Quick! When's the last time you were filling out a job application and you looked down and saw the box asking you the question, "Do you like girls? Check Yes or No"?
Well if you are applying to be in the National Football League, this is a hot-button issue, and we have reason to believe you cannot adequately fulfill your football duties if you are not interested in females.
Sure, you can run fast as hell and you're stronger than a horse that drank milk for ten years (just run with it) but do you get excited when you see breasts? Because you better. They're breasts for Christ sakes, what's wrong with you?
And if you don't, you better freakin' lie! This is a macho business filled with macho men that slap each other's asses and shower together on a daily basis and we don't want anybody getting the wrong idea around here!
So at the NFL combine, Colorado tight end Nick Kasa said that several teams probed him on his sexual orientation. Wait, tight end? What the hell is this? The National Fairy League!? Burn him! And they probed him? All this innuendo is suppressing my ability to like breasts. I need some air.
The greatest part about all of this is the fantasy world that the NFL is living in. The NFL very clearly doesn't want gay people to play in their sport. They're a fraternity that's run by a bunch of dinosaurs that are from a very different time and refuse to adjust with the rest of the waking world. Hopefully things will change once these naive sons of bitches start kicking the bucket but for now we're stuck with things like this. But I mention fantasy world because I find it absolutely hilarious that their solution to their "problem" is to simply ask them if they like girls.
So maybe they aren't a bunch of fogey hate-mongerers...they're just middle schoolers, apparently.
Well, bad news NFL, there's flaws in your system. Players have come out after their NFL days and declared that they are gay. They like to kiss boys and something tells me that didn't magically happen one day they woke up in their forties. They were probably gay in the NFL too.
But I don't understand. How did we not notice the subtleties? Were there not signs? Did they not seem to really, really want to tackle somebody...a little too much? Did they not give pregame speeches straight from West Side Story? Did they not find the alternate uniforms to be too much of a color clash?
When this story broke, I read it, and promptly thought, "That's about right." I'm not shocked by the NFL anymore. I'm not shocked that a business that runs itself like a fraternity doesn't want homosexuals. I'm not shocked that it's 2013 and this is still happening because its probably always going to happen.
Nine out of ten people will read this and think that it's absolutely ludicrous. And one person will think it's absolutely status quo and the cycle will repeat itself. You can take this article and every time I wrote NFL and replace it with either: military, public schools, government, organised crime, etc. and it will still be applicable.
I knew growing up that we lived in a world predicated by breasts. I covet them like Gollum from Lord of the Rings...they're...my...precious. I guess I just never realized that I'm capable of doing my job correctly because of my love of breasts.
Time to update the ol' resume.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Monday, February 18, 2013
Everything Falls Apart
Where have I been?
I've been hiding.
The renaissance is over and all that's left is the trash and glitter in the streets and the hangover and regret in the bed sheets.
I hate this. I hate every second of this. Every time I turn on the news or log on to ESPN.com I find myself with yet another bitter taste in my mouth. And it's never, ever remotely sane or in the grasp of my realm of understanding.
Oscar Pistorius, the dual-amputee Olympian that competed just recently in London has been accused of shooting and killing his girlfriend. A guy, that they call 'Blade Runner' (not making this up), who has non-biological parts attached to his body (not making this up), has been accused of murder...after he made the Olympics (not making this up) and competed against able-bodied Olympians.
Note 1: There have been many times in this blog where I wished I could have retracted something that didn't turn out the way I hoped it would or quite simply times where I just sound stupid and I wished it would go away but for the sake of whatever back-alley journalism I think this is, I never changed it. And I just want to say, "Thank Karma God that I never wrote some really inspirational piece on Oscar Pistorius and how he's showing us two-legged folks up and what an inspiration he is to handicapped people everywhere...and yadda, yadda, yadda." At least I don't have that egg on my face. Suck it, CNN.
But, in all seriousness, are you fucking kidding me? This happened? He was the flag bearer for South Africa in the closing ceremonies for Christ sakes!
Look, I've never sought out South Africa as the pinnacle of human analysis, but to distinguish one man as the FLAG BEARER of your country, you would think you would take the time to make sure that he wasn't...hmm...I don't know...a MURDERER!
Note 2: The trial hasn't even started yet, and probably won't for some time, and us citizens won't know exactly what happened until Pistorius stands trial in South Africa (that should be pretty rough) and even then who are WE to pass judgement. I put a period at the end of that question because it was rhetorical and I think we are more than qualified to pass judgement on scumbags.
I'm this passionate and at the end of the day I could probably give two shits about this guy. He's never been MY role model...but I'm sure he's been somebody's. I'm sure he's inspired somebody to do something they probably wouldn't have done by themselves...and now they feel like an enormous asshole. And I feel for them. That's where I come in. I'm always an enormous asshole.
It takes tremendous courage to stand up against all odds, against the over-whelming wave of resistance, and boldly stand like a pillar of defiance and do something nobody on the planet thought you were even capable of. It also takes courage to know that all men are created equal and all men are susceptible to faults on the simplest of levels, such as getting mad. It takes a lifetime to build a kingdom and a day to burn it.
This man didn't gain some sort of societal free pass because of his disability. His disability, which was a birth defect, caused his two legs to be amputated just below the knees. Nobody gives you a "Hey man, do what you want" pass for that. Naive people treat you like a invalid, guilty people treat you like a charity case, and good people ask how they can help. There's no such thing as a 'get out of jail free' card.
Where do we go from here? Well, frankly, not very far. I can only do so much. I can simply tell the people of the world that your (non-fictional) heroes of the world are mortal. They are susceptible to mortal flaws. They are PRONE to let you down. There is no such thing as a model human being.
There isn't.
Do you know why? The answer is simple...and fairly dark. Everywhere you would think to look for the model human being is corrupted. Boy Scouts, politics, Catholic Church...etc. The precedent has been set. But I wasn't misleading you. The answer is quite simple.
Every time you are faced with a decision, ask yourself this question, "Will this ruin or even maim someone's life?"
It's really that simple, morons. Stop believing everything you hear. Including this.
I've been hiding.
The renaissance is over and all that's left is the trash and glitter in the streets and the hangover and regret in the bed sheets.
I hate this. I hate every second of this. Every time I turn on the news or log on to ESPN.com I find myself with yet another bitter taste in my mouth. And it's never, ever remotely sane or in the grasp of my realm of understanding.
Oscar Pistorius, the dual-amputee Olympian that competed just recently in London has been accused of shooting and killing his girlfriend. A guy, that they call 'Blade Runner' (not making this up), who has non-biological parts attached to his body (not making this up), has been accused of murder...after he made the Olympics (not making this up) and competed against able-bodied Olympians.
Note 1: There have been many times in this blog where I wished I could have retracted something that didn't turn out the way I hoped it would or quite simply times where I just sound stupid and I wished it would go away but for the sake of whatever back-alley journalism I think this is, I never changed it. And I just want to say, "Thank Karma God that I never wrote some really inspirational piece on Oscar Pistorius and how he's showing us two-legged folks up and what an inspiration he is to handicapped people everywhere...and yadda, yadda, yadda." At least I don't have that egg on my face. Suck it, CNN.
But, in all seriousness, are you fucking kidding me? This happened? He was the flag bearer for South Africa in the closing ceremonies for Christ sakes!
Look, I've never sought out South Africa as the pinnacle of human analysis, but to distinguish one man as the FLAG BEARER of your country, you would think you would take the time to make sure that he wasn't...hmm...I don't know...a MURDERER!
Note 2: The trial hasn't even started yet, and probably won't for some time, and us citizens won't know exactly what happened until Pistorius stands trial in South Africa (that should be pretty rough) and even then who are WE to pass judgement. I put a period at the end of that question because it was rhetorical and I think we are more than qualified to pass judgement on scumbags.
I'm this passionate and at the end of the day I could probably give two shits about this guy. He's never been MY role model...but I'm sure he's been somebody's. I'm sure he's inspired somebody to do something they probably wouldn't have done by themselves...and now they feel like an enormous asshole. And I feel for them. That's where I come in. I'm always an enormous asshole.
It takes tremendous courage to stand up against all odds, against the over-whelming wave of resistance, and boldly stand like a pillar of defiance and do something nobody on the planet thought you were even capable of. It also takes courage to know that all men are created equal and all men are susceptible to faults on the simplest of levels, such as getting mad. It takes a lifetime to build a kingdom and a day to burn it.
This man didn't gain some sort of societal free pass because of his disability. His disability, which was a birth defect, caused his two legs to be amputated just below the knees. Nobody gives you a "Hey man, do what you want" pass for that. Naive people treat you like a invalid, guilty people treat you like a charity case, and good people ask how they can help. There's no such thing as a 'get out of jail free' card.
Where do we go from here? Well, frankly, not very far. I can only do so much. I can simply tell the people of the world that your (non-fictional) heroes of the world are mortal. They are susceptible to mortal flaws. They are PRONE to let you down. There is no such thing as a model human being.
There isn't.
Do you know why? The answer is simple...and fairly dark. Everywhere you would think to look for the model human being is corrupted. Boy Scouts, politics, Catholic Church...etc. The precedent has been set. But I wasn't misleading you. The answer is quite simple.
Every time you are faced with a decision, ask yourself this question, "Will this ruin or even maim someone's life?"
It's really that simple, morons. Stop believing everything you hear. Including this.
Friday, January 25, 2013
In Support of Man Kicks Boy
It being 2013 and all now, Chelsea winger Eden Hazard thought that maybe this might be the year that we can finally get away with kicking children.
Turns out we still can't and this really bums me out because we all know a few little brats that deserve a swift roundhouse to the rib cage. They just get away with too much these days...where's the morality?!
Chelsea was playing Swansea in a League Cup semifinal match when the ball went out of bounds and right into the awaiting arms of little, innocent 17-year old Charlie Morgan. Morgan then scooped it up and over came Hazard who had proper claim to the ball. Morgan didn't give it up and when Hazard went to take it, Morgan hugged it and dropped to the ground like he was covering a live grenade for his army buddies in the trenches.
Here's the thing about soccer: the clock never stops ticking. It was late in the match--the playoff match mind you--and now a supporter of the other team is keeping the ball from you. How do I know the ball boy was supporting the other team? Because his father is Martin Morgan, a director of Swansea, the team that Chelsea was playing!
Hazard starts out just trying to poke the ball free from the death grip of the ball boy and still the little brat wouldn't give it up! Hazard finally wrestles the ball free but by that point frustration had completely set in and when that happens the human body can't be held responsible for actions of the brain. Hazard brought his foot up and gave Morgan a quick jab to the midsection.
And all Hell breaks loose! Morgan is down on the ground, writhing in pain, needs to be helped to his feet by two attendants. Meanwhile, Hazard is shown the red card of death and has to leave the match. The match ends in regulation with a score of 0-0 and Chelsea loses to Swansea 2-0 in aggregate time.
Now the Football Association is saying the automatic three-game ban for Hazard is not enough punishment and will announce further sanctions.
Well folks, the British are wrong again! Why is Hazard being martyred for this? Did anybody else read what I just wrote?
Some snobby little rich kid for the other team was deliberately stalling the match! And, for the record, Morgan is 17 and Hazard is 22, this isn't some forty-year old man punting a six-year old in the face. This was a simple, quick, "you shouldn't have done that" jab to the ribs. A just punishment for the crime--a punishment that the little douche needed.
Look, Morgan is filthy rich and he's not going to have to work hard his entire life and is going to get anything and everything he wants. Hazard is an athlete, an athlete that was caught up in the passion of the match. He was being kept from his goal to win and in this day and age we should be supporting our athletes who refuse to be denied to win.
He didn't even kick him that hard! Morgan totally played it up that he was hurt to further draw attention to himself and delay the match even further. He's a disgrace--not a victim!
Don't be mad at Hazard. Be glad that some rich little snot got his just desserts for one day in his entire existence. I'll be sleeping soundly tonight.
Turns out we still can't and this really bums me out because we all know a few little brats that deserve a swift roundhouse to the rib cage. They just get away with too much these days...where's the morality?!
Chelsea was playing Swansea in a League Cup semifinal match when the ball went out of bounds and right into the awaiting arms of little, innocent 17-year old Charlie Morgan. Morgan then scooped it up and over came Hazard who had proper claim to the ball. Morgan didn't give it up and when Hazard went to take it, Morgan hugged it and dropped to the ground like he was covering a live grenade for his army buddies in the trenches.
Here's the thing about soccer: the clock never stops ticking. It was late in the match--the playoff match mind you--and now a supporter of the other team is keeping the ball from you. How do I know the ball boy was supporting the other team? Because his father is Martin Morgan, a director of Swansea, the team that Chelsea was playing!
Hazard starts out just trying to poke the ball free from the death grip of the ball boy and still the little brat wouldn't give it up! Hazard finally wrestles the ball free but by that point frustration had completely set in and when that happens the human body can't be held responsible for actions of the brain. Hazard brought his foot up and gave Morgan a quick jab to the midsection.
And all Hell breaks loose! Morgan is down on the ground, writhing in pain, needs to be helped to his feet by two attendants. Meanwhile, Hazard is shown the red card of death and has to leave the match. The match ends in regulation with a score of 0-0 and Chelsea loses to Swansea 2-0 in aggregate time.
Now the Football Association is saying the automatic three-game ban for Hazard is not enough punishment and will announce further sanctions.
Well folks, the British are wrong again! Why is Hazard being martyred for this? Did anybody else read what I just wrote?
Some snobby little rich kid for the other team was deliberately stalling the match! And, for the record, Morgan is 17 and Hazard is 22, this isn't some forty-year old man punting a six-year old in the face. This was a simple, quick, "you shouldn't have done that" jab to the ribs. A just punishment for the crime--a punishment that the little douche needed.
Look, Morgan is filthy rich and he's not going to have to work hard his entire life and is going to get anything and everything he wants. Hazard is an athlete, an athlete that was caught up in the passion of the match. He was being kept from his goal to win and in this day and age we should be supporting our athletes who refuse to be denied to win.
He didn't even kick him that hard! Morgan totally played it up that he was hurt to further draw attention to himself and delay the match even further. He's a disgrace--not a victim!
Don't be mad at Hazard. Be glad that some rich little snot got his just desserts for one day in his entire existence. I'll be sleeping soundly tonight.
Saturday, December 15, 2012
We Need You
An Open Letter To Those Lost Souls That Need Encouragement,
I encourage you.
Seriously, I do, for whatever emotion it is that you are feeling this morning, be it anger, sadness, or maybe you're simply in just a state of shock--it's all human. For better or for worse, we are creatures of our own rationalization and there are times where an answer doesn't pop up. Nor should it, in this case.
There is no answer.
How could there be? And would that make you feel better? There is no rationalization and in its place is a empty hole, a dark nothingness. And it hurts. It hurts so bad.
I encourage you to know that out of the dark comes that little voice. It's so tiny at first but it grows and grows because that's human nature--the ever resilient, refusing to be silent force.
It's going to be okay.
How do I know? It's simple. We'll make sure of it, together.
I encourage you to ignore the brutality of the following statement but the world is fucked. It always has been and always will be and the only thing that we can do, as specks on the world, is avoid as much fuck as we can. But, in all honesty, the longer we stay here the more fuck we will see and there's nothing that we can do about that.
It is our inclination to band together, grab pitchforks and torches, and march towards the monster when we really should just be sitting in our homes with our loved ones and reflecting. We should be reflecting that while there is an awful lot of fuck in the world there is still plenty of good as well.
You see, it's a balance. That's part of the deal that none of us agreed to but are forced to deal with every waking moment.
But that's the beauty of it. We're all in it together and there's not a damn thing we can do about it so we might as well band together and make the best of it. That's life, kids, in a nutshell.
So when something terrible happens, that has no reason or rhyme, I encourage you to band together and weather the storm. I can't make it without you and you can't make it without me. And just as I tell you it's going to be okay, I need you to tell me too. That's how that tiny voice grows.
While it may seem like we are simply convincing each other that it's going to get better when it seems like it really won't, well, that's the point. If just one more person believes it will be okay, then I've done my job. Then that person will convince another person it's okay.
And then everything is okay.
And Band-Aids don't heal broken legs.
But it's a start in the healing process and a start is what we need.
I encourage you to wake up this morning and go and be the best person you can be. Regardless of what emotion you have, you are still human, and you must go on. Band together with your fellow specks and help weigh the balance back in the favor of good.
We need you.
Sincerely,
The Studly Pastures
I encourage you.
Seriously, I do, for whatever emotion it is that you are feeling this morning, be it anger, sadness, or maybe you're simply in just a state of shock--it's all human. For better or for worse, we are creatures of our own rationalization and there are times where an answer doesn't pop up. Nor should it, in this case.
There is no answer.
How could there be? And would that make you feel better? There is no rationalization and in its place is a empty hole, a dark nothingness. And it hurts. It hurts so bad.
I encourage you to know that out of the dark comes that little voice. It's so tiny at first but it grows and grows because that's human nature--the ever resilient, refusing to be silent force.
It's going to be okay.
How do I know? It's simple. We'll make sure of it, together.
I encourage you to ignore the brutality of the following statement but the world is fucked. It always has been and always will be and the only thing that we can do, as specks on the world, is avoid as much fuck as we can. But, in all honesty, the longer we stay here the more fuck we will see and there's nothing that we can do about that.
It is our inclination to band together, grab pitchforks and torches, and march towards the monster when we really should just be sitting in our homes with our loved ones and reflecting. We should be reflecting that while there is an awful lot of fuck in the world there is still plenty of good as well.
You see, it's a balance. That's part of the deal that none of us agreed to but are forced to deal with every waking moment.
But that's the beauty of it. We're all in it together and there's not a damn thing we can do about it so we might as well band together and make the best of it. That's life, kids, in a nutshell.
So when something terrible happens, that has no reason or rhyme, I encourage you to band together and weather the storm. I can't make it without you and you can't make it without me. And just as I tell you it's going to be okay, I need you to tell me too. That's how that tiny voice grows.
While it may seem like we are simply convincing each other that it's going to get better when it seems like it really won't, well, that's the point. If just one more person believes it will be okay, then I've done my job. Then that person will convince another person it's okay.
And then everything is okay.
And Band-Aids don't heal broken legs.
But it's a start in the healing process and a start is what we need.
I encourage you to wake up this morning and go and be the best person you can be. Regardless of what emotion you have, you are still human, and you must go on. Band together with your fellow specks and help weigh the balance back in the favor of good.
We need you.
Sincerely,
The Studly Pastures
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Birds of Prey
Kids! It's December and that means I'm chock full of goodies for you!
That came out really badly and I apologize for that. Today's post is inspired by a crazy man and a dumb looking bird. I wish I was kidding.
New Orleans Hornets owner, Tom Benson, doesn't think the Hornets name is very befitting for his city and wants to change it to...wait for it..the Pelicans!
The New Orleans Pelicans!
First of all, if the pelican is the best representation of your city that you have, you have yourself a very shitty city. Look at it this way, if we all go to war against each other and we turn and see the army marching in with the pelican on their flags, we're wiping them out first. They should be a cake walk.
I'm not from New Orleans and I've never been to New Orleans so I can't say for sure what kind of obsession level the people have there with pelicans. I do know that we have them here in Florida and I'm not very impressed. A pelican has never done anything to make me say, "Boom! That's totally Florida-status pelican right there!"
But this news did get me thinking. What if every NBA team changed their names to better reflect their city? Wouldn't that be interesting if someone put together some sort of hypothetical list of new NBA teams? But who, who I ask you, would take on such a daunting task? Read on.
Boston Bean Eaters - People from Boston friggin' love beans. It's kinda like how regular people like good stuff like candy and pizza but for them it's beans. It doesn't matter what kind of beans either. They drizzle that stuff on anything. Kids are sick? Have some beans. You just got laid off from the mill? Beans. It's pretty damn gross.
Brooklyn Underground Rappers - Every single underground rapper has come from Brooklyn. Fact.
New York Scumbags - If you live in New York City, you've probably done something recently to label yourself a scumbag. But, hey, it's not your fault, it's the city itself turning you into that. My advice? Embrace it. That's the New York spirit anyways. Stand tall, stand proud and declare yourself a scumbag.
Philadelphia Amish - Pennsylvania is big for Amish territory and while the technology challenged members of society aren't big basketball fans...they could be. Think about this: no distractions, just a ball and a hoop. If the Amish get into the game the rest of the NBA could be in trouble.
Toronto Hockey Players - Canada has no business in the NBA and it's high time that they recognize it. Aside from being an oxymoron, considering it's the NATIONAL Basketball Association, Canadian basketball players would rather kick back with a Labatt's Blue and talk about moose.
Dallas Cattle - I know that 'Mavericks' was a cooler name but when I think about Dallas, I think about Texas, and when I think about Texas I think about cows. Big, juicy, and delicious cows. And every time the team was trailing the PA announcer could get them back into it by saying, "It looks like it's time for a Cattle Driiiiiiiiiive!" Brilliant marketing.
Houston Intergalactic Spaceships - The 'Rockets' was a pretty good representation of Houston...if it were the '60s. We need to update this stuff! Rockets? We haven't blasted off in those since John Glenn was only sort of old and not crotchety old. Our space program is progressing into some crazy stuff and it's time to reflect that.
Memphis Blues - I am stealing this from the NHL because when it comes to real sports the NHL always loses. Plus, it's such a great double entendre! Blues, as in the music that makes Memphis so popular, but also in the fact that if you live in Tennessee you are probably pretty sad.
San Antonio Alamo - Every time they win they could all shout, "ALWAYS REMEMBER!" And then party with raccoon pelts on their heads.
Chicago Mafia - Why aren't they called this?! If Al Capone didn't die of syphilis he would be pretty pissed off.
Cleveland Ohioans - Sometimes it's best just to be proud of where you are. Mostly because there is nothing else to be proud of.
Detroit Temptations - It's Motown, baby, and what better Motown band than the Temptations? The starting five could shimmy on out to a rendition of 'Get Ready'. That would be pretty sweet.
Indiana Grain Eating Flatheads - It's a plains state, complete with nothing substantial geographically. They would only sacrifice their grain for the sake of paving over the entire state and making it one gigantic basketball court.
Milwaukee Beers - Instead of the deers, let's be the Beers! People relate to alcohol more than they do to Bambi. Instead of hanging out with a skunk and a rabbit and lamenting on how my mother was shot to death, I'd rather have a cold one.
Denver Mountains - Sorry. You have to be mountains.
Minnesota Accents - This was a tough one because just like Canada, I feel like Minnesota should stick to hockey. But I can't say the word Minnesota in my head without it sounding like "Minn-ah-soodah."
Portland Hippies - Portland is stuck in a constant case of the '90s. Now that it's almost 2013, the '90s have become the new hippie generation. Weird but true.
Oklahoma City Bombers - Tough to swallow but incredibly accurate. I didn't even know there was an Oklahoma City until it blew up. Plus, every time they dunk, the sound effects guy can make that 'pewwwwwwwwwwwwBOOOM!' sound effect.
Utah Mormons - No brainer here. I can't wait to see an Amish-Mormons match up.
Atlanta Traffic - Have you driven through Atlanta? Who designed those roads? It's like trying to navigate a hedge maze but instead of a hedge it's an angry person in a car. It's a car maze. I should have just gone with that from the start.
Charlotte Plantations - I know I can't be the only one.
Miami Cubans - I'm definitely not the only one.
Orlando Disney Machine - Literally, there's nothing else. We're the Kingdom of the Mouse and that's about it. The best part is that if they did change their name to the Disney Machine they would definitely dominate the league. Disney would make sure of it.
Washington Monuments - Wait, why the hell are they the 'Wizards'? Isn't that a little Pagan for our nation's capital? HOW DID WE MISS THIS?!
Golden State Cereal - I'm sorry, exactly which state is Golden State? California? Ah, gotcha. So, why didn't we just say California? Stop trying to church it up, California. We know who you are. Now you are called the Cereal. Take that.
Los Angeles Gang Bangers - That might be a little politically incorrect but it's a pretty sweet name. Oh, this was originally the Clippers by the way.
Los Angeles Kobe's - Lakers now. Ego abounds here and as the most selfish player in NBA history, you get the team named after you. Congratulations.
Phoenix Desert - I almost kept the 'Suns' name but that was probably more fitting to a different team in Florida. As the 'Desert', Phoenix fans can rest assured that it's a very fitting name for their city in that nothing can really survive there.
Sacramento Capitals - Sacramento is the capital of California and nobody knows it because it should be Los Angeles. Sacramento will never be relevant in the NBA so the least they can do is promote that they are the capital of California.
And, finally, as for the New Orleans Pelicans, go right ahead. You're now in the class you belong now that I've set it right. Make sure to get your new team hats in time for Christmas, kids!
That came out really badly and I apologize for that. Today's post is inspired by a crazy man and a dumb looking bird. I wish I was kidding.
New Orleans Hornets owner, Tom Benson, doesn't think the Hornets name is very befitting for his city and wants to change it to...wait for it..the Pelicans!
The New Orleans Pelicans!
First of all, if the pelican is the best representation of your city that you have, you have yourself a very shitty city. Look at it this way, if we all go to war against each other and we turn and see the army marching in with the pelican on their flags, we're wiping them out first. They should be a cake walk.
I'm not from New Orleans and I've never been to New Orleans so I can't say for sure what kind of obsession level the people have there with pelicans. I do know that we have them here in Florida and I'm not very impressed. A pelican has never done anything to make me say, "Boom! That's totally Florida-status pelican right there!"
But this news did get me thinking. What if every NBA team changed their names to better reflect their city? Wouldn't that be interesting if someone put together some sort of hypothetical list of new NBA teams? But who, who I ask you, would take on such a daunting task? Read on.
Boston Bean Eaters - People from Boston friggin' love beans. It's kinda like how regular people like good stuff like candy and pizza but for them it's beans. It doesn't matter what kind of beans either. They drizzle that stuff on anything. Kids are sick? Have some beans. You just got laid off from the mill? Beans. It's pretty damn gross.
Brooklyn Underground Rappers - Every single underground rapper has come from Brooklyn. Fact.
New York Scumbags - If you live in New York City, you've probably done something recently to label yourself a scumbag. But, hey, it's not your fault, it's the city itself turning you into that. My advice? Embrace it. That's the New York spirit anyways. Stand tall, stand proud and declare yourself a scumbag.
Philadelphia Amish - Pennsylvania is big for Amish territory and while the technology challenged members of society aren't big basketball fans...they could be. Think about this: no distractions, just a ball and a hoop. If the Amish get into the game the rest of the NBA could be in trouble.
Toronto Hockey Players - Canada has no business in the NBA and it's high time that they recognize it. Aside from being an oxymoron, considering it's the NATIONAL Basketball Association, Canadian basketball players would rather kick back with a Labatt's Blue and talk about moose.
Dallas Cattle - I know that 'Mavericks' was a cooler name but when I think about Dallas, I think about Texas, and when I think about Texas I think about cows. Big, juicy, and delicious cows. And every time the team was trailing the PA announcer could get them back into it by saying, "It looks like it's time for a Cattle Driiiiiiiiiive!" Brilliant marketing.
Houston Intergalactic Spaceships - The 'Rockets' was a pretty good representation of Houston...if it were the '60s. We need to update this stuff! Rockets? We haven't blasted off in those since John Glenn was only sort of old and not crotchety old. Our space program is progressing into some crazy stuff and it's time to reflect that.
Memphis Blues - I am stealing this from the NHL because when it comes to real sports the NHL always loses. Plus, it's such a great double entendre! Blues, as in the music that makes Memphis so popular, but also in the fact that if you live in Tennessee you are probably pretty sad.
San Antonio Alamo - Every time they win they could all shout, "ALWAYS REMEMBER!" And then party with raccoon pelts on their heads.
Chicago Mafia - Why aren't they called this?! If Al Capone didn't die of syphilis he would be pretty pissed off.
Cleveland Ohioans - Sometimes it's best just to be proud of where you are. Mostly because there is nothing else to be proud of.
Detroit Temptations - It's Motown, baby, and what better Motown band than the Temptations? The starting five could shimmy on out to a rendition of 'Get Ready'. That would be pretty sweet.
Indiana Grain Eating Flatheads - It's a plains state, complete with nothing substantial geographically. They would only sacrifice their grain for the sake of paving over the entire state and making it one gigantic basketball court.
Milwaukee Beers - Instead of the deers, let's be the Beers! People relate to alcohol more than they do to Bambi. Instead of hanging out with a skunk and a rabbit and lamenting on how my mother was shot to death, I'd rather have a cold one.
Denver Mountains - Sorry. You have to be mountains.
Minnesota Accents - This was a tough one because just like Canada, I feel like Minnesota should stick to hockey. But I can't say the word Minnesota in my head without it sounding like "Minn-ah-soodah."
Portland Hippies - Portland is stuck in a constant case of the '90s. Now that it's almost 2013, the '90s have become the new hippie generation. Weird but true.
Oklahoma City Bombers - Tough to swallow but incredibly accurate. I didn't even know there was an Oklahoma City until it blew up. Plus, every time they dunk, the sound effects guy can make that 'pewwwwwwwwwwwwBOOOM!' sound effect.
Utah Mormons - No brainer here. I can't wait to see an Amish-Mormons match up.
Atlanta Traffic - Have you driven through Atlanta? Who designed those roads? It's like trying to navigate a hedge maze but instead of a hedge it's an angry person in a car. It's a car maze. I should have just gone with that from the start.
Charlotte Plantations - I know I can't be the only one.
Miami Cubans - I'm definitely not the only one.
Orlando Disney Machine - Literally, there's nothing else. We're the Kingdom of the Mouse and that's about it. The best part is that if they did change their name to the Disney Machine they would definitely dominate the league. Disney would make sure of it.
Washington Monuments - Wait, why the hell are they the 'Wizards'? Isn't that a little Pagan for our nation's capital? HOW DID WE MISS THIS?!
Golden State Cereal - I'm sorry, exactly which state is Golden State? California? Ah, gotcha. So, why didn't we just say California? Stop trying to church it up, California. We know who you are. Now you are called the Cereal. Take that.
Los Angeles Gang Bangers - That might be a little politically incorrect but it's a pretty sweet name. Oh, this was originally the Clippers by the way.
Los Angeles Kobe's - Lakers now. Ego abounds here and as the most selfish player in NBA history, you get the team named after you. Congratulations.
Phoenix Desert - I almost kept the 'Suns' name but that was probably more fitting to a different team in Florida. As the 'Desert', Phoenix fans can rest assured that it's a very fitting name for their city in that nothing can really survive there.
Sacramento Capitals - Sacramento is the capital of California and nobody knows it because it should be Los Angeles. Sacramento will never be relevant in the NBA so the least they can do is promote that they are the capital of California.
And, finally, as for the New Orleans Pelicans, go right ahead. You're now in the class you belong now that I've set it right. Make sure to get your new team hats in time for Christmas, kids!
Sunday, December 2, 2012
Those Left Behind
For those loyal readers of the Studly Pastures, I apologize, this post will not be as light-hearted as most of my normal work is. 90% of the time I strive to make you laugh and the other 10% I actually encourage you to think. Due to the events of earlier today, this post will be in the 10%.
Anybody who hasn't heard yet, Kansas City Chiefs Linebacker Jovan Belcher shot his girlfriend after an argument and then drove to his home stadium and committed suicide in front of his coach and general manager who were trying to talk him down from more acts of violence.
As if the dual tragedy wasn't enough, it branches out further. The couple had a infant child, his mother apparently witnessed the first shooting, and let us not forget the other family members of the victim, the shooter's teammates, the impact this will have on the two men that got to know him and tried to talk him down, and of course, anybody else who has ever been affected by a suicide that has their stitches ripped out every time a suicide pops up in the news.
I know that was a run-on sentence. Grammar be damned tonight.
I'm not a religious person but I am a passionate person. I care and love for things and those things are mostly people. The other three are sports, beer, and pizza. (Okay, I'll tell some jokes, it's still ME after all)
And for those that I love, rest assured, I've been mad at you. I've been completely and utterly pissed off with those closest to me and they've known it. The reason you have never known it before is because it doesn't make the news because I'm a rational human being that understands the impact of life and the impact of loss. Anger is an emotion and emotions are ever-changing. The only people that stay angry forever are Clint Eastwood and Mel Gibson...and Gibson's is due to a chemical imbalance.
Suicide is the most selfish form of death there is. For one, it's self-inflicted at any given time and interval. For two, the release is typically quick and painless...for yourself. No thought is given to those left behind except in a letter containing a weak apology. Suicide victims are usually parents, children, spouses, friends, and whoever else you managed to encounter in your life. The victim is never you. You checked out, what do you care?
I'd like to say that there was something clearly wrong in the brain of Jovan Belcher but I never knew the guy nor am I a doctor. All I can see right now is that Belcher is a thief. He robbed the family of his girlfriend their precious baby girl. He robbed his own family of their son. He robbed his child the experience of growing up with PARENTS.
And if there was something wrong in Belcher's brain that caused him to commit these acts, where were the warning signs? He works closely with the same twenty or so people EVERY single day. Nobody once thought that Jovan was acting a little weird lately? He started for a team that plays in the NFL. He's on national television for Christ's sake and NOBODY saw anything?
Did he just snap? Reports say that he was unhappy with how late his girlfriend stayed out with friends after a concert. That's what started the argument that eventually ended both of their lives. To me, that's a five-minute tiff and then I'm over it. Why did this guy ruin lives because of it?
That's the other horrible thing about suicide. There are questions that will never be answered. Everybody that's left behind is left in a state of limbo, unsure of how to move on with their lives because they aren't sure about what exactly just happened to shake up their entire existence.
So what now? We study his brain, find some dark spots on it and attribute the whole thing to that? Does the NFL concussion committee have some new evidence? What happens to the state of the game?
Is Jovan's son going to care? Not a chance. His world has affectively ended before it's even begun and that makes me incredibly sad. How do you stand a chance when there is nobody in your corner?
Back to Romeo Crennel and Scott Pioli, the two men that were trying to get Jovan to put down the gun and stop all the violence/madness: Jovan thanked them for everything and then shot himself. How sadistic is that? How do you not realize that you are about to make these two men, who are trying to help you, endure the rest of their lifetime with the thought of, "What if?"
How did everything lose it's meaning?! Boyfriend, father, son, teammate, friend...none of these labels registered anymore? WHAT THE HELL, MAN?!
In the end it's just really, really sad. All my years of journalistic training and honing my writing skills and all I can come up with is that it's just really, really sad. Always remember kids, you are bigger than you think you are. There is someone that thinks about you even when you don't.
Anybody who hasn't heard yet, Kansas City Chiefs Linebacker Jovan Belcher shot his girlfriend after an argument and then drove to his home stadium and committed suicide in front of his coach and general manager who were trying to talk him down from more acts of violence.
As if the dual tragedy wasn't enough, it branches out further. The couple had a infant child, his mother apparently witnessed the first shooting, and let us not forget the other family members of the victim, the shooter's teammates, the impact this will have on the two men that got to know him and tried to talk him down, and of course, anybody else who has ever been affected by a suicide that has their stitches ripped out every time a suicide pops up in the news.
I know that was a run-on sentence. Grammar be damned tonight.
I'm not a religious person but I am a passionate person. I care and love for things and those things are mostly people. The other three are sports, beer, and pizza. (Okay, I'll tell some jokes, it's still ME after all)
And for those that I love, rest assured, I've been mad at you. I've been completely and utterly pissed off with those closest to me and they've known it. The reason you have never known it before is because it doesn't make the news because I'm a rational human being that understands the impact of life and the impact of loss. Anger is an emotion and emotions are ever-changing. The only people that stay angry forever are Clint Eastwood and Mel Gibson...and Gibson's is due to a chemical imbalance.
Suicide is the most selfish form of death there is. For one, it's self-inflicted at any given time and interval. For two, the release is typically quick and painless...for yourself. No thought is given to those left behind except in a letter containing a weak apology. Suicide victims are usually parents, children, spouses, friends, and whoever else you managed to encounter in your life. The victim is never you. You checked out, what do you care?
I'd like to say that there was something clearly wrong in the brain of Jovan Belcher but I never knew the guy nor am I a doctor. All I can see right now is that Belcher is a thief. He robbed the family of his girlfriend their precious baby girl. He robbed his own family of their son. He robbed his child the experience of growing up with PARENTS.
And if there was something wrong in Belcher's brain that caused him to commit these acts, where were the warning signs? He works closely with the same twenty or so people EVERY single day. Nobody once thought that Jovan was acting a little weird lately? He started for a team that plays in the NFL. He's on national television for Christ's sake and NOBODY saw anything?
Did he just snap? Reports say that he was unhappy with how late his girlfriend stayed out with friends after a concert. That's what started the argument that eventually ended both of their lives. To me, that's a five-minute tiff and then I'm over it. Why did this guy ruin lives because of it?
That's the other horrible thing about suicide. There are questions that will never be answered. Everybody that's left behind is left in a state of limbo, unsure of how to move on with their lives because they aren't sure about what exactly just happened to shake up their entire existence.
So what now? We study his brain, find some dark spots on it and attribute the whole thing to that? Does the NFL concussion committee have some new evidence? What happens to the state of the game?
Is Jovan's son going to care? Not a chance. His world has affectively ended before it's even begun and that makes me incredibly sad. How do you stand a chance when there is nobody in your corner?
Back to Romeo Crennel and Scott Pioli, the two men that were trying to get Jovan to put down the gun and stop all the violence/madness: Jovan thanked them for everything and then shot himself. How sadistic is that? How do you not realize that you are about to make these two men, who are trying to help you, endure the rest of their lifetime with the thought of, "What if?"
How did everything lose it's meaning?! Boyfriend, father, son, teammate, friend...none of these labels registered anymore? WHAT THE HELL, MAN?!
In the end it's just really, really sad. All my years of journalistic training and honing my writing skills and all I can come up with is that it's just really, really sad. Always remember kids, you are bigger than you think you are. There is someone that thinks about you even when you don't.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Selling In
I can't buy in anymore. The plan is flawed. It's flawed.
Google owns this site that I post the Studly Pastures to. And for the last three years they promised me funding by posting ads on my Studly Pastures. And after three years, and 60 blog posts of hilarious banter, I have earned sixty cents...and counting.
Obviously if I were in this for the money, I would have to be pretty stupid. Right? Rhetorical question. Don't answer it.
So Google informs me today that there is another nifty application I can add to my blog to make money. Basically, it works like this:
Say for example, I like to be really witty, especially on social media sites, because that's where I get my rocks off. So I have a really funny Facebook status one day. Something like, "Hey guys, just wanted to let you know that I'm only kitten around!", and that would be followed by a picture of me and some kitten getting at it. Hilarious!
And then all of a sudden some 'friend' of mine on Facebook is like, "That was a lame pun, you should feel bad about yourself." Now I'm sitting here in my room, completely empty of light, and I get the notification. My 'friend' has just dissed me on Facebook.
Oh, I don't Facebookin' think so!
Now my objective is clear: I have to ruin this person's life. And not just at the physical level, this person has to feel the pain on a META-physical level. I'm going to have to go old-school on this person. They will have to suffer the wrath of several meta-physical wraths. Boo-yah.
So I disappear for a couple of months, like totally off the grid, I'm in some mountains and stuff. Let's be honest, I'll probably grow a beard, and learn how to whittle. People at first are like, "Hey, where is he?" and that evolves into a modest search but nothing that can find me. I'm like the wind.
While I'm up in the mountains, whittling away, I finally reach an epiphany: BOOM! I remember from various Facebook posts that my 'friend' is allergic to peanut butter. BOOM!
I frantically get to work on an elaborate scheme to inadvertently get my friend killed by peanut butter. Hours later, I come up with this fool-proof plan that involves gorillas, classical music, and other things not directly related to peanut butter, but still containing the necessary ingredients that he's allergic to.
Finally, the time is ready, and I make my move. The gorillas descend from the mountains wearing backpacks containing strawberry jelly, like completely filled with strawberry jelly. It's oozing through the zipper. Now they're mad that the jelly is leaking onto their backs and someone now has Hell to pay. That someone is the chimpanzees I have sent from the other side of the mountain to meet the gorillas.
While I was training gorillas to carry jelly in backpacks, I was training chimpanzees to carry peanut butter in fanny packs. And so they now charged toward each other in unadulterated fury that left most of them dead.
The field of battle is riddled with gorillas, chimpanzees, peanut butter, and jelly. And then, all of a sudden, my Facebook target walks out onto the field, slips in a pile of peanut butter and dies.
Now, if I had said specifically what brand of peanut butter that was and linked to where you could purchase it, Google would have sent me money.
Rest assured, kids. The Studly Pastures is off the market and will remain off the market until they come and get me and put me in a padded cell.
Google owns this site that I post the Studly Pastures to. And for the last three years they promised me funding by posting ads on my Studly Pastures. And after three years, and 60 blog posts of hilarious banter, I have earned sixty cents...and counting.
Obviously if I were in this for the money, I would have to be pretty stupid. Right? Rhetorical question. Don't answer it.
So Google informs me today that there is another nifty application I can add to my blog to make money. Basically, it works like this:
Say for example, I like to be really witty, especially on social media sites, because that's where I get my rocks off. So I have a really funny Facebook status one day. Something like, "Hey guys, just wanted to let you know that I'm only kitten around!", and that would be followed by a picture of me and some kitten getting at it. Hilarious!
And then all of a sudden some 'friend' of mine on Facebook is like, "That was a lame pun, you should feel bad about yourself." Now I'm sitting here in my room, completely empty of light, and I get the notification. My 'friend' has just dissed me on Facebook.
Oh, I don't Facebookin' think so!
Now my objective is clear: I have to ruin this person's life. And not just at the physical level, this person has to feel the pain on a META-physical level. I'm going to have to go old-school on this person. They will have to suffer the wrath of several meta-physical wraths. Boo-yah.
So I disappear for a couple of months, like totally off the grid, I'm in some mountains and stuff. Let's be honest, I'll probably grow a beard, and learn how to whittle. People at first are like, "Hey, where is he?" and that evolves into a modest search but nothing that can find me. I'm like the wind.
While I'm up in the mountains, whittling away, I finally reach an epiphany: BOOM! I remember from various Facebook posts that my 'friend' is allergic to peanut butter. BOOM!
I frantically get to work on an elaborate scheme to inadvertently get my friend killed by peanut butter. Hours later, I come up with this fool-proof plan that involves gorillas, classical music, and other things not directly related to peanut butter, but still containing the necessary ingredients that he's allergic to.
Finally, the time is ready, and I make my move. The gorillas descend from the mountains wearing backpacks containing strawberry jelly, like completely filled with strawberry jelly. It's oozing through the zipper. Now they're mad that the jelly is leaking onto their backs and someone now has Hell to pay. That someone is the chimpanzees I have sent from the other side of the mountain to meet the gorillas.
While I was training gorillas to carry jelly in backpacks, I was training chimpanzees to carry peanut butter in fanny packs. And so they now charged toward each other in unadulterated fury that left most of them dead.
The field of battle is riddled with gorillas, chimpanzees, peanut butter, and jelly. And then, all of a sudden, my Facebook target walks out onto the field, slips in a pile of peanut butter and dies.
Now, if I had said specifically what brand of peanut butter that was and linked to where you could purchase it, Google would have sent me money.
Rest assured, kids. The Studly Pastures is off the market and will remain off the market until they come and get me and put me in a padded cell.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)