Remember that new feature I promised in last Monday’s post? No? Okay good cause it won’t be coming for another week or so and when it does, it’s not going to be any good. But seriously, I promise it’ll be here soon. Maybe.

Anyway, here’s a few thoughts from the weekend:

- On Thursday, I attended the Marquette/Cincinnati basketball game. My boy Travis Diener didn’t play because he’s out for the season after breaking his hand in practice. Watching Marquette w/o Diener (the conference’s leading scorer) is like watching Tommy Boy with Farley being replaced by Donkey Lips from Salute Your Shorts. Needless to say, Jihad Muhammad and the Bearcats won in a laugher.

- Driving back to OU from Cincy, I was in front of an SUV with a huge OSU sticker on it, complete with some frat letters that I can’t remember. We went back and forth for like an hour or so, then we made eye contact and they tried to be sweet and take off real fast @ like 100 mph. Two minutes later, a highway cruiser does a huge U-ey across the median in front of me and sure enough, nails those douchefaces from Ohio State. I have never been so proud of myself in my life. Except the one day I DIDN’T pee my pants in pre-school.

- Speaking of douchefaces from Ohio State, I hope I’m not the only one who derived extreme gratification from the fact that Maurice Clarett ran his 40s at the NFL combine slower than Stephen Hawking’s squeaky wheelchair. Then, in a show of pure class and determination, he decided to give up and skip the rest of the drills (an "effort" that garnered Lucky #13 "Tool of the Week" honors this week). This is the stuff legends are made of. And by legends I mean future welfare recipients.

- On Saturday, my partner and I prematurely bowed (bowelled) out of a 64-team beerpong tournament in the first round. Just call me Bob Huggins from now on. K?

- Sunday culminated with no less than three unbelievable NCAA basketball games (MSU/IU, OSU/KU, UNC/Maryland) that came down to the last second - in which the team I was pulling for won every single one. I’m not sure if that’s an accomplishment or not. Yes, it is.

- The only Oscar that I watched had a last name of “The Grouch.” BTW, did I mention that I’m six years old? Anyway, I’m pretty sure my favorite movie of 2004 – Eurotrip – got snubbed w/zero nominations so I didn't tune in. On a related note, I’d like to thank the Academy for being elitist bastards and to my parents for getting really drunk that one night 23 years ago. And to Trojan condoms that had yet to institute quality control standards in 1981.

Tool of the Week --- Word of the Day

Steve Jobs is the co-founder and CEO of Apple. He is 50 today. He also co-founded Pixar which is responsible for Toy Story and Finding Nemo. In related news, I am an immature little kid with poor taste in movies who is also easily entertained by cartoons.

I haven’t had an Apple computer since like my Apple IIc in second grade when I played “One on One: Dr. J vs. Larry Bird,” which, by the way, was amazing.

However, one 21^st century Apple product that I do own is their recent pop-culture phenomenon – the iPod. I’ve had mine for like 6 or 7 months and I must say, I am in love with it. Sadly, if you put a gun to my head, there are only a handful of people in my life that I would pick first in a “if you had to choose between your iPod and ever seeing this person again” test.

I bought my 40gig iPod in a moment of weakness last summer, fully knowing that it would cost me a week’s worth of painting wages and that I could never fill it up in my lifetime, even if I loaded up my entire Rush boxed-set collection and my New Kids on the Block’s Greatest Hits.

Sure, it’s nice to be able to have thousands of songs at your beck and call, but the best part about the iPod is that it totally releases you from any sort of social civility. Besides the fact that I can now carry the English, French and Spanish versions of every song that I’ve ever heard in the palm of my hand, the iPod gives me the freedom to never have to talk to anyone I don’t want to in public ever again.

When walking to class, you can totally snub everyone you see. When those white headphones are in, you’re listening to music and are WAY too important to discuss last week’s Calculus test with anyone, let alone what classes you’re taking next quarter or what bars they were planning on hitting up that evening.

Here’s a conversation that I had with a guy one time while I was listening to Wilson Phillips on my iPod while waiting for class to begin:

Guy: “Hey, didn’t we have PolySci together last year?”

Me: “I don’t know, dipshit. I’m rocking out to ‘Hold On’ and am clearly too important to converse with your fratboy ass. Later.”

Don’t get me wrong, you can still acknowledge people that you like, but now all you need to do is give the “approving head nod” to your boys and the “charming wink” to any female that you might find attractive. It’s just that easy.

The only bad part about owning an iPod is that they’re becoming so mainstream that even seventh-grade O-Town fans are starting to buy them. I guess that comes with the territory when you have a product that is one of the best things since sliced bread, Rock ‘n Jock sports, and nudity.

Anyway, thank you Steve Jobs for being alive for 50 years and being a lot smarter than me for most of that time. Keep up the good work and if you could, hook me up w/ Mandy Moore sometime. Thank you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go listen to the rest of Yanni: Live at the Acropolis. Bye.

Word of the Day

Alright, Ladies. I’ll admit that I have a lot to learn about the Order of the Double-X Chromosome. There’s some (a buttload) of stuff that I have yet to figure out about you in my 22+ years since I arrived on this planet from Mars (like how the TV has been around for over 100 years and you are still completely incapable of brandishing a remote control – CHANGE THE CHANNEL DURING COMMERCIALS BEFORE I SHOVE THE REMOTE (and something else) DOWN YOUR THROAT!!!).

However, of all the ridiculous things that you blame on your “special time of the month” (a phenomena which I don’t buy, by the way), the following action lands squarely at the top of the list.

“Severed Penis Retrieved from Toilet, Reattached”

That was the headline I awoke to this morning. Horrified, I actually checked my own pants to make sure that my ‘lil buddy was still there. Thank God.

The best part about the story is that after she tied the guy to the bed, sliced off his penis and flushed it down the toilet, she had the common courtesy to drive him to the hospital. What a sweetheart. The kind you take home to mamma – and then cut her up and bury her in the backyard.

Anyway, I know this isn’t the first instance of “extreme circumcision by completely psychotic and chemically imbalanced whore,” and the sad thing is that it probably won’t be the last. I just can’t figure out what can be going on in these girls’ heads when they think “You know what, I think I’ll just chop off his dick. That’ll teach him.” And people thought Van Gogh was nuts…

Riddle me this: Whatever happened to just sleeping with his best friend? I hear that’s still pretty effective.

I’ll give five dollars to anyone who can come up with a story of a man who cut off his wife’s breasts. I GUARANTEE that it’s never happened. Why? Because guys think shit through before they do them (sometimes). Maybe some have thought about it, but then they ultimately come to the realization that “If I cut them off, I won’t get to play with them anymore.”

This is what separates women from men. Men know what they want. No matter how mad they get, they know that there are few things in life that bring them joy – and boobs are one of them.

Alright, so the guy in this story was lucky enough to get his penis reattached. There’s no way it still works the way it used to. Plus, there’s always the off-chance that during a post-urination “shake,” it may just detach and fall right onto the urinal cake. Not cool.

In conclusion, Ladies: please don’t do this ever again. Thank you.

Word of the Day

Let it be noted that my television gets turned off of ESPN for non-sporting events at most maybe three times in any given day. Sometimes for Seinfeld on TBS from 6-7, sometimes for late-night talk shows (when there’s not a west-coast game on), and every single weekday from noon-1 to watch my new favorite recently-cancelled network show on TBS: Ed.

Now, I don’t get into “shows” like The OC anymore, not because I don’t like them but mostly because I know I would probably get addicted. I have a hard enough time finding a spare moment to call my girlfriend (Kelly Kapowski), let alone a spare 1-2 hours per week to devote to teen dramas (alright so I have A LOT of time on my hands). Anyway, Ed is my new guilty pleasure.

The best part about the TBS reruns are that they air in sequential order and you don’t have to wait an entire week to see the next episode, so you can ideally crank out an entire series in a few short months and several ditched classes.

At first I was upset when they pulled Saved by the Bell from the 12 o’clock time slot, but I got over it when I realized that I own every episode (minus the worthless “Tori” ones) on Digital Video Disc. I also have them memorized. Sad? Yes. Embarrassing? Yes. Do I care? NO.

If you haven’t seen it, basically it’s about a lawyer (Ed) who owns a bowling alley in Ohio and the “will they/won’t they” drama between he and a hot blonde teacher (Carol). It also has Michael Ian Black, the bad guy who has a heart attack in Dumb & Dumber, the horribly goofy cheerleader kid from Dodgeball and a bevy of other attractive females and guest-stars.

Right now they’ve just started Season Two, so you can get caught up if you need to. However, you’ve already missed out on one of the most extremely gorgeous sexbombs in television history named Bonnie Hane (played by Rena Sofer). She was a prosecutor that humped Ed for a few weeks while Carol was playing hard-to-get. She also gave me a lot of erections that I had to awkwardly explain to my all-male roommates.

I’m not going to lie, a lot of times I find myself yelling at the TV like a schoolgirl, mostly to tell the fat teacher chick (Molly) to stop feeling sorry for herself and Jazzercize, but also to tell Ed to forget Carol and sleep with all the hot babes that throw themselves at him.

So… if you’ve got nothing better to do weekdays at noon (midterms and finals are NOT excuses), why not tune to TBS and check out my boy Ed and friends?

p.s. – The only downside to watching this every day are TBS’s constant Sex & the City plugs. I may just be a moron (or a man with an actual sense of real humor), but I have yet to catch the punchline of any joke ever on that show. If you watch it, you are a retard. Retard = Female. Sorry.

Word of the Day

Keeping with my Monday posting trends, I’ll go ahead and give you something to read that’s really not worth your time nor my effort, follow that up with a sub-par Tool of the Week and a half-drunk Word of the Day (to be posted later today when I’m done watching TV and reading other websites that are better than mine).

Also, I’ll go ahead and promise a couple of new features to be introduced this week that will probably never pan out. But seriously, they’re going to be amazing. I promise.

Anyway, here’s some thoughts from the weekend:

- I watched 97 laps of the Daytona 500 (the most since I was 9 years old) and never once thought about changing the channel. I don’t know how else to explain that other than I really enjoy the insightful post-crash interviews… Jeanne Zelasko: “What happened?” Angry Driver: “I have no idea.” BRILLIANT.

- I watched an entire game of DIII women’s basketball… and enjoyed it. I don’t know how else to explain that other than that my friend who I went to watch play is attractive.

- I watched an entire Ohio U. wrestling match and enjoyed that too. But only because I have a thing for sweaty guys rolling around and fondling each other’s genitalia.

- I watched the entire Celebrity All-Star Game and didn’t enjoy it all that much. Except seeing Roger Lodge hoop it up. He has hairy arms.

- Allen Iverson won the All-Star MVP award with worse stats than every one of the Darke County Slammers. Those of you not familiar with the Darke Co. Slammers should note that they are a jr.-high mentally handicapped team where I’m from. I was on it.

- I got home late Saturday night to find a random mom stumbling drunk through my house and nobody knew who she was, and I DIDN’T take advantage of her. See, Ladies, I am sensitive and caring (but only because she was hideously ugly).

- I want to have J.J. Redick’s baby.

In a word: WEAK. I haven’t subscribed to SI since high school, so I haven’t really seen the last few years’ swimsuit spectaculars, but my roommate got a free subscription this year so I was interested to see what kinds of boobies were partially-hidden under the latest in swim fashions.

Let me say that I was pretty much 100% disappointed. I’m pretty sure I’ve never heard of any of this year’s models, and I’m also pretty sure that I can only pronounce about half of their names. Where have the days of Tyra, Heidi, and Rebecca gone? Probably to the same place as my unfulfilled boner: the internet.

I can remember bringing my Tyra Banks issue to class in 8^th grade and honestly being scared that I’d get suspended for being caught with pornography. It’s a good thing my mom was my studyhall teacher. Anyway, that issue was hot. Maybe it’s because my testicles had finally descended or maybe it’s because it was before my family got the internet, but there were about three years of the SI Swimsuit Issue that that kept me sane through my lonely, awkward, afraid of talking to girls stage.

Okay so I’m still in the lonely, awkward, afraid of talking to girls stage, but at least now I have the internet. And alcohol.

I think my favorite part of perusing the pages of this year’s issue was stumbling across the ad for the upcoming sure-to-be summer blockbuster Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo. Seriously, I can’t wait. I laughed my ass off when I saw the first one. By myself.

Another great (pronounced: terrible) addition to this year’s issue is the “Model Trading Card.” They’re like the perforated cards that used to come in the Sports Illustrated for Kids issues, except with girls in bikinis. Who wants a scaled-down picture of a no-name model when the rest of the magazine is filled with two-page foldouts? I’ll trade you one Oluchi Onweagba for a .14 second google-search any day of the week.

The best part of the cards are the “did you know?” sections…

“Daniella Sarahyba’s (I told you I can’t pronounce these) ambitious goals include hosting her own television show, managing a public (pronounced: pubic) relations firm and having a large family.”

Daniella, I don’t know about the first two, but I’m sure I can help you out with the “large family” part. That is, if I didn’t waste all my good semen between the pages of the Tyra Banks issue. Call me.

All that being said, I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t kill for one night with any one of these babes. Or to ever be seen in public with any one of them. Or to be in the background of a picture with any one of them. Or to be on a legal document entitled “restraining order” with any one of their names on it. Sue me.

2005 SI Swimsuit Issue --- SI Swimsuit Archive

Word of the Day

Well Ladies, I’ve been thinking about it. After some intense self-analysis consisting of no less than two grueling fifteen-minute sessions, I’ve determined that I’m smarter, funnier, more attractive, more charming and more “well endowed” than pretty much every other human on this planet. With that in mind, I’m not worried about you picking another human male over me.

That’s why I thought I would give you bodacious babes several reasons why you should date me instead of a Bear, just in case Yogi, Smokey, Paddington, Fozzie, Winnie or any of the Gummibears gives you a call in the near future. I know these guys have impeccable track records and come with tremendous references, but hear me out.

Reason #1 – I have opposable thumbs.

To be honest, I’m not 100% sure that bears don’t have opposable thumbs, but even if they do – mine have got to be WAY better.

Reason #2 – I won’t dig through your garbage (unless it’s an emergency).

One time at school I had to dig through the trash because I thought I threw my retainer in there. Turned out, it was in my pocket the whole time. But I don’t wear a retainer anymore so we don’t have to worry about that ever happening again (hopefully).

Reason #3 – I shave my chest (and genitals) regularly.

Because no one likes hacking through Sherwood Forest to get to the Crown Jewels…

Reason #4 – I can run downhill.

This could come in very handy sometime. So far I haven’t had to test this skill out too often, but you never know.

Reason #5 – I function during the winter months.

Does playing videogames and eating Cheetos and Little Debbie snacks in my ‘jammies count?

Reason #6 – I can prevent forest fires.

I never understood that when I was little. Smokey the Bear was supposed to be the Park Ranger, but only I could prevent forest fires? What the hell was in his job description then?

Reason #7 – I would never be caught dead doing THIS.

Twenty years later, and I still die laughing every time I see it. Payton, the Fridge, and Jim McMahon “dancing” and “rapping” like they just stepped off the short bus to the “special school” - you can’t put a price on that. Actually you can. Amazon’s selling it for $10 – buy it for me.

Word of the Day

“Red Chip Diaries” is the running series of stories chronicling my experiences as a semi-professional poker dealer at a semi-legal “charity” gaming operation. If you haven’t caught the previous three installments, you can check them out below to get caught up or better yet, just drop a cinder block on your head for not finding them sooner.

Vol. 1: “Meet the Freaks”

Vol. 2: "The Prequel"

Vol. 3: “Killer Head”

Today’s story details (and by details I mean skims over and probably exaggerates the facts as I vaguely remember them) the night that I and everyone at casino night almost died. Kindof. Keep reading.

The “night we almost died” centers around several key characters. On one side of the incident you’ve got “KJ,” the main character in “Killer Head” and her pseudo-boyfriend “Mike.” (I don’t know why I put quotes around “Mike” because that was actually his real name.)

On the other side are “Paul” and “Bubba,” two pretty cool guys that came around casino nights a lot with fatter wads than Costanza’s wallet. I’m pretty sure it was all drug money though because their beepers honestly blew up more than Ashlee Simpson’s cell at an “I Suck” convention – these guys put Jamal Lewis to shame.

Most of the better players liked when Paul and Bubba came around because they would play “loose” with their 1,000’s of dollars, just throwing chips into the pot like they were Chuck-E-Cheese coins. Now that I think about it, Chuck-E-Cheese coins are way better than money… and I hear they’re doing quite well against the Yen these days too.

Anyway, Mike and KJ were not too fond of these guys because they always seemed to lose to Paul and Bubba’s “shitty ass hands,” I believe they so eloquently described them. This night in particular was extra rough on the lovebirds and tensions finally boiled over.

I was dealing at their table and Mike got beat by Paul’s “2-4 offsuit” which – in case you haven’t caught one of the 5,476,286 World Series of Poker reruns on the ESPN family – is pretty weak. Completely frustrated, knowing his kids were going to have to settle for the “Sam’s Choice” brand of Cola that week, Mike threw his cards at Paul Gambit-style, who immediately took offense.

I had no idea what to do. My “boss” told me to get control of the table, but that was like telling Clay Aiken to “get in control” of a Tyson-Spinks streetfight. I had no idea what to do. What I should have said was “Take it easy guys,” but what I actually said to Paul was “Why don’t you settle this like a man and beat his ass?” Okay so I didn’t say that, but you can imagine what it’d be like if I did.

Yada, yada, yada, my shift at the table was over so I went to the other table to start my next shift, and this is when all hell broke loose. See, the operator of “casino nights” usually hires a rent-a-cop, but he’d left earlier that night. This left me, my buddy Lupus, and two thirtysomething, twohundredpound women to fend off Columbus’ finest gangsters. Bad situation.

Something happened back at the “ground zero” table, and a shouting match ensued. Mike and KJ were yelling at Paul and Bubba for some reason that I can’t remember. Paul was playing it cool and said “Come on, you guys are adults,” but in his thug accent it sounded like “You guys are DOGS.” Uh-oh. Mike snapped.

At this point I honestly think I knew what it must feel like to attend the Source Awards. Given the fact that I’m pretty sure Paul and Bubba were “packing heat” and that we were about as close to any law enforcement as Taco Bell is close to serving real meat, I was starting to draft my final will and testament. I also wet myself.

Everyone froze. The tension was so thick, you couldn’t cut it with Jay Leno’s chin. Then, Vicki – the one in charge – stepped in and took control. Somehow she calmed them down by yelling and frantically shaking her disgustingly floppy breasts. She kicked out all the involved parties, they went their separate ways and the Robertcat lived to see another day. But his underpants didn’t. THE END.

Word of the Day

Well, it’s Tuesday. The Around-the-World Party was Saturday. I think I still have a headache.

I’m not a scientologist, so I have no idea what causes hangovers other than that they are somehow related to the consumption of a buttload of alcohol. What I do know is that I don't enjoy the feeling of not being able to stand vertically until 5:00 p.m. following a night of
inebriation. I’m pretty sure everyone reading this proabably feels the same.

Anyway, my liver has been naughty lately so on Saturday night I took it upon myself to give it a stern beating, and hopefully it learned its lesson. Another one of my body’s organs got a stern beating on Saturday as well, but I don’t think that my mom would be proud of me anymore if I gave you any details about that.

The above picture is a wall in my bedroom that I let people sign @ the party and if you look closely, you will see zero drawings of penises, breasts, nor any mammalian sexual organ whatsoever. I was very unpleasantly surprised and disappointed in my friends who I thought were as immature as I am. Posers. Also, to the gentleman who gave me his telephone number: I’m flattered, but I don’t swing that way… for less than $50.

According to several eyewitnesses, later that night I apparently passed out in mid-sentence while talking to my friends in my living room – standing upright, mind you – crashed to the floor, coming dangerously close to putting my head right through the not-HI-DEF TV. Nobody had ever seen anything like that before and for my head’s sake, hopefully no one sees anything like that again. Although I'm sticking to the mantra of "If I don’t remember it, it didn’t happen."

Today I vowed to not drink for the rest of the quarter, mostly to save money but also to save the few remaining brain cells that I’m still clinging to. That vow took place at about noon. Six hours later, I was at the bar having a few Labatts. All Canadian beer is non-alcoholic, right? Nuts. Alright, no drinking anymore. Starting… NOW.

Hangover Links:

Hungover.net – I think they are supposed to have cures for hangovers, but the site’s color combinations make my head hurt even more than it already does so I didn’t even get past the main page.

So You Wanna Cure a Hangover? – I don’t feel like reading this. You probably won’t either.

Chaser – A pill you can take to cure your hangover. “Does not prevent intoxication.”

Anti-Hangover Tips – “There is one preventive measure that is absolutely foolproof for every person in the world: Don't ever drink. You'll be guaranteed to avoid hangovers for the rest of your life.” Not Bloody Likely.

The Non-Alcoholic Hangover – Helps non-drinkers deal with the effects of “secondhand heavy drinking.” Also helps them deal with being complete losers. Weak.

Word of the Day

Happy Valentine’s Day everyone. I was going to write a big long post about the second-sexiest holiday of the year (with Arbor Day coming it at #1, OBVIOUSLY) but I’m too tired now so Ladies, just pretend I wrote a bunch of funny and charming things and then come perform various sexual acts on me.

Also, if you didn’t receive a personally-made, questionably legal, definitely homosexual valentine by e-mail from me today, hit me up. But only if you’re comfortable seeing me Skinemax-naked and maybe a little bit of my “penis cleavage.” You’ve been warned.

Earlier this month or maybe back in January, I posted a killer music mix for you to “get your groove on” to (in whatever way you best see fit – solo, pairs, groups, whatever), but I realized that I had a major omission. How I left off Firehouse’s classic “When I Look Into Your Eyes” is beyond me. Musical perfection was attained in 1992. I’m not sure why anyone is even trying anymore. But when I think about Puff Daddy or P Diddy or whatever, I realize that nobody IS trying anymore. Except Ashlee Simpson, she must be trying… to SUCK.

In honor of V-Day, here’s some of my own favorite and most successful pickup lines:

“Is that a keg in your pants? Cause I’d sure like to tap that ASS. And by “tap” I mean penetrate.”

I show the girls this wall in my bedroom, and then say “Have you ever seen the THIRD tower?”

“If I could rearrange the alphabet, I’d put my penis and your vagina together.”

“Do you have a quarter? You better call the cops cause I’m about to rape you.”

“Hey. I think somebody just farted. Let’s get out of here.”

Girl – “Are you single?” Me – “Baby I’m a home run. But only because I use steroids, rendering my testicles pretty much useless. Wanna hump?”

“Didn’t I see you on the cover of Maxim? No wait, I think it was She-male Mistresses. That’s it!

Tool of the Week: Cupid

Word of the Day

Tonight is my house’s second-annual Around-the-World Party. You should come. If you are a girl, you should dress provocatively and make out with me or something.

If you’ve never been to an Around-the-World party before, this is what they (at least ours) are like: each room in the house is a different country, with the very finest of each nation’s potent potables (that can be purchased in bulk from Sam’s Club in Parkersburg, West Virginia).

People are supposed to take a shot or have a drink in each “country” and upon completion, are inducted into the Circumnavigator’s Club (aka the extremely-wasted-vomiting-all-over-yourself club). Extra points are given for those super-Magellan-esque champions that can go around the world more than three times in one night. Extra points are also given to those individuals that can stay conscious past midnight.

In my room I’ll be hosting the festivities for the nation of “Superior Wangland,” population = me. We are a proud country with a rich tradition of giving females intense sexual gratification and giving males about 10 reasons (inches) to be insanely jealous. That is, if we don’t pass out before 10:00 p.m.

If last year’s party is any indication of how this year’s will go, I expect multiple casualties – that’s why this year’s party is BYOC (Bring Your Own Coffin). Seriously though, be sure to not drink yourself retarded because if I end up in bed with three guys, no pants, and a puke-filled pillowcase again this year I am just going to snap (only 1/3 of that has actually happened before, I’ll let you decide which).

Anyway, it should be a good time had by all, especially after the Ohio University Basketball Bobcats lay waste to the collar-popping infidels from Miami.

Reminder: Monday is Valentine’s Day. Get me something nice. Whoever can send me the best (sexiest) email/IM message this weekend will get to be my official 2005 Valentine. This prestigious honor has many fringe benefits, including getting to see me naked and getting to see me naked. Good luck, see you next week. If I'm still alive.

Word of the Day

February 11^th is the shared birthday of three of the most influential and important people in American history. That’s right - Thomas “Alva” Edison, Burt “The Real Bandit” Reynolds, and Jennifer “Recently On-The-Rebound and Possibly Vulnerable” Aniston are all celebrating birthdays today. So, in an effort to precisely determine which one has meant more to our society, I decided to go through a marathon of painstaking efforts to compare and contrast these three uber-celebrities in a winner-take-all (or most likely nothing) Battle of the Titans.

Firstly, I’ll give you a brief rundown of each contestant and then I’ll come up with something after that, which I haven’t yet given any thought to whatsoever. Let the games (retardedness) begin.

Thomas Edison – Scientist/Inventor/Aspiring Male Model

You may have heard of this guy. He invented the lightbulb, which turned out to be pretty useful. He was born in Ohio. Psychologists also think he had A.D.D., so I’ve already got two things in common w/ him right there (the birthplace and ADD part, not the lightbulb inventing). Edison also invented motion pictures, so you can personally thank him for today’s film geniuses Vin Diesel and Paul Walker.

Burt Reynolds – Actor/Producer/Director/Moustache-Ride-Giver

Today is his 69^th birthday, which is noteworthy because everyone knows that 69 is the “Tuna & Tubesteak” anniversary. He’s been in exactly 5,345,672 films, obviously the best of which being Cop & a Half. He’s also playing Boss Hogg in the upcoming theatrical release of Dukes of Hazzard. He received The People’s Choice Award as "Favorite All Around Motion Picture Actor" for a record six consecutive years, a record that likely never will be broken, not even by America’s sweetheart Nicholas Cage.

Jennifer Aniston – Actress/Hottie/Boobie-Haver

She was born in ’69 so I guess that counts for something, including me being totally immature. Shut up. She is recently single and I hear she’s looking, at least that’s what she said in the 36 drunken voicemails she sent me last night. Someone needs to stop giving these celebrities my cell number – random calls from beautiful rich women tend to get annoying after like the first 3,000. Anyway, she was in Friends and was the only reason I could sit through more than five minutes of that show.

Alright. So… who wins? I have no idea where I’m going with this yet, give me a minute to think about it. On one hand, Jennifer Aniston is the hottest and I’ve pictured her naked the most (although Burt is dangerously close). On the other hand, Burt Reynolds was in Boogie Nights and has a moustache that most actors would kill for. You can’t teach that. Finally, Thomas Edison invented motion pictures, without which we never would have heard of the other two… He’s also from Ohio which hits a soft spot in my heart. Man, this is tough.

Alright, I just flipped my three-sided coin and the winner has been determined. And the winner of this contest that has no reward whatsoever and that will probably never be played again and that probably was a bad idea to even do in the first place IS - Drumroll……………………….. ME. I’m cooler than these three people put together, multiplied, squared and logarithm-d (I don’t know if you can even “d” a logarithm though). There you have it, ladies and gentlemen. It’s official. I RULE.

Word of the Day

That’s him. Isn’t he a sexy beast? Well that’s not exactly my car but that’s pretty much what it looked like in its prime, I’m just not sure if I ever got to see my car in its prime, or if it ever even had a prime.

My 1992 Eagle Premier - affectionately named “ROBDAWG” - has been with me since high school. Driving it made me feel like I was riding in the lap of luxury… just nobody else knew it. I’ve only seen one other like it in the last six years, and it was in the classic movie Roadhouse starring the badass sex-monster known to the layman as Patrick Swayze.

The Eagle may have looked, smelled, and run like a piece of junk, but in my eyes it could do no wrong. Even when I left its lights on no less than 10 times during my senior year of high school, we were never more than a set of jumper cables away from pushing 50 (maybe 60 if we were going downhill) with the wind in our face - if the power windows would have actually worked, that is.

But as of this week, our seemingly endless love looks like it will go the way of Brad and Jen, Ben and Jen, and Ben and Jerry. The brakes went out on “the dawg” for like the 4^th time in the last two years, but this time was the last straw.

The mechanic told me I had a bunch of busted stuff on it and proceeded to name off broken parts that I didn’t even know existed outside of the Lunar Rover and Martha Stewart’s vibrator. So the mechanic is naming off all these terminal car diseases, then he gets to the end and says… “Oh yeah, and your windshield wipers are streaking.” Thanks, dude. My freaking windshield wipers are streaking. Enough is enough! Junk it!

Anyway, the parts & labor were going to cost more than I (aka my dad) paid for the whole beautiful vehicle, so the decision to let it go was an easy one to make, but a hard one to come to terms with. My eyes are filling with tears just thinking about letting him go.

I’ll never forget the time it broke down on the 4^th of July in the middle of the country 20 miles from my house, or the time it quit working my freshman year of college and had to be towed the entire 3-hour trip back home, or the time the brakes gave out, or the time the brakes gave out again, or the time the headlights didn’t work, or the time the radiator blew out in the middle of downtown Dayton, the time the muffler blew and it was so loud you couldn’t even talk to the guy next to you, or the time the A/C quit working on a 9-hour trip to Illinois or the time I ran over that hobo in Kentucky. Great times…

I’ll miss you, ROBDAWG. I’ll miss the way your turn-signal beeped annoyingly every ½ second, the way your gas gauge didn’t ever work properly, and the way you ate up tires faster than the Three Billy Goats Gruff. I’ll also miss your 5-city/8-highway gas mileage and the way you took your sweet-ass time heating the inside and defrosting the windshield.

So this is the end. I’ll remember all the great times we had, and all the times I didn’t score with chicks in the back seat, and all the hot dates I would have used you for if I ever would have gotten one. It’s been a good run, I love you and I’ll miss you. It’s a shame you are a guy or I would have tried to put the moves on you. God knows you sure tried put the moves on me big guy. Later.

Word of the Day

That’s not her.

But THIS IS, THIS IS, and THIS IS.

If you are like me, you pretty much forgot about this little Columbian number until I just mentioned her a few seconds ago. Also, if you are like me, you miss seeing her little behind rhythmically shaking on MTV every day. I don’t actually watch MTV anymore but it would be nice to know that if I did, Shakira would be on there. Apparently, she has a two new albums coming out this year, one in English and one with entirely different songs in Spanish for those of you who habla espanol.

I have both versions of Enrique Iglesias’ Escape. Does that make me gay? Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned that. Oh well.

February 9^th is also Bill Veeck’s (a former baseball owner) birthday, but he’s dead now and you’ve never heard of him. You should’ve, because he’s one of the most influential figures in baseball history. You don’t care, but I’m going to tell you stuff about him anyway and if you complain, I’m taking my Louisville Slugger to your kneecaps…

- He was one of the first to install lights in baseball stadiums for night games

- He was the first to put player names on the backs of their jerseys

- He signed the first black player in the American League, Larry Doby

- He signed 3’7” midget Eddie Gaedel for a one-game contract – he got walked

- It was his idea to have Harry Carey sing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” during the 7^th-inning stretch

- He was the first to install “exploding” scoreboards and have fireworks after home-runs

- He was responsible for a bunch of other really cool stuff that I don’t even know about.

If for some unbelievable reason you are not aroused by the thought of sexily-dancing Columbians or innovative baseball entrepreneurs, I have another celebrity birthday for your face:

John Kruk – The “Chris Farley of Baseball” (I made that up) - one of the sexiest men ever to play the game outside of Fernando Valenzuela and Rod Beck, and now one of the funniest (albeit sometimes unintentionally) analysts on ESPN’s Baseball Tonight. He also only has one testicle, I think.

p.s. – Less than a week till pitchers & catchers report to spring training… Man I can’t wait. I also can’t wait till Hilary Duff turns 18, but that’s different.

Word of the Day

You may have read my earlier post entitled “I Want to Date a Plus-sized Model,” but I’ve been thinking about it and I’ve changed my mind. Even though, as my dad says when referring to fat chicks - “a piece in every crease” - the thought of me going to town on Ms. Shamoo makes me want to shove scissors in my eyes and let Schwarzenegger sledgehammer my penis back inside my body. Those are bad things, by the way.

The title for this post was going to be “I Want to Date a Bulimic Model,” but I realized that it would just be redundant. It also would have been pretty redundant if I called it “I want to date a bulimic chick from The O.C.” Sorry, Mischa … give me a call me and we’ll see if we can work something out. Actually that joke probably works for every teen drama ever made. Except for Busy Phillips’ character from Dawson’s Creek, she was a tank.

When you think about it, who WOULDN’T want to date a bulimic chick? There are so many up-sides to the idea that are almost impossible to deny. Firstly, you’d never have to worry about her having a weight problem. It’s highly unlikely that she’d wake you up if she’s moving around in bed – which is a good thing, unless your name is John Bobbitt.

I wouldn’t have to worry about her puking at the sight of my disgusting body, cause she already took care of that after dinner. Speaking of dinner, a bulimic chick is probably a cheap date. She doesn’t care whether it’s McDonald’s or Mendy’s, either way it’s coming back up.

You may break some of her bones when having sex, but at least you know which ones are broken because you’ll be able to see right through her skin. Which reminds me: I love it when girls’ ribs stick out farther than their bust-line as much as the next guy, but ribs actually visible through the skin? Sign me up.

A major high-point is that she’d be used to sticking things down her throat and should probably be talented in that area, if you catch my drift. The only downside is that there’s a good chance she won’t swallow…

Seriously though, I make a lot of jokes, but bulimia is certainly no laughing matter. Those girls are wasting quality food that could easily be used to feed starving kids in Cambodia. Jerks.

Honestly ladies, when will you learn that food is good for you and that most guys will actually like you for who you are as a person and not for the contents of your toilet? As long as “who you are as a person” doesn’t ever deny sex or talk during sporting events or get mad at them for forgetting anniversaries, birthdays, and other minute details… like your name.

Word of the Day

First off, tell #20 in the above picture that he's wearing the wrong jersey. Terrell Owens is #81. He totally botched the "cripple" costume. Unless he's doing an impression of Stephen Hawking. If that's the case, give him kudos.

I apologize for the lack of new content over the weekend, but I have a perfectly good explanation. It was sibs’ weekend here @ OU and lets just say I should have carded that cute blonde before I “gave her the business.” That girl was only 15 years old?! I thought she was 36! Needless to say, the undercover officer didn’t find my drunken ploys all that charming and I spent the next two days spending some quality time with my cellmate Stinky Pete.

That was a lie… but seriously, there was this one sib at the Magic: The Gathering tournament that I’m pretty sure was into me. She said I gave her an extra 34 hit points – which I hear is a good thing.

I started to feel bad about not updating but then I realized that the only people who visit this site regularly are my mom and five of the guys from my high school chess team. Alright, so my high school didn’t have a chess team, but you know for damn sure that if we did, I would have been the Gary Kasparov of GHS. Wow, I just made a professional chess reference. If I ever do that again, kill me. Kinda like how Bobby Fisher killed like 100 people at a time in that one movie. Frick. I couldn’t even last one sentence. Yeah, so that part about killing me? Scratch that.

Anyway, I’ve got a new Tool of the Week and a new Word of the Day and a new set of silicon breasts that I now use as stress relievers. For my penis.

Random Thoughts on the Super Bowl:

- The Bengals failed to pull it out yet again. I really thought this was going to be their year.

- Greenville, Ohio (the absolute best town in the history of municipalities) native Matt Light brings home his third Super Bowl ring. He's also probably bringing home more than a few buckets of KFC.

- T.O. just pulled the biggest fake-injury since… Curt Shilling. What a bunch of showboats. Just like Lance Armstrong – nobody likes a bragger.

- Adam Vinatieri’s 4^th quarter field goal was the difference in the game. Again. Actually the difference in the game was how Donovan McNabb forgot what team he was on THREE TIMES. I hear he’s been grounded by the Eagles’ team mom. The punishment? No chunky soup for a month.

- Pretty much an off-year for the commercials if you ask me. Pepsi’s sucked, Bud’s were pretty weak, and the one with the tank-top girl in the courtroom was just confusingly arousing. The ones with the monkeys weren’t too bad, but I guess the #1 award goes to the American Mutual ads w/ the random animals/spokesmen/music and one other one that I can’t think of right now. Also, I don’t think Napster realizes that people still know how to download music for free.

- The world (or maybe just me) missed out on seeing McCartney’s nipple.

While surfing the web for nude pictures of Regis Philbin… I mean… Anna Kournikova, I came across a super-pointless, super-fun little webtool. With it, you can find out how compatible you are with all kinds of different celebrities. This is done by taking into account many factors, such as your birth date, your birth date, and your birth date. Pretty intricate. Check it out, you can look at your top matches and also browse for your favorite star.

Celebmatch.com – You know Lleyton Hewitt’s brand new fiancée? Didn’t think so, but her name is Rebecca Cartwright and she’s hot. She’s also 97% compatible w/ yours truly. I just sent her an email telling her about it, so we’ll see if anything pans out.

Obviously I looked up MY GIRL Tiffani Thiessen, and it turns out that she and I are 75% compatible. Not too shabby. I let her know about it by writing a message with lipstick on her bathroom mirror and then watching her sleep.

I also found out that I am 96% physically compatible with my high school sweetheart Cameron Diaz. I wonder if that bitchboy JT will ever realize that she’s been humping me on-the-side for the last five years.

Even though I was pumped (literally) about my new-found love for the above hotties, my elation (and erection) went through the roof when I found out that Derek Jeter and I are 100% compatible in the physical spectrum. Cha-ching!

Celebrity Battles – Here you can help decide who is hotter, funnier, and more evil - but the best part of it is the “who would win in a fight” battle…

Who would win in a fight? - I love the stats where they show the best and worst records of all-time. Of course, she-beast-man-woman-terminator Serena Williams has the top winning percentage, slightly above Andre the Giant at #2 and a few places ahead of God. Needless to say, Clay Aiken is dead last. Right below Dick Cheney. Talk about a couple of pussies...

The next fun thing to do is make your own church signs. Where can you do that? Well, churchsigngenerator.com of course. See if you can beat mine. If you do, send it to me and if I like it - I'll put it up.

Another fun/pathetic thing to do on the internet is to visit various name-generators and find out what your mathematician, prison bitch, and child molester names would be. The following are a few of my favorites:

Penis Name Generator – Probably more meaningful to the guys (and the aforementioned Serena Williams), but ladies - go ahead and give it a try. You can all now refer to my esteemed Johnson as “Albert Tatlock the Rock Hard TrouserSnake.”

What your name would be if it were an Emo Song – Mine: “Stab my Heart Because You're Bored.” The sad thing is, that’s probably an actual real song title. Emo sucks.

Fairy Name Generator – Type your name in on the left side of the page. Then start calling me “Fire Rainbowfilter.”

Mr. T Name Generator – Not going to spoil this one by telling you mine. Absolutely genius.

There are a few pornstar name generators out there, but they’re all pretty weak. Besides, everyone knows that to get your porn name you use your first pet’s name with the first street you lived on. “Buddy West Fourth” doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue, so I came up with one on my own – introducing: Robertcat “The A-FIST-ocrat.”

There you have it, enjoy. Now if you’ll excuse me I gotta go to the bars and light up the “erotic photo hunt” machine. By the way, if any of you have really good computer hacking skills, make me an online version of this game so that I can just get drunk and play from the comfort of my own home. Oh yeah, and try to use pictures of actually attractive women, not the Shrek-ettes that they usually put on there. Thanks.

Word of the Day

First off, I have no business writing this because I had a few (854) too many drinks tonight and I’m seeing two (36-24-36) of everything - including computer monitors. And I think one of them is telling me to kill the Prime Minister of Malaysia. Relax! (It took me twenty minutes to type this paragraph because every single word had at least one typo, and five of the words I was trying to write don’t even exist in any modern language. Weak.)

- Highlight of my night that will be 200% unimpressive to 99.9% of my readers: drinking with newly-hired Ohio head football coach and former Nebraska frontman Frank Solich. He’s the closest thing OU’s got to a celebrity right now, present company excluded. Oh yeah, and the voice of Bart Simpson went here, but she’s a girl - and not an attractive one. Matt Lauer went here too, but he’s a big douche. Piper Perabo went here as well, but she’s hot. Wait... awesome. Anyway, I think I was about two Jagerbombs away from asking Coach Solich if I could go home with him. He probably would have let me, too.

- Random question actually posed one time by my buddy Andy: “Do you think when midgets go to keg parties, that they carry Dixie cups around with them?” The best part about that question is that he was DEAD serious. What a great freaking question. This continues to rack my brain and make me lose sleep at night. If any of you have actually seen a midget at a keg party, hit me up and let me know what it was like.

- Little… ahem… ‘Lil Wayne will be here @ OU performing on Saturday. I can get you a ticket for $15 if you want one, then I can stab you in the face for being a retarded money manager. Seriously though, you can come hang out w/ me this weekend and I WON’T charge you to hear me mumble incoherently, slurrrrr my speech and ride the coat-tails of one cool part in a Juvenile song that came out in 1999. The only fee for my company is just a small donation that I like to call a "boquete." We get the best musical acts here, I swear. After you back it up then stop. Then wha, wha, wha, drop it like it’s hot!

- The ACC is by far the most fun-to-watch college basketball conference. Duke-Wake was great. But not as great as OU-Buffalo. We are sweet.

- Alright, that’s enough posting for today. Check back tomorrow when I’ll probably waste more of your time w/ another incoherent string of drunken drivel and at least 45 references to my girl Kelly Kapowski and 15 new nude photos of myself. Sorry, Mom.

Word of the Day

Does the above picture disturb you at all? Maybe not, but there’s something about it that doesn’t add-up to me. Let’s see if I can figure out what it is… Oh yeah, it’s the part where the middle-aged man is holding a naked baby. And you know it can't be HIS baby... they don't even have the same pecs! And this is supposed to make me get an American Express card? You don’t even want to see the other half of this 2-page spread. Let’s just say it involves an un-neutered dog and a pair of fake Oakley sunglasses.

What’s even more disturbing is that this was the second page of this week’s Sports Illustrated. The SECOND PAGE! All I wanted to do was read the “faces in the crowd” and the “go figure” sections (because my attention span doesn’t permit me to read anything over 36 consecutive words) and MAYBE Rick Reilly’s column, but the first thing I see is a naked baby being accosted by a pedophile with chiseled abs and just-for-men colored hair.

This is just sick. I bet daddy didn’t even bother to put sunscreen on his precious little buddy’s pornstar-to-be ass. The tagline for the ad is “My life. My card,” but what it should be is “My life. My card. My 15-year jail sentence.” Sicko.

What is it with marketing and naked babies? Car commercials, sub commercials, other commercials that I don’t even know about, and now American Express advertisements. Not only is this legalized child HBO-level pornography, but it is exploiting a segment of the population that can’t speak for themselves, let alone even speak at all. Do you honestly think that kid got any kind of bank for his parents parading him around in the nude for all to see? I don’t think so. It’s time we fight for infant rights. To the streets!

To do my part, from this day forward I vow to never buy any product that is endorsed by a person who still goes #1 and #2 in their diapers. This includes Wilford Brimley and Barbara Walters. Oh man what a ZING!

When are ad-wizards everywhere going to realize that all you need to sell products are a nice set of hoots and maybe throw in a George Fourman or two. Wait. George Fourman already has a nice set of hoots and is already named George Fourman. No wonder his grills are selling faster than an ounce of Jamal Lewis’ cocaine. Double ZING!

I can see a naked baby plastered on the pages of Sports Illustrated, but I can’t even see Janet Jackson’s right boob or the backside of a not-naked Nicolette Sheridan? Give me a break. The media is so hypocritical. Now if you’ll excuse me I need to go pleasure myself to a few Cialis commercials. Later.

Word of the Day

I’m not going to lie, when I get bored I sometimes tend to read the away messages of everyone on my IM list. Everyone does it. I don’t really even care what any of you are doing, it’s just a habit for some reason. I realize how incredibly idiot-tastic this is, because 98.6% of the time what you have to say pisses me off. But I still do it. Sue me.

Some of the time you’ll give me a run-down of what your daily schedule is, which is nice because it makes my job as professional stalker that much easier. ex - “Off to class, then lunch w/ Dave @ 1, then hair appt, then a meeting at 3, then off to work-out, then back home where I’ll be changing clothes in front of the east window and massaging my erogenous zones.”

Sometimes you will write ambiguous notes to anonymous people but it’s usually obvious who the person is you’re referring to. ex -“SOMEONE left me tremendously unfulfilled last night (frowny face). I’m not going to name names, but let’s just call him S. Donaldson, no wait that’s too obvious… Steve D. There.”

Other times, you’ll write coded messages to your peeps in beautiful rainbows of color that make my eyes want to vomit that eye-juice stuff you learn about when you dissect a cow’s eye in 7^th grade. These are interesting. ex – “***watz up 2 all my girlzZ!(angel face); guud TiMEs oN SprInG bREak!!! (super-happy face); p-LO: luvZ ya 4-EVA!!! (some other face); and G-%m%: you’s da BOMB!! (blowjob face)”

Better yet, a lot of you like to put IM conversations that you’ve had w/ your friends in there. Most of these are not nearly as humorous as you think. ex -
poopchute69:"so i was all like, if you’re gonna donkey-punch me, at least have the decency to put me back into bed when you leave "
goatluv213: "lol, brb."

Also, putting your phone number in your profile is dangerous. Ladies, if you don’t want me drunk-dialing you @ 3:00 a.m. on a Monday night asking if your Dixie Wrecked, don’t put your # in your profile. End of discussion.

Though the above are all bad, the absolute WORST faux-pas of IM profiling is the quoting of songs. These songs almost always suck. If I wanted to hear those crappy lyrics, I would LISTEN to the song. I don’t need you to tell me what it says. I don’t care what deep meaning the song has for you, it was probably written by a dude on PCP that says it’s about a trip to the dentist one day when he was seven. And you thought it was about getting over a lost love. Idiot. Sometimes people will put an entire song in there. Maybe there’s something to it that I just don’t get. Sorry.

You may say: “Robertcat, you quote movies in your away messages all the time.” To which I say: “Bite me. As long as it’s funny, it’s cool. If I say it’s cool, it’s cool. Got it?”

In honor of everyone that feels the need to quote songs in their IM profiles, I went ahead and posted the lyrics to one of my favorite songs of all time. These words really speak to me and help me feel happy when I’m sad and whatnot. Without further ado, I present:

“Groovy Underwear” by Pansy Division, circa 1994.

Tight briefs on your sexy butt
White fabric surrounding your nuts
Bike shorts put it on display
You´re wearing it to the left today
Sweat pants clinging to your crevice
Boxer shorts for easy access
I´m digging your

(chorus)
Groovy underwear, groovy underwear, ooh, ooh
Groovy underwear, groovy underwear, ooh, ooh
It´s so groovy

Jockstrap showing off your cheeks
Movin´ in for a closer peek
Running shorts, thin as paper
Barely dressed, nearly naked
Pulled down around your ankles
I´ll make you spill out like an oil tanker
All because of your groovy underwear

(chorus)

Stretched tight, so hot
I´ve come, i´ve shot
My turn now to get you off
What a collection of skivvies i´ve got
Skimpy little G-string
Hardly a stitch covering that thing
Tucked into that little pouch
Straining hard to get out
Barely hold you once you get throbbing
Let my hands go fishing around in
Look what i found in your groovy underwear

(chorus)

You sure know how to please
Let me give those buns a squeeze
What fine cakes, what fine batter
Any second now i´m gonna splatter
All over your groovy underwear

(chorus)

There you go. Hope you enjoyed that. Seriously though, that song is amazing. Download it. If you couldn’t piece it together already from their not-ambiguous lyrics, Pansy Division is gay.

Word of the Day