July 9th, 2008

search words
Jason posted on March 31, 2005

I am and will most likely continue to be too busy for a proper post today, but rather than give you nothing, some search terms entered into google, yahoo, etc that brought people to this website in the past 24 hours (keep in mind this is just one day’s worth of sickos - god I love the internet):
“scott peterson” 1989 band real name brian
 
freddie mercury was he a homosexual
 
ex is drinking a lot
 
how to say fuck me in Russian
 
no email response love rejection
 
asian how to grow a beard
 
fucking a dog on the beach
 
i was the whore at the bachelor party
 
std testing for koreans
 
growing up gotti in bahamas
 
hungry moose topless
 
gentlemen’s crotch pics
 
taste of semen
 
the meaning of “she was asking for it” in terms of sexual harrassment
Love the last one.  We should really explore the space on that one.  I’ve made a mental note about this and hope to get a discussion going in the future.   

me = wedding crazy, a good email, beisbol predictions, the smell that is gone
Jason posted on March 30, 2005

There’s no chance of me getting any work done today.  This evening, I have my main fantasy baseball draft (stick with me - this post isn’t about sports - not this part at least).  I’ve been in a league with the same guys for 5 years now, so I’m really looking forward to this.  Our league is called “Iron Sheik”, named after Hulk Hogan’s archrival, the, um, Iron Sheik.  Originally, Iron Sheik was the name for our college intramural softball team, where yours truly batted .800 and was widely considered the greatest singles hitter Boston College intramural softball had ever seen, as well as an above-average third baseman.  However, despite my performance, I often hit tenth (yes, tenth) in the lineup, as our manager, my good friend and former star of “Average Joe: Hawaii”, Bill Hansen, discriminated against me.  Somehow, Bill, who truly is “average” when it comes to softball, batted lead-off and played 2nd base, one of the most coveted positions on the diamond.  And yet I batted tenth and was put at 3rd, and almost useless position in softball.  Asshole.  And no, I’m not still bitter.   
 
When we started a fantasy league, the name “Iron Sheik” seemed like a good choice, since most of the guys on the team were in the league.  Thus, Iron Sheik started with a mid-season baseball league in the summer of 2000 (also known as the greatest summer of my life - more on this much later).  Since then, roughly the same group of 11 guys have done a league together each season for baseball, football, and basketball.  The draft tonight is for Iron Sheik XVI.  We’ve come a long way.
 
And so I’m doing nothing today, and yet I have to pass the time.  How am I passing the time (aside from doing fantasy research)?  Why, making a guest list for my wedding of course!
 
Yes, I know it makes me totally crazy to think of who I’d invite to my wedding when I should focus on having sex first, but please hear me out.  Everyone around me is getting engaged or getting married or even (gulp) having a kid.  This all completely flabbergasts me…I can’t imagine even going on a date again, let alone actually getting married.  But last night I met up with a friend for drinks who’s sister is getting married, and she told me something interesting: 150 people is a standard-sized wedding, with the bride getting 75 guests and the groom getting 75 guests.
 
My immediate reaction was “150 guests?”  My second reaction was, “God I’m so lonely.”  Then I thought again about the 75 guests that I would invite to my wedding.  It’s an interest exercise really, because you essentially get to rate your friends.  Kinda like, “Well, I like Ted, and we had a lot of great times in college, but I haven’t really spoken to him since.  However, he’s doing really well so I imagine he’d give a pretty big gift.  On the other hand, he roofied my sister and tried to have his way with her.  We’ll put him as a ‘maybe.’”
 
But 75 guests for me would never cut it.  I’m about as Irish-Catholic as they come, and though I only have one brother and one sister, my father is one of ten kids and my mother is one of six.  I did some quick math and figured out that if I were to get married today, I’d have to invite 72 family members.  Note this applies to immediate family, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and first cousins only and does not include the wedding party or any of my friends, which I obviously have a lot of. 
 
The good news is that I’m not getting married any time soon, so until then maybe a couple of family members will keel over or disappear or whatever.  Also, when I do get married, I imagine that most of my bride’s family will not be able to attend the ceremony, as they will be unable to leave Uzbekistan, so she’ll only have her half-retarded sister and two of the girls she works at the beauty shop with in attendance. 
 
But the point is that we are getting old.  And it sucks - big time.  Also I am crazy, but you knew that from the start.
 
***********************************
 
A good email from Alex in St. Louis.  Not the Email of the Week, but a good one nonetheless.
I know that you touched on this earlier, but I wanted to give you yet another fantasy that you can masturbate to.

Things that I learned from this article:

1) My childhood sucked.

2) April 27, 2002 was one hot night for a group of teenage boys.

3) Never marry a woman named Jennifer Miller.

Also, she had sex with a group of teenage boys and only got 25 days in the clink? What the eff? Can you imagine how long you would be in jail if you did that to a group of young women? If it was only 25 days of you being ass raped it might actually be worth it.
Well, that’s pretty well put.  I’m not gonna add anything because if I did I might have to change the title of this blog from “Everything is wrong with me” to “I can’t stop fucking talking about teenage boys that have sex with adult women”, but yes, if I could have sex with a room full of hot 17 year-old girls (15 is a tad too young), I’d seriously consider going to jail for a month, because:
 
1) At least I wouldn’t have to go to work;
2) I would have some great masturbatory fantasies for the rest of my life (from the sex with the teens AND the jail ass-rapes);
3) I’d get the kind of instant street-cred that only comes with jail time.
 
(Also, am I really hot in St. Louis or is it just the same group of people emailing me?  It seems that at least once a week I get an email from someone from St. Louis, sometimes more.  I should probably just move there if I’m so damn popular, because things aren’t exactly working for me in NYC.)
 
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Quick and dirty baseball predictions (because if I write any more about sports someone is going to assassinate me):
 
National League
 
East: Atlanta Braves
Central: St. Louis Cardinals
West: San Diego Padres
Wild-Card: Florida Marlins
 
American League
 
East: NY Yankees
Central: Minnesota Twins
West: LA (or Anaheim or whatever the hell they’re called) Angels
Wild-Card: Boston Red Sox
 
Playoffs
 
NL
Florida over St. Louis
San Diego over Atlanta
 
Florida over San Diego
 
AL
NY Yankees over LA Angels
Minnesota over Boston
 
NY Yankees over Minnesota
 
World Series: NY Yankees over Florida
 
Individual Awards
 
NL
MVP: Albert Pujols
Cy Young: Pedro Martinez
Rookie of the Year: Chin Hui-Tsao
 
AL
MVP: Manny Ramirez
Cy Young: Randy Johnson
Rookie of the Year: Jeremy Reed
 
“Theeeee…Yankees win!”

God I fucking hate the Yankees.  At least my hometown Phils, in an effort to keep up with their division rivals (Braves - Hudson, Marlins - Delgado, Mets - Beltran, Pedro), went out an added John Lieber and Kenny Lofton.  Sweet.
 
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By the way, still no word on what stunk up my office yesterday.  The good news is that my meeting at 3pm was canceled and the office now no longer smells.  I’ll probably never know what it was, so I’m just going to blame someone else.  That always seems to work.
 
(And wish me luck in the draft tonight)

the great stink
Jason posted on March 29, 2005

Major fucking dilemma: my office smells like puke.  It may sound like I’m going for a cheap laugh by writing that (it doesn’t get any cheaper than using the word “puke”), but my office really does smell like someone vomited somewhere and then did a half-ass job of trying to clean it up.  When I opened my door this morning, it was like getting hit in the face with an old sock, so much so that I let out an audible “Ech” in the otherwise silent office area, prompting our group secretary to say, “Is something wrong, Jason?”  
 
I did some searching and it doesn’t appear that there’s any sort of visible vomit stain.  As a veteran of secretly throwing up, I checked all the spots I might puke if I had to do so in my office - under my desk, on the other side of my desk, in one of my drawers, all over my balls because I couldn’t move anywhere fast enough - but nothing. 
 
However, it still reeks really fucking bad.  My manager came into my office this morning and immediately made a face of disgust - a face not like one would make if they caught their parents making love, but maybe a face they’d make if they caught their weird hipster cousin giving her tattooed/pierced boyfriend a handjob in the yard after Thanksgiving dinner (and no, this didn’t happen to me).   
 
Sensing my manager passing judgment on me (”Damn, not only does he suck as a worker but he also has body odor”), we had this exchange:
 
Me: “Do you smell that?”
Manager: “Yeah, it stinks.”
Me: “I don’t know what it is.  It’s not me.”
Manager: [believing it is me, trying to diffuse the situation] “It’s not a big deal.”
Me: [getting defensive] “No, no really - it’s not me.  When I came in this morning, it smelled like this.”
Manager: [having no interest in arguing with a smelly person] “Really, it’s not a big deal.”
Me: [more defensive, hyper] “Oh, I know it’s not a big deal.  I’m just surprised my office smells like this, because this isn’t coming from me.”
Manager: [uncomfortable, silence for two seconds] “So can you swing by my office when you get a chance?”
 
So my manager thinks I smell like throw-up.  Great.
 
About an hour after this encounter, we had our weekly update meeting.  I love the meetings, because I feel so important: sitting around the conference room overlooking Manhattan in the big comfy chair, speaking loudly into the speaker phone, all the while scribbling things down and drinking water, looking serious, smart, important.  Sure, I may actually be thinking about how getting high in my bathtub, but whatever.
 
This meeting was different though because a short time after plopping down in the comfy chair, I noticed that I now stunk like my office.  Whatever the source of this stink, it had now transferred itself to me.  So the whole time I sat through the thirty-minute meeting, I was sweating (more than usual) and worried that someone would say, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but does anyone smell that?  It smells like someone drank a quart of semen and an onion and then threw it back up.”  Fortunately, no one said anything.
 
But the whole experience made me VERY self-conscious.  Was it really me that smelled like stale puke?  I checked my breath and it seemed fine, but I brushed my teeth anyway.  I smelled my pits and they seemed ok, but I still put on more deodorant, so that now I have a nice half-inch thick layer of white covering my armpit.  My only guess was that it could be my pants, because I just got them dry-cleaned.  I tried smelling them, but I could only smell my balls, which give off a fainter but equally offensive smell: ham and eggs left on an asphalt street for three days in the July heat.  
 
I had my office door open, but decided instead to close it, lest people walking by pick up the stink.  Running out of options, I made a decision: I would get something pungent for lunch, hoping that the smell of the lunch would essentially cancel out the smell the of stale vomit.  Not knowing what else to get, I decided to go with tuna.
 
Terrible, terrible decision.     
 
It didn’t work at all, and instead added another awful smell to the mix.  As it stands right now, I’m sitting in my office which smells like puke and tuna.  Also, because I’ve had the door closed in order to keep these smells to myself, not only has the smell started to cling to me, it is also hot in my office.  And I just got an email from my head boss to my manager and I saying that we should meet in my office at 3pm for a short discussion.  I am fucked and there is nothing I can do.
 
…
 
So that’s my day.  How is yours going? 

broke on a Monday
Jason posted on March 28, 2005

I am in a very crappy mood today, for several reasons:
 
1) It’s Monday.  Fuck.
 
2) The weather.  There’s nothing like 40 degrees and heavy rain to add that extra spring to your step in the morning.  It’s March 28, and the forecast for the next week is 50 degrees and rain every day.  I know it’s early, but I don’t know what happened to spring and I miss it.  Growing up, I remember months of sunshine and temperate weather sandwiched between the extremes of winter and summer.  However, I haven’t seen a decent spring in a long time.  Like last year, I know it’s going to be 50 degrees for the next six weeks, then we’ll have one week of 70 degree sunny weather, and then it’ll be 90 for the next ten weeks.  I know this and I hate it.   
 
3) Work.  It’s becoming more and more apparent that I’m not cut out for the 9-to-5 lifestyle. 
 
This morning I woke up, saw that the weather was cold, gray, and rainy, and thought to myself, “God, I am so fucking tired.  I can’t wait until tonight so I can go back to sleep again.  I hope something good happens today, because I’m hanging on by a thread here.”  Fortunately, God must have been eavesdropping at the time, because on my way to work I saw a bike messenger almost get hit by a bus and my stomach still hurts from laughing so hard.  That, and on Saturday night I was drunk and ate a pizza box.  So we’re struggling in the stomach department.  Big time.
 
This same type of thinking goes on on Sunday night, as I lay in bed, hoping my sleep apnea doesn’t finally get me.  All I can think about, besides having sex with some girl’s boobs, is that I can’t wait until Friday evening when I’m done with work and the weekend starts.
 
And to be honest, I don’t hate my job.  In some ways I actually like it.  But as much as I “like” my job, I like waking up at noon, eating a giant stack of pancakes, going back to bed, and finally getting up and leaving the apartment at 4pm much, much better.  Thinking about this leads me to a sort of quasi-existential crisis: What sort of life do I lead when I’m constantly waiting to go to sleep again or waiting for Friday to come?  And why do black people get tattoos in black ink?  Shouldn’t they instead get tattoos in white ink, so that they’ll stand out more?  I mean, you can even make out what they are most of the time.  Do you see white people getting tattoos in white or pink ink?  I don’t get it. 
 
And so all sorts of things go through my head:
 
[Scene: Two Jason Mulgrews in a basement rec room, sharing a joint.  Jason Mulgrew 1 sits on a bean bag, drinking a can of Budweiser.  Jason Mulgrew 2 stands over the stereo, which is playing Bon Jovi's "Bad Medicine", looking through cds.]
 
Jason Mulgrew 1: “Dude, let’s quit our job and try to write the blog professionally.”
Jason Mulgrew 2: “Are you crazy?  ‘Write the blog professionally’?  What the hell does that even mean?”
JM1: [angry, defensive] “I’m not sure what it means, but I’m just trying to help.  Let’s face it, we don’t have many marketable skills and we’re not very good at anything, except for writing racist propaganda on the internet.  We’re also pretty good at making enemies.”
JM2: “Well it’s a stupid suggestion.  And you are an asshole.  And it’s not really racist - you know we totally want to have sex with a black chick.”   
JM1: “You know what?  If you’re going to place yourself above the discourse by spewing invectives at me, then I’m just going to leave.” [stands to leave]
JM2: “First, you’re high.  Second, fine, go ahead and leave.  Third, I hate you.”
JM1: “Well I hate you too.  I’m going to masturbate.” [moves off camera]
JM2: “Oh, that’s your answer to everything, isn’t it?  Any time there’s a problem, you just run away from it to pleasure yourself.  When are you gonna stop with that and face your problems instead of running for the moisturizer?”
JM1: [kneeling over toilet with pants down around ankles and Maxim on spread out on sink, beating off and sobbing] “Not now.”
 
4) Money, as in I have none.  This weekend, my roommates Brian and Ben went home for Easter, leaving me to my own devices in the apartment.  I was thrilled to be alone.  It’s not often that it happens, so I try to take advantage of it when it does (note: by “take advantage” I mean “make milkshakes with double stuff oreos in them”).  My plan was to go on a three day bender and it started promisingly enough, as on Thursday night I met up with my buddy John for a fantasy draft (our team is stacked) and then went out for some drinks and some basketball watching. 
 
But while home alone on Friday afternoon, I decided that I would look into my finances.  Bad, bad idea.  I knew this was a terrible decision the minute I logged into Citibank and checked my account balance.  And that was probably the best part.  Let me break it down for you:
  • Current monies in bank account: -$1,673.23 (I have a $2000 overdraft, so that means I have $326.77 until I get paid later this week.  Well, technically I owe the bank almost $1700 and have nothing, but thank god for overdraft)
  • Current debt owed (including student loans, credit card debt, and computer left to pay off): $29,304.14
  • Amount spent per month on debt and rent (not including food, booze, entertainment): $1,899.58
  • Scale, 1 (least fucked) to 10 (most fucked), of how fucked I am financially: 8.6
This is not good.  Not good at all.  I took me about 45 minutes to figure this out, and 2 minutes after learning this I was on my hands and knees on my bathroom floor, throwing Xanax, Bayer, and NyQuil down my throat in a last ditch effort to keep my heart from exploding and my brain from saying, “You know what? Later” and leaving me entirely. 
 
But I know this is all entirely my fault.  I make decent money (though not that decent), but I stink at saving/spending.  For example, while thinking about money-saving tactics, I thought, “When I go home to Philly, I’m not taking Amtrak anymore.  It’s pointless to spend $50 each way when I can get home and back from $30 on NJ Transit.  Also, maybe I should go to the Caribbean.  Maybe I can do a long weekend in Vermont in the spring, Oktoberfest in the fall, and the Caribbean next winter!”  I then spent the next 30 minutes online looking for Caribbean vacation deals.  God I suck. 
 
And my weekend was ruined.  I didn’t go out Friday OR Saturday night, making me the biggest loser in the world.  Instead, I sulked around the apartment, smoked ALL of my roommate Brian’s pot (sorry dude) and felt sorry for myself.  And now it’s Monday, it’s cold and raining, and I have a full week or work ahead of me.  Crap and crap again. 
 
Desperate times call for desperate measures, and so I have made a decision: I’m selling everything.  I realized that I have a lot of junk that I don’t use, and so I’m getting rid of it.  And to prove that I’m serious about this, I’m going to sell one of the most important things in my life, something that formed me as a person as much as any teacher or relative did, something that has always been there for me, through thick and thin: my porn collection.
 
I have in my possession 13 VHS tapes of pornography that I have collected over the past ten years.  Each tape is special to me and has its own story.  Each has given me a lifetime of good memories and boners.  Each has given me solace on many a cold, lonely night (or day or whenever).  But they must go. 
 
The rise of the DVD, coupled with the computer revolution and the emergence of file-sharing, has made these porno tapes near obsolete.  Sure, they’re still good and viewable, but I hardly ever watch them.  I do have a VCR, but it’s a combo TV/VCR with a 13″ screen, a purchase I made at the nadir of my loneliness, and it’s used only to view these tapes.  I can sell these tapes and the TV/VCR, make a decent buck, and use the money to pay down some of my GINORMOUS debt. 
 
But please, do not inquire as to whether you can purchase the tapes.  Because of their sentimental value, they can only go to a select few people, people who I know will take care of them and treat them with the respect and reverence they so right earned over the years.  A have a few buyers in mind, and I will begin to contact them shortly to arrange a deal.
 
In the meantime, I will do my best to scrimp and save.  I’ll start slowly, and work my way up, because I know it will be a longer process.  For example, today I stole an apple from my cafeteria.  Score.  Maybe next week I’ll steal a bag of chips, and before you know it I’ll be walking out of there will a frozen yogurt machine.  Patience is the key.  Patience is my friend.

long lost/homeless love, books, my moms, eotw, songs, good friday
Jason posted on March 24, 2005

On Tuesday I was walking around Union Square when I randomly saw a girl I slept with five years ago.  I was just minding my own business, rocking out to my iPod, when I saw this woman and thought, “Hey, that girl looks like Stacy.  Hmph.”  Upon closer inspection, I said to myself, “Holy shit - that is Stacy!”  Of course, I didn’t approach her, because after our dance of love I stopped speaking to her entirely and haven’t spoken to her since.  This is probably because I had a girlfriend at the time, but really, it was a long time ago, so I can’t definitively make that call.  Also she was a terrible lay - it was like fucking a mannequin that had been microwaved in an attempt to replicate normal human body heat (I’m sure she said of me “It was like fucking a rug with a pen cap sticking out of it”).

 

Anyway, when I got home, my encounter (or lack thereof) with the old flame prompted this exchange between my roommate Brian and I:

 

Me: “Dude, I randomly saw this girl I slept with five years ago on the street.”

Brian: [pondering for a few seconds] “You mean, like, she’s homeless?” 

 

No, Brian, “on the street” does not mean she’s living on the street.  Although to be honest, if she was in fact homeless I probably would have approached her, because I’m guessing she would have put out for me again (”Hey Stacey, why don’t you come back to my place and get warm?  Then I’ll make you a turkey sandwich if you let me take pictures of you slow dancing in my bathroom in the nude.  Well, you can wear a goalie mask, but otherwise completely nude.”)   

 

But the whole thing made me feel old.  I saw someone I slept with five years ago?  That’s kind of a strange thing to happen to someone as young as me.  However, I am 25, so I guess I am getting old.


I don’t know - I have no idea where I’m going with this.  All I know is that I’m getting drunk tonight and nothing can stop me.  So let’s just move the hell on… 

 

*******************************************

 

I despise when bloggers have parts of their blog like “What I’m Reading”.  I’m sorry, but I don’t give a fuck what you are reading.  What’s even worse is when what these bloggers are reading are esoteric, dense academic works, ostensibly saying, “Hey everyone - look how smart I am!” 

 

Now, having gotten that out of the way, of course I’m going to tell you what I’m reading.  Hypocrite?  Sure.  Closet Annie Lennox fan and borderline pedophile?  Totally.  But do I call it like I see it?  Hells yes.  

 

Two books you have to read: 

 

1) LA Diaries by James Brown (no, not the Godfather of Soul). 

 

The publisher’s description tells you all you need to know:

Plagued by the suicides of both his siblings, heir to alcohol and drug abuse, divorce, and economic ruin, novelist James Brown lived a life clouded by addiction, broken promises, and despair. Beautifully written and limned with dark humor, these twelve deeply confessional, interconnected chapters address personal failure, heartbreak, the trials of writing for Hollywood, and the life-shattering events that finally convinced Brown he must “change or die.”

You know, some light reading.

 

Hear me now: I read a lot.  I’m not bragging, but I don’t have much to do and so I spend a lot of time in bed, slowly dying, reading books to pass the time.  I’m not saying I read smart books or that I am smart, I just don’t really have a lot of friends and I don’t like tv, unless it’s “Cold Case Files” or “Friends”. 

 

And this book actually made me cry - twice.  I’ll be the first to admit that I’m a pussy, but it really got me.  Sure, maybe my former therapist might point out that I see a little of myself in the main character, to which I would reply, “What?  I’m sorry, but I wasn’t listening”, but I don’t think that’s the case.  It’s just very powerful stuff and definitely worth a look. 

 

(I moved from this book to a book called Another Bullshit Night in Suck City, the story of a drug-addict who works in a homeless shelter and his difficult relationship with his alcoholic/failed writer father, who is homeless.  Jesus Christ.  I ask my friends to call me every once in a while to check up on me this weekend because the outlook isn’t very rosy.)

 

2) The Evil BB Chow and Other Stories by Steve Almond

 

I actually haven’t read this book yet - it will be arriving at my apartment at some point today, thanks for Barnes & Noble’s same day delivery in Manhattan - but if it’s anything like Almond’s previous works (My Life in Heavy Metal and Candyfreak), than it should be most excellent.  More details to follow after I’ve checked the book out myself, but go on and buy it.   

 

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From the “Everyone Says Their Family Is Weird, But Trust Me - Mine Is Really Weird” Department: my mom called me yesterday at work, ecstatic.  See, my mom, like a lot of moms, is obsessed with bargains and saving money.  For example, a few weeks ago when I told her that a bottle of shampoo in my local pharmacy costs $8, she nearly fainted.  Since then she’s been on a mission to buy me all sorts of toiletries and other products in Philly, where it’s cheaper, so that I can then bring them up to NYC and not have to spend so much money on them.  
 
And so she called the other day to tell me that she got twelve sticks of deodorant for me for the grand price of nothing.  Actually, the store even gave her 24¢.  WTF?
 
I have no idea how this* is possible and I’m sure the only way you can understand this is if you are a mom.  I asked her how it came to be that she bought something and the store gave her money, and she tried explaining it but it got confusing quickly and I tuned out completely.  At any rate, this purchase (or whatever) was definitely one of the high points of her week. 
 
Oh, moms are so crazy.

 

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I’m thinking about starting a weekly section of this post called “Email of the Week”.  This is because I get a lot of really good emails from you all, as well as a lot of good feedback when I write a post answering your emails.  I like to hear what you think and there is no comments section on this blog (it’s my site - if you want to write something on the web, get your own site) so email is the only way that you can get in touch with me and share your thoughts or what you look like without pants. 

 

However, I am a very lazy man and it’s hard to me to categorize and keep up with your emails.  I feel like I’m going to try to do better at this, but I’m most likely talking out my ass.  Odds are very good that this is both the first and last installment of “Email of the Week”. 

 

But, if you have a dilemma, a comment, an idea, or even a good story, send it along to me.  I should warn you that I probably won’t think your story is funny, so focus on the dilemmas, comments, and ideas instead.

 

Our first ”Email of the Week” (I’m already sick of writing it) comes from Joe in Williamsburg, Brooklyn:   

i have this idea that for five minutes i wasn’t going to tell anyone about because they would steal it and become rich, etc. but fuck it, i thought maybe you could just expand on it a bit.

you know how in typical porn there’s the action sequence and then at the end the dude jerks a load on the girl’s face?  yeah.  i figured you were with me.  well anyway, what if the guy was like, “i’m gonna bust this in your eye, so you better close them.” and so she closes her eyes and the dude holds a fucking air horn up to her face and lets out a blast.  i mean seriously.  that would be porn i would buy and watch right in front of my roommate (a girl) because it would slip out of the pervey porn category and in to the comedy genre.

even better is that after you’ve done a few of those tricks, you could get the girl to hold a jar of marbles or an urn or something that she is sure to drop when the porn horn sounds.  there could be other shit too, i guess, like a real slobbery St. Bernard starts licking her face or dump some ice water on her, all whilst expecting a gizload.

i don’t know.  what do you think?

Wow - now that’s fucking funny.  I don’t really know how I can expand on it because it’s really all there.  I think it works because it’s universal - every porn scene ends like this, and it’s probably the dumbest moment of the whole porn clip.  No girl wants some dude to blow it in her eyes, but at these moments the women say shit like “Give it to me baby!” and “I want it on my face!”  The visual of a guy saying “You want it? Then close your eyes” and then taking giant bucket of ice water and throwing it on the chick has kept me laughing since I’ve read this email.  Or the guy saying, “You want it?  Well then hold this giant vase filled with marbles and I’ll give it to you” - it’s brilliant.  Simply brilliant.   

 

So thank you Joe from Williamsburg for our first “EOTW” (there - that’s much shorter).

 

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Six Songs:

 

“You’re Always Going Too Soon”  Matthew Jay

Dan in NYC recommended this one to me (well, this artist).  Catchy little tune with some nice guitar work.  Kinda sad too, so that’s right up my alley.  Because I need help getting myself depressed.  I can’t do that easily enough by stripping down and looking in the mirror at my bear-like body and wine cork-like penis.  Seriously, naked I look like an acorn on a furry bean bag.  Anyway…

 

God I love that “acorn on a bean bag” joke.   

 

“Boy With A Problem”  Elvis Costello

(Please note: if you’re downloading this, be sure to download the version from the album “Trust”, not “Imperial Bedroom”.  They are very different and the version from “Trust” is much, much better.)

This is the best song ever written about having a drinking problem.  Very intense, very sad, very much worth checking out.  Just a guy at his piano singing his heart out about how his boozing is ruining his marriage.  Damn. 

“Here” Pavement

I’m reluctant to recommend a Pavement song because way back when I recommend “Shady Lane” I got emails from hardcore Pavement fans for the next two weeks saying that “Shady Lane” was a terrible song of theirs and I’m an asshole.  I admit, I don’t know crap about Pavement, but I like this song.  It is also very depressing and makes me want to take some quaaludes or valium or something that will allow me to lay around all day in bed feeling tired and wonderful.  And that’s really all I have to say about this.   

 

“I Could Die For You”  RHCP

Moving onto something a little more happy (or at least sweet).  When “By The Way” came out, it really rocked my world.  It’s so melodic and, well, pretty.  But at the same time it doesn’t compromise the signature Chili Pepper’s sound.  Anyway, I dig this song…a nice little alterna-love song.     

 

“You Know My Name (Look Up The Number)”  The Beatles

Is anyone else pissed at The Beatles because they too think the first part of this song is pretty awesome, and then it goes and gets all weird?  When I meet Paul McCartney, I’ll make sure this is the first thing I talk to him about.  And then I’ll ask about his wife’s wooden leg.   

 

“It’s Oh So Quiet”  Bjork

Seriously, what would it be like to fuck Bjork?  I envision her bouncing around, screaming, yelping, biting, stopping to piss on the floor, starting again, punching, kicking, stopping again to start a fire in a wastepaper basket, starting again, pulling clumps of hair out (both your and hers), all the while yelling gibberish at the top of her lungs.  And what kind of guy gets to say, “Yeah, Bjork’s my girlfriend.”  I mean, how fucked up does that dude have to be?   

 

Anyway, it ain’t a bad song.  Weird, but good weird.

 

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Because of the Good Friday holiday tomorrow, I have off work and therefore will not be posting.  Instead, I will be lying in bed, recover from a hangover and will probably make a large marijuana purchase.  So thank you Jesus for dying for my sins and giving me this day off to buy a lot of pot.  Seriously - I owe you one.

 

(Also, I think we have a record.  In this post, I compared my penis to a pen cap, a wine cork, and an acorn.  Wow - I don’t often pat myself on the back, but I think I deserve it here.  Have a good weekend.)

fantasy baseball 2005
Jason posted on March 23, 2005

I’ve hinted at it before, but more than I’ve ever let on (until now), fantasy baseball is a GIANT part of my life.
 
[Shhh - do you hear that clicking noise?  That's the sound of thousands of international/women readers clicking off my site.  It's both sad and beautiful at the same time.  Sigh.]
 
For those of you who don’t know, fantasy baseball is a way for sports aficionados (read: nerds) like myself to live vicariously through their favorite major leaguers.  To play, you join a league with some friends that typically has ten to twelve teams.  Each person manages a team.  The league begins before the start of the baseball season with draft.  The goal is to draft a group of players to fill out a team (i.e. each team, like each major league team, would have a first baseman, three outfielders, five starting pitchers, etc).  Any stats that your players accumulate, your team accumulates.  Points are awarded for these stats, and whichever team has the most points at the end of the season wins the league. 
 
But it’s more than just sports statistics - it’s a way for guys to keep in touch and talk tremendous shit about each other and each other’s failings, mothers, and girlfriends (or lack thereof - the girlfriends I mean, not the mothers, because that shit ain’t funny).  I have been in a league with roughly the same ten guys every year since 2001.  Sure, it doesn’t sound like a very long time, but if it wasn’t for this league I wouldn’t have kept in touch with these assholes after college, as we have very little else to talk about and one time I fingerblasted my buddy Jon’s girlfriend when he was in the hospital.  But because of the fantasy league, I talk to them nearly every day.  Mostly about their inadequate testicles, but whatever. 
 
I’m not going to bother explaining how the scoring system works, because it’s very complicated and if you’re still reading this you know how fantasy baseball works.  What I will do instead is give my 2005 preview for fantasy baseball, giving my top players at each position, followed by some thoughts (please note: at any given time I may be lying, as I know others in my league are reading this and I don’t want to tip my hand). 
 
And I should warn you now, this is not going to be funny.  If you want funny (or the closest I can get to funny), check out the “Choice Cuts” or the pictures and come back tomorrow.  I still love you and I hope you still love me.
 
We’ll start at catcher, which has always been the bane of the fantasy manager’s existence.

CATCHER
1) Ivan Rodriguez
2) Javy Lopez
3) Victor Martinez
4) Jorge Posada
5) Jason Varitek
6) Joe Mauer
 
One look at this list and you’ll notice something right away: Puerto Ricans or people from those Puerto Rico-type countries make good catchers.  However, when we say “good catchers”, it’s relative because catchers are not known for their fantasy production.  After an early love affair with Pudge Rodriguez, I’ve learned to stay away from catchers for the most part and take them late - very late, typically not until after Round 15.  There’s just too much talent out there otherwise for me to waste a high pick on someone who’s going to give me 70-18-70-2-.270 (runs-home runs-rbis-stolen bases-average).  Joe Mauer is an interesting study.  He’s a 22 year-old phenom with a ton of tools…and bad knees.  I might take a flier on him, but very late.  My advice: wait until late and go after someone serviceable like Estrada, Leiberthal, or Kendall. 
 
FIRST BASE
1) Albert Pujols
2) David Ortiz
3) Todd Helton
4) Jim Thome
5) Carlos Delgado
6) Adam Dunn
 
This position is ridiculously deep, and so for this reason I’d tend to stay away from 1B early.  Sure, these guys are mashers, but why draft Helton in the second round when in a ten team league you can get someone like Derrek Lee or Aubrey Huff in the fifth (or possibly later)?  Of course, I’m partial to Jim Thome, as I love the Phils and fat guys, but there are so many very good 1B that I’d be happy with any of the above or the aforementioned Lee and Huff or guys like Teixiera, Konerko, Hafner, Morneau, Sexson, or Casey on my team as my starting 1B.  Just so damn deep. 
 
SECOND BASE
1) Alfonso Soriano
2) Jeff Kent
3) Marcus Giles
4) Mark Loretta
5) Jose Reyes
6) Bret Boone
 
From depth to dearth: there ain’t much at 2B this year.  Soriano’s numbers took a major tumble when he got to Texas, Bret Boone got off the ‘roids and became terrible, and Jeff Kent still has a porn star moustache.  Not much to say here.  Though analysts are predicting a bounce back year for Soriano, I can’t see using a first or second round pick on him (especially since his hammy’s bothering him and he may start the season on the DL), and I might consider taking Kent in the fifth.  I’m interested in Reyes: though he walked only 5 times in 210 at-bats, he’s got some wheels (provided he stays injury-free).  Otherwise, 2B is a real shit show.
 
SHORTSTOP
1) Miguel Tejada
2) Michael Young
3) Derek Jeter
4) Edgar Renteria
5) Jimmy Rollins
6) Nomar Garciaparra
 
There’s a good amount of talent here, though not as much as at 1B.  Notably absent from this list is Carlos Guillen, as c’mon, there’s no way he repeats his 97-20-97-12-.318 year he had last year.  He’s fucking Carlos Guillen!  I like Tejada, but he’s not getting 150 rbis again.  I also think Renteria and Nomar, former second or third round picks, could have big bounce back years.  Also worth looking at are guys like Furcal, Cabrera, and Matsui.  I’m kind of old-fashioned, so I like my middle-infielders to be speed guys, so I’m partial to someone like Rollins, who could steal 30 bases easily. 
 
THIRD BASE
1) Alex Rodriguez
2) Scott Rolen
3) Adrian Beltre
4) Eric Chavez
5) Aramis Ramirez
6) Melvin Mora
 
Anytime the 6th ranked player put up numbers like 111-27-104-11-.340, you know the position is pretty deep.  And I’m leaving out very legitimate guys like Aubrey Huff, Hank Blalock, and Chipper Jones.  Then there’s Mike Lowell, coming off a quiet year but with Delgado now in the lineup; youngsters David Wright, Casey Blake and Dallas McPherson looking to make an impact; and Troy Glaus and Aaron Boone returning from injury.  This position is LOADED.  I personally like Chavez.  He was hurt last year and a lot of people will let him slip in their drafts.  I also like Huff, who qualifies at 1B, 3B and OF.  Not too shabby. 
 
OUTFIELD
1) Vladimir Guerrero
2) Carlos Beltran
3) Manny Ramirez
4) Bobby Abreu
5) Jim Edmonds
6) Gary Sheffield
7) Carl Crawford
8) Ichiro Suzuki
9) Miguel Cabrera
10) Hideki Matsui
 
Barry Bonds, do you know why so many people hate you, aside from you cheating the game and all?  It’s because you’re a whiney little (actually, very large) bitch.  Do you know how many fantasy leagues Bonds has either ruined or sent into disarray by hinting at his retirement?  Good LORD.  Because my league counts OBP (instead of average) and total bases (instead of home runs), Bonds is a top three pick.  Instead, no one knows what the hell to do.  Thanks, thanks a lot Barry.  As hinted first in Slack Lalane, maybe Bonds is going to quit because he finally can’t play without steroids?  What a fucking asshole. 
 
Anyway, I lot of people think, “I don’t want to take an OF with a high pick, because there are so many of them.”  Yes, asshole, but you have to start three, as opposed to starting one of the other position players.  Vlad’s still at the top, and while I don’t think Beltran will put up the same numbers playing in Shea, you have to love any player with 30-30 potential.  Carl Crawford is a surprise pick, even going in the first round in some drafts because of his gaudy number of stolen bases.  While I see the logic, I don’t think it’s the best thing to do.  Crawford’s up there, but there’s no way I’m going to take him over a guy like Sheffield, who gives you everything but SBs, while Crawford gives you almost nothing in the HR and RBI departments. 
 
STARTING PITCHING
1) Randy Johnson
2) Johan Santana
3) Curt Schilling
4) Jason Schmidt
5) Pedro Martinez
6) Roger Clemens
7) Ben Sheets
8) Roy Oswalt
9) Mark Prior
10) Carlos Zambrano
 
To me, it’s an easy choice: if you have the #1 overall pick in your draft, you have to take Randy Johnson.  I know he’s old, but he’s been old for about seven years now.  What I also know is that he had 16 wins last year for a team that went 51-111.  And now he’s pitching for a team that went 101-61 last year.  Barring injury, Randy Johnson could easily win 25 games.  I have no doubt about this.  And his peripherals should increase, as even though he’s switching to the AL (with the DH), these AL hitters haven’t seen him since 1998.  Randy is #1.  I don’t understand how this is even debatable. 
 
Aside from Randy, the biggest question is Mark Prior’s health.  If he’s healthy, I’d rank him at #2, just ahead of Santana, but there are too many question marks for me to feel comfortable about him.  Pedro could have a very good year at Shea, but he’s been on the decline for so long and is such a headcase that it’s impossible to say for sure.  I don’t think Jason Schmidt is getting the respect he deserves; prior to his September melt-down, he was the best pitcher in baseball.
 
CLOSERS
1) Eric Gagne
2) Mariano Rivera
3) Joe Nathan
4) Armando Benitez
5) Brad Lidge
6) Jason Isringhausen
 
With closers, it’s Gagne, Rivera, and then everyone else.  Maybe I have Lidge too low (he struck out an astonishing 157 in 94.2 innings last year), but closers are about getting saves, and Lidge had only 29 last year, while the other guys had 45, 53, 44, 47, and 47 respectively.  Typically, my strategy is to focus on starting pitchers and grab four crappy closers late in the draft, but there’s certainly a piece of mind element in getting a guy like Gagne or Rivera in the third and not having to worry about drafting another closer for a long, long time.  Keep an eye on Keith Foulke and Billy Wagner, who could both have big years.
 
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So that’s my analysis.  I have a draft this Thursday, as well as drafts next Wednesday and Thursday (and yes, I am single).  I’m sorry to go off on such a tangent, but preparing for these drafts have totally taken over my life, so if I have to suffer then you have to suffer. 
 
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to examining Jason Schmidt’s splits versus Curt Schilling’s splits.  Because, really, I’m not sure who I like better.  I mean, Curt has the bloody sock, but Jason and I have the same name.  God I’m so confused. 

Boston vs. NYC
Jason posted on March 22, 2005

I love Boston.  I should clear this up now, you know, before I go on and bash it here. 

 

I lived in Boston (or more specifically, Chestnut Hill and Brighton) from the fall of ‘97 until the spring of ‘01 when I went to Boston College.  And it really is a great city.  There’s just something about it – it’s small, yet cosmopolitan; it’s a great sports town; there are a lot of beautiful women; it’s got a very comfortable feel to it that’s hard to describe.

 

But if there’s one thing that I learned this weekend it’s that I’m officially becoming a New Yorker.  With all due respect to Boston and my hometown of Philadelphia, which will always be #1 in my book (in the same way that my first-born son, though retarded, will always be my #1), New York is the greatest city in the world.  It’s really that simple. 

 

And I learned this more than ever this weekend in Boston.  Below are five quick reasons why NYC is better than Boston (and Bostonians, remember: I love Boston.  Seriously.  So don’t send me any mean emails.  I just haven’t got time for the pain).

 

I have never been maced in New York City.