Just In Case You Were Wondering What A Proper Marriage of Success, Fun, and Athletic Prowess Looks Like

As well as I move, I move even better on eight wheels

OH LOOK AT ALL OF THIS AUGUST, QUICK-MOVING MAJESTY UP IN HERE.

This was me last week at a rollerskating “80’s Party.” I hear about 80’s parties all of the time. And everyone I go to, I never, ever see anyone else dressing like someone in their 80’s. I and my friends dress like octogenarians at everyone we go to and get these weird looks like “Whaaa?”

You know how I’m always talking about how that I’m fairly athletic, despite my rotund frame? I can move pretty well? Yeah? You’ve yet to see how graceful and smooth I move until you’ve seen me on skates. BEST BRING YA LUNCH.

But that’s in the past. And speaking of FRIGHTENINGLY GOOD ATHLETICISM, and the future itself, here’s my debut article for The Donnybrook Writing Academy: A Society for Cultural Advancement. It’s a fantastic humor site based out of Denver, The Sunshine State, that lampoons all of those stuffyheaded elites who lampoon we working types everyday at their leisure. I’m going to be expounding profusely on matters of sports and elitism, NATURALLY. I’ll be writing under my actual name (J. Erstmill Chabbleshanks, Esq.), rather than my pseduonym, Zack Stovall.

What? You thought I actually wrote this website UNDER MY OWN NAME? What kind of fool do you think I am?!

So check out Donnybrook, and keep checking me out, and tell your friends and stuff. As a reward, more pictures of me displaying this God-given prowess o’ mine on the skates.

This is a super high-def camera that caught me at 124 mph with MINIMAL blurring

Something Something ‘The Hangover: Part II’ Trailer Something Something

Nothing to add here. This looks funny. I will probably see it. You probably will too.

That is all.

(via Splitsider)

Witnessing the Raw Humanity of an Illinois Flea Market

"Can I get some proof that these all haven't been in someone before?"

Here’s the scenario: You need something random for your house or apartment.

“Need” is a little strong. You want something for your abode, but it’s nothing that you’re actually wanting to spend any sort of significant amount of money for. Pier One, Crate and Barrell, even places like Target can get pricey. You’re looking for a full-length mirror on a stand, not a $75 investment. There is only one place you can turn, knowing that you can get something that has character, use, and shouldn’t be too expensive: A flea market.

This gypsy station is home to numerous vendors and outlets selling any number of objects that most people would say “I couldn’t possibly SELL this, could I?” And by “numerous” I mean literally countless. It is their nomadic lifestyle, these haggling carnival-types, to get the best possible deal for the most obscurely coveted objects known to man.

My quest for a full-length mirror on a stand took me to an Illinois flea market, and it was a harrowing experience I hesitate to take you through. The sheer humanity of it all may be more than some of the younger viewers here can take, so be careful. Most of these can be classified into a few different subsets, I’ll try and be as precise as possible.

1.) Who Would Ever Want Anything Close to This?:

"Fabio: Rockin' That Cleavage" (VHS)

There’s a wide assortment of VHS tapes at flea markets. And by “wide assortment” I mean “Every VHS ever made is now somewhere in a flea market.” It looks to me like these people are convinced that somewhere down the line, it’s going to be discovered that DVD’s and BluRays cause instant cancer, and when the market shifts back to VHS’s, they’ll be ready to pounce. All of them are about $2.00 now, but you can bet they’ll be close to $3 or EVEN FOUR DOLLARS when that whole DVD-cancer thing explodes.

"How can Jimmy cut Superman's Indestructible Hair of Steel?" asked absolutely no one, ever.

Comic books, like baseball cards and Nazi paraphernalia (more on that later!), are coveted for some strange reason, but to each their own. I like superheros and all that jazz, but seriously, a “Superman’s Pal” feature on Jimmy Olsen? The ONLY reason I might consider even looking through this, let alone purchase it, would be that I know Jimmy Olsen is a news photographer and there might be some hilarious hijinks in store as he tries to cut people’s hair. But not Superman’s, because apparently it’s indestructible? Doubtful.

Ahh, fake wine glasses, the oldest trick in the Get-Me-To-Drink-Fire-Handbook.

Ever want some romantic candles without the aesthetic pain in the neck that most candles come in, like jars or slightly decorative glasses? Well, think again! Now, YOU can have all of the allure of a passionate candlelit dinner with all of the class of someone who always has two full glasses of wine on their table, at all times. This looks like something that some redneck dreamed up when he was fastening his clip on tie and thinking “You know, I don’t really wear this enough.” Other consideration points: WHAT IF YOU WANT TO DRINK WHITE WINE?

2.) DAS RAYCESS:

"You couldn't possibly make a salt 'n' pepper shaker racist!" "CHALLENGE ACCEPTED."

/Covers face in hands
//Rubs temples
///Deep breath
These are relics of the past. As we all know, it was a very different time. A very different, and very racist time. In fact, it was so different, and so racist, that nowadays, the absurdity of it makes us laugh and laugh and laugh. This is one of those occasions. Go ahead and get it out. I’ll wait….alright, you done yet? No? Okay, a little longer…Now? Great. So these are standard salt and pepper shakers. I don’t know why anyone would’ve ever wanted them, but apparently, they were in high enough demand that this isn’t the only pair I saw at the flea market or have ever seen. As I was taking this picture, the vendor – who looked like a really, really nice guy, by the way – said “You wouldn’t have to take a picture of it if you buy it!” Right, but then I’d have two racist salt and pepper shakers sitting on my kitchen table. So…no.

"What am I going to have to do to put YOU in a Nazi armband TODAY?" - Used Nazi Arm Band Dealer

I don’t necessarily fancy myself a history buff, but I do enjoy WWII history and such. I know there are a lot more rabid history buffs out there, who, while not wanting to be hateful or whatever, and actually wear these armbands to assemblies and whatnot, might just want them as collectables. I tried to explain it to my friends, who were slightly more baffled than I was. I related it to the St. Louis Cardinals winning the World Series back in 2006. If you had a whole history room or shrine dedicated to the Cards and their Championship, you might have a Sports Illustrated or two featuring the Detroit Tigers, the team they beat in the World Series. Maybe even a hat or two. The argument kind of falls apart once the Detroit Tigers start religiously persecuting and murdering several million people, but…I guess you see what I mean. 

Republicans vs. Gays: Est. 1922

So this isn’t racist, or homophobic even. It just made me laugh. Something something, blah blah blah, GAY JOKE!

3.) Troublingly Devoid of Any Value Whatsoever:

The Ghost of Gloria Lang

I’ve really got nothing to say here. I think this woman may be the vendor (although there was no one manning the station) and is hoping that her kind demeanor in the late 40’s and 50’s may be just the bargaining chip to seal some deal on a ceiling mounted toaster or something. But I doubt it. I think she was just lonely. Or dead. Probably dead. 

You know more than one deer died in the making of this four-legged lamp.

I’m from Arkansas, and the South in general has a much more tolerant perception of the use of dead animals in the field of interior decorating. In high school, I went over to a girl’s house that had a couple of different bears, an elephant head, and like ten antlered-animals I didn’t even know existed, all mounted in the living room. The house I grew up in had no less than three ducks on the wall, and a deer head above the mantle. I get it. I don’t get making a lamp stand out of the hooves of a deer though. Because there’s outdoorsy…and then there’s mild sociopathic tendencies.

And by the way, never found that mirror. So, yes, I could very well be venturing into this venue again next month, when the gypsies return from their voyage into Indiana and possibly beyond. I guess all of that walking is what gives them their healthy appearance, healthy, of course, considering their almost entirely 100 percent pretzeldog diet.

Pay Attention People: THIS Is How You Demonstrate and Protest

In today’s mad, mad, mad, mad, world, you’ll catch any number of people protesting and voicing their resistance to a given entity. We recently saw it in Egypt, and we’ve also seen it in Tehran (OH, BET YOU FORGOT ABOUT TEHRAN, DIDN’T YOU? REMEMBER HOW EVERYTHING WAS GREEN? HOW INSENSITIVE YOU ARE). Even in our own borders, we’ve seen all sorts of walk-outs, like the strikes in Wisconsin, and we’ve seen marches on to various steps in Washington D.C.

But this guy takes them all.

The subtlety! The tenacity! THE BREVITY! Random-Porch-Sitting-Budweiser-and-Booing-Enthusiast, you sir have demonstrated your verbal dexterity, and with the mere utterance of a three-letter word than doesn’t even mean anything, you have TOPPLED the authority which tried to bind you give some speech about some thing. Remember how Zorro used to swordfight people with a spoon, and everyone’s like ‘Oh man, he couldn’t beat these other guys with swords in a swordfight using a spoon!’ but then they were like ‘OH MAN, HE BEAT THOSE GUYS USING A SPOON!’ That’s sort of what this guy is doing. You’ve got a politician, someone who’s, you know, SUPPOSED TO BE GOOD AT DEBATING, getting se-se-se-se-SERVED by some local yokel.

The inner bully in me was happy to see this happen. The outer nerd in me made up all of the other stuff about how this was cool. Either way, a great way to get things done.

(via Demi Moore)

Days Like Today Make Me Happy I Became A Nun And Carry Around Several Loaded Semi-Automatic Weapons

Sister Catherine Marie O'Brien

Everyone, in this life, at one point or another, comes to a crossroad. They come to a pivotal moment that they realize, either then or later, the decisions made in that moment will affect the rest of their life and the legacy they will eventually leave behind. For some it’s marriage, for others it’s a career-decision. For me, it was both. I chose to become a nun, a Sister of the Church, vowing to devote my life to Jesus Christ, His teachings, and His good work to be done here on Earth. It was a decision I made with much deliberation, yet also much conviction. Fortunately for me, I believe I made the right decision, and beautiful days like today affirm that belief.

These robes provide wonderful cover for the several loaded sem-automatic and automatic weapons that never, ever, ever leave my grasp. No one has ever been able to tell, until I brandish that cold steel, and even then, they’re not usually able to repeat the incident.

Are there days where I don’t wonder where my life might’ve taken me had I not taken my vows? Why certainly. I’m not ashamed to admit that, and I don’t know many of my sisters who don’t often ponder the same questions. There’s nothing wrong with thinking about what else you may have done. My brother is an attorney, and a fine one at that. He always jokes that he’s got a standing invitation for me to be a partner at his firm, as he’s never seen anyone get so many people to confess so many things! Then again, my mother was a wonderful artist. I’ve always had an eye for color and patterns, maybe I could’ve gone abroad, perhaps to Florence. Maybe I could have studied art, and become a painter, or a charcoal stencilist. I still draw in my spare time…

But then where would I keep my literally dozens of rounds of ammunition? I’m able to strap no less than four belts of bullets around my torso and shoulders, not to mention all of the clips for my handguns. I’ve got about four per handgun on my person at a given time, so you do the math. DO IT. I DARE YOU.

I don’t regret a minute of this life of servitude and stewardship that I have chosen for my Lord, Jesus Christ. I’ve been places, seen things, and touched lives in a way that most people can never say they have. And who else can say they’ve waltzed into a bank or hospital with their fingers on the triggers of a pair of FG-42 automatic rifles and walked out unnoticed? Not many people can say they’ve seen the majestic glory of God and his works and his fruitful, lethal ammunition the way that I have.  You ask the average businessman how close he is to God, and more often than not, he’ll lament the distance he has to his Holy Lord. I don’t have to worry about that, the Lord and I are awfully close. I don’t have to worry about much of anything, not with all of the full body armour I wear regularly. I can take up to eight rounds, right here in my blessed heart, and I’ve yet to take a shot that will keep me from returning a plague of fire at anything in my sight. The Lord has just been so good to me.

Nuns also make GREAT getaway/witness costumes. The more bloodshed there is in a given area, the more likely a nun would already be there. “Hey, what happened here, Sister?” “I don’t know some poor, deranged soul opened a barrage of well-aimed and masterfully timed shots all over the place…I think he went that way.”

I’ve had a lifetime to sit and ponder the mysteries of this existence. I can say with a clear heart and mind that I really wouldn’t have wanted to live my life in any other way. The friendships, the good works, the cold steel pressed firm against my body, and the charity; it’s all truly been a blessing. I’d encourage any young woman who has a heart for service, a passion for God, savage but calculated bloodlust, and an eye for charity to go to their nearest convent and talk to an available sister. I’m sure they’d be able to guide you toward a most fulfilling path and help you shine a light toward your assuredly bright future.

Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s a band of Venezuelan art smugglers I need to help deliver from evil.

Happy Valentine’s Day From Zack…May It Be Better Than His First Valentine’s Date Experience

Happy Valentine’s Day to everyone. I’d go on some unoriginal and long-winded rant about how Valentine’s Day is a manufactured holiday that sends couples into agony and more profits into Hallmark executive’s wallets, but quite frankly it’s been done, and I actually don’t mind it. Everybody likes a good dinner, and a good excuse to go get one.

STEAK AND LOBSTER, Y’ALL. WHAT WHAT.

Here’s some stand up I did the other night at Lemmon’s here in St. Louis. It was the Valentine’s Day Massacre, put on by some people I know through the Improv Trick. St. Louis has a burgeoning comedy scene and these folks were good enough to let me go for about ten minutes with an endless array of mildly amusing dickjokes. This is the closing four or five minutes, all of which is brand new material I wrote about an hour or so before.

So comment and stuff. Or not. Maybe you and a loved one can curl up by a fire, sip on some wine or other adult beverages, and write a racial slur or two in the comments section. Because if there’s anything racists like more than hating people who are a different color than they are, it’s writing racist stuff in YouTube commentary. 

Holleratchaboy.

Update: Ask and ye shall receive. Here’s the gif of me falling down, as requested by Icehouse.


GIFSoup

Oh, You’ve Got Big Weekend Plans? CANCEL THEM. YOUR WEEKEND WILL NEVER BE AS CRAZY AS BRAZIL

Jesus Anfernee Christ. Brazil is a crazy place to exist, huh?

  • Next time someone’s like “Man, girls from Brazil are CRAZY HOT,” just be like “Not all of them,” and then start crying furiously, like I am right now.
  • Gotta love her spirit, endurance, and lack of shame. THAT IS ALL YOU HAVE TO LOVE.
  • I bet the man who is, um, also in the show probably didn’t have such an event listed as “Out of the Question” when he woke up that morning. That’s how crazy Brazil is. “Get straddled and grinded upon by a 450lbs. woman for the amusement of dozens of other” is not nor ever has been nor will be on my list.
  • Excuse me for just a moment.
  • Think about this next time you’re getting together with a couple of friends for a game night. “Oh, Apples to Apples or Cranium? OR GO SEE WOMEN THE SIZE OF TRUCKS BEND THE LAWS OF PHYSICS.”
  • Cool hat! HAHAHA BURN.
  • I’m not entirely certain that the man MCing the event is speaking Portuguese or if he’s just jabbering madly like an insane person. If he’s jabbering madly, he’ll never have a better excuse to do so than witnessing that.
  • IMPORTANT QUESTION: Is this her career? MORE IMPORTANT QUESTION: If not, what is her career?

Have a good weekend. Sorry I nearly ruined it.

(via f-yeahdementia)

Ways To Make Me Like Basketball: Put a Glass Wall Around The Entire Court, Then Catch That Wall On Fire

"He's on fire!...Still on fire...He's still on fire here...Lot of smoke...Still on fire."

This is an ongoing series throughout what, for me, is the worst period of time in sports. Baseball is a few months away, and football is as good as dead until the fall. And it’s all because, no matter how much I try (AND BELIEVE YOU ME I TRY A LOT) I just can’t watch, like, enjoy, get behind, or generally stand basketball. I’ll watch a Blake Griffin dunk, or a last second Rudy Gay buzzer-beater, or LeBron do anything. But, and nothing against basketball or any of its fine fans, this time of year is a real struggle for me to get through. Feel my pain, and bear with me, as I try to show room for the game’s improvement.

Put a Glass Wall Around The Entire Court, Then Catch That Wall On Fire

So in these desperate posts to try and make the only major sport that’s ever covered right now, basketball, bearable, I’ll go ahead and set up a ground rule: I’m not going to immediately or haphazardly just add features of other sports to make basketball cooler. Sure, I could subtract dribbling, add contact, and turn the NBA into a rugby league that requires a hoop instead of an end zone (Note: SOMEONE INVENT THIS NOW PLEASE). I’m trying to find a way to like the sport almost as is, just with a few modifications, such as making the basketball players better looking and finding a way to toss them. That’s fair game.

However, that being said, I think one feature of another sport could help out, yet still preserve the essence of basketball: walls, like in hockey.

Hockey naysayers say that it’s a northern version of NASCAR, in that the only reason people show up or watch at all is to see the fights/car crashes, respectively. To them I say, “Darn right.” But another reason people watch hockey are for the checks. Wall checks are an awesome part of the game, and if they can be incorporated into other games, that’d be awesome. What do you see in every advertisement for Arena League Football? PEOPLE GETTING SLAMMED INTO WALLS. I’d say it might even be superior to getting thrown to the ground, as getting slammed into a wall hard enough would eventually incorporate someone falling to the ground. Logic? MEET FLAWLESSNESS.

But, as fate would have it, sometimes players are able to get up from getting slammed up against the wall. Also, there’s would be no incentive to NOT slam somebody up against a wall. Something would have to be done about that. I think the answer is catching the wall on fire, through either flammable materials or a steady stream of flammable liquids or gases.

Consider players getting slammed up against the wall. OOF! BIG HIT! Now think about them writhing in agony, rolling around on the hard wood floor, trying to get back into the game, but also trying to make sure they’re not on fire. OR think about someone coming in to lay his opponent out against the glass, missing, and himself erupting into flames! Could be EPIC. Think about it: Ray Allen gets the ball mid-court. There are ten seconds left in the game, and the Celtics (he plays for them, right?) are down by two. Allen, one of the best three-point shooters of all time, has to make a three. Opponents are guarding the paint and the center of the three-point line. Allen moves left, then right. LeBron comes in like a fullback, ready to check the crap out of Allen. Allen moves back, toward the glass, singing his clothes and the ball, then a QUICK move to his right, sending LeBron into the glass and flames. Allen puts up the winning shot, catching the gasoline soaked net (Oh yeah, the nets are soaked in gasoline, forgot to mention that) aflame as time expires.

Sure. I’d watch that a couple of times. Might even want to head to a Grizzlies game down in Memphistown if that were going on. Probably not though.

Anyway, what was everyone’s favorite interaction with basketball as a young child? NBA JAMS, that’s right. Everyone loved that game WAY before they loved actually playing basketball. “He’s on fire!” That was a great statement, and if we can bring it back in a more literal sense, I think that’d enhance the game enough to make it watchable.

Detroit Is In Ruins Because Its Mayor Wouldn’t Know A GREAT Idea If It Blasted Him In The Face With A Laser

A slap in the face to the City of Detroit's greatest ambassador.

I mean, Philly’s got a statue of Rocky Balboa in it, and Robocop won, at the very least, twice as many Academy Awards as the Rocky franchise. Plus, I never saw a Rocky cartoon series like I did with Robocop, and THAT’S the true mark of a successful film.

GET ON THIS DETROIT. YOU HAVE TO START HELPING YOURSELF OUT OF THIS TERRIBLE, TERRIBLE SITUATION THAT IS YOUR CURRENT EXISTENCE.

(via @amac84)

It’s Only My Fifth Groundhog Day In A Row, And Already I Have Reached The Absolute End of Me and My Sanity

EVERYDAY IS THE SAME. I AM INSANE. EVERYDAY IS THE SAME. I AM INSANE. EVERYDAY IS THE SAME AND I AM NOW AN INSANE PERSON.

I woke up in the same clothes I fell asleep in Monday evening. Today is Tuesday, February 2nd, 2011. It has been today for five days now. And I? I have reached the end of me. There is nothing more to my soul. I’ve been driven mad, straight through insanity and into the open arms of a nihilistic and worthless void that I can’t escape. There is no Zack anymore; only the husk of what Zack once was.

It took Phil Conners a seemingly infinite amount of time to lose his sanity. It looked as if months of binge drinking, sex mongering, and other forms of absolutely despicable behavior withered him away to his breaking point of sanity. I lasted precisely five days. Now I’m a slovenly, drooling, boorish, unkempt shell of a rational human being, and one that’s ready to just go absolutely insane.

Sometimes I still put myself in the same routine, just to see , with the faintest glimmer of hope, if something or anything has changed in the slightest bit. Nope. Nothing. I used to be so excited for the snow. I used to love it more than anything. Now? Snow is my elaborate wintry sarcophagus. I am the Pharaoh, and everyone around me are the cats buried alive with me. Remember those snowballs Jakey Fuller and his cohorts were creating? One day, I whizzed all of them. After throwing rocks at the kids, I shoveled the yellow snow right at the mothers who were racing after me. Spent that night in jail: WOKE UP AT HOME. Another day, I replaced all of those snowballs with handguns and just watched. That little Jacob Fisher is VIOLENT, YO.

Oh yeah. Bloodbath. Next day? NOTHING TO REPORT HERE.

Yeah, I used to talk a lot about philosophy, BUHDOMPDAHDOMP FART NOISE. I’m not really having any dealings with the trappings of my morality, or mortality for that matter. Jumped off the Arch the other day. Plummeting to your demise is okay, I guess. Feels like your flying for a little bit, but it’s so windy! Plus, I hit a bird on the way down, so my final moments on Earth for THAT day were me annoyingly trying to pull feathers out of my mouth without hurting my nose even more. Total Fabio moment, I know. Woke up no worse for the wear though, I guess.

I’m not sure Plato had it right, about the moral way of life being the best, illustrated in the face of a consequenceless life. I’m just bored. Like REALLY bored. I helped like nine old ladies cross the icy streets one day, then the next I shoved them all down and spun them on the ice like turtles on their shells. Same difference really. Who cares. What really sucks is that the Super Bowl coverage is on repeat. By now, in real-time, I guess the game’s already decided. Looks like Pittsburgh is going to win anyway. Again BORED.

Anywhozzle. Wasn’t really sure what the purpose of my life was before I got trapped in the same day over and over again. MAYBE it was to roll old women around on ice, or give children handguns, but maybe not. If I ever got out of this existense…I’m fairly certain I’d continue on as if nothing had happened. I’m not sure my brain having been fried away by a meaningless existence would really be that noticeable to anyone.

Wow, I guess that’s me coming full circle. Perhaps that will break this curse.

/curse is broken

Hallelujah!

Oh no…

Oh God, oh God, oh no, no no no no, God no…

GET ME BACK TO GROUNDHOG DAY FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. NOW.