by King Brody
The opening ten years of this century were my first as a truly active film enthusiast. Just as powder blue uniforms are always tops (Houston Oilers, UNC, Manchester City) so are these two score celluloid masterpieces (of varying degree). To be clear, this is not a "best of " list, rather it is a compilation of the films I saw (all apologies to Pan's Labrynth, City of God, Amores Perros, Talk to Her, The Bourne series, and an untold number of supremely worthy movies from Asian film makers) and cared enough about to scribble down on a legal pad on a rainy saturday morning.
41. No Country For Old Men
This failed to crack my top forty only because I was obnoxious enough to read the book before seeing the movie. Therefore, I knew everything going in and could only truly enjoy the performances and cinematography. Javier was brilliant as were Tommy Lee and Brolin, but the power of No Country for me was within it's bleak outlook and strong ending; both of which suggest evil reigns supreme.
40. Miami Vice
Action! Guns! Drugs! Mojitos!
39. The Rules of Attraction
All of Ellis's films translate well to film. After this movie Biel started to look a bit too manish for me. Fred Savage's performance is noteworthy.
38. A.I.
Has some of Kubrick's signature detachment
37. The Incredibles
36. Almost Famous
Jimmy Fallon? Yes.
35. A Beautiful Mind
34. Southland Tales
33. Black Hawk Down
32. 40 Year Old Virgin
31. Vanilla Sky
30. I Heart Huckabees
29. Babel
28. Batman Begins
27. Brick
26. The Dark Knight
25. American Splendor
24. American Psycho
23. Adaptation
22. The Life Aquatic
21. The Squid and the Whale
20. Kill Bill, Vol. 1
19. Amelie
18. Donnie Darko
17. Whale Rider
16. Waking Life
15. You Can Count On Me
14. In Bruges
13. 21 Grams
12. Wonder Boys
11. Brokeback Mountain
10. 25th Hour
9. Traffic
8. The Royal Tenenbaums
7. Zodiac
6. The New World
5. Memento
4. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
3. The Lord of the Rings Trilogy
2. Mulholland Drive
1. The Lives of Others
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Sunday, November 15, 2009
King Brody Assassinates Teddy Roosevelt...Almost - How THE UNFORTUNATES Saved College Football
by Idaho Chubbs (Thanks Chuck)
THWWWAAKKK!!! A tight fist of pent-up government sponsored bicep vein connected with my meager cheek bone as I failed to corral my friend King as he attempted a swan dive he had perfected off of a bar room table late one Indian-Summer like Saturday evening in The Fall of 1909. The pain regurgitated through my eye-sockets as I fell to the floor, blurring my vision while witnessing (seemingly in slow-motion) Brody land his vengeful blow on none other than the robust and heartily mustached face of The President of The United States, Theodore Roosevelt. They landed on the floor in such a way that left King straddling The President, leaving him vulnerable to Brody's repeated blows aimed at his G.K. Chesterton-like mid-section. Mind you all of this happened in a split of a split second. The last time I had seen King move that fast was when he won a gold medal in the shuttle run at the second Olympiad in Athens.
The Secret Service was on us like the 2008 USC defense, melding my bruised face to the rich mahagony -planked floor that we had just been standing on, and enjoying, a moment before. "HOW DARE YOU CANCEL FOOTBALL!!!" YOU ARE AN IGNORANT FOOL!!! Brody drunkenly decried. "AND TO THINK, I ENABLED YOUR PRESIDENCY(1)!!! Sincere dread permeated my chest, perspiration seeped through the base of the follicles of hair resting right above my forehead. I stared at King as though he had stabbed me with the frozen vodka icicle Jack Lalane had used to murder Dr. Pedro which T2000 had then in-turn used to assassinate Lalane. Brody quickly realized his folly and quit struggling. The President slowly rose, hurt and terribly confused, "Who are you!? What is the meaning of this!? Take these two rapscallions to jail! he bellowed. "Wait!...wait", I said, "Please, my friend here has just indulged his sweet Nectar tooth with too many spirits this sorrowful night. For we came to Pasadena today for the same reason you did---to witness the rousing National Football Championship Match between the Hawaii Rainbow Brodys and your Harvard Crimson; only to find out that you are canceling college football, citing it as a criminal endeavor." "It tis true," Roosevelt replied, with tears welling up in his ducts. "After the passing of the thirty-three men this Fall, I had no choice. The game has become incredibly violent and my advisors and I do not have an answer on how to prevent such tragedy, yet keep the integrity of the sport intact. A truly sad day, but I see no way around it." Sheepishly, King spoke up, "Mr. President, I beseech you to reconsider. I also seek your forgiveness most humbly for my ignorant strike against you. I am terribly sorry for letting my emotions cloud my good and proper judgement. You can lock me up if you want, but please sir, do not do this, do not cancel this wonderful game. For if you will allow, I think I have the answer to our problem." Roosevelt studied Brody with suspicious delight, saying, "I accept your apology young sir, for I understand what the love of such a thing can do to something so delicate as the emotion of one self. To love something is a wondrous joy, but when that is taken away, your brain can serve as a grenade, exploding its lethal shrapnel in every direction, leaving nothing but construction-paper sadness." King and I suddenly looked at each other with befuddlement. The President smiled, "...and no one would want that. Now tell me, how can we keep this game afloat? A confused but confident King replied, "Legalize the forward pass. It will be the best innovation anyone has ever done for anything ever." Roosevelt looked hopeful when hearing this, his men released us, and we strolled to his car with three flagons of Nectar, settling in for the short trip that would take us to the game we had just helped save.
(1) During the presidency of William McKinley, approximately twenty years before the incident above, THE UNFORTUNATES had shared a strong disagreement with the annexation of Hawaii which interfered with their work in founding the University of Hawaii several years before it's original inception. By doing so they hypothesized that the football team would eventually have a stronger tradition by having Hawaiians play football earlier in history. Hence with sed tradition, Hawaiian players would not only stay local instead of going to USC and Notre Dame, but players of all ethnicities would flock to the crystal watered shores of this mountainous paradise for the next hundred years; therefore causing The Rainbow Brodys to have the amount of National Championships and Heisman Trophy winners that The Trojans and Fighting Irish originally had by the year 2010. Having Hawaii become apart of The USA so soon would have put a ton of red tape between THE UNFORTUNATES and the fulfillment of their quest. Judging from the annexation and seeing that Vice-President Roosevelt was a tremendous and devout fan of the sport, they decided, that their only choice was to facilitate his rise to The Presidency ASAP (unbeknownst to him?). T2000 found Leon Czologosz, psychologically massaged his anarchical tendencies and the rest is history...for now.
THWWWAAKKK!!! A tight fist of pent-up government sponsored bicep vein connected with my meager cheek bone as I failed to corral my friend King as he attempted a swan dive he had perfected off of a bar room table late one Indian-Summer like Saturday evening in The Fall of 1909. The pain regurgitated through my eye-sockets as I fell to the floor, blurring my vision while witnessing (seemingly in slow-motion) Brody land his vengeful blow on none other than the robust and heartily mustached face of The President of The United States, Theodore Roosevelt. They landed on the floor in such a way that left King straddling The President, leaving him vulnerable to Brody's repeated blows aimed at his G.K. Chesterton-like mid-section. Mind you all of this happened in a split of a split second. The last time I had seen King move that fast was when he won a gold medal in the shuttle run at the second Olympiad in Athens.
The Secret Service was on us like the 2008 USC defense, melding my bruised face to the rich mahagony -planked floor that we had just been standing on, and enjoying, a moment before. "HOW DARE YOU CANCEL FOOTBALL!!!" YOU ARE AN IGNORANT FOOL!!! Brody drunkenly decried. "AND TO THINK, I ENABLED YOUR PRESIDENCY(1)!!! Sincere dread permeated my chest, perspiration seeped through the base of the follicles of hair resting right above my forehead. I stared at King as though he had stabbed me with the frozen vodka icicle Jack Lalane had used to murder Dr. Pedro which T2000 had then in-turn used to assassinate Lalane. Brody quickly realized his folly and quit struggling. The President slowly rose, hurt and terribly confused, "Who are you!? What is the meaning of this!? Take these two rapscallions to jail! he bellowed. "Wait!...wait", I said, "Please, my friend here has just indulged his sweet Nectar tooth with too many spirits this sorrowful night. For we came to Pasadena today for the same reason you did---to witness the rousing National Football Championship Match between the Hawaii Rainbow Brodys and your Harvard Crimson; only to find out that you are canceling college football, citing it as a criminal endeavor." "It tis true," Roosevelt replied, with tears welling up in his ducts. "After the passing of the thirty-three men this Fall, I had no choice. The game has become incredibly violent and my advisors and I do not have an answer on how to prevent such tragedy, yet keep the integrity of the sport intact. A truly sad day, but I see no way around it." Sheepishly, King spoke up, "Mr. President, I beseech you to reconsider. I also seek your forgiveness most humbly for my ignorant strike against you. I am terribly sorry for letting my emotions cloud my good and proper judgement. You can lock me up if you want, but please sir, do not do this, do not cancel this wonderful game. For if you will allow, I think I have the answer to our problem." Roosevelt studied Brody with suspicious delight, saying, "I accept your apology young sir, for I understand what the love of such a thing can do to something so delicate as the emotion of one self. To love something is a wondrous joy, but when that is taken away, your brain can serve as a grenade, exploding its lethal shrapnel in every direction, leaving nothing but construction-paper sadness." King and I suddenly looked at each other with befuddlement. The President smiled, "...and no one would want that. Now tell me, how can we keep this game afloat? A confused but confident King replied, "Legalize the forward pass. It will be the best innovation anyone has ever done for anything ever." Roosevelt looked hopeful when hearing this, his men released us, and we strolled to his car with three flagons of Nectar, settling in for the short trip that would take us to the game we had just helped save.
(1) During the presidency of William McKinley, approximately twenty years before the incident above, THE UNFORTUNATES had shared a strong disagreement with the annexation of Hawaii which interfered with their work in founding the University of Hawaii several years before it's original inception. By doing so they hypothesized that the football team would eventually have a stronger tradition by having Hawaiians play football earlier in history. Hence with sed tradition, Hawaiian players would not only stay local instead of going to USC and Notre Dame, but players of all ethnicities would flock to the crystal watered shores of this mountainous paradise for the next hundred years; therefore causing The Rainbow Brodys to have the amount of National Championships and Heisman Trophy winners that The Trojans and Fighting Irish originally had by the year 2010. Having Hawaii become apart of The USA so soon would have put a ton of red tape between THE UNFORTUNATES and the fulfillment of their quest. Judging from the annexation and seeing that Vice-President Roosevelt was a tremendous and devout fan of the sport, they decided, that their only choice was to facilitate his rise to The Presidency ASAP (unbeknownst to him?). T2000 found Leon Czologosz, psychologically massaged his anarchical tendencies and the rest is history...for now.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Nightmare on Herbstreit VI: The Appalachian Trail
by Idaho Chubbs (ghost-written by Grady Tripp)
Granite palpitaions are riding Pegasaus' heart strings into the internal spectrum of Odysseus. What can I say? Penelope won't you be mine despite BLOW's disappointment? AAAAAAhhhhhh the mind folds are being turned inside out. Mucus fills the lungs and carreses them in a honey-dew serum that will soon kill me thanks to the cartons of "Tebow Candy Sticks" I have been inhaling this long sojourn---"Is Facebook dying?" Tut exclaimed. "Everything takes FOREVER to load. I can't even get SPORTS scores! I swear, I'm going to hurl this computer across the space time continuum until into smashes into Orien's Belt."
Granite palpitaions are riding Pegasaus' heart strings into the internal spectrum of Odysseus. What can I say? Penelope won't you be mine despite BLOW's disappointment? AAAAAAhhhhhh the mind folds are being turned inside out. Mucus fills the lungs and carreses them in a honey-dew serum that will soon kill me thanks to the cartons of "Tebow Candy Sticks" I have been inhaling this long sojourn---"Is Facebook dying?" Tut exclaimed. "Everything takes FOREVER to load. I can't even get SPORTS scores! I swear, I'm going to hurl this computer across the space time continuum until into smashes into Orien's Belt."
Polymer soaked duckbills tear at my soul's intestines. This journey hath wrought great pain to my compatriot and me; King Tut lost his wi-fi connection, and I couldn't get myself drunk enough to numb the burning ulcer of depression, longing, self-reflection, and the Hurricane's loss to Clemson the weekend before. It has been three months since "The Minotaur Incident". My sessions with Jung and Freud had gone well enough, but something was lacking; I yearned for some sort of clarity that had eluded me in that psychological forum. A conclusion was reached that I should hike the Appalachian Trail; the outdoors, the exercise, the absence of technology (especially time-travel), the melding of one with nature to truly find oneself. I had worked construction a few years back on The Tower of Babel and the forman of our crew, Jeremy, informed me that he had done the same thing with some frat buddies after they graduated college. The experience worked wonders with his psyche, although he discovered mid-trek (through people he met on the trail) that the reason they had strapped on this adventure was to find the wondrous and elusive Temple of Berg (as in Peter) which contained a single golf glove he had used while playing a nine hole round with "The Great One".
So I grabbed my camping gear, loaded up the Delorean with plenty of rations, drove to August of 2009, pulled Tut, not-so willingly, out of his first semester at Bard (telling the school it was a "family matter"), and we set out on The Appalachian Trail to find ourselves, and just maybe, the ancient Temple of Berg, for what awaits us (fingers crossed) is nothing short of glorious suicidal dreams that dance across the milky way, hoping, for one brief mili-second, to be reborn in death, but still, not die.
"Get ahold of yourself Tut." I said, "The trappings of modern technology have made you lazy and obnoxious. Man, some-fucking-times I really regret saving you from getting murdered and overthrown. I saw your three thousand year-old corpse my first go-around with time-travel and it was not pretty...except for all the gold and jewels---Anyway, just be patient, I want to see if USC and the Yankees won just as much as you do." Just as these words escaped my mouth, Tut spotted a Starbucks, which by some miracle, was not a mirage. Despite our weary state we made haste towards the internet/sports/coffee beacon of hope.
HUDSON! HUDSON! HUDSON!, INSTANT REPLAY! INSTANT REPLAY! INSTANT REPLAY! A-Rod breaks out of his World Series slump and smashes a camera all at the same time. Cole Hamels, go hump a cheese-steak! Is Hideki Matsui the most sinister looking dude ever? I bet he's really a nice guy; much like Sato is at the end of Karate Kid II (MIIIYAAAGGGIII!!!). Hey refs in the Iowa/Indiana game, over-turning a call involves conclusive evidence. Every other human being in the galaxy understands that except you! They were both touchdowns in my mind, too bad the Hoosiers tanked it to keep Iowa undefeated. Everything about the Big Ten is disgusting, except for the font of the word "Illinois" on the "The Fighting Illini's" helmets. Tate Forcier is officially not a "true" freshman, or maybe he is? It can go both ways can't it? Well, he's young. The SEC is a little less gross judging from Florida's performance against Georgia. Or maybe it's just the Gators who are less deplorable. Watching Tim Tebow play is weird--he runs over everybody, does whatever he wants, even THROWS for touchdowns, and all I think is, "Is this guy even a good athlete? I'll be so surprised if anyone drafts him". On second thought the SEC is still ugly due only impart to Georgia's black helmet, red face-mask combo and Tennessee's black jerseys. They may have slaughtered South Carolina, but what the fuck made them want be an uglier looking team than the Oregon Ducks? Which brings me to the USC/Oregon game. The Ducks have about ten million different uniform combinations that when seen, make you want to commit suicide ten million different ways. But I'm sure the designers get loads of praise at Fashion Week. Despite their questionable androgeny, the Pygar-looking-Bowsers pasted the prickly Trojans, racking up 613 yards of total offense handing them their worst loss since Hades beat Olympus back in the 60's. The quarterback, Jeremiah Masoli (a community college transfer), and "False Freshman" running-back LaMichael James, who are both about 5'9" 105 pounds, used and abused the vaunted, "look how many pro prospects we have" USC defense, doing whatever, running wherever they pleased. The Trojans "D" looked like a DIII team the size of DI team getting mauled by a DI team that is the size of a DIII team. Hey Taylor Mays, you are suppose to wrap when you tackle. You are a shame to the Jewish faith, you are over-rated, and you are a softy. I am personally going to go back in time and revoke your Bar Mitzvah. Maybe Boise State (who beat Oregon), Cincinnati, and The Hawkeyes can win a National Championship. Anything is possible. It's time for a playoff system NCAA, and instant replay loves A-Rod. Hopefully the MLB will love it one day too.
Refreshed and motivated by our toasty caramel macchiatos and SPORTS, King Tut and I set out into the depths of the wild, in search for "The Temple of Berg", but more importantly, for the spiritual nutrients that will give our souls meaning in this uncertain existence.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Nightmare on Herbstreit V: Football Sculpting with Michelangelo and Chubbs
by Idaho Chubbs
Whenever I'm in the city of Boston, the foul smells take me back to the time I resided in Florence, and happy Nostalgia floods my cerebellum. This happens because it was the first and coolest city I've ever lived in. I was there to craft my skills as an artist at Lorenzo de Medici's patron school. I met a young man by the name of "Brody" Buanarroti whose creative skill was unmatched, and we became fast friends. He introduced me to the seductive club scene of ANDROMEDA and SPACE ELECTRONICA. And I introduced him to Brodarian Rules College Football and Project Runway. Are we soul-mates or what? Speaking of Runway, where has Oregon uniform highlights been lately? Since we were in 15th Century Firenze it was quite a Herculean task to stay up-to-date with scores and highlights. Thank the good gods for my "delorean-time travel application" on my iphone!
The SSSSSSSSLLLLLLLLLOOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRR!!!! Award goes to the top three teams in the country. Yay, you can all play really gooooood defense but you can't score worth a pigeon's droppings on The Piazza della Signoria. Alabama 20, South Carolina 6 / Texas 16, Oklahoma 13 (gross, nice knowing you Bradford, but I am pleased to have a little more crushed shoulder bone in my BYU Bradford Panini). Florida 16, Arkansas 13 --- EWWWW, GROSSSS!!!---The Gators are the new 2001 Ravens, except Baltimore had a QB who could pass, never won a Heisman Trophy, and never helped Gabriel Battistuta (He's so dreamy-- and INTENSE) build housing for the under-priviledged children in war-torn Shelter Island. Did anyone see the Arkansas QB Ryan Mallet!? Holy Hercules and Cacus! He is the QB version of Mordrid's Minotaur!!! He makes Colossus look like me...compared to Colossus. While Tim Tebow is working at a nursing home and building construction paper huts for underpriviliged demons in Hades, Mallet will be winning five Super Bowls a year.
Speaking of Badinelli's aforementioned sculpture the USC Brodys defeated The Notre Dame Fighting "Maybe Brodys Some Time Soon?" for about the eighth time in row. Like Brody Buanarroti points out, not only does this sculpture capture the complete essence of the relationship between these two football teams, it was also the pose that Badinelli (Caucus) struck with Donatello (Hercules) in a pic from last weekend when we all danced up a frenzy at club "Dolce Zucchero" (you can see more pics on Lorenzo's facebook page). Despite the win I still think the Trojans are kind of disgusting and have they no players that can run Usain Bolt 40 times anymore? What gives? Will we ever see Gale Sayers/undergraduate Reggie Bush again?
Well, that's it from Buanarroti and me, we have to go meet with some guy named DAVID so Brody can do some mock-up sketches for a new sculpture he's working on. And then I have to travel forward through time this afternoon to present day Boston so I can reminisce about what I just experienced in the past.....AGAIN---ZUUUUUUUUULLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Gosling Defeats Boston (Happy Halloween Microsoft Heath)
by Idaho Chubbs
Speed kills...and I like it. I came down to Hades for a really good show tonight, and boy did the shrill siren song of elementary school vocals SLAY. "Whoa oh oh, whoa oh oh" (sing-song) "Little shop, little shop of horrors, bop shoo bop, you'll never stop the terror" (sing-song).....It's amusing seeing a world famous celebrity play a venue that "The Throwbacks" have played a million times before. The blinding light of painful joy shined down on me as I strode to the bar to pick up a Nectar. Avast yee Britney! flirted yea hostile with me as I tried to procure the savory liquid. I (Chubbs) brushed against her Exeter material t-shirt and cast her aside not realizing her flirtation. As the Nectar flew to my parched throat I realized she was most fetching and was attempting to (in the fleet of a Clausen's mind-eye) gain my attention. My bearded cheek bones (filled with granite Kevlar) paid no mind, but my gleeful ego was born anew for a brief moment….and then it was gone. I recovered by seeing Jezebel's smile and settled in to the froth of the crowd. The whole night seemed like an obtuse dichotomy that swept me into a Halloween coma; yet made me sure that I was not doing enough in life. Seeing "Half Nelson" a first down away from me, made realize that I really needed an Oscar nomination to experiment and have strangers cheer for my indulgences. The sound was the quality of Sloor and there were many humans that did not appreciate the soulful mix of dark depression + The Mickey Mouse Club. But the music was fun and raw. I danced, I sang, I shifted my hips into Cha-terunga pose. I even found a lavatory in Hades that catered to me. Art is an anomaly, and as my bevy of Britneys waited for Gosling to show afterwards (even though they didn't care?); I realized that we all have to become famous...just a little bit. We all have to pay our dues in Sloor dance troops and find our way into Space Mountain's production of "Remember The Titans". Then....andddd...only then can we cross into the realm of success and be independently (film, music, writing, art) happy. "You'll be a dennntisttt--you'll be a dentist--you'll have the TALENT for causing people PAIN---PAIN!!!" (sing-song)
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Nightmare on Herbstreit IV: Tebow: An Old Friend
by King Brody
There once was a man named Charlie,
Drinking he was good at hardly.
Living in Mass, he once taught a class,
But now he imbibes like an ass.
October had started with nary a noise,
But lately these pills had challenged my poise.
And watching "The Hills" all alone under covers
Caused all of my friends (even his brothers!)
To call out loudly to all of our lovers:
"This guy on this blog has one giant schlong!
Hey Michigan guy, pass me that bong!"
Atomic attacks, there have been two. Too many? I say no. For tonight in Smithtown a third should have been ordered. Like a missing cover letter from an Epsco application, a nuclear warhead failed to land at Ants Marching's (a DMB tribute band) latest performance. Electric issues aside, this sonic abortion rendered all in attendance deaf with rage, especially those of us attempting to watch four college football games and USA v. Honduras highlights on ESPN News HD. Imagine a Kappa Sig party but with more baseball hats and yeast infections. I tried to watch SNL with no audio, something I attempted 8 years earlier at an adjacent bar, but Drew made me question my universal attraction to females. This time she wasn't fake-marrying Tom Green, instead she was Justin-not Jake-(Long)-carrying a vomit show.
Back to the games: The Buffalo's will soldier on after this week, the Rebels (Ole Miss) are without a cause, and fuck you BC, VA Tech just spanked you INSIDE your ass! Alabama? You're not that good. At all. You are a 1990's NFC East team without an all-time great back or Lawrence Taylor.
Tebow won't win the Heisman, but his boy JC will: Jimmy Clausen.
There once was a man named Charlie,
Drinking he was good at hardly.
Living in Mass, he once taught a class,
But now he imbibes like an ass.
October had started with nary a noise,
But lately these pills had challenged my poise.
And watching "The Hills" all alone under covers
Caused all of my friends (even his brothers!)
To call out loudly to all of our lovers:
"This guy on this blog has one giant schlong!
Hey Michigan guy, pass me that bong!"
Atomic attacks, there have been two. Too many? I say no. For tonight in Smithtown a third should have been ordered. Like a missing cover letter from an Epsco application, a nuclear warhead failed to land at Ants Marching's (a DMB tribute band) latest performance. Electric issues aside, this sonic abortion rendered all in attendance deaf with rage, especially those of us attempting to watch four college football games and USA v. Honduras highlights on ESPN News HD. Imagine a Kappa Sig party but with more baseball hats and yeast infections. I tried to watch SNL with no audio, something I attempted 8 years earlier at an adjacent bar, but Drew made me question my universal attraction to females. This time she wasn't fake-marrying Tom Green, instead she was Justin-not Jake-(Long)-carrying a vomit show.
Back to the games: The Buffalo's will soldier on after this week, the Rebels (Ole Miss) are without a cause, and fuck you BC, VA Tech just spanked you INSIDE your ass! Alabama? You're not that good. At all. You are a 1990's NFC East team without an all-time great back or Lawrence Taylor.
Tebow won't win the Heisman, but his boy JC will: Jimmy Clausen.
Ha! Pog.
by King Brody
Cool drenched dreams and a night with the Fantastiks! Five o'clock came early Friday, travel north, travel north! To TV and ale and mostly Italian women! 'Tis to the Great American Sports Bar we journey; prepare to sit alone and stare. Good seats are still available. Baseball's on tap and no one cares more than our strapping hero. Japanese engineering gets him there quicker, hurry up unsuspecting women and swallow down your liquor. He's coming, he's closer, he's wetting his hair. He jumps, he claps, he stares with foul rotten eyes. "The Fountainhead's my bible," he roared, "Yankees win, Yankees win. C'mon Sox I'll be here waiting."
College football recap to come.
Cool drenched dreams and a night with the Fantastiks! Five o'clock came early Friday, travel north, travel north! To TV and ale and mostly Italian women! 'Tis to the Great American Sports Bar we journey; prepare to sit alone and stare. Good seats are still available. Baseball's on tap and no one cares more than our strapping hero. Japanese engineering gets him there quicker, hurry up unsuspecting women and swallow down your liquor. He's coming, he's closer, he's wetting his hair. He jumps, he claps, he stares with foul rotten eyes. "The Fountainhead's my bible," he roared, "Yankees win, Yankees win. C'mon Sox I'll be here waiting."
College football recap to come.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
King Brody, Tesla fallout, 1645
by King Brody
Following an uproarious dinner celebrating Michigan State's victory over Penn in the 1978 Final Four with John Smith, T2000, Larry Bird, Johnny Bench, and Red Grange, King, after imbibing too much homemade hooch and Nectar, decided to tell a recently penned joke involving three of his friends. Having just seen Irving "Magic" Johnson dominate Ivy League two guards half his size for forty minutes, Brody concocted an off color joke so delicious it had to be told post haste. However, unbeknownst to King, Tesla was standing right behind him (donning a Katzenmoyer jersey of course) when he asked the members of his table, "What do AZT, Rasputin, and Tesla have in common? Puzzled, Larry Bird quipped aloud, "What's AZT?" to which King responded "Sshhhh!" Sensing an inappropriate, room-clearing punchline, the remaining members of King's table hurriedly dispersed without being noticed. King's attention had momentarily been shifted to his ringing iPhone which was blaring the latest Dead Man's Bones single "Almost Kate Hudson." On the other line was Princess Di (who King had begun referring to in certain circles as "Princess Dead") and King decided not to answer; instead he revealed to his now empty table that he was working on putting together a Ryan Gosling tribute band tentatively called "Where's my nomination?" With only Tesla listening, King now uttered the answer to his previous query. "They only work on black Magic!" Tesla instantly decried, "I am a man of science, not magic!" King responded by throwing a Hutch football at Tesla's temple, resulting in Tesla summoning his black magic powers to revive himself. The Hutch, a gift given to King by Farrah Fawcett on her wedding day, landed in the diving outstretched arms of a late arriving Al Toon. When he came to, Tesla remarked, "Where's my Vrabel jersey?"
Time Travel Reminisces (with Idaho & King)
“The Minotaur Affair”
By Idaho Chubbs
"We'll make great pets, we'll make great pets, we'll make great pets, we'll make great pets." The Minotaur would never resort to such indulgent musings. We would strictly be sexually organic carbs for him to feast upon. Brody meat is so outrageously expensive at Whole Foods. Sloor is a lot cheaper of course, which you can get at any Safeway, Vons, Finast…even Ralph's. Hmmm…I could really use some Glob right now; that would really make me happy. “Prince, can you and The Mighty Doorock procure some for me? Splendid!!! Ahhh but I digress…much; fear not my fair Colossus! Do not be jealous of the Minotaur’s prowess for flesh eating and maze jumping, for you can surely best him in deep-dish pizza consumption, epic story-telling and guitar slaying. So rest your weary cubiclean bones my brethren and settle in for an excerpt from some time travel delight and wonder about The Minotaur and Mordrid, the wicked wizard who put us asunder. …or rather, the opposite of that.
6th Century A.D. Britain: I had developed a not so private relationship with Mordrid's ex-girlfriend Clytemnestra during our elongated visit in Camelot. King and Prince were there doing research for Tesla, but I was just along for the ride so I had free time to pursue some extracurricular activity. We made a good wage by serving as the band for King Oothur (Arthur's father) and his high court. Even when Brody and Tebow had finished their work, I had no intention of leaving right away due to my wonder-lust. Mordrid had never gotten over his ex. The evil wizard uncovered our love and despite Merlin and Arthur's help, he was able convert our souls (by sprinkling fermented Nectar dust over our eyes) into the great form of the lusty wench Heidi from the hit show THE HILLS (Merlin loves Audrina) and dispatched this lithe creature into the Minotaur's realm to be devoured in every possible way imaginable. The only reason we survived was because T2000 seduced Merlin (going all cylon #6 on him) as his ex, got our where-abouts, and rescued us last minute. We got cured by Merlin and all four of us returned to the 1920s where we are all, obviously, in therapy now; splitting time with Freud and Jung. Ugh, it will be a while before the guys forgive me for that one.
“Wormholes, Phone-booths, Res Geste, Oh My!" - A Response to Idaho.
By King Brody
Lest you forget IC, you fully redeemed yourself by bribing T2000 with the first batch of Brody nectar (c.1986), a game-worn Gretzky jersey from the '83 Stanley Cup (Isles sweep btw, suck it Wayne), and a one night stand with Mordrid. T was so pleased he allowed you to borrow the phone booth from Bill and Ted and the wormhole from Donnie Darko. Your selflessness prevailed Chubbs, and you bestowed both time travel vessels on your partners in crime. Teebs chose the booth and, for reasons still deemed to puzzling to figure, traveled back to Temecula, California 1993-94 and took the form of a wiry, long haired, obnoxious lacrosse player. For two years he dominated the scene becoming somewhat of a local sensation. Local press clippings from the time reveal that he was desired by both men, women, and machine, and had little regard for the opposition and the English language. "I just find holes in the defense and put in in real quick" was the lone quote attributed to Tebow at this time, found in a leather bound tome entitled Res Geste. My wormhole journey was much more riveting, for I ended up in Coram, 1985, helping the future President of the Galaxy design construction paper collages depicting various battle scenes from video games and television shows about video games. He taught me everything I needed to know, from Caleco Vision to Don Mattingly to why he was always wearing a Tony Dorsett jersey. This meeting provided me with all the knowledge I needed to bring Og Thor to his knees the next time we do battle. Plus, I can now show my many amigos how to artfully depict the famous battle between Mario and Donkey Kong Junior.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Nightmare on Herbstreit (Brodys 21, Sloors 20)
by Idaho Chubbs
It was a sallow orange rainbow that permeated my being, that beautiful yellow deliciousness gave my mind peace when I saw that majestic sunset that sweet early evening. I had just embarked on a journey with my best brody Peter. Catching fish was our main game. We didn't care about SPORTS talk, spirituality or suicide. We caught bass, salmon, sword-fish, tuna, dolphin, everything. The next day JC took us away from all at.
Five years later: Jesus Christ said to me, "Idaho, you're friend Peter seems like a total flake." I said, Jesus, "He is a total flake but the dude has totally gotten into college football, which is a distraction. I mean, why do you think he couldn't totally walk to you on water?" JC had no clue. I said, because he was nervous about the Miami/Oklahoma game! Christ understood and gave me his Vegas bets for the next weekend. I said, "YOU, YAWEH like Miami again?" He said, "Idaho I fucking designed "THE "U""annnnd Jacory's hair is my Brian Bozzworth wet dream. CHE-CHE-CHE-CHEMONA!!!!!!
Michigan lost! Is Forcier for real? The Fighting Irish escaped another well fought match in overtime. It was probably one of the best college football games ever but it didn't even distract King from doing his daily crunches (did I mention he can do a thousand now?). Apparently Casey Clausen is the new JC; but Jesus begs to differ. FUCKING BRODY dreads rule my life with that orange and dark aqua.....MIIIIAAAAMIIII!!! squeaked the win over Dirty Laundry Jones. This basically happened because Laundry had a cheesy stash go-t combo and Jacory's hair made JC jealous. Apparently my boy Barkely (USC QB) nursed his injury with an Olsen twin and AKON. My friend Heath doesn't really recommend that. Jahvid Best...isn't...at all. Goodbye liberal Bears, Cal disappoints again. Alabama is a mirage and will be exposed Sooner or Locker (dude that penalty last year was fucking bullshit)...there goes my brain (Ryan Gosling can you just for once disappoint my girlfriend Jezebel?) Gosling you motherfucker, I'm better looking than you, just lacking that Oscar nod. "That just made 'my list of things to do' today". OR....a Heisman Trophy. JC's hoping for Jacory. Mary Magdelene told me, "You see Jesus's Jacory hair? I his LAST TEMPTATION.............DAFOE THRUSTS!!!
Thursday, October 1, 2009
WELCOME!
by Idaho Chubbs
In a realm before existence existed, before GOD/Zeus/Pac-Man Jones (he/she/it/me/you hasn't always been there. Wrap your mind around THAT!) knew how to burp up their mother's milk (no Frusciante intended). Before caffeine was used as a stimulant, before cocaine was unhealthy, before Otto Von Bismark made scars stylish in Prussia, before King Tutt's Facebook page, before Hades, before Olympus, before a world full of regret, happiness, depression, uncertainty, stock-brokers, rock-stars, artists, fun times in the Middle-East, and ponzi-scheme martyrs, there were....THE UNFORTUNATES! Deloreans solve so many existential problems in-betted in the every day psyche. We are not unstuck in time like our "unfortunate" amigo Billy Pilgrim. We, Prince Tebow, King Brody, Idaho Chubbs and our other Bard alumni have a choice to change our destiny and YOURS. Like my good friend Thomas (Voltaire's formidable understudy) once told me, "I have known joy in peculiar moments, unearned and sudden." Such is life and such is time travel. Come join this merry band of Misfits of Science (Courtney Cox is a cougar NOW?) as we traverse the literary fiction/Nectar-soaked/multi-dimension-space-time-continuum, sharing our trials, tribulations, love of college football, self suicide, political assassinations of the extreme left and right (let's kill the middle too for kicks) and Bergman films made out of Lego construction paper sadness; playing our brand of music that you've always loved yet never heard before. You might hate it at first but then, suddenly, without any sort of logical comprehension....You'll LOVE IT!
Ravioli Does Austin?
Prince's version of the story is that he got wasted on Tebows and Sloor mucus, drove the time machine drunk, and somehow ended up in a present day lake in Austin, Texas almost crashing into Lady Ravioli and Dirty Laundry doing "The Delicate Knit Cycle" (don't know what this means) in the "friscalating dusklight" of the saddlecock. He decided, "why... not?" and joined them in their nipple grabbing merriment, then got dressed, and hit the town to see U2 open up for us,THE UNFORTUNATES, in another version (dimension) of Austin, where The SXSW Festival was taking place. It's really cool to watch yourself perform, live. I did it back in Pompeii one time, when Floyd opened up for us.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Idaho to Host 2010 Oscars (by force?)
by Idaho ChubbsThe grill is hot and the Nectar is luke, just like King likes it. "Wise and silent, waiting for some one to love me, waiting for someone to kiss me, I'm fifteen years old and I feel like it's already too late to live, don't you?" Graveyard girl, graveyard girl, oh won't you be mine. No not Megan Fox, although her pallor is quite adequate for a graveyard these days as well as the entire cast of SNL (Wiig I think you've outgrown it Gillie). I wonder what kind of life I would be leading if I thought it was too late to live it as a teenager? Alas I was too busy with girls, sports and time travel (no wait, that was King, minus the girls and SPORTS). At least he was able to send construction paper cut-outs of lego creations inspired by characters from the movie "Forget Paris" through time via a matchbox Delorean. But I digress....."Prince! Quick my liege, max the flux capacitor to Zion level. We're taking this hunk of metal deliciousness to the 2010 Oscars!".......to be continued.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Nightmare on Herbstreit (It's a segment)
by Idaho Chubbs"Don't you know you got your Daddy's eyes, Daddy was an alcoholic." And so am I. Am I a writer for real Gepetto? Acoholic? YES, writer? NO. Fuck him, he knows I created Pinnochio. The Delorean can travel back in fiction as well...Take that Salinger! I'm going to save Holden's little bro! ANYWAY on to this weekend's college Brodarian Rules Football antics. Man, Fall is kicking into high-gear, the leaves are turning a WASPy Orange (which I squeeze with my JGL forearms into an added "special" "shot" of Sloor mucus, chasing it with a Nectar, of course; my life-blood). The air is so thick with a burning crisp oblivion that reminds me of what it is to be happy, yet tells my pscho-analytical brain waves, "Life is beautiful; you should kill yourself again before the Delorean does...AGAIN. ZZZZZUUUUUUUUUUULLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!! Was Bobby Knight playing QB (Elizabeth Bennett-style) for the Hoosiers today? Tru-Froshmen Tate Forcier came to play...and barely won. The Wolverines are suspect even though Jackman's jackedness is SO not (loved you in THE FOUNTAIN bro, "You see AUSTRALIA? I Nicole Kidman now"). So I was watching Project Runway the other night. The contestants had to make outfits out of newspaper that fit the movie genre of their choosing. Personally I would have just created Jean Seberg (http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0781029/) literally, out of newspaper. But what struck me was this amazing green dress that gave credence to my Oregon Ducks mind cavity. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHEEEHEEE---CHAMONA! The past whatever many years, their unis have looked like something Bowser from Mario Cart would wear out to a red carpet event. But wouldn't you fucking know it, today they wore the Pre-Fontaine/Ward Melvile High School throw-backs that brought tears to my eyes. They also sasasasaslaughtered Cal-Berkeley. Go hug an Obama-laden hemp tree Jahvid Best, you and Jacory Harris are going to need that kind of high tonight. MIAAAAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMIIIIIIIIIIII!!!!!!!!!!!.....WTSLOOR!!! UGH...ugh, "Oh no it's RAINING!!! All of my frosted, dreaded tips are getting wet and muddy" FUCKING GET A PAIR OF NEWMANS! LOOK AT KURT WARNER! God believes in sticky fucking gloves!!! Enough, that loss hurt. At least The fighting Irish pulled off another close win. I played for Knute my freshman year before I transferred to USC to complete my internship with Sir Charles Chaplin and I bleeeeed Guinness, and Nectar, and Burgundy and Gold and uh, I guess a million other colleges I went to through my time travels....stop talking to yourself Chubbs! BLAAA, Clausen is my savior, not really; Notre Dame is pedestrian, just like the Hurricanes, just like Florida State. Is the second best team in Florida, South....Florida? Oh yeah, Penn State can suck it too. Way to get revenge for last year, Sloors. USC will come back like always. I predict Matt Barkeley will win the Heisman, anddddd.....with that win he will be able to perform "Defoe Thrusts" on any choice of song girls...with their consent of course. Is Sam Bradford in Hades eating a Joseph Smith Italian sub? Nectar is my be, although I really feel like a "Medicinal Tebow". Stay Jesus my friend...................?
Friday, September 25, 2009
Time Travel Rants
by Idaho Chubbs
Thursday, September 24, 2009
EEEE-S-EYE-DERO Linebacker!!!
This photograph confirms the recent rumors that former Sigur Ros frontman, Jónsi Þór Birgisson has left the band and bulked up to pursue his real dream of playing lots and lots of MAN SPORTS, especially Brodarian Rules Football. When asked why he prefers shredding his pecs to shredding an electric guitar with a violin bow as well as making millions of minds bleed Euphoria with his Siren-Song vocals, Jonsi replied, "You see Mark Sanchez? I Linebacker now!"
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
"Duck Shorts"
by King Brody
“How do I get in?” she said as I passed the locked entrance gate to the Sayville High School track. I had just completed my fifth lap, my first without a shirt. I had enough energy to finish my four mile scamper, but this encounter would surely provide enough stamina to make the next eleven laps fly by like so many gliding Usainothors on their way to the outer reaches of Solaris. I roared internally knowing, if needed, I could sprint halfway to Neptune and not tire. Twenty-one days had passed since Og Thor’s fury had sent me to the farthest depths of Hades. I had nineteen days left in my sentence but I needed to return to Earth’s surface to get my fitness level back where it should be. Sloor fighting is exhausting, and their numbers in Hades greatly exceeded my expectations. Sayville’s proximity to both the ocean beaches of Long Island and the Fire Island ferry boats made it the obvious place for me to re-enter the land of the living without Og Thor and the other Ogthorians discovering my location.
Back to the girl. She was tanned like a pair of J. Crew chinos. Her face, had I seen her it on a Facebook search for females in Sayville age 17-38, would have made me poke and friend her. Her long, toned legs rose to perfectly fill a pair of short cotton duck shorts (“Why do they call them duck shorts, because they’re four inches away from her quack.” Liam Banks told me that joke my first day of high school). I would have given up my ability to digest solid foods properly to see those ducks slung over my fold out couch in the morning. In her left hand was a Discman- the perfect accessory that only added to my shirtless and sweaty intrigue.
Shirtless and sweaty, I responded to her query of passage. Without causing an abrupt end to my workout, I managed to slow down to steady run-in-place jog, and, with some shortness of breath, said, “Pay no mind to the cardboard sign warning all those close enough to read it that this track is off limits until July 27th! Tis July 31st! Over yonder there lies a primitive plastic Earth-fence, easily crushed by the feet of any mortal, female included. Go, fair Sayville wench, and enter the oval ring of fitness and join King Brody in his celebration of the human form. Locomotion, athleticism, stamina, strength, and shirtless, flawless physiques will be on full display for you to enjoy, to covet, and to lust for, if you choose.”
She accepted my invitation, remaining approximately two hundred meters ahead of me for the next two laps. Her pace was an adequate distance to provide both visual motivation and practical encouragement; she was my Rabbit, and I her pack of lean, athletic, wildly randy Greyhounds. To overtake her would have been a detriment to this particular training session. Physically she was flawless except for a slight hitch in her running motion that I attributed to too much elliptical machine usage.
The start of mile three (the tenth lap I believe) was when everything changed. Distracted by the only female form I had seen in a fortnight and a half, I had failed to recognize the chorus of cheers and screams behind me. As I wheeled around the rubberized ellipse, my eyes focused on two score of cheerleaders no more than sixty meters away from the southwestern edge of the track. Cheerleading camp had been moved outside with impeccable timing. Overcome with every male form of desire (even the one’s banned in Ecuador), I now had enough power to complete my previously mentioned, unfinished metaphoric trip to Neptune.
As I got closer, the team of girls came together to form what seemed to be an Egyptian Triangle (pyramid). I noticed something peculiar yet familiar about the construction. This was not a cheerleading camp at all. It was Og-Thor disguised in a form that, to the eye, was most pleasing. Now fully transformed, with his nine feet, four hundred pound frame of diamond muscle, punctuated with his flowing crimson locks, sky blue eyes and webbed toes, Og Thor began his unrestricted, full throttle sprint in my direction. Black frothed foam spewed from the corners of his lips as he continued his rush, unaware that my innocent, iPod-be-damned rabbit blocked his pathway to this mighty showdown. Armed with only my wits, unequaled vascularity and 300esque strength, I caught up to rabbit, wrapped my arms around her now soaked through white t-shirt and rolled her to the ground, my Corinthian back absorbing the totality of Og Thor’s initial charge. She did not survive the impact. With one hand full of hair, eye balls, and brain, and the other clasping a blood and tissue soaked femur, I initiated my counter attack. Rabbit’s hair and brain ball served as a more than adequate projectile, sailing true and hard towards Og Thor’s abdomen. At impact, Og Thor let out a hellacious moan; that was all my ears needed, but my eyes told me he had sustained both an entrance and an exit wound- I guess a rabbit head is lucky, too. I now had confidence to charge, femur in hand, and deliver a fatal blow to my sworn enemy. Now on one knee, Og Thor had let his guard down just long enough for me to approach without resistance. But Og Thor was smart- he wanted me this close. Head raised, he stared me down as I swooped in, femur raised behind my head. With one hand he pounded the moist Sayville soil, opening a cavern to the depths of Hades. His other arm was flexed and ready for my strike, proving to be impregnable to my mighty swing of Rabbits former leg. Shattered on impact, the femur and my will, I collapsed into the makeshift Hades entrance. As I tumbled further in, I could see Og Thor’s delight reveal itself on his face. His stomach wound, still bleeding, was now out of his mind. His body would heal itself like it had through the centuries. The last thing I heard before my back splashed into the boiling waters of Styx was Og Thor’s high pitched cackle, a subtle reminder that the next time we meet; I must employ, to ensure victory, the help of the only warrior I know capable of enduring such a battle. Be prepared, Og Thor, to endure the wrath of Dex, the Dutch Lord of Form Fitting Button Downs!
“How do I get in?” she said as I passed the locked entrance gate to the Sayville High School track. I had just completed my fifth lap, my first without a shirt. I had enough energy to finish my four mile scamper, but this encounter would surely provide enough stamina to make the next eleven laps fly by like so many gliding Usainothors on their way to the outer reaches of Solaris. I roared internally knowing, if needed, I could sprint halfway to Neptune and not tire. Twenty-one days had passed since Og Thor’s fury had sent me to the farthest depths of Hades. I had nineteen days left in my sentence but I needed to return to Earth’s surface to get my fitness level back where it should be. Sloor fighting is exhausting, and their numbers in Hades greatly exceeded my expectations. Sayville’s proximity to both the ocean beaches of Long Island and the Fire Island ferry boats made it the obvious place for me to re-enter the land of the living without Og Thor and the other Ogthorians discovering my location.
Back to the girl. She was tanned like a pair of J. Crew chinos. Her face, had I seen her it on a Facebook search for females in Sayville age 17-38, would have made me poke and friend her. Her long, toned legs rose to perfectly fill a pair of short cotton duck shorts (“Why do they call them duck shorts, because they’re four inches away from her quack.” Liam Banks told me that joke my first day of high school). I would have given up my ability to digest solid foods properly to see those ducks slung over my fold out couch in the morning. In her left hand was a Discman- the perfect accessory that only added to my shirtless and sweaty intrigue.
Shirtless and sweaty, I responded to her query of passage. Without causing an abrupt end to my workout, I managed to slow down to steady run-in-place jog, and, with some shortness of breath, said, “Pay no mind to the cardboard sign warning all those close enough to read it that this track is off limits until July 27th! Tis July 31st! Over yonder there lies a primitive plastic Earth-fence, easily crushed by the feet of any mortal, female included. Go, fair Sayville wench, and enter the oval ring of fitness and join King Brody in his celebration of the human form. Locomotion, athleticism, stamina, strength, and shirtless, flawless physiques will be on full display for you to enjoy, to covet, and to lust for, if you choose.”
She accepted my invitation, remaining approximately two hundred meters ahead of me for the next two laps. Her pace was an adequate distance to provide both visual motivation and practical encouragement; she was my Rabbit, and I her pack of lean, athletic, wildly randy Greyhounds. To overtake her would have been a detriment to this particular training session. Physically she was flawless except for a slight hitch in her running motion that I attributed to too much elliptical machine usage.
The start of mile three (the tenth lap I believe) was when everything changed. Distracted by the only female form I had seen in a fortnight and a half, I had failed to recognize the chorus of cheers and screams behind me. As I wheeled around the rubberized ellipse, my eyes focused on two score of cheerleaders no more than sixty meters away from the southwestern edge of the track. Cheerleading camp had been moved outside with impeccable timing. Overcome with every male form of desire (even the one’s banned in Ecuador), I now had enough power to complete my previously mentioned, unfinished metaphoric trip to Neptune.
As I got closer, the team of girls came together to form what seemed to be an Egyptian Triangle (pyramid). I noticed something peculiar yet familiar about the construction. This was not a cheerleading camp at all. It was Og-Thor disguised in a form that, to the eye, was most pleasing. Now fully transformed, with his nine feet, four hundred pound frame of diamond muscle, punctuated with his flowing crimson locks, sky blue eyes and webbed toes, Og Thor began his unrestricted, full throttle sprint in my direction. Black frothed foam spewed from the corners of his lips as he continued his rush, unaware that my innocent, iPod-be-damned rabbit blocked his pathway to this mighty showdown. Armed with only my wits, unequaled vascularity and 300esque strength, I caught up to rabbit, wrapped my arms around her now soaked through white t-shirt and rolled her to the ground, my Corinthian back absorbing the totality of Og Thor’s initial charge. She did not survive the impact. With one hand full of hair, eye balls, and brain, and the other clasping a blood and tissue soaked femur, I initiated my counter attack. Rabbit’s hair and brain ball served as a more than adequate projectile, sailing true and hard towards Og Thor’s abdomen. At impact, Og Thor let out a hellacious moan; that was all my ears needed, but my eyes told me he had sustained both an entrance and an exit wound- I guess a rabbit head is lucky, too. I now had confidence to charge, femur in hand, and deliver a fatal blow to my sworn enemy. Now on one knee, Og Thor had let his guard down just long enough for me to approach without resistance. But Og Thor was smart- he wanted me this close. Head raised, he stared me down as I swooped in, femur raised behind my head. With one hand he pounded the moist Sayville soil, opening a cavern to the depths of Hades. His other arm was flexed and ready for my strike, proving to be impregnable to my mighty swing of Rabbits former leg. Shattered on impact, the femur and my will, I collapsed into the makeshift Hades entrance. As I tumbled further in, I could see Og Thor’s delight reveal itself on his face. His stomach wound, still bleeding, was now out of his mind. His body would heal itself like it had through the centuries. The last thing I heard before my back splashed into the boiling waters of Styx was Og Thor’s high pitched cackle, a subtle reminder that the next time we meet; I must employ, to ensure victory, the help of the only warrior I know capable of enduring such a battle. Be prepared, Og Thor, to endure the wrath of Dex, the Dutch Lord of Form Fitting Button Downs!
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Nightmare on Herbstreit
The minor league football season is in full swing, and as most of this evening's games approach halftime, a few trends have developed:
1. Florida has no receivers and Tebow is not going to be a good pro.
2. USC is not good, Ohio State is worse.
3. Charlie Weiss is still too fat
4. Texas is the best team in the country and Miami is the most dangerous.
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