Smorgasblog: Rondo’s Elbow, Hummus, Marisa Miller and my Mom

I haven’t done a Smorgasblog in a little while, and after a weekend getting sexually assaulted by a blackjack table, the tiny asian temptress who dealt those satanic hands, the devil spawn of an ATM machine that dispensed my money, and whiskey on the rocks, I doubt I’d be able to string together enough coherent words for one awesome blog topic (like the Night Party Bus Addendum, coming later this week!). See, just then I somehow decided it made sense to write one run-on sentence with five commas in it. I even re-read it to make sure it sounded okay, and walked away satisfied with the start to this blog. Let’s just get to the smorgas’ing. This blog brought to you by British Pop star Cheryl Cole, because she looks decent etc.

Le'go.

RONDO’S ELBOW

This one time, I banged my elbow on a gym door latch right before warmups and wouldn’t you know, it hit my funny bone. Searing waves of pain fired across seemingly every synaptic vesicle in my brain as I thought, “sweet baby Jesus, take me now.” I thought for sure my career would be cut short. Thankfully, the pain subsided in about 37 seconds and I didn’t miss a shot in the layup line. I was eight years old in this imaginary tale being used to draw a comparison to Rajon Rondo on Saturday night.

Just 15 years after this harrowing falsified anecdote, I cannot comprehend how Rondo played with a gimp, dislocated left arm the other night. More inexplicable, is how the Miami Heat refused to overplay and deny him going right. If you watched the replay hammered drunk, you would have known an elbow shouldn’t bend like Rondo’s did. Even if you weren’t hammered drunk, you may have arrived at that fact. To compare what Rondo did to the embarrassment of the Lakers yesterday would be a disservice to homeless people. Because they try harder in life than the Lakers did on the court. So I guess, what I’m saying is, the Lakers compare more favorably to homeless people than Rondo, but still not very favorably to society?

By the way, this could be the turning point in the Heat-Celtics series. KG played like it was 1999 (not to be read like that terribly catchy song about partying like it’s, well, you get it), Paul Pierce is back in a groove, and Chris Bosh has openly admitted that it’s his time of the month and the Boston crowd gave him the jitters. For the record, only an emasculated man who got turned into KG’s housewife says the word “jitters.” Sprinkle in the fact that DWade has been playing dirty and Shaq may have to knock him into the off-season, and I think we have a seven game series on our hands.

Anybody else’s skin crawling after that awkwardness? “Somethin’ like that, yeah.”

HUMMUS & WHEAT THINS

They are like the Portman-Kunis lesbian scene in Black Swan. Feeding off each other’s passion, beauty and dedication to their roles, they create one of the most satisfying feelings ever. There is literally no hummus size tub that can hold me down. Yesterday I started in on a “Party Size” tub that serves 16. If that was a “party” it would have been over fast, and no one would have gotten buzzed, let alone laid.  Since the age of six, I’ve “snack”ed in the way Charlie Sheen bangs a rock. Even though my mom regularly purchased low sodium Wheat Thins, I’d salt those bitches up and go to town, tearing through boxes like a rapper on tour in an Atlanta suburb. So, when my palate matured enough to fully appreciate the heavenly, tangy spread of hummus atop the crystalline encrusted top of a Wheat Thin, the greatest snack combo known to man burgeoned.

Hummus: meet Wheat Thins.

WELCOME TO THE TWITTERVERSE, MARISA!

You're probably not as ready as Marisa is for summer...

This weekend, Twitter finally reached a level of credibility in my eyes: Marisa Miller joined. Prior to this event, Twitter essentially acted as a way for me to add one more layer of social media to my internet experience, which as some of you may know, is my Super Bowl. Now, my twitterverse has been flipped upside down. Left is right. Up is down. Ochocinco going to Target is no longer the highlight of my feed. Marisa Miller struggling to grasp the re-tweet is just another update on my timeline. Prior to this, I used Twitter like the bastard half-brother to Facebook after Zuckerberg messed around with the postman. It got to the point where I attempted to stay relevant on Twitter through people solely tweeting at me. Relevance through absence is power, after all. I know, that shit is deep, so go ahead and breathe that in once more. Relevance through absence is power. Now, I just want to tweet all the live long day knowing Marisa Miller is doing the same thing. She’s muploading fly shots of her at the Kentucky Derby, and wearing the living hell out of any article of cloth that attempts to cover her body. Just the other day, she tweeted her newest Esquire summer shoot, which you already had to cut your inseam out over.

MOTHER’S DAY

Better late than never. Better never than late. I choose, “There is an immeasurable distance between late and too late” by American author Og Mandingo, for the obvious reason that his last name was Mandingo. Feel free to insert any other time-related idiom, but my mom is pretty awesome. She birthed me, then taught me lots of stuff along the way. Perhaps her most amazing trait, aside from the ability to dominate Jeopardy on a nightly basis whilst reading some form of literature at the same time, is her love for sports. Growing up, “bedtime” came when the Red Sox ended. For this blog’s sake, I am thankful for that. She corrected my school papers with the fine-toothed comb any English major-turned-journalist/newspaper editor would. By third grade, she held my subject-verb agreements in contempt. When high school began, passive voice gave her active rage. College applications rolled around, and she deemed me “frustrating” and “mediocre” as a writer. Two high compliments. If she were to read my blog, it would probably cause a sinking feeling that shakes her very core, similar to the realization of swallowing a full curd in sour milk. While it is doubtful she would swell with pride upon reading the Revolver, she did provide the sturdy foundation to support this house of cards I masquerade as a blog with widely delusional, humorous thoughts. Like lipstick on a pig, such is Colt’s Revolver. Love you, Mom.

NSFW due to an F bomb, obvi. Is it even worth warning you guys at this point? I mean, if your boss walked by while you were reading, he/she already knows what’s good…

Stay tuned…

Valentine’s Day Smorgasblog

I’m not going to expand on why I haven’t blogged in over a month. Just know that the thought of writing about sports, or even hot girls made me sick after recent life events (mainly, a Patriots playoff loss, but some other stuff, too). Sprinkle in the fact that it has snowed twice a week for the past month and my fingers have been rendered useless for large stretches, and you get the point. Thankfully, pitchers and catchers officially reported to spring training today, eternally lifting my spirits.  The clothed orgy of insanity known as the Grammy’s took place last night, the Celtics once again beat the Heat yesterday afternoon, and on top of all that, I’ve got Valentine’s to give out! So let’s jump right into this. This Valentine’s Smorgasblog is brought to you by none other than Ana de la Reguera! If you missed her and her ass on Eastbound and Down this past season, you may suck. However, HBO is re-airiing seasons 1 & 2  Friday nights at 9:30. Ana…

It's as if someone photoshopped Penelope Cruz into a hotter version.

TOP 3 GRAMMY MOMENTS:

1: Eminem– I posted the following Facebook status as his performance happened: “Eminem just consistently murders awards shows. He should be contractually obligated to appear at them.” All my white friends “liked” it, and my friend Tunde, who isn’t white, said he was lip syncing. This isn’t about race, but seriously, dude just goes absolutely ballistic during his raps, and consistently outshines all the poplets who try to sing on live shows. Katy Perry tried singing last night, and it just made us all yearn for her to be in a studio getting auto-tuned into an unrecognizable fembot. Eminem goes out and nearly breaks blood vessels in his eyes while ripping the veins out of his neck like a constipated frat bro on a Sunday morning toilet binge, but in a good way. If you can imagine that, now.

2: Lady Gaga– She has officially transcended freak. First, she filmed her 60 Minutes interview with Anderson Cooper in underwear and

No words.

people thought “well that’s freaking weird.” Then they saw her in the embryonic stage during the Grammy Red Carpet and turned weird into outright insane. I used to be oddly attracted to Gaga, probably because “Bad Romance” became our anthem during senior year Spring Break and I only associated amazingness with that week.

Nowadays, I would honestly fear for my life if I was in a close space with her. She just seems like the kind of chick who would chloroform the hell out of you before ripping your genitals off and dining on them with a glass of “Red Wine” just as you gained consciousness and could watch. I hope I didn’t just give her ideas for next year. Nah, who am I kidding, she probably does that on a tame Tuesday night, not Grammy Night.

3. Esperanza Spalding– The most hated woman in America with girls ages 8-25. If you didn’t hear the shrieks of tweens everywhere as she won the Grammy for best new artist, you weren’t listening. This was easily the most hilarious moment of the night. Bieber was out there just pop n’ locking the taste out of girls mouths, singing his little lesbowl haircut off. All was right in the world. Until Esperanza had her name read for the Grammy. Immediately, Twitter started eating itself, while Facebook vomited non-stop, irate, pro-Bieber fever tweets and statuses. Esperanza was having her name tweeted as “Esmerelda” and girls in training bras watched in horror as this chick started playing a bass and jazzing her ass off. Meanwhile, the right thing happened. Did nobody else wonder how Bieber was even in the category for “Best New Artist”? Dude had his first album released in 2009, and it went “Platinum.” Go count your money and tongue Selena Gomez, this is Esperanza’s day, Biebs.

If none of what I wrote about the Grammy’s made you laugh, there’s always this…

If that didn’t do it for you, this should…

I'm not sure what's going on in this picture, or what happened to the female anatomy, but it's neat.

CELTICS-HEAT GAME:

At one point, after Big Baby flawlessly executed the worst missed dunk in NBA history and before Paul Pierce finished the game 0-10 with 1 point, you still knew the Celtics were going to win. One of my more trusted friend’s sports opinions commented that at this point, the ceiling for the Heat this season is Eastern Conference Finals. He really could not be more right. Their talent alone lets them run roughshod through the rest of the meek NBA (there might be four teams with a chance at the title, and that includes the Heat). But, when they face Boston, the difference in championship caliber is as clear as water in a fishbowl under a magnifying glass (in a glass bottomed boat? Too much, too soon?).

An offense based around two great players (Lebron, Dwyane) going one on five, and one good player standing around 18 feet from the basket waiting to hit kickout jumpers (Chris Bosh) just won’t beat Boston. Yesterday, Rajon Rondo even decided to guard whoever dribbled the ball over half court, regardless of their size, and it worked! Nobody on Boston played extremely well, (Rondo had the most nondescript triple-double in league history), but they still beat the “Heatles”, the hands down winner for lamest self-ascribed nickname in sports history.

MY HOPELESS VALENTINE:

Dianna Agron: You Gleek’s know her as Quinn Fabray, the cheerleader who took Finn on an emotional roller-coaster while baring Puck’s child during season one (what up Wikipedia). I know her as the blonde-haired flawless chick who just consistently saves scenes in that show by being so damn hot. Like, she’s got the girl next door looks, a voice from heaven, an ass from hell, and based on her Glee character, she’s DTF. What’s not to like? I’ll tell you what… NOTHING.

Sex on fire.

Since she’s not my Valentine, I’m going to watch “Serendipity” starring John Cusack and Kate Beckinsale. Don’t judge me, brah!

Stay tuned…

NBA Opener is a Giant Fart

Well that was awkward. Last night, the much anticipated season opener of the Miami Heat’s version of a dream team took place, and in a word, sucked. Featuring an offense smooth as Seal’s face, the Heat stars took turns playing one on five and turning the ball over at a grotesque rate and firing up more bricks than the sphinx at the Temple of Ramses II. Over the course of the game, yours truly obviously had thoughts running through his mind. I mean, at one point, seven surefire future hall of famers were on the court. Marv Albert was announcing. Lebron had his 90 second Nike commercial taking up entire commercial breaks. Charles Barkley kept being hilarious as he always is. This game had more plotlines than “He’s Just Not That Into You” only it didn’t make you want to gouge out your eyes and ears halfway through (not like I’ve seen the movie before, multiple times, after 2am on HBO). Thankfully, Scarlett Johansson is in it. Otherwise, this next picture might have been something lame like a sphinx.

Easy guys, there's no way she's into you...

PLOTLINE #1: Lebron James

When millions of people watch for one hour as you awkwardly announce your free-agent decision in a made for TV special creatively called “The Decision,” you earn plotline #1 in my blog. Having harped on the merits of this publicity stunt for months, I won’t rehash how narcissistic/awesome it was, so I’ll just talk about Lebron’s opening night.

First off, Lebron just looks funny in a different uniform. Picture a hot girl deciding to cut her hair really short, and you have how odd Lebron looked. Sure, we’ll eventually overlook the aesthetic change and get back to realizing how pretty the girl really is, especially how she’s able to pull off short hair, but for a while there’s that awkward phase. He may have scored 31 points, but Lebron also had eight turnovers to just three assists. While on the court, his team outscored the Celtics by one. Which is far better than Chris Bosh’s -17 and Dwyane Wade’s -18, but still. After night one with the Miami Heat, Lebron is best equated to the Sinead O’Connor buzz cut.

PLOTLINE #2: The Old Big Three

With the NBA being the only sport that refuses to think of a different nickname for a group of three really good players being on one team, the Heat are now the team with “The Big Three.” That makes the Celtics the team with “The Old Big Three.” Even though Rajon Rondo has become arguably the Celtics most important player, The Old Big Three still includes just Paul Pierce, Ray Allen and KG. With the combined age of Betty White in ten years, these guys still know how to play. Pierce took just seven shots, yet he scored 19 points. Ray Allen led the team with 20 points, and five three-pointers, including the backbreaker to put the Celts up by six with 30 seconds left. KG held Bosh to just eight points, while registering a 10-point, 10-rebound double-double. Meanwhile, Rondo facilitated 17 assists to all his old buddies. After one game, the new-look Heat may have the sizzle, but the old Celtics are the steak.

PLOTLINE #3: Shaq

He’s too big to share a plotline. Both literally and figuratively. The oldest man in the NBA, with more nicknames than New York City, took less money this off season just to play for the Celtics. What they also got is one of the best personalities in all of sports. Any time a guy records a summer TV series where he challenges other athletes in their sports of dominance, just because he’s so popular that a network can actually make money off that concept, you know he’s awesome. I just spent the past six minutes trying to think of a comparison to this. The best I could do is to have Jennifer Aniston on “The Bachelorette” and have two guys stay on the show long enough to realize she has an advanced form of Halitosis (bad breath) which makes her mouth smell like a porta-potty at a state fair in Kentucky (Because, honestly, at this point that’s the only plausible explanation for how she’s still single). Amidst all this awesomeness, the newest statue in Harvard Square can still kind of play basketball. He had nine points and seven rebounds in the opener, so he’s useful to at least clobber small dudes going in the paint.

Reason #397 When you're too famous: You can go to Harvard Square and pose as a statue, motionless and mute for an hour, while people take pictures with you.

PLOTLINE #4: Marv Albert

The most famous, recognizable basketball announcer in the game has written the playbook on how to recover from one of the most embarrassing sex scandals of all-time. Known for amazing expressions like “He’s on FIRE”, “JORDAN, YES!” and “WITH THE FACIAL” (no I didn’t make that last one up), Marv avoided career catastrophe seamlessly. In case you’re fuzzy on the details, Marv was “accused” of forcing a woman into sodomy, along with assault in the form of biting the woman’s back. Via my most reliable source, Wikipedia: “A 42-year-old woman… accused Albert of throwing her on a bed at the Ritz Carlton, biting her on the back 15 times, sodomizing her, and forcing her to perform oral sex on him. She also claimed that he would force her to “face sit” him for periods of up to 45 minutes.” I know you’re first question and the answer is, yes: “She also claimed that he would force her to “face sit” him for periods of up to 45 minutes” is in fact the greatest sentence ever written on Wikipedia. I know you’re next question, and that answer is also, yes: 45 minutes of face-sitting must be at least 38 minutes too long before it becomes unhealthy. After all that, the dude is still announcing the most important basketball games in the NBA. You have to respect this fact of how good an announcer he is.

In the end, the Celtics prevailed 88-80 in a game best compared to one of those really loud farts that never carries a smell with it. Sure, we all jumped, or in this case, watched, but the final buzzer only made us question what all the fuss was about. The Celtics played their classic “get a big lead then blow it by the fourth quarter, only to hit clutch shots and finish the game with a win.” Lebron’s team played their usual “Lebron is on the court, so I’m not sure whether I should ever take a shot, but we don’t run an offense, so maybe when I get the ball I can do it?” So we were left with nothing but answers, which isn’t a bad thing since this was only game one. Plus, the next night, the Celtics went out and lost to the Lebron-less Cavaliers, and the Heat won by 10 on the road. With both teams tied in the standings at 1-1, this whole blog post has been rendered pointless. Unfortunately, you’re going to have to deal with it because it took me a while to write and I’m not deleting it. Hopefully you laughed once.

In case you didn’t, here’s Danneel Harris, of One Tree Hill fame. Not that I’ve ever seen her on there…

Mmm, look at those... scoops!

Stay tuned…