Archive for April, 2011


Deep Thoughts on the NBA Playoffs Rd. 1 (Pt. 2)

April 26, 2011

Phew, I thought Part Deux would never get here. Not sure this NBA blog is more anticipated than Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part Two (HP7b) since only like a few hundred people have read my site since yesterday. I think a couple more people read Harry Potter, but I’m holding out hope that I can one day create a mythical world that renders me a billionaire. Until then, you should read about the 10 neat things happening out in the Western Conference playoffs so far. Without further ado… I give you…

Somewhere, Eva Longoria must be smiling after her ex' first four games.

Tony Parker’s Curse:

Don't even get me started on this backstabbing, Benedict Arnold whore. What's worse than your wife cheating on you? Cheating on you with a little French prick.

Simple concept: you don’t cheat on Eva Longoria. All of a sudden, crazy shit starts happening like Tony Allen becomes a star, Mike Conley turns into the left-handed Steve Nash, Zach Randolph is Moses Malone, Marc Gasol plays like George Mikan and you’re the star point guard of a number 1 seed about to get bounced by the 8 seed.  Just goes to show you can never trust the French. One day, this slimy bastard wakes up, spreads some jelly on a hot loaf of brioche and decides, “I want to les bang zie white lady with zie cute little kidz who iz married to my les teammate, Brent Barry.” You get what you ask for man. Karma’s a bitch, especially when it comes to the French. I mean, those poor little fairies actually helped us win the Revolutionary War, then over the next 200 years we allied with England and made the French lick our collective baguettes while we saved them from speaking German.

Memphis Grizzlies’ Collective Balls: Eight guys are combining to score 90 points a game for Memphis in the playoffs. Three others chip in six points a night and all 11 of them sprint everywhere all over the court for every minute they are on it defensively. Another classic example of what happens when your supposed “best” player (Rudy Gay in this instance), gets hurt or leaves the team, in the NBA and it becomes just that: a team. Denver did it too, but Memphis is perfecting it against San Antonio right now. In their 104-86 throttling of the Spurs to take a 3-1 advantage Monday night, Memphis had nine guys score eight points or more, including the ridiculous line Darrell Arthur had off the bench: 17 mins, 14 pts, 7-10 shooting, +13. The play that best exemplified the Grizzlies advantage over the older Spurs came midway through the fourth quarter. Arthur recovered from the defensive free throw line to block a layup attempt, landed out of bounds, then dead sprinted 90 feet to catch an alley oop from OJ Mayo in transition, five seconds later. The emphatic finish essentially drove a stake through the Spurs in this series, and more likely, their dynasty of the past decade (until they rally to win the next three in one of the best comebacks ever).

All that serious basketball analysis made me thirsty. You can look at her while I go grab a drink…

You didn't think Adriana would only be in yesterday's ode to NBA girlfriends did you?

Chris Paul’s Got Great Skills: Napoleon Dynamite knew it. Chicks only like guys with great skills. Bowhunting skills, nunchuk skills, computer hacking skills. Chris Paul’s got ballhandling, shooting, defensive and every other necessary skill on a basketball court. Homie is literally toying with the Lakers in this series and he’s doing it with four backups who masquerade as starters on the Hornets. On any given possession, he dribbles in three circles, head fakes three different jumpers, then either buries one, or finds an open man who will. Paul has somehow transformed a group of certified scrubs into a cohesive unit of giant slayers who look poised to take the Lakers to seven games, if not shock the world and win the series. Personally, I’d love nothing more than to see Kobe to lose this series on a buzzer-beating 3 by his positional counterpart, and fellow Italian citizen, Marco Bellinelli.

Kobe’s Lowtop Mambas:

Hey uhh, Nike, you might want to work on these “basketball” shoes. How many times is this guy going to roll his ankle like a double-jointed Cirque de Soleil performer before we realize this little fashion statement isn’t working? I blame Kobe for being a pompous ass, obviously, but it would be amazing if the most recent injury hobbled the Black Mamba enough to trip up the Lakers in this series.


Lakers Laughingstock: I just scrolled through the Hornets roster and I’m positive there were a couple typos. For one, DJ Mbenga is haunting his ex-Lakers this series haha. Sorry, couldn’t even get through that sentence without virtually giggling. For two, Patrick Ewing Jr. is on the Hornets active roster. But more importantly, the Lakers are playing terribly. Last game, when Kobe went scoreless in the first half, finished with 17 points on 18 shots and generally sucked, he was a “facilitator.” He also chipped in six death glares to teammates (Pau Gasol led with four, matching his rebounds in 36 minutes of play) with another nine glares at officials. If the Lakers don’t win the next two games, I’ll be stunned. If they lose this series, Chris Paul should have to average 40-10-20, because he is all they have to worry about.

Mavs-Blazers Series: I’d like to write more about this series, but it has been banished to the NBA_TV second string broadcasts, and neither team really has done much to inspire me. Dallas should win the series, then lose to the Lakers, but who knows. I’d much rather just make up a conversation Dirk and DeShawn Stevenson had in the locker room recently:

It's all about the Lincoln's baby.

Dirk: (between bites of Knockwurst) So DeShawn, did it hurt when you tattooed Abe Lincoln’s face on your Adam’s apple?

Deshawn: Nah, dawg, ain’t nothin but a tickle, my brotha from anotha Germanic motha.

Dirk: Interesting. Since the whole internment camp thing us Germans kind of gave up on the tattoos.

Deshawn: The fc*k is an internment camp? That like training camp?

Dirk: You know, like Hitler… ahh never mind (angrily throws out remainder of Knockwurst)!!!

Blazers Bitching: Portland players are upset that Brian Cardinal laid out Patty Mills on a screen with the clock winding down and the game in hand. You know what I say? Don’t play this bush league “press and play D for the whole 48 minutes until the final buzzer blows,” Portland. This is the NBA. Everyone knows when the game is out of reach, you give up under a minute. Scrubs come off the bench and jack up threes or maybe catch a banger. Patty Mills should be embarrassed that he’s ball-hawking for a steal, trying to embarrass a fellow tiny ass point guard in JJ Barea. You want to do that sort of crap? Fine, here’s Brian Cardinal’s brickshithouse frame knocking your ass over. There you go Patty, let whoever the hell is even on Portland nowadays peel you up out of the floorboards.

I’m all fired up now, time for a dime piece.

Elsa Benitez, former SI cover model, and wife of... yep, you guessed it... RONY SEIKALY! They aren't together anymore, because Elsa realized he had no low post game. Badump bump!

Nuggets Tattoos: Because you literally cannot notice anything else during a Nuggets game. Every time up and down the court, there’s a close-up shot of one of these psychopaths. So, I’m going to highlight my two most impressive tattoos, and let a picture of a tat be worth a thousand words. Or just one silent jaw drop. (Honorable mention to Kenyon Martin who was forced to cover up the lips tattoo of his now-ex rapper girlfriend Trina, otherwise, he would have made my cut).

Chris "Birdman" Anderson: "Free Bird" Neck Tat, amongst other things.

JR Smith "Swish" and "YM" young money tattoo. How excited was George Karl when he found out JR became a young money athlete, by the way?

Scotty Brooks is Liam Neeson: While I’m not sure this has any impact on the series, if I’m the Nuggets, I’m definitely concerned when I have to beat not only Qui Gon Jin, but Kevin Durant and Russell Westbrook, too. Seriously, check out the comparison between the two.

You’re confused aren’t you? I know, it’s like, did the guy on the left teach Obi Wan or Serge Ibaka his craft? Is the guy on the right giving speeches to Kevin Durant in the huddle or tracking down Albanian human traffickers? Either way, Brooks has Oklahoma City poised and ready to make a deep playoff run. They are even getting the bonus of not having to face the Spurs in the next round (most likely), who they do not match up well with. Expect the Thunder to roll past Memphis, as they are both young energetic teams, only Memphis is far overmatched in talent. Unlike this chick…

That's not Tara Reid... it's Devin Harris' Playboy girlfriend Meghan Allen, and her underboobs. The NBA: I LOVE THIS GAME!

So, for those who counted yesterday, or today, I only did nine stories for each Conference. I didn’t plan it, just somewhere along the line I thought “eh, nobody will notice” and “I don’t write too well as it is, especially if I’ve got nothing to write about.” If you were really looking for two more thoughts from me, here they are:

1- Oklahoma City is the best home-court in the NBA.

2- Miami is the worst home-court in the NBA.

Stay tuned…


Deep Thoughts on the NBA Playoffs Rd. 1

April 25, 2011

I’m sick of doing previews.  I’m sure all my loyal readers were stunned when they didn’t see an NBA Playoff Prognostication blog, but quite frankly, I didn’t think there would be much predicting required.  The Spurs couldn’t possibly lose a series to the last seeded Grizzlies without Rudy Gay, and starring Tony Allen.  The Lakers would blow by the Hornets like an Aston Martin at a red light next to a Kia (the official car of the NBA!). Orlando would beat Atlanta by 20 every game like last year and the Bulls and Heat would sweep through to the second round. Only, somewhere along the way, none of that stuff has happened. Easter Sunday featured half the playoff teams in action, and I watched all or parts of every game. Along the way I’ve watched every other team play, and I’m ready to share my thoughts on the 20 most interesting players, teams, styles and storylines for this year’s NBA playoffs. With only the Knicks currently dead, every team has a chance, Nicole Ritchie buhlimic slim as that may be, to advance to the next round. I’m doing this in two parts because, well, it will be Titanic long otherwise. Eastern Conference thoughts today. Western Conference tomorrow. Ten thoughts a day. Get after it.

Today’s hot pictures will be brought to you by the girlfriends/wives/baby mamas of players that I can find. Except for LaLa, because I cannot respect a woman who made her fame under the name “LaLa” and who isn’t hot. Here’s a sub for her…

Sick as it may be, Adriana Lima married Marko Jaric, then made his babies. Google him if you want to feel better about your chances to land an "Angel."

Rajon Rondo’s Ugly Side- The third highest jersey seller in the NBA. Crazy right? That should tell you all you need to know about Rondo. People who love his flashy play go out to buy his jersey. Meanwhile, people who know basketball also know he gives you the Kim/Khloe. Exactly. You either get a near-perfect performance of dominance, or a sloppier related version of that display. Maybe it’s nitpicking, but all the Celtics need is a steady point guard who can actually knock down jumpers and stay in front of his man every single night. Starting Mike Conley Jr., the Cs would have won the NBA title last year and are the heavy favorite to repeat. After the first series against the Knicks, Rondo didn’t really change my opinion on this matter, but it is a step in the right direction from his horrid post-All Star break/loss of his bromantic lover, Perk.

Amar’e Stoudemire’s Back: So, when’s surgery, bro? I mean, when you snap your spine and it’s ripping through your ass like a tail, you need surgery, right? Wait. It was a what? Muscle spasm? Like, you slept on it funny? I would say more about the Amar’e spas’m costing his team the series by sitting out almost all of Game  2,  but I’d rather just direct you to this Youtube clip.

Obviously, Amar’e isn’t Basketball Jesus, but come on, man. You’re embarrassing yourself.

 Heat-Sixers Series: If these were NFL games, they’d be playing two-hand touch. Honestly, there’s more violence in a pre-pubescent pillow fight. Every time down the court, somebody calls for a clear out, and one guy dribbles at the top of the key until they either get shutoff from driving to the hoop, or pull up for a jumper that clangs off the rim. If the latter happens, someone gets a kickout pass for a contested three, which similarly ricochets off the iron like a Revolutionary naval battle. Either way, the game then automatically shifts into a fast break drill where Lebron and DWade try to perfect the alley oop like Jackie Moon passing to Coffee Black. Some of the worst playoff basketball I’ve seen in a while, the Celtics couldn’t have asked for a better series to get Miami into all the bad habits necessary to get mopped by a veteran team who runs an offensive set, and plays the best defense in the league.

Shaq's girl Hoopz, of Flavor of Love fame. He's 7'1.'' Her ass is proportionate. Match made in Heaven. Shaq will be ready for the Heat.

Doc. Gilbert Sam Arenas: Did you know Arenas’ full name is an anagram for:God bless America rant”! Bet you didn’t know he received a night school PhD in Anglo-European Studies, did you? I know, crazy, but hold on I’ll make this work. Only in America do you get to sign a contract for $111 million, then brandish a firearm to settle a gambling dispute with your teammate in Washington, get traded to the Magic, become a shell of your former talent, and still make $111 million. You can’t even blame the dude. How can you try at life, let alone a game when you are making $111 effing million. Give me like, a million dollars and I’m dropping everything, moving to Hawaii and opening a fruit stand. Give me $111 million and I’m opening 111 of those fruit stands and calling it a conglomerate. Plus, it’s also not Gilbert’s fault the NBA doesn’t require one-handed shooting (Youtube it if you haven’t seen him beat DeShawn Stevenson in a 3-pt contest with DeShawn shooting normal). As a final note, only in America can you invent both an educational background, and Arenas’ middle name of “Sam” to make this anagram work and trick your reader into thinking it was true until now.

So close, yet so far.

Dwight Howard’s Goatee: I started growing actual facial hair sometime around 19 years old. You know, not those weird wispy goat hairs, but actual, shave-required hair. Four years later, try as I might, my whole beard does not fill in or connect all the way around. Due to this genetic inconvenience, when my beard gets beyond thick stubble, it gets shaved.  Common sense. In my expert estimation, Dwight Howard is two full years away from having his goatee connect all the way around.  This means, for the next two years, he should not be modeling the gross, patchy, sophomoric looking goatee he currently is. Wouldn’t surprise me if chicks start withholding sex from him just because of that sparse chingina. I’m not trying to hate on Dwight, he just needs to realize some dudes can grow a full Grizzly Adams in time to dominate Little League, and others have to wait around until they’re 30 to pull off such a feat.

Tyler Hansbrough’s ADHD:


Everyone remembers the big goofy white kid in their recreation basketball league with mongoloid strength, who traveled all the time and smelled like ass. Hansbrough almost certainly acted as this kid in his rec league. You don’t get the nickname “Psycho T” unless you have “ADHD” stamped  onto your school records. Since then, he made it to the NBA, where he’s no longer the biggest, but he is super goofy, not quite a mongoloid, and still traveling relentlessly. Thankfully Psycho T found the perfect league to travel on almost every possession. He has somehow mastered the stutter-step without dribbling into a double pump fumble into his own chest ending with a banked in 8 foot layup.  His team should be up three games to one on the Bulls in an 8-1 seed upset. Somehow, the Bulls have the 3-1 series lead, mostly because of this guy…


Kyle Korver’s Hair:  You thought I was going to say Derrick Rose, didn’t you?! Well, call it my penchant for recognizing the rarest of species in the NBA: white guys with Bieber haircuts who water threes all day long. For a while, people were giving my man Tom Brady shit for his Bieber cut. Little did they know he simply wasn’t cutting his lettuce, ever, until he could tie it into a Brazilian pony tail and just kill it at street parades. Korver, on the other hand, legit fashions his moss into this glorious transgender style en route to burying dagger threes into his opponents hearts. Korver hit the go-ahead three with a minute left to win Game 1 of this series after the Bulls trailed all game. In Game 2, he hit the three to put them up five with a minute left that ended up being the difference. Sure, Rose is the MVP and I could have wasted time telling you stuff you already knew like: he can’t be guarded, his eyebrows are weird, and his insane hand tattoos don’t seem to match his docile demeanor, but that’s not as much fun.

Hope Dworaczyk was Jason Kidd's hook-up thingy until they broke up for reasons I can only suspect hinged on the fact she realized he is ugly as sin. Google her for a better picture. Before you ask, yes, she did "do Playboy or something."

Joe Johnson’s Triplewide Headband:

So, research says it has "medical relevance." Whatever.

This thing is just awful. I’m not even going too in-depth here, but Joe Johnson is wearing some form of thick circular cloth that covers his head worse than an old school dental surgeon’s wrap. I’ve seen skirts that barely cover a latin club rat’s ass with less material than whatever Joe is wearing on his head. Regardless of his lame style, the Hawks are dismantling the Magic in a remarkable turnaround from last year’s 20+ point average loss, mostly because of this…

Jamal Crawford’s Warm Up Gear: As soon as this stuff gets ripped from his body, he just immediately goes nuts. No, that last sentence is not describing a gay porn. Crawford has come off the bench to score 20 or more in all four of the Hawks games against Orlando. Sure, it helps when JJ Redick’s fauxhawk and Gilbert Arenas’ corpse are trying to guard you, but Crawford has been unreal. One respected former D1 basketball playing source of mine hates on Crawford, saying how awful he is, how he plays no defense and is an absolute pig when it comes to taking shots. I’d counter by saying when you get 20+ from one player on your bench, let alone the whole unit, nobody should complain about your defense. Keep hoisting, Jamal! Vinny “Microwave” Johnson would be proud.

You mean D Wade left his insane, overweight, high school sweetheart for Gabrielle Union?! I don't buy it...

Stay tuned for the Western Conference edition, tomorrow.


Party Bus Survival Guide

April 20, 2011

Ladies and gentleman, can I please have your attention! I have just been handed an urgent and horrifying piece of news, and I need all of you to stop what you’re doing and listen…

It’s Party Bus Season!

That’s right. ‘Tis the season to board a bus before noon, load that bus with mass quantities of alcohol, pick out your 32 coolest friends, fill your iPod (or iTunde) with the hottest songs possible, and prepare to take your city by shitstorm. Sure, you may be thinking, “Damn, if I do all that stuff, this bus would be harder to fc*k up than a wet dream!” Well, take it from someone who has fc*ked up his share of wet dreams: you’re wrong. You see, simply having fun on a party bus should never be the goal. The true glory comes when everyone on the bus is mid sing-along to Britney’s new “Till the World Ends” and realizes that this day has transcended sheer fun and entered a realm of bliss filled cheesecake, topped with Four Loko, fornication, fairy dust and of course, alliteration. Luckily for you, I just recently partook in this hallowed event, and am writing this guide today. Before I do that, here’s what that realm I just described looks like in female form.

I guess I could have just said its like Bar Rafaeli on a beach...

Another note before we get started. I have no idea where to insert gorgeous women in this particular blog, so they will just be strewn throughout haphazardly, or I will use a funny movie clip to emphasize my points… cool? Cool.


Perhaps the most important decision made since D Day is who gets the invite on your party bus. The first step in this process is realizing that you can’t possibly please everyone. With limited space available, you need to delicately balance the ratio of guys/girls, hot/mediocre (because you don’t chill with full-blown uggos anyway), true friends/friends of the hottest girls, and finally, out-of-town friends who help turn those awkward start of bus introductions into the tiny slices of life’s hilarity. Once your list is complete, there will be precisely six genres of guests on the bus. They are as follows.

a. Alpha Maximus

Natural born bus leaders. Little more needs to be said. They seamlessly transition the opening bus awkwardness into a full blown rave with/without the E by organizing group shotguns, shots, and or dance offs. Without these gregarious drunks, the party may never even percolate, let alone come to a full on boil of sex. I’d say more about this special breed, but you already know whether you are one or not.

b. Neonus Feminae

The rare breed of females who own neon spandex, thus feeling compelled to wear it on a day drinking bus sojourn. Really, the rest of the bus simply wonders if they bought spandex neon for any other reason. I mean, this isn’t an Eric Prydz video, this shit is real life. I digress. They are the explosively bright riders who obviously know how to party, and have the physique necessary (ie- not fat) to wear neon spandex without getting hypothetically kicked off, by society, or physically thrown off, by the rest of the bus.

c. Dormis Comatosis

While the bus is mid-song and full rage, an odd realization dawns upon one of the Alphas. “Wait a minute, I know I’m hammered, but isn’t (for this blog’s sake, we’ll say Maxwell) on this bus?!” Sure enough, lost in the shuffle of glory, is the fact that Maxwell has decided to get all fetal in the back of the bus’ pleather crevasse and pass out. Whether he missed the entire last bar stop, or simply dozed off for a Kanye-approved half an hour nap, will be forever lost in the annals of party bus lore. What matters is that he rallies. If not, well… 

d. Equus Altitudis

Sickeningly enough, there will be some person who steps onto the bus with the complete wrong attitude: retain some dignity. This person clearly needs to get off their high horse of judging, watching, look at the baby- look at the baby, and realize that the guy/girl taking turns giving each other beer showers are in fact, perfectly smitten. Judge them at your own peril, as you keep your pre-meditated party bus outfit dry and sip on your third beer in four hours. Obviously, based on the description, this species is generally compiled of the hot girl(s) and lame guy(s), because you can’t pick EVERYBODY on your bus, or just some form of the next category.

e. Awkwardae Societus

For whatever reason, God did not give everybody the same ability to be cool. For thisspecies, various social situations leave them wound tighter than the bindings of an Asians woman’s feet. They battle through disjointed conversations with strangers. Struggle from weird sexual angst with the opposite sex. Their gullets constrict when it comes time to take shots, and they generally prefer sitting in the back rather than standing by the pole in the front. Regardless, you still love them, because they are trying harder than ever, and in all seriousness, there ain’t enough room on a bus for 32 Alphas. Plus, there may be no greater social service on this planet than getting this species drunk enough to witness them pull a wildcard and turn Alpha right before your eyes. Like a Phoenix rising from the ashes. Some Mother Theresa shit right there.

It just felt like a good time for some Kim.

f. Immigrantus Cohabitatus

If you read this species and thought to yourself, “hold up, there’s migrant day workers hopping on this bus?!” well, you’re an idiot. This species is reserved for those friends traveling from out of town for the sole purpose of a bus rage. Ironically, they most likely took a treacherous bus ride to get there. Sitting next to an actual illegal immigrant and battling the constant back-of-bus urine/stool waft, they promised themselves they’d never take another bus, again. Thankfully, party buses only reek of beer, whiskey and of course, AMERICA!


The iTunde is obviously what we name our iPod playlist since our friendly neighborhood brotha, Tunde, has final say on any and all song additions. Now, unfortunately for you, Tunde may not be your friend and it might be a little uncomfortable to just send him a rando fb message inquiring for his aid on your bus’ playlist. Let me first say, I’m sorry. It is truly a shame you aren’t friends with the greatest Tunde I know. Now, since I’m super white, I’m not even going to attempt to tell you what to do. However, I also lived through this day and can clearly recall exact quotes from Tunde in breaking down his playlist preparation. So I’ll simply allow those to dictate our easy steps to making an iTunde.

Tundes gotten this look from many a white girl (miss you, young Britney!).

Step 1: “Listen man, you gotta have the white girl anthems!” Katy? Britney? Rihanna? Fergie? Rebecca Black? Welp… GANG’S ALL HERE! One of the most important aspects of any iTunde is to keep the white girls excited. You don’t want to include these artists because you’re too macho? Fine. Just know that you do this at the risk of jeopardizing your popularity in the white girl demographic. And we all know Tunde would never jeopardize his standing with white girls.

Step 2: “Look brah, ain’t nobody drunk at the beginning of the ride, so ain’t nobody singing along. Now’s when we can play jams white girls don’t know!” Ahhh, the classic caveat. I know what you’re thinking and the answer is, no, Tunde did not get a degree in psychology. He simply knows the inner psyche of any bus rider during their day along his DJ’ing journey. Slip in the lesser known, but still widely entertaining songs now, before white girls get drunk and the scene turns ugly (not visually, just, well you get it). Some suggestions: Wiz Khalifa’s “Big Screen,” Tinie Tempah’s “Written in the Stars,” and Rick Ross’ “Free Mason” to name just a few.

Step 3: “After hour two, people are starting to get pretty drunk, so you gotta hit those mothauffas with CLASSICS.” After some slightly more mellow times due to sobriety, the juices are flowing, and these songs just get everyone fired up. We’re talking Jay Z “Public Service Announcement,” Nelly “Shake Ya Tailfeather,” Biggie “Juicy,” and even some now less popular songs that used to top the iTunde charts back in ’07 like JT’s “Ayo Technology.” Also, feel free to use this time to play whatever Lonely Island song is en vogue at the time (“I Just Had Sex” or “I’m on a Boat” at ANY time).

She might not be featured on the iTunde, but her backside gets love from the blog.

Step 4: “I mean, by now people are damn near blacked out, so we gotta just get the bitch HYPED!” It is at this juncture in the bus trip that any good iTunde changes it from “amazing” to “Only Heaven’s Right Above It” as people are ripping shirts off, soaking each other in beer and raging til the cows come home. You’re obviously playing Lil Wayne, but some other songs that just turn a bus euphoric are, David Guetta’s “Give Me Everything Tonight,” Kid Cudi’s “Memories,” Kanye’s “Power Remix,” and a lesser known iTunde sleeper, Martin Solveig’s, “Hello,” just to name a few.

Step 5: “On the ride home, it really doesn’t matter what you play because there ain’t a CATDAMN person on the bus that’s remembering it.” Literally. I dare you to recall songs played in the final victory lap of your bus. It’s all just a blur of awesomeness clouded by hugs and high fives and arguing over where the bus drops everyone off. However, there may be a straggling sober person who fell into either the high-horse rider or the socially awkward categories. You never allow them to think you’re less cool, so just stuff the back end (that’s what she said) of your iTunde with more awesome songs that didn’t make the cut. Older Kanye, Jay Z, Will Smith, Donna Lewis, you get the gist.


The first major mistake that can be made during today’s journey is the seemingly obvious fact that getting off the bus will not be as much fun. That doesn’t mean steps can’t be taken to ensure the best possible time at bars you do stop at during the day. Unfortunately, the rest of society isn’t as awesome as all your friends, and may not be out at a bar day-drinking. The good news is, sports fans will be out day-drinking, because the only thing better than watching sports, is watching them drunk. Thankfully, with some minor sporting event research, you can go to the local ballpark or arena bars so that you aren’t all drinking alone.

You also may be wondering, “Why even get off the bus in the first place?” Here, there are two simple answers. One: the bus driver won’t just drive you around for six straight hours burning gas at 4 bucks a gallon and 10 miles per gallon. Two: where there is large beer consumption, there is a painful need to urinate without tearing a bladder. Sadly, not everyone on the bus can take turns getting boxed out by friends while they blast in and around the narrow mouth of a Poland Spring water bottle. This only works for a select few guys, who have no qualms soaking themselves rather than inducing a hernia from holding it. Guess you can consider me Miles Davis!


By mid-afternoon, no matter how many flavors of chips you have stocked on the bus, 32 riders will be hungrier than Somalia. In this most primal of needs, riders will do whatever it takes to nourish their body. Fortunately, the bus stops frequently enough to prevent cannibalism. Unfortunately, once the bus stops, keeping people in and around your bus can become challenging. Whether it’s the guys who have set out to find freshly grilled street meat from a sausage vendor, or some girls going to a Wagamama, everybody will struggle to make it back to the bus. For the record, I have no idea what a “Wagamama” is, but girls on our most recent bus stalked this place out, and from pictures and descriptions, they serve fresh-cut weeds in a mud sautee, and wash it down with grass-infused rain water. The key point here is to make sure your riders know to buddy up, keep in touch with someone staying near the bus, or have the bus driver on speed dial like the girl who drunkenly made friends with him (for this blog’s sake, we’ll call her an Izzabell).


In one of the great sociological experiments of today’s day and age, the party bus represents a rolling petri dish of sexual pharimones. Any time you have a near-equal number of bros and hos on your bus, the natural mating rituals will take place. Amplify that by alcohol, and you are bound to get some conversations that go a lot like this:

Guy: “Hey, you uhh, I really like you’re shirt. How it like falls off your shoulder like that, but it’s DESIGNED to do that. Hot shit.”

Girl: “Oh my gah. Really?! That’s sooo funny, because like, I was trying to figure out what to wear on this bus, like FOREVER.”

Guy: “Well uhh, no, no… you totally made the right choice. I didn’t want to say anything earlier, but I’ve sort of had a crush on you ever since you were the only chick who shotgunned that beer with all of us!”

Girl: “Can I (eyes roll into head), can I tell you a secret? Shhh (violently pokes mouth with index finger), but I think you’re totally hot.”

Guy: “For real?! Wow, do you like, want to go back to the Den and play some Catch Phrase?!”

Girl: “Ughhh, I thought you’d like NEVER ASK!”

Andddd… SCENE. Boom. Hook up complete. Party bus over. Blog done. Stay Tuned.

Sorry, hate to end it abruptly, but I lost every part of this blog from beyond the introduction paragraph and had to re-write it all. It is probably my life’s biggest regret ranking just ahead of majoring in Broadcast Journalism and not going to either an SEC or Pac-10 school.

Yup. Pac-10.


Disney World: Magic in Recession!

April 11, 2011

In case you weren’t sure, the economy is still a mess. Wisconsin House Rep. Paul Ryan (R) presented a budget plan yesterday that says by 2037, our GDP will so far exceed the national debt (by 800%) that the Congressional Budget Office “can’t conceive of any way” for the economy to continue at its current trajectory. Well, shit, Paul, I guess I just need to bide my time for the next 26 years until everyone’s in my financial boat. I use the term”boat” loosely, as it is more like a toilet seat floating across the frigid waters off the coast of Nova Scotia, but I digress. Does anyone know what happens when the economy ceases to exist? Should I spend the next 26 years stockpiling

Recession proof.

precious metals? Maybe that’s why the lady in Georgia (country, not Peaches) destroyed all of Armenia’s internet digging for copper? Perhaps society turns to the prison cast system and cigarettes are currency? This may be good news for me, but it’s probably not great for civilization. Unfortunately, when the economy starts to suck, most other things that used to be cool, start sucking, too (except my blog, baseball and Marisa Miller, obviously).

In this particular case of other things sucking when the economy sucks, I’m talking about Disney World. My family and I went on vacation recently for a long-weekend getaway in which my dad spoke at the annual GI Joe Convention (he’s kind of a big deal). Naturally, with my blog in mind, I made some mental notes about Disney World as the trip progressed. I also spent a day at Universal Studios to see “The Wizarding World of Harry Potter” (I’m a closet fanatic), so some notes will include the glorious tribute to the nerdiest thing about me (unless collecting Pokemon cards in fifth and sixth grades counts… which it obviously doesn’t. First in the class with a complete first edition set, multiple girls asking my color requests for friendship string braceletes on the reg, first pick in dodgeball on the reg, the Denali, good times on the reg, yachts on the reg).

Here’s the official list of what sucks about Disney/is awesome about Harry Potter World.

#1- Wheelchairs on Buses: Goddamn America is getting as fat and/or old as the day is long. You know it’s bad when being obese has become a legitimate handicap. I can’t tell you how many people are just rocking out in wheelchairs like it’s en vogue or something. Shameless motherf*%$ers too. Just wiggling their legs in the bitch like theirs no tomorrow. Regular old Gene Kelly’s tap dancing their asses off in that wheelchair. Used to be, you only got a wheelchair if you were paralyzed back in ‘Nam. Nowadays, all you have to do is be so heinously obese you could seize up from anaphylactic shock to bodily movement.

Unfortunately, you don’t only have to deal with the fatties in wheelchairs. Apparently, there’s just a certain age where you qualify for a wheelchair/Rascal to move around, regardless of how functioning your legs may be. I guess it comes with your AARP card? Look, I’m all for the geriatric movement. People are getting older every single day. It’s science. I get it. But if you want to get all old, and still partake in the miracle that is strolling Disney World with your great-great grandchild who you regale with Civil War tales from your days of yore, I gotta draw the line. There comes a time in every self-respecting old person’s life where they just have to embrace “Depends” and sit around in their own filth watching PBS. Personally, I can think of no nobler way to go out. Guns blazing, diaper strapped.

I’ll never forget one of the most classic quotes I ever heard my grandfather drop. Back when my aunt broke her knee and wanted to go to the mall in a wheelchair, he plainly stated, “You’re a cripple, you don’t go out in public. You don’t show weakness.” Total bad ass, my grandpa. Homie is still climbing and repairing pitched roofs three stories up while all I do is hold the ladder for him. America could learn a thing or nine from him. If you want to be fat or old to the point of immobility, you better prepare to sacrifice some perks. Like Disney’s public transportation.

#2- Disney’s Public Transportation System.

Picture the scene: 48 men and women are watching you; angry, hot, tired and toting a passed out child covered in glitter, face paint and Tinkerbell dust. Slowly, a mechanized plank descends from the back door. You could ride Splash Mountain in the time it takes for that plank to reach ground level. Then, waving the white flag of utter dependancy, you get wheeled onto the plank by a Disney employee. If the painful descent down wasn’t enough, you are now on full display as that plank embarks on its treacherous ascent back into that back door. While all those 48 people have over two minutes to let their emotions come to a boil, you are now public enemy number one. You are the person, who got wheeled up to the bus stop, cut the entire line, and somehow, got your family on the bus too.

It cuts to the core value of present-day America’s pride. People have no shame. I made this problem #2 with Disney, and not just another aspect of the wheelchair problem discussed in issue #1 because the public transportation system, as a whole, is flawed. You’re a shmuck if you aren’t staying on the monorail in Disney World. Trust me on this. Sack up and plunk down the extra $100 a night and don’t mix with the everyday serfs who hoist foldable strollers onto buses that aren’t running as frequently as years before, as they mutter their way through another “magical” journey to one of the parks.

#3 Americans Just Aren’t Happy

When the economy sucks, people start sucking as much as anything else. That’s the current state of America. Everyone is just sucking. Frankly, if I’m a parent in present-day America, I’m home-schooling my kids and censoring their immersal into social media of any form just to stop them from knowing about Mickey Mouse and his goddamn world. First off, there’s no way in hell I’m going to Disney World and letting some redneck from Alabama show me up by getting his daughter the supreme princess package at Cinderella’s castle for 300 bucks. Complete with a gown, hair and makeup, MaryAnnLouise Countrybum isn’t outshining my future, hypothetical daughter around Magic Kingdom. Problem is, MaryAnnLouise’s daddy just re-financed the trailer to pay for everything she wants. Granted, her imaginary father may be better than my future, hypothetical fatherhood, but that guy is ruining it for every other self-respecting father walking around Disney World.

Unfortunately, that’s not even the biggest problem. The single biggest problem in Disney World are these goddamn red, light up Mickey Mouse ear ballons, that are inside a larger clear balloon. Every little kid wants one, and once one gets it, the shitstorm has just started for every other parent in the park. I don’t even blame these people for walking around pissed off all day. If I just got bludgeoned by my toddlers tears into paying $8 for a f*%#ing balloon, I’d yuke all over myself, then lap it up like a sick dog. Then, when you’re done vomming, the kid gives YOU the balloon to carry all day since they suck and got bored with it after 6.2 seconds, because, let’s be honest, it’s a balloon for f*@k’s sake. Meanwhile, back on the ranch, you’re middling through a Dow Jones drop due to all these wars in the Middle East, the rise in oil prices, and you just had your 401k cut in half. Of course Americans aren’t happy. Even in Disney World!

#4 Harry Potter World is Sex

Not gonna lie, I expected it to be bigger. But “The Wizarding World of Harry Potter” located inside Universal’s Islands of Adventure is a must-see for any Harry Potter fan. I’m talking, all ages, but especially the 18-25 demographic. You see, us 20-somethings grew up with Harry. His first book came out

Hogwarts new dress code?

sometime in elementary school and went right up through college for many of us. Sipping on a butterbeer, gnawing at a Turkey leg and buying a personalized wand only add to the fact that this place took all the images from the books, and made them a reality, for the low park-entry price of 82 dollars (or, $132 if you’re like me and upgraded to skip all the lines, thus ensuring a complete Harry experience).


Add to all that glory the fact that there are just tons of fine muggle chicks in their 20s living out a wizarding fantasy and you really have a dream scenario for a guy like me. I’m just saying, you find a pureblood walking around Hogsmeade, and the best pickup line possible is, “Hey, toots, wanna make a mudblood?” If you didn’t get that joke, don’t worry, you just suck and don’t like Harry Potter.

#5 Universal is Disney’s Slutty Counterpart

The title here says it all. It’s just an older, trashier, Six Flags feel going down at Universal. Tramp stamps all over the place. Latin chicks with their shirts all tied up. University of Central Florida coeds tearing up the park for one of their senior events (if you went when I did, at least). It’s a totally different vibe. Their rides are more dangerous than Disney’s and require kids to be way taller and test out the seats to make sure they fit. The flooms legitimately soak you to the point of being uncomfortable. There are less employees, less garbage barrels, more weird hair beading places, and an overall less appealing family atmosphere. If Disney is Jennifer Aniston, Universal is Angelina Jolie.

Stay Tuned…