Friday, September 28, 2007

Knuckle Puck Preview '07

So yesterday I realized that the NHL season was starting this weekend and that I had not adequately prepared myself for the next 7 months of face-melting action.

Who am I kidding? Hockey sucks, deal with it denim shirt fans. The last hockey game I willingly watched was the Eden Hall Academy JV-Varsity game. So in that vein, I am going to give my half-ass NHL season preview and predictions. Now I could have gone to any number of the tens of hockey blogs on the internet and ripped off a season preview and predictions, but I'd rather just bullshit my way through this.

Considering my complete and utter hockey ignorance, I had to visit to get some information so it can kind of look researched. The first thing I noticed is that there are a lot more teams than I remember. After using a TI-83, a jar of jellybeans, my toes, and an abacus, I determined there to be 30 teams. Seriously NHL? You need 30 teams? Off the top of my head I can probably name 10 teams. Where the hell did the other 20 teams come from? Now I've heard the argument that the NBA expanded too much, in turn watering down the level of talent in the league. Now at first I was thinking that the same argument could apply to the NHL, then I thought about the hot political topics of the day and realized why the NHL has over-expanded. Immigration control. Before you whistle me for a two-line pass (or some other gay rule from hockey), hear me out. The good ol' US and A have a limited amount of work visas that it will issue in a given year. If we can pad the league with Europeans and Canadians (white people), then we don't have to issue those visas to less desirable countries (Latinos/Hispanics). Let's see the presidential candidates debate that little bombshell.

Now with the politics out of the way I can concentrate on the meat and potatoes of this subject: predictions. I decided to ditch the preview part because I don't know how the teams did last year, or didn't pay attention to any of the off-season transactions, which wouldn't have meant a thing to me anyway. I've assembled the finest scientific minds from around my neighborhood to discuss and debate the merits of each team. They include myself, my next door neighbor who can be seen shredding away at the air guitar while playing 80's music at excessive volumes late into the night, the three Puerto Rican guys who live on the other side of me and sit on their front porch most nights smoking cigarettes and talking loudly in Spanish (one has a mullet, so he's probably the closest we have to a hockey expert), and a couple of the sad old white people who all but live at the convenience store across the street because they are addicted to Keno.

Eastern Conference
Atlantic Division
There are two teams in New York, so they cancel each other out like some sort of fraction that I could never quite understand. The same applies to the two teams from Pennsylvania because we're lazy. That leaves the New Jersey Devils. I personally hate the state of New Jersey, but their mascot is affiliated with evil, so they have to be pretty metal.

Northeast Division
We know our hometown Bruins are garbage every year, so they're out. The Buffalo area only has two things going for them the Bills and Sabres, which has to be really depressing. The problem with both teams is that their mascots are buffalo, not the team name like every other sports team on the planet. The Sabres get DQ'ed for participating in those shenanigans. This leaves the three teams from Canada. We discussed this early into the morning (mostly because air guitar guy wouldn't turn down the Cutting Crew album), and came to the agreement that the Ottawa Senators will win because we don't know where Ottawa is. Because we don't know where it is, that means that no one else knows where Ottawa is, so they have the sneak attack factor.

Southeast Division
This division caught us completely off guard. Who in the south(east) cares about hockey? Those backward-ass rednecks only care about moonshine, incest, and Nascar. This was probably the easiest pick of all. The Washington Capitals. Plus where else in DC can a congressmen take his mistress, page, or intern (a hat-trick of infidelity) out in public without concern of anyone ever finding out? Nicely played Capitals.

Western Conference
Central Division
Now here's a division with a few teams that we've actually heard of. That said, Columbus and Nashville are out because we haven't heard of them. Now the St. Louis Blues logo is a music note with a wing. That's queer, so they obviously won't win. The Detroit Red Wings logo is a tire with a wing. That's better than some flying b-sharp, but still stupid so they're done. The Chicago Blackhawks are the team to beat, and I took it upon myself to make that executive decision alone. The Native American blood that runs through my veins has me convinced (I'm seriously 1/8 or 1/16 Native American, I forget which)(...and that isn't a joke about my BAC, you racist).

Northwest Division
Another division with three teams from Canada. Well we don't really feel like discussing Canada anymore and their french fries covered with gravy eating ways, so they get eliminated. We thought the team in Minnesota were the Northstars. Now we're jumping a little ahead but it looks like the moved their asses to Dallas and dropped the North part of their name. That reminds us of the NBA's Charlotte Hornets, who moved to New Orleans. Then Charlotte started an expansion team the Bobcats, who have flat out sucked balls. We decide to assume the same happened in Minnesota with the Wild. That leaves the Colorado Avalanche. We're cool with that because our boy Raymond Jean Bourque won his Stanley Cup out there and then rocked that shit at City Hall Plaza. Our team sucks so we have to play our "homer" card somewhere.

Pacific Division
Since we already mentioned them, let's just start with Dallas. They're in the Pacific Division, but Dallas is 1300+ miles from the Pacific Ocean. This leads us to belive that they probably get really tired rollerblading to their division games because the NHL can't afford to provide travel accommodations (I read the Wall St. report), so they are at a clear disadvantage. Next up is the Phoenix Coyotes. Phoenix has an ice hockey team? We had to double check that we weren't on the Arena Football League page for a second. It turns out that my Puerto Rican neighbor with the mullet is really Mexican and he says that after he crossed the border he made his way through Phoenix. His analysis is that it's really hot in Phoenix so the ice would melt. That's good enough for us. Since we're starting to get sloppy as a scientific collective, I decide to disband the group and finish this out solo. The Los Angeles Kings share the same team name as the Sacramento Kings of the NBA. Despite being a fan of the Maloof Brothers casino, I don't like their basketball team. Sorry LA. Back when I was in middle school, everyone was rocking one of those hooded pull over Starter jackets with the pouch pocket in the front, if you don't know what I'm talking about then you probably live in an area that only has two season. Eat a dick. Well the kid that I hated the most in the world had a San Jose Sharks Starter jacket. I still hate him to this day for no real reason, so I also hate the San Jose Sharks. This leaves a sentimental favorite, which you may have already picked up on if you got the references earlier, The MightyAnaheim Ducks (they'll always be mighty to me). Quack, Quack, Quack...

I could pick a couple wild card teams, and conference champions, and then a Stanley Cup champion, but I've thought, debated, and written more about hockey today than I have in my entire life, and much more than I ever planned to, so I don't want to do any of that other shit. Mostly because no one cares about hockey anyways.

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

A conundrum for the ages

Yesterday I received about a dozen or so deliveries at work, which in turn filled my office with large cardboard boxes. That could only lead to one of two things:

1. I turn my office into a kick-ass fort

Who the hell didn't like using a cardboard box as a fort when they were were a kid? Commies, that's who. Well for all us patriots add a decade or two to that time of innocence and greatly multiply the number of boxes you had available and it's seemingly a no-brainer. Unless...

2. I start a breakdance team

Old School son! I'm talking matching Adidas track suits, headbands, shell-toes, etc... I have enough cardboard to be a set dresser for Breakin' 3, all I need is able bodies and a ghetto blaster.

This leads us to the first ever White Boys Can Dance stupid idea dance-off. The rules are simple, there are none. Anything goes.

Office Fort
Oh snap! (strengths)
  • Makes you appear creative and as someone who thinks outside the box.
  • Hides messy areas of the office.
  • Keeps barbarians, Indians indigenous peoples, dragons and the cleaning staff at bay.
Wack Shit (weaknesses)
  • Bosses with no sense of humor.
  • The Fire Marshall.
  • Water and most other liquids.

B-Boy Squad
Oh snap!
  • Wearing fresh gear.
  • Meeting new friends.
  • Breakdancing could be considered an aerobic activity, which promotes a more healthy lifestyle, thereby extending your life.
Wack Shit
  • It's retro chic, so it's popularity could end at any moment.
  • No loitering signage.
  • Breakdancing on gang turf while wearing the wrong colored Adidas gear, which could be considered an insult, thereby shortening your life.
Wow, both of my ideas had crazy rhythm and pulled off some ridiculous moves (did I see a cabbage patch in there?), but I only have so much cardboard (and not to brag, but my office is pretty big). So with great regret, I must say that turning my office into a kick-ass fort got served. It started strong by keeping riffraff out, but it lost points for easily being ruined by the contents of a Nalgene bottle. Starting a breakdance team stayed strong throughout its routine. It had everything: fashion, camaraderie, promoting good health, and was capped off with a hint of danger. It was just too sexy not to pick.

See kids, crime is cool

Friday, September 21, 2007

The Wrong Stuff

Last night I was checking one of the 75 e-mail accounts I have and don't check regularly and saw that I had an e-mail from PayPal. The subject of said e-mail was Your payment has been refunded. I didn't remember paying for anything recently so I of course had to open it up. It turns out that my $7.94 was being refunded for a New Kids on the Block t-shirt I had won on eBay a month back. The sellers message about the refund was as follows:

Enclosed is a full refund for the New Kids on the Block shirt you purchased on Ebay. The shirt had already sold out so was no longer available. Please accept our apologies for any inconvenience this has caused you. Thank you.

Most people would accept this apology and move on, especially over a 99-cent shirt (shipping was extra) featuring Boston's favorite sons New Kids on the Block. I am not most people. Here is the response that I sent to the seller:

Dear son of a bitch,

How dare you cancel my order for one medium New Kids on the Block t-shirt in unworn condition? I purchased that t-shirt as a gift for the child I sponsor in Africa. Undoubtedly you've seen the commercials with the sickly looking kids covered in flies and living in what looks like a garbage dump. Well I got me one of them. Now little Njanu will have to continue to hobble (due to malnutrition) around Africa nude, which I've learned from the Conservative Christians is shameful and makes the baby Jesus cry. I hope you can live with yourself.


When I got to work this morning I saw that the eBay seller had responded:

Dear Jon,

I again would like to extend my sincerest apologies for the mix up. I unfortunately cannot send you the item that was listed because it had been previously sold. Due to the special circumstances in it's place I could send you a Bryan Adams t-shirt, at no charge. Please let me know.

eBay seller

Bryan Adams!? The Canadian Johnny Cougar? I would not let this stand.

Dear asshole,

A Bryan Adams t-shirt!? Are you trying to be some kind of smart ass? How tough can Njanu look in a Bryan Adams t-shirt. I'm trying to get this kid action from some of those topless African women you see in National Geographic, not some hockey loving, mullet sporting Canadian. I am both insulted and ashamed for you. Please do not respond and prepare to receive negative feedback. I wish nothing but engine troubles and multi-car crashes on your favorite Nascar driver next season.


So why the big fuss over a New Kids on the Block t-shirt? Maybe this little picture will answer your question:

Way hetero

How awesome would I look in that? Oh yeah, time to come clean. I don't sponsor any kids in Africa. In fact, I immediately change the channel when one of those commercials comes on because those kids are gross looking.


Tuesday, September 18, 2007

My name is Guy Incognito

Friday night I attended the Samuel Adams OctoberFest [sic] at the awesome Smith and Wollensky Boston. Probably due to the classy-ass location, all and all it was mostly a ho hum affair. I've been to a few Oktoberfest celebrations in my day and sadly this one was the least fun. I had more fun crashing my car while driving home from Newport's Oktoberfest two years back (weather fueled, not alcohol). Despite the utter lack of excitement, there was one shining beacon of entertainment: fistfights breaking out between Sox and Yankee fans.

...actually, that didn't happen at this event, just every other place in Boston serving alcohol this weekend. However we were treated to watching Jim Koch, the founder/owner/whatever of Sam Adams wander around hammered. He was supposed to give a toast at 6, but didn't find his way to the stage until about 7. And when he was done he was swarmed by beer nerds, the guys with the Hawaiian shirts that have bottles of beer instead of flowers or shit like that on them. I just wanted to mention that because I hate them.

So at some point while watching Jim lean on something/somebody to keep his balance, my friend Ryan asks the brilliant question, "Do you think when Jim Koch goes to bars he tries to order beers that aren't Sam Adams?" We discuss this for several minutes and come to the conclusion that he will order other beers when he's out, but only if he has a sweet Peyton Manning moustache on so nobody will recognize him.

Which naturally leads me to want to talk about the greatest moustaches of all time (in no particular order).

Dick Dastardly

Classic. Elegant. Foreshadowing. You could always tell he was formulating some sort of diabolical scheme to Belichick cheat his way to victory in the Wacky Races by working that sweet musketeer 'stache. Too bad those schemes always backfired. I also wanted to include Muttley, but he doesn't have visible whiskers, I would have let that slide. Did you know Muttley's birthday is April 16? Me neither.

The b-boy of unknown ethnic origin in Breakin'

The kid with the Demolition Man beret, not the kid with the Pink Floyd hat and big red circle with a line through it over his face. Upon multiple viewings (yeah, I own the DVD, you wanna fight about it?), I still cannot tell what the hell this kid is. Mexican? Native American? Filipino? Eskimo? Like figuring out how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop, the world may never know. But I do know that he has a badass moustache.

"Ravishing" Rick Rude/Billy Mays

I heard a rumor a couple years back that The Ravishing One had died from AIDS or some other shit like that. Then all of a sudden this Billy Mays fellow arrives on the infomercial scene hocking all kinds of cleaning products. Coincidence? I think not. I think this "Billy Mays" guy selling cleaning products is some kind metaphor for cleaning his conscience from the years of dolling out Rude Awakenings. Either way, he/they had/has a killer 'stache.

Ambrose E. Burnside

The "George Washington Carver" of sideburns himself. He gets the nod not for inventing 'burns, but for being the first to link them to the all important moustache. His Civil War battle record may be spotty, but his facial hair record is flawless.


When you think of a mustachioed plumber who eats mushrooms and saves princesses from giant turtles, you either think of Mario or some homeless guy who tells you of his amazing adventures all while trying to get some spare change to buy another a handle of liquid intolerance. I think of "Luigi". And not necessarily the Luigi that's pictured above. Every Luigi I can think of has a moustache, so the name's synonymous. I just picked this one because he's also making the universal sign of a fake moustache. That's two for the price of none!

This Guy

If I was walking down a dark alley and this guy was walking toward me from the other end, I'd probably drop into the fetal position like a bear was coming at me. At least that's what I think you're supposed to do when a bear is coming at you. Wait, aren't you supposed to make yourself all big and menacing to show the bear who's the real boss, Danza style? Maybe you're supposed to go fetal when a tiger attacks. I haven't been attacked by either and I don't work for Zoobooks, so I don't really know. Anyways, if you want to know the badassitude (badass magnitude) that this guy's moustache is, here's a little fact to wet your whistle.

Fact: Chuck Norris is only afraid of two things: tadpoles and that guy's moustache.

That's it for now but there will definitely be a continuation of this post, I've already got about a dozen more 'staches lined up. Also, I would still like to hear of any moustaches that you feel should be included in the comments.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

More than meets the eye

Sorry nerds, nothing about Transformers here. This is about something more important than the eternal battle between the forces of good and evil, in robotic form. This is about Justin Timberlake. I recently watched Justin Timberlake's FutureSex/LoveShow HBO special and I must say that it was impressive. Wait a second, did I just admit that on the internet? There goes my rep.

...or does it? I've noticed that everyone in the world loves him like White America used to love OJ Simpson, and I think I know why. The man can seemingly do no wrong, here are a few quick examples:

He's sensitive: he cried on Punk'd

He's willing to help a friend in need: attempted to put their differences aside and offered to write Britney a comeback duet

He cares about the children: hosted the Nickelodeon Kids' Choice Awards and let them slime him (thanks Wikipedia, you won't see me on To Catch a Predator)

He's funny: hosted the shit out of SNL, and won an Emmy for his efforts

He's selfless: I heard a rumor that he attempted to rescue a box of puppies from a mansion where the millionaire owner planned to turn them into a coat

Wow, what a guy! Unfortunately like OJ ("If I Did It" author/host of "Juiced"), I bet that there are some skeletons in his closet and I think I've figured him out. (And I know that some of those examples could be disputed, but they certainly talked him up, didn't they?)

With the current state the music industry is in, do you really expect anyone to actually be making money? I don't care if you sell a couple million records, if you're on a major label you ain't making shit. It isn't the 90's anymore when anyone on a major label who sells millions of records gets rich, like for instance, TLC. I personally blame the kids today with their iPods, Napster, and rap music for making all these poor musicians um... poor. After thousands of hours of careful research, and then hundreds of additional hours of accounting work, I've determined that Justin Timberlake only made $46,239, pretax, in the year 2006. But then how can he afford to keep up his extravagant lifestyle? Wait for it...

Slaves. There I said it. And I'm not talking about Asian sex slaves, but the "472 years of slavery" slaves. All the signs point to this.

Look at all the black people who hang around him. The man has an MC Hammer-sized entourage, and I'm pretty sure he had the motherfuckin' Time as his live band on the special. Now, before you say that they're paid performers or his friends let me stop you. Obviously you don't know how to read because I just told you that he only pulled down 46K last year, so he couldn't even afford to have me to dance on his tour, let alone a veritable United Nations of dancers and musicians.

Paid performer argument:Joe Theismann's leg::My response:Lawrence Taylor

And don't worry "what if they're really friends" sympathizers, you're next. I consider myself to have a lot in common with JT ...kind of. I'm white, can dance, play basketball, wear wrinkled suits with sneakers, and have a sweet ass; so why don't I have a ton of black friends like he does? The fact is, most black people don't want to be friends with white people. Why? I'm guessing because we have looted the shit out of their culture. Look at some of the stuff us crackers have stolen:

Music - rock 'n' roll, rap, Vampire Weekend

Language/Slang - funky fresh, cold chillin', word up, homey, two snaps up, etc... (meticulously researched by watching the first season of In Living Color)

Style/Fashion - hip-hop, cornrows, prison tattoos, long basketball shorts

Inventions - the traffic light, peanut butter, supersoakers

Individuals - Tiger Woods, the Gumbel brothers, the guy from the Police Academy movies who made those crazy sound effects

Wow, the list just goes on and on and Justin straddles the line between white boy and whiteboy, so naturally I would expect backlash. So taking from that, we learn that black people don't want to hang out with him because he's a culture thief. So then who are all the black people seen hanging around him all the time? That's right, Slaves.

Now I know all the naysayers out there will say that my arguments are only speculation and don't constitute real evidence. Well Lynne Thigpen, here's your smoking gun.

Let's take a quick look at Mr. Timberlake's latest release.

Justin Timberlake - FutureSex/LoveSounds.

Now if you divide all the letters into three groups you get:

jnbienso, stmelarsve, -uitrkfutuesx/leoud

Rotate the "/" about 55 degrees clockwise and combine with the "-" into a "=". Now substitute "uitrkfutuesxleoud" for "a" then add it to the second group.

Now we are left with: jnbienso, stmelarsvea, =

If I move the = between the two groups and rearrange the letters we get:

no benjis = slave master

Chilling, isn't it.

Straight up, the motherfucker's got moves, and he's banged some of the hottest tail in the entertainment industry, but I can't approve of slavery. Sorry to out you JT, but it just isn't cool. And not to kick a man when he's down but I wouldn't be surprised if he's also involved in the Mike Vick dogfighting scandal. Like I learned in Rush Hour 2, there's always a white guy looking for his cut.

Thursday, September 6, 2007

A day which will live in infamy

or: I just booked my first-class ticket to hell

So I received this e-mail last week from my friend Ryan:

Dude, do you want to join a kickball league? I'm dead serious.

Because my company doesn't have a softball team, and I can't always find a pickup game of basketball, I currently lack any form of regular athletic competition. At a cookout a month back after playing a gays vs straights game of two-hand touch, I was asked if I would consider playing in a gay men's football league. I was considering it because I love playing football and would have a couple friends in the league, not because I love to bang guys (sorry fellas). But then I found this sexy kickball proposal in my inbox. After weighing my options of a co-ed kickball beer league, or a gay football league, I decided to go the kickball route. I am a very competitive person, especially when it comes to athletics, but I can tone it down depending on what sport I may be playing. When it's something like football, I'm 100% into it because it actually requires skill to do well, for kickball I think I can tone it down to 40% because the last time I played that shit I was in 6th grade and I think I went 7-for-7 with 6 homeruns. Another reason that I picked co-ed kickball over gay football is because I'd probably accidentally call someone a homo at some point during the season. Why did I bring up my competitive nature? Because the following is a sorta-recap of the worst day of competitive sports that I have ever played. I would say this one day was worse than my entire Freshman year of baseball when we didn't win a single game all season, not even scrimmages.

A couple years back my friend Marisa asked me if I wanted to play softball. Her friend was putting a team together for a charity game for Easter Seals and needed a couple more players. Being the charitable person that I am, I of course agreed. Ryan also agreed to play on the team. Because we're assholes, whenever we talked to Marisa about the game we asked that she was sure we weren't playing a team of retards. I don't remember exactly what she said but it was probably along the lines of "you have no soul for joking about that," and that we were scheduled to play against a team from Home Depot. I contended that because I was raising money for Easter Seals, it would offset any retard jokes I would make. And speaking of retards and Home Depot, I don't really trust any advice that any of their sales associates give me. If they're such experts then why the fuck are they working at Home Depot and not using their trade skills to acquire a job that undoubtedly pays more? Perhaps they just like wearing orange aprons and measuring stuff?

Because we were scheduled to play a legit team, I had to get my shit together. So for a couple weeks before the game Ryan and I trained, which consisted of getting our throwing arms back in shape. We'd play catch in the parking lot of our work during our lunch break for about 10 minutes each day. Actually, we could only play for about 10 minutes because everyday at some point Ryan would throw a frozen rope over my head which would be lost for the ages (or just end up in the parking lot of the DoubleTree that was next to our work).

So the day of the game finally arrives and the weather was fucking crazy, I wake up to thunder and lightning and downpours. I call Marisa to see if the game is still on and she said that it was. The field was about an hour away so like The Regulators, we mount up and head to our softball destiny. As we are heading south, the clouds gradually disappear and it's actually a beautiful day at the field. We meet the rest of our team and start to warm up. We see some of the Easter Seals kids hanging around the park and make a couple jokes about playing them; again we're assholes, but charitable assholes. It's getting closer to game time and we don't see anyone from the Home Depot team so I'm starting to get worried. We give the Home Depot team about an extra half hour to show up and they never do. So we win by forfeit, right?

"Here's my check, I'm heading home."

Well it turns out you can't win a charity game by forfeit, so they found us another team to play. Do I even need to tell you who was on that team?

I'll give you a minute to collect yourself.




Like Earl Hickey, karma just kicked our asses. The organizers of the event gathered every retarded kid that they could find and put them on the team, and maybe one or two of the extra-retarded adults. Through drinking and repression, I've erased most of that game from my memory. From what I remember, here are the highlowlights.

Everyone had to bring their own equipment. The retards brought plenty of helmets, but didn't share because they also had to wear them while in the field, so we had to "borrow" some from another game that was going on. (I now "own" a batting helmet)

When our team was up to bat: if you didn't swing it was a strike, whether the pitch be a foot over your head or landed in front of home plate. Luckily it was one of the Easter Seals volunteers pitching to us so there were a couple good pitches per at bat.

When their team was up to bat, the ump had three calls: ball, strike, they didn't mean to swing. I swear at one at bat the ump called "he didn't mean to swing" on 7 consecutive pitches.

Two fouls was an out, Ryan managed to foul out (oh yeah, this was slow pitch).

Their team got to bat around every inning, even if they got twelve outs. Actually their batting lineup fluctuated each inning, I think they kept finding more retards at the park.

Here's an actual conversation I overheard while in right field:

E. Seals volunteer: "Hey Billy, would you like to get a few cuts in?"

Billy (a retarded boy): "Daaaaaaah"

*I never actually heard that conversation happen, but then where else were these extra players coming from? I doubt that their parents were pushing them to play to make up for their own failed childhood dreams of athletic glory.

At one point the kid playing shortstop was telling me to hit the ball to his glove, so I did. He was not nominated for a SportsCenter top 10 play.

Our captain tried to raise our spirits after intentionally losing to a team of retards by saying "at least we had fun", to which I immediately deadpanned "I had no fun whatsoever." I stand by that remark to this day.

After the game we took a team photo. While lining up for the photo-op the third baseman of the retard team came over and started to taunt me, "Whee bee yoo bah!" (translation: We beat you bad) Note the intentional misspellings, because I tried to get across his flawless enunciation.

I was going to wrap this up with a note about my derogatory use of the word retard (I actually cut a bunch out), but I decided not to because if you were at all offended then you need to get a fucking life. You're what's wrong with America.

Hugs and Kisses.