Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Happy 18th Miley!

by Magglio and Jericho

Operation ‘grow a beard’ lasted exactly 5 days. I couldn’t face Monday morning with my pathetic face. Plus the itching was driving me nuts. My level of respect and admiration for Brian Wilson has just increased…again.

Magglio’s Super Bowl Picks: Atlanta vs. New England

How many people loved seeing Big Ben get punched in the face by Richard Seymour? Big Ben is a good quarterback on possibly the best team in football, but he definitely deserves to be punched in the face a lot more. (How many chicks just shifted their tits and nodded their head after reading this? How many chicks read this blog? Chicks and their tit shifts are so cool)

It was fun seeing Stanford horsecock Cal. I know it’s a huge rivalry, but Stanford is really good this season and Cal really sucks. Any other result would have sent the wrong message to the BCS. Don’t let Cal’s 2 point loss to #1 Oregon a week ago fool you. They’re a terrible football team lead by one of the most overrated coaches in the country. If Tedford returns next season I’m encouraging all those grunchy nerd hippies in Berkeley to do something drastic. Like threaten to save a rainforest a day until he’s gone.

Jericho’s Super Bowl Picks: Green Bay vs. New England.

Have you heard the new Girl Talk? Why not? It’s insane. The guy is more than just a DJ with a laptop mashing up random songs. He hears music differently. He sees the make up of songs in a totally new way. And he shares his findings with all of us. This album is perfect for working out, perfect for a party, perfect for working, perfect for making dinner, perfect for having sex. The equivalent of a 5 tool athlete. It’s the Raul Mondesi of music. Yeah, a Giants fan just went there. Download now.

Here's a fun game to play at work, whenever someone writes IMHO (short for: "In My Honest Opinion for the non-office drones out there) in an email, change the definition to be "In My Hairy Opening." This is a gift that keeps on giving. In My Hairy Opening we really need to get the team working together. In My Hairy Opening, the coffee machine just doesn't get hot enough. See?

Wait, did the Giants win the World Series?


Thursday, November 4, 2010

I love Torture!

In 2002, when the Giants were up 3-2 in the World Series against Anaheim and 5-0 in the 7th inning of Game 6, I was exactly where I wanted to be. I was at the corner of Broadway and Columbus. I was at a sports bar in the heart of the city surrounded by rabid Giants fans. And I was ready to dance in the streets.

And then it all fell apart.

The Angels stormed back to win the game and eventually take Game 7 and the championship. We were robbed of our chance to end years of suffering. We were robbed of our chance to dance in the streets.

It hurt real bad. Sports do that to you. You can believe so passionately in something and do everything in your power to will something to be, that when it isn’t, the letdown is beyond describable. My brother and I didn’t talk about that game for years. We just couldn’t bear to reopen the wound. It hurt that bad.

Fast forward to 2010, this past Monday night to be exact. The Giants were up 3-1 in the World Series against Texas and 3-0 in the 7th inning of Game 5. I was exactly where I wanted to be. I was at the corner of King St. and Second St, right across from the ballpark. I was at a sports bar packed so tightly with roughly a thousand of the most rabid Giants fans you’d ever seen/heard. Hell, the chants of ‘Let’s go Giants’ and ‘Uribe’ started hours before the first pitch.

When the Rangers hit a solo shot with 1 out in the 7th to make the score 3-1 I held my breath. I couldn’t help but immediately think of the series against the Angles. The similarities were just too apparent. I immediately thought of my brother and wondered if he too was thinking the same thing. I immediately turned to my wife and told her about the coincidental timing.

“Why are you telling me this?” she shouted. “You’re going to jinx this.”

“I can’t jinx this,” I shouted back, barely audible over the anxious crowd. “We’re going to win this game. I know it. You know it. Hell, everyone here knows it.”

And I was right.

There was something different about this game. About this series. About this team. The pieces started to align months ago when we brought in guys like Aubrey Huff and Javier Lopez. We knew all along that if we could just sneak into the playoffs then we could go a long ways. Our pitching was just that good.

And we did sneak in. And our pitching was that good. And in hindsight, though it was nerve racking and I may need a new liver, we dominated the 2010 playoffs. Nobody seriously challenged the Giants. We absolutely destroyed everyone in our path.

So rewind to a couple of nights ago. We got through that 7th inning and cruised through to a 3-1 final victory. I was exactly where I wanted to be. In the middle of San Francisco. High-fiving strangers, dancing in the streets, and celebrating a feeling that only sports can provide you with.

Damn it feels good to be a Champion.


Friday, October 22, 2010

Staying warm

I think I’ve had more to drink in the past 2 weeks than I have in my entire life. A complete exaggeration, but it still feels like it. It’s Giants baseball, and it’s got me good. On a normal week I’ll drink once maybe twice a week. And that’s almost always on the weekend. I rarely have a drink after work. Not for any particular reason, just because that’s how I roll.

But these past 2 weeks. Holy shit. It’s been a bit of a shit show. I drank 3 beers last night on the ferry ride home. And the ferry ride is all of 30 minutes. This isn’t a seedy bar on a Friday night. This is your friendly evening commute on the ferry ride home. And I got after it. Why? Because of Giants baseball. That's why.

I had a grown up moment last weekend. It was a Friday night. The Giants were up 4-1 at home against Atlanta in game 2 of the NLDS and I was standing at an open bar, watching the game, during a rehearsal dinner. If you know me, or you read this blog enough, you know that I like the brown stuff. No, not black chicks. (But I’d totally nail Alicia Silverstone’s friend in Clueless. She shows her tits in some Showtime movie she did a few years bag. Huge nipples. very pointy. Still sexy. Whatever. Where was I?) I like whiskey. Let me try that again. I love whiskey. Jericho and I started a whiskey drinking club a few months back. It basically means we each buy a nice bottle of whiskey and go back and forth sampling the two, making asinine comments like we’re wine tasting (“it has an earthy finish”), until we’re good and smashed. Then we keep drinking some more. And then some more. And we drink it on ice. So there is nothing to slow us down. You can see how this goes. Pretty fucking sweet huh?

But there is a massive difference between a whiskey tasting night with Jericho, and an open bar at a rehersal dinner during Giants playoff baseball. Trust me on this one. At first, everything was great. How could it not be? We were cruising along with a 3 run lead, I was making small talk with the mother of the bride and yucking it up with the groomsmen. All the while, I was slamming whiskey. I was oblivious. I was nervous. I was elated at the thought of the Giants advancing.

And then we lost the lead in the 8th inning.

What started as a fun, celebratory evening, quickly turned ugly. And angry. And messy. And sloppy. And ass-slap happy. I'll spare you the details. But at the wedding the next day I had to apologize to no less than 3 people. Including a bridesmaid. And the brother of the bride. Fuck I can be stupid sometimes.

So I’m off the sauce. I’ve grown to like beer. Sorta. Besides the frequent peeing I’m enjoying my beer only adventures. I definitely get drunk. But I feel a bit more composed while doing so. Whatever that means.

Bottom line, the Giants are running my life right now. I've neglected my fantasy teams. I've stopped working out. I've snapped at my wife for no reason. And I've drank myself into a stupor on an almost nightly basis. I'm not sure how much more of this I can take. God I love the Giants.

*Big Easy’s lock of the week…if gambling was legal, or course: East Carolina over Marshall, giving 12.5. Lock it down bitches.


Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Week 2 Observations

By Magglio and Jericho

  • For the Jets, it’s all about confidence. They were down early to the Pats but were able to make a few good stops on defense, followed by a few good plays on offense, which ultimately restored their confidence. Sanchez is a fragile little girl. But Sunday he felt pretty so he had a good day. Mark my words, the Jets will lose at New England in Week 13. Someone will tell Sanchez he looks fat in his football pants and he’ll cry like he lost the school vote for prom queen. Pats take the 2nd meeting for sure.

  • Yesterday across the bottom line there was a line item that the Jags picked up Todd Bouman at QB. Seriously? If you’re a Jacksonville fan….actually, if you’re a Jacksonville fan never read our blog again. But a word of advice, it’s time to pick up a new hobby…like getting fist fucked. Give it a whirl. I can’t imagine you’d feel any worse than you do right about now.

  • Wade Phillips should be fired right now. Seriously. No need to wait until after they get embarrassed in Houston. Just fire the lifeless bastard right now. Anyone know his phone number? I’m happy to make the call personally.

  • The Seahawks, as we pointed out last week, are absolute dog shit. I have no confidence in their abilities, in their coaching staff or in their masculinity. They’re horrible. And besides Lofa Tatupu I’m not sure there’s anything cool about the team. If you’re a Seahawks fan you might want to just run a hose from the exhaust pipe into the car and get it over quickly. This is going to be a long and shitty season.

  • Here's a new rule: if you’re a cute chick, and you add a photo album to Facebook that's called "summer lovin!" or something to that effect, and it doesn't have one bikini shot, then you have to add a picture of your boobs

  • The Chiefs are not as good as their 2-0 record and the Niners are about to expose them as frauds. This should be fun.

  • Fantasy Fuck Yous: Maurice Jones-Drew, Joe Flacco, Michael Turner, Ryan Matthews, Bernard Berrian, Shonn Greene (again) and everyone on the Bengals.

  • The Steelers are Super Bowl bound. (there, you happy now Emily?) This is the truth. They’re playing lock down defense and beating fuckers with Charlie Batch. Read that sentence again. Then pretend its 1997, Bone Thugs is dropping ‘Tha Crossroads’ and you and your friends are certain Miles Simon is in fact the next Michael Jordan. Imagine what happens when Big Ben comes home. And you thought that chick in the bathroom got a rude awakening.

  • Big Easy’s Betting Tip of the Week (if betting were legal, of course): Bengals -3.5 at Carolina. The Panthers are rolling out Jimmy Clausen for the first time. ‘Nuff said.

  • No seriously, Jags fans, stop reading our blog.


Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Thoughts on Week 1

Thoughts on Week 1 - by Magglio and Jericho

-Watching the Seahawks destroy the Niners was like watching your chick put on a sexy nighty while she's on her period. For a split second, all rationality goes out the window and you think, "oh, I'm gonna tear that ass up." Never happens. Hasn't happened once in the history of the earth or the penis (not sure which was first). So, root for the Hawks at your own risk. Just remember, there's a bloody puss down there.

-The Jets and the Ravens game was fantastic from start to finish. I loved every single story line that became a bit clearer as the night went on; Ray Lewis is still the best defensive player in the league, Rex Ryan my be the coolest son-of-a-bitch on the planet, the Ravens have 3 veteran WRs who are impossible to defend even if you have corners like the Jets, Gruden is the smartest announcer in the game and Jaws is becoming increasingly paranoid, and Mark Sanchez can’t throw the ball more than 10 yards. The only thing missing was a sexy Mexican sideline reporter. Oh wait.

-Fuck Tim Hightower, Phillip Rivers, Shonn Greene, Kevin Kolb, Bernard Berrian, Arian Foster, and the entire 49ers organization.

-Watching Vick elude the Packers defense was reminiscent of his days at Va Tech. He’s still got moves. It’s amazing to think he’s the same year as Ladanian Tomlinson. Two years in the clink kept his legs fresh. The question is what is the best TD dance Vick could do after he runs one in? So far the best I’ve come up with is this: After he scores, two of his lineman come over and get on all 4s while facing each other. Then, two of the other lineman hold on to the ‘collars’ of the down lineman as they lunge at each other barking ferociously. Vick then stands in the middle with his arms spread wide and looks to the heavens as a gesture to all the dogs he put down. Too much?

-I don’t think the Bears are very good, but there is a good chance they can beat Dallas this weekend and roll into week 3’s MNF game in Green Bay at 2-0. Their offense, despite Mike ‘am I still relevant?’ Martz, is still super sketchy. The Bears D should keep them in games but they still have some big time problems. Why do I think they can beat the Cowboys on Sunday? Because the Cowboys are like Heidi and Spencer. Too interested in their own fame to figure out that they have absolutely no talent. Ooooh. Facial!

-The Colts are not as bad as they appear after Week 1.

-The Chiefs are not as good as they appear after Week 1.

-Brett Favre is done. He’s too old and too brittle to make this work one more time. My money is on Tavaris Jackson becoming the starter, because of injury, by week 6. And I promise that is the last time I will mention Brett Favre ever again.

- Um, best pic ever?


Tuesday, September 7, 2010

At least we're not Cubs fans

I’m 31 years old and I spent half of my day on Saturday stressed out, pouting and hurling insults at my TV while my wife maniacally swept and mopped the floors. It’s football season.

Now let me explain the sexist scene. My wife wasn’t cleaning because she’s the woman of the household, she was cleaning because she was too nervous about watching the Husky game. I don’t blame her. I chewed off every single finger nail before half time. How does it get like this?

When I was little the Niners won the Super Bowl every single year. So while it was fun, it never felt like we had just conquered the world. I knew every season we’d probably steam roll every team and I’d celebrate with my dad and brother accordingly. It was expected.

And the Giants were the Giants. We were always pretty good. We got our ass handed to us in the ’89 World Series by the A’s but we had guys like Will Clark, Kevin Mitchell and Matt Williams…so it was always magic. And we had superheros on our team so who cared if won the big one?

When my brother was old enough to realize what was going on he became an obsessive Giants fan. But his obsession bordered on psychotic. I remember when he was about 6 or 7 years old, he would lock himself in his room for hours after the Giants lost a game. A game. In a good year the Giants would lose at least 70 games. I was always stunned that he couldn’t just get over a loss. I mean, it’s just sports right?

But lately, I find myself feeling like a 7-year old kid locked in my bedroom. I’m taking each Giants loss personally. A roughing the kicker call against UW almost caused me to lose my voice I was yelling so loud. What happened? How did it get like this?

In 2001 I watched Tuiasasopo march all over Drew Brees and the Boilermakers to win the Rose Bowl and finish 3rd in the country. In 2002, I was 5 outs away from dancing in the streets of San Francisco and pouring beers on the heads of complete strangers. But that’s it. I obsess about sports every day of my life. And I can count on one hand the amount of successes I’ve felt in return.

What kind of ROI is that?

Half of you are probably rolling your eyes. Because you’re probably a Cubs fan or a Bengals fan. But I don’t care. That means nothing to me. I’m a Giants fans. And a Niners fan. And a Husky fan. And every time one of my teams takes the field every fiber of my being is hoping, praying and focusing on a victory.

So when the Giants win the World Series this year will it all be worth it?

I’m not sure quite yet.

But I’m really fucking excited to find out.


Wednesday, September 1, 2010

We love chicks.

Want to do some guilt free creepy stalking? Then click here for the complete slide show.
You're welcome. And God bless women.

(Thanks GQ)


Thursday, August 26, 2010

A&M's Mid-Year Movie Awards

This is going to be a bit all over the place. I haven’t seen enough movies to do a complete summer recap, but I’ve been to the local multiplex a few times and have been pounding through my Netflix queue like Precious and a box of double stuffs. Let’s talk box office, let’s talk trailers, let’s talk DVDs, let’s talk Russell Brand, Russell Crowe, but most importantly let’s talk about Takers, which might be the most important movie to come out in 50 years. In fact let’s go right there:

The Movie That Will Change Everything: Takers
The ceiling for bad acting has officially been raised. Please watch this trailer. Walker. Christiansen. Tip “TI” Harris. Chris Brown. Jay Hernandez. The immortal Matt Dillon. If they can somehow squeeze in a cameo from Ryan Philippe then Hollywood might have to just pack it up and head home. I want to see this movie so bad I’m literally shaking in my seat.

(Quick tangent: I think it's important to understand the distinction between "enjoyably bad" and "anal rape bad." For example, any movie with Keanu (Point Break, The Devil's Advocate) is enjoyably bad. Any movie with Phillippe (Breach, Stop-Loss) is "anal rape bad." We all clear there? Takers has enjoyably bad written all over it - of course that is completely dependent on how large Dillon's role is - no one pushes more movies towards anal rape than Matt Stinkhole Dillon).

The movie that had kid-friendly anal sex with the box office: Toy Story 3
We knew it’d be a hit, we knew it’d be great, we knew it would open strong and have legs, but look at these numbers:

Opening weekend: $110m (#10 all time)
Total domestic gross: $404m (#9 all time)
Total international gross: $985m (#7 all time)

Not only is Toy Story 3 the biggest film ever for both Pixar and Disney, but it also became the 11th movie to cross the $400m mark domestically and is on the verge of being the 7th movie to cross the $1 billion mark worldwide. Holy Santa Claus shit.

The movie that just won’t go the fuck away: Avatar
“Avatar: Special Edition” is opening this Friday at 700 theaters across the country. The “Special Edition” moniker is much more catching than James Cameron’s first suggestion, “Avatar: I’m trying to buy Greenland.”

The Movie That Made Me Look Around to Make Sure I Wasn’t Getting Punk’d: The Switch
Here’s the plot in a nutshell. Aniston wants to have a baby but secretly no one likes her because she’s annoying and terrible in bed. Whoops that’s real life; let me start over. Aniston plays a successful career woman who’s too busy to think about starting a family, but her uterus is banging on the walls like an old woman trapped in an elevator and she decides to have a baby on her own via a turkey baster and a sperm bank. Her best friend, Jason Bateman, has been in love with her forever and is jealous that she’s having a baby on her own and didn’t ask him to fill the turkey baster or, at the very least, squeeze it. So one night, at her “I’m about to use the Turkey Baster” party, Bateman drunkenly wanders into her bathroom, sees the tub of sperm, which, yes, is just sitting in her bathroom. I mean, fuck. There are sluts, there are mega sluts, there are LiLos, then there are the bitches who have random tubs of sperm in their medicine cabinets. So anyway, Bateman takes the top off the tub, smells it, tastes it, sings to it a little (at least I think so, not exactly sure what is happening at the :47 mark here), but then, in his drunken stupor, spills the spunk into the toilet. What’s a guy to do? Well, he yanks his junk and then fills the tub back up with his own man chowder. Cut to five years later, Aniston is a mom, Bateman still loves her and can’t bring himself to tell her that his spooge was in the Baster, and hilarity ensues.


The Best Comedy at the mid-way point: Get Him To The Greek

The Best Drama at the mid-way point: Inception

The September movie I’m most excited about: The Town

The October movie I’m most excited about: Stone

The November movie I’m most excited about: Due Date

The December movie I’m most excited about: True Grit
No trailer yet but it’s a new Western by the Coen Brothers starting Jeff Bridges, Matt Damon and Josh Brolin. While we wait for the trailer to appear, here’s the trailer for Black Swan

Best movies I’ve seen on Netflix: I loved Crazy Heart, Alice in Wonderland, Shutter Island, was shocked by how good the Green Zone was and loved and was terrified by Chloe. Recommend all five.

The terrible idea that turned into a terrible movie that was terrible at the box office: Jonah Hex.
It if looks like a turd, smells like a turd and walks like a turd, it’s probably Jonah Hex. This movie, which reportedly cost $50m to make, opened with a paltry $5 and finished with a turd-errific $10.2. Lots of movies bomb, but this one holds a special distinction, after the results of the first weekend came in, Warner Bros reacted quickly, pulling the movie from 2,475 theaters – 87% of the total. On June 18, when it opened, the movie was in 2,825 theaters. By the next weekend, it was in 350. That, my friends, is a new record in shittiness.


Friday, August 20, 2010

DOs and DON'Ts of a Fantasy Draft

By Magglio and Jericho

Your office manager just asked you if Tom Brady should be her first round pick. A guy on the bus talks loudly about how Desean Jackson screwed him last season. You start to twitch thinking about how much Chris Berman you’ll be force fed over the next 6 months. It can mean only one thing. Fantasy Football is back.

If you’re awesome, then you’re meeting up with the other people in your league and making a day out of your draft. In preparation for your upcoming draft, here is Apple and Moustaches DO’s and DON'Ts for a successful draft.

DON’T…ever draft anyone from your favorite team. I made this mistake last year by taking both Hasselbeck (barf) and Housh (barf and then have that barf shoved up your butt) and that made last year twice as bad. I think the key to playing fantasy and still enjoying football is to try and separate them, not entirely possible, but the bigger the divide the better. Don’t shit where you eat, or to put this in Seahawk-fan terms, when you find your wife in bed with another guy don’t start blowing him.

DO…overspend on a good bottle of booze. There’s a good chance there will be shitty beer at your draft. We all know that. But what’s important is that you bring a quality bottle of booze to the party. Bring something a tiny bit above what everyone is expecting. It will let people know you mean business. Then proceed to pass the bottle around and encourage drinking in the spirit of ‘guy time’ and ‘ridiculousness.’ You can also use the bottle to shove up anyone’s ass who is dumb enough to pick a Seahawk. FYI.

DON’T….play in a league with girls. Fantasy Football is not for girls. This is a game for dudes. If girls want to make an appearance at your draft they have 2 options 1) make and serve drinks. 2) show their tits and then make and serve drinks. Everyone knows this rule.

DO…celebrate a meaningless pick like you just won the lottery. It has to be well timed and it should hit somewhere around the mid-rounds. And as soon as the guy before you picks start cheering like you just got the pass from your wife to motorboat J-WOWW. Confidently announce your pick, close whatever materials you have in front of you loudly, toss a chair over, ruffle the hair of whomever is sitting next to you, do the Ric Flair yell and loudly announce “I can’t believe (insert name) fell to me. I’m absolutely fucking this draft in the ass!”

DO…pick one random guy in your draft and take an absolute shit on every one of his picks and encourage the rest of the dudes to do the same. Even if it’s a good pick, fuck him. Every league has that one guy that no one really likes but is somehow, inexplicably, still in the league. If you’re sitting there thinking, “my league doesn’t have one,” then it’s you, fuck ball.

DON’T…be the first one to take a kicker. In fact, don’t even take a kicker. Pick an extra WR, think about it for a week then pick up a kicker right before game time. Being the first guy to take a kicker is like being the first one to get a lap dance at a strip club, it just has a weird stigma to it. Like standing up and announcing “I’m a tremendous pussy” (kicker) or “I jerk off at work!” (stripper).

DO...target as many Jags, Chiefs, Dolphins and Pats as possible. Then go home and suck an enormous dick, pussy.

DON’T...read a word that Matthew Berry writes because if he recommends something, and you do it, and it works, then you’ll be secretly indebted to him, and he’ll know, I don’t know how he’ll know, but that creepy fuck will know, which will lead to some combination of a dick and a mouth, who’s and where, not sure, but don’t do it, just don’t do it.

DO…follow us on Twitter…..@rickreilyisgay


Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Apples and Moustaches...just cause

by Magglio and Jericho

I always knew Eli Manning had periods, I just didn't know he got them on his forehead.

Brett Favre is returning to football. This story is the equivalent of my obsession with Mad Dog 20/20 in college. Every Thursday night I’d attempt to put down 2 bottles of MD 20/20. Inevitably I couldn’t finish the 2nd bottle. We’d then go out to a bar and within an hour or so I’d be headed home to spend the rest of the night puking and making out with a fat chick. Brett Favre is the drink, the puke and that fat chick I used to take home all wrapped into one. I want nothing to do with Brett Favre ever again.

Twitter update! The funniest twats I’ve read come from Sarah Silverman. That is one funny dude. What? That’s a chick. Why does she have a moustache then? Oh and by the way, we’re on Twitter now. Find us @rickreilyisgay “ We have exactly 0 followers. Follow us. Or don't. But either way, fuck Twitter.

A few years ago, Magglio and I decided that every time Matt Millen appears on TV, a little box should appear that says “Was GM of first team in history to go 0-16” for the entire time he’s speaking. Here’s another one I’d like to add. Every time Katy Perry is shaking her admittedly gorgeous tits around, the box should say “has most definitely had Russell Brand’s poop in her mouth.” I like Russell Brand and I like Katy Perry’s melons, which are admittedly gorgeous, but those tits have been on a wild ride and that should be noted.

I'm approaching my fantasy draft the same way I approached being with a naked girl for the first time: if something looks good I'm grabbing it.

Remember the “help me, help you” scene in Jerry Maguire? Anyone who has ever worked at an agency (PR, ads, escorts, whatever) can attest to how accurately that scene captures the frustration that comes with trying to talk a dumb person out of doing something dumb, full while knowing they’re going to do it anyway because, after all, they’re dumb. Having clients who won’t listen is analogous to watching your dog eat a pile of shit. The worst part isn’t the shit itself; it’s the weird look the dog gives you that says “man, you’re crazy, this shit is delicious” as you’re imploring him/her to stop. That look is 50 times worse than the act itself. Replace the dog with a client, the shit with an idea they just took a dump on and the “delicious!” look with a “I’ve got it!” email and you’ve got agency life.


Friday, August 13, 2010

A few A&Ms

I’m not a girl. I don’t have girl parts. But I do know that any time a commercial starts with ‘my doctor told me there’s no need to have my period once a month’ and ends with warnings of possible inflammation of the uterus and vaginal lacerations, then something is out of whack. I’ll take my birth control the old fashion "pull-out and aim" way thank you very much.

Who do you take with the 7th pick in your fantasy draft? Let’s say it goes CJ, AP, Rice, MJD, Turner, and Andre Johnson…who do you take then? As much as I love the Niners I don’t want Gore. No thank you on Steven Jackson. A quarterback? Maybe. The other option is you nut up and grab one of the big name WRs not named Moss. Like Roddy White or DeSean Jackson or Miles Austin. My strategy this year is to not worry about where I’m picking but worry about just taking who I want.

Can someone please explain to me once and for all what the fuck Twitter is all about? I don’t get it. I really don’t. I have a Twitter account and yes it’s great to stay up on sports news as well as what J-WOWW’s mighty cannons are up to. But that’s about it. I’ve had precisely 9 tweets. All of them go out into the great unknown world of the interwebnet and then what? I don’t get any feedback. No former classmate who used to give handys to the entire basketball team gives it the thumbs up. So what then? Someone please explain. Preferably someone named MarinGuy.

I’m trying to hook two people up that I know. The dude is one of my best friends on the planet who I’ve known since we were 5. The other is a chick I work with. Here’s the funny thing about hooking two people up. At first, you know everything about how things are going. You know who texted who. You know what they talked about on their dates. You know if he went under the shirt over the bra or if he went straight for the slap and a tickle. And then….BOOM. Just like that you know nothing. They all of a sudden have their own wave length, their own moments and their own inside jokes. This must be what a momma bear feels like when she lets her cub go into the wild. Fuck that was gay. Forget that last part please.

Here’s a trend I’m tired of; articles about sandwiches. Where to get the best sandwich. How to build the perfect sandwich. What your sandwich says about you. Is this really what this world has come to? We have nothing better to talk about then which mayo aioli to pair with ham and provolone? Go fuck yourself articles about sandwiches.

That is all.

Go Giants.


Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Que Bueno!

I’m excited about a few things. So naturally I wanted to document my feelings. Like a tender 10-year old penning her daily crushes into a notepad and stashing it under her mattress for nobody to find. Under this scenario I would be the chick, my blog is my notebook, you are the mattress and my crushes are the following:

  • I’m excited about...the start of another season of Hard Knocks. Let me put it like this. If you have HBO, then I know exactly what you should be doing tonight. If you don’t have HBO, then I know the call you should be making to your local cable company tonight. This is a must. At one point we even threatened you, the reader, if you weren’t watching. We said, and I quote, “If you’re not watching Hard Knocks this season you are officially uninvited from reading this blog.” This still stands. So make it happen.

  • I’m excited about... the offer I just received from the SF Chronicle which will ultimately put the Sporting Green back into my hands. You see, there was a solid string of 18 years or so when I read the sports page daily. It became so much of a routine that when I got to college I would deliberately set my alarm early, waddle my hung over ass downstairs to the fraternity kitchen, confiscate the sports page, then bring it back to bed with me to ensure I could read it when I woke up. After college I did everything in my power to afford a paper subscription. But that shit is EXPENSIVE. Eventually it went away. And my life was crushed. Nothing can take the place of the sports page. Not espn.com, not sfgate.com, not the free paper they hand out on Market St. Nothing. I’ll spare you the details, but as of next week, I’m back baby. I’m back.

  • I’m excited about... the upcoming fantasy draft with my high school friends. 17 years and running. Un-fucking-real. Maybe this year I’ll actually win.

  • I’m excited about... the rainbow belt I bought. It’s like this, this shit is legit. It’s Paul Smith. And when you look at it you either get ‘dude, is that Paul Smith? Nice belt.’ Or you get ‘dude, that’s a rainbow belt, you’re fucking gay.’ It immediately tells me where somebody stands in life. And you know what? I like it like that.

  • I’m excited about... Buster Posey, the chick in the pic above, the half-marathon in November, peanut butter, hating LeBron, Bubba, and the fact that there will be a football game every single Sunday from now until February.

Tits dude, totally tits.


Thursday, June 3, 2010

Wisdom, Housh-Style

Our favorite fuckhole was interviewed on Sirius yesterday, here are a few highlights:

On his role in the offense last year:
"I don’t feel like last year, I wasn’t a priority in the game plan and I was almost so much told that last year. That’s just not how it’s gonna be."

Correct me if I'm wrong here, but is that the world's first quadruple negative? Wow, so if you're ranking Housh's skills in reverse order, they'd look like this:

1. Speed / separation
2. Leadership
3. Grammar
4. Hands
5. Speaking / thinking

On what Pete Carroll brings:
"Our practices are different. They’re a lot more competitive. And coach Carroll, he stresses that, the competitiveness, the competitiveness. But I think they’re just a lot more competitive than they were last year."

So, if you're scoring at home. Pete Carroll preaches competitiveness, he wants the practices to be more competitive which has resulted in the practices being more competitive.

By the way, when you look up the word "redundant" in the dictionary the definition is: "fuck you, Housh, you pussy wipe." And yes, everything in my dictionary says that.

On how he'll avoid the same struggles he had last year:
"That’s just not how it’s gonna be. And so I believe this year it’s gonna be one of those things where, T.J., you’re gonna have to show us that you can carry the load or you’re not going to carry the load."

Jericho, you're gonna have to show your tens of readers that you can make fun of Housh this year. It's gotta be one of those things where, Jericho, you either call him a toad fuck or you don't call him a toad fuck.


Thursday, May 27, 2010

I've Been...

What have we been doing since we posted last? Here's a quick list.

by Magglio and Jericho

*I’ve been working on my incest movie titled: In Significant Others

*I’ve been picking a name for my new indie band. I’ve got it down to two: Just Another Orifice and The Fat Ninjas.

*I’ve been watching Lost, loving Lost and hating Lost. It’s a great show, totally entertaining and I’m so fucking happy it’s over.

*I've been watching Crazy Heart and think it's the best movie I’ve seen in a long, long time.

*I've been slowly turning on Steve Nash. Not really sure why or how, but I love rooting against him all of the sudden. Fuck Nash.

*I’ve been listening to The National’s High Violet so many times I thought my iPod was going to explode.

*I've been playing the game 'can I make it 10 minutes more before I have to pee or should I just go pee now'

*I’ve been using the term “useful” whenever I see a girl with a good but not great ass. You know how the Scottish dude on CBS’ golf coverage will say “Useful. That’s a useful shot.” Same with an ass like that. It’s not epic, but it’s useful.

*I’ve been eating hardboiled egg whites and hiding the stinky yellow part in a co-workers office when she steps out for a few minutes.

*I’ve been watching a lot of late-80s porn. A lot to like about the output (or is it input) of this era; big natural boobs, huge hair, weird music, enormous bushes, developed storylines, once you get past the moustaches it’s a really enjoyable seven or eight minutes. Christy Canyon, I salute you.

*I’ve been locked up in a lesbian prison, dancing in my cell and waiting for Beyonce to bust me out. Oh wait, that’s Lady Gaga.

*I’ve been getting semis riding the train to work this morning. I call that 'bumpy morning train ride semi.’

*I’ve been trying to come up with a real-word analogy for this situation: I write a really good piece of content. My client decides to go in a different direction, rewrites the entire thing and fucks it up beyond recognition. It’s absolute whale shit. Is there an analogy for this? No. But this comes the closest. I go to a nice restaurant and order something I’ve never heard of because I want to try something new. Let’s say I order whale cock. So my whale cock comes (ahem), I take a bite and decide I like it but I want something else. So, rather than order something new, I walk into the kitchen unannounced and buttrape the chef. Not like a fun, “we’re pirates!” buttrape, but a full on, medieval colonoscopy. Once I’m done, I grab a piece of chicken, take a bite and say “that’s what whale cock is supposed to taste like!”


Thursday, May 6, 2010

Easy Money

(Whenever I haven’t posted in a while I always start by hurling insults at anyone questioning my integrity and/or commitment to Apples and Moustaches. This time is no different.)

Fuck you. I can’t post at work anymore.

Not like it was a personal decision..."Oh, I need to just concentrate on work instead of being awesome on my blog." No. I’m not a loser. My company has just decided to block Blogger, posting comments on Blogger, posting posts on Blogger, and so on and so forth. Whatever. It doesn’t mean I can’t write a post and make Jericho (who wants you to know that Magglio is an enormous pussy, by the way) post it for me. I wonder what picture he chose for this one. Hmm...

I’m here to talk Giants Baseball. What you thought I wanted to talk about Heidi Montag and Audrina Patridge’s tits battling on the latest cover of US Weekly? Or the fact that this is hands down, without question the single greatest season of Real World/Road Rules ever…and Evan isn’t even on the show?! No. Those are other posts for other times.

This post is about Giants baseball. Notably, the Giants pitching staff which is without question the greatest staff in the entire majors right now. You think I’m wrong? Keep reading.

Barry Zito is 5-0.

In the past 12 hours I’ve said, typed, texted or thought ‘Zito is 5-0’ roughly 18,000 times. Amazing. Also, my brother (who can compete with us for biggest Giants fan on the planet) just sent me this:

The buzz around the Giants for a couple years has been that pitchers Tim Lincecum and Matt Cain are incomparable. But all of a sudden, there's another starting duo putting up numbers that challenge them, and the bonus for the Giants is that these other two starters are fellow Giants. While Lincecum and Cain are a combined 5-1 with a 2.19 ERA and 0.91 WHIP, Barry Zito and Jonathan Sanchez are comparable at 7-2 with a 1.89 ERA and 1.04 WHIP.

My delusional office mate Judy then sent me this tidbit:
Opponents are batting .160 against Zito this season. That ranked as the best mark in the National League, and the leaderboard is stuffed with Giants. Jonathan Sanchez (.170) was second and the Cardinals’ Jaime Garcia (.176) was next, followed by Tim Lincecum (.178). That Ubaldo Jimenez guy was at .182.

Vegas has it at 15-1 Giants win the World Series.

Easy money.

Thursday, April 22, 2010

A Few NFL Thoughts

So, if you’re scoring at home, the #37 pick in the draft will get you McNabb (5 NFC conference games, borderline HOFer); the #43 pick will get you Brandon Marshall (better numbers through first four years than Rice; not comparing, just saying); and the #40 pick will get you Charlie Whitehurst (Stats through four years: 0, 0, 0.0, 0, 0.0 0, 0, 0, 0.0, 1). By the way, the one in Chuck’s stat column is for one douche bag fucking face. We’re not sure if he has arms or legs, but we know he has that.

Speaking of trading quarterbacks, here’s a guy I’m surprised no one has made a move for: Troy Smith. Heisman winner, only 25, played pretty well in the preseason and in mop up duty (in 14 games: 48/89 for 558yd, 3td and 1 pick), showered near Ray Lewis his whole career, knows how to win, and the Ravens only tendered him at the 5th rd level. Troy Smith isn’t worth a 5th rd pick?

Here’s another swap that makes sense: Skins send Jason Campbell to the Bills for Marshawn Lynch. Both former first rounders, both fill an area of need for the other team, both would come fairly cheaply because their teams are dying to get rid of them. I know you’re looking at that and saying that Campbell sucks and the Bills are getting robbed exchanging a 23yr old with two 1,000-yard seasons under his belt for a QB with a Buffalo-sized vagina. Here’s a secret: it’s not Buffalo-sized, it’s actually more like a Japanese Apple pear. In other words, Campbell is a vagina but he’s not nearly as big of a vagina as everyone thinks he is. He threw for 3,600 with 20 and 15 last year. You’re telling me Buffalo has a QB on their roster that can match that next year?

Magglio will kill me for this, I mentioned something similar at a bar six months ago and he’s never let me forget it: out of all the QBs in the draft, Colt McCoy will have the best career. He’s a winner, accurate with the ball, a leader from the minute he stepped on campus, competitive, driven, doesn’t make stupid mistakes, if he ends up in the right system (which should be added to the evaluation of every QB) he could have a Brees-like career. Yes, he’s got a dumb face and yes he’s got a dumb little drawl, but if I’m the Rams, I take one of the big DLs #1, then trade back up into the bottom of rd 1 for Colt.

I have no idea what to make of the Big Ben suspension. On one hand, it’s crazy that he was not convicted or even charged with a crime, yet is being punished by his employer as if he was. Something about that just doesn’t sit right, the idea that your company can have its own set of laws that supersede the government’s. On the other, he definitely raped her, no fucking doubt about it, and he should be punished in some way or another. Six games, about $3 million in salary and the respect of a city that revered him as little as 15 months ago, whether or not you think that's a fitting punishment, is it up to the NFL to dole it out? I really have no idea what to think.

I imagine most of you agree so let me state the obvious: with all due respect to 30 for 30, PTI and Erin Andrews' career, the Gruden QB Camp is the best thing ESPN has done in a long, long time. What a fucking epic hour of TV. I’ve watched it three times and it gets better every time. Magglio and I had a running joke last year that during the third quarter of every MNF game, Gruden would start openly auditioning for the losing team’s coaching job. “If you’re the Cowboys, you have to start thinking about getting Romo a teacher, someone who understands the challenges of the quarterback position.” However, after watching the QB Camp, I realized he’s not auditioning at all, that’s just the way he talks. He doesn’t ask a question to hear the answer, he asks a question to set up his next point. Anyone who ever played football can relate to this on some level. Football coaches just have their own way of talking, their own inflection. Like they’re an annoyed stepfather and we’re their idiot stepchildren. I think we need to go further with Gruden, fuck giving him his own show, give him his own network. We need a Truman Show-like around the clock look at this life.

Gruden: How’s the seafood? It pretty good?
Waiter: Yes, sir. We’re known for it.
Gruden: I don’t want good, you understand me? I want great.
Waiter: Yes sir, it’s great.
Gruden: I have very high expectations. Do you have high expectations?
Waiter: About your order?
Gruden: (pointing at menu) What does this say?
Waiter: Grilled salmon?
Gruden: Do you know what that means?
Waiter: Um…that the salmon is…grilled.
Gruden: People see that on a menu and they think different things. They expect different things, do you understand me?
Waiter: I don’t really know…
Gruden: It better be good, man. Because I’ll find you. You understand? You think I’m riding you, but I see it in your eyes, waiter, I think you can bring me great food. Not good, great. You understand?
Waiter: Wait, are you ordering the salmon?
Gruden: No. I don’t eat food. I photosynthesize like plants.

What do I want the Hawks to do tonight? More than anything, I just hope they don’t get cute. Draft for need, don’t take someone because you can’t believe he’s still there – take the best OT at #6. Take the best DE or S at #14. Don’t trade away the #40 pick in a loaded draft for a QB that hasn’t thrown a professional pass and looks like Duece Bigalow’s gay older brother.

And finally, as the draft enters a new era with this Thursday, Friday, Saturday goat fuck of a schedule, I’d like to thank Roger Goodell one last time for taking a gigantic dump on the West Coast. Thanks, Rog, you fucked up a national holiday. I’m totally raping you in my head right now, how many games do I get for that?


Monday, March 29, 2010

The True Price of Beauty

I’m not sure how to set this up or how to begin, so let’s just come out with it: I love Jessica Simpson’s new show. It’s insightful, meaningful, thought provoking; every time I watch it I feel like I’ve learned something, but even better, like I felt something. Yes, I have my doubts about Jessica Simpson as anything other than “blond with outrageously big boobs” – but she’s found the right forum for herself with this show, she doesn’t have to carry it, she just has to exist with it, if that makes sense.

Women face a daily challenge that men just can’t, nor will ever, understand. Forget self or societal-imposed pressure, the level of daily competition between women is absolutely staggering. That’s not necessarily groundbreaking of course, we’ve had enough Sex and The City episodes and Gwen Stefani songs to tell us this, but it’s certainly eye opening to see how these types of pressures extend across borders and cultures. As Ken Paves said in the closing of episode three: “when can a woman feel free to ever just be a woman?” A few years ago, actually a few days ago, I would’ve laughed at the statement and made a joke about Ken’s butthole and its diet, but I feel different now. I feel changed.

The show is worth watching for so many reasons. Some of the supporters are championing Jess as a new breed of feminist, I think we have to go further than that: Jessica Simpson is a humanist. This show doesn’t merely show the plight of the female in the harsh light of multi-faceted competition, the show demonstrates how the struggle of the modern woman affects us all. That is something worth cheering. I hope you’ll join me.

(*Note: not a word of this is true. Fuck Jessica Simpson and her dumb fucking show. However, claiming that I love it is decidedly less embarrassing than admitting that I love this Duke team and am pulling for them to win the championship. So there you go.)


Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Thanks for the idea asshole

I have a confession to make.

I gave up drinking for the month of March. No, I’m serious. I’m not Catholic, this isn’t for health reasons and this isn’t for some documentary on torture. I did this because I wanted to see if this is something I could actually do. That’s all. Let’s call it testing my ‘will power.’ Or ‘a really boring idea’, either will work just fine. (I actually gave up eating sugar too but that’s easier than making fun of George Clooney’s hair at the Oscars.) Giving up drinking for a month is, and will be, really fucking difficult. Let me give you a quick glimpse into this past weekend. A sober weekend if ever there was one.

Friday night our office left at 4pm for drinks around the corner from where we work. I ordered a club soda. Everyone snickered. But let me say something. I’m a grown ass man. I don’t give a fuck if the waiter or my co-workers make fun of me for ordering a soda at a bar. I do however give a fuck when the waiter brings my drink in a tall, curvy, “made for a pina colada with tiny umbrellas” glass. Why can’t I have a tumbler with a few cubes of ice like everyone else? It’s like the waiter wanted to celebrate my personal struggle outwardly. Dick. He’s lucky I was surrounded by work people. (I’m not sure what that means. It’s not like I would’ve done anything if I wasn’t. Maybe a headlock and a noogie, but nothing more than that.)

And honestly, though it was the end of the work week and a drink sounded nice, I didn’t need one. The sun was still out and though I could feel the momentum of the weekend building, I was ok with my water. I’m an athlete, remember? Hydration is key.

The walk home was actually one of the most noticeable differences on this particular Friday night. I don’t always go out for drinks on a Friday night, but when I do, I feel like the best part is the walk home. Give me my iPod and a light buzz and my walk home suddenly turns into my own personal music video. “Last name Ever. First name Greatest” takes on a whole new meaning when you’re walking with your swerve on. This time? I put on some Yeasayer and dodged tiny Asians with pink bags, chicks from the Financial district in knee highs and skirts, and trade show attendees with gigantic name tags around their necks. It was far less cool.

Friday night was the worst. Seriously. My wife and I couldn’t figure out what to do. Should we watch a movie? No. Should we walk to our favorite local bar and just have a soda? Awkward. Should we go get a coffee or a tea or something? Lame. I decided to text my friend Morgan. He was the one who gave us the idea to give up drinking. Him and his wife gave up sugar and alcohol for a month and raved about how great they felt. This was his stupid idea anyways.

Me: Dude. What the fuck are we supposed to tonight?

Morgan: Go see a movie.

Me: Sweet. Thanks for the idea asshole.

Morgan: Too bad you don’t have kids.

This was his response? Too bad I don’t have kids? Don’t you think that’s something you might want to point out BEFORE you suggest a good buddy goes sober for a month?

We wound up watching a movie. I think we saw The Informant with Matt Damon. No, that was the next night. We watched Wall Street from the 80s with Michael Douglas and Charlie Sheen. Then we had really great sex and went to bed. Oversharing? I don’t care. I’m sober now. I gotta take risks somehow.

The rest of the weekend went a bit smoother. I got up at 8am and went for a run. I felt like Icee, the most sober and most athletic guy I know. Saturday night we basically repeated the activities from the night before. That bottle of Jameson was staring me down all night. I kept calculating in my head how many steps it would take me to grab a glass, grab some ice, and crack that bottle. With some creative maneuvering I figured around 14-15 steps. My mouth is salivating as I type this post. I am not joking.

Do I feel better today? A little. Were my workouts a bit easier? Sure, but who cares. As one co-worker said to me Friday night, “I admire what you’re doing, but I’d never do it.” Sweet.

Only 23 days to go.

Anyone wanna catch a movie?


Monday, March 8, 2010

I want some of your brown sugar...

By Magglio and Jericho -

Is it just me, or does Big Ben just keep getting cooler and cooler?

We have an enormous black lady that waters the plants in our office. why do we pay enormous black lady to water our plans when all we have is one little tree and a few ferns? I have no fucking clue. The better question: am i allowed to say "what up, Precious?"

Say what you will about Lady Gaga…her music is overplayed, she wears toilet paper on her face and she makes up words in her songs. But I’ll tell you something. In the ‘Bad Romance’ video when they show her standing there in that white thong…curtains. That bitch can keep doing whatever she wants as long as we get more shots of that candy ass. And if you’ve seen the video then you’re definitely nodding your head right now.

At the oscars last night we got introduced to a new kind of fat: Precious fat. This is when someone is so fat they can't even open their eyes. It also helps if your cheeks are so big they look like Julius Peppers' knees. The Precious Fat era is off to a great start.

David Carr and Alex Smith together again. Like when Paris and Nicole had a reality show where they milked cows.

Let me put it this way, when a woman has never won best director before and they announce that the award will be presented by Barbara Streisand, that's analogous to wondering if your kid might be gay and then having Elton John pick him up for a date. Barbara Streisand! Why not just cut the chase and have an enormous vagina present the award.

One of the most underrated aspects of the Oscars: the stereotype shot. When someone makes a joke and they immediately cut to someone in the crowd that fits / represents the punchline. Make a womanizer joke: cut to Clooney. Make a Jewish joke: cut to one of the Coen brothers. Make a botox joke: wide shot of audience. Make a black joke: cut to either Denzel, Sam Jackson, Don Cheadle or Da Queen in that order of preference. Make a hot old lady joke: cut to Helen Mirren. Make a "hide your children joke, she's got that hungry look on her face even though we can't really see her eyes: cut to Precious and her buttcheek-cheeks.

There are two kinds of people at the cream and sugar bar of a coffee shop. Those that box out to establish their position and then proceed to touch every stirrer, creamer, sugar, and cup holder possible while babying their drink like it’s as precious as Angelina Jolie’s vagina. The other does the dip and dive. Where you’re constantly dodging and ducking other people to just get a dash of this or a shake of that. I’m more of a dip and diver. My vagina knows its place in this world.


Friday, March 5, 2010

Back Into The Pool...

What a terrible year for film. If that sentiment sounds familiar, it should, it’s the exact same thing I said at the start of my Oscar post last year. 2008 was a down year overall but still had some major bright spots (Dark Knight, Wall-E, Milk, Rachel Getting Married) and a few noteworthy if not ultimately memorable movies (Gran Torino, The Wrestler, Vicky Christina). What does 2009 have? Avatar has had carnal relations with the box office, but are we going to be talking about it in 5 years? The Hurt Locker was the exception to the “Hollywood simply can’t make a good movie about Iraq” rule, had some incredible moments, but the parts were much better than the whole. District 9 was completely original, the most creative movie of the year, but it really fits the definition of “it’s a thrill just to be nominated.” Inglorious Basterds was brilliant, daring, exciting, everything you want from a suspense movie, it’s the best movie of the year, but is it a best picture?

Well, fuck it. Just because the films were underwhelming doesn’t mean we can’t still fleece our friends for cash at the Oscar party (yes, that's a double negative, but so was 2009). Good luck, hopefully we’ll have a lot more to talk about this time next year.

Best Picture
Will Win: The Hurt Locker
Should Win: Inglorious Basterds

Best Director
Will Win: James Cameron
Should Win: Quentin Tarantino

I can easily see this flipping by the way, with Avatar winning best pic and Kathryn Bigelow taking director. Regardless of how it ends up, I definitely think that the two movies will spilt these; one film won’t win both. The big question: does the Academy want Avatar to win best picture? This isn’t Titanic mind you, which was a very Oscar-friendly theme, this is a movie about nine-feet tall reptilian Smurfs with a language that sounds like Ewoks fucking. It’s Iraq v. Pandora, and I think Iraq wins. Cameron will take director as his consolation prize.

Best Actor
Will Win: Bridges
Should Win: Bridges

Best Actress
Will Win: Streep
Should Win: Streep

Sandra Bullock has been gaining some momentum lately, but I still think Streep takes this home.

Best Supporting Actor
Will Win: Waltz
Should Win: Waltz

Waltz winning this category is a lock. Also a lock: the longest, strangest acceptance speech in Oscar history (which is saying something). During his speech at the Globes, he referred to himself as a planet and Tarantino as the golden sun, and talked about how he’d been orbiting that sun for his whole life but hadn’t dared get close enough until now. What’s possible at the Oscars? I’m thinking something like this:

“52 years ago I was in my mother’s womb. Growing. Bursting with life. Taking nutrients from her fluids. But then a man appeared, a man who had the wisdom of many centuries. He mounted my mother and made love to her. Generous love. Impactful love. He entered her, navigated beyond her many tubes and channels and found me, young, vulnerable, wanting to learn but not yet knowing how. He imparted his knowledge, his passion directly into my placenta. It was this transfer, this sharing of love and creativity that brought me here. Thank you to the Academy. And to Quentin, thanks for traveling back in time and fucking my baby face.”

Best Supporting Actress
Will Win: Mo'Nique
Should Win: Who'Cares?

Best Original Screenplay
Will Win: The Hurt Locker
Should Win: Inglorious Basterds

Best Adapted Screenplay
Will Win: Up In The Air
Should Win: Up In The Air

My heart pulls for District 9 here, but Up In The Air is really an enormous achievement from a writing perspective. Three completely identifiable, three-dimensional characters, don’t underestimate how difficult that is. District 9 is the most creative, but from a pure skill standpoint Up In The Air deserves this trophy.

Good luck in your pools.


Wednesday, March 3, 2010

And life is good again….

I don’t have to travel this week. That makes me, my johnson, my waistline, my dog, my bowels, my hetero life mate Jericho, my bus driver* and my doorman very happy.

*Trick. I don’t do public transportation.

I ran into my ex-girlfriend from High School not too long ago. We exchanged pleasantries. My first thought was ‘damn I’m having a great hair day today.’ Yes. That was my first thought.

I caught a total of 11 minutes from this season’s Bachelor. What a stupid fucking show. The way I saw it the dude had 2 pretty mediocre choices. Go with the skinny bitch that looked like she was 14. Or go with the other skinny bitch that has had so much plastic surgery done she looked like a robot. I think if it ever comes down to this in the end the Bachelor should have the option of hitting a ‘do over’ button and then Lady GaGa drops from the sky and does a dance where she dick whips the host Chris in face. I think it’s called Frapping. Then a whole new set of chicks walks in and we start over. Done and done.

I’ve watched the NFL Scouting Combine every night for the past 4 nights. I love it. I can’t get enough of it. My only complaint; why don’t they show the bench press? They would show 30 second clips but why not focus on the whole competition instead of the 3 cone drill or even the vertical jump? I’d love to watch some overgrown dudes get all fired up and bang out 22 reps at 225 a piece. Hey Trindon Holliday…10 reps? 10 lousy reps? Shit. I call that a Tuesday.

Best idea I’ve heard this week: They should allow the Jersey Shore kids to compete on next season’s RR/RW Challenge. Are you fucking kidding me? Could you imagine watching Ronnie go up against Wes in a homoerotic game of let’s tackle each other and flail all about? I think they should do a Jersey Shore vs. everyone else competition. You’re telling me this wouldn’t be the highest rated show ever?

First day of Giants baseball officially kicks off today. Timmy’s pitching. Nuff said.


Thursday, February 25, 2010

Take A Look At This Fucking Shit (But Not For Too Long)

I hate to do this to you. I really do.

But if having a blog has taught me one thing it’s this: never suffer in silence. When something so atrocious happens, something that could literally end the world, it’s my duty to share my explicative-filled rant with the tens of you.

Are you ready? Are you sitting down? They’re remaking Karate Kid.

(Letting you take this in)

OK, that’s actually not the worst news. Jackie Chan is playing the Miyagi part.

It gets worse. They’re remaking it as a kid’s movie, making Daniel-san 11 years old.

It gets worse. Jaden Smith, Will Smith’s son is playing the Daniel-san part.

I’m sorry, but you need to watch this. It hurts. It’s not fun. It might melt your eyeballs, but I need everyone to watch so you can share my pain and join my cause.


Terrible, huh? I sat in stunned silence for about 15 minutes after the clip ended. Since there are no possible words to describe it, here are a few fun facts about the production. Odds that the following happened:

- Chances that he gets to fuck the little Asian chick at the end: 89%.

I mean, if he didn’t get to touch little tiny Asian boobies why else would Jackie be involved?

- Chances that Ralph Macchio makes a cameo at some point in the movie: 95%

I’m thinking he’s the pilot and has a really bad line of recycled dialogue like “whoa, whoa, slow down, Son. First learn to stand, then you can learn to fly.”

- Chances that the first time they filmed that scene they had to cut when Daniel-san inexplicably turned to Jaden and said, “Your Dad is paying me in cash right? My concern is, uh, and I have to check with my accountant, that this might bump me into a higher tax bracket.” 7000%.

- Odds that “take the jacket off, put the jacket on” becomes part of the daily vernacular of every 10 yr old the same way that “wax on” or “sand the floor” did twenty years ago: -43%

Take your jacket off!? This guy’s not a sensei, he’s a fucking maĆ®tre d'!!!

- Odds that this movie will kill anyone who watches it in full: 0. Yes, zero, Vegas wouldn't let us bet on this one. It's like taking odds that Lindsay Lohan will still be a virgin at 30.

What can we do about this? Should we get an online petition going or something? Thoughts?


Monday, February 22, 2010

Tell me anything you want...any old lie will do...

Today I traveled from San Francisco to Greensboro, North Carolina. I decided to keep a running diary of the day. All times listed are whatever the local time was when I made the note.

My bag is packed and I lean down to give Patch a kiss on his head. He seems disgruntled that he’s being disturbed at such an ungodly hour. I do some quick math and figure I’m about 12 hours away from being in my hotel room in Greensboro, NC. Which is when I’ll publish this post. It's gonna be a long day.

Cab shows up. His name is Mahmood. I know this because it says so on the dashboard. He comments on the sunshine. I ask how his day’s going. He says fine. The conversation ends there.

I’m getting better at business travel in the sense that I know how to pack. I’m strictly carry-on these days which is a huge feat for me. I like to have outfit options, which makes carry-on difficult, but this being a 48-hour trip it’s completely possible.

Security is standard. It takes 4 buckets to get my stuff through. I’m quickly thinking this post might be the most boring ever. No seriously, ever.

I call my mother. I call my mother every time I fly. She’s already got the flight tracker up on her monitor at work waiting for takeoff. She’s a Jewish mother, what are you going to do?

I stop by the newsstand to stock up on magazines. Luckily, all the new monthlies are in so I have a slew of stuff to read. I grab the latest GQ, Esquire, Details and Rolling Stone. I’ll read the GQ first. It’s far and away the best magazine out there.

Flight is airborne. They have wireless on the flight. I quickly sign on to IM so I can talk to Jericho. He asks how my weekend was. I say fine. The conversation ends there.

I’d love to describe the other two people sitting in my row with me but they’re being nosy and computer screens are hard to hide when sitting side by side. I describe this situation to Jericho. He says, and I quote, “fuck em.”

The captain comes on to explain “we’ve reached our cruising altitude of 36,000 feet.” He then goes on to describe a few of the natural wonders we can see from the plane, our flight route and the temperature in Dallas/Ft. Worth. I love this. I stop my iPod to listen. I wish the captain would talk throughout the entire flight. I’m completely serious. I want him to explain every single bump we encounter. I want him to do a complete dissertation of turbulence. I want to know if he packed a lunch or opted for the $10 Boston Market Chicken Carver Sandwich. He concludes his announcement with “we’ll check back in with you in a bit” and I am literally counting down the moments until this happens.

It should be worth mentioning I have a routine down when it comes to music on flights. It started a couple months back when I flew SF to LA. That flight is insanely short. Actual time in the air is about 55 minutes. So I’d put on Bright Eyes ‘I’m Wide Awake It’s Morning.” And I knew around song 8 they’d tell us it was time to shut down personal electronics. (please note, when flying, I fast forward the first 1 minute and 23 seconds of the first song on this album. Check it out and you’ll know why.) So I continue this approach whenever I fly. Regardless of the flight length I always start with this album.

We’ve reached song 8, “Land Locked Blues”. Fuck. This would be a lot cooler if we were landing in LA.

Having wi-fi on board, I send my mom an email from the air. She thinks this is the coolest thing ever. She writes back about 5 emails in the span of 45 seconds. Half of them center around the other ladies in the office amazed at technology these days. Within 90 seconds I get an email from my dad asking how the flights going. I half expect them both to show up out my window in a 2-seater so they can accompany me the rest of the way.

The fasten seat belt sign has been turned on. The bumps are getting worse. I can’t help but think this is it for me. I’ll have to stop typing for now. And reflect on my life.

Seat belt sign is off. I take my first breath in 7 minutes.

Seat belt sign is back on. I'm convinced my world is about to end. (I do appreciate a pilot who is accurate in his communication though)

Seat belt sign is back off. I’ve put Fleet Foxes on my iPod. I update my Facebook status with a line from one of their songs. The line I post is “Tell me anything you want. Any old lie will do.” I’m anticipating 1 fan of Fleet Foxes will give it the thumbs up. One fan will actually mention Fleet Foxes in the comments. One chick who ‘likes’ any status update I do will also ‘like’ this one. And my friend Drew will tell me an actual lie that equates to how miserable his life is. He has never heard of Fleet Foxes. I'm feeling good about this prediction.

The pilot makes a quick announcement to tell us something about somewhere in Arizona which we’re currently flying over. I don’t hear a word he says. Instead I focus intently on his voice. Is it calm? Is he hiding something? Does he think we’re about to go down but is tricking us? He sure sounds confident.

The chick next to me gets up to pee. I too get up to pee. Let me tell you something about me on a flight. I will get up at any opportunity. I prefer the window, so I can stare outside, but do better with an aisle seat since I like to get up so often. Even if I don’t have to pee, I’ll squeeze out a few drops. Whenever I look in the mirror I immediately think of that one scene in Cast Away…a scene which I’ve never actually seen only heard while my eyes were closed tightly in the theater. Neurotic? Paranoid?Um, yes.

Jericho informs me that he’s going to a meeting and is signing off for the day. Just like that. Can you believe him? What a dick.

Hunger sets in. I’m determined to not buy anything on this flight. Over salted processed turkey slices wedged between two thick soggy pieces of white bread and plastic lettuce sounds awful. Looking forward to seeing what the Dallas/Ft Worth airport has to offer. Hell, I have an hour or so to kill when I’m there.

Powered threw Bright Eyes, Fleet Foxes, Yeasayer, Them Crooked Vultures and now onto Hot Chip. I listen to albums start to finish. Except for that one song on Hot Chip. It’s super gay.

On our decent into Dallas I stare intently out the window. I’m always fine on the decent. As soon as we get low enough to actually see the cars, I’m confident if necessary, I could tuck and roll and land safely. Only if necessary.

There’s basically 2 types of people in the Dallas/Ft. Worth airport today. First, native Texans. Big. Lots of facial hair. Lots of mid section. Lots of big logos in various places including their mid section. The second is the business traveler. Loafers, sport coat, lots of blackberry checking and sighing. Lots of Bluetooth talking and selling. I am not this guy. I fear if I continue to travel like this I will turn into this guy. I will never be this guy.

I check the results of my Facebook posting. So far only 1 comment. It’s from a chick I used to go to High School with. She responded with ‘One time at band camp…’ Not sure how to take that one. She obviously isn’t a Fleet Foxes fan. Maybe she’s trying to tell me she likes putting foreign objects in her cha-cha. Interesting.

Explain something to me. How can Dallas be so awful at Mexican food? Aren’t they 10 feet from Mexico? Fuck I just had the worst Chicken Quesadilla in my life. Ez cheese, microwaved chicken bits, generic salsa that tasted like a crayon. I did however tip the waitress 5 bucks on my 14 dollar order. I felt bad for her. She was a lady boy, half-Asian, wannabe hipster working at the Tequillaria in the airport. Nowhere to go but up.

About to board. Two hours and twenty minutes until we land in Charlotte. Wish me luck. (Fuck that was gay. Stop being so gay Magglio. I’m going to get a coffee.)

Just before take off I check my Facebook status again. Lo and behold, my friend Drew responded. I’m literally panting with excitement to see what he’s said. “I have a full head of hair” it reads. Fuck I totally called that one. Sadly this makes my day.

We’re about 45 minutes into the flight. The wi-fi isn’t working. I’ve sorta peed twice. The stewardess reeks of self tanner. The dude next to me is reading a book called ‘Helping you understand your emotional abuse.’ I’m exhausted. Did I mention I got in to SF last night from Boise at 9pm. What the fuck am I doing to myself? I decide I’m going to buy a pack of cigarettes when I get to Charlotte for the long drive ahead. I don’t even smoke anymore. But fuck it, I do tonight.

I’m secretly excited for the 2 hour drive from Charlotte to Greensboro. Yes, 2 hours. I’m excited because I’m banking on my rental car having satellite radio which I never get to listen to. I’m going straight to Shade 45 and whatever the other Hip Hop Nation station is. This truly will be the highlight of my day. You want to hear good rap music? Put on satellite radio.

Unfortunately this marathon day will not end. The asshat at the Avis car rental place must get paid hourly. There are 8 people in line and he’s taking his sweet fucking time. Fuck my car had better have satellite radio.

Ball sack! We all saw this one coming. No satellite radio. But I did grab some smokes. Fuck North Carolina.

Four other people responded to my Facebook status. Nobody caught the Fleet Foxes reference. Who cares? Facebook is stupid. Can you tell this day (and this post) has gone on a bit too long?

I finally pull into my hotel. Here’s the final stats for the day:

Total travel time: 12 hours and 28 minutes.
Number of flights: 2
Number of miles traveled: 2,717
Number of cigarettes smoked: 3
Number of times Lady GaGa played on the radio: 14
Number of times I want to do this trip again: 0
Number of days until I do this exact trip again except in reverse order: 2