Category Archives: Lethal Prose

The Daily Tame Rantings of a Raving Lunatic.

Guys, Seriously? STOP Making Fun of Rebecca Black…She’s My Cousin and She’s Like Super Upset All The Time Now

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Cut it out, guys. CUT IT OUT. I know you’ve all heard it and a lot of people are talking about it and mainly people are talking MAD CRAP about it but SERIOUSLY, guys. You’ve GOT to stop making fun of Rebecca Black. She’s my cousin, and ever since this video (THAT SHE WORKED REALLY HARD ON, BY THE WAY) came out, she’s been SUPER bummed out about it, like, all day everyday. She was JUST putting out a song that she thought everyone would like, because you can’t deny it: it’s super catchy and you can’t ever get it out of your head until you go to a death metal concert and take a nap under their woofers or something. IT’S THAT GOOD.

“Gotta be fresh, gotta go downstairs/Gotta have my bowl, gotta have cereal.” Preaching to the choir, Becky.

Look, what has she done that’s SO wrong? I mean, she’s 13 years old. She’s singing about what she knows and frankly, IT’S TOTALLY RELATABLE. Do you guys remember the TGIF shows on ABC? TGIF was the best thing on TV and I doubt it would’ve been that way had it been on Thursday or something stupid like that. I doubt there’s ever been any television or entertainment that anyone simply MUST see on Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday. So what if the lyrics are a tad simplistic? SHE’S LEADING A SIMPLE LIFE RIGHT NOW, YOU GUYS. I mean, my Uncle Jim and Aunt Denise are going through a little bit of a rough patch right now, stuff’s still up in the air with who’s getting which kids, but they’re for sure not staying in that big house she grew up in anymore, because Jim lost his jobs, but SO WHAT IF SHE’S JUST LOOKING FORWARD TO SEEING HER FRIENDS ON THE WEEKEND?

Don’t we all just want to ride around with our friends every now and then?

I mean, who HASN'T been here before?

She’s just been really, really sad lately. You’ve got people at her school who are making fun of her, and the students are making fun of her, too! She used to be really popular and had all these friends and stuff, then she did this music video and now, JUST BECAUSE EVERYBODY LOVES THIS STUPID GLEE SHOW, people throw slushies in her face. That’s expensive clothes, ya’ll! Cherry doesn’t even come out of some of the shirts, and a couple of them her dad threw in the dryer and now the stains are permanent. It’s really not fair that not only are her friends bailing on her, even the Girl Who Eats Her Hair up there, but now, EVERYONE IN THE WORLD knows who she is and writes really stupid comments up on her Youtubes.

I mean, not cool! Props to Blonde-with-Braces for being super cool and NOT bailing on Becky. My mom says Aunt Denise really appreciates it and – I don’t wanna spoil it – but you might get to go to Disney World with my family. YAY! DISNEY!

Disney World Dance!

So, seriously. You guys. Lay off Rebecca Black. She’s got her family and friends supporting her, she really doesn’t need people like you saying “She is missing half her brain,” “I wish I were deaf,” and “This sounds like Somneone trying to rip the piss out of bill bailey ripping the piss out of teenybopper songs.” One, she’s not missing half of her brain because she aced Spanish this year and that’s a WHOLE OTHER LANGUAGE. Two, ummm, not cool because MY OTHER AUNT, STACEY, TEACHES AT A DEAF SCHOOL, and three, uhh, I don’t even know what that means, because a.) who’s Bill Bailey? b.) I LIKE teenybopper music and 3.) you can’t rip piss because IT’S LIQUID.

Just be cool. If you’re cool, I might be able to see if she can come in town and do a little concert or just hang out or whatever.

Ways To Make Me Like Basketball: Arrange A Rankings-Based, 68-Team Playoff Tournament, Then Give All The Participants An Assortment Of Knives

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"Simpson dribbles, passes to Garret, who is quickly slashed by Jefferies, Simpson picks up the loose ball, DRIVES TO THE PAINT AND SCOOOORES! But oh, looks like he may have been stabbed right in the kidnies that HAS to hurt, Cal."

This is an ongoing series throughout what, for me, is the worst period of time in sports. Baseball is a few months weeks 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.

Arrange A Rankings-Based, 68-Team Playoff Tournament, Then Give All The Participants An Assortment Of Knives

Alright, if there’s anything I’ve learned about keeping a murderous amount of boredom away from me, it’s that gambling always helps. Always. There’s nothing I won’t gamble on. I’ll put $20 down right now that says polar bears will gentrify St. Louis before four consecutive white cars pass by my window. $50 that at least 10 of the next 100 words a given homeless man will say are going to be curse words, English only. Literally, anything just to pass the time and turn a dollar into two.

Establishing a large, competitive tournament will increase the effectiveness and attentiveness with which I will watch basketball. You’d have to get a lot of teams in there to make it worth everyone’s while. Like more than 35, almost twice that. 70. Nah, 70′s a little large. 68? Sure, let’s go with 68 teams. That’ll go on for what? Two? Three weeks? Yeah, that’d be good enough to spread the money and the selections out a little bit. THEN, arrange them in a very specific way. Let’s call them seeds. You’ll pit the best teams against the worst teams, because SCREW THOSE GUYS. Try harder, then you’ll play people who are more in your league. Okay, so just pit these teams against one another, and watch as they level each other competitively until ultimately a victor amongst the 68 will emerge. You can wager on which teams will win the various contests, and get as many people as you want into a pool, so more money could be spread around. Sounds great, right?

But give everyone knives too.

Let’s face it, the running back and forth, the shooting a ball from a distance into a hole, calling sustained bouncing “dribbling,” I GET IT, but if we don’t spice this game up, I’m going into a diabetic coma. Give every player a knife of varying size and sharpness and weight. The variation will allow for different roles to be fulfilled by different players, naturally, you’re going to want your big men in the paint to have larger, more sturdy blades that done fold back into their handles, like a booie knife or maybe even a hatchet. Give your point guards some switch blades that will compliment their speed, and so on and so forth.

Let the coaches have ceremonial sabres, like in the Marine Corps, so they can guide their teams easily from the bench with overt gestures and large, swinging hand motions.

This will add an immeasurable amount of exciting elements to the game. You’ll have to be more sure-footed driving into the paint, making certain not to slip in the blood. Three point shooting will likely expose the underbelly of an opponent, making them much more climactic. The coaches have sabres, I mentioned that right? I can’t wait until they get T’ed up. SWISH.

An indeterminable short-yet-long time away from MLB Opening Day.

Witnessing the Raw Humanity of an Illinois Flea Market

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"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.

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

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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.

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

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"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.

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

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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.

Happy Groundhog Day…Again…Uh, I’m Going To Go To Throw Snowballs At Some Kids…I Guess…Watch A Movie…What?

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I...I could have sworn I just watched this...like yesterday...after I got into snowball fights...

Happy Groundhog Day…again…it’s, uh, February 2nd. And another snow day.

There’s still snow on the ground, but not as much as they were predicting a few days ago, I mean, yesterday? Yesterday, the first. Today, the second, right? February 2nd? Groundhog Day. Today. Again. But not, again, because, it’s today, and I…I dreamed that yesterday was Groundhog Day. So there’s snow on the ground and I dont have an accent but I’m from the South so I like snow on the groun- are you sure I haven’t told you this before? I flip out? I’m pretty sure I’ve told you before about how I flip out when there’s snow. I haven’t? Aaaall right, then.

I, um, am going to go to a nearby park and pick some snowball fights?

All of the schools are closed, for the Groundhog Day snow storm (we’re sure? It’s today?), so I wa-…am betting there are a lot of kids around the park, sledding and playing with snowballs. Specifically, I bet there’s a kid there named Jacob Fuller there who’s a little piece of crap and has all of his buddies – Mike Schoedner and Daniel Tannenbaum – who have like thirty snowballs stashed away under a bench that have a lot of rocks packed into them. ICE IS ONE THING, JACOB. ROCKS IS A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT MATTER ALL TOGETHER. He threw-…GUH, will throw one, I bet that’ll hit me above the left eye and draw blood. I would probably stay away from them just in general, because I bet that if I even tried to retaliate, just with a stern talking-to, I bet their mom’s would come down and threaten to report ME to the police, even though it’s THEIR poorly-parented kids who cut MY eye.

Better yet, maybe I’ll go down there, piss on their snowballs and then jump those little kids when they’re least expecting it.

But then again, I haven’t already done that, JUST SO WE’RE ON THE SAME PAGE, AMIRIGHT. So later, I’ll watch Groundhog Day for the first time in about a year. I’ll watch all about Phil Conner and remember that Chris Elliott is the cameraman and recognize that Stephen Tobolowsky is Ned “Needlenose” Ryerson from his recent stint on the hit show Glee. Sure don’t recognize it now, though, do I. Because…I haven’t seen it…

So I’ve talked about the philosophy behind Groundhog Day right? No? Oh, uh…it’s about why you should be moral when you…seem to be living the same day over and over again, virtually removing all consequences from your day-to-day activity, and eliminating the overt and heavy-handed social construct that is living under society’s rules. Plato’s Republic. Glaucon. Ring of Gyges. Gollum. You’ve never heard me talk about any of that? Yeah…so the movie, IF I REMEMBER CORRECTLY, BECAUSE I HAVEN’T SEEN IT IN SO LONG YOU SEE, is all about how living virtuously is the best way to live, even if there’s no consequences because there’s NO TOMORROW. Really? REALLY. Are the writers of this movie EXPERIENCED in living legitimately without consequence, I MEAN REALLY? NO CONSEQUENCES? Do they KNOW what it’d be like to take little Jacob Fuller’s devious little face and punch it so many times his mother feels it before she can come down and threaten me with cops? COPS? WHAT COPS? I’LL WAKE UP IN BED TOMORROW, ready to scrape the ice from February 1st’s snow and ice fall off my girlfriend’s car so she can get to work on time. BET HER BOSSES WILL LET HER LEAVE AT 2:30. NOT THAT I’M PREDICTING OR ANYTHING, I’M JUST SAYING.

Maybe I can do anything I want. And maybe that’s awesome. After all, it took Phil Conners a seemingly infinite amount of time before HE actually went insane. I’ve got his movie as a guide. Maybe I can get a head start on all of this revelry. Maybe this can be fun!

Of course, Happy Groundhog Day. Again. See you tomorrow? SEE YOU TODAY. MWAHAHAHA.

Happy Groundhog Day! I’m Going To Pelt Children In The Face With Projectiles of Ice and Snow and More Ice!

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Can't wait to watch this after I fling some snowballs as hard as I possibly can at the faces of children

Happy Groundhog Day everyone! February 2nd has come once again, and this year, IT’S A SNOWDAY!

I live in St. Louis, MO, which over the past couple of days has received a good amount of snow and ice. Not as much as predicted, snow-wise, but enough ice for the ole workshop to go ahead and close for the day. If you heard me speak to you, you probably would not immediately recognize that I was raised in the South. Not a big drawl, use of fake words that are just two words forced together, and no tobacco-stained facial hair. 

However, you can immediately recognize that I’m from the South by my reaction to snow and any other wintry precipitation. I’ve lived in St. Louis through two winters and I still flip out like a Jewish orphan at his first Christmas with his new adopted family every time we get a mere inch or more of accumulation. Flip. Out.

So on this miraculous Groundhog Day, I’m going to go to a nearby park and pick some snowball fights.

I already know all of the nearby schools are shuttered. There’s a slight hill on one side of the park. I know they’ll be over there, waiting to sled down on whatever smooth surfaces they’ve got. I know I’ll be outnumbered. But in my entire life, I only had one good snowball fight growing up. Only one time have I been able to express myself by throwing a ball of precipitation at someone’s face as hard as I can. If you’ll excuse me, but I’ve got some childhood issues to work out, and what with me being a grown man now, I think I’ve got more muscle than ever to work them out. Kiddos: WATCH YOUR FREAKING FACES BECAUSE I’M GOING TO BE HURLING SNOWBALLS AT THEM.

After I lay waste and ruin the wintry memories of COUNTLESS children, I’m going to have a nice warm meal, pour myself some hot coffee, and watch the TIMELESS film classic, Groundhog Day. Now, I’m a bit of a philosophy nerd, but if you’ll allow me, I think I can draw a couple of parallels between this film and Plato’s Republic. In the Republic, Socrates is asked by Glaucon if morals are merely social constructs, proffering that if one could perhaps never be caught, he would never have to be moral. Socrates counters with a tale of the Ring of Gyges, a Lord of the Rings-inspiring item that makes the wearer invisible, and therefore, consequence free. Socrates tells him, much like Tolkien’s Gollum, the ring wearer descends into a desperate and vile moral bankruptcy.

Similarly, in Groundhog Day, Bill Murray’s character Phil lives consequence free for a time (a seemingly INFINITE amount of time!), only to stumble into madness, and eventually realize a virtuous life is the one to be lived, regardless to consequences. I look forward to seeing the film again, as I haven’t seen it in about a year or so.

Excuse me, an exact year at that. Sorry to bore you with the philosophy jargon, but it’ll make you look at that movie completely differently, and could make you enjoy the film even more. If it helps to lighten the mood, know I was farting the entire time I was writing so philosophically.

Ways To Make Me Like Basketball: Make Players Good Looking And Throw Them Through The Air

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This would help me watch basketball for 11 more seconds than I already do...zero seconds

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.

Make The Players Better Looking, Then Throw Them Through The Air

If there’s anything I don’t like watching, it’s men sweating as they perform feats of athletic prowess. The speed. The dexterity. The muscular definition. I’ve got none of that. I somewhat famously pulled a muscle or broke a rib sneezing. That’s a bodily function. I didn’t hurt it doing anything as athletic as Phil Jackson does on the bench coaching, and he’s like 119 years old or something (THERE’S SOMETHING TO THAT ZEN, KIDS). Seeing all these guys, you know, moving well puts me in a bad mood. Plus, I’m not tall at all. All of those guys in the NBA? They’re really freaking tall, which is why most of them got into basketball in the first place. Steve Nash is supposed to be short, and he’s like 6’2″ or something. Baseball? Prince Fielder is good at it and he’s so fat, he’d float in most bodies of water, and that’s AWESOME. Humans don’t play football anymore, it’s steroid-fueled creatures of Frankenstein and those dancing robots Fox has that are really playing under those pads and jerseys.

In order for me to tune in to college or NBA hoops, I’m going want to look at the players. And you know who I like looking at? Pretty women. Fill the NBA with gorgeous women running up and down the court, sweating, and fouling each other. That way when I watch them, I’m going to want to keep watching them play all of the basketball things that I don’t understand. You want to know why all of those late night channels run ads with voluptuous women talking on phones? Because people like watching them do things, like talk on the phone and demand money. I’d wager a lot more people will enjoy watching them do whatever it is that people who play basketball do.

Also, other people should be allowed to throw the now good-looking basketball players through the air to make plays. And a lot of plays, too, like mid-air passes, throwing a person into a dunk, and imagine the midcourt buzzer beaters! In the NFL, there are rules forbidding players to use other players to levitate themselves. If there are any of those rules in the NBA, we should get rid of them. That way, players could get thrown through the air, simulating the same – IF NOT MORE – type of high-flying antics that NBA fans already enjoy. People already don’t like the WNBA because nobody’s flying around, and even if they did, well, now we’re just back to the original problem with the NBA. My advice is to make sure that the good-looking players are flying around.

Plus, people getting thrown through the air is just cool. I believe everyone here knows my stance on the necessity of a return to an Era of Catapults.

That would make me watch some more basketball. 66 days until MLB opening day, by the way.

Guys, I’m More Than A Little Concerned With My Dog’s Recreational Drug Habits…

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What? WHAT?! NONONONONONO, I don’t have a problem. I have a problem? I DON’T HAVE A PROBLEM! HAHAHAHAH That’s funny that you’d think I have a problem, because I’m just a dog, you see. THAT’S HILARIOUS. See I’m just a dog, A DOG. I can’t do drugs, I just eat my food, drink my water, and chase rabbits when I get outside. OH MAN IF I SAW A RABBIT RIGHT NOW I’D CHASE THE EVERLOVING CRAP OUT OF IT. Can we go out and get some rabbit right now? RIGHT NOW NOW NOW NOW NOW NOW. Gimme. Gimme gimme.

“Bad dog!”

Alright, alright. Alright alright alright. I know how to get out of the house now. When you guys go out and leave me overnight, yeah, I’ll get out, LOCK THE DOOR I ALWAYS MAKE SURE THAT DOOR IS LOCKED, and go hang out with some guys I met. What guys? THESE GUYS I MET, GAHHHH BACK OFF. Acey and Ray. I don’t know how I might ‘em but they ARE THE COOLEST GUYS. RAY DRIVES A 4RUNNER. IT’S THE COOLEST! Sure, I’ll go out of the house sometimes, but it’s just to get a drink or two nothing hard NOTHING HARD AT ALL.

“Bad, bad dog!”

Okay, who hasn’t gotten a LITTLE crazy before? WHO ARE YOU TO JUDGE ME? HUH?! Maybe I’ve had a joint or two, when I’m wasted or something, WHO CARES? IT’S NOT LIKE IT’S GOING TO KILL ME. Maybe there’s a time or two when there’s been a little booger sugar around or something, I don’t know. I DON’T KNOW WHO ACEY AND RAY KNOW, ALRIGHT? But I don’t have a problem. HAHAH. I’m a DOG, RIGHT? RIGHT? I’M RIGHT. THAT’D BE HILARIOUS. Wait. WAIT. YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE WOULD BE HILARIOUS, OTHER THAN YOU JUST SAYING THAT. OH MAN, IF IT WERE TRUE. Could you IMAGINE a DOG?! BEING HIGH? OH MAN, I THINK MY BRAINS ARE LEAKING OUT OF MY TEETH! THAT’S SO AWESOME.

/slight bop on the nose
“Bad dog!”

FINE. But can I get a new bone? Please? PLEASE? PLEEEEASE?

/chews on new bone for seven hours
//falls asleep chewing bones
///forgets incident altogether