Beautiful.
Just beautiful.
Showing posts with label sports. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sports. Show all posts
September 23, 2008
November 27, 2007
The Hills: A Night At The Opera
Check the show out online here.
This week, we met another member of the Pratt clan and Audrina finally got a clue and broke it off with Justin-Bobby.
Apparently, the Pratts spawned several tow-headed offspring and this week, we got to meet Spencer's sister, Stephanie or as Lauren called her, "She-Pratt." [She-Pratt (n): Also known as Stephanie, sibling of Spencer. Blonde banshee found trolling the Los Angeles area trying desperately to gain some notoriety by picking fights with MTV reality stars].
The aesthetic similarities by Heidi and Stephanie kinda freaked me out. She-Pratt is beer-goggles version of Heidi and your typical wing-man nightmare. If I was a dude and had to take that for the team, my buddy would have to keep me in blow and beer for a whole year to make up for it.
The doorway to Opera resembles either a Michael Bay movie or the Puffy/Nas video for Hate Me Now. Neither of which I'd particularly like to associate myself with.
"Just stop being mean girls?" First of all, Roxy is a prostitute's name. Secondly, who the hell is Roxy? The juxtaposition of a statement that juvenile coupled with her tranny-esque features made me wish I was friends with Rob Zombie so I could call him and say I had found the star for his next horror flick.
Much like her toolbox brother, She-Pratt is down with the Dark Side and shares the same Sith Lord mentality -- "When you hate my brother, I hate you." For the last time, Siths never prosper. It didn't work for Vader, it didn't work for Maul, it didn't work for Sidious and it's not working for George W. Bush. Let go of the absolutes and come hang out in the light.
Speaking of Star Wars, what was up with Justin Bobby rocking a Jedi-look? If he thought it would help him mind-trick Audrina while he was scamming with other girls? Well, let's just say neither the Force nor the intelligence is with him.
You Look Like A Pratt: Now, I realize this space is usually reserved for the facial follies of the Prattmeister, but due to my utterly sophomoric sense of humor, I just couldn't resist this:
Heidi's gaping maw. The picture practically Photoshops itself.
Now onto the break up:
"What do you need from me?" Did Justin-Bobby really ask this question 'cause there are a litany of answers -- I need you to stop feeding me bullshit. I need you to stop kissing other girls. I need you to stop being one person when you're alone with me and a complete other when you'rearound your friends. I need you to be my boyfriend but above all -- I need you to take an effing shower.
Broken relationships should be dealt with like broken bones -- clean and quick or they'll never heal properly. Here's to hoping Audrina moves on and we never see nor hear from J.Bob again.
Quote of the Week: She-Pratt came out swinging for the fences and actually picked up this week's distinction with her characterization of (Brody's bro and tertiary character) Frankie Delgado as, "a wannabe Wilmer Valderrama." It may seem like a harsh characterization, but remember that Valderrama also managed to score Mandy Moore and pre-trainwreck Lindsey Lohan. There are worse people to be compared to.
And finally, when did Stephanie become Heidi's BFF? Doesn't that dubious distinction go to Jen Bunney?
NEXT WEEK: She-Pratt causes tension between Spencer and Heidi and Audrina re-enters the dating world. I'm on the edge of my seat already.
In football news:
The Dolphins continue their season-long streak of breaking my heart, but unlike some fair-weather fans, I still bleed orange and teal. If nothing else, we'll have a killer draft pick and obilterate the competition next year.
Pop Quiz:
The New England Patriots can:
A) Suck it.
B) Suck it long.
C) Suck it hard.
D) All of the above.
The correct answer, of course, is D.
The Pats played the Eagles this weekend (they're my Zahara team -- after moving to the Philly suburbs, I adopted them) and after the game, Tom Brady was braying (like the ass he is) about the 31-28 win. Listen, peckerhead. When you're an 11-0 team, a 31-28 win is hardly something to be proud of.
Every time I watch the Pats play, I find myself wishing someone would tackle this assbag and then, step on his head. It hasn't happened yet, but I'm keeping the faith.
This week, we met another member of the Pratt clan and Audrina finally got a clue and broke it off with Justin-Bobby.
Apparently, the Pratts spawned several tow-headed offspring and this week, we got to meet Spencer's sister, Stephanie or as Lauren called her, "She-Pratt." [She-Pratt (n): Also known as Stephanie, sibling of Spencer. Blonde banshee found trolling the Los Angeles area trying desperately to gain some notoriety by picking fights with MTV reality stars].
The aesthetic similarities by Heidi and Stephanie kinda freaked me out. She-Pratt is beer-goggles version of Heidi and your typical wing-man nightmare. If I was a dude and had to take that for the team, my buddy would have to keep me in blow and beer for a whole year to make up for it.
The doorway to Opera resembles either a Michael Bay movie or the Puffy/Nas video for Hate Me Now. Neither of which I'd particularly like to associate myself with.
"Just stop being mean girls?" First of all, Roxy is a prostitute's name. Secondly, who the hell is Roxy? The juxtaposition of a statement that juvenile coupled with her tranny-esque features made me wish I was friends with Rob Zombie so I could call him and say I had found the star for his next horror flick.
Much like her toolbox brother, She-Pratt is down with the Dark Side and shares the same Sith Lord mentality -- "When you hate my brother, I hate you." For the last time, Siths never prosper. It didn't work for Vader, it didn't work for Maul, it didn't work for Sidious and it's not working for George W. Bush. Let go of the absolutes and come hang out in the light.
Speaking of Star Wars, what was up with Justin Bobby rocking a Jedi-look? If he thought it would help him mind-trick Audrina while he was scamming with other girls? Well, let's just say neither the Force nor the intelligence is with him.
You Look Like A Pratt: Now, I realize this space is usually reserved for the facial follies of the Prattmeister, but due to my utterly sophomoric sense of humor, I just couldn't resist this:
Heidi's gaping maw. The picture practically Photoshops itself.
Now onto the break up:
"What do you need from me?" Did Justin-Bobby really ask this question 'cause there are a litany of answers -- I need you to stop feeding me bullshit. I need you to stop kissing other girls. I need you to stop being one person when you're alone with me and a complete other when you'rearound your friends. I need you to be my boyfriend but above all -- I need you to take an effing shower.
Broken relationships should be dealt with like broken bones -- clean and quick or they'll never heal properly. Here's to hoping Audrina moves on and we never see nor hear from J.Bob again.
Quote of the Week: She-Pratt came out swinging for the fences and actually picked up this week's distinction with her characterization of (Brody's bro and tertiary character) Frankie Delgado as, "a wannabe Wilmer Valderrama." It may seem like a harsh characterization, but remember that Valderrama also managed to score Mandy Moore and pre-trainwreck Lindsey Lohan. There are worse people to be compared to.
And finally, when did Stephanie become Heidi's BFF? Doesn't that dubious distinction go to Jen Bunney?
NEXT WEEK: She-Pratt causes tension between Spencer and Heidi and Audrina re-enters the dating world. I'm on the edge of my seat already.
In football news:
The Dolphins continue their season-long streak of breaking my heart, but unlike some fair-weather fans, I still bleed orange and teal. If nothing else, we'll have a killer draft pick and obilterate the competition next year.
Pop Quiz:
The New England Patriots can:
A) Suck it.
B) Suck it long.
C) Suck it hard.
D) All of the above.
The correct answer, of course, is D.
The Pats played the Eagles this weekend (they're my Zahara team -- after moving to the Philly suburbs, I adopted them) and after the game, Tom Brady was braying (like the ass he is) about the 31-28 win. Listen, peckerhead. When you're an 11-0 team, a 31-28 win is hardly something to be proud of.
Every time I watch the Pats play, I find myself wishing someone would tackle this assbag and then, step on his head. It hasn't happened yet, but I'm keeping the faith.
June 27, 2007
Balsamic, Bugs and Bodyslams
Yesterday was a good day -- quality time shopping and lunching with my sister. $21 and a handful of change at Forever XXI = two dresses, two pairs of super cute underwear, a skirt and an incredibly cozy sweater. Gotta love the summer sales. For lunch, we headed to Buca di Beppo. The balsamic vinegar there is divine. I should have stolen a bottle so I could bring it home and splash it over some strawberries and basil (if you've never had this, you're missing out. It's delicious!)
Today was a better day -- The Boyfriend became an uncle again and my parents and sister finally got their green card! After fifteen years, they're finally on their way to citizenship. As for me? Uhh...I'll get back to you on that.
In other news, I'm fairly sure that God is sending a plague of creepy crawlies into my life. A couple of days ago, I found a scorpion (!!) in my room and yesterday, Mom found a snake hiding behind the TV. I feel like I'm living in the Bug House exhibit at the Science Museum
Random nonsense aside, there was something I wanted to discuss.
Earlier this week, professional wrestler Chris Benoit, his wife Nancy and their seven-year-old son Daniel were found dead in Benoit's Atlanta home.
I'm not a wrestling fan in the classic sense of the word. I've never been to a live event, I don't own any paraphernalia nor do I subscribe doggedly to the notion that it's really real and that the Undertaker has risen from the dead countless times. But, I've been watching pro-wrestling since its golden era in the 80s and although I don't really watch it anymore and couldn't tell you who hold what title or which two wrestlers are currently embroiled in a bitter rivalry, I like to keep an ear out for backstage rumblings.
The initial news came as a shock and when it was discovered that Benoit had strangled his wife, smothered his son and hanged himself -- I was completely dumbfounded.
Chris Benoit was a workhorse. A quiet man with very little of the bravado, bluster and magnetic flair associated with most pro-wrestlers, Benoit got into the ring, he did his job and then, disappeared backstage. Reticent and boring, yes, but a cold-blooded killer? That's something that I can't wrap my mind around.
I keep trying to figure it out -- what would drive a man to commit such an ungodly act? There are no justifications, no rhyme, no reason. Just conjecture.
'Roid Rage (or steroid withdrawal, for that matter) coupled with the stress of working for the WWE (the near Spartan brutality the wrestlers put their bodies through night after night, the exhausting travel schedule, months away from family), strained family relations and a history of cranial damage (one of Benoit's signature moves was a swan dive -- essentially, a headbutt executed from the top rope of the ring) may have pushed Benoit to his snapping point.
Does any of this excuse the carnage enacted on the Benoit family? No. Of course not, but it may provide a window into Chris Benoit's madness and hopefully, this tragedy will serve as a catalyst for the WWE to look into their absolutely deplorable policy regarding the abuse of anabolic steroids.
Steroid abuse has been a part of the pro-wrestling industry for years. Not only do steroids allow wrestlers to bulk up to Hulk-like proportions, but also give them the edge they need to maintain the company's exhausting tour schedule. In 1994, Vince McMahon (head honcho of the WWE) was put on trial for allegedly distributing steroids to his talent. Although McMahon was exonerated of all charges and swore to put a comprehensive drug-testing plan into effect, steroid abuse runs rampant within the company to this day and the company, horrifically enough, allows it.
Roided-up wrestlers have a bigger, more imposing physique which always plays well in the gladiator games of pro-wrestling. Steroids help them deal with the grind of working house show after house show for 200+ days a year, thus bringing in the ducats for the corporation.
But at what point does the health of an individual become more important than profit margins? In the past decade, dozens of pro-wrestlers have died due to steroid-related cardiac problems -- Eddie Guerrero, British Bulldog Davie Boy Smith, Miss Elizabeth and Mr. Perfect Curt Henning to name a few -- what does it take and how many more have to die before the WWE realizes what a heavy toll this lifestyle is taking on its employees, both physically and psychologically?
Will this tragedy bring about a change? Sadly, I doubt it will, but here's to hoping I'm wrong.
Today was a better day -- The Boyfriend became an uncle again and my parents and sister finally got their green card! After fifteen years, they're finally on their way to citizenship. As for me? Uhh...I'll get back to you on that.
In other news, I'm fairly sure that God is sending a plague of creepy crawlies into my life. A couple of days ago, I found a scorpion (!!) in my room and yesterday, Mom found a snake hiding behind the TV. I feel like I'm living in the Bug House exhibit at the Science Museum
Random nonsense aside, there was something I wanted to discuss.
Earlier this week, professional wrestler Chris Benoit, his wife Nancy and their seven-year-old son Daniel were found dead in Benoit's Atlanta home.
I'm not a wrestling fan in the classic sense of the word. I've never been to a live event, I don't own any paraphernalia nor do I subscribe doggedly to the notion that it's really real and that the Undertaker has risen from the dead countless times. But, I've been watching pro-wrestling since its golden era in the 80s and although I don't really watch it anymore and couldn't tell you who hold what title or which two wrestlers are currently embroiled in a bitter rivalry, I like to keep an ear out for backstage rumblings.
The initial news came as a shock and when it was discovered that Benoit had strangled his wife, smothered his son and hanged himself -- I was completely dumbfounded.
Chris Benoit was a workhorse. A quiet man with very little of the bravado, bluster and magnetic flair associated with most pro-wrestlers, Benoit got into the ring, he did his job and then, disappeared backstage. Reticent and boring, yes, but a cold-blooded killer? That's something that I can't wrap my mind around.
I keep trying to figure it out -- what would drive a man to commit such an ungodly act? There are no justifications, no rhyme, no reason. Just conjecture.
'Roid Rage (or steroid withdrawal, for that matter) coupled with the stress of working for the WWE (the near Spartan brutality the wrestlers put their bodies through night after night, the exhausting travel schedule, months away from family), strained family relations and a history of cranial damage (one of Benoit's signature moves was a swan dive -- essentially, a headbutt executed from the top rope of the ring) may have pushed Benoit to his snapping point.
Does any of this excuse the carnage enacted on the Benoit family? No. Of course not, but it may provide a window into Chris Benoit's madness and hopefully, this tragedy will serve as a catalyst for the WWE to look into their absolutely deplorable policy regarding the abuse of anabolic steroids.
Steroid abuse has been a part of the pro-wrestling industry for years. Not only do steroids allow wrestlers to bulk up to Hulk-like proportions, but also give them the edge they need to maintain the company's exhausting tour schedule. In 1994, Vince McMahon (head honcho of the WWE) was put on trial for allegedly distributing steroids to his talent. Although McMahon was exonerated of all charges and swore to put a comprehensive drug-testing plan into effect, steroid abuse runs rampant within the company to this day and the company, horrifically enough, allows it.
Roided-up wrestlers have a bigger, more imposing physique which always plays well in the gladiator games of pro-wrestling. Steroids help them deal with the grind of working house show after house show for 200+ days a year, thus bringing in the ducats for the corporation.
But at what point does the health of an individual become more important than profit margins? In the past decade, dozens of pro-wrestlers have died due to steroid-related cardiac problems -- Eddie Guerrero, British Bulldog Davie Boy Smith, Miss Elizabeth and Mr. Perfect Curt Henning to name a few -- what does it take and how many more have to die before the WWE realizes what a heavy toll this lifestyle is taking on its employees, both physically and psychologically?
Will this tragedy bring about a change? Sadly, I doubt it will, but here's to hoping I'm wrong.
February 4, 2007
CONGRATULATIONS COLTS!
Colts: 29
Bears: 17
CONGRATULATIONS TO THE INDIANAPOLIS COLTS!
They deserved this.
November 19, 2006
That's three -- count it!
DOLPHINS: 24VIKINGS: 20
Another win for the 'Fins! That's three since our bye -- Chicago, Kansas City and now, Minnesota.
Although the game wasn't televised at Lush Manor, I didn't miss a minute of the action thanks to The Best Friend's maniacal play-by-play via radio. If Florida experienced sub-zero temperatures, he'd be the shirtless, drunk dude with his body painted orange and teal.
In other NFL news:
Donovan McNabb tore his ACL and will be out for the rest of the season. It's a rough break for him, the team and Eagles fans. I actually really like McNabb as a QB -- he's a good, strong leader. Here's to a speedy recovery for McNabb.
In other random news:
+ Dear Gardenburger: I love you...and I think I'm turning into J. Wellington Wimpy.
+ Dear The Best Friend, The Boyfriend, The Crew and The Family: You are all going to gain weight this holiday season 'cause I'm gonna be baking like Betty Crocker on speed. I hope you guys like cookies and brownies 'cause that's what you're all getting.
And finally, this rocked my world. Hard.
Although the game wasn't televised at Lush Manor, I didn't miss a minute of the action thanks to The Best Friend's maniacal play-by-play via radio. If Florida experienced sub-zero temperatures, he'd be the shirtless, drunk dude with his body painted orange and teal.
In other NFL news:
Donovan McNabb tore his ACL and will be out for the rest of the season. It's a rough break for him, the team and Eagles fans. I actually really like McNabb as a QB -- he's a good, strong leader. Here's to a speedy recovery for McNabb.
In other random news:
+ Dear Gardenburger: I love you...and I think I'm turning into J. Wellington Wimpy.
+ Dear The Best Friend, The Boyfriend, The Crew and The Family: You are all going to gain weight this holiday season 'cause I'm gonna be baking like Betty Crocker on speed. I hope you guys like cookies and brownies 'cause that's what you're all getting.
And finally, this rocked my world. Hard.
November 5, 2006
And we're back in the game!
And at the end of the 4th:
Miami Dolphins: 31
Chicago Bears: 13
Oh....oh...what's that? Y'all hear that? It sounds like the Dolphins shutting down Chicago's chance at a perfect season again.
How sweet it is
October 10, 2006
Dude, you're not making it any easier...
"Matt and I fight like teenage girls. We are always slapping each other around and wrestling and slap boxing and [messing] around with each other in the weight room. And so I decided to take that to the next level. And we were messing around in the quarterback room one day and he walked in with a milkshake, and I kind of put my foot by the door, and I kicked the door and the milkshake splashed up and went all over him. So he sat down, and I was laughing. So I said give me the towel, because I wanted to clean up the wall. So I threw the towel at his face, and it had shake all over it. He had a little shake in his mouth and he spit it all over me." -- Tom Brady.
Whatever. I'd still hit like a bag of hammers.
Whatever. I'd still hit like a bag of hammers.
July 3, 2006
I am Jack's broken heart
A heartbreaking and disappointing end. England didn't deserve to go out like this. Losing to Portugal during a penalty shootout with our two best strikers and our captain on the bench? Come on, lads. That's just not on.
I hate Portugal with a passion. I despise their theatrics, their lies and their dirty tactics. I hate Ronaldo for goading his own teammate. I'm interested in seeing what kind of reception he gets from Man U fans after the cup is over.
I hate the way certain England fans act -- come home a hero or don't come home at all. I hate the English media who insist on castigating them for a million offenses instead of commending them for getting so far.
The boys played admirably. Hargreaves played with an unparalleled fierceness and tenacity. Watching him was a pleasure. Hell, watching the whole squad was a pleasure. Unlike many teams who resort to dirty tricks to ensure a win, the English team remain consummate professionals and gentlemen throughout.
That being said -- here's to the Three Lions. We'll get 'em in Austria-Switzerland and again in South Africa. Wait and see.
I hate Portugal with a passion. I despise their theatrics, their lies and their dirty tactics. I hate Ronaldo for goading his own teammate. I'm interested in seeing what kind of reception he gets from Man U fans after the cup is over.
I hate the way certain England fans act -- come home a hero or don't come home at all. I hate the English media who insist on castigating them for a million offenses instead of commending them for getting so far.
The boys played admirably. Hargreaves played with an unparalleled fierceness and tenacity. Watching him was a pleasure. Hell, watching the whole squad was a pleasure. Unlike many teams who resort to dirty tricks to ensure a win, the English team remain consummate professionals and gentlemen throughout.
That being said -- here's to the Three Lions. We'll get 'em in Austria-Switzerland and again in South Africa. Wait and see.
June 20, 2006
World Cup 2006: England v Sweden
Michael Owen's knee buckled on him a few minutes into the match. He was carried away on a stretcher.
I hope he's alright. We need him. It's just not the same team without him. I'm thinking good thoughts for you, O. We all are.
Joe Cole - I love you. I really do. You're a wonderful man and should be celebrated with the adding of beer to beer. Your goal was spectacular. More of those in the second half, please.
Edit -- 4:59 p.m.:
The final score at fulltime:
England: 2
Sweden: 2
Damn you, Swedes. You think you're so great with your economical furniture, your ABBA, your smörgåsbords and the fact that we can never beat you in football.
I'm still worried about Owen [please be ok], I love the fact that Rooney was so pissed off about being taken out [I'm a firm believer that you need piss and vinegar to be a good player] and I love Joe Cole's fancy footwork. It's a delight to watch [Kudos on garnering the Man of the Match honors!].
Time to scrub off the facepaint.
June 17, 2006
Dub Tee Eff...?
In response to the Italy v. USA game:
One more eye, Ref, and you'd be a Cyclops. You're already a biased assbag, so it would make a pretty interesting combination.
Come on, Team USA! Don't let the Ities get you down!
One more eye, Ref, and you'd be a Cyclops. You're already a biased assbag, so it would make a pretty interesting combination.
Come on, Team USA! Don't let the Ities get you down!
June 15, 2006
Gol! Gol! Gol!
England: 2
Trinidad & Tobago: 0
It was nice to see Rooney finally get on the pitch and John Terry is now England's national savior.
Still -- we can't continue like this. We're gonna get trampled if we do. I also didn't appreciate going into cardiac arrest like, twenty times within the span of 90 minutes, but we pulled it off.
Step it up, boys. Play like it's 1966 and bring it on home.
My sister is the coolest person ever. I can't wait to watch football with her.
Trinidad & Tobago: 0
It was nice to see Rooney finally get on the pitch and John Terry is now England's national savior.
Still -- we can't continue like this. We're gonna get trampled if we do. I also didn't appreciate going into cardiac arrest like, twenty times within the span of 90 minutes, but we pulled it off.
Step it up, boys. Play like it's 1966 and bring it on home.
My sister is the coolest person ever. I can't wait to watch football with her.
June 11, 2006
He who made kittens also made snakes in the grass
While the rest of the world has been glued to World Cup action, I rallied behind what many refer to as a pseudo-sport. While dragon chasers spent hours in opium dens, wrestling fans congregate in sports bars and that's exactly where I spent last night -- at Hooters, drinking beer and watching men annihilate each other with barbed-wire covered baseball bats. Ahhhh, pro-wrestling. You fill a void little else can.
It's a crippling vice and if you get hooked as a kid like I did -- forget it. You're a lifer and there's nothing you can do about it.
You try to give up, but you can't. It's like the Mafia because as soon as you're out, they pull you back in. This applies for both fans and wrestlers themselves.
Case in point, Ric Flair. The man is 57-years-old and resembled as distressed leather saddlebag. Up until recently, he was on the active roster and wrestled guys half his age and double his size. Now, I understand that pro-wrestling is filled with risk, but an exploding colostomy bag should not be one of them.
Pro-wrestling is also a secret brotherhood. Wrestling fans have a way of sniffing each other out. We use a secret language. If I interrupted every word you said by shouting, "What!", you'd probably be justified in punching me in the face. However, to a wrestling fan -- this would be met with a high five...and then, a punch in the face. Yes, the bit is cool, but let's face it -- it gets tedious real quick.
The fans are also maligned as being moronic, drunken, blood-thirsty louts. While this description is more than apt for a good majority of them, there are a few out there who are surprisingly passionate, lucid and intelligent. Between Will and Jerry, there's an encyclopedic compendium of pro-wrestling knowledge and these boys consistently awe me. Anyone who thinks wrestling fans are half-wits needs to sit down with these two boys.
One of the most annoying things about being a pro-wrestling fan [aside from being cast as a drunken, redneck imbecile] is when people point out that it's "all fake." It's not fake, it's scripted and there's a difference. You can't fake someone's ear ripping off [Mick Foley], a leg snapped clean in half [Sid Vicious] and tragically, you can't fake a man falling 50 feet to his death [Owen Hart].
According to Will, I am a cheap date. Two beers [which magically kept refilling themselves] and I was quite the merry individual.
According to Jerry, I'm also quite verbose and opinionated. No big difference there. Waking up this morning, I realized a few things:
I'm off to the gym with the Asian to "get swoll."
It's a crippling vice and if you get hooked as a kid like I did -- forget it. You're a lifer and there's nothing you can do about it.
You try to give up, but you can't. It's like the Mafia because as soon as you're out, they pull you back in. This applies for both fans and wrestlers themselves.
Case in point, Ric Flair. The man is 57-years-old and resembled as distressed leather saddlebag. Up until recently, he was on the active roster and wrestled guys half his age and double his size. Now, I understand that pro-wrestling is filled with risk, but an exploding colostomy bag should not be one of them.
Pro-wrestling is also a secret brotherhood. Wrestling fans have a way of sniffing each other out. We use a secret language. If I interrupted every word you said by shouting, "What!", you'd probably be justified in punching me in the face. However, to a wrestling fan -- this would be met with a high five...and then, a punch in the face. Yes, the bit is cool, but let's face it -- it gets tedious real quick.
The fans are also maligned as being moronic, drunken, blood-thirsty louts. While this description is more than apt for a good majority of them, there are a few out there who are surprisingly passionate, lucid and intelligent. Between Will and Jerry, there's an encyclopedic compendium of pro-wrestling knowledge and these boys consistently awe me. Anyone who thinks wrestling fans are half-wits needs to sit down with these two boys.
One of the most annoying things about being a pro-wrestling fan [aside from being cast as a drunken, redneck imbecile] is when people point out that it's "all fake." It's not fake, it's scripted and there's a difference. You can't fake someone's ear ripping off [Mick Foley], a leg snapped clean in half [Sid Vicious] and tragically, you can't fake a man falling 50 feet to his death [Owen Hart].
According to Will, I am a cheap date. Two beers [which magically kept refilling themselves] and I was quite the merry individual.
According to Jerry, I'm also quite verbose and opinionated. No big difference there. Waking up this morning, I realized a few things:
- Ow.
- Why am I up before the sun is? 5:00 a.m. is not an acceptable wake-up call, sober or hungover.
- At some point during the night, I realized that I was cold, so I woke up, put on pajama pants and went back to bed. Then, I guess I felt hot, so I went to the bathroom, took off the pants, folded them and left them on the counter. I have no recollection of this, but I'm assuming this is how it went down.
- Last night, I visualized an entire episode of Wings while dreaming. Start to finish, credits and all. Best half-hour of television ever. I should have been a writer for that show.
- My phone should be taken away from me after consumption of any alcoholic beverage. I remember calling Missy and her answering with, "Are you drunk?" That kinda made my night.
- Seriously, ow.
I'm off to the gym with the Asian to "get swoll."
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