kind of weight restriction.
What the hell is that about? You mean the difference between lifting off safely or barreling off the runway and suffering a horrific fiery death is a couple hundred pounds? That’s the margin of error!? I’m sorry but that is terrifying.
What if you were on a flight and the majority of passengers were on-average, 10 lbs overweight? Not difficult to imagine since we are from America and we invented this thing:
If the plane could seat 100 people, then the aircraft could potentially be 1000 lbs overweight. You could kick a couple of people off and still be f’ed. I don’t like that. I don’t like that one bit.
Monday, February 22, 2010
How to NOT Get Robbed By Two Prostitutes This Weekend
Before we get into that, let me tell you about the rest of my crazy weekend. It started off really cool, my brother convinced me to do the Polar Plunge in Oshkosh and boy oh boy it sure was cold but it was for a good cause so…hmm…you know what? Gold jacket, green jacket, who gives a shit?
Let’s talk about them prostitutes!
So this story didn’t actually happen to me, but it happened to somebody I know very well. I’m not going to give away any name because it’s kind of embarrassing for him but I will give you a hint. He used to be the starting quarterback for Ashwaubenon High School, he graduated in 2000, and his name is Gregory Lorenzo Altmann.
Whoops. So anyways Gregory Lorenzo was out and about, tearing up downtown on a Friday night just like any other when he fatefully strolled into the fine establishment they call Stirrups on Washington Street. Upon entering the premises, he came across two attractive African American ladies so naturally he approached these two young ladies and said what anyone would have said in his situation.
“So……you girls don’t belong here.”
Only Greg could get away with that line. I can imagine the shit eating grin on his face when he said it.
After that immortal ice breaker, they ended up having a few cocktails and a few more cocktails after that until it was bar time. This is where it gets interesting.
Greg has a hockey buddy that lives in the apartments near Stirrups so Greg thought it would be a swell idea to get an A-bar going with these lovely ladies of the night. Keep in mind that he didn’t know they were prostitutes.
Well, to be honest, we can’t actually confirm they were prostitutes but when Greg suggested they go back to his buddy’s place to party, these girls suggested they go to an ATM first because cops don’t go to ATMs before “partying”.
Wow. That’s not suspicious at all.
But dipshit must have thought that this request was just par for the course because he drove them to the nearest ATM, took out a token amount of $10 from the machine, and then continued on their way.
Greg must not have known the solicitation jargon or something because when he dropped them off at their car, instead of following him back, they just went on their merry way.
Then today Greg discovered that his ATM card was missing. You know what else was missing?
$400 bucks from his checking account! Eh Oh!
Tonight we tried to solve the mystery of how the ATM card disappeared. He swears he didn’t hug them good bye or anything like that and they didn’t get close enough to him to physically take his wallet from his pocket. He still had cash, which is weird.
But Sherlock Wollin figured out the caper. There were two girls with him in his car so I think the one in the back seat got his pin number when he went to the ATM. The cop excuse was just a ruse. Then they created a diversion to get Greg to drive away before he could retrieve his card from the machine. These chicks are like the Danny Ocean’s of Green Bay bar time.
When I asked Greg if this sounded plausible he said yeah probably, but his memory is fuzzy because of the afformentioned cocktails that were consumed at Stirrups. After he dropped the girls off, they must have went straight back to the ATM machine. But I think they had a third accomplice waiting to snatch the card. I’m almost positive the third accomplice is the crotchety old man that runs the haunted amusement park two towns over.
I think we can all take away a valuable lesson from this. When soliciting a hooker, it’s wise to have a designated ATM card with only a little bit of cash on it when it inevitably gets stolen. I don’t know about you guys. That’s what I got out of it.
Let’s talk about them prostitutes!
So this story didn’t actually happen to me, but it happened to somebody I know very well. I’m not going to give away any name because it’s kind of embarrassing for him but I will give you a hint. He used to be the starting quarterback for Ashwaubenon High School, he graduated in 2000, and his name is Gregory Lorenzo Altmann.
Whoops. So anyways Gregory Lorenzo was out and about, tearing up downtown on a Friday night just like any other when he fatefully strolled into the fine establishment they call Stirrups on Washington Street. Upon entering the premises, he came across two attractive African American ladies so naturally he approached these two young ladies and said what anyone would have said in his situation.
“So……you girls don’t belong here.”
Only Greg could get away with that line. I can imagine the shit eating grin on his face when he said it.
After that immortal ice breaker, they ended up having a few cocktails and a few more cocktails after that until it was bar time. This is where it gets interesting.
Greg has a hockey buddy that lives in the apartments near Stirrups so Greg thought it would be a swell idea to get an A-bar going with these lovely ladies of the night. Keep in mind that he didn’t know they were prostitutes.
Well, to be honest, we can’t actually confirm they were prostitutes but when Greg suggested they go back to his buddy’s place to party, these girls suggested they go to an ATM first because cops don’t go to ATMs before “partying”.
Wow. That’s not suspicious at all.
But dipshit must have thought that this request was just par for the course because he drove them to the nearest ATM, took out a token amount of $10 from the machine, and then continued on their way.
Greg must not have known the solicitation jargon or something because when he dropped them off at their car, instead of following him back, they just went on their merry way.
Then today Greg discovered that his ATM card was missing. You know what else was missing?
$400 bucks from his checking account! Eh Oh!
Tonight we tried to solve the mystery of how the ATM card disappeared. He swears he didn’t hug them good bye or anything like that and they didn’t get close enough to him to physically take his wallet from his pocket. He still had cash, which is weird.
But Sherlock Wollin figured out the caper. There were two girls with him in his car so I think the one in the back seat got his pin number when he went to the ATM. The cop excuse was just a ruse. Then they created a diversion to get Greg to drive away before he could retrieve his card from the machine. These chicks are like the Danny Ocean’s of Green Bay bar time.
When I asked Greg if this sounded plausible he said yeah probably, but his memory is fuzzy because of the afformentioned cocktails that were consumed at Stirrups. After he dropped the girls off, they must have went straight back to the ATM machine. But I think they had a third accomplice waiting to snatch the card. I’m almost positive the third accomplice is the crotchety old man that runs the haunted amusement park two towns over.
I think we can all take away a valuable lesson from this. When soliciting a hooker, it’s wise to have a designated ATM card with only a little bit of cash on it when it inevitably gets stolen. I don’t know about you guys. That’s what I got out of it.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Aaron Vanlieshout is POOR Part II
People sometimes ask me what my personal favorite Brain Litter post of all time is and the answer to that is probably the Hottest Girls of Parkview Middle School because that lunch room map is pretty legendary. I hope they etch that goofy map on my tombstone some day. It really is my claim to fame as sad as that is.
But my second favorite post is easily Aaron Vanlieshout is POOR. That one cracks me up every time because of all those crude sketches of Aaron being poor and living in cardboard box so I thought I would revisit my Chemistry notebook for a couple more jabs at my good friend Aaron aka The Dude.
This one pretty much sums up the humor contained in my chemistry notes in a nutshell. I used to sit next to Dude in Chemistry sophomore year with Kris Kropp at the helm. We were the youngest people in class and it was kind of boring and we were also in gym class where he wore this tattered White Sox shirt so I would draw drawings like the one above because, hey, it sure beat learning stuff and it would make Dude mad.
Most of these drawings focus on poop. I hope that doesn't mean something.
This picture features a sweet drawing of Joe Barrie. The NCB stands for National Chemistry Board. This was part of a series with other famous people such as the Wu Tang Clan and Macho Man Randy Savage endorsing the NCB. It is completely nonsensical which leads me to this drawing:
I don't know why I think this is still funny but trust me, compared to some of the other weird shit I wrote at the time, this pic makes all the sense in the world.
This one is sort of an anomaly because Dude lives in a dumpster instead of a cardboard box. Those are flys buzzing by his head if you couldn't tell. You can tell I am successful in the future because I am wearing a tie, have great hair, and I am not portrayed as a stick figure.
Sometimes the Dude and I collaborated on projects such as the drawing above. Dude depicted a scene from one of the later seasons of Full House when Uncle Jesse beefed up his rock image by leaving Jesse and the Rippers and becoming The Vulture to bring a younger crowd to the Smash Club.
Don't remember that one, eh? You are very lucky. I'm ashamed that I have knowledge of that particular episode. Really ashamed. Don't get me wrong, I'm willing to wager that a lot of my peers grew up watching the trials and tribulations of the Tanner family but probably only me, Dude, and like five other people stuck it out to the bitter end of that series. I should have threw in the towel when DJ's boyfriend Steve became a featured character on the show. That guy was LAME. At least Kimmy Gibbler got hot.
But if anyone out there in internetland is interested, I have SIX PAGES of other Full House reenactments written by myself and the Dude and how those situations would probably play out in the real world. I hesitate to publish these pages, a lot of the gags are real hit and miss but I'll the gauge public interest and play it by ear.
But my second favorite post is easily Aaron Vanlieshout is POOR. That one cracks me up every time because of all those crude sketches of Aaron being poor and living in cardboard box so I thought I would revisit my Chemistry notebook for a couple more jabs at my good friend Aaron aka The Dude.
This one pretty much sums up the humor contained in my chemistry notes in a nutshell. I used to sit next to Dude in Chemistry sophomore year with Kris Kropp at the helm. We were the youngest people in class and it was kind of boring and we were also in gym class where he wore this tattered White Sox shirt so I would draw drawings like the one above because, hey, it sure beat learning stuff and it would make Dude mad.
Most of these drawings focus on poop. I hope that doesn't mean something.
This picture features a sweet drawing of Joe Barrie. The NCB stands for National Chemistry Board. This was part of a series with other famous people such as the Wu Tang Clan and Macho Man Randy Savage endorsing the NCB. It is completely nonsensical which leads me to this drawing:
I don't know why I think this is still funny but trust me, compared to some of the other weird shit I wrote at the time, this pic makes all the sense in the world.
This one is sort of an anomaly because Dude lives in a dumpster instead of a cardboard box. Those are flys buzzing by his head if you couldn't tell. You can tell I am successful in the future because I am wearing a tie, have great hair, and I am not portrayed as a stick figure.
Sometimes the Dude and I collaborated on projects such as the drawing above. Dude depicted a scene from one of the later seasons of Full House when Uncle Jesse beefed up his rock image by leaving Jesse and the Rippers and becoming The Vulture to bring a younger crowd to the Smash Club.
Don't remember that one, eh? You are very lucky. I'm ashamed that I have knowledge of that particular episode. Really ashamed. Don't get me wrong, I'm willing to wager that a lot of my peers grew up watching the trials and tribulations of the Tanner family but probably only me, Dude, and like five other people stuck it out to the bitter end of that series. I should have threw in the towel when DJ's boyfriend Steve became a featured character on the show. That guy was LAME. At least Kimmy Gibbler got hot.
But if anyone out there in internetland is interested, I have SIX PAGES of other Full House reenactments written by myself and the Dude and how those situations would probably play out in the real world. I hesitate to publish these pages, a lot of the gags are real hit and miss but I'll the gauge public interest and play it by ear.
Monday, February 08, 2010
Benny's the Big Winner!
Booyah! I made some serious bank this weekend, thank you for asking. A shout out to Drew Brees for that amazing performance, I would have been happy if you all just covered the spread but you went ahead and won the whole flippin' thing. Good for you guy. I only wish I could celebrate with you down on Bourbon Street, I'm sure it will be mardi gras squared there for at least the next couple of weeks.
I also hit a 6-7 pull tab and two of my numbers hit at the party I was at. Grand total so far...$163.
Which leaves me with my bets with Joe buds. We had about 20 different bets going on and at the end of the day, he was up on me one single dollar.
Until this morning, that is. I was reading a recap of all the ads and one winner was a Kia commercial featured a sock monkey. I had a one dollar bet that a monkey would appear in an ad before a caveman. Does a sock monkey count as a monkey? Survey says!?
Yes. A sock monkey is still a monkey, therefore our bets were back to even and I now owe Joe zero dollars. If Joe didn't call that audible at half time that Pete Townsend was going to smash his guitar, he'd still be in the money. But he got greedy and I hope he learned his lesson.
Not to change the subject, but I'm a huge fan of Bill Simmons on espn.com so I've decided that I'm going to write him an inane pop culture question every week until I get a letter posted on his page.
This week I've challenged him to name a better movie-inspired theme song than Weird Science. It's a trick question and I hope he picks up on it. A lot of people would say that the Ghostbusters theme song is the best, and that is the obvious answer but that would be incorrect. The correct answer is that there is no better theme song than Weird Science. Let's see if the Sports Guy knows his stuff. Or cares.
I also hit a 6-7 pull tab and two of my numbers hit at the party I was at. Grand total so far...$163.
Which leaves me with my bets with Joe buds. We had about 20 different bets going on and at the end of the day, he was up on me one single dollar.
Until this morning, that is. I was reading a recap of all the ads and one winner was a Kia commercial featured a sock monkey. I had a one dollar bet that a monkey would appear in an ad before a caveman. Does a sock monkey count as a monkey? Survey says!?
Yes. A sock monkey is still a monkey, therefore our bets were back to even and I now owe Joe zero dollars. If Joe didn't call that audible at half time that Pete Townsend was going to smash his guitar, he'd still be in the money. But he got greedy and I hope he learned his lesson.
Not to change the subject, but I'm a huge fan of Bill Simmons on espn.com so I've decided that I'm going to write him an inane pop culture question every week until I get a letter posted on his page.
This week I've challenged him to name a better movie-inspired theme song than Weird Science. It's a trick question and I hope he picks up on it. A lot of people would say that the Ghostbusters theme song is the best, and that is the obvious answer but that would be incorrect. The correct answer is that there is no better theme song than Weird Science. Let's see if the Sports Guy knows his stuff. Or cares.
Friday, February 05, 2010
Gamblor's Got Me By His Neon Claws
It's Super Bowl weekend and you know what that means...wacky proposition betting time with my old pal Joe Daniels.
To recap, I have basically broke even between all my fantasy leagues, pick em leagues, number pull tabs, and zany side bets with some of Green Bay's most nefarious gamblers, mainly Altmann and Vang, going into the playoffs.
I got my butt kicked though betting on the Pack against Arizona and also had 22-1 odds on the Pack winning the super bowl. Hard to say no to ANY bet with 22-1 odds but alas I am now down some unless you count the value of all the free shots I've taken during Cropsey's 2009 bar dice season but that's sort of mixing apple and oranges.
To make a long story short, I need to make some bucks this weekend in order to come out ahead for the entire year.
My first big bet is being placed as we speak by my pops who is in Vegas this weekend. For a christmas present, my dad got me a two month health insurance policy to cover me between when my last policy expired and when my new policy kicks in with my new job. But unbeknownst to me, my dad forgot to send the check so I was running around town last month with no insurance. Hahaha Dad, good prank, you really zinged me good there.
In any case, he feels bad so he's placing a $50 bet on the Saints with a 5.5 point spread. If I win that baby, I'll be all good for the season. It'll actually be a double win since I did NOT get injured and bankrupted by medical bills these past two months. My dad is a riot, what can I say.
I will update this weekend once the bets are finalized but right now, we currently have a back and forth regarding The Who's set list for the half time show. Joe has picked the last two Super Bowl set lists correctly so forgive me if I'm a little worried about this bet. He's very good. I think he either has a working relationship with Tom Petty and Bruce Springsteen or he is a gifted psychic. Or he knows how to use an internet browser.
This year we have two set list bets to spice things up. We agreed that the over/under for songs from CSI introductions is 1.5. I took the over on that one, knowing full well CBS is going to appease the CSI fanboys out there. And we both agreed that Baba O'Riley will get played since that song just kicks ass so that leaves one song to our choosing. My gut tell me Magic Bus and Joe is dead set on Who Are You but only time will tell.
More bets coming soon, if you can think of some good ones let me know. Does anyone have odds how many times Haiti and Vilma/Garcon will be mentioned together during the broadcast? My guess is a whole bunch of times.
To recap, I have basically broke even between all my fantasy leagues, pick em leagues, number pull tabs, and zany side bets with some of Green Bay's most nefarious gamblers, mainly Altmann and Vang, going into the playoffs.
I got my butt kicked though betting on the Pack against Arizona and also had 22-1 odds on the Pack winning the super bowl. Hard to say no to ANY bet with 22-1 odds but alas I am now down some unless you count the value of all the free shots I've taken during Cropsey's 2009 bar dice season but that's sort of mixing apple and oranges.
To make a long story short, I need to make some bucks this weekend in order to come out ahead for the entire year.
My first big bet is being placed as we speak by my pops who is in Vegas this weekend. For a christmas present, my dad got me a two month health insurance policy to cover me between when my last policy expired and when my new policy kicks in with my new job. But unbeknownst to me, my dad forgot to send the check so I was running around town last month with no insurance. Hahaha Dad, good prank, you really zinged me good there.
In any case, he feels bad so he's placing a $50 bet on the Saints with a 5.5 point spread. If I win that baby, I'll be all good for the season. It'll actually be a double win since I did NOT get injured and bankrupted by medical bills these past two months. My dad is a riot, what can I say.
I will update this weekend once the bets are finalized but right now, we currently have a back and forth regarding The Who's set list for the half time show. Joe has picked the last two Super Bowl set lists correctly so forgive me if I'm a little worried about this bet. He's very good. I think he either has a working relationship with Tom Petty and Bruce Springsteen or he is a gifted psychic. Or he knows how to use an internet browser.
This year we have two set list bets to spice things up. We agreed that the over/under for songs from CSI introductions is 1.5. I took the over on that one, knowing full well CBS is going to appease the CSI fanboys out there. And we both agreed that Baba O'Riley will get played since that song just kicks ass so that leaves one song to our choosing. My gut tell me Magic Bus and Joe is dead set on Who Are You but only time will tell.
More bets coming soon, if you can think of some good ones let me know. Does anyone have odds how many times Haiti and Vilma/Garcon will be mentioned together during the broadcast? My guess is a whole bunch of times.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
A Big Bucket of Dog Poop
What? You were expecting a post about relationships or something?
I don't why I think this is newsworthy but I spent a good hour this afternoon hacking at frozen pieces of dog poop with a garden hoe and then scooping them up with my handy scooper. It really sucked but at least I'm getting a small blog post out it...and I won't have to pick them up come spring when they are warm and soft and stuck in the mud and I when you grab them they make this horrific squishing sound and...ugh...guh....excuse me for a moment, I just vomited in my mouth a little thinking about it.
Anyways, I have to go wash my hands and get on with my life. Happy Sunday everyone.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Rogaine Continued...
I think a recap of my last post regarding my fear of a receding hairline can best be visualized by recalling the climatic battle in The Patriot starring Mel Gibson.
If you don’t remember, the Americans had dug their feet in the ground and were doing a damn fine job fending off the Brits because they were pissed off that Lucious Malfoy burned down their church with all the people in it. But then the Red Coats started to bring the pain for some reason and America had to retreat but this did not sit well with Mel Gibson. So Mel Gibson yells to this one guy, “Give me that flag, you jagweed!” and he starts waving around the American flag causing a frenzy and eventually the Americans come charging back and Mel Gibson bayonets Malfoy and that’s basically how the Revolutionary War was won.
So what I’m trying to say is that America is my hair, the damn Brits are my forehead, and Mel Gibson is what I want Rogaine to be.
I hope that makes sense. If it doesn’t, go back and re-read that second paragraph, but this time, imagine that Billy Madison is explaining it to you in front of a Knibb High class assembly. That trick works for me all the time.
What is the investment going to cost? Well, I found a good deal on drugstore.com for $50.00 for a 3 month supply according to the directions. But I later found out that Rogaine is supposed to be used for the top of your scalp only and there is no guarantee that it will work on your hairline. I was kind of pissed but then I read some user comments and people were swearing that it worked on the hairline but these same people also swore that it smelled like shit but I think it smells just fine so I don’t know what to believe.
In any case, I started the regime and have used less than a half bottle over three weeks since I’m only using it on my hairline and not my scalp. The hair was supposed to fall out and then grow back stronger in the first few weeks but so far it has done jack squat. I’m fine with that though. No news is good news when it comes to hair loss.
I think I’m going to keep using Rogaine regardless of what happens. At the rate I’m using it, it will only cost $100 a year and that’s pretty cheap for a little peace of mind and higher self esteem. And if I start losing the receding hair battle, at least I can say I went down swinging.
In the mean time, I’m going to quit wearing hats, start brushing my hair an hour to day to strengthen the hair follicles, and according to one ancient Egyptian hair loss remedy I found on the internet, find a virgin to rub pigeon poop on my scalp. Does anyone know a virgin with an excess supply of pigeon poop?
Actually, I stole this shirt from Frank!
If you don’t remember, the Americans had dug their feet in the ground and were doing a damn fine job fending off the Brits because they were pissed off that Lucious Malfoy burned down their church with all the people in it. But then the Red Coats started to bring the pain for some reason and America had to retreat but this did not sit well with Mel Gibson. So Mel Gibson yells to this one guy, “Give me that flag, you jagweed!” and he starts waving around the American flag causing a frenzy and eventually the Americans come charging back and Mel Gibson bayonets Malfoy and that’s basically how the Revolutionary War was won.
So what I’m trying to say is that America is my hair, the damn Brits are my forehead, and Mel Gibson is what I want Rogaine to be.
I hope that makes sense. If it doesn’t, go back and re-read that second paragraph, but this time, imagine that Billy Madison is explaining it to you in front of a Knibb High class assembly. That trick works for me all the time.
What is the investment going to cost? Well, I found a good deal on drugstore.com for $50.00 for a 3 month supply according to the directions. But I later found out that Rogaine is supposed to be used for the top of your scalp only and there is no guarantee that it will work on your hairline. I was kind of pissed but then I read some user comments and people were swearing that it worked on the hairline but these same people also swore that it smelled like shit but I think it smells just fine so I don’t know what to believe.
In any case, I started the regime and have used less than a half bottle over three weeks since I’m only using it on my hairline and not my scalp. The hair was supposed to fall out and then grow back stronger in the first few weeks but so far it has done jack squat. I’m fine with that though. No news is good news when it comes to hair loss.
I think I’m going to keep using Rogaine regardless of what happens. At the rate I’m using it, it will only cost $100 a year and that’s pretty cheap for a little peace of mind and higher self esteem. And if I start losing the receding hair battle, at least I can say I went down swinging.
In the mean time, I’m going to quit wearing hats, start brushing my hair an hour to day to strengthen the hair follicles, and according to one ancient Egyptian hair loss remedy I found on the internet, find a virgin to rub pigeon poop on my scalp. Does anyone know a virgin with an excess supply of pigeon poop?
Actually, I stole this shirt from Frank!
Monday, January 25, 2010
Let's Talk About Rogaine
So the obvious topic for tonight’s post is last night’s Vikings loss to the Saints and the possible last game of the great Brett Favre but I’m just not at a place, either emotionally or spiritually, to talk about it right now so I will maybe save that for a later time.
For a change, I will you let you decide tonight’s blog from the following categories: Flaming bags of dog poo and the human response or male pattern baldness.
Well I could write a book about the former so let’s just get into the latter.
I started a Rogaine regime about three weeks ago.
Now why I on earth would I admit to something like that to the online community, you ask? Well besides the fact that my online community only consists of like five people, I actually find it better to readily admit to these types of things as opposed to bottling it up the letting the shame fester inside of me.
I used the same rationale when I was on match.com a few years ago. A lot of people feel guilty and are embarrassed to be dating people on the interwebs but while I was a subscriber, I told everybody and their grandmother about how great it was instead of getting caught on it and having to go on the defensive about it later.
Anyways, back to the Rogaine. Truth be told, I think I have a pretty great head of hair. With the exception of this crazy cowlick that my barber always bitches about, my hair has treated me very well over the years. See example below.
Favorite pic of all time, no joke. It always makes me smile and long for a can of burger light.
But my real fear stems from this nugget of truth I gleaned from Mr. Kitsemble’s biology class freshmen year of high school. We were learning about genetics and he said that hair loss is completely hereditary. If your dad is bald, and your mother’s dad is bald, then you are sure as fuck going to be bald. Then he went off on some shit about rabbits but that’s beside the point.
I don’t know why but I believe him. And heredity is not on my side.
I tried to convince myself otherwise. I thought to myself that maybe the bald gene will skip me just like the gene that gives you blue eyes or the gene that makes you good at sports but I just can’t take the risk.
Now my game plan has always been to age gracefully but I am NOT going to be attractive bald man. Don’t get me wrong, some people can pull off the bald look. Michael Jordan, Bruce Willis, um…Professor X, maybe? Mike Servais would look weird with hair.
Well that’s about it, I think. Receding hairlines suck so I’m making a pre-emptive strike on the war on hair loss.
More on the subject later. Right now I have change into sweat pants and eat an entire gallon of ice cream with a big wooden spoon to cope with my loss from yesterday.
I retract my previous statement...this is my favorite picture of all time. Not exaggerating when I say I laugh my ass off whenever I see this classic from Chemistry class.
For a change, I will you let you decide tonight’s blog from the following categories: Flaming bags of dog poo and the human response or male pattern baldness.
Well I could write a book about the former so let’s just get into the latter.
I started a Rogaine regime about three weeks ago.
Now why I on earth would I admit to something like that to the online community, you ask? Well besides the fact that my online community only consists of like five people, I actually find it better to readily admit to these types of things as opposed to bottling it up the letting the shame fester inside of me.
I used the same rationale when I was on match.com a few years ago. A lot of people feel guilty and are embarrassed to be dating people on the interwebs but while I was a subscriber, I told everybody and their grandmother about how great it was instead of getting caught on it and having to go on the defensive about it later.
Anyways, back to the Rogaine. Truth be told, I think I have a pretty great head of hair. With the exception of this crazy cowlick that my barber always bitches about, my hair has treated me very well over the years. See example below.
Favorite pic of all time, no joke. It always makes me smile and long for a can of burger light.
But my real fear stems from this nugget of truth I gleaned from Mr. Kitsemble’s biology class freshmen year of high school. We were learning about genetics and he said that hair loss is completely hereditary. If your dad is bald, and your mother’s dad is bald, then you are sure as fuck going to be bald. Then he went off on some shit about rabbits but that’s beside the point.
I don’t know why but I believe him. And heredity is not on my side.
I tried to convince myself otherwise. I thought to myself that maybe the bald gene will skip me just like the gene that gives you blue eyes or the gene that makes you good at sports but I just can’t take the risk.
Now my game plan has always been to age gracefully but I am NOT going to be attractive bald man. Don’t get me wrong, some people can pull off the bald look. Michael Jordan, Bruce Willis, um…Professor X, maybe? Mike Servais would look weird with hair.
Well that’s about it, I think. Receding hairlines suck so I’m making a pre-emptive strike on the war on hair loss.
More on the subject later. Right now I have change into sweat pants and eat an entire gallon of ice cream with a big wooden spoon to cope with my loss from yesterday.
I retract my previous statement...this is my favorite picture of all time. Not exaggerating when I say I laugh my ass off whenever I see this classic from Chemistry class.
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