Slack LaLane

Where The Hell You Guys Been?

2008-05-26T22:03:00.003-04:00

Everyone cool? Families? Good. I hear there's a cool new blog...

This Has All Been Wonderful

2007-05-28T16:00:00.000-04:00

Saturday marked the third anniversary of Slack LaLane's unfortunate inception, and on this Memorial Day, we pause not to remember those who deserve and who've earned our respect, but instead to celebrate three long years of casual racism, misguided misogyny and equal parts self-aggrandizement and self-deprecation. It's been a remarkable run.

Thirty-seven months ago I received a phone call from my longtime associate Don Fiedler, who wanted to emulate our friend Mulgrew's burgeoning success by starting one of them blogs. As is custom with our good ideas, nothing materialized immediately -- we were impeded by the simple task of finding an online moniker for the site.

In May of 2004 I sat in my apartment listening to some hilarious stage banter from a bootleg of the popular rock band Phish's 5/28/89 show, and our eventual blog's name jumped right from the Maxell XLII to the free blogger template. Donnie dropped by for an evening of Yank'ums baseball, and we filled out some basic information. The rest, as they say, is histor...ical lameness.

About 1,100 days have elapsed since that fateful evening, and since then we've published 1,540 posts, some of them short blurbs, some epic narratives, some news and some opinion, some about sports, some about politics, but most about complete and utter nonsense. We've tried to be your sherpas in the quest to tackle boredom, your Internet wrangler, your web shepherd, the mercury in your online thermometer. And even though Fox News curiously credited us as a legit news source on its heavily watched 7 pm newscast, I feel as though we've done our level best to earn a reputation as a fierce playground of irreverence.

But as I've begun to realize, there's only so many times you can write a post with the phrase "a total Schiavo" in place of "no-brainer" (27, actually). Did I really substitute "craisins" for "crazy" in 53 separate posts? And how many times can we make fun of the handicapped, the blacks and the Jews before it loses all meaning altogether?

So if this blog started by borrowing its name from the words of a certain Vermont foursome, maybe it should borrow from their graceful exit as well: "This Sunday, I got together with Don to talk openly about the strong feelings I've been having that Slack LaLane has run its course and that we should end it now while it's still on a high note. Once we started talking, it quickly became apparent that Don's feelings, while not all the same as mine, were similar in many ways -- most importantly, that we both love and respect Slack and the Slack audience far too much to stand by and allow it to drag on beyond the point of vibrancy and health. We don't want to become caricatures of ourselves, or worse yet, a nostalgia act. "

I've often said that bloggers and blog readers employ the perfect combination of exhibitionism and voyeurism. I've loved sharing our world with everyone, but sometimes, for one reason or another, it's best to shut the drapes. The writing's been on the screen for quite some time now. Between my real job and the music blog I so often plug here, Slack's sadly become an afterthought in our world of mighty procrastination. And instead of letting the quality steadily decline, the time to close the curtains has officially come.

We started out as yucksters making some weird jokes, but eventually we fell in love with the community that sprouted in the comments section. And online relationships begot real friendships, and I've truly met some great people through this endeavor. I'm not sure I'll miss posting daily, but I'll certainly miss reading the perspective so many of you brought to the blog in between meetings and classes and social events. Many of the names have changed from the early days, but everyone who posted a comment made it possible for us to last this long. Three years, 650,000 visitors and 1.1 million hits later, we're flatly out of gas and ready for bed.

For those of you that can stomach music talk, I'll still be posting regularly over on my Hidden Track outpost, and I'll probably be starting another niche site by the end of the summer. And if you're really jonesin' for some Slack attitude, you can e-mail us at slacklalane@yahoo.com and we'll send you a shot of our boobies and the top offbeat story of the day.

And since I can't find a clever way to sign off forever, I'll just link to a song I wrote many years ago for occasions of this magnitude:

Class is dismissed. Yous're all on your own now. Thanks for playing.

I Don't Even Wanna Know

2007-05-25T08:59:00.000-04:00

Top medical journal blasts "designer vagina" craze

Ever since I found out about Ron Albertson's penis reduction surgery, as well as his wife Sheila's potential vagina enlargement, I've been very interested in the exciting world of genitoplasty. Now I can't wait to get married and buy my wife a designer cooch.

Slack Link of the Day: Only two words necessary -- Gay Robot.

Tuileries

2007-05-24T13:34:00.000-04:00

Those wacky Coen Brothers are out with a short clip involving Steve Buscemi that's worth an afternoon screening. I got nuthin' else:

And on that note...I'm finished, done. Amuse yourselves.

My Mother, The Director (y futbol)

2007-05-21T19:39:00.001-04:00

My mother called me yesterday inviting me to the elementary school production she's been charged with patiently directing. The woman's genuinely the nicest, sweetest, most generous person on this planet, and yet the following conversation still ensued:

Mom Cowboy: "It's not Broadway, obviously, but it's something. You know, some of them are really good, some of them are retarded. Everyone tried out and I tried to get everyone involved. There are special ed kids in the play."

Ace Cowboy: "Oh, so when you said 'some of them are retarded' you meant that some of them are actually retarded?"

MC: "Yes! It's a riot, it really us. The lead is hilarious, he's great, and some of the other ones are pretty good, too...and then there are a bunch of kids that aren't so good. I have one Chinese kid that doesn't know he's retarded. One kid has Tourette's. It's going to be hysssssterical, you're gonna laugh in your chair the whole time.

AC: "That does sound fairly unmissable. I'll try my best."

I really want to put in for a press pass so I can live blog this thing. I hope Tourette's Kid has a big part in Greased Lightning.

It's Kaká! It's Gerrard! It's midfielders looking lovingly into each other's eyes and holding a ball! It's the UEFA Champions League final!

This homoeroticism ends at 2:30 EST when AC Milan looks for revenge against Liverpool for the greatest comeback in European history, the night the Reds overcame a 3-0 deficit to defeat the I-tals on penalties. I doubt this one will be the scorcher it was in 2005, but it's the last meaningful soccer game involving an English side we'll watch 'til August, and coincidentally it's a Scouse Special. I started the season at the Red Lion, I'll end it in the same spot.

I think we're in for far less than six goals in this one, but let's look back at Istanbul for a look at total fucking awesomeness:

For a more in-depth view of the final, let's check in with our good friends over at That's On Point. I like Liverpool 2-1. Mark 'em.

Well Freakin' Done, Denny

2007-05-21T15:42:00.000-04:00

It's been a busy day here at the ol' oficina, but not busy enough to keep me from offering up this little political quiz...

The striking woman with presidential candiate Dennis Kucinich is:

A. His kid's friend that helps with campaign appearances
B. His co-star in the new documentary "How Tall Do Some Redheaded Chicks Look Next To Hobbits from Cleveland?"
C. His $499 state-of-the-art sex robot named "Roja Awesome"
D. His 29-year-old hippie wife from Upminster, England

If you guessed (D), you know more about the Congressman than I do (or you realized those other options were lamer than FDR's legs). Rep. Kucinich is indeed married to this fine, young thang, and the story about her in yesterday's Sunday Times UK is worth a read.

Among the great pieces of information you'll find out about this potential first lady: She's got a tongue ring, the signature on her business e-mail comes from Kama Sutra, he proposed on their second meeting and married three months later, and somehow, Shirley MacLaine got herself into this article.

I know I'm poking some fun here, but I'm a fan of these two finding each other. It gives hope to everyone out there, even commie dorks. Anyone else think the little guy is packin' enormous junk?

Gimme Six Shlitzeses...Or Whatever's Free

2007-05-18T14:27:00.000-04:00

It's been a long week for everyone. Well, fuck all'a youse, it's been an incredibly long week for me. So I'm just gonna fall asleep at my desk until I can head outta here, and in the meantime, you should all enjoy this awesome 1970s beer mersh for Shlitz Malt Liquor starring the Average White Band and Tommy James & The Shondells. Wow.

It ain't Schmidt's Gay, but it's something. It's something, alright.

Slack Link of the Day: A few friends and I hit the Bowery Ballroom to catch the ever-popular !!! at on Wednesday, and my lazy ass just posted a review an hour ago. If you're into sweating your ass off to pure-energy dance-punk bands, check these guys out.

Idol Worship in Brief

2007-05-17T11:07:00.000-04:00

Here's an interesting, albeit buried info-morsel from the NY Times:

"Derek Jeter singled in the first game of Wednesday’s doubleheader to give him hits in 92 of his past 100 games. According to the Society for American Baseball Research, no player in the 1900s had a hit in as many as 92 of 100 games. The last player to do it was Wee Willie Keeler, who hit in 93 of 100 games 1898 and 1899."

Lost in this broader stat is the fact that Jeter has hit safely in something like 72 of his last 75 games. It's certainly been a slow start for the Yank'ums, and most of them are playing like their shoes are tied together or like they have some fucked up chromosomes, but you can't put that on the Captain. Over the course of two seasons, this guy is putting together one of the sickest stretches in batting history, and he deserves to at least be given a rusty trombone by someone.

I just love stats, and this one's pretty cool. Standing ovation for the dude with the well-intentioned yet wholly inexplicable fade haircut.

Slack Videos of the Day: Allright, nobody's above a good fart joke, and today we've got two videos surrounding the best of the flatulence -- the first video is an anchor losing his shit when his co-anchor toots on air, the second is probably fake, but it's one of the better videos of all-time, steppin' on ducks or otherwise. Aflac!

Okay, one more, because I just can't even believe this one. Colonel Fritzy sent this one over a few minutes ago, and I've already sent it to like 5,000 people and their wives and children and pets:

Long live the US Armed Forces...military intelligence, baby.

Ohhh, the Humanity: You Got Served, Yo

2007-05-15T18:51:00.000-04:00

Chiptole Bob sent this one over today. I have no words. At all.

The least that little girl could do was stick the landing, no?

Man of God, Man of Hate, Man of Death

2007-05-15T14:01:00.000-04:00

It's always sad when someone dies. But while it's sad to lose any life, a man of such active hate deserves no good will in death. I don't come to praise or bury the now-deceased Jerry Falwell, I just thought I'd note that the world lost a real dipshit today. And I'm the asshole.

"I really believe that the pagans, and the abortionists, and the feminists, and the gays and the lesbians who are actively trying to make that an alternative lifestyle, the ACLU, People For the American Way, all of them who have tried to secularize America. I point the finger in their face and say 'you helped this happen.'" --J. Falwell

What did they help make happen? 9/11! Sorry to see a man lose his life, but I'd like to see the transcript of his first meeting with Satan.

Bangin' the Ottoman

2007-05-14T12:10:00.000-04:00

Since I just spent like 10,000 words on English football, I figured I'd put this post on top of it to entertain the non-soccer fans. But now that this post is on top, I bet it's gonna try to dry hump the shit out of the post beneath it. Dear lord, this video is frighteningly awesome.

I also make sweet love to my door and my ottoman on a regular basis.

A Long Summer Awaits: EPL in Review

2007-05-14T09:12:00.000-04:00

I'm an obsessive, but at least I can recognize my own behavior. And over the past nine months, nothing has touched the immense passion I've re-discovered in myself for the Beautiful Game.

The season kicked off in August with a 7:30 am wake-up call and a solo trip to the Red Lion for an unfortunate Liverpool draw with (Gary) Sheffield United at Bramall Lane. It concluded on Sunday with Slack co-founder Don Fiedler on my couch for the conclusion of the relegation battle that saw West Ham United defeat the Premier League champion Manchester United to avoid demotion. In between, the world's best and brightest treated us to one of the best complete sports seasons I've been fortunate enough to follow.

Chelsea flirted with the quadruple, Manchester United searched for the treble, Arsenal debuted its youngsters to the world, my Liverpool's headed back for its sixth taste of European glory, and three great friends and I spent a week in the United Kingdom for a Football Fantasy come true, five matches in seven days that included a night in the same stadium as the one and only Morten Gamst Pedersen.

So let's take a look back at the creature that stole my weekend sleep, starting with some serious categories and winding our way closer to the usual offbeat Slack-type nonsense. Without further (Freddy) ado, with a clever assist from Donnie, here's my EPL Year in Review:

Best Offseason Transfer: Dimitar Berbatov -- Tottenham Hotspur
How do you say "Hey, at least you did one thing right this year, Martin Jol!" in Bulgarian? Andriy Shevchenko surely commanded the most coinage and column inches to finally join Chelsea, but the 26-year-old Berbatov has clearly been the best signing of the summer transfer window. The most consistent player on a wholly inconsistent Spurs side, Berbatov scored 23 goals in all competitions for Tottenham following his transfer from Bayer Leverkusen.

With Jermaine Defoe and Robbie Keane taking turns completely disappearing, and with goalkeeper Paul Robinson blowing goats (I have proof) on a regular basis, Berbatov stepped up for the sputtering Spurs and almost single-handedly led them to European play next year. The big clubs will come calling in the months ahead, and both Arsenal and Manchester United would love to add his services up front, but I don't see Big D's swarthiness leaving White Hart Lane behind. Can Jol really let that face (or that awesome watch) get away? I doubt it.

Delayed Chernobyl Effect Syndrome...of the Year: Shevchenko
Twenty years after the biggest nucular disaster in history, Sheva finally succumbed to the radioactivity coursing through his Ukranian veins and delivered the most retarded first half since Corky Thatcher laced up his velcro boots for West Bromwich Albion in the late '80s. Sheva showed flashes later on, but we fully expect him to grow an arm out of his abdomen by the time he's transferred back to Italia.

Best Midseason Transfer: Javier Mascherano -- Liverpool
Strange that one of the biggest disappointments of the August window turns out to be the best midseason pickup. I'm not saying Liverpool would have been knocked out of the Champions League had they decided against acquiring the Argentine, but snatching the role-less midfielder from West Ham at the close of the January window looks like another brilliant move by ~~Buster Bluth~~ Rafa Benitez. Like Arthur says when Linda Marolla asks what it's like to be on a yacht, "It doesn't suck," and picking up Monster Masch certainly didn't suck for the Reds.

Momo Sissoko returned from injury a step slower and, surprisingly, even more inaccurate in his passing. Mascherano filled in admirably in the holding mid role that Sissoko grew out of, and by taking the first-team spot, he breathed some much-needed new life into a Liverpool side that only had one thing left to play for: Champions of Europe. Masch came in and fit in, immediately, kinda like that New Guy with Sideburns who came into Shawshank and filled the inmates with hope. Let's just pray AC Milan doesn't have the guards shoot him in the prison yard before game time on the 23rd. And if he can convince his good buddy Charlie Tevez to jump ship and join the Reds this summer, he'll officially be the greatest signing of Rafa's tenure.

"Tough Season, Dude" Award: Juan Pablo Angel -- Aston Villa
Angel clearly does not deserve his place in the EPL Review Show opening credits every Sunday night any longer. The Colombian international probably ~~enjoyed~~ suffered through the second-most bizarre season of anyone in the Premier League (we'll get to Carlos Tevez in a minute). Angel had one of those days back in mid-October when he missed a second-half penalty kick and scored an own goal for 10-men Tottenham within the span of two minutes.

First team before that day, Angel started only four matches for the remainder of the season and was used sparingly off the bench. Villa boss Martin O'Neill then buried Angel when he brought in young, virile strikers in the form of John Carew and Ashley Young. Finally, O'Neill gave the club's former top scorer the Old Yeller Treatment, shot him in the head and buried him in the Meadowlands (they shipped him off to the friggin' Red Bull New York on a free transfer). Rough year, but at least he's got this awesome photo to his credit:

Bizarre-oh World Award: Carlos Tevez -- West Ham United
Mascherano and Tevez made some strange third-party deal that nobody quite understood and bolted Corinthians for West Ham on the final day of the August transfer window...then promptly had no impact whatsoever on the football there. None. Ningún. The Hammers failed to win any of their next seven games, registering six defeats and a draw (scoring only twice in that span). Expectedly and quite deservedly, Tevez's club then sacked Alan Pardew in the Great London Alan Swap of Late 2006 (Pardew, out; Curbishly in) after the manager inexcusably and inexplicably could not find a place for either of his imported Argentines.

Tevez finally opened his Premiership account on a gorgeous free kick against Spurs in early March (embedded above), and then we're talkin' floodgates. The 23-year-old put the surely demoted West Ham on his back and personally led them from the drop zone to safety, scoring seven goals over the club's final 10 games of its campaign to avoid relegation. He gored through the ManU back line and scored the club's only goal in a 1-0 win at Old Trafford to complete the Great Escape, and in last weekend's huge match against Bolton he netted two and set up a great volley from Young Mark Noble.

Oh yeah, and there's also the matter of Tevez's involvement in one of the biggest scandals in the recent history of English football: Several teams have threatened multimillion-dollar lawsuits over the Premier League's failure to dock West Ham points in regard to the controversial transfer. So all summer long a loud, obnoxious furor will surround a man that doesn't even speak the language of the people arguing about him (and now he's pullin' a Vlad Guerrero and refusing to even try). Nine months ago he was a star on the rise following the World Cup; now he's a lightning rod for the bottom teams and an acquisition target for the bigs. Not a bad year for Carlito.

RIAA Envy Award: Premier League Sues YouTube
I will never understand the motivation behind the companies and organizations that pepper legal action against the people spreading their gospel. Sure, copyright protection is a major priority for anyone with tangible property, but talk about biting the teet that feeds you...this is either idiocy or lunacy, or both. I could probably write 2,500 words on this alone, but I enjoyed our friend from That's On Point's succinct and well-phrased take -- go over there at some point and read it. In any event, many YouTubes remain, but they're slowly coming down. Bollocks.

(Relatedly, I read at least five well-written soccer blogs a day, and they're all fantastic, but if I were to give out an award for must-read daily coverage of the sport, the aforementioned TOP gets my vote.)

Horror Challenge of the Year: Ben Thatcher on Pedro Mendes
I'm guessing Man City's Thatcher spent much of the afternoon asking Portsmouth's Mendes, "Oy, what in the bloody 'ell does Pompey mean, mate?" When Mendes failed to answer his repeated inquiry, Thatcher had no choice but to deliver a vicious elbow for seemingly no reason. These replays make me weak in the knees:

Earned Nickname of the Year: Arjen Robben -- Chelsea

I couldn't find a photo in the Google Images scrap heap that accurately portrayed the Dutchman's running style, but if you've ever seen Robben sprint the length of the pitch with possession, you'll know why my colleague Don Fiedler started referring to him as "Jazz Hands." I'm actually a huge fan of Robben's, but if I could slip him a note after a match one day, it'd definitely say "Dude, stop running like you're air-drying your nail polish. P.S. Why do you look so old?"

Carl Pavano Achievement Award: Matthew Upson
In search of upgrades all over the pitch, West Ham signed the central defender from Birmingham City for a minimum of six million pounds at the end of the January window. My friends and I happened to be at Villa Park for his Hammers debut, and we watched as he limped off about 30 minutes into the first half (to a chorus of boos from a former rival club). Upson missed a month for his new team, returned to start the March 4th match against Spurs and limped off 11 minutes into that one. If you're counting at home, that's six millions pounds plus salary for 41 minutes since February 3rd. New West Ham owner and Icelandic biscuit magnate Eggert Magnusson can't be diggin' that horrific investment, although I think he's busy singing "I'm the one who said just grab 'em in the biscuits" to truly care. And Pavano still sucks more than anyone, ever.

First Annual Mark Viduka Award: Mark Viduka -- Middlesbrough
Just because. The guy's a beast, a part-Croat, part-Ukranian, all Australian beast. He looks like he should be playing rugby or lifting cars over his huge head for sport. Love that Viduka.

Injury of the Season: Paddy Kenny -- (Gary) Sheffield United
Back in November, Sheffield goalkeeper Paddy Kenny had his eyebrow bitten off during a midweek brawl. Let me say that one again: The guy had his eyebrow bitten off. But that's not even the worst part. The Sun reported the culprit was a mate that had just admitted to sleeping with Kenny's wife. That's not a decent night.

Glenn Roeder Caretaker Manager of the Year: Les Reed -- Charlton
In the middle of that Great London Alan Swap of Late 2006, caretaker manager Les Reed (pronounced: Lez) parked himself on the Charlton bench and didn't move or show expression. Charlton earned four points in seven matches under him, and he exited as quickly as he became manager. Awesomely, he was last seen spotted on the United States of Fulham sidelines with caretaker manager Lawrie Sanchez.

Deadwood Dan Dority Eye Gouge of the Year: Joey Barton
Barton and Man City teammate Ousmane Dabo could have also taken home some sort of Kieran Dyer v. Lee Bowyer Same Team Melee Award, but Barton's indiscretion was more violent and the Dyer v. Bowyer tiff happened outside the training ground. So scratch that thought like Barton scratches retinas. But Barton's assault on Dabo can only be described as a brutally savage outwardly Oedipal reaction that has no place in soccer or society. I boo this man.

Scottie Pippen Award: Nemanja Vidić -- Manchester United
You know how good quarterbacks like to buy their offensive line Rolexes and steak dinners? Well, (Her name is) Rio Ferdinand should buy his defensive partner a car, a house and a team of hooker stewardesses to go with his new private jet...really, whatever the hell he wants. Rio gets al the credit, but it's the Serbian and/or Montenegran that's been responsible for so much of the success of the Man U back four. Just wanted to get that out.

Everything's 60 Million Bucks Award: Everyone
As the relegation battle escalated, all of a sudden everything became bathed in the light of $60 million. Clint Dempsey's goal was worth $60M to the U.S. of Fulham, Yossi Benayoun's line clearance and Tevez's goal in the final match against ManU, Phil Jagielka's hand touching the ball before halftime of the Wigan/Sheffield game, Paul Jewell's ball sack, Neil Warnock's toenails. I love the fact that these teams are playing for something, but it's time to put this one to rest.

Goal of the Year: Michael Essien -- Chelsea
We had some great candidates this season, with the real best goal being Ronaldinho's bicicleta against Villareal earlier in the Spanish campaign. But let's stick with the EPL -- we had two wonder strikes from Matty Taylor (vs. Everton from 45 out and the Arsenal volley), Robin van Persie's stunning running volley, Xabi Alonso's own-half strike against Newcastle, an absolute stunner from league-leading scorer Didier Drogba against Everton, Obafemi Martins' thumping power drive against Spurs, Paul Robinson's ridiculous goal over fellow Britkeeper Ben Foster, and so many more.

Those are just the ones I remember off the top of my head, and I bet I'm omitting some great goals. But the winner belongs to The Bison, from the highly anticipated December matchup of Chavski and Arseweb. With Arsenal leading 1-0, Essien absolutely nails one from well outside the area, bending, hitting the post and going in the net. The final replay on this thing shows you just how crazy this hit was. What a hit, son:

Player of the Year: Cristiano Ronaldo -- Manchester United
Was thre anyone else? Drogba put up an early season charge. Essien made his case known when he played all over the field with exceptional skill. But when it comes down to it, nobody had a greater impact on their team than Ronaldo. He used to be all flash, but maybe all it took for him to finally be a player of substance was getting his teammate Wayne Rooney tossed from the World Cup. The rumors of his banishment from English football weren't only exaggerated, they were stupid as hell. It's a good thing for Red Devils' fans that Sir Alex ain't a man of emotion over reason. Even though he's a pretty boy pussy, there isn't a player in the league that can match his pace and the excitement he brings when the ball hits his foot.

Now all we have left is the first FA Cup final at the new Wembley and the Champions League final in Greece; only two more serious matches before a long summer unfolds before us.

Hey, at least I'll get to sleep in on weekends. I'm freakin' tired.

Try the Nitrous Cookies Next Time

2007-05-11T11:26:00.000-04:00

Almost everyone missed a superb story in Wednesday's Detroit Free Press, a tale of corruption in law enforcement and the inherent evils of police power. But I don't care to tackle that difficult subject.

Flipping the Caesarian script, I come to praise Office Edward Sanchez, not to bury him. The 28-year-old Detroit cop arrested a suspect in April of last year, confiscated the suspect's marijuana, kept it for himself, baked it in some brownies with his wife, flipped the fuck out, called 911, and then was allowed to resign gracefully and quietly from the force. Now that is an officially fully.

A year later, two days ago to be exact, the Free Press ran the 911 call from Officer Sanchez, and it's...well, it's fucking awesome. The husband and wife team claims to be overdosing on some pot brownies, and you can tell it's taking every ounce of strength for the dispatcher not to break out in laughter at these n00bs.

About a minute in, Sanchez says "We made brownies and I think we're dead, I really do." At another point he complains that time is moving really, really, really slow. But the call is five minutes of pure bliss, and I urge you all to head over to the DFP and check it out now.

Slack Link of the Day: This has gotta be one of the better headlines of the year: "Vegas run by gays and Jews, says magician".

Slack Video of the Day: Deputy Girardin passed along this classic link of Patton Oswalt slaying Conan O'Brien with his anti-old person sex rant (and his take on those KFC bowls is brilliant).

Slack Song of the Day: Let's check out the Fantastic 4's take on Sly's In Time from 12/17/04 at the Subterranean in Chicago. If you cats dig it, you can stream or download the rest of the show from Eric Krasno, Robert Walter, Cheme and Adam Deitch here.

Share That Love With Someone Else

2007-05-10T12:35:00.000-04:00

Tough-talkin' Tony Blair announced his official resignation today, effective June 27th. I kinda have a soft spot for Tone Loco, and I'm gonna be a little be sad to see him go.

I know he made the silly decision to follow Bush into a silly war, but I just loved the way he stood up and said, "Ya know, America's our friend, and we're gonna do what we need to do to continue being their friend, even if it means ruining my legacy forever." You have to love how fast he smacked into that wall, Wile E. Coyote style.

When we were over in England a few months back, I was shocked at the level of shit this guy was eating from the press on a daily basis. They skewered him in every paper and on every channel (all five!), unloading on him with the equivalent of a sock full of pence. So you won't have ol' Tony to kick around any more, and in honor of the break-up of Bush and Blair, let's look back at this video of the two of them singing Endless Love that someone put together eons ago:

Good times, good times. Did I really just write a post about Tony Blair? I hate this blog sometimes, I really, really do.

Bills Fans Are Real Americans

2007-05-09T11:52:00.000-04:00

Gotta love Buffalo Bills fans...well, you actually don't. But you could.

I'll be right back with some breakdancing...if you're nice.

Slack Link of the Day: Perhaps because he killed two people in cold blood and got away with it, perhaps not, but famed actor and killer OJ Simpson was kicked out of a Louisville restaurant the night before the Kentucky Derby this weekend. Not surprisingly, his lawyer played the race card. I wish I were making that up. If I were the manager, I woulda just let him stay and taken all the sharp cutlery out.

Slack Video of the Day: Kaptain Eli Booty informs me that the good people at Slate have put together a hilarious animated video of one of Mayor Guiliani's lesser moments. Classic stuff.

If You Don't Like It, You're a Communiss

2007-05-08T09:46:00.000-04:00

I promise, it ain't any of that hippie shit most of you despise so intensely. Just do your ol' pal Ace a favor and take six and a half minutes today to watch this video. Make it full screen, even. And if you don't like it, enjoy your bread lines, ya proletariat fuck.

That's just one of the cooler videos of all-time...it's even got a bonus live version of Long Black Veil at the end. Danko lovin'. So sweet.

Slack Link of the Day: Annie Lennox, you can safely break out your "feels like I'm walkin' on broken glass" line after gate-crashing partygoers just ransacked the shit out of your home. My folks always asked why I didn't throw more big parties in high school, and this is precisely the reason why. Denise Fleming is a tampon.

Slack Link of the Day II: So ESPN and ABC have struck a deal to be announced later today with Cox Communications to offer shows and football games on demand for the cable company. But get this: You can't skip the commercials. As part of the deal, Cox will disable the fast-forward feature for this new on-demand programming, which pretty much negates the whole purpose of having DVR in the first place. As if we needed more reasons to hate the Worldwide Leader.

Slack Video of the Day: Over in Pullin' 'Tubes, I just posted six pretty cool videos of the White Stripes, !!!, The Beatles, Talking Heads, Jeff Beck and the Allman Brothers Band. Get over there.

Slack Song of the Day: I'm lookin' at Robert Walter's Super Heavy Organ this fine morning, so here's Maple Plank and Kickin' Up Dust (with Stanton Moore) from June 30th, 2006.

Cinco de Janquis: Wang Maos 'Em Down

2007-05-07T09:01:00.000-04:00

A perfect day nearly begot a perfect game. If I may paraphrase the philosopher Al Czervik: "Hey Wang...don't tell 'em you're nasty."

But our story doesn't begin with the Taiwanese sinkerballer's mound mastery on this warm Saturday afternoon in the Bronx. The day originally had designs on being a grande Cinco de Mayo celebration, and we were the 10 Jerks to do it, and do it right. So in honor of the great Battle of Puebla victory over the French in 1862, the motivated duo of Handstand the Elder and Witz organized a trip to Yankee Stadium for a beisbol-related fiesta.

As has been the norm on past Jerk Tours, homemade custom T-shirts became item Numero Uno on el agenda. Subconscious and/or overt racism notwithstanding, the 10 of us sent in our requests to Handstand and His Heat Press weeks before gameday so we could each don the jersey of our favorite, mostly terrible, Hispanic Yankees of all-time. Were any of them actually from Mejico? No, but in our defense, neither Erubiel Durazo nor Elmer Dessens ever played for the Yankees, and I'd say at least six or seven of us think all brown people are Mexicans (even the Indians (both kinds)).

Despite the fact that none of us drove a car, we met on the roof of the parking garage with a platter full of Jersey-style Sloppy Joes and two packed coolers full of cerveza -- Tecate, Sol y Dos Equis -- for three solid hours of tailgating. Shortly after our arrival the official ceremony began, a beautiful affair narrated by our own Yankees radio announcer, Juan Sterling.

We sat in our makeshift dugout on the ledge of the garage, and Sterlinguez called us up one by one to accept our jerseys and pose for an official photo. "Los fanaticos del Yankees, saludan Alvaro Espinoza, Oscar Azocar, Cecilio Guante, Jose Vizcaino, Ruben Sierra, Luis Sojo, Jose Cardenal, y los hermanos Melido y Pasqual Perez." Gotta love that Señor Cardenal was strictly a first-base coach on the Yankees and yet he still gets the jersey respect. Wave 'em on, Jose.

We all took a ceremonial double-shot of Jose Cuervo before heading in, 'cuz as I've often said, I like my tequila to be warm, and to be Cuervo. We entered just before the first pitch of this 3:55 matchup of Chien-Ming Wang and former terrible Yankee Jeff Weaver. We could tell things were gonna be interesting on this day when catastrophe struck almost immediately. Our seats were second row from the top behind home plate, and I knew for sure one member of our crew would be drunk enough to fall over and cause serious damage.

Turns out, Handstand almost imitated his moniker when he lost his footing stepping down a row and fell straight down. Thankfully something broke his fall; unfortunately it was a large woman that didn't suspect the hit. For them it was scary, but for us, oh good lord. Picture for a second sitting there as your drunk stocky friend in a gheri curl wig and a Pascual Perez shirt loses his feet and throws a vicious blindside hit on a heavy-set woman in a Giambi jersey. And this sack was mean, like LT on Jaworski as Donnie Fiedler put it.

At first we winced and grew concerned, but when they both seemed okay, and when Handstand couldn't get his foot unstuck and laid on this woman's back for a solid 25 to 35 seconds, we started to giggle. And if you can even half-imagine this scene in your head, you can also imagine how intense our laughter eventually became. I couldn't breathe at one point. My ribs began to hurt. Even when we stopped we'd continue again in quick spurts, prompted by nothing. That was the physical comedy we needed to welcome us to el dia perfecto. Handstand eventually bought her a beer, and they posed for a couple of pictures. Good sport, that Giambi.

Like our drinking, Wang was dealing all day. I've never been to a game in which anyone came close to going the distance like this, and the buzz was palpable. Throwing fastballs almost exclusively, not only was Wang tossing a no-hitter, he hadn't walked or hit a batter, and nobody had reached. The no-no was one thing, but we all knew this was more special than that. Inning after inning went by and we cared less and less about the offense. Apparently I cared less and less about baseball altogether, seeing as I took 30 seconds to take a picture of this woman's jacket with my friend's camera and then used it in the next shot of her jacket I took with mine. I like it. I think I can win something cool with this shot. Don't fight me on that; I'll cut you.

The Yanks broke it open in the sixth and the only thing left to do was sort out the whole Perfect Game nonsense. It was around this time that three members of Team Jerk left to hit up the Pinstripe Club for the Kentucky Derby. One's an Alabaman and our only non-Yankee fan, but the other's bona fide, pinstripes through and through. This is a perfect fucking game in the 7th inning and you're gonna change shit up right now? You're gonna walk out on this?

I heard afterwards that Fox did everything they could to jinx Wanger. But if C-M-Dubs wants to blame anyone for the Ben Broussard homerun, it's those kids, our so-called friends. You just cannot walk out on what could have been just the 18th perfect game in MLB history for a two-minute horse race that most definitely would be played in its entirety some time later. That's inappropriate, that's inexcusable, that I don't forgive (J. Dignan, 1996).

Although now that I look back, maybe I shouldn't have said "This fucking guy is batting .188 this year" before the pitch.

The disappointment sank in pretty quickly, but we couldn't frown for long. What a day for us, just a perfect outing for a group of assholes on a sunny sports-dominated day in May. Mayweather and De La Hoya would get us through the night, but the day belonged to the best Asian pitcher in the American League East (that's right, I went there). Wang may not have been perfect on this day, but aside from the blindside tackle and the beer Witz poured on the FBI Special Investigator, we surely enjoyed one of the more perfect days on record.

Slack Post-Script of the Day: The Yankees also added Roger Clemens to the mix the following day, making this weekend more than just a momentum builder for the ballclub. I love the people filing out of the woodwork to claim this does nothing for the Yankees and how much money they're wasting. His ERA will go up for sure, but you're crazy if you don't think this was a total no-brainer, a real Schiavo. Clemens, Andrew Buttchin, Wanger, Moose and Hughes when he's healthy? Get the fuck right out of here with any talk that this is a bad move.

Slack Two Cents of the Day: Yeah, so maybe Mayweather "won" the fight. I'd agree with that. But there's something wrong with a sport where the overwhelming non-aggressor can win like that. Oscar took the fight to him, and Mayweather one-punched and ran like a seventh grader in a bitch-fight. This is the best pound-for-pound fighter in the world? I gotta say, I was a much bigger fan of Floyd's before this boring un-spectacle. Boxing needs an enema.

Slack Video of the Day: We all love the "Montgomery Flea Market: Just Like a Mini-Mall" dude, a true Internet celebrity if ever there were one. Apparently this guy randomly made it onto a Jay Leno segment, and while it's not particularly funny, nor does it directly reference his sicky sicky dance moves, but it's the Montgomery Mini-Mall Man, and we should all support him. Peep this.

Slack Song of the Day: This morning I'm lookin' at Big Red and Big Nerd, the wonderful Trey and Phil combo -- here's a sweet They Love Each Other from 2/12/06 at the Beacon.

Weekend Caption Contest

2007-05-04T17:21:00.000-04:00

My friend T found this great shot...let's have at it on this photo:

"Sorry, lady, I only fuck black chicks."

T had a couple of classic ones as well - this one's my fave: "Wanna play a little game called Just the Tip? Although I should warn you...I'm an expert at shooting people in the face."

Hack away, folks. And have yourselves a great little weekend...

Spread That Shit, Yo

2007-05-04T09:43:00.000-04:00

My usual Friday morning bagel slides out from the industrial toaster in the office cafeteria, and I grab some foil, two pieces actually, so I can wrap it up tightly and suffocate the warmth.

I walk over to the schmear station, and I'm met with the usual slew of ragtag options -- cream cheese, cream cheese with veggies, cream cheese with other shit, different types of jelly, and the tub of butter that sits where it sits. I make a B-line for that tub, with the B standing for Butter Me Up and Lick Me Dry, zero trans-fats on this chiseled, buttered body. Shit, I'm rambling.

There's a woman in front of me, taking her sweet-ass time. She's chatting with the girl next to her, something about files or pantyhose, I'm not paying attention. Pigs (Three Different Ones) plays on my iPod, and I'm off in a Floyd World. The Floydster. I'm thinking about Les Claypool playing this one at the Riviera in 1999, how that's still stuck in my head. I'm thinking about how to properly pronounce the word "charade" like a real Brit. I'm thinking about how badly I want to crawl into my bed with a 60-box of assorted Munchkins and smother myself in undersized baked goods and slumber.

That's when I realize it's been about a minute since I stood behind this woman. What the shit is goin' down here? Seriously, it's butter, it's bread, it spreads on quick and we all move on. Right? Right! Now move before I bend down to tie my shoes and instead slice your achilles with this butter knife I've acquired. Before I get my chance to deliver pain, she turns around...

Butter Girl: Oh, I'm sorry, am I taking too long?
Ace Cowboy: No, no, I don't even want to go to my desk.
BG: It's just that, this butter is acting weird.
Ace: (totally deadpan) You're saying we have weird-acting butter?
BG: Yes! It's not breaking apart.
Ace: Is that what non-weird butter does? Breaks apart?
BG: Okay, I'm done now. All yours.
Ace: Thanks, I'll get out my pick-axe.

She smiles and wonders whether I'm witty and charming or the biggest asshole in the office building. Little does she know, I'm both.

Slack Video of the Day: Our friends over at WebjunkTV have some definitive proof that Family Guy steals liberally from The Simpsons. I'm not sure how new this theory is, but kudos bar to them for compiling the smoking gun. I'll pretend this never happened.

Slack Flashback of the Day: With the Kentucky Derby tomorrow, let's look back at the 2000 running, when I decided Churchill Downs was both the greatest and worst place in the world. I can't tell you how proud I am to re-read this line I wrote: "She may not have seen a horse all day long, but at that moment she was staring eye-to-eye with a horsecock."

Road Trip

2007-05-02T09:44:00.000-04:00

I'm off to sunny Pennsylvania for work...enjoy your pebbles.

Scousers Make Me Fist-Pump

2007-05-01T18:15:00.000-04:00

And then they moved onto Athens...in one of the matches I told youse all to watch this month, Liverpool defeated Chelsea after 120 minutes of grueling football and seven penalty kicks to advance to the finals of the Champions League. I'll spare you a long-winded recap of my incredible elation at this moment and instead point you over to Oh You Beauty where you can read my long-winded comment.

Needless to say, the Kop at Anfield must've been pretty psyched up tonight, just like in this fucking awesome clip of the Liverpool crowd that my man Mike from That's On Point just posted:

Anyone interested in a quick trip to Athens? Greece, not Georgia.

Unrelated Headline of the Early Evening: My associate Nodnoc passed along this article today, with a headline that was surely intentional: "Royals To Get A Taste Of Angels' Colon."

Who knew rim jobs were part of Kansas City's baseball strategies?

Keep Your Day Job

2007-05-01T11:31:00.000-04:00

...Until your night job pays. And my day job sucks right now. Sucks, as in, I gotta do actual work. It's a travesty. I'm calling shenanigans.

Anyway, whilst I toil, enjoy this little video someone put together in response to that awesome Montgomery Flea Market Mini-Mall mersh:

And in a late addition, here's the perfect use for a catapult -- my friend TDJ found this one, and it's really a must watch clip:

God bless the Internet. It's gonna catch on with videos like these...

"One for Zoo, Please."

2007-04-30T12:02:00.000-04:00

Contrary to popular opinion, I've always thought the beauty of living in Manhattan isn't the bevy of constant options at your disposal; the real beauty lies in how quickly you can change your pace.

Let's take Saturday, for example: One minute Hoobs and I were on my couch watching Mariano Rivera notch his first save of the 2007 season, the literal next we were sitting in a fairly crowded theater about to watch a critically acclaimed documentary about...horse-fucking. Yes, and I still can't get the V-Chip scene from the South Park move out of my head. Horse-fuckah.

At 7:59 we decided to check the listings at the IFC Center around the corner from my apartment, and by 8:05 we were in poorly padded seats about to be regaled with completely real, first-person stories about man-on-equine love.

The film centers around a weekender bestiality group of men that ~~suffered from~~ practiced zoophilia in a Washington state suburb. The horse-fucking outfit eventually comes under intense scrutiny when perhaps its most normal member dies of horse-fucking-related internal injuries. Without spoiling it, because I know so many of youse will head out to see it this week, the Zoo documentary does an excellent job of not only presenting a story many people never thought they'd have even the slightest sympathy for, but also immersing you into something so abnormal and forcing you to actually consider the thoughts going through the heads of these particular men.

It's really well done in that regard, and since we saw it in the Village, I'd be willing to bet 75 percent of the theater was full of sexual deviants, half of whom may or may not be horse-fuckers themselves (and that smug-lookin' horse with the trenchcoat that walked in and sat down to our right definitely fucked dudes).

More to that last parenthetical: About halfway through the film I came to a startling revelation that this wasn't just about a group of dudes fucking horses. This stable of men also took it from the horses. I'm not judging in any way, I'm just unveiling my complete naivete when it comes to the meshing of horsecock with man-anus. The gentleman that died that night two years ago didn't get kicked by the horse or anything like that -- he suffered a perforated colon and died of internal bleeding. When I found that out I started planning the sequel, Zoo II: Puncturing This Sentence's Colon As Well.

Strangely, I'm actually going to recommend this film. It's not every day you're thrown into a world so outside your own comfort zone, and in an increasingly partisan and self-centered society, we can all stand to put ourselves into someone else's (horse)shoes from time to time. And you'll love the eerie silence in the theater when the lights go up and nobody has any idea what to say. There must have been anywhere from 50 to 100 people in our room, and you could hear a pin drop.

That's when I turned to Hoobs and said loudly in my best Jewish Mother, "Soooo, how did you like the mooovie?" Good times.

Slack Video of the Day: Two great clips from the good people at Deadspin: a wasted Bruce Willis at the Nets game and a foul-mouthed hockey mom shrieking. Gotta watch both of those.

Slack EPL Goal of the Weekend: What a wild weekend for soccer fans -- Manchester United and Chelsea both played top-six teams in lunchtime affairs on Saturday, with Chelsea needing a win and a ManU loss for any real shot of winning the Premiership for a third straight year. Sadly for Blues fans, they were up 2-1 at home and ManU was down 2-0 at Everton with 30 minutes to play in each match, before all hell broke loose. Bolton equalized with Chelsea on a Kevin Davies header, and ManU scored four goals in short order to basically clinch the title. Craisins.

Now instead we turn our attention southward for the relegation battle, which heated up this weekend with West Ham's 3-0 win versus a sorry-ass Wigan club. But the goal of the weekend came from that ManU-Everton match, with Manuel Fernandes absolutely smashing one past Edwin van der Saar to give the Toffees a two-nil lead. Seriously, check out the replay angles, that's a sickening strike.

Slack Song of the Day: Feeling some RANA today, so that's what we're gonna git -- Poop Georgette III, Good Book, and Phillipe Petite.

Slack NFL Draft Recap of the Day: Jets, I like it. Good moves.

Parting Shots for the Weekend

2007-04-27T16:36:00.000-04:00

Color me impressed by Dan Majerle's ability to still drain'm:

One of our friends was a sports reporter in Miami in 2000, and the only thing he reported to me was that Thunder Dan had a giant cock.

On the Rocks

2007-04-27T10:48:00.000-04:00

So the first Democratic debate among presidential candidates took place last night. Anyone realize that? I sure as shit did not. I also don't particularly care, but that's another story for another time.

I didn't realize that there's a former senator from Alaska in the Dems' race. Show of hands, who here's heard the name Mike Gravel? I had a Major League "Who are these fuckin' guys?" moment when I saw his name. But after reading the transcripts of the debate and his personal website, I'm guessing the Howard Beale "mad as hell" candidate will become a household name over the next few weeks and months. He's Kucinich, only with chops. And real experience. And gravitas.

Gravel won't be elected, and he won't even come close. But he's there to keep the bigs honest, a role Kucinich and Sharpton played in the last go-round. I like him for two reasons, the first of which centers around the fact that he's actually fairly famous in politics and yet I've never heard of him 'til last night. Check out this snippet from his bio:

"In 1971, he waged a successful one-man filibuster for five months that forced the Nixon administration to cut a deal, effectively ending the draft in the United States. He is most prominently known for his release of the Pentagon Papers, the secret official study that revealed the lies and manipulations of successive U.S. administrations that misled the country into the Vietnam War." A five-month filibuster to block the draft? Damn, that's good times. Um, thanks?

The other reason I like him? I'm hoping he fucks something up early and the newspapers write "Gravel Off to a Rocky Start."

Man, that joke rocks. I fucking love myself.

Slack Link of the Day: Here's a good one: "An obsessed fan tried to run over the husband of Sandra Bullock in an attack at the couple's home in California, police said Thursday." Can you imagine loving Bullock so much that you'd run over her husband? What a world.

Slack Song and Video of the Day: You just turn your pretty head and walk away...best song ever? Up there.

I'm getting really lazy with this blog. Lo siento, senors y senoritas.

Some Video Nostalgia

2007-04-26T09:43:00.000-04:00

Music and professional wrestling have long enjoyed a mutually beneficial relationship, much like kegs and eggs.

Cyndi Lauper had a nice stint with the WWF as part of the Rock 'n Wrestling days in the 1980s, and she even included many of the federation's wrestlers in her famed "Goonies R Good Enough" video. The same guy who wrote "Rock and Roll Hoochie Koo," Rick Derringer, also wrote "Real American," Hulk Hogan's instantly recognizable theme song (that was actually intended to be used by the Mike Rotundo and Barry Windham U.S. Express tag team).

But there was some other music in the rasslin' world that flew too far under the radar to truly be appreciated back then -- songs like Junkyard Dog's "Grab Them Cakes" and Hillbilly Jim's "Don't Go Messin' with a Country Boy." At the top of this scrap heap, though, lies little-remembered manager of heels, the Doctor of Style: Slick.

The Twin Towers and Power & Glory manager's "Jive Soul Bro" tune barely registered on the rock and wrestling charts (off the charts the wrong way), even though it's possibly the greatest song of all-time. Check it out for yourself right here and see:

Damn, that's solid shit. If you'd like some more wrestling nostalgia, one of my friends and favorite music bloggers, The Passion of the Weiss, recently gave us his take on who we thought would be Imus' Top 10 Wrestlers.

Moving on, here's a video that hit YouTube this week, and has so far gone unnoticed on the world wide web. It's a look back, for me, at September 29th and 30th, 2000, a silly weekend for a college senior, the most fucked up I've ever been in my life for an extended period of time...and my first time in Las Vegas, Nevada.

The popular rock band Phish had called a timeout -- they were going on hiatus -- and this was Donnie's and my last stand with the group we'd seen many times together in our college career. So we flew out to Vegas with no hotel room and no real plans, traveling only with small suitcases and tickets to the shows, hoping it'd all work out.

Of course it did, as it always does with upper middle class white kids.

It remains to this day a weekend I can't think about without breaking into the biggest shit-eating grin known to man. The shows were great musically, and tons of fun otherwise, and I won't even get into the weekend in general (ecstatic vitamins were all the rage then, and man, we did rage that whole time).

The one downside to the weekend was the controversy surrounding Kid Rock's appearance for three songs at the end of the first night's second set and the encore. I loved it, such high energy, but many people claim it was the real beginning of the end for Phish. With my heart beating out of my chest and my jaw clicking at breakneck paces, I thought it was "Fuckinawesomemanholyshitthat'sgood."

It was just cool to see. You can watch for yourself on Kid Rock's sit-in on You Shook Me All Night Long and We're An American Band. The modified American Band lyrics of "Now all them strippers at Mandalay Bay, went lookin' for Kid Rock but they all went hom with Trey" might have just been the greatest ad lib of all-time.

So in the last two days I've talked about soccer, wrestling and Phish. Wow, am I trying to turn people away en masse? Guess so.

Your Goal: Watch Some Shit

2007-04-25T11:10:00.000-04:00

I need youse to just shut the fuck up and cool those jets for a second. Listen, I'm about to switch on the 'hard sell' here, and I want your assurance that you'll sit quietly and follow along. At the end of this nonsense, you can feel free to walk away and never look back. But gimme a moment to bite your ear off.

We all love the sports. The sports are good. We idolize larger-than-life behemoths and we worship the laundry they wear on game days. We're obsessed with the drama that unfolds before our eyes, the ultimate reality show that allows us to bask in the vicarious glory of victory and sulk in the shadows of defeat. It's our natural escapism, our group therapy, our emotional outlet. We are the sports.

And as we approach the end of the European soccer season, I promise you all of these things and more, asking only a limited amount of work from you in return. You liked the World Cup, right? This shit's better. This shit is the shit.

Both in domestic and continental competitions, it doesn't get more awesome than what will transpire over the next month. Right here, right now -- these are the Jesus Jones moments. So I beg you, kind folks, to watch a few select matches over the course of the next month, and if you don't enjoy it, if you don't feel even a modicum of desire to get involved, then it'll never happen for you. Like gay porn.

Let's review where we're at...what's up for grabs? Domestically, with three (or four) matches left to play in the season, there's a hot two-team race at the top of the Premiership, a fight for a few spots in European competition next year, and a crowded five-club house at the bottom of the table to avoid relegation to the next division.

Chelsea and Manchester United, the same two teams in the hunt for the Prem title, will also square up in the FA Cup final on May 19th, 10 days after the sides meet at Stamford Bridge to possibly decide who wins the league. And on the continent, four teams remain in the fight for the title of Europe's best, including my beloved Liverpool. The Reds take on the Blues today in the second semifinal (ManU took a 3-2 lead on AC Milan yesterday at Old Trafford with the help of a Rooney Tunes brace), and I'll be down at the Red Lion today with my Gerrard #8 jersey to punch Don Fiedler in his John Terry-lovin' face.

Chelsea, already holders of this year's Carling Cup, is looking for an unprecedented quadruple (Prem, Carling Cup, FA Cup, Champions League), while ManU is looking for the treble (Prem, FA Cup, Champs League). This is serious business. Come May 9th and May 19th, these two clubs will figure all that out, and possibly May 23rd for the Champions League final, but that'll most likely be a 2005 repeat of Liverpool and AC Milan -- creepier still that Liverpool beat Chelsea in that 2005 semi. The second legs are next Tuesday and Wednesday on ESPN2, so make sure to set your TiVos for the onslaught of greatness.

But the big battle is for the bottom. Can you imagine how awesome it would be to watch the Royals, Devil Rays and Nationals battle it out to ensure a spot in the Major Leagues next year? The bottom three get relegated to the next division down, and only one slot is confirmed -- Watford sucks. Then there are five clubs within four points of each other, each with three matches left. Charlton and West Ham are currently in the drop zone, but the woeful Wigan and Gary Sheffield United are just two points clear, and the United States of Fulham only three points. For these five, every single point can mean the difference between millions of pounds and toiling away for a year at a shot at promotion. This is why soccer is great, and you're nothing.

(I won't even bring up the race for the Spanish Primera title, because we don't get a chance to watch too many matches here, but there's some serious shit goin' down there too.)

It's baseball season, it's the NHL playoffs and it's the NBA playoffs. The NFL Draft is right around the corner. Primetime season finales are around the corner. There's a ton of shit going on in the world, I get it. But these are the glory days; these are the times when you tune into a random match on Fox Soccer Channel and end up watching a game that sends a club down to the minor leagues, or clinches a Europe spot for another. This is heartbreak central and elation city.

It's also the showcase: Chelsea, Liverpool and ManU are all still on the hunt for the Champions League trophy, three of the hottest teams in the world. Chelsea hasn't lost since January 20th (when my Reds beat 'em solidly), and Fiedler and I were there to witness their birth to good form. Too bad they're goin' down in three hours.

That's all I got. Just a public service, letting you know that the best thing going this month involves something you already wrote off because of a funny parody from The Simpsons.

And Now...A Programming Note

2007-04-25T09:15:00.000-04:00

Please forgive this straight post...it happens from time to time.

Two days after journogeeks everywhere lost a true giant in David Halberstam, a legendary public advocate returns from retirement.

Tonight on PBS, Bill Moyers, the guy that does his job better than anyone out there does theirs, reprises his role as Asskicker for the Public with the premiere of his cleverly titled new show, Bill Moyers Journal. Moyers returns as the ultimate arbitrator of truth, the ombudsman to end all ombudsmen. This man exudes the tenets of real journalism, and his first topic has promised to shake things up.

This evening marks the debut of his 90-minute documentary, "Buying the War: How did the mainstream press get it so wrong?" You can read a full preview on Moyers' website, but I'm pretty sure it shows Dan Rather crying like a schoolgirl. Bully for us.

Try to watch it, or set your TiVos. I'm guaranteeing goodness.

Lebowski-esque

2007-04-24T12:20:00.000-04:00

It's a busy day at Ye Olde Office, but this quotation from this article with the headline "Docs fight to save man's willy" managed to strike my fancy this morning. Fannntastic:

Sales rep Stuart McMahon, who was eating supper with his girlfriend, said: “This guy came running in then charged into the kitchen, got a massive knife and started waving it about.
“Everyone was screaming and running out as he jumped on a table, dropped his trousers and popped his penis out. Then he cut it off. I couldn’t believe it.

I couldn't believe it either. In New York we have people running into pizza places to shoot employees in the back before popping two cops and dying themselves. In London, apparently they run into pizza places to cut off their own Johnsons. Weirdo Brits.

And this video is awesome. That kid is back on the escalator again...

A Quick Beisbol Rant

2007-04-23T12:45:00.000-04:00

What a shitshow up in Boston this weekend...Hey, who's pitching the Yanks' next game, Moe with the gimpy leg?

By the cock of Zeus, what the hell is going on with this staff? Are we really expecting big things out of Andy Eugene Buttchin and four dudes that may or may not be working at Bennigan's six months from now (or Benihana in Kei Igawa's case)?

But I want to wish a hearty congratulations to my Sawx fan friends: You bested our swordsman and our giant this time. The problem is, it's still only April, and now the team heads to Yankee HQ in Tampa for a series with the Rays. Is there any real doubt that this weekend's injurious and insulting debacle is gonna force the Hand that Rocks the Clemens? Big Stein can't like that three-game result, and if he still has any mental faculties at all, which is currently up for debate, he's cutting a fat check sometime soon and #22 is coming back to the Bronx. Mark those palabras. And it's all because of you, Sawx fans.

I mean, is there anything more disgusting than Manny Ramirez's head? I'd rather shit in a pair of tighty whities and wear 'em all day than be in the same room as that clownish 'do. I'm pretty sure I said this last season sometime (possibly after the five-game sweep, possibly after he made up an injury and shut'r down for the season), but he couldn't look any more like a 13-year-old American girl that just returned from the Caribbean -- like ohmigosh, I got my hair braided and I rode a jetski! That's Manny: a girl on vacation.

And congrats as well on lowering your standards to fake a city-wide lovefest -- Beckett and Dice-K both leave to thunderous standing ovations from the Saturday and Sunday crowds, having only given up a total of 11 runs (10 earned), 17 hits and three walks in their efforts. I mean, I'm all for cheering on your boys, but that reminded me of the scene in Arrested Development when Lindsay hangs up Maeby's C+ test score on the fridge.

Well, the Wanger's coming back, and we've still got a long way to go before the season ends with us on the outside looking in. But, shit man, those Os and Jays are heating up, a four team race to the top. I got dibs on top bunk.

Slack Link of the Day: This story broke last week, but I forgot to post it here -- apparently the Chinese are just as racist as the Klan:

"A couch labeled as 'nigger-brown' got its offensive name from a bad translation program, according to the furniture's supplier. When users enter "dark brown" in Chinese in older versions of the Kingsoft program, its spits out the n-bomb. Newer versions don't, but if you type the slur in English, 'dark brown' shows in Chinese." Crassic.

Slack Video and Song of the Day: Ohhhhhhh to be Prince Caspian: This video actually has a naked guy running across the stage at about 2:40. Naked guy -- excellent butt! Carini's gonna gitcha.

Battle of the Smallfolks

2007-04-20T09:37:00.000-04:00

Youse folks all remember the Little Superstar, jes? That diminutive Indian fucker could dance, he could smoke, and he could kick ass.

But apparently this whole time there's been another awesome tinydude out there, and his name is Weng Weng. This Filipino looks just as cool, and he's got all kinds of sweet videos up on YouTube right now. Let's take a quick peek at Secret Agent 00:

So who do you think would win in a fight, Little Superstar or Weng Weng? Cast your vote below, and please, as per usual around here, feel free to be as stereotypical and demeaning as possible. And if you'd like to see the two of them fuck and suck, even though it's homosexing, you can admit that too. Hey, it's just natural curiosity.

T. Bone Pickens

2007-04-19T11:59:00.000-04:00

Let's turn down the lights and get serious for one second...then we'll return to our usual culture of dickheadedness and shitfaceosity.

So a couple people have expressed minor outrage about my posting of the Richard McBeef YouTube videos. I honestly don't get that outrage, and I thnk it's a bit misplaces. I feel nothing but sorrow for the victims of the VT tragedy and their families, and a more serious off-the-blog Ace has been dying a little inside every time he tries to wrap his head around this horrific massacre (third person, allllright).

Interestingly, I usually hate stories that get beat to death in the news cycle, stories like this one. But this story is grabbing me for some reason. Like many of you, I don't understand the impulse to kill. At all. I don't get the impulse to commit assault, even, or spit on anyone, or anything like that. So, to me, this is a window into a tortured soul, a soul I will never be able to comprehend as long as I live. That explains my fascination at least; I can't speak for anyone else.

But my default defense mechanism is humor. It may be a character flaw, but it's my character nonetheless. C'mon, you gotta be able to find something funny to pick you out of the bad news doldrums. And you gotta be able to make fun of this kid and his shitty works of literature, instead of glorifying him like has been done for two days.

Anyway, most people are lined up against NBC's decision to air the kid's videos, and the network's a legitimate target for gripes. One dude on the Phish message board just wrote a hilarious paragraph about the subject, and I thought I'd share:

Worst part about this fuck is that he's really NOT EVEN INTERESTING. His *manifesto* can suck a little rice dick. You're not jesus. You are a slimy green pig cunt, youre nobody, thats why no one liked you. Your writing sucks, and is the obvious byproduct of a kid who wanted to get his weenie fondled and his bum-bum pounded by his stepfather.

But how is it in poor taste to link to some videos that are taking this kid down a peg? I'm not sure. I'd like some help from youse.

That's all I want to say on the subject. But if you'd like to pick a bone with me, or rather, if you've got a bone to pick, you know where to find me. Comment away below. I'm your huckleberry.

Slack Celebration of the Day: I didn't want to jinx it, so I held off 'til the completion of the sweep: But the New York Rangers have officially swept the Atlanta Someones. I mean, seriously, Atlanta has a hockey team? Didn't the Flames leave for a reason? More hockey in the South? Take care, Thrashers, the Blueshirts are done with you. Hard to believe, by the way, that I haven't been to a playoff hockey game in 13 years. Thirteen years! I miss 1994. What's hockey?

Slack Videos of the Day: And now for some videos that'll make youse either laugh or think. Or thinklaugh. Or laughtink. Or laughejaculateinyourpants. One of those.

--Our man Rashid forwarded over this clip of Japanese Air Sex. No, no, it's not a montage from the Nipponese Mile High Club, it's basically air guitar with sexual positions, but it's twice as funny, because they're air-fucking. And that's classy. (Rashid also has a really interesting take on the VT aftermath and the thought police that's worth reading...)

--Sticking with the Japanese, here's a hilarious video of a bull-like mound charge and a coward pitcher. I'd probably do the same. So much for kamikaze.

--This one clearly lacks some old-timey British blooper music, but at the same time it contains some fantastic gaffes that'll make your day. Peer into the eyes of fishing show bloopers.

And we'd like to wish a very happy 32nd birthday to Red Cowboy, the bestest broham on Earf. Shit man, soon you'll be Gray Cowboy.

Too Soon?: The McBeef Epic Gets Epic

2007-04-18T21:34:00.000-04:00

I said yesterday that someone had to act out the Virginia Tech killer kid's brilliant one-act entitled Richard McBeef on YouTube and let the Internet make them a superstar. Well, I think it's about to begin, and I'd like to get the ball rolling. May I present, This Genius:

Here's Part II, featuring the introduction of the mother character:

You gotta love a few things about this thing: It's the first one as far as I know, which is key. But you can actually hear this kid breathing heavily as he struggles to change characters, which adds to the awesomeoness. Plus you've got the family dog coming in for a cameo where a cameo wasn't warranted. Classic. The whole production is craisins. Two thumbs up and a kudos bar to you, Steve Brandon.

~~Gore~~ God Bless the Internet. I see we have another entry, a cold read:

I like the first guy better. I cast him to be my Internet Superstar.

If This Doesn't Make Youse Laugh...

2007-04-18T15:23:00.000-04:00

...You might be a terrorist. I'm just sayin'. Tyson rules.

Goddamn, the phrase "stomp on their testicles" is just uproarious.

Calling All Internets Superstars

2007-04-17T15:10:00.000-04:00

Do you and two friends want to make a name for yourself on the world wide web overnight? Here's your chance: Rehearse and film yourselves acting out the Virginia Tech killer's recently unearthed and horrifically bad one-act play entitled "Richard McBeef" and post it on YouTube by the end of the week. Seriously, it'll get a million views in 24 hours.

I don't even want 10 percent for the suggestion. Donate my share (and yours) to the victims' families or some other post-tragedy cause...

Jesus, this is some piss-poor writing: "...you prematurely ejaculating piece of dickshit. Sucks for you, you motherfucking McBeef." Wait, this kid majored in English? Sure he didn't major in Crap Studies?

Imus: "I Missed It By a Week"

2007-04-17T12:40:00.000-04:00

Strange to think, but if he made those comments just one week later, Poor Ol' Imus would still be employed right now. Truth.

Anyone else get the recurring feeling that the mass media is nothing but a swarm of locusts buzzing from one crop to the next, with no recollection of what it just devoured?

Locusts? Shit, that actually sounds more like Sam Malone.

Slack Review of the Day: I caught an incredible show last night, a male and female Mexican acoustic guitar duo steeped in the history and traditions of the trash metal scene. Seriously, Rodrigo Y Gabriela, up there on the list of best shows I've seen this year.

Slack Song of the Day: The lovely and talented Grace Potter's got a new album coming out this summer, and because I think she's awesome to quite awesome, we're featuring a link to one of the tracks on the musical playground. Jeez, two HT links in one post -- I'm a genius when it comes to blatant cross-promotion.

Don't Forget to Cup the Balls

2007-04-16T10:30:00.000-04:00

Move over Autistic Kid That Hit All Those Three-Pointers: The world wide web has found a new hero, and Beirut Master be thy name.

Still, I'd like to see this mastery applied to game-time situations. Who knows, this could be the type of hot-dog kid that can hit any shot in the world in practice, until it's time to line up twelve cups on twelve. Then he turns to mush and his partner wants to beat him about the face, chest, neck, breast and head with a ball-peen hammer. I've seen it happen. I've wielded that hammer. I am Spartacus.

Man, I miss playing hundreds of games of Beirut for no reason.

Slack Link of the Day: New StrongBad e-mail...gotta love a video with the phrase, "I've got the best lawyer soft tacos can buy."

Slack Video of the Day: No introduction truly necessary here -- this one's called Hangnail of the Yankees:

Slack Premiership Goal of the Weekend: We saw many important goals over the weekend, including Herr Ballack's opportunistic boot in the second half of extra time in the FA Cup semifinal that helped Chelsea to a 2-1 victory over Gamst & Blackburn. But perhaps none were more important than the three that (Gary) Sheffield United scored against West Ham at Brammall Lane on Saturday.

The bottom half of the table is more interesting than the top half right now -- for the uninitiated, the bottom three teams in the Prem get relegated to the next division (AAA-ish) and three teams from the Championship get a promotion and a warchest. The race to stay up is sexy as hell, one that will surely come down to the last weekend, and I've been perhaps mistakenly saying to anyone who'll listen that Sheffield is going down like a roofied fat chick with low self-esteem. West Ham had a great chance to move closer to the safety zone with a won on the trot, but Sheffield United came through with three marvelous goals to stay out of the drop zone.

And Michael Tonge's free-kick strike, the first of those three, is clearly the goal of the weekend, both in beauty and in importance. Check it out, pick a team and get involved in the relegation battle.

Slack Song of the Day: Wanna see Paul Rudd and David Wain sing some Boston shit with Of Montreal as the backup band? Me too.

End-of-Week Linkage

2007-04-13T12:15:00.000-04:00

I'm feeling pretty uninspired right now, so bite into these for now:

--A Series of Letters to the First Girl I Ever Fingered, written by the mostly hysterical Michael Ian Black (boo, Sierra Mist)

--Oh, good lord, this headline is priceless: "Diner scarred for life after sausage explodes in her face." Sadly, the article is less about bukkake films and more about serious burns that have actually scarred the woman horribly. Tough times.

--Only a matter of time: get yo' Nappy-Headed Ho gear, teddy bears, T-shirts, infant bodysuits, you name it

--I shit you not: Arizona has built a crosswalk for the elk, and it seems to actually be lessening auto-animal collisions

--From you, Dad! I learned it from punching you! Yikes.

--Not a fan of celebrity gossip, but this one is too good: "Melanie 'Scary Spice' Brown Wants To Prove Eddie Murphy Is Her Baby's Father"

--Roommate Glaser and I were watching CNN last night, and across the news crawl came this gem: "Nailgun injuries have risen 200% since 1991." We laughed at the weird story, but as it turns out, there are 37,000 nailgun injuries a year. I didn't even know that many people had exposure to nailguns, let along getting injured by them all the time. And why is the CDC calculating this? They don't have bigger fish to fry? I guess not -- 37,000!

--And, finally, here are a couple of videos to end the day...

From the desk of Jake Zebra, let's check in on this tribute to everyone's favorite Norwegian, Morten Gamst Pedersen:

And here's one of my favorite jams the popular rock band Phish ever played, the last nine minutes of a sweet version of Harry Hood from 6/22/00 (my 21st birthday), with some serious special guests:

That's that. Anyone have cool plans this weekend? Eh, I don't care.

Snail on Turtle Action: Weeeeeeeeee!

2007-04-12T09:29:00.000-04:00

From the desk of Bart Starbux comes this gem...man, some sort of trike and/or Big Wheel race on Easter looks like Christly fun.

And now some commentary from our judges:

"At first, I was sure that the tiger suit guy right at the beginning was my favorite. Then, I was confident that the two guys dressed like Beaker from the Muppet Show at 00:20 were the best, especially because they pass at exactly the same time in all that chaos. But no, wouldn't you know it, right near the end, there goes a Lego-head wearing prison stripes at 01:03. Winner." --Don Fiedler

"My favorites are the guy on the huge blue van--I really wish we could see him complete the spin that he is starting as he exits the screen--and some guy in a cape that flies by about halfway through. Nothing special about his outfit, but man is he moving! I also like the guy that has some sort of drinking device mounted on his big wheel--he's actually pulling on the straw as he goes by!" --Starbux

"I'm pretty tired. Cool shit, though." --Ace

Slack Link of the Day: And another thing, Vonnegut -- I'm stopping payment on the check! Sadly, star of Back To School and some kind of author Kurt Vonnegut passed away last night at the age of 84. It's always sad to lose someone of his caliber, with his brain, with his perspective. We need more Vonneguts in this world, not less.

Slack Link of the Day II: This Imus story is really starting to bug me. Enough already. I'm all for the two-week suspension, and I'd also like to see a two-week moratorium on talking about this thing. Imus is NOT the problem. He used stupid words. Let's deal with real racism, not jokes from so-called shock jocks that haven't been funny since the early 90s. Jason Whitlock says as much in his latest column for the Kansas City Star, and I couldn't agree with him any more. Kudos bar to Big Mr. Whitlock, of whom I've always been a big fan.

On a related note, where do Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton get off on leading this witchhunt? Um, didn't Jesse Jackson call the Jews "Hymies" and New York City "Hymietown" WHEN HE WAS RUNNING FOR PRESIDENT? Wasn't Al Sharpton involved in a gigantic rape hoax that nearly tore the city apart, one of many such moronic buttinsky moves? Goddamn, if these two schmucks did their jobs well, they wouldn't have jobs any more. No wonder why they just make noise and don't take real, effective action. Go away. The black community, which I know nothing about obviously, needs better leadership.

Slack Video of the Day: Well, it's all set now. For the first time in Champions League history, three English teams are among the final four. And on one half of the bracket, Donnie's Chelsea club will meet my Liverpool squad in what will surely be the end of our friendship as we know it. Surely! The Reds and Blues are two of the hottest teams in the world right now, and on April 25th and May 1st, we'll find out which one plays a better 180 minutes and advances to the finals. I'm pretty confident I won't be walking alone when all is said and done.

Chelsea clearly has the better overall 11, but Liverpool has been playing really clever football of late and will for sure escape the Bridge with a fantastic result on the 25th. The real question will be, which skipper shows up in a bigger way for their club, Fat Franky Lampard or Steven Gerrard? To help us figure it out, let's consult this video (meanwhile, there are about 25 Lampard v. Gerrard mashups on YouTube, proving the Brits love the Internets more than we do):

Slack Song of the Day: Been listening to this 12/17/04 Fantastic 4 show a bunch since my new roommate let me in on it. The side project features Eric Krasno on guitar, Adam Deitch on drums, Robert Walter on keys and Cheme on sax, and it's basically as awesome as a side project gets. Seriously, hop on this show, you'll thank me.

Mmmm...Unexplained Bacon

2007-04-11T11:32:00.000-04:00

This would be the greatest thing of all-time if it were actually real...

To the genius that scribbled those four precious words on that sign, we salute you. And we salute fatness -- not fat chicks, though.

That Many? Shit, I Need a Life.

2007-04-10T16:50:00.000-04:00

I just realized this, but yesterday's fairly ridiculous "Paging Richard Mulligan" shenanigans constituted the 1,500th overall post on this here blog. Fifteen-hundred nonsensical pieces of douchebaggery that have wasted everyone's valuable time, most especially my own.

And how do I celebrate 1,500 posts? Apparently with an insensitive treatise on how an updated sitcom of Empty Nest called Empty Womb that centers around an abortion doctor could save the modern situation comedy. If that isn't class, I don't know what class is.

The employment gig was a big pain in the arse today, so I've got nothing to feed you but recycled canned peaches. I posted this over on HT today, but it's good enough for Slack as well: Here's a classic music management clip that has somehow escaped my peepers for many months, a hilarious (and sad) video of two members of The Turtles in 1990 explaining the shitty managerial experiences that come along with being the group that sang “Happy Together.” Check it out...

For more music-related YouTube videos, head over to Pullin' 'Tubes.

Paging Richard Mulligan

2007-04-09T11:46:00.000-04:00

I can't stand the state of the modern television comedy, and as such, I've been trying to think of ways to improve it. And this weekend, I thought of a revolutionary new idea for a sitcom.

I'm telling you, this thing will be the talk of the town -- and I'm talkin' about the big town, a whole big town, not just one of those podunk dry towns with the one blinking yellow stoplight and the general store that sells Git'r'Done merchandise, fishing bait, and incest supplies*.

Here it is: I'm gonna produce an updated version of Empty Nest.

Well, it won't be Empty Nest exactly, and the characters will have different names and be staffed by different actors. But it will center around a widowed doctor, his insanely different daughters who've come home to live with him after failed marriages, his Southern belle nurse (okay, I'm still calling her Laverne), and his wacky neighbor, who may or may not be played by Joe Isuzu this time around. If Joe's not available, I'm getting Alvaro Espinoza. No idea why, that just sounds good to me.

Now, here's the twist: We're gonna sneak attack everyone here. We'll shoot five episodes, show them to the network, make it universally hilarious with Midwest appeal, all the while being very vague about Dr. James Christian's specialty. The show will predictably grab rave reviews, but then, about five episodes into it, we unleash the beast.

Dr. Christian is an abortion doctor. Late-terms and everything...

Is America ready for its first sitcom about an abortion doctor? I think so. Even if my updated masterpiece is offensively retitled Empty Womb? I still think so. If we can fall in love with a mobster, a crooked cop, a badass saloon proprietor, and some of the most depraved characters Hollywood screenwriters have ever created, surely we're ready for a lighthearted comedy about an abortion doctor with a heart of gold and a pair of mismatched daughters!

I'm gonna go engrave my own Emmy right now. Youse all agree, yeah? I mean, it's certainly better than the Womb or No Womb idea that we bandied about on Saturday, whereby a large studio audience would ultimately decide whether or not a preggers woman would have to abort the baby or keep it 'til birth (and if it's "keep it 'til birth, the audience then decides whether she'll raise it or give it up for adoption). I think that one has more potential for awesomeness, but at the same time, it's just a little over the top. Just a little.

Now I just need to find some interesting plot devices...

*What do you think constitutes "incest supplies?" Best answer gets $5.

Slack Link of the Day: Wait, some people actually want to set up a code of conduct for the blogosphere? Who are these outlaw wranglers, Wyatt and the Earp Brothers? No, no, in all seriousness... Go shit in your hat, ya no-good fonzanoon.

Slack Link of the Day II: The Rangers Report posted a clever little bit about Jaromir Jagr the other day, and with the playoffs kicking off for the Blueshirts on Thursday, I thought I'd throw it up here with the hope of getting some good blogging karma:

For those with a sense of humor, picture this: After his quote about how he even likes practice these days, he left the dressing room doing his impression Allen Iverson’s famous “Practice…We talkin’ about practice?” diatribe. To see and hear someone imitate “Practice?” in a Czech accent really puts a whole new spin on it as a comedy routine. Classic stuff.

Slack Video of the Day: Are you looking for a new way to fold a T-shirt? I know you are. I see you, struggling and misfolding. That's right, I watch you fold your laundry. I'm everywhere. And now I come with a new way. The new way. Watch this heady shit.

Slack Video of the Day II: "From One Awesome Derek To Another," Bernie Williams jams with the Allmans at the Beacon on Saturday.

Slack Song of the Day: My Hidden Track pard'ner Scotty B turned me on to the Grateful Dead Taper's Section when it launched some months ago, and you'd have to be a serious turd to ignore it so often. Seriously, this thing is the tits, the bees' knees, the cats' meow (actually, is it a singular cat or plural cats that are meowing?). This week's Section is fantastic, and it features a ridiculous version of It's A Man's World by Pigpen that you gotta hear. Check out the rest, it's one of the best free resources you'll find for quasi-hidden Dead tracks.

Hmmmm Hmmmm, Child

2007-04-06T10:21:00.000-04:00

Next time someone sends you an e-mail with some bogus shit in there, just send this right back to them...even if it's your boss...and he's African American. It sends the right message.

That's just good stuff right there. I love the Web of Intertubes.

Great News Not About My Car Insurance

2007-04-05T11:56:00.000-04:00

Extra Innings is coming back to cable...I love that I'm happy about something that I will almost surely have to shell out $160 to receive.

Random Hump Day Droppings

2007-04-04T12:15:00.000-04:00

It's rainy, Andy Eugene Buttchin's re-emergence in Pinstripes has been postponed and the Chairman of the Boards awaits at the Gramercy tonight. So for now, let's proceed with a couple random thoughts:

--On Monday I saw a chick in a Pepperdine sweatshirt walking passed me going the other way. I kinda feel like that would be a fun school to say you once attended. I went to a college with two directions and a suffix, and that's not fun for anyone. It connotes drabness. Pepperdine is exciting, it's got a condiment in it, and the spacing fits well across the chest on a sweatshirt. Although, part of me feels like Pepperdine should be an all-black school. I mean, what kind of students would you expect at Powderton or Saltbern?

--I came up with a great T-shirt by accident in a conversation with TJ in OH the other day. A light drizzle fell on Manhattan as The TJ family came to town, prompting me to say, "A little rain never hurt nobody... except New Orleans." I'd wear that proudly.

--Since Chilly Jackwater was too big a puss to post this in my Allman Brothers review yesterday, I'll pass along a small snippet of his e-mail to me: "Looks like I'll be missing out on the All Man Band this year (my friends and I always thought that'd be the perfect name for a gay, Allmans cover band)." That's just brilliant stuff right there.

I predict a double headliner of Lez Zeppelin and All Man Brothers Band some time in the next year.

--If this isn't the best picture of the year, I don't know what is. Good God, man, that is one Gangly Handful elevating to heights unknown...

--Along those lines, I slept well to quite well last night, knowing that Liverpool is just about through to the semifinals of the most prestigious competition in the world: the UEFA Champions League.

Following yesterday's 3-0 lambasting of PSV Eindhoven up in Pot Country, the Reds (er, yellows?) are all but assured a spot in the final four against either Chelsea or Valencia. Liverpool dominated play against what could only be called a piss-poor and depleted PSV side, though I've been most impressed by the form of the Reds' backline. Both defensively and contributing to the attack, Liverpool's back four has been incredible of late. In fact, four of their last seven goals have been directly set up by Arbeloa, Finnan and Aurelio. But perhaps the prettiest goal was set up by PSV's defense, with Norwegian Ginger Kid John Arne Riise blasting one into the net with that strong to quite strong left stump of his. Check this shit out.

--I learned it from snorting you, Dad! Turns out, Keith Richards’ longtime manager claims the skeletal rocker was totally kidding when he said “I snorted my father. He was cremated and I couldn’t resist grinding him up with a little bit of blow.”

Joke or not, the whole incident begs the question: Which dead person would you most like to cremate and snort? Or better yet, who'd you like to be cremated and snorted by? Would you kill yourself, be cremated and be snorted by Kate Moss just to say you were inside her? I bet you would, you sick fuck.

--Beep for Jesus...Honk Twice for Satan. Awesome.

Allright, that's it for now. Sorry for the lack of effort. This blog sucks.

My Evening with the Allmans

2007-04-03T13:31:00.000-04:00

Last night marked the first time in my nearly 28 years of earthly cognizance that I elected to attend a concert over a big-time sporting event. And given Florida’s early lead and subsequent coasting in the NCAA Final over Ohio State, and given my glorified side-stage perspective of a hot-as-fuck band from the right side of the second row, I’m confident I made the fine choice to head up to the Beacon.

I'm gonna be the clever cross-promoter here: Head on over to the musical playground for a full review of last night's festivities...

F@#k Bill O'Reilly

2007-04-03T08:58:00.000-04:00

Gonna be a busy day at the ol' henhouse. Might I recommend instead something like Snoop Dogg throwin' out some choice words for Billy O:

Thanks to the always at-the-ready Coach for diggin' this one up...

Slack Link of the Day: What a serious putz: "CBS free-lancer on Masters arrested in bank robbery." Way to goooo, Carl

It's Heeeeeeere

2007-04-02T11:45:00.000-04:00

With the Family Justai in town from Ohio (TJ in NY?), a group of us took our out-of-town friends and their seven-year-old daughter to the planet-themed Mars 2112 eatery on Broadway last night. Good times.

Upon returning home, all I wanted to do was catch a glimpse of Opening Day Eve, our first taste of real, actual baseball in 2007 that counts in the standings. But no beisbol could be found on ESPN, which meant no HD: They were showing the Mets/Cardinals NLCS re-match on ESPN2. What balls on these people, even on the women that work there. I think I speak cleverly when I say, "What the Deuce?"

Opening Night Baseball doesn't take precendence over a barnburning Rutgers/LSU game that ended 59-35? I mean, I can understand downgrading Opening Day Eve to Deuce Status if the Worldwide Leader wanted to show LSU's old head coach munching player box on national television, but relegating it for any old women's semifinal? Where's G.O.B. Bluth when you need'm? C'mon! That is seriously wrong and ridiculous. I almost feel like I'm owed an apology.

Well, last night's shenanigans aside, the real Opening Day comes at us fast and furious today. We're about 75 minutes away from what I consider to be the real New Year's Day, and I almost wish this were 2002 again. That year I got laid off from my job at 9 am on Opening Day and I spent the entire afternoon and evening watching five games on ESPN, one on YES and one on whatever channel the Mets were on at the time. Talk about the best day of your life, getting laid off was the greatest thing that contributed to my baseball-related sloth.

Three things are guaranteed to get the crowd crowin' around here: religion, politics and baseball. It used to be just those first two that you never talk about in a bar, but if you check out some of the Slack posts surrounding the sport, you'll find comments coming out every which way. So in order to get the blood boiling today, here are my predictions for the upcoming season -- I'd like to see what youse have as well, so weigh in below with a comment or two:

AL East: Los Yankees (2. Blue Jays, 3. Sawx)
AL Central: Tigers (2. Injuns, 3. ChiSox)
AL West: Angels (2. Rangers, 3. A's)
Wild Card: Blue Jays (2. Sawx, 3. Injuns)

NL East: Braves (2. Mets, 3. Phils)
NL Central: Brewers (2. Cards, 3. Cubs)
NL West: Diamondbacks (2. Dodgers, 3. Giants)
Wild Card: Mets (2. Cards, 3. Phils)

AL Cy Young: Johan Santana (2. Pettitte, 3. Halladay)
AL MVP: Travis Hafner (2. Vlad, 3. Abreu)
AL Rookie: Alex Gordon (T2. Delmon Young, Dice-K)

NL Cy Young: 'Los Zambrano (2. Webb, 3. Oswalt)
NL MVP: Jose Reyes (2. Pujols, 3. Rickie Weeks)
NL Rookie: Troy Tulowitzki (2. Chris Young, 3. Pelfrey)

NLCS: Braves over Mets in 6
ALCS: Yankees over Tigers in 7
World Series: Yankees over Braves in 5

I really shoulda had the balls to pick the Texas Rangers to win the Series, considering Buck Showalter left them last year (and we all know what happens the year after he leaves a team), but I couldn't look at that pitching staff and say, "Yeah, they'll win it for sure." If I were a Rangers fan, Millwood and Padilla as my one-two starters would make me want to puke and shit at the same time. Sorry.

What say you, beisbol fans? Let's hear it...

Slack Link of the Day: Vermont secession? It could happen.

Slack Headline of the Day: Does it get any better than this Smoking Gun story? "The Hair Club for Men recently hired a private detective to videotape ex-clients as they entered a rival follicle replacement business staffed by two of its former workers." Not bloody likely.

Slack Video of the Day: It's a big week for Ace sports, with Opening Day followed by two days of mid-week Champions League football. Only eight teams remain in the hunt for the European club championship, and my Liverpool squad looks to be in great shape and top form. The Reds even pounded rival Arsenal this weekend, drubbing the Gooners 4-1 on the strength of a Beanpole Peter Crouch hat trick. That's quite a lengthy trick.

The halogen lamp of a striker netted three fucking beautiful goals with three different parts of his lanky body, and he validated my belief that he belongs with the Reds and the English squad next year. Here's the Gangly Handful's first goal, his second goal, and finally, let's take a look at the completion of his tall hat trick:

For more on Liverpool's Arse-raping of Arsenal, check out my trusted companions over at Oh You Beauty and The Red Cauldron.

As I noted on OYB this morning, I'm loving the play of the recently acquired Liverpool defender Alvaro Arbeloa. I says: "You know that scene in Waiting for Guffman when things are going so well for Dr. Pearl that he's now questioning whether he wasted time as a dentist instead of being an actor forever? Anyone else feeling that way about Arbeloa on the defensive line? He's impressed me so much that I'm wondering whether Liverpool could be in the title hunt had he been fit and on our squad the entire season. He's floored me in all of his big-time performances."

Slack Song of the Day: Since I'm rightly feelin' the Benevento/Russo Duo this morning, that's what we're gonna get -- here's Sunny's Song, Soba and Mephisto from 12/28/06.

And as it turns out, Mars is just as expensive as New York...craisins.

I'm Back, Baby

2007-03-30T12:28:00.000-04:00

Wow. What a week. I've got Mississippi mud on my shoes and D.C. slime on my soul. I need a shower and about 43 hours of sleep.

The trip was far from uneventful, but since I try to never discuss work on this here rag, there's not much I can really reveal. Well, here's one anecdote: Nigh 2 am, this intimidating security lady came up to the hotel in which we raged hard last night. I took the bullet for the room and answered the door as a favor to the severely intoxicated host, where I enjoyed the following drunken conversation with a husky woman that looked like a combination of Cool Runnings star Doug E. Doug and Office Linebacker Terry Tate:

Doug E. Tate: Are you the registered guest?
Ace Cowboy: Absolutely, what can I do for you?
Doug E. Tate: What's your name?
Ace Cowboy: [Last Name, First Name], why, what's up?
Doug: Can I see a photo ID?
Ace: Sorry, I don't have it on me.
Doug: You don't have a photo ID on you?
Ace: No, sorry, my wallet's in my room.
Doug: Isn't this your room here?
Ace: Yeah, but...oh, you're really good. I'll be right back.

Then I sent the host out and he fingerbanged her in the hallway until she let us stay. At least that's what I'm told. In all, we received a small reprimand but were allowed to stay in the room and, ultimately, remain as guests in the hotel. Although, considering the damage we did to that suite, they woulda been wicked smaht to kick us out then.

Minutes later the room service guy came in, and after some of us took a few regular pictures with him, I decided to get an Abu Ghraib photo where I had a cigarette dangling from my lips and I pointed to his junk. Shah was a good man, and patient, and obviously, thorough.

Slack Link of the Day: Here's the best headline I've seen all week: "Catholics angry over naked chocolate Jesus"

Slack Video of the Day: I'm not the only one who's back, though. The Sopranos returns for its final run of episodes next Sunday night. And since I know you've forgotten what the hell has gone on in this show like I have, here's a seven and a half minute recap of the full six and a half seasons. Job well done by whoever put this thing together...

Slack Song of the Day: I was out in Arizona for Spring Training when my favorite touring band set up shop at Irving Plaza, but luckily the tapers hooked us up with some goodies. Here's Tea Leaf Green from 3/24/07 in New Yawk City. Second-set awesomeness.

Allright, now it's time to zone out at my desk for the next few hours...

A Sperm Bank Story?

2007-03-29T13:00:00.000-04:00

From the top of the Drudge Report today: "REPORT: IRANIAN TV SHOWS CAPTURE OF BRITISH SEAMEN"

They really shouldn't be showing that on television...maybe Iran is a more liberal, Westernized place than we ever knew.

Cactus League Crap

2007-03-27T00:57:00.000-04:00

Believe it or not, I'm off to the well-trafficked state of Mississippi today. I hope there's a burning of some sort, but I'm not gonna go in expecting it. Just would be a nice bonus, ya know?

So in lieu of any semblance of a solid post, I'm gonna take this opportunity to post five selected pics from the Cactus League Spring Training trip that I think most accurately exude the good times in Arizona. Up first we've got three fatties surveying the scene from the outfield grass at the Brewers v. Angels game in Surprise, AZ. It's a gorgeous photo in all respects. Ithaca is gorges. So is Surprise.

With passover coming up, here's a solid shot of the Brewers' Kevin Mench on first and Eddie Sedar as the first-base coach. Mench and Sedar? That's a good night for almost-Jew jersey names.

Welcome back, Eric Gagne. And welcome back to the Juice, man. Good Lord. This guy could basically be Jim "The Anvil" Neidhart with a little grooming and some pink spandex.

We walked into Tempe Diablo Stadium on Saturday for the Rockies v. Angels game, and this was the first pitch we saw upon entering. Not a bad day when you walk into a small stadium in a warm-weather climate and the first thing you see is ~~Whoopi Goldberg~~ Vlad Guerrero about to beat the shit out of the ball like it's a mouthy woman.

On the way out we caught this advertisement on the back of one of the many bike-pedaled rickshaws -- I mean, I know that's actually a really nice honor and all for Thunder Dan and his establishment, but anyone else find it strange they're bragging about being 11th best? And they really want us to join them before and after every event? What constitutes an event? I say we hit Majerle's place, then go over and run a train through his wife, then hit the bar again.

And that's really all that happened anyway...Phoenix, good times.

United Way Hero

2007-03-26T13:50:00.000-04:00

He's known for his "laser rocket arm" more than anything else, but in just about everything I've seen from him, Peyton Manning's also got an incredible sense of comedic timing.

I missed this weekend's Saturday Night Live, but someone showed me the following clip this morning and I nearly spit milk out my nose, which is strange considering I wasn't even drinking milk. Could it have been semen? Oh well, just watch this clip:

Gotta love beating up little kids...only thing better woulda been if they were terminally ill or wicked retarded. Great stuff.

That Love Is The Answer

2007-03-26T09:31:00.000-04:00

“Every group has someone that they make fun of…like us with Elaine.” --G. Costanza

I returned late last night from 48 hours of in the Phoenix-Scottsdale area, where more than one-seventh of our time there elapsed with nine of us hunkered down in a Hyatt Place conference room selecting our fantasy baseball squads. Another seventh took place at various Cactus League spring training games, but we'll get to that later.

This is a story about a man, a great man. Everyone's got that friend who is nothing but kind and good-natured, always there in a pinch, yet somehow they're the butt of just about every joke and every sentence in a large group setting. Whether they bring it upon themselves through certain personality quirks is an issue up for debate, but regardless of the reasons, it can get pretty nasty. And our buddy Mitchell VergerDartz III has been that friend for a long, long time.

Compulsive by any definition, Verger’s bald-faced lies are legendary. But his truths are even more shocking, possibly because it’s those admitted truths about which he should be lying. The latest story to emerge this weekend is nothing short of Mastercardian pricelessness.

About six months ago, Verger takes a girl out for an evening of enchantment and potential frenching, and they both have a good time from what we’re led to believe. A few nights later he fills himself with some sauce and feels the urge to drunk-dial this new interest, only his lustful urge manifests itself in the form of an unsober text message. With technology on his side, Verger types out his communiqué of flowery hope to the girl he shared a mere one night of bliss and hits the send button, fully unwilling to convince himself if its silliness.

The message in question? “I believe in us.”

Yeah, I know: That is just so wrong on many, many levels. If Doc Brown’s nuclear-powered DeLorean time machine actually existed today, the date I’d most like to flash back and visit is the night this poor lass received that text in question, just so I could see the look on her face when she flipped open the cellular telephone to find that gem. I believe in us? Dear Lord. I mean, just imagine the shudder of horror and intense spine shiver she experienced after reading that.

Classic.

He never did hear back from her, and to add insult to injury, naturally one of his best friends this weekend regaled us all with the story he's been sitting on for half a year just so he could break it out as an introduction to unveiling his fantasy baseball team: I Believe In Us.

To put some background and color on this, let me jump back more than five years. We were exactly a month removed from 9/11, Derek Jeter was a night away from the famous 2001 ALDS Jeremy Giambi flip play and American Gladiators host Mike Adamle would soon be rumbling down Sheridan Road as Grand Marshall of the Homecoming parade. It was our first year removed from academic life, and this was our first official reunion following the hugs and hand pounds of early summer’s graduation.

As our large crew lined the side of the parade route, Chipotle Bob turned to a group of local high school girls and asked, "You wanna see this kid do the Running Man?" Verger's head sank in his hands -- a patented Verger move that's called Sigh Hands, later re-named Seymour Hands -- as the girls lit up, yelling all kinds of affirmatives and starting to chant "Go, go, go, go!"

So in the middle of a major street with a crowd of high-school girls and collegiate alumni cheering him on, Verger performed a version of the Running Man that'll haunt my dreams forever. And every time we've re-united in the times since that night in October 2001, we've done our best to get him to do it in public. This weekend, we succeeded. It wasn't really public, but at least it was outdoors.

Check it out, ladies. His resume says he's "Internet literate," and I'm damn proud to call him a dear friend:

I can't stress enough how awesome this man is and how lucky am I to have him as a friend, but shit, that's just about the fruitiest Running Man in the history of Running Mans. It's basically a Roger Rabbit combined with a Running Man, combined with a ton of estrogen.

I feel bad for even writing that sentence, but it's probably the most accurate description of anything I've ever put together. I love the kid and there's nobody who makes me laugh on the phone as much as him, but this post had to be written for many reasons.

On a related note, my partner Chuck B and I selected a great team, with our first five picks in a 10-team league being Johan Santana (#3), Lance Berkman (#18), Derek Lee (#23), Carlos Zambrano (#38) and Roy Oswalt (#43). That's about as good as you're gonna do...

Slack Link of the Day: Discovery debuted a show called Planet Earth last night, airing three incredible episodes of what could possibly be the greatest reality show in the history of television. HD was made for nature shows, especially a show of this caliber. There will be a new episode every week for the next eight, I believe, and if you've got HD (or even if you don't I guess), make sure to TiVo this badboy. Unreal.

Slack Video of the Day: If you missed the highlights of Barton versus Winona Division II college hoops final this weekend, you missed out on one of the sickest endings I've ever seen to a basketball game. Winona State is up by six or so with 45 seconds left, and they're about to win their second straight title and 57th straight game. Until that doesn't happen at all...

Slack Song of the Day: In honor of our love-finding friend, I'm gonna let Blessid Union of Souls take this one away: I Believe.

Ninja Cheerleaders

2007-03-23T00:16:00.000-04:00

I honestly can't tell if this is the greatest thing Hollywood's come up with or the absolute worst idea ever conceived and actually executed. I'm leaning towards the former. We report, you decide.

Holy Shitballs!

2007-03-22T14:14:00.000-04:00

I've got a ton of work to do here...sorry, folks, my employer calls.

In the meantime, let's continue with our "Everybody Beat Women" coverage. This one isn't as egregious as the dude who beat up that 101-year-old lady, but it's pretty bad nonetheless. Throw in the fact that he's a police officer and we've got some serious questions.

Still, women have come a long way since the liberation movement began. Guys get their asses handed to them constantly, and I think if women truly want to call it "progress," they're gonna have to get beat up equally every now and then. There's no way that Clinton chick will ever get elected if women are gonna cry foul every time a dude punches them in the face or the tits. C'mon, buck up.

How Do You Know It's a Mail Truck?

2007-03-21T11:30:00.000-04:00

I never really understood the point of bumper stickers, mud flaps with naked ladies or the "Baby on Board" placards. Why someone would choose to pay a significant amount of money for an automobile and then choose to adorn it with cheesy slogans and tacky accessories just never made all that much sense to me. But I'm only one man, and I'm not so fashionable, as evidenced by my velcro sneakers.

Still, when I was down in Florida for Langerado* I got my first peak at the latest trend in Git'r Dun Couture that absolutely floored me: Truck Nutz, aka Bumper Nuts. I thought I hated ghetto culture more than just about anything outside of Tim McCarver, but as it turns out, I think I'm starting to hate the Style of Sleeveless Flannel even more.

Hey, rednecks, are you fucking serious? You're really gonna stand there and hang an oversized pair of synthetic, plastic testicles from the back of your truck? I've been trying for 10 days to come up with some good jokes for this post and I am about as stumped as Lt. Dan's old legs. I got nuthin'. I can't even begin to wrap my head around the thought process governing this decision.

What would possibly possess someone to be so flagrant in their abuse of social decency? I'm guessing about a case and a half of Busch Light.

Slack Link of the Day: Manny Ramirez wants you to buy his neighbor's grill; just another case of Manny Bring Foreman.

Slack Video of the Day: For lack of anything better, let's go back to the Chicken Dance Compilation from Arrested Development:

Slack Song of the Day: Can You Guess It? No, that's the song title.

*Also, it should be noted I never thanked my host, Miami's EB, for his generous hospitality down in Florida. You the dog now, man.

Bong Hits 4 Jesus

2007-03-20T10:25:00.000-04:00

You know what the best part of this whole Supreme Court case really is? All these mainstream news outlets and publications have to report those very words over and over again. Fantastic.

There's just something about seeing the words "Bong Hits 4 Jesus" splashed all over the Wall Street Journal, the New York Times and the Washington Post, hearing them dangle from the lips of several CNN anchors and high-profile legal tele-analysts, listening to people talk about them around the office. I mean, kudos bar to this kid -- it really doesn't get any better than combining the son of God with massive bong blows and getting all these serious people, including nine Supreme Court justices, to talk about it. Simply brilliant.

We gotta take this one step further somehow. I'd like to get Fiedler, Mulgrew, Starbux, Hoobs, Zebra, the Handstands, Fritzy, Matty Mac and the rest of The Jerks together for a brainstorming session about what other ludicrous banner headlines we can get everyone in the mainstream media to repeat in all seriousness. It might make my world complete to hear someone at Fox News or MSNBC use the phrase "Felching Mary Magdalene" or "Rumsfeld Loves Cleveland Steamers" to preface a news story. "Schiavo Fingerblasting" anyone?

What would you like to see some major news outlets print or say?

Slack Link of the Day: The New Yorker's actually got a pretty funny piece in the latest issue, The Wisdom of Children. I like it.

Slack Video of the Day: Remember that dude who lived out of his car for a week for that series of Nissan mershes? Well, here he is getting mistaken for Napolean Dynamite on the red carpet at Ron Jeremy's birthday party. More importantly, Ron Jeremy's birthday party has a red carpet? Man, that's one awesome Jew.

Slack Song of the Day: I'm feelin' a bit of the ol' Antibalas Afrobeat Orchestra this morning -- here's a strong show of theirs from Brooklyn's Southpaw on 4/21/2006.

Party On, Levon...Party On, Garth

2007-03-19T12:15:00.000-04:00

It's been quite a 10-day stretch for your ol' pal Ace.

One weekend ago I caught 22 awesome cross-genre bands in gorgeous 80-degree weather at the Langerado music festival in Florida. Then mid-week, I became a card-carrying member of the beloved paparazzi when, like my wicked case of the herpes, I spread my amateur video of a wild NYPD shootout all over the Internets and television.

Finally, this weekend, when the rest of the country was all geeked up about green beer and bagels (and hinky green rivers), I couldn't contain my excitement for the Saturday night Levon Helm Band show at the Beacon Theater. Levon Fucking Helm, folks.

And as it turned out, the former drummer for The Band and one of my musical heroes turned in one of the more incredible, emotional performances I've seen in some time. I'll spare youse the full review on this site, but watching Dr. John sit in on Such A Night and Warren Haynes lead Levon's big band on I Shall Be Released may have been some of the finer moments I've had as a music fan.

Oh yeah, let's not forget that former Bandmate and current Amish hideout Garth Hudson came out during a surprise, special second encore for a sweet Hammond B3 solo on Take Me To the River. I snapped about 50 seconds of that magic for posterity:

If you're a fan of The Band, or if you just want to read the fluffiest fanboy review you'll ever see in your whole life, click here for a full recap of my magical evening at the Beacon on Saturday.

Slack Link of the Day: A massive brawl at Madison Square Garden? Where's Jeff van Gundy when you really need'm?

Slack Video of the Day: Two great goals from the Premiership we need to feature this afternoon, so bare with me. The first comes from a goalkeeper's foot from his own half -- you gotta love that, no? Tottenham keeper Paul Robinson has been in terrible form this season, and he's been in danger of losing his starting spot as England's #1 to Watford keeper Ben Foster. So what happened this weekend? P-Rob scored a goal from his own half. On Ben Foster. From 80 yards out. In your face, kid.

The other goal comes from Manchester United's 4-1 drubbing of Bolton this weekend: Cristiano Ronaldo is on another planet right now, and say what you will about his diving, there ain't a player in the world that can match his pace. His teammate Wayne Rooney is really starting to hit top form as well, and one play this weekend featured the two of them taking the ball from their own end to the Bolton net for a goal in about 10 seconds, which was just sickening.

Slack Song of the Day: No frills, just Ophelia.

A Sign of the Apocalypse

2007-03-16T10:50:00.000-04:00

Stock up on canned goods, folks. The world is nearing an end.

Something happened last night on The Fox Report with Shepard Smith that defies explanation: I was featured as a legitimate news source. I swear, this is not Photoshopped, this is an actual, albeit hazy, screenshot of the television in my apartment at 7:21 EST.

I'm pretty sure I've beaten the world wide web. The Battle of the Internets has ended, and I have declared myself the victor. I try not to be a huge braggard, but let me take a victory lap here, let me soak this one in, a little Rod Tidwell action.

The YouTube video I posted yesterday (as of publication right now) is the 10th most watched video on the entire sharing site, and the 7th most linked video on the site. More than 100,000 people have watched it and about 300 people have commented on it, mostly fucking morons. Gawker graciously called me a "Citizen Journalist" with great coverage and posted my homemade word "craisins" on its site. I've even licensed the video to several other major news agencies...

This is one of those 36-hour stretches that just makes no sense whatsoever. I'm completely amazed and bewildered. I'm speechless. I am without speech. So, thanks to all of youse that stopped by and read the post -- it made jumping out the window towards gunfire a worthwhile endeavor. Still craisins.

Pistol Shots Ring Out in the Barroom Night

2007-03-15T10:00:00.000-04:00

March Madness came to Bleecker Street a night early this year.

It was almost 9:30 on a balmy Wednesday night, and I sat on my couch nearly finished with a Levon Helm Band preview post for Hidden Track that SI.com's Tourney Blog could link to for a story on Pitt forward Levon Kendall. I had just uploaded a few tracks for the site when I clearly heard what could only be multiple gunshots. I wouldn't even say "multiple" -- it was more like an assload. At least 10, as many as 20. Crazy. Dare I say: craisins.

I live in a noisy, debaucherous neighborhood, and drunken amateurs set off illegal fireworks on occasion, but these were gunshots, unequivocally. I hopped right out the window and onto the fire escape as soon as I could compute what was happening, and within three to five minutes at least 30 police units of all shapes and sizes (unmarked cars, big vans, paddy wagons, motorcycles, horses, a helicopter) swarmed to my apartment. Within 10, nearly every cop in the city had mobilized on Bleecker street. You could steal City Hall.

I jumped back in to grab my camera, having no real knowledge of what had just transpired but wanting to document the incredible happenings on my normally safe and secure street. I took this video just about 10 minutes after the gunshots I heard.

Details were shady last night, but this morning we have a bit more of the tragic story. Apparently a lone gunman walked into the pizza place a block away on Houston, and, like a true gentleman, shot an employee 15 times in the back. Verbal Kint once asked, "What if you miss?" I'm thinking 15 shots took care of that.

As he fled up the street with two guns, 100 rounds of amunition and a fake beard (Hey Lois, have you seen my fake beard?) , the gunman encountered two unarmed auxillary policeman and shot one in the head and one in the torso, killing both. He finally met his own demise outside 175 Bleecker Street -- just 100 yards away from me -- when two responding officers shot him to death.

I must hand it to the New York Police Department here. Their response time could not have been more impressive, flocking to the scene quicker than you'd ever expect. I've never seen so many cops rush to a scene so hurriedly outside of 9/11, another (obviously more catastrophic) event to which I was a little too close for comfort. If I were a Man of Cliche, I'd say "There musta been a Dunkin' Donuts going out of business sale," 'cuz they came from every direction, with the speed of a mongoose. Nay, the speed of 100 mongeese.

My apologies for the blurry pictures and choppy videos, but I couldn't concentrate too much on the lighting and I felt strange about asking the police to pose for photos. But here are a couple more shots of the incredibly eerie scene on Bleecker last night, a place known more for fratty NYU types, laid-back Europeans and the gays.

The police shut down a huge square area around the shootings, including 6th Avenue to my right. Traffic snarled. Gaper's delay.

In a weird way it felt like 9/11 for us again. Everyone on my block gathered outside in the search for details, with press reporters canvasing the area for witnesses and quotes, police roping everything off and ushering people back from a large crime scene.

We all came together to trade stories of what we heard and what we were doing, trading misinformation of what we knew and didn't know. One woman heard it was the mafia, another a barfight that spilled out of the establishment up the street, and a few reports placed this crime scene at the Lion's Den, a frequent Ace Cowboy jaunt. One thing's for sure -- nobody knew shit, but we all wanted to talk to someone instead of going back to our apartments.

Beware of the Ides of March indeed. Stay indoors, Caesar.

(It goes without saying that our warmest wishes and heartfelt condolences go out to the families of the victims...)

*The video in this post was also featured on Fox News*

Pick 'Im Up!

2007-03-13T13:48:00.000-04:00

Knight to Cats: The quest to bring The General to Evanston.

But, really, it'll never happen for Northwestern and Ol' Bobby. I think he's still miffed at us for starting that insanely clever, SportsCenter-featured "Hoo-sier Daddy" chant during our home game against Indiana in the 1998-99 season. Man, I still miss Kevin O'Neill.

I'm All For Hitting Women, But...

2007-03-13T09:49:00.000-04:00

...this guy is just a wee bit of a scumbag, no? Look at her she's old, I mean, look she's old, she's just old.

"New York’s streets and newspapers were flooded with pictures of a mugger who has attacked at least two elderly women in the borough of Queens, including one who is 101 years old."

If you haven't seen this yet, it might be the most disturbing yet oddly intriguing video you'll see in a long time. It's so ridiculous that I'm almost on his side after this...

I love the old bag's quotation, though: "Rose Morat, 101, told the New York Post she wished she could have fought back: 'Fifteen years ago, we would have had a tussle.'" Tussle it up, grams.

Just once I'd like to punch an old lady in the face. I'm jealous.

Somebody Gon' Get Pregnant

2007-03-12T13:22:00.000-04:00

Anyone else think 30 Rock is the funniest show on television right now? The one-two punch of Alec Baldwin and Tracy Morgan, combined with Tina Fey as the straight man, just gets stronger and stronger each week. The writing is genuinely funny, the plot lines are clever, and the ensemble cast is brilliant. Big fan. Thursdays, yay.

The Tracy Jordan character is becoming dangerously close to Tracy Morgan's real-life persona. So is art imitating life here or the other way around? Let's take a look at some evidence:

Now that's some quality stuff right there. I gotta think that's mostly an act, but I love people that are willing to get silly in public.

Alive Again

2007-03-12T10:40:00.000-04:00

Rumors of my death have been...well, kind of on target. To borrow a line from Marcellus Wallace, I'm pretty fucking far from okay.

I honestly thought about bagging the Langerado trip altogether, but really, what fun would that be? So I sacked up, flew down to Florida with a fever and turned in potentially my finest hour of fighting through illness to have some fun. I'm doing a curtsy right now.

The festival itself was incredible, and I'm not sure if I've ever seen two straight days of such amazing music. I'll spare youse the review and just point you over to Hidden Track where I'll be discussing this weekend in-depth. But, man, wow, shit, that was sweet.

Here was my weekend setlist (I managed to catch some, most or all of the following sets, all of which were simply awesome):

Soundcheck (THursday night): Trey Anastasio @ Revolution

Set I (Friday): The Heavy Pets > Dubsconscious > Assembly of Dust > Tea Leaf Green > Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings > Galactic > The Hold Steady > Bela Fleck & the Flecktones > moe. > Stephen Malkmus & the Jicks > Trey Anastasio

Set II (Saturday): Toubab Krewe > The Slip > Soulive > Langerado Press Conference > Greyboy Allstars > Perpetual Groove > JJ Grey & MOFRO > MMW > Blackalicious > Michael Franti & Spearhead > My Morning Jacket > Disco Biscuits

Encore: None, I passed on Sunday and hopped on an earlier flight

I may not have died this weekend, but comedian Richard Jeni did. He either died from a self-inflicted gunshot wound, or as the CNN article I just linked to indicates, Chris Rock may have shot him. Regardless, I loved Richard Jeni. His Platypus Man HBO Special was a staple of my youth. He cracked my shit up sometimes, especially his bit about how NFL referees should use the mike to discuss their personal problems. So Richard Jeni, this one's for you.

Slack Videos of the Day: Nothing from Platypus Man on YouTube? That's weak sauce. Here's the best I could do from the Jeni camp -- PMS and Red Wine, Political Parties, Gay Baby and Martha Stewart.

Slack Song of the Day: Boston lead singer Brad Delp also passed away this weekend, though not from a gunshot wound to the face. Either way, sad stuff. In tribute to Mr. Delp, here's Foreplay/Long Time, Rock & Roll Band, and More Than a Feeling.

Slack Link of the Day: It's Tourney Time again, and I know nothing. I've been following the college basketball season fairly closely, not expert status, but I've seen enough to know what's what. And I feel confident about 12 of the first 32 games, and I'll probably lose those. But there is one site you should bookmark and routinely check over the next few weeks, and that's SI.com's Tourney Blog. Do it.

You Be Illin'

2007-03-08T10:09:00.000-05:00

On the list of things that are entirely unawesome, waking up with a fever and the Alternating Chills & Sweats the day of a big trip has to be near the top of said list. If I overdose on whatever brand of non-drowsy Tylenol I picked up last night, at least I can say I was trying to squash the pain in order to have some fun in my life. Well, I guess that's how everybody overdoses. But I'm special (needs).

In feeling sad for myself and this awful temporary illness, I thought about Nuprin today. Whatever happened to that fucker? Little, yellow, different, better. I used to love that slogan, and I think youse all did too. I always thought Michael Chang should have been their pitchman, because, hey, doesn't that kinda describe him too?

And then I got to thinking about pitchmen in general, and a grand idea hit me. I've never been to a Buffalo Wild Wings eatery, and until they started increasing their ad presence I'd never even heard of them. But now they have commercials on nonstop, though I still have no clue where they are. Regardless of all that, are these people kidding me by not having Tone Loc do their mershes? Sing it with me now: "She loves to eat at Wild Wings." Wild Wangs, duh, duh duh, da da, Wild Wangs. I'd start eating there every day if they pulled that off. Not really.

Anyway, I feel terrible and I'm off in an hour to the Langerado Music Festival in sunny Florida. I won't be Slackin' it up tomorrow, but I will be posting over on Hidden Track throughout the weekend. So if you're one of the 10 people in the crowd here that enjoys my musical taste, feel free to check in over there for some weekend updates. As for the rest of youse -- well, you're on your own tomorrow. I suggest suicide.

Slack Link of the Day: These letters to the FCC about Prince's Super Bowl halftime performance can't be real, right? Gotta be someone fucking with them. Wow, check this one out, which contains the sentence: "Thanks CBS for turning my son GAY." Awesome.

Just For the Shit of It

2007-03-07T17:39:00.000-05:00

Just saw this and had to throw it up here on my way out...

That's awesome. I love YouTube. I'm in love with YouTube.

I've Been Swimming in Raw Sewage

2007-03-07T11:58:00.000-05:00

Some of youse expected me to sound off on the Thomas Jones to the Jets trade yesterday. But like the time I walked in on my grandparents fuckin' as the family dog licked some shit, I really don't know what to say here. I love it? Of course I love it. It's a total Schiavo.

The Jets traded down 26 spots in the second round of the NFL draft to #63, but they still own another pick in that round (#59). Even though he split carries with Cedric Benson, Jones has rushed for 2,500 yards over the past two seasons and brings that level of play to a running game that finished 30th out of 32 teams last year. We've got a solid offensive line, we just needed a top-tier running back.

Wanna make a big deal out of his age (29)? Just remember that only once has he rushed the ball more than 300 times in a season. He's got experience but no real wear and tear. He ain't a virgin, but he certainly ain't refusing money to do bukkake scenes just because he loves it so much. I can't confirm that.

So that's it. If we're gonna talk football in March, we might as well talk about the Champions League Round of 16 that's unfolding this week (yesterday and today). My Reds and Fiedler's Blues have both advanced to the final eight, but the two memorable moments from yesterday's action came from unexpected sources: a brilliant goal by Roma winger Mancini in a somewhat shocking 2-0 win and a classic brawl at the end of the Inter v. Valencia match.

I know most of youse couldn't care less about the sport, but check out these videos. If you're not blown away by the athleticism of that Mancini goal I'll refund your money. Just watch as he undresses the defender, totally embarrassing him...

That's gotta be the best one-on-one, create-space-for-yourself goals I've seen this year. Unreal. But it pales in comparison to watching Valencia's David Navarro (not that Dave Navarro) run away from a punch and some scissor tackles like a little girl.

I have no ending for this post, so...stop bothering me.

Slack Link of the Day: You hear about this plane crash in Indonesia? This website has some raw footage of the scene (not the crash).

Slack Song of the Day: I'm stealing this SSOTD from Scotty's Intermezzo post on HT today. From this week's edition of the Grateful Dead's Taper's Section, check out a pretty cool version of the Dead playing Lennon's Watching the Wheels in 1995.

Whores In Heat

2007-03-06T12:23:00.000-05:00

I'm pretty busy at the ol' day job here today, so let's instead turn to one of the best "news in brief" kind of articles I've read recently.

Global Warming: now it hits brothels

Brothel owners in Bulgaria are blaming global warming for staff shortages.

They claim their best girls are working in ski resorts because a lack of snow has forced tourists to seek other pleasures.

Petra Nestorova, who runs an escort agency in Sofia, said: 'We have hired students, but they are temps and nothing like our elite girls.'

My heart weeps for the Bulgarian brothel owners who've been hurt by this climate change catastrophe. At least they've hired students, though ther'es no word whether these are high school or college aged students. I think I speak for everybody when I say, "Six of one..."

Slack Video of the Day: This one was all over Deadspin and the rest of the Interweb yesterday, but since I've got nothing better to post in this daily space, you get it anyway: What happens when a dunker in a dunk contest fails to clear an obstacle?

Slack Song of the Day: Some Pat Metheny came on the ol' iPod this morning, right after The Velvet Underground's beautiful Oh, Sweet Nuthin'. And since I can't find that online, here's some Pat Metheny: What Do You Want?, The Sun In Montreal, and (Go) Get It.

My Nephew Is 1? Shit, Quick Year.

2007-03-05T13:47:00.001-05:00

Like the main character in Memento, Li'l Red Cowboy has no ability whatsoever to permanently recollect anything. But that didn't stop my brother and sister-in-law from throwing that little fucker a big party yesterday and a nice dinner tonight (he can't eat real food either, so tonight's event is doubly unbelievable). I bet that tiny dude doesn't even say "thank you" for any of this shit.

The two-hour party brought at least 25 kids below the age of four into my Sunday. And if you know me well, you know how much I genuinely love to get my ass off the couch, not hit a bowl first thing in the morning, head out to Lawn Gisland and play with screaming kids for a few hours on a nice Sunday afternoon. Right up my alley.

The party's entertainment came in the form of a goateed guitarist in his 30s, and he did an excellent job of keeping the children amused. Songs segued into one another, broken up only by a celebratory arm pump to the ceiling (you'll see it below, though the sound is about two seconds delayed from the picture for some reason), and until he accidentally knocked a conga drum into my nephew's face, I think he had the entire crowd won over. Li'l Red wanted to hear some kid's songs, instead he walked away with a shiner.

I commend this music man for his abilities to entertain small children through song, but I can't help but laugh at the thought that this guy has to act like a toddler in front of adults...constantly. I wonder what his real weekday job is -- this can't be it -- and whether his employers know that on weekends he's on his knees acting silly and singing the ABCs > Wheels on the Bus, pumping a fist in the air to denote the end of each and every song. I tried to picture him in a suit trying to get the best print trading soy futures when he broke into his Elmo voice.

But who am I to judge? I bet he's much happier doing this on the weekends than I am doing whatever the fuck it is I'm doing.

And this weekend I did nothing. Well, at night at least. During the days I was out and about, but Friday night I stayed home and watched Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, and then Doc Hoobs came over on Saturday night for Idiocracy. I thought both movies were pretty damn good, though the former had a couple of devices that it could have done without. The latter, I thought it was about as funny a flick as I've seen in some time. Both now come highly recommended from me to youse...

Slack Song Video of the Day: My man J-Cantor sent me this video earlier today, a great clip of The Roots covering some U2 at the NAACP Awards this past weekend. As MakeitHappen77 wrote out for us, here's what the setlist looked like, with Bono looking on in the crowd: Sunday Bloody Sunday Intro > Pride (In the Name of Love) > War (What Is It Good For?) > Pride (In the Name of Love). Well done, members of The Roots, well done.

(I don't even wanna get started on the fact that I woke up at 7:15 am on Saturday for the Liverpool/Manchester United match that ended oh so poorly. Eff you, John O'Shea. Just know that if my Reds give up the 2-1 lead against Barcelona in the Champions League tomorrow at Anfield, you're all goin' down in a big way...)

Whackin' That Horsehide

2007-03-05T09:46:00.000-05:00

~~Don Fiedler~~ Bronx Banter just unearthed this little WPIX gem here...

Whackin' that horsehide?! Hey, isn't that what David Cone was doing in the dugout that time? I wanna write jingles for a living. New job.

What Would You Do for a Klondike Bar?

2007-03-01T15:06:00.000-05:00

I was about to craft a whole post around this "Man blames burrito for paralysis" story, but my man Coach just threw me a bigger and better bone. Okay, that came out a bit wrong.

CNN Money recently profiled a 34-year-old lottery winner named Brad Duke, detailing how the Idahoan Gold's Gym manager spent his $85 million lump sum winnings. It's a quick read and a marvelous tale of fiscal responsiblity, friendship and familial back-scratching, and I request you take a little gander at this piece now.

I think everyone I know would be a bit more aggressive than Mr. Duke, probably buying property around the country and world, splurging on trips for high school and college buddies, and tearing through escort after escort until a chafed penis forced the sad cancellation of such daily Bacchanalian orgies and feasts.

But it's amazing to me with all that money people still go broke after just a few years. This guy is on pace to grow his net worth to a billion dollars in 12 years. It seems to me (and my friend Monk who just said this) he'd make even more money consulting for other lottery winners and taking a percentage of their winnings for doing so.

So the real question is, what's the most extravagant and unnecessary thing you'd buy or do with a virtually unlimited sum of money like $85 million? I say unnecessary because the answer can't be "I'll finally get that heart transplant I couldn't afford," though I don't know many people on the waiting list that read this blog.

If you think my answer's not predictable like Ace Cowboy Presents the Popular Rock Band Phish Reunion at Bowery Ballroom for a Maximum of 200 of His Closest Friends, well, you just don't know me very well. Well, it's either that or get the breast enlargement that I've always wanted but couldn't afford. Spill it, what's on your list?

Like What I Like

2007-03-01T11:50:00.000-05:00

The madmen geniuses that brought you such hits as The State and Wet Hot American Summer are back with a new flick. I hadn't seen too much hype surrounding The Ten, but now I can't imagine being anywhere else on opening night. Maybe on my couch. We'll see.

According to Comedy Central Insider, "David Wain's The Ten has generated several metric assloads of hype since screening at Sundance. Word has it, if you loved Wet Hot American Summer, you'll want to have The Ten's abortion. Incidently, if you didn't love Wet Hot American Summer, you're probably in al Qaeda, so you might want to keep it to yourself." Now that's some fantastic writing right there.

And you can see two more videos here...great tacos today, Jake.

Slack Link of the Day: I like this headline: "Dog With College Degree Called to Court." I hate this pun: "The issue gives 'one pause, if not paws, for concern.'" Yikes, that's horrific.

Slack Blog Link of the Day: Ethan over at Strong as a Can is back in business, beginning his full MLB team-by-team season preview. Get on over there and learn a thing or two from an MIT dork that could probably be the 14th best GM in besibol right now. I'm dead serious.

Slack Song of the Day: The Sheik of Araby, Django Reinhardt. Give this one a listen, you're gonna enjoy the nuts out of it.

Craigslist Gold: Vasectomy

2007-02-28T09:33:00.000-05:00

I'm gonna hand the keys over to a complete stranger today, not out of general laziness or lack of ideas, but rather out of deference to an incredible story. I don't care if this turns out to be one man's vivid imagination, it's too good not to pass on. So without further (Freddy) ado, here's an all-star Craigslist tale about a vasectomy...

I'll try to sum up a funny story that happened a few years ago:

I got a vasectomy.

I met a girl soon afterwards. She was nice and attractive but with a selfish streak that raised a big red flag. She was 32 at the time and I could practically HEAR her biological clock ticking. Regardless, she was a good lay, easy on the eyes, and reasonably good company.

I did NOT tell her about my vasectomy and I always used a condom with her to protect against STDs. She assumed, obviously, that the condom was only used for birth control. Silly girl.

We date for a few months. I never made any move towards commitment but she brought it up ocassionally. For me, this was a casual but pleasant relationship. For her - as I was to find out - it was part of life-changing series of events that she was planning very carefully.

Four months into dating, I get the "I'm pregnant" talk. She's going on and on about how the condom must have broke and now we really need to think about getting married "for the baby". She's positively giddy. She has a baby in her and she thinks she's gonna have a good meal ticket (me) to go along with her new 7lb annuity.

At this point, I'm just as giddy. I get to pull the reverse "oops" on her. I figured that she slept with some bad boy and got knocked up. Good thing I was using condoms! Better still that I have a serious mistrust of women who can't think beyond their own uteri.

So I wait a couple of days to "think about all this." I meet her again. I say I don't want kids and that she should have an abortion. I know where this is going and sure enough it goes there. She goes completely batshit insane on me. There were the usual insults about my manhood. There were threats of legal action. It was all very ugly and I was loving every minute of it.

Well, I let her stew for a few days. She leaves me nasty messages on my phone. She sends awful emails. I'm laughing hysterically.

It was time to drop the hammer. While she was stewing I was busy. First I get a notarized copy from the urologist who performed the vasectomy. Next I get a notarized copy of the TWO test results indicating a "negative test result for sperm" to show I'm sterile and shooting blanks. Finally, I get a letter from a shark attorney stating he has seen the other documents and is prepared to litigate against this woman if she continues to communicate with me in such an unpleasant manner. Also, the letter states that we will insist on DNA testing to show that the baby is not mine. I'm ready.

I meet with this woman at her place. I bring flowers and a small bit of jewelry to show I am willing to reconcile and assume my responsibilities as a new father. I also have stuck in my pocket the documents I have prepared.

She's all giddy again. Her plan is going perfectly - or so she thinks. We talk about our future. We have some pretty good sex. Then, as I am about to walk out the door, I ask her the $64,000 question. "Are you sure that this baby is mine?"

Well, she goes batshit insane again. Hell, she ought to. Her plan could completely unravel if there is ANY question about my paternity. Oh, she's really screaming now. How dare I question her morals. Do I think she's a slut. I'm just trying to weasel out of my responsibilities... blah, blah, blah, yadda, yadda, yadda.

I'm not really mad. I'm kind of embarrassed for her. But since she won't shut up and the neighbors can hear all of this, I ask her to step back inside and sit down. She sits on the sofa and calms down a bit. She is glaring at me with all the moral self-righteousness that only a woman can muster up. She thinks she has me trapped. She is 100% convinced her plan has worked. Oh, the tangled web of lies and deceit she has wrought around herself and I am about to hack through them with a few pieces of paper.

I reach into my pocket slowly. I extract the three pieces of paper and unfold them slowly and deliberately.

I tell her simply, "You're screwed".

Her look doesn't change. There is no way she can fathom what I have prepared.

I continue. "I am sterile"

Her look changes just a bit. Something is beginning to sink in. Naturally, she reverts to women's logic. "You're full of shit. You're trapped and you know it."

I hold up the letter and the test results. "Three months before we met, I had a vasectomy. Here is a notarized letter from him stating what I had done. Here are two test results showing that I tested negative for the presence of sperm. Blanks. I am shooting blanks. That baby inside you is simply not mine."

This woman is not to be swayed by logic and clear documentation. "Bullshit, those are fakes."

I was ready for that. "No, they are real. This last piece of paper is from my attorney. It's a simple letter to you that states if you pursue any kind of legal action against me for child support that I will insist on a DNA test to prove paternity, that is, to prove that your baby is not mine."

I give the woman all the documents. She reads them slowly, deliberately. With each passing second she can feel in her soul that she has made a very bad mistake. With denial swept away, she started to cry. It's a small cry at first. Then it becomes deeper and more painful. By the time she gets to the letter from the lawyer she is sobbing.

I had no sympathy for her. I turned and walked out the door. Even after I closed the door I could still hear her sobbing.

Epilogue -

I never heard directly from this woman again. I did hear through my friends that she did indeed have the baby. I also heard that the real father was some guy in a band she had met. I assumed that after 30, women stopped going after musicians, bikers, criminals, and thugs. Silly me for thinking the best of American women.

The Moral of the Story: Get a vasectomy but keep it a secret.

(Thanks to our friend Teddy for passing this one along)

Slack Link of the Day: I'd love to see a Super Troopers fan at the helm of a major paper, only so we can catch a headline about this story about fake anthrax on a Missouri college campus that reads "Officer Farva to College Kids: It's Powdered Sugar, It's Delicious."

Slack Video of the Day: Here's a great one from Deadspin, one that makes us all pine for the carefree college days...

Slack Song of the Day: I have no idea how this happened, but I'm about to post Kenny Loggins movie tunes. My apologies. But they're awesome. Enjoy them. Cherish them.

Here we go: I'm Alright [Caddyshack], Meet Me Half Way [Over the Top], I'm Free (Heaven Helps the Man) [Footloose], and of course, Danger Zone [Top Gun]. Loggins + Movies = Genius.

Slack Show of the Day: Ya know, it's the four-year anniversary of the 2/28/03 epicness at Nassau Coliseum. And I'd be remiss if I didn't post a link to the most debated and disputed show in Phish's entire history. As an eyewitness to the aural carnage, I think it was the best concert of theirs I saw after the [first] hiatus, and I'll just leave it at that. And anyone who bashes it based on others' more positive reactions should die of gonorrhea and rot in hell. Laces out!

Shaun Livingston's Knee Surgeon, I Presume?

2007-02-27T13:23:00.000-05:00

It ain't as bad as Joe Theismann, but don't watch this if you're a bit on the squeamish side...it's not what you'd call a pretty injury.

I swear I've seen a lot of stuff in my life. But that...was...awesome! Sorry 'bout your [knee], man, that...sucks. --Thomas Callahan III

Wait, Hold It, Lemme Get This Straight...

2007-02-27T11:28:00.000-05:00

Tell me which is worse: The fact that my biggest television guilty pleasure is the occasional Deal Or No Deal episode or the fact that this contestant has made over his entire physical appearance so that he's looked just like Howie Mandel since the show debuted?

Wait, I know the answer, and it's not me. I swear it's not.

So let me get this all sorted out in my head here: Of the world's six and a half billion people, and of this country's 300 million, the man you've chosen to emulate almost to the point of scary single white female obsession is fucking Howie Mandel? Are you shitting me? Are you (Yahoo) serious? Shit, now that I say his name, I think molding your appearance to look like Yahoo Serious makes more sense to me.

All my life I've wanted to look exactly like a C-level celebrity, and this contestant is living my very dream. He's the one that gets to answer, "Yes, I've been told that!" when passersby ask him, "Holy shit, anyone ever tell you that you look just like that awfully unfunny comedian who used to blow up a rubber glove on his head in a patethtic attempt to get people to laugh with him?" That's gotta be a fun conversation.

Good for you, Fake Howie, or whatever your real name is (I'm guessing it's not Fowie Fandel). You say your daughters love it and I believe you. So if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go convince my mom to re-make herself into Elayne Boosler and my dad into Dom Irrera.

Slack Link of the Day: This middle-school teacher is so unmistakably moronic that I'll just excerpt the cop's statement: "She learned her lesson. Program your dealers into your phone."

Slack Video of the Day: For a look back at the dawning of the Age of Aquarius and the burgeoning psychedelic movement, check out this strangely inviting 1966 promo clip of Donovan’s Sunshine Superman.

Slack Song of the Day: One of my old favorites has come home to roost -- here's that wicked Plane Crash from the Treymoe.deski Tsunami Benefit at the Roseland Ballroom in February 2005.

Run, Forrest Al, Run

2007-02-26T11:00:00.000-05:00

There was a moment when Leo D and Albie Gore were doing shtick last night when the former vice man faked an announcement that he'd be running for the presidency in 2008. The shtick ended poorly and predictably, and its comedy was only matched by Clint Eastwood translating Italian from some lifetime achievement symphony dude.

But I think Gore should have announced his intentions, for real, right there, and I'm not even half-kidding. And I'm not talking about doing it for teevee ratings, I just think the timing would have been perfect. Tell me you wouldn't have committed to voting for him right then and there if he delivered the following speech I'm now creating on the fly:

Ladies and gentlemen, I'm in it. I'm down. Gore in the hizzy.

I thought the 2000 election would be the worst thing that ever happened to me. But in reality, that bitterly contested loss set me free. That loss helped me become a complete person, not just the fake-smiling bozo deluxe I had become that pretended to affect change. I was my father's son -- my father, the politician -- and the pressure I faced on a daily basis from the time I was young to become the President of the United States made me uneasy and cautious.

But after more than six years free from the bastardized partisan political system that's been attacking the heart of our democracy, I can tell you in all honesty I no longer have the time for polemics nor the inclination to count the many ways that congressional gridlock fills campaign coffers. I am not beholdened to a party any more, unless there's a party fighting for the greater good of which I'm unaware.

The United States of America has been humbled on the world stage by our own unconscionable hubris and gross incompetence -- hoisted by our own petard, if you're into old timey cliches. We can all stand up and say we want change and claim we will change, but we have to be about change. And it starts with the way we choose our leaders. Some of the candidates on both sides of the aisle are friends of mine, but do we really want another gladhanding career politician in the White House? I used to be one, and I'd go back kick my own ass if I could.

I'm about getting things done, not about appearances. I have clout with world leaders and the leaders of the largest global corporations. The issues that matter most to the world matter most to me, in real life, not on the campaign trail. And I'm ready to bring positive change to this country and to the world, to repair the seemingly irreparable damage we've incurred to our global standing, our military, our education system, our environment, and most of all, our sense of being an American. I want to revert to a time when everyone felt pride for this country, when everyone felt we were, in fact, a force for good. It's time to put an end to our love of plastering Canadian flags on our backpacks and luggage to be liked.

I don't think I have all the right answers, but I know what I'm capable of. I know what you're capable of, and together, I know what this country is capable of. I'm not asking you to vote for me, I'm asking you to listen to me and watch me, and I guarantee you'll find the man you want leading this country for the next four years. And if I lose, I'll grow back the beard and never shave it off. I promise you that. Good night, and may God bless deez nuts.

P.S. I just made out with Ellen backstage. True story.

Slack Link of the Day: Stay away from Rulon Gardner! The former Olympic wrestling champ is basically filming his own version of Final Destination 4. The rasslin' hero of the 2000 Olympics survived a small plane crash over the weekend, just a couple years after being rescued in the Wyoming wilderness (though he lost a toe to frostbite) and getting hit by a car while riding his motorcycle. I want a "Rulon Gardner Wrestles Death and Wins" shirt.

(Oh, and in case you're interested, I watched Final Destination 3 recently. It's as not awesome as you think.)

Slack Video of the Day: Don Fiedler and I hit up the Red Lion around the corner from my apartment for the early Sunday morning Carling Cup Final between powerhouse Chelsea and powerhouse-but-sitting-all-their-starters Arsenal. The match paired up Arseweb youth versus Chavski experience, and it certainly did not disappoint. For Americans looking to dip their toes into the sport without diving all the way in (I made a diving joke there because that's the number one complaint I hear about English footie), this was the match to watch.

In addition to the spirited up-and-down play throughout and surprise early dominance by the young Arsenal squad, we saw John Terry get kicked in the face and knocked unconscious, Theo Walcott score his first ever goal for the Gunners, and a quasi-brawl erupt between the two sides in injury time. Shit, this was probably the first time I ever saw more than 100 minutes of soccer played without the regulated extra time required to break a tie.

But the goal that won it was incredible Didier Drogba header off a cross from Mr. Jazz Hands himself, Arjen Robben. Check that shit out. Chelsea should have won this match, no doubt. But it was the manner in which they won it that made this one one of the most interesting League Cup finals in a long time. And the full English breakfast was lovely. Delicious.

Slack Song of the Day: Let's hit up some North Mississippi Allstars music this morning, just for this shit of it, 'cuz I got nuthin' else: Shake 'Em On Down, Bad Bad Pain, and Snake Drive.

I Want a New Case

2007-02-23T12:30:00.000-05:00

I never remember my dreams. Ever. I guess that's the downside of habitual drug use. Well, one of many downsides, including but not limited to dry-mouthedness and being a fucking idiot all the time.

But this morning I woke up with that all-too-real feeling that the lucid dream I just had (and actually remembered) wasn't in my head. I didn't dream I ate a huge marshmallow and woke up with my pillow missing a la Bazooka Joe, but my first moments of being awake this morning came with a confusion I'd like to never experience again.

It started off innocently enough. Walking down 5th Avenue with my brother and mother, my cell phone rang with some disheartening news. Both my grandmothers and my great aunt had died, apparently all of old age with no connection to each other. The three of us wept openly, but somehow this news did not deter us from walking into an obviously fictional establishment that was part-OTB, part-casino and part-jewelry store. I'm pretty sure it was a co-venture owned by Bobby Flay and Scott Baio called "Scott and Bobby's House of Awesome."

I began to play a game with which I was wholly unfamiliar. It involved a briefcase with numbers and hooks on the inside and a batch of keychains with numbers on them. If the numbers on all 10 random keychains matched up with numbers inside your briefcases, I would've won $3 million (a figure that my subconscious somehow bumped up to $28 million later in the dream). I began to play as my brother and mother watched intently.

So far so good, cruising along, the first five all matched. Then the sixth, the seventh, the eighth, the ninth, and ultimately, without building the drama any further, all 10 matched. To quote that weird guy from Vegas Vacation, "I won the money. I won the money." I had just won $3 million, but none of the three of us wanted to celebrate publicly. We silently toasted our victory and dedicated it to our family members who had just been pronounced dead.

My brother and mother left this place, and I closed up my winning briefcase. I was about to go cash in when a salesperson of sorts of the floor came over and asked, "You won, didn't you? You just won $28 million, didn't you?" It was loud enough to cause a commotion, and people started to flock to my station. "No, no. No winner here," I bellowed, hoping these scavengers would disperse. And that's when it all went downhill for me...

A man with a raspy voice next to me said, "Let's see what's in the case then" and he started clutching at it, which is when I started to panic. "Stop, stop!" I yelled, but this man kept reaching for it and trying to open my briefcase in one motion. He overpowered me and took control, setting it on the table and opening it up. "Looks like you won," he said, and then I noticed who it was: Huey Lewis.

Fucking Huey swiped my winning case, and now the crowd was so large because I'm a winner and Huey Lewis is in the House of Awesome. And as the crowd engulfed us, my case fell to the floor in slow motion, keychains flying everywhere, things breaking off. The sales girl immediately raised her hand and says to me she says, "I'm sorry, sir, but the briefcase touching the floor disqualifies you from the winnings. I can't verify that nobody pulled a switcharoo while it was on the ground." WHAT?!

I pleaded for what seemed like hours, but I couldn't get anywhere. The rules were rules, and I was entitled to nothing. I screamed at Huey Lewis repeatedly, cursing his name, even dropping him my story of the world-famous Huey Lewis Coincidence, and all he could give me was a halfhearted shrug and a plea that he "didn't do it, maaaan."

And just as I was about to pull out my nine, I woke up. Strange. Any dream doctors in the house wanna take a swipe at that badboy?

Slack Video of the Day: Thanks to my man coach for finding this...

Slack Song of the Day: It's Herbie Hancock. Covers. Do it.

Don't Even Try It

2007-02-22T16:12:00.000-05:00

Strangely, this PSA is 100 percent real, and I've never seen it:

Now if only someone told him at an early age how addicting masturbating in public theatres can truly be...I know from experience.

You'll Never Swing Alone

2007-02-22T14:39:00.000-05:00

Bear with me through this post, then I promise I'll get back to real blogging...

I know, you're all tired of the soccer shit. But this is bigger than soccer. This is about being a huge fucking jerk. And we love that.

This is about a man with the ugliest human qualities getting a shot at fleeting redemption and improbably ending up in the history books. This is about a seemingly disheveled club coming together after a hellish weekend to score twice on foreign soil for one of the biggest victories in recent history.

This is about a guy allegedly attacking a teammate with a golf club and both of them ending up on the scoresheet, together forever like Rick Astley says, with the winning goal coming from the foot of a man who had been victimized by the very teammate who delivered him a perfect pass. You honestly can't write endings like that.

As I mentioned the other day, Craig Bellamy is a jerk. He's a bigger horse's ass than Terrell Owens with a rap sheet longer than a black man's cock. And yet he got the starting nod, even after this weekend's ridiculousness. So when he scored to level Liverpool with the defending Champions League trophy holders, the might Barthelona, he only had one thought on how to celebrate:

That's right, a Johnny Carson-style swing. He could have gone all Joe Horn on us and brought out a real golf club from somewhere on the pitch, but instead played air golf. Bloody brilliant. So let's recap: Bellamy hit Riise with a club, expressed no remorse, got the starting nod, scored a huge goal and then celebrated by swinging a fake golf club. And if that's not the greatest asshole move in sports, I'm not sure what can top it. It may be English football, but that level of dickheadedness is about American as apple pie.

Either way, huge win for my Reds. I'm not complaining.

Self-Promotional Milestone: One Million

2007-02-21T13:46:00.000-05:00

Ladies and gentlemen, I'm pleased to announce that at 1:37 and 20 seconds, a fine young gentleman or lady from the Towerstream Corporation in New York City became the one-millionth overall visitor to the fierce playground of irreverence known as Slack LaLane.

We'd like to commemorate this event by filming ourselves jerking off to the Sitemeter (back-lit) and then watching it on a loop for the next 24 to 36 hours. It's gonna be awesome...and hot.

Many thanks to all of youse that helped make this possible, and a special thanks to the 1,000,000th visitor, who may or may not be receiving a set of steak knives and a Best of Richard Moll DVD.

What Is Art? Is Art Art?

2007-02-21T10:45:00.000-05:00

So CNN's Paula Zahn is running a prime-time special tonight called Hip Hop: Art or Poison, attached to the tagline "Shocking images and lyrics have America asking if hip-hop has gone too far."

Art or Poison? Jeeeez. I can't understand something like "Art or Not," but "Art or Poison?" That doesn't seem, like, you know, racist?

What, was "Art or Gangbanging Thugs Trying To Sleep With Your White Wife and Steal Your Son's Wallet and Bike?" too long to fit on the screen? Didn't want to go with "Art of Just No-Talent Darkies Trying To Widen the Growing Generation Gap Between You and Your Pants-Sagging, Hat-Tilting Wigger Kid?" I mean, if I were running the news network, I'd go with "Art or N-Words?" Basically the same.

Slack Link of the Day: Someone needs to tell Crossing Over Presidential Candidate John Edwards that the best path to the White House does NOT involve pissing off the Jews: "Perhaps the greatest short-term threat to world peace, Edwards remarked, was the possibility that Israel would bomb Iran's nuclear facilities." He may wake up with a pig's head and a latke in his bed.

Slack Song and Video of the Day: Since I've now watched my boy Scott Metzger nail Richard Thompson's incredible 1952 Vincent Black Lightning tune at his last two solo gigs, I thought I'd post an original version here. Damn good stuff. Must watch.

(Bonus points for anyone who can identify the post title's speaker)

T.O. Is a Pussy

2007-02-20T11:30:00.000-05:00

You think Terrell Owens is a clubhouse cancer? Think Romanowski was a douchebottle? Liverpool striker Craig Bellamy makes them look like high-school hall monitors with perfect attendance badges.

I happen to support the most boring team in English football right now. They've been incredibly fun to root for in previous seasons, but this year it's like watching paint dry, or stated more Britishly, it's like watching the lift ascend and descend. Waking up early on Saturdays for Liverpool matches this year has been like driving 35 miles for a 1950s Indiana high school basketball game.

Yet somehow my Reds went all Cincinnati Bengals on us this weekend, eschewing any signs of life on the pitch for plenty of action off of it. Leave it to the Welsh to start trouble: Buddy Lembeck lookalike Craig Bellamy allegedly attacked Norwegian teammate John Arne Riise with a golf club following a dispute over karaoke (a Fjordian slip, Craig?). Nobody's particularly sure whether the argument stemmed from Bellamy's desire to sing 2 in a Room's Wiggle It and Riise's choice of 3rd Bass' Pop Goes the Weasel or whether there was another reason.

Liverpool players also made waves elsewhere this weekend in Portugal, where the club was practicing before tomorrow's enormous match against Barcelona in the Champion's League (the last two CL winners facing off). Three other known jerks -- Jerzey Dudek, Robbie Fowler and Jermaine Pennant -- got into a barroom scrape, proving you do never walk alone or drink alone or fight alone, and they may or may not have had a run-in with la policia. In all, manager ~~Buster Bluth~~ Rafa Benitez fined 15 of his 22 players today.

But the real story here is Bellamy's penchant for jerkstoreishness. Again, think T.O. and Romo were bad dudes? Bellamy's dwarfs these fools: He's even been described many times as the only person that can start an argument with himself. On the field he's Esa Tikkanen and Claude Lemieux on meth; off it, he's part-Mike Tyson and part-Ike Turner, making for one full-time asshole.

In the past five years, the 27-year-old Bellamy has hit a woman in a nightclub, he assaulted a local student while at Newcastle, he's been charged with racially aggravated harassment outside a nightclub (though later acquitted), he headbutted an opponent before Zidane made it cool, he threw a chair at Newcastle's assistant manager, he was fined £80,000 for calling his manager a liar (which led Graeme Souness to grab Bellamy by the throat and drag him into the empty Newcastle training-ground gym), and recently he was cleared of assaulting a teenage girl in a nightclub, which I'm sure he did anyway.

I'm not sure where striking your mild-mannered left midfielder/ defender with an iron AFTER the fact ranks on Bellamy's list of transgressions. But, shit, if it fires up the Reds for the Champions League fixture at Camp Nou/Nou Camp in Barcelona tomorrow, I'll be one happy man. Do it for Riise's bruises, boys.

For more on the Champions League, make sure to stop by and read Cardillo's latest post over at That's On Point, which has quickly turned into my favorite blog on the world wide cyberweb.

Slack Link of the Day: Hey, how long's it been since I posted a Strong Bad e-mail in this space? Let's rectify that shit, post-haste.

Slack Video of the Day: For the record, the only part of NBA All Star Weekend that was actually entertaining was the Chaz Barkley v Dick Bavetta footrace (and the smooching aftermath). Seriously, Barkley needs to race someone every year. Make this happen.

Slack Song of the Day: This morning I posted a link to this Bela Fleck and Bruce Hornsby stream over on Hidden Track, and it's so good I thought I'd share it here as well. Piano and banjo, an lovely duo.

Mid-get Fight, Mid-get Fight

2007-02-16T11:08:00.000-05:00

Jerry Springer really should be the President of these United States. He's got his finger on the pulse of America more than just about anybody out there, except for maybe Tim Hardway.

Slack Quotation of the Day: I just started watching the underrated Sarah Silverman Program, and I'm really glad I did. Last night's episode had one of the better delivered lines of all time, from Sarah to her AIDS Awareness staffers: "We have a chance to make change. If we can put a man on the moon, we can put a man with AIDS on the moon. And then someday, we can put everyone with AIDS on the moon. So who's with me?" Classic stuff.

Slack Song of the Day: My friend Neddy reviewed last night's Arcade Fire show at Judson Memorial Church around the corner from my apartment, and at the end we included a link to download the 2/13/07 show there. Check it out, and it's all yours.

He Got Skeeeeellz, Balls on Chin

2007-02-15T09:01:00.000-05:00

I wish I had a huge vault of reserves like Scrooge McDuck. Aside from the leisurely baths in a giant pit of Krugerrands I'd enjoy regularly, I'd also have the financial flexibility to take out 10 full-page ads in the NBA All Star Game program that all proclaim in 72-point bolded font "Timmy Hardaway loves the cock." I seen it.

The mike cut out and the video doesn't show this, but Hardway went on to express his all-out hatred for cockfighting, Dick Butkus, all books and articles by Gay Talese, both the colon and the semicolon, the Shaft movie franchise, ECW wrestler Balls Mahoney, and the One-Eyed Willie character from The Goonies. Smart move, buddy...they don't call him Timmmmay for nuthin'. At least I don't think.

Nice work by my man AJ on the Timmy graphic...

Slack Link of the Day: I think I'm in the wrong business -- I should be breeding ants: "A Chinese business executive was sentenced to death for swindling $385 million from investors in a bogus ant-breeding scheme, a court official said Thursday." Yahtzee on all counts. I mean, does it cost that much to breed ants? And if you're caught, you die? Wow. China's pretty fuckin' awesome.

Slack Video of the Day: My friend Siwook passed this Monty Python sketch along this morning, something I'd seen but had forgotten just how fucking brilliant it is. It's the Greeks versus the Germans, an excellent match-up of International Philosophy. Clever girl.

Slack Song of the Day: I woke feeling a little bit of the rock and/or roll. Let's kick it with some Rose Hill Drive -- here's Look on Yonder's Wall, The Showdown and The Guru from 4/7/06 in Boulder.

Happy Valentine's Day...Go Fuck Yourselves

2007-02-14T09:22:00.000-05:00

For lack of a better post, let's turn back the clock one year and take a look at one of my favorite (and only) female-related posts. It's the best I got on this thing called Valentine's Day.

I mean, I remember this snippet of conversation like yesterday:

Drunk Girl: I can't believe you're rejecting me. Nobody rejects me. Don't you know I just dated Michael Olowokandi?
Ace Cowboy: The Kandi Man? Wow, I really like the Clippers.
DG: Well, I like three things: hard alcohol, big cock, and hip hop.
AC: I can provide you none of those things. I've heard of hip hop, though.

Ahhh, the salad days, when going to Mad River was a decent idea. I can't wait to give myself the date rape drug and take advantage of my junk tonight. It's gonna be a solid V-Day without the V.

Art + Slides = Museums Rock

2007-02-13T11:30:00.000-05:00

You thought we were finished with the Great United Kingdom Recap, didn't ya? No, our little experiment in exhibitionism meets voyeurism ain't done, and it's high time we returned to my Anglophilic douchebaggery disguised as subpar blogging.

To make matters worse, I'm gonna go all Artsy Johnson on you with this one. Okay, not really. I was told I had to get to the Tate Modern while touring London, something I had already planned but needed some motivation to actually accomplish. Modern art on a soccer trip? It was 50/50. But three of my friends had just returned from our jolly ol' mercantile motherland, and they informed me of a surprise that'd await us should we follow through on our plans.

My mind went nuts. A can't-miss surprise? Maybe Sir Elton John and his wife Dame Olivia Newton-John are playing the lobby! Maybe they have real pterodactyls flying around the main floor! Maybe the GEICO Cavemen sing showtunes for passersby! Possibilities: endless.

As it turned out, the surprise was even cooler than promised: They had fucking slides. The Tate featured working, curvy, fast-paced shiny metallic tubes like waterless waterslides that patrons could take from the third, fourth and fifth floors all the way to the bottom. For free. This was too good to be true, and Don and I couldn't wait to try these fuckers out. Come on and take a free riiiide.

As it turns out, the slides are free, but you still need a ticket with a reserved time stamped on it to ride down. And since the fourth and fifth floors were jam-packed and we didn't have all the time in the world, we could only do the third-floor slide. Still, better than nothing. Below, check out Don's launching into the slide.

And now for the moment nobody's been waiting for, here's a full clip I took of my eight-second Ride Down the Tate Slide.

And, praise Jebus, your ol' pal Ace makes it out the other side:

You cannot misunderestimate for one second how cool it is to see a Dali and a Rothko and a Jackson Pollack (or is it Jackson Hewitt?) and then slide down a metal chute to get your checked coat. This might be the greatest museum installation of all time, albeit temporary. It only lasted eight seconds, but I'll keep that one for a lifetime.

One the way home from the Tate we passed this place: I'm 99.44 percent certain that the entire menu consists of pudding pops and black-on-black racism. Just reporting what I heard.

Gotta love it...I can only hope all the waiters wear Cosby sweaters.

Slack Link of the Day: Former Masshole Governor Mitt Romney has officially tossed his hat in the ring for the 2008 Presidential Election. I mentioned this possibility in a December 2005 post, and I stand by what I said then: "There's one flaw in this plan, and it's a huge flaw. Romney is, um, Mormon. And conventional wisdom tells us there ain't no way this country is electing a fucking Latter Day Saint to the highest office in the land." First wives, though? That'd be hot.

Slack Song of the Day: Stream some Apollo Sunshine...you'll dig it.

Previous UK Posts on Slack LaLane: Joe Lieberman's Favorite Match; Contrary To What We Were Told...; I'm Back, Baby; Lamb Vindaloo Pwns Face; Checking In With You Yanks; and So Long, Ol' Chaps.

Be a Contrarian: Put On That Red Light

2007-02-12T15:16:00.000-05:00

I'm in total Jesse Spano mode right now -- there's no time, there's never any time -- so I'll just remind everyone politely that The Fucking Police reunited at The Grammys last night and announced a full slate of North American dates at a live rehearsal an hour ago.

Last night wasn't necessarily their best performance on record, but Sting did wear a sleeveless number and Stewart Copeland still looks like a wicked combination of Ted Danson and Andy Dick.

For more details...hey, holy shit, I've got a music blog! And I'm awesome! So just go on over there and check out the tour dates...

Used Cars & New Laughs

2007-02-09T09:24:00.000-05:00

You gotta love a used car dealership that will both sell you a quality automobile and fuck your wife in the same visit. I'm not sure what this clip is from, but it's a definite gut-buster.

Thanks to Danny Noonan for sending that one over...fannntastic.

Slack Link of the Day: Our friends over at Usual Place of Abode tell us the GEICO Cavemen are branching out -- check out the crib.

Slack Link of the Day II: The world's best sportswriter under 30 is out with another gem of a feature piece, hangin' with the fourth-ranked Wisconsin Badgers basketball team before its win against Penn State on Wednesday. Sweet work, Lukas, take a bow, son.

Slack Song of the Day: I'm feeling a bit of the RANA bug this a.m., as inspired by my friend Neddy's weekly minimix: So here's Poop Georgette III, Ghetto Queen, and Livin' Was Easy from 4/21/04.

Joe Lieberman's Favorite Match

2007-02-08T01:03:00.000-05:00

Our fifth and final match of our Four-Jerk Football Fantasy Camp took place in Birmingham. Some magazine recently named Birmingham an up-and-coming music scene, but the city seemed more like a place lacking any redeemable qualities whatsoever. Nothin' doin'.

Our host for the day: Martin O'Neill's Aston Villa Football Club. The Villans started off the year pretty hot but have been languishing recently as their early luck trails off. If you ask me, I think the poor karma at Villa Park all began when striker Juan Pablo Angel shanked a penalty kick wide and then scored an own goal for Tottenham Hotspur within the span of two minutes back in mid-October.

Villa were the first tickets we acquired in our arduous search for ducats in a foreign and generally ridiculous system. Someone in our group had a connection to Randy Lerner, owner of both the Cleveland Browns and Aston Villa, and I'm glad this one worked out for us: On one hand we had the brand new strike force of John Carew and Ashley Young (both making their home debuts); on the other we had a West Ham United club fighting for their lives to avoid relegation (for the uninitiated, the bottom three clubs get demoted to a lower division).

Throw in some very talented players on both sides and one of my favorite youngsters in Gabriel Agbonlahor, and we were ready for some top-flight football. Oh, and hey, NFL Legend Jim Brown was there. For real, yo. I bet he was so angry the whole time.

Villa scored in the 36th minute when the Young fed Carew for a pretty goal, finally scoring after a bunch of solid chances. And while someone watching at home on television probably couldn't really see it it, Gareth Barry dominated the play for Villa. He was everywhere, and he made absolute fools of several of many West Ham midfielders and defenders (including but not limited to the over-matched American Jonathan Spector). Incidentally, Barry absolutely schooled Spector at one point, leading West Ham keeper Roy Carroll to run out 30 yards and get up in his grill. That was, as the English say, "awwwwkward."

Spector also played very poorly with his winger on the right side, Israeli international Yossi Benayoun. I love watching Benayoun scoot -- he's got serious talent -- but he didn't really play all that well. He was all sizzle and no steak, or keeping with his heritage, all sizzle and no brisket; all Numbers and no Deuteronomy. As I said, he and Spector played horrifically together on the right side, which is clearly not the first time Israel and the United States have combined to just completely fuck shit up. Political and soccer humor, you love it.

The match and our 450 minutes of soccer both came to an end with a mad goal-mouth scramble by trailing West Ham, which had at least three strong chances at the back of the net with little time remaining. Thomas Sorensen, the Villa defense and the crossbar combined to keep the home side's clean sheet intact, and Donnie Fiedler and I had just seen five home teams win five matches (Handstand and Zebra caught one draw at Emirates). Sweetness.

And if you've made it this far, I hope you've figured out by now that this entire post was just a front so I could post those clever little Israeli jokes about Yossi Benayoun. Truth.

Slack Video of the Day: Here's a cool video I shot of Aston Villa and West Ham exiting the tunnel and some panning of Villa Park.

Previously on Slack LaLane: I'm Back, Baby (An Introduction) and Contrary To What We Were Told (Cardiff Reflections)

W.C. Girls: Join AEPi, Bitches

2007-02-07T11:57:00.000-05:00

About 37 people have sent this to me in the past 24 hours, so I figure it's high time I finally got around to posting it.

If you've never been to Weiner's Circle in Chicago, you're missing out on the greatest unintentional performance art in history. Couple that with a fucking incredible hot dog, and it's just the best possible late-night snack in the entire country. Truth.

Now join AEPi, you goddamn hook-nosed fraternizing bastards.

F*ck Da Eagles Girl Hits Maxim

2007-02-07T08:55:00.000-05:00

Remember this classy Saints fan? The girl whose shirt should have read Fuck Dese Titties is back, and she's sluttier than ever...

Say hello to Maxim's latest semen target. And here's a little video of this strung-out strumpet to go along with those possibly NSFW pics...

Slack Link of the Day: Where are my Libertarian friends on this? Ban Proposed On Walking While Talking, Listening To iPod.

Here's a tip for State Senator Kruger: Instead of this traveshamockery of superfluous legislation, how about stressing that everyone look both ways before crossing and perhaps waiting for the light to change? It's a fairly simple concept. Wanna legislate something stupid? Pass a bill stating how big a douchebag you are. With this kind of idiocy, it's no wonder you're a state senator. Burrrrrrn! Not really.

Slack Video of the Day: Here are four videos I shot over in the UK that may or may not make it into a future post, so I figured I'd throw them up here now: Chelsea and the refs warming up at Stamford Bridge (from close distance), Didier Drogba celebrates yet another Premiership goal, Aston Villa and West Ham emerge from the tunnel, and Cardiff City celebrating a 1-0 lead over lowly Barnsley.

Slack Song of the Day: Studio Phish, just because people often forget how frighteningly awesome Rift is -- The Wedge and It's Ice.

Contrary To What We Were Told...

2007-02-06T13:30:00.000-05:00

I cannot confirm the myth about people running like a Welshman. We didn't see a single runner in Wales while we were there. Not one. I feel betrayed. And tired. And a bit like I have palsy.

We spent a mere 20 hours in Wales for Cardiff City's 2-0 victory over lowly Barnsley on Friday night, but we were shocked to find out that nobody runs there. Not on the streets. Not in the train station. No running, anywhere. There's apparently very little running in Wales. There was some running on the Ninian Park pitch itself in Cardiff, but the only starting Welshman, Joe Ledley, ended up being carted off for the remainder of the match after a botched attempt at running.

We didn't see Liverpool at West Ham on Tuesday, so we missed a chance to see Craig Bellamy running like a Welshman. We had a good shot on Wednesday, but Blackburn's Robby Savage broke his leg right before our trip and did not play. Rovers' manager Mark Hughes is Welsh, but he didn't run anywhere. Bastard.

I wonder what the Welsh words are for "What a fucking letdown." I wonder whether I'd even be able to even read 'em, considering I have no idea how to pronounce anything in Welsh, let alone platforms:

C'mon! Are you freakin' serious, Wales? How many Ls and Ws and Ys do you Welsh wanna use to create words? I refuse to speak fluent Welsh until that shit gets fixed. Sorry, llwyfixed.

On the way from Wales to Birmingham for the Aston Villa 1-0 victory over West Ham, we decided to act like six-year-olds and desecrate everyone's photo in the tabloid newspaper. And by "we," I really mean Donnie Fiedler, who created new headlines and scribbled penises and boobs into just about every shot in the paper. But the first target was six-foot, seven-inch beanpole and Liverpool striker Peter Crouch.

The Gangly Handful had a most unfortunate pose in the photo accompanying his article, and the halogen-lamp striker with the stroke of a pen quickly become Crouch Hitler. Hey, Crouchler sure beats the celebratory Crouchbot, if you ask me.

The last thing I want to force into your ~~mouths and throats~~ heads is a song that'll be climbing the UK Pop charts in no time. Our love for Norwegian winger and Blackburn standout Morten Gamst Pedersen is well-documented. The Arctic Monkey's name was the focal point of our trip to Dewey Beach this past summer and clearly a main player in our jaunt to the UK, where we watched him in person stink it up against Chelsea in a 3-0 rout of Rovers last Wednesday night.

Gamst (seen here about to try one of many unsuccessful corner kicks) that evening surely sucked the biggest, floppiest donkey dick that donkey dick suckers have ever sucked. Both he and the rest of the Rovers didn't even show up, but that doesn't change our love of Gamst. Nor does it halt the production of this hit single we're about to produce. Sung to the tune of Bon Jovi's Bad Medicine, try getting this one out of your head any time soon, suckers:

Gotta love the "Rx" symbol thrown in there for good measure. Actually, you really gotta love that we almost took this sign to the Chelsea/Blackburn match itself. What a bunch of jerks.

Gaaaaamst, Gaaaaaamst Pedersen. Plenty more to come...

Previously on Slack LaLane: I'm Back, Baby (An Introduction)

Quick Sexy News Hits

2007-02-06T10:15:00.000-05:00

We'll return to more Four Jerks in the UK trip madness in a bit, but first let's check in on some sexy news stories making headlines...

Page 4 Daddies Program Doing Fine
So apparently the Mark Foley Scandal has generated more interest in the congressional page program among America's teenagers. Either this is a blatant case of "there's no such thing as bad publicity," or more and more of our nation's youth is looking to be reamed hard by a father figure type in the Library of Congress. Time will tell.

To the Moon, Alice
This one's all over the place today: A NASA space shuttle astronaut freaked the fuck out and tried to kidnap a romantic rival in a bizarre love triangle with a man she wasn't even involved with. Navy Capt. Lisa Marie Nowak pepper sprayed a woman and tried to abduct her from a parking lot at the Orlando airport, only to foul it all up and get arrested. The best part is that Nowak, who is married with three kids, had adult diapers to cut down on potential rest stops as she made her getaway. Just goes to show, even in zero gravity, women are fucking nuts and should be treated like lepers at all times.

Praise Jesus: Mind Over ManBatter
I meant Mind Over Matter there, sorry. But in a startling case of Jesus working miracles, "The Rev. Ted Haggard emerged from three weeks of intensive counseling convinced he is 'completely heterosexual' and told an oversight board that his sexual contact with men was limited to his accuser." I have no joke here, I just think this dude's story is awesome. I mean, seriously, wouldn't you like to know what kind of intense counseling goes along with helping someone get over homosexuality? There's a whole porn flick waiting to be made here.

We'll be back later with more of Slack LaLane's English Vacation...

Slack Video of the Day: Spanish Miguel just sent over this clip of a sweet goal from Sevilla's archives -- the replay is tremendous.

Slack HT Plug of the Day: The latest edition of Pullin' 'Tubes is up, and today we're featuring some quality videos, including my mean assessment of a Northwestern A cappella band butchering Bruce Hornsby's The Way It Is. What a shame.

Slack Song of the Day: I threw an old 1992 version of PJ's Once in that link above, so let's stick with the Pearl Jam catalog this morning -- here's Elderly Woman Behind the Counter in a Small Town from 5/30/03 in Vancouver. I really love that tune.

One On, One Off

2007-02-05T14:01:00.000-05:00

This morning I made it clear that this week would be dominated by soccer reflections and personal memories of our trip to England and Wales. But I promised mainstream posting, and I also promised to sprinkle in some quote-unquote, other shit. Here's some other shit:

Similarly hilarious to a football in the groin...thank Coach for the vid.

I'm Back, Baby

2007-02-05T09:41:00.001-05:00

Even though it's still the same language over there, most of our week-long trip to the United Kingdom would be lost in translation.

As I alluded to in my trans-Atlantic drop-in last week, this trip could be summed up with the tag line, "Four Yankee jerks moving sarcastically through England's monuments, landmarks and football stadiums one day at a time." And unless you were along for the jerkstore ride, I'm not sure any of it will make a lick of sense. It barely makes sense to me, and about all I know right now is that the "F.C." must stand for fantasy camp, not football club.

But I'm gonna try to do my part on this here rag to crack out some posts that youse can all get behind, that will translate into mass comedy instead of the private joke material. You know, like why is this picture below funny? Because this man is waiting for Don Fiedler's able body to exit the handicap stall at Reading's Madejski Stadium (aka The Mad Stad). Handstand's got a video of this scene, and the look on Don's face after exiting the loo is priceless.

So let this serve as an introduction to some more analysis from our trip to England and Wales, sprinkled in with some other shit about which you'll actually care. More to follow, chaps...

Slack Link of the Day: They may remain Sleepless in Seattle, but at least they won't be Bonerless out there: "Sexpresso coffee shops take Seattle by storm"

Slack Video of the Day: Since I have no real use for this video in a post this week, here's a little clip of our view from the London Eye.

Slack Song of the Day: In honor of last night's Super Bowl Halftime Show, in which Prince tore the imaginary roof off the sucka, let's do a little Purple Rain this fine frigid morning.

Lamb Vindaloo Pwns Face

2007-02-02T05:40:00.000-05:00

It's difficult to convey the level of hilarity that accompanied us to London's Bangalore District last night. I could try, but I would not be successful.

I'll say it like this: I just woke up, and my ribs are fucking killing me from being doubled over in laughter for much of the night. Although, I may have also been rabbit-punched in the ribs. I can't really be sure.

Reunions abound, my tripmates met up with their European friends on this evening, our last remaining night with no soccer on the menu. So nine of us grabbed a handful of pints together at a few pubs along the way before heading to the famed Brick Lane for a nice big curry meal. Yanks in tow, we followed the lead of two story-telling Irishmen and their cute Aussie friend, Don's country English friend from Brighton and another of Handstand's boys, a former Azerbaijani co-worker. What a PC ad -- the United Colors of Pat Benetton.

Allow me to quickly interject a small anecdote here. Before last night I went the full five days of our trip without smoking the pot, without thinking of the pot, without even much concern for it. And make no mistake, that's a milestone for me: I think the last time I went that long without smoking at least once was before I had pubes (which coulda been when I was around 20). Still, I was feeling really good about this newfound abstinence.

Zebra then informed me that one of our Irish friends possessed the grass, and instantly I remembered what it's like to be a Man of Reefer in a Town of Pints. We became fast friends, and on our way from one pub to the next (still before dinner), he decided to spark a doob for the benefit of Mr. Ace. Again, up to that point, I had not seen it, not asked for it, barely even thought about it.

But within 10 seconds of his lighting the jay, an English policeman on foot coming the other way materialized out of nowhere and turned around, marching right towards us. He had us the whole way, too, sidling up to us and asking us to step aside. Not holding anything, and not having smoked anything yet, I knew I was allright, and I engaged the man with the funny hat in immediate conversation.

He said he smelled the shit, I said "Whaaaaaa?" He said empty your pockets, which I gladly did (knowing our Irish friend had the Motts), and we went on our way with a handshake and a British smile. Of course, nothing bad happened, nothing too bad really could have happened, but it's just incredible that our first run-in with any sort of police interests occurred the very second the first bit of grass entered the picture. Kids, don't do drugs.

Two joints and a handful of pints later, we settled on an empty Brick Lane restaurant and settled in for a traditional Indian meal. And it's a good thing we picked an empty place: Our loudness and obnoxiousness knows no bounds. The tagline of this trip so far has been "Four jerks moving sarcastically through England one landmark at a time" (you'll hear that one again, and possibly see it on a T-shirt), and this dinner was no exception, just more people.

One guy did the full ordering for everyone: Spicy shit all around. We weren't fuckin' around this evening. Don made sure we got some Lamb Vindaloo -- "Lamb Vindaloo always spicy" -- and nearly everyone that sat near it began to sweat from just its proximity. Zebra screamed that his eyebrows started sweating. That's when Handstand the Younger, not a fan of hot or spicy apparently, dug in for a brave bite.

"Dude, you might wanna...," Zebra started. But before he could even finish that sentence, Handstand uttered "Oh my God" as the blood drained from his face. He shot out of his chair, ran over to the door, pulled on it three times before realizing it said "Push" and barreled onto the street where right outside the door he vomited up the Lamb Vindaloo, the rest of his meal and the many pints he'd imbibed.

A worker told him he couldn't throw up there, so he moved into the street where he continued to empty his stomach like I did my pockets earlier. Nothing a sidewalk hose couldn't fix, really. Nothing we couldn't make fun of for the rest of the night, really. Chalk up another victory for the Vindaloo.

The rest of the night involved befriending the owner of a bar that claimed to be a wild boar hunter in Afghanistan, and Handstand heckling the shit out of the taxi driver that took us back to South Kensington. Incidentally, it cost 40 pounds to take six of us back to the flat -- that's $80 to go about the distance from the Upper West Side to Tribeca. Seems fair. Bloody wanker exchange rate.

We're off to Cardiff to peep people running like Welshmen.

Checking In With You Yanks

2007-01-31T06:39:00.000-05:00

While we wait for the last of our party to shower so we can get the feck out of this flat and onto the mean streets of South Kensington, I'll post this corny but awesome wedding video that Coach dug up...

I really hope that was the first dance of the evening...bloody brilliant. In other news, England is ace, and I feel fantastic about being even closer to Harry Potter's balls than all of youse back home. Good times.

I'm off to William Hill to pick up some poundage. Handstand the Younger and I threw down 10 quid on Dirk Kuyt to score the first goal in last night's Liverpool win over West Ham, and sure enough, the Dutchman came through at 9-2 odds. I'm rich, biotch. Cheers, mates.

So Long, Ol' Chaps

2007-01-27T02:45:00.000-05:00

I'm not what youse would call a seasoned traveler. I've seen my fair share of North America and the Caribbean, but I've never actually been to another continent. I suck.

That all changes tonight, however, when Don Fiedler, Handstand the Younger and Jake Zebra join me for our five-fixture, seven-day soccer junket to our old mercantile motherland 'cross the pond.

Regular readers of this here rag have oft rolled their lazy eyes in my general direction when a soccer post appears. But this is a special trip, a true once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to hit England and Wales with planned activities and plenty of time to see the cities for my first time in the country. Here's the schedule for the week:

Sunday, 1/28: Chelsea v. Nottingham Forest (FA Cup)
Tuesday, 1/30: Reading v. Wigan Athletic (Premiership)
Wednesday, 1/31: Chelsea v. Blackburn Rovers (Prem)
Friday, 2/2: Cardiff v. Barnsley (Championship)
Saturday, 2/3: Aston Villa v. West Ham United (Prem)

Throw in the typical Yankee tourist shit and that's a fucking trip. You just can't go wrong with two jaunts to Stamford Bridge to see one of the best teams in the world, one of which is hosting our collective favorite non-affiliated player in the league (Gaaamst!), one trip to Reading, one to Cardiff and one to Birmingham -- two levels of top-flight soccer and one tournament match. And, of course, there'll be time for snogging the British.

But stick around this week. With the aid of wireless internets and any free time we can find that doesn't involve me waking up on a pub floor, I'll be checking in from our South Kensington flat to say hello and post pictures of people running like Welshmen. Look at 'im.

To better serve your boredom needs I've also lined up an incredible week of guest bloggers, so you'll be treated to 4,000-word essays on late-term abortion and Frogger from the likes of Dame Judi Dench, light-hitting utility man F.P. Santangelo, Alexis de Tocqueville, Spuds Mackenzie and Jesus F. Christ III. (Shit, that Spuds commercial is really much more awesome than I had remembered.)

If you miss me too much, which is fairly likely because I'm downright charming and possess no terrible body odors, there's always the Top Notch Slackin' repeats over there to the right >>>>> to cool down your jets untilst I return. And, as usual, I urge you to spend some time with the other bloggers from that column as well, many of whom are amazing writers and savants, if not borderline psychotic. They'll make up for my absence by gently rocking you to sleep.

Flip side, we'll catch youse. Cheerio.

(Interestingly, when I return I'll find out whether Roommate Dorsey hath moved out of the apartment or whether he's staying for another couple weeks. I've decided that if he asks me to help him move, my answer will be "Oooh, I'm sorry, I don't have knees. No knees.")

Well Said, Man

2007-01-26T23:37:00.000-05:00

Two things I'd never thought I'd hear on ESPN, let alone in one night:

"...and yo, Simon, *mad* respect for seeing the alley oop 7 into the switch 7 at the bottom...love to see that, kid." --A fired up Taylor Hall, Winter X Skiing Half Pipe Something Gold Medalist on silver medalist Simon Someone's gnarly run down the pipe

"Serena giving Maria Sharapova a spanking she's never been given before." --An enthusiastic Dick Enberg near the end of the lopsided Women's Final of the Australian Open

It pays to stay home and get your shit together every now and then.

No News Is Lazy Ace News

2007-01-26T14:20:00.000-05:00

I'm gearing up for tomorrow's big trip to England and Wales and trying to bang out some work on my last day before the trip. I'll have a new post ready tomorrow, and in the meantime, enjoy the usual daily links below. Until then, fuck off. Or should I say, "Fuck all."

Okay, and here's a bonus video from Handstand the Elder that's just too good to be true. This guy has all the right moves...

Slack Link of the Day: My friend LStern sent this one over yesterday, and it's simple enough: Hot Chicks with Douchebags.

Slack Video of the Day: Check out this sick UFC knockout from last night, courtesy of our friend and big time cage fighter Wilson.

Slack Song of the Day: Van the Man's still got it...take a listen to the Northern Irishman's show from Vegas' Mandalay Bay Event Center last month: Van Morrison on 12/30/06.