Own Up

In 1990, I started watching pro football.  My favorite team, besides the Packers, was the Los Angeles Raiders.  And wouldn’t you know it, the silver and black made their way to AFC Championship that year and were pitted against the heavily favored Buffalo Bills.

I overheard a friend of my dad’s talking about the game and how Buffalo’s no huddle offense was gonna destroy Art Shell’s squad.  My eight-year-old self couldn’t take hearing those words, and I immediately butted in.  I defended the Raiders so passionately, in fact, that my dad’s friend asked if I’d like to put twenty bucks on the game.  I said yes, shook his hand, and spent the next few days thinking of what I could buy with that money.

Being as young as I was, I still had no understanding about all the nuances of the game, let alone the concepts of point spreads, play-calling, and home-field advantage.  I naturally just assumed that the prowess of Bo Jackson would carry the Raiders over even the most formidable of opponents (I also never bothered to watch LA’s game the previous week, where Mr. Jackson suffered what would end up being a career-ending injury).

Eventually, the day of the game arrived: Bills 51, Raiders 3.

I walked to my dad and asked him if I really had to pay the money.  He nodded yes and I spent the next month (my allowance was $5/week) gathering the funds to pay my debt.

I learned a valuable lesson that day.  Unfortunately, the little bastards I’m about to tell you about didn’t.

A bunch of kids in Kansas made a bet with their teacher that he couldn’t make a half-court shot blindfolded.  If he succeeded, they would give him tickets to this year’s Final Four NCAA tournament.  If you haven’t already seen it, I’m sure you can guess what happened.

Of course, no one planned on the guy actually making the shot, which means that there are no Final Four tickets to give him.  Although, there is word that people from around the country are offering up their tickets to this guy.  If you happen to be one of those people, don’t do it.  Those snot-nosed little punks need to learn a lesson and come up with the scratch to send their teacher on the trip they promised.

Get a paper route you little fuckers.

Why There Are Tongs On Top Of My Toliet

Wow. It’s been a while since I updated this site.  So much has happened.  What should I write about?  Should I throw in my two cents on the whole Leno/Conan situation?  Should I try to eek out a sliver of comedy regarding the earthquake in Haiti?  Or perhaps I should discuss the failure of Brett Favre and how it made every Wisconsin resident’s Sunday just a little better.  Nope. All of that is in the past and already been blogged about to a disgusting amount.  Instead, I would like to tell you a story.  And yes, it will be the third story in less than a year with a bathroom as the setting.

The past week or so has been quite trying.  I’m getting ready to move in March and all of my money is currently tied up in bills and security deposits (I literally have less than $80 to my name).  As a result, last weekend found me staying at home, playing video games, and watching TV (anything to keep me from spending).

Saturday was definitely the laziest day of them all.  My fiancée was working a double-shift, leaving me to myself for the entire day and night.  Highlights from the day include:

1. 3:00 – When I almost did laundry
2. 6:00 – When I awoke from a nap and was energized enough to sit up while I watched TV
3. 8:00 – When I pondered committing suicide out of boredom, until realizing I had beer
4. 8:30 – When I expelled the aforementioned beer, via urination (which is where our story begins)

I walked into the bathroom, lifted the seat, and peed out my first High Life.  While in the act, I noticed my dog, Jaws, come into the bathroom.  Jaws has a habit, which he has been doing since we got him, of sticking his head in the toilet in an effort to try to get as close to my pee stream as possible.  He only seems interested in the smell.  He takes a few whiffs and typically leaves the room before I’m done, so I never really cared that he did it.  I can say with 100% honesty:  I have never peed on my dog (which is more than he can say about me).

Anyways, as I was going to bathroom Jaws walked in as per usual and began to go in for his olfactory delights; but something was different.  This time he was also carrying one of his chew toys.  Now, a normal dog would drop their toy on the ground.  My dog, he delicately placed it on the rim of the toilet and then went in for his sniffs.  I looked at the toy, still peeing mind you, as it teetered on the edge.  Jaws backed away and looked up at me with one of the dumbest expressions I’ve ever seen him give me.  Then, in one slow but steady motion, he nudged his toy with his nose until it found its way to the bottom of the toilet.  I irritably watched him trot out of the room as I continued to pee on one of his favorite rubber toys.

Despite the advice of my roommate to either flush the toy out or fish it out by hand.  I decided to grab a pair of tongs to retrieve Jaws’s urine-soaked plaything.  Afterwards, both items that came in contact with the toilet bowl spent the night in a sink filled with scalding hot water.

After going through this whole ordeal I began to realize something; despite the fact that I didn’t want to write about it, a pissed-on dog toy does share a lot in common with the subjects of all the recent news happenings.  As far as Haiti goes, the tongs of the world will hopefully rescue the country out of the toilet, clean it up, and get it back to where it belongs.  In regards to Jay Leno and Brett Favre, perhaps we’re better off just flushing ‘em down.

When You’re Not Home

So last Saturday my fiancée had a roller derby bout in Appleton, leaving me with 12 hours to my own devices.  Awwww yeah!!!!  Time for dude’s night out.  Who knows what’ll happen.  Drinking? Fighting?  Puking?  I’m up for anything.

So I dropped my lady off at her bus at about 3:00 and headed home.  The first thing I did was turn on the NFL Playoffs.  As the game pressed on, my yawns increased and it didn’t take long before I found myself napping on the couch.  No big deal though, I’m gonna need my rest for the kinda night in store for me.

I woke up at about 5:00, anxious for the night to officially begin.  I decided to clean up the house and do some laundry.  Now when I wake up hungover tomorrow, I won’t have anything to do but lie on the couch and unsuccessfully try to convince myself that I’ll never drink this much again.  I finished up at about 7:00, just as the next game was starting.  I sat and had a couple beers until that game too became uninteresting.  Now it was time to get ready.

I hopped in the shower at about 8:00 or 8:30 and was ready to go out a little after 9:00.  I grabbed my phone and was ready to start calling around to see what everyone was up to.  Then, something dawned on me.  I had been sitting home alone all day, and I never took advantage of the fact that I can play video games whenever I want.  I booted up the PS3 and popped in Legends of Wrestlemania. A few bodyslams and leg drops later, I turned the system off and Saturday Night Live was on.  It was past 11:00 and I had lost all motivation to go out.

I’m beginning to see why I was single for so long before I met Jackie.

Well, at least I caught this video.