Feliz Ano Nuevo (Missing A Tilde, Ese)

Dear People:

Wishing youse all a happy and healthy New Year...safety first.

Love,
The Playoffs

What a day in New Jersey, folks. Manginius & Co. rolling along...

Slack Videos of the Day: Here are a couple of YouTube clips I shot from the crowd yesterday -- Jets Outta the Tunnel and J-E-T-S.

A Pair of Durrrrs

Anyone else starting to feel like Eli Manning and George W. Bush are living wickedly similar lives right now?

I'll admit straight from the top that this analogy, like its creator, has a ton of flaws. Chief among them is the easy "stage of career" retort, which is an irrefutably valid point. Nonetheless, just look at these two guys and tell me they don't share a couple of dominant traits, not the least of which is a look of constipated retardation that conveys nothing but unfettered confidence in their abilities.

Both men come from good stock -- famous fathers, more capable brothers -- and were probably directed by the haunting of a family's legacy into their current positions. Each was talked into taking sweet can't-miss jobs with cool perks that suddenly turned to shit; Georgie wanted to be the leader of the free world, Eli a superstar in New York and man about town like Derek Jeter.

But along the way it went bad for them, mostly by their inabilities to effectively marshal the troops, and now it looks neither man wants to be in his own skin. Both convey that childlike "I don't wanna get out of bed, mom" look more often than a kid with a math test, and it looks as if each would trade in everything great in their lives to get the fuck out of the mess they're in cleanly and easily. Each, however, has preached a "stay the course" strategy with no tangible results to show.

You can just see the already dim lights inside them die a little more each day. Just watch the expressions on both their faces when they fuck up royally and tell me they're not cut from an eerily similar cloth. I don't know where one can find the cloth that you cut to get a retarded monkey, but its out there somewhere.

Gerald Ford: He Was Delicious

Before we go any further with a real post, I must note that today is the day for which Dana Carvey and Tom Brokaw fans have been waiting for years -- this could be Hale-Bopp comet kind of shit.

It's been more than a decade since the wickedly hilarious SNL skit in question, but I've been walking around saying "Gerald Ford shot dead today, at the senseless age of 83" for the last few hours, and I doubt it'll stop any time soon. We mourn the loss of a great man today, but we also welcome the comic relief today brings.

Now let's focus on a strangely related happenstance: The girl who works for me is out this week, which makes me my own research assistant again. Worse, this ensures that my alarm clock goes off at 5:50 am every weekday morning until her return. Her My job in the morning is to get up and check the news, and if any big business stories break, I've got some more work to do.

If nothing happens overnight, I slime my way back into bed and return to my gentle slumber moments later. This morning I woke up at 5:50, checked the news, noticed the former president had died and returned to sleep. Ford's death was big news, but not news that affected my day. Back to bed, I went. But I must've pissed off the former president's ghost by not paying the story much mind.

Since I'm back in the office for a one-day engagement, my alarm clock woke me up again at 8, when I hopped out of bed, stripped down to my nothingness and made for the shower. In a bit of an early-morning funk, I stumbled Mr. Magoo-style towards the bathroom with eyes wide shut and a lose grip on my towel. And maybe it was the thought of the famously clumsy former President Ford's death stuck in my head, but I was about to hit the ground hard.

My bathroom's in my kitchen, believe it or not, and to get there you've got to traverse a very small step up in between the foyer and the kitchen. This morning for the first time ever, in true Gerald fashion, I failed to negotiate that step, stubbing my left pinky toe hard into the bump, throwing my weight forward in a bad way. I felt the pain stinging and the inevitable fall coming, so I tried to brace myself by grabbing the counter on my right. Only I did poorly there, too, and I missed the counter altogether, expediting my fall.

The racket was thunderous, and within milliseconds I was down on the cold hard floor. My towel came off in the process, and there I lay exposed on the ground -- on the kitchen floor no less -- feeling serious pain in my left foot and both wrists. My pride hurt. My head even hit something on the way down, though I'm not altogether sure what it possibly could have struck. I could only laugh at my situation once I realized I wasn't hurt, and I must say, even when you're by yourself, there's nothing quite as embarrassing as falling down and becoming an injured naked mess sprawled on the kitchen floor at 8 am.

It wasn't a pretty morning, but hey, at least it got me to post today. Gerald Ford + bad rep for clumsiness + Naked Ace = Good Times.

Slack Link of the Day: "A Roman Catholic priest tackled a teenage boy he found rummaging through the church rectory" in Indianapolis yesterday. I just found this story interesting because the priests are usually getting on top of teenage boys and rummaging through their rectories. Turnabout is fair play apparently.

Slack HT Plug of the Day: Check out the latest in our year-end review series over on the music blog: 2006 Superlatives, A Retrospective.

Slack Song and Video of the Day: Since I haven't posted anything here in five days, we've failed to properly honor the memory of James Brown. When I'm having a bad day, all I have to do is throw on Get Up Offa That Thing and I'm back to literally dancing like an idiot on the subway or the street. Sure, women everywhere are rejoicing at the prospect of less backhanded slaps, but people all the world over are saddened by the loss of a great musician.

So let's get a little multimedia up in this piece: Just a quick search on YouTube can bring the greatness back to life -- some old school sex machinin’, some gettin’ up offa that thing, some feelin’ good and a touch of superbadness. YouTube can also bring back the hijinx and hilarity: the TV interview that confused the world. And if you’re feeling like today would be a fantastic day to stream some JB, check out The Godfather & The Dreamer, a solid collection of 27 tracks from 1966-68 that’ll remind you why he’s the greatest. (from SugarMegs)

Good Gawd, JB, we hate to see you go. Slap up the Lord for us.

Consider Me Horrifically Unimpressed

Some of you may remember that I tried to see the latest Guest/Levy vehicle For Your Consideration a few days before its wide release but was fought off by a late-arriving companion and a subsequent lack of seats in the theater. Part of me wishes I saw it that night, just so I could warn everyone out there not to see this movie.

Let me say up top that I'm as ardent a supporter of this comedy troupe as anyone out there. I've publicly stated that Waiting For Guffman is the funniest movie of all-time. Catherine O'Hara's never been just The Mom From Home Alone to me. I've proposed to Parker Posey via e-card with a dick pic several times. These guys are the bees' knees, and this is my jam.

But it saddens me greatly to report that the only redeeming quality of FYC is that at least it's over before you realize just how badly it sucks.

We actually walked out of the theatre worse people than when we walked in there. The outside world afterwards seemed slower, certainly less funny, overwhelmingly gloomy and horribly out of step -- it changed when we were inside. I almost wish Superman's frivolous side would coax him into rotating the Earth backwards to stop us from ever seeing it in the first place. I needed two showers and a Roofie Colada after watching that flick.

The acting is tremendously terrible, the plot goes nowhere and the overall formula that made the first three so terrific is sorely missing. And, save a couple of funny lines from Guy That Played Letterman In That HBO Movie, John Michael Higgins, the laughs were sorely missing as well. I'll put the comedic value of this movie like this: When each cast member dies, all of their individual funerals will no doubt be much funnier than this piss-poor, phoned-in attempt to re-kindle the magic. I almost feel like the joke's on us.

The worst part is that this picture is such schlock that it lends itself to revisionism of the whole series. Were the previous three -- Guffman, Best In Show and A Mighty Wind -- really as good as I previously thought? Could it be that I'm placing too much faith in them, and at what point do I go back and watch them in order? That's how badly this experience rocked me to my core, I'm questioning everything that came before it.

Now I want to know what happened: How could such geniuses look at the finished copy of such dreck and proclaim it ready for public consumption? Did Christopher Guest & Co. think they could just throw together everyone from the first three, with a splash of Ricky Gervais and the annoying cousin from Mad About You, and walk out of there with automatic gold, Jerry, gold? I can't emphasize how much it bothers me that they actually felt comfortable releasing this crap.

So in closing, if you see this movie after reading this post, I'll kill you.

Slack Link of the Day: Trump's Miss USA got to keep her crown. But what happens with Miss Nevada didn't stay with Miss Nevada, and Katie Rees will indeed be stripped of her Miss Nevada USA 2007 title (ask nicely and she'll likely strip herself again). Why are the pageant folks pissed? Probably over these racy photos, that I warn you are not safe for work. I mean, shouldn't the female representative of the state where Vegas is be allowed to perform this strumpetry?

Best Google Search Referrals That Randomly Brought People Here: It's a sad day for romance when Dick in a Box is the tamest search that brought the hornies to this site -- here's a sample of what attracted people here in just the past 24 hours: Anne Heche dike, girls kicking men in the balls, teenage boys hump, animal fuking girl photos, young lesbian nyc, super nanny boobs, woman looking for fuck buddies L.A., nude pics Huey Lewis penis, Screech penis, Big Brother sex tape, and Cowboy bulges.

Slack Video of the Day: Hornsby, enjoy it.

Slack Song of the Day: Wow, not sure I knew they had some Tom Tom Club on the Live Music Archive. Let's all listen to a show together, this one from 9/25/01 in Asheville, NC. If you wanna get down to brass tacks, Genius of Love is what you're looking for.

End of Year, End of Days, Some Pics

It's the end of another year, another revolution. So far I've abstained from posting the usual Best Ham & Swiss Sandwiches of 2006 type of lists that most bloggers employ this time of the year, but that all changes today. Down here, our time.

After checking out MSNBC's Year in Pictures, I felt a pang of motivation to scramble through my own photo archive and pick out the 10 best shots I took this year. This exercise taught me that I've got an unsteady hand and I'm not a great photographer by any means, but I still think there's a bumper crop for youse. A gander, take it:

You never know what you're gonna find in Washington Square Park. Sometimes it's the acrobatic and comedic black twins doing flips and jumps and jokes simultaneously, sometimes it's the French juggling unicyclist in the unitard, and sometimes it's the old hippies that all meet up to sing Teach Your Children Well and pine for the days where longhairs ruled the world. And sometimes, or maybe just one time, it's former Spin Doctors frontman Chris Barron belting out Little Miss Can't Be Wrong with Buzz Universe (click that link for a video):

I wasn’t meant to take this photo, but I did anyway. Either the Oakland A’s White Elephant is a newly deputized Border Patrol agent or he’s just posing with this nice lady while her sister snaps el souveniro. Interestingly, I took this shot a few innings after Barry Bonds crushed #714 into the McAfee Coliseum stands, tying Babe Ruth’s mark. The crowd cheered the villainous Bonds’ feat, but I surmised we were cheering for another reason altogether:

Let's finish up with the best, and nothing tops the most inconceivable happenstance of a photo I've ever taken in my life. I figured my first trip to San Francisco would be a smashing success after bumping into the former keyboardist for the popular rock band Phish and a former geographically excitable presidential candidate: Page McConnell and Howard Dean, Chairman of the Boards and Chairman of the DNC, standing there like tourists waiting to be photographed together like old chums. Dean likes Page's new shirt:

Since posting 10 photos and the corresponding explanations would take up too much space, I'm gonna take this time to direct you to a wonderful little site that contains all 10. Now, please, this is not my thinly veiled way of driving traffic from one site to another, this is strictly a logistics issue. I don't need your unique visits, bastards.

Still, check out the full post with the other eight shots, which I promise contain more bacon and racism than anything else.

Slack Video of the Day: One of my message board peeps spotted this one yesterday, and it's too cool not to share...Apparently Biff from Back To The Future does a bit of stand-up comedy, and one of his tunes is about his experiences getting recognized. Is it the funniest bit ever? No, but it's definitely a treat to see Biff out of character singing original shit: Biff Sings.

Slack Song of the Day: It's organ time, so let's give it up for Mistah Robert Walter and his 20th Congress -- Jug Eyes, Maple Plank, and the rest of the 10/15/04 show in Detroit.

Rocky Balboa Awaits

Hate to leave youse in the lurch, but I'm off to see the latest (and greatest?) installment of the Stallone vehicles in a few. I pray to the God of Superfluous Motion Pictures that there's a line like "You knock him down now why you don't try knockin' me down" in this one. In or out, something tells me I'm gonna like this one.

What I don't like is New York Jets' safety Kerry Rhodes' Pro Bowl snub. Sure the Pro Bowl means about as much as a Drago/Creed exhibition match, and of course nobody really watches it, but how can you leave this man off the team? John Lynch? For real? I'll mail $10 to anyone that can make an overly convincing argument for Lynch over Rhodes.

As Dick Clark would say, "Ready....go."

Slack Video of the Day: Live action Transformers movie? Sweeeet.

Slack Song of the Day: A day after some of my favorite bands filed a lawsuit against the ever-so-awesome Wolfgang's Vault, the good people release a great Rick Danko show to the masses. Danko owns my face, my car, my apartment, and my sister. Some of you thought I didn't have a sister. Now you know why.

AFTERNOON ROCKY UPDATE: I just got back and I gotta say, the whole thing’s quite believable and completely worth the price of admission. It could definitely be subtitled The Rocky Monologues for all the sage advice he doles out to himself and others throughout, but the main premise totally works, and the formula still carries the weight (adversity > reflection > finding friends > reflection > training scene > big fight as the underdog > respect everywhere > teary-eyed ending). Stick with what works, and you know what, there was no better way to tie up this franchise neatly. After the fifth installment, I equate this one to a Phish reunion at MSG that brings me back into the roll and makes me forget about Coventry. Grade: B+/A-

Cartoon Procrastination

I've got a lot of time on my hands these days. Tucked away in my apartment with work an afterthought, I've been trying to occupy my time by searching for cool shit on the newfangled cyberweb in between marathon masturbatory sessions. Just kidding...even by myself I lose it too quickly. Then I apologize to myself and take a nap.

Annnyyyway, my buddy Monk passed along a link that helped me waste a good hour yesterday, a collection of offbeat cartoons that really make you laugh out loud at the author's wicked sense of humor. I'd even call it "rapist wit," but I'm afraid someone will come in and comment how I mangled that phrase. But I'd strongly recommend checking this shit out, The Perry Bible Fellowship. Here are a few samples that made me think, and then made me poop:

This one is my favorite of the whole bunch, just some genius stuff:

It's easy to pick on the Kool-Aid guy, but this one's pretty original:

That should keep you buffoons occupied whilst I enjoy my time away from el oficina. It'll be a busy day for me, ya know, having to take a meeting at the Lion's Den to watch Liverpool beat up on Arseweb at Anfield, perhaps playing some FIFA in the aftermath of the kill, moving on to my buddy Rob's holiday party. Busy. Busy day.

Slack Link of the Day: I think it would be pretty cool to torture someone for no good reason. Apparently these four British teenagers agree. Jesus R. Christ, this world is fucked up. 'Oly bloody 'ell.

Slack Video of the Day: One of the videos I threw up as part of this week's edition of Pullin' 'Tubes over on HT, here’s a cool rant from the mind of David Cross (and the body of Mrs. Featherbottom) about the constant flubs made by the Fox marketing department as they related to the demise of Arrested Development.

Slack Song of the Day: Let's go with a little God Street Wine today, straight out of the 9/3/2001 show at the Wetlands: Nightingale, Get On the Train, Hammer and Spike, and Into The Sea.

What's That Red Dot?

Like most New Yorkers, the roommates and I outsource the job of deep cleaning the 13 square feet of our apartment to a lovable non-citizen that has a copy of our keys.

We mistakenly scheduled the December scrubbing to coincide with the first day of my quasi-vacation, and when she busted into my room at 9:30 am and shockingly exclaimed "Oh, you're here?," it took all of my willpower to withhold the retort "And you can be too, sweet-ass." Unlike Costanza, I don't have a cashmere sweater to give her.

She's come and gone, and now the apartment smells minty fresh: I feel like I'm taking bong hits full of pine trees right now. I think I'll watch SportsCenter for the fourth time since last night, throw in a movie and go outside to take in this blizzard of unseasonable warmth.

But since I'm around all week long with an agenda of "nothing at all," I'm sure we'll be seeing more of each other 'round here.

Slack Link of the Day: It's official, 'Melo got 15 games. So does this mean we'll see Iverson in a Nuggets uniform sooner rather than later?

Slack Video of the Day: While we're mentioning Seinfeld in this post, here's a video with the new face of evil that would be much funnier if it weren't so long. I love creative shit like this, though, so it gets my full stamp of approval.

Slack EPL Goal of the Weekend: In an effort to drive away as many readers as possible, allow me to indulge myself in a soccer fix every Monday. A great weekend of Premiership action finally brought the four best English clubs to the top of the table (with my Liverpool now in sole possession of third after an "indifferent" start).

Didier Drogba probably had the most important and best-drilled strike of the weekend, but check out Matty Taylor's sweet left-footed volley that put Portsmouth up 2-0 on Arsenal, all part of his calculated plan to score the goal of the season (you may remember his wonder strike against from last weekend).

Slack Song of the Day: It's been a long time since I've posted any Tea Leaf Green in this space, so I guess I'll do that now -- here's some action from the 3/11/05 at the Mystic that's sure to fuck you up good: Warmup, Professor's Blues, Sex in the 70s and Georgie P.

My Dick In A Box

Ya know, for all the dreck on Saturday Night Live this season, the show is actually producing at least one quality sketch every week.

Between the "Bobby McFerrin raped my grandmother" Awkward Carpool piece with Alec Baldwin and the new chick and the "Raps, raps, doin' raps" MC Blizzard skit with Andy Samberg and Ludacris, there have been genuine knee-slapping moments throughout this piss-poor season. Perhaps the SNL brass is unaware it's acceptable for them to make more than one above-average skit per month. (Ir)Regardless of that suggestion, check out this week's hilarity from Andy Samberg and Justin Timberlake: My Dick in a Box.

Try not singing that all day and night -- you'll be quoting it all week, I'm guessing. Something the keedz probably won't be quoting this week: "Maybe I'm a racist, but one time it helped me get my wallet back." That came from one of our friends in all seriousness on Friday night, and if you act now, you can probably send Donnie Fiedler some money for a T-shirt when he makes them.

Good To Come Home To This

It's been an exhausting couple of days...Tampa can really take a lot out of a man, even if he couldn't get the time to hit Mons Venus.

But it's always peachy keen to return home to the startling news that my favorite musician got arrested late last night, and my favorite soccer team drew Barcelona in the knockout stage of the Champions League. Everything's coming up Milhouse.

I'm taking the contrarian view of the whole Trey arrest, though. This is what rock stars are made of, and Trey finally got his street cred.

Eat your heart out, George Clinton, Big Red is here. Sweet.

Goin' Back To Tampa, Tampa

Later, asswipes. Last one out, remember to flick off the light.

Quotation of the Day

It looks like Daisuke Matsuzaka will be a member of the Sawx...

A wise man who lives in my apartment weighs in with reason: "So the team that doesn't have the financial resources to keep up with the Yankees just shelled out $210 million guaranteed dollars to JD Drew, Julio Lugo and Matsuzaka. The only All-Star Games these players have appeared in are those of the Japanese League, the Texas League and the Independent League. Awesome."

Who knows, maybe these three moves are indeed the right moves. But one thing they did accomplish was force Red Sawx fans to forfeit the rights to bitch about anyone else's frivilous spending.

HYLA In NYC

One of my roommates left for his girlfriend's place at 9 pm last night, and I walked him down to the street to wish him well in this endeavor. Not really, but I did think some fresh air and a cigarette were both in order. I'm a walking contradiction sometimes.

As we stood right outside our blood-red door, conversing for a second before I'd give him a high-five and send him on his way with a packed lunch, we both noticed something odd, something beautifully odd.

Standing about four feet to my left, right beneath the funeral home awning, were two really cute girls...just goin' at it. Really, just goin' to town, frenching the shit out of each other on the well-trafficked street.

Usually in the Village we get The Great Bulldyke Makeout of 2006 or the Fabulous Effeminate Handholding Bazaar, but no, oh no, not on this night. On this night, directly next to Roommate Glaser and I as we stood trying to contain our smiles, on this night we had hot, young lesbian action. Neither girl could've been older than 23 and neither could be classified by any number less than a 7. But the real beauty was that they both seemed so unbelievably content with their choice to publicly suck face and feel boobies.

Roommate Glaser walked away after a few tantalizing blueballsian minutes, presumably to go buy a girl's wig and make out with his own girlfriend; I stayed to watch the free show. Roommate Dorsey serendipitously pulled up in a cab moments later, bringing a cold shower to any masturbatory plans this chance encounter may have sparked. Hilariously, he must've been paying for the cab for a minute, and I as couldn't get his attention, I was desperately hoping that in true sitcom form, the girls would stop and walk away the second he popped out of the cab.

But they continued as he exited the taxi, and I gave him a "yoooooo" eyeroll to my left. As he came closer to the door they broke off the world's longest Big Red commercial kiss and began giggling like schoolgirls, making us think they were NYU kids rather than post-college lovers. In fact, Dorsey made a clever observation, that their reaction was more of two girls that made out for the first time in their respective lives and couldn't be happier with the newfangled feelings the makeout inspired. Great for them, great for us.

There's no real point to this post, but I feel like if you see hot, young lesbian action in public, you should alert people to the happenings, to the haps. So as a PSA, if you ever pass by Bleecker Street, you may want to turn down the street to see if these chicks are around.

If so, they're awesome. Good times for everyone involved here.

Slack Link of the Day: Hooker Raffle may be a great band name, but it's also a very thoughtful gesture for charity. My buddy Neddy just sent over the following link about a Dallas escort that set up an interesting raffle in which the winner gets a session with her and as many as 12 of her colleagues at the same time. Genius idea -- for $50 (or three entries for $100), you could have a menage a trois times six. A twelve a trois? Check it out.

Slack Video of the Day: This clip made the rounds yesterday, but the blog that hosted it kept crashing. Now it's on Google Video, so I imagine it'll be safe for public consuption. I personally think this whole thing is a ploy to get him back in the news, but that's just the cynical bastard in me (and you). Anyway, who knew that Pauly Shore still did stand-up, but more importantly, who knew that he could take such a hard punch and walk away to tell the story? Remind me never to tell jokes in Texas, especially if I'm not funny.

Slack Song of the Day: Two of the first three randomized songs on my iPod this morning were Boston tunes...so I'm feeling some Boston love this morning, and you should indulge me.

My Esteemed Colleague...Mr. Marino

Don't worry...Dan's not gonna do...what you think he's gonna do... which is just flip out. Fake spike my balls, Marino.



I bet a pair of Isotoners would cushion the blow of pounding the desk.

Hi, I'm Lyyyyle

I think Joe Rogan gets a bum rap. Why don't people like this guy?

We got to know him as a vital cast member on the most underrated sitcom of the 1990s, NewsRadio. He was also part of one of Dave Chappelle's most unheralded sketches ever, "Great New York Boobs."

He's a martial arts expert, earning a black belt at age 15 and winning four state Taekwondo championships. He's a fan of psychadelic drugs, ranting once about the greatness of DMT. And he's an outspoken opponent of joke thieves in the comedy world, once famously schooling Carlos Mencia. About the only poor decisions he made by my standards came from affixing his semi-star to Fear Factor and The Man Show redux, but I'm betting he got nice paydays out of them, and I'm willing to give him a pass on those underwhelming roles.

So when people dog the guy, I truly don't get all the hate. I'm not his biggest fan -- in fact, this post is by far the longest I've ever gone thinking about his career in one sitting -- but I do think he's a pretty cool dude. Anyway, I saw this clip today of Joe Rogan schooling a female heckler, and I thought I'd post it here.



Well done, Rogan, well done. No use of the n-word either, we love it.

Slack Link of the Day: Seriously, I'm done with the state of Florida. That place is too far gone, and it seems like every idiotic and backwards story comes from the Sunshine State. Mr. Bush, if you want to redeem your presidency, go ahead and cede that fucker back to Spain. The latest incident involves a 19-year-old suicidal kid ramming his car into the mall, Blues Brothers style.

Slack Video of the Day: While we're on the topic of collaborating with Dave Chappelle today, here's a video I just posted on HT of Mos Def performing one of them there freestyle raps on an early episode of Dave's show. I love this thing.

Slack Song of the Day: Gone Daddy Gone, Violent Femmes

"I Peench"

Only three things in this life are guaranteed: The longstanding obvious two are death and taxes; the other is that drunkards will make buffoonish asses of themselves at office holiday parties.

My boss threw us a Christmas party on a yacht after work on Friday, a DJ-danceable affair with an open bar and a look up the Statue of Liberty's dress, that strumpet. It's been a difficult last few months for most of my co-workers, so everyone got good and drunk pretty quickly, leading to a fairly raucous evening on New York's rivers.

Everyone managed to maintain an acceptable level of drunken behavior, except for the one married girl around my age that must've pinched my ass on the dance floor as few as seven and as many as 12 times. And we weren't even busting any moves together; she'd wait until her current partner got her close enough, and then she'd just reach out and lobster claw whichever buttock of mine to which she was closest. I mean, I've been known to handle my liquor poorly, and there was that one time I got all saucy and raped two couch cushions and a Dustbuster, but good god woman, keep it together out there.

Look, I'm no angel. When everyone went upstairs to check out Lady Liberty, did I break out into the loudest, most dead-on Neil Diamond impersonation in our company's storied history? Of course. Did I challenge the line of decency and change the lyrics to his America to ones about illegal Mexican immigrants crossing our borders without documentation and taking jobs that even blacks won't do? Of course.

But did I ever think about sexually harassing and groping a co-worker whilst trying to get my freaky groove on, as much as that slutty blonde intern in the strapless black dress who looks like she can take two cocks at once deserved it? Of course not, fancypants.

Because society has rules, and those rules are to be guarded by men with no need for a sore, red ass. My ass is often sore and red on the weekends (heyyyoooo!), but this pinching business just seemed pretty old-fashioned and completely foreign.

That episode was creepy, and not really all that flattering, despite the fact that she's a pretty cute chick. I guess that kind of forwardness only works on me if I'm not awkwardly drunk around the people I work closely with five days a week, and I'm pretty sure it only works if I know for sure the bathroom stalls can accomodate two people.

In other news from the weekend, Chad Pennington ruined my good time. And yet, I don't know a single Jets fan that thought we were actually gonna beat the 5-7 Buffalo Bills in the Meadowlands. You can change the culture of the team, Mangini, but you can't change the fans' depressingly realist attitude. Hey, at least we're not the Giants, which may make the playoffs or even win the horrid NFC East division, but would you really like to be a Big Blue fan right now? Eli's put together two nice games in a row, yet he still looks like a Special Olympics medal winner. Derr, coach.

Staying with football, Chipotle Bob e-mailed me on Thursday with some new prop bets about the Bengals' recent police troubles from a site called bodog.com. How prophetic, Bob...

1. Will a Cincinnati Bengal's player be arrested before the Superbowl? Yes +300 No -500

2. Which side of the ball will the Bengals next arrest come from? Offence -130 Defense -110

Congratulations Deltha O'Neal, by driving while intoxicated, you just became the eighth Bengal to be arrested this year, and you just made some gamblers very happy. So what's the story here, are all these guys so fucking bored in Ohio that they're lashing out?

How come Peter Frampton settled into Cincinatti very nicely but this team can't cool its jets? Is it because the Brit opened up a souvlaki joint called "Pita Frampton," or is it because he was never as cool as we thought in the first place? That's up to you to decide...

Slack Link of the Day: Here's a friendly tip for youse -- if you're crossing the border and you're about to face the Border Patrol, it may be best to hide the pot...and the alligator. I'd love to be cited for possession of marijuana and restricted wildlife one day.

Slack Business Move of the Day: In a decision that can only be filed under "classic," a South Korean telephone company is making its bills much easier to read, replacing jargon and tech-heavy words with everyday words, showing charges and rates in graph form. But what's the kicker? Starting this month, the telephone bill will now be called "Wonderful Letter." That's fucking awesome. Honey, get out my checkbook, this month's Wonderful Letter is here.

Slack Video of the Day: What an incredible weekend of Premiership action, including a Sunday morning dogfight between Don Fielder's Chelsea and Handstand/Zebra's Arsenal that blew away every single NFL game except for maybe Vince Young winning The Oiler Bowl. There were some absolutely unbelievable goals this weekend, just mindfuckingly ridiculous strikes from all over the pitch.

First, check out Michael Essien's "laser" that tied up the action at Stamford Bridge, then check out Matty Taylor's wonder strike that gave Portsmouth a 1-0 lead against Everton. And just because we love him dearly, here's a solid goal from Blackburn's Morten Gaaamst Pedersen. We'll see you in January, Gamst.

Oh, and if you're paying any attention, my Liverpool squad is back in third after walloping Wigan and Fulham in successive weekends. Since they scored four in the first half against Wigan and four in the second against Fulham, is there any doubt they're gonna score eight total against bottom-feeding Charlton this coming Saturday?

Slack Song of the Day: I've been catching the Wilco bug lately, so let's turn our attention to Yankee Hotel Foxtrot this morning -- Jesus, Etc., I'm the Man Who Loves You, and Heavy Metal Drummer.

Welcome Home, Andy

A warm welcome back to my favorite Yankee of the recent dynasty...

The intense stare and dimpled chin have been missed in the Bronx... the championships return with Mister Pettitte, mark those palabras.

Guest-Blogging is the New Blogging, Vol II

Mulgrew asked me to contribute a few words on his blog is his absence, so that's what I've been doing all morning. Oh right, and working, I was totally working my arse off. Here's a link to the piss-poor crapola I just threw up over there, and do me a favor, save the righteous indignation about how I've been writing on every blog on the world wide web except this one.

I just totally reminded myself of the scene in Desperado where Tarantino tells that horribly awesome story about the guy pissing everywhere except the glass. I love that story. I love Tarantino. I love that movie. I love lamp. Too easy on that last one? Probably.

Slack Link of the Day: Everyone else is covering this Conan story, so I'll join in the fun -- "Two nights ago Conan O’Brian had a comedy sketch about NCAA Mascots and one of them was the “Horny Manatee” and there was this really goofy costumed actor doing some silly dance in front of a lap top. At the end of the sketch Conan says 'You can see this at www.hornymanatee.com.'

The next day the NBC legal and standards department calls him and says because he mentioned a fake web address they were obliged to buy it. So for the next 10 years, at $159, Conan O’Brian’s show owns the domain of HornyManatee.com." (Thanks AGU for the tip)

Slack Blog Link of the Day: A late addition to this post that I forgot to attach earlier -- check out Ahren's latest two-part adventure, first dogging the shit out of Pedro Gomez, and second ripping to pieces some poor schmuck that tried to defend Gomez. I can't stand Gomez, so I'm totally with Ahren's assholeness here...I mean, Pedro has one job to do, to tail Barry Bonds and report every move he makes, and yet he does it so poorly, with no journalism skills whatsoever, that I can't imagine how many photos he has of ESPN higher-ups engaged in crazy amounts of ass sex. Must be Caligula kind of shit.

Slack Video of the Day: A blog called DoCopenhagen has posted The Top 50 Videos of 2006 -- I've never heard of most of these tunes, but it's cool beans.

Slack Song of the Day: Ween's Piss Up a Rope, studio version.

60 Minutes Newbs

The good people at YTMND are at it again: Check out the excellent array of new talent that 60 Minutes has assembled for its show.

Back To Slack

I'm back from Buffalo, where the tasty wings are absurdly hot and the snowstorms are driving. Actually, I didn't see either of those things.

Strangely, I commuted to and from Buffalo yesterday. I was in town for about seven hours, and the closest I felt to actually being there was the bowl of buffalo chicken chowdah I had for lunch and the post-lunch hummer I gave to Sabres center Daniel Briere. Both were deliciously creamy and more enjoyable than I would have guessed.

And while we're on the subject of quasi-homosexual sports jokes, there's this photo Roommate Dorsey sent me late last week:

Anyway, it's good to be back home in the big bad city, and it's good to be back home on this here blog after my guest-post over at Dan's [redacted] breakfast nook. Dan's a good friend and a great writer, but I'd probably kill myself if I lived in a blog world where using Lloyd Christmas' mangling phrase "rapist wit" generates this type of comment: "I'm hoping you meant 'rapier wit,' as opposed to 'rapist wit.' Either one is funny, but only one is correct."

To borrow another movie line, this one from The Colonel, "Gee, you think, doctor?" Oh yes, it's good to be home and amongst my own.

Slack Link of the Day: My buddy JohnnyCon sent this one over, a hilarious play by play from Rob Corddry about his bombing at the GQ Men of the Year ceremony. There's some good shit in here, but my favorite is, "Then it happens: Steve-O from Jackass yells, 'Sit down you Shit-Ass!' Oh, wow. Wowee wow wow. Why did I think the guys from Jackass would like me? Did I think that, between stapling their scrotums to their legs and sticking tiny racecars into their poopholes, they would tune into The Daily Show to enjoy my boorish brand of satiric ribaldry?" Take a gander at that shiite.

Slack Video of the Day: YouTube strikes again -- here's some seriously awesome footage of a Japanese Socialist political leader's assassination in 1960, by sword (but no blood or gore, just craisins). Check it out, Inejiro Asanuma Assassination Footage.

Slack Song of the Day: Dudes, it's 12/7, there's only one option...

Guest-Blogging is the New Blogging

I'm off to Buffalo today. Yup, I hear it's gorgeous this time of year (or is it Ithaca that's gorges this time of year?), so I figured I'd schedule a work trip up there 'round December. Smart, Bossman, wicked smaht.

I don't have much for youse anyway. My friend Dan's on vacation and he asked me to fill in for him on his [redacted] blog so the audience doesn't stray too far. I spent some of my night crafting a post for his readers called "Love Me Like You Love Dan," and I'll leave that for you to play around with in my absence. Hopefully I'll find a computer up there -- do they have computers in Buffalo? -- but if not, we'll meet back here tomorrow. Fuck the Sabres.

Slack Quotation of the Day: Roommate Dorsey and I like Deal Or No Deal. It's a guilty pleasure in a big way. We were watching Monday night's show yesterday when we heard an absurdly hilarious quote. A self-proclaimed "ultimate football mom" got all weepy and told our host, "Howie, ya know, with my kids' schedules, and going to school and then working, the only time we've ever all sat down together in the past year is to watch Deal Or No Deal. This is the most incredible..." and then she broke down crying. I was moved to tears.

Howie responded, "Oh wow. Wow. That's what we're about. That's why I do this job. Wow." That's why I do this job, too.

Slack Video of the Day: A cat on acid...real or not, this is awesome.

Slack Song of the Day: My friend Double J Jesse Jarnow posted live versions of 11 of the 12 new Wilco songs, so I thought I'd share. I gotta say, I didn't take to Wilco right away the way many of my friends have, but I find myself drifting to their stuff more and more these days. Ah brother, I'm becoming one of those kids...

Caption This: I Said Kick The Balls, Not Lick

With the UEFA Champions League kicking back up this afternoon for Match Day 6, the final two-day slate of the Group Stage, I thought it'd be fun to have a soccer-related caption contest. The good folks over at Deadspin posted this pic today with a "So This Is What They Mean By A Friendly" header, but I think there's something better out there. I don't have it yet, but I bet one of youse does...

"The bungs inquiry leads to deeper and deeper probing"

So what say you, Slackers? Got anything even remotely funny? Please?

Slack Link of the Day: Headline writers are doing great work these days, and today's beauty is all class: "Malaysian lawmakers want prostitutes to be whipped--report" My question is, don't Malaysian lawmakers have to pay extra for that or is it all comped?

Slack News of the Day: Good news for fans of Asian kids and small burgers -- there will be a second, and possibly a third, Harold & Kumar film. Not sure whether the recently outed Doogie Howser will reprise his role as the ecstasy-lovin' ladies man in this one, but I'm guessing it's gonna be awesome either way. (Thanks, coach)

Slack Video of the Day: How can you see a working title like "My Pussy Is Magic" and not want to see what it's all about? Fannntastic. (Thanks, henge -- oh, and it's safe for work)

Slack Song of the Day: For lack of a brighter idea this fine morning, here are a few cool Cab Calloway tunes to play with today: Minnie the Moocher, Reefer Man, and The Jumpin Jive.

It's a Small, Porn-Filled World After All

This thing's gotta be a hoax or a piece of cleverly spun fiction, but I pray it's not. Imagine going home for the holidays, only to find out you've got a half-sister you never knew about, only to realize you've been beating off to her sucking eight cocks at the same time.

Believe it or not, this thread's safe for work. Read this shit, ASAP.

News In Brief

Many of you have taken to breaking out the pun of a lifetime, sending e-missives and verbal assaults to the tune of "Slackin' on Slack." I know, last week wasn't my best effort, and you deserve better from me. So here's two appetizers and an entree for youse to devour...

--Kramer's got some friends in the Tempe police department: The city's mayor and police chief this weekend apologized after a program called Tempe StreetBeat "showed a white police officer telling two black men they could get out of a littering ticket by performing a rap."

And activists are obviously up in arms over the airing of the show. Hey, I'm pretty up in arms, too. I mean, take a look at how poorly these two bozos rapped: "The dangers of littering, you will get a ticket. If you ain't wit' it, you better be experienced," and "Yo, I just got pulled over 'cause I threw my trash out the window when they rolled over. They got behind me and pulled me over."

If I were an Al Sharpton- or Jesse Jackson-style activist, I'd be livid at the poor hip hop skillz of these litterbug jokers and how awful a job they did representing the black community. You threw your "trash out the window when they rolled over?" When who rolled over? Where's the correct antecedent for that pronoun, dawg? And, jeez, unless you're Homer Simpson, you just cannot rhyme "over" with "over." That's totally foolish. "You better be experienced?" Experienced in what? Not littering? Scaring white women? I genuinely would like to know.

--Following his near-perfect performance in the first half of yesterday's 38-10 shellacking of Green Bay at a blustery Lambeau Field, player awesomeness analysts at Ace Cowboy & Associates today raised their rating on the New York Jets quarterback, upgrading the passer from Chad Pennington to Chad Sexington. AC&A cited the signal caller's impressive leadership and sharp instincts on three drives of 70 yards or more in the game's second quarter.

Separately, running back Cedric Houston has been upgraded to Planet Hooston by General Zod Securities after the second-year rusher's 105 yards and two touchdowns. Kneel before Mangini, bitches.

--But if you really want the goods, here's the highlight of the weekend, a five-minute period in my life subtitled "A Funny Thing Happened On the Way to the Knitting Factory With MDMA Coursing Through My Veins." It's a long subtitle.

Umphrey's McGee had just finished a pretty subpar show for their standards at the Nokia Theater, and I started to make my way towards the egress with my buddy Ted. I'd been experimenting with a bit of what the experts call the popular club drug ecstasy this evening, and though I was well over the tweak-hump, my eyes still looked Runaway Bride-esque and my jaw still felt obliged to involuntarily jerk back and forth at a speedy pace.

I spotted my current leading lady and her friend in the VIP section (cool chicks get the cool treatment), motioning for them to come down to normal-people level before we split up for the after-shows. She also brought down to say hello a famous veteran rock critic with whom I'd been exchanging e-mails and with whom I wanted to exchange handshakes.

As they approached, however, I noticed a familiar face headed my way at the exact same time, from the exact same direction. Walking almost in sync, they all marched up to me in one long stride: cool rock critic guy, lovely leading lady...and the ex-girlfriend, who apparently hates me tremendously. Who knew? But together they came, separately, one unbeknownst to the other.

Suddenly, the ecstatic cocktail pumping through my blood seemed to overpower everything else. "Well, this is awkward," I said to myself, but I only managed to get out a "Brhshafmnef" from my pursed lips. I took a deep breath and composed myself; I blinked my left eye and saw the ex, I blinked my right and saw the people I intended to spend the next 10 minutes with. "I'm not sure how the fuck to do this," I said aloud, truthfully, to nobody in particular.

The ex took that as a hint to storm away furiously, and I felt bad about that. I turned to my new friend in rock and began to explain the situation, but I think he understood all too well. At that point I said goodbye to him, made plans for a cup of some liquid at a future date, regrouped and foolishly marched up to the ex, perhaps to be the good guy she thinks I'm not. Foolishness. Drunk, she decided to rip into me for cutting her out of my life, despite the fact that I think I did the right thing (and still do) for both of us.

We made our way up the long escalator towards the street, and she kept giving it to me, as if she'd been waiting for this day for many months. Finally outside, she found her legs and stepped up the attack, now drawing a little bit of attention. Throughout this assault, I remained quiet. She finished loudly explaining why I suck, and I looked at her astonished. I seemed to remember being a fucking rock for her at the toughest time in her life. She seemed to remember my being an aloof asshole that cut her out completely.

How could someone who I did so right by (and that's true, that's not just my opinion) feel so strongly about my being a total dickwad? How could I have been so wrong to expect someone like her to have more gratitude than hatred for me? And while I was thinking such deep questions, all I could manage to squeak out was, "You feel better now? Jeez!" I followed that up with a unintentionally patronizing suggestion that we "get together after the New Year." Shit, I've got a busy December, ya know? A hug and a handpound, and I was outta there with a mere flesh wound. Peace be with you.

I've never ever talked about my life's real drama like that on here, and I know many of the interested parties read this blog, but I thought for today, why not get a little personal and do some sharing? You wanted something to read, so there's something to read -- it's a no-nonsense tale about a blissful idiot that gets caught in a shitstorm at the exact wrong time. I've been swimming in raw sewage, and I love it.

Slack Link of the Day: Coming on the heels of the other day's "Africa Faces Growing Obesity Problem" headline, here's another one I never thought I'd see: "High court takes 'Bong Hits for Jesus' case." Heady lecterns, brahs. Oral arguments, 1 for $3, 2 for $5.

Slack Excuse of the Day: If you thought Pete Townshend's "research" excuse for pedophilia was pretty lame, get ready for the beauty of Floyd Kinney Jr. Giving awesome a new name, Kinney told authorities the reason he molested two girls was because his wife played bingo too much outside the home, and this was a way to lash out at her.

Slack Video of the Day: I heard Emmitt Smith beat out the likes of Whoooa! from Blossom and a Z. Cavaricci-less AC Slater for the celebrity dancing show title. I say that's bogus. I mean, check out some of these kickass Slater moves from back in the day and tell me this ruling could possibly be legit.

As a runner-up to that one, here's a semi-cool video of the Peanuts gang performing Hey Ya as flawlessly as possible.

Slack Song of the Day: The good folks over at ickmusic posted some interesting mp3s the other day, though I forgot to re-post them in a timely fashion. Northwestern University ain't exactly known for its punk fans, but in my four years there, the school's student bookers did manage to catch some really good talent. Apparently that's been happening for a long time -- here's The Ramones from NU's Cahn Auditorium in October 1979. Go U, NU.

Let's Regroup Next Week

I need a breather, some space. So let's just hang out, be cool, do some other shit and come back here Monday with love in our hearts and lust in our groins. Ahh, groin lust, the best of all lusts.



I love you all. Even the retarded ones. See youse all Monday.