Monday. I’m servin’ up a new “Tool of the Week” and a new “Word of the Day” and also a new half-assed post. Come get some dinner.

- I saw Phantom of the Opera (the film) this weekend. They should have called it “Phantom of the Cleavage.” This film featured several pairs of blouse-popping, eye-distracting, tent-pitching teases, the best set belonging to a girl who was supposed to be like 13 years old or something. She’s of legal age in real-life, and this is what she looks like. Jennifer Ellison: sooooo hot, want to touch the heiny. Oooooh. Oh... yeah, and the music was good too.

- My intramural floor hockey team lost yet again. I haven’t won an intramural game in any sport in over two years. Good thing I don’t live vicariously through my intramural sports like most of the frat guys that I play against. I live vicariously through my videogames, DUH.

- Remember that video of the horrible weatherman that went to my college? Well, after I put up a link and sent it to GorillaMask, it’s BLOWN UP all over the internet. That video is everywhere. If the poor guy ends up killing himself I can’t help but feel partly responsible. I also can’t help but laugh. “These bad things just blow in…”

- For my Super Bowl pick, I think I’ll go against the grain and make a sleeper pick: Cincinnati Bengals to take home the crown. You heard it here first. And probably last, too. Shut up. If it’s BROWN, flush it DOWN! Who-DEY! 1988-89 bitches.

- Oprah, call me.

This is one of my favorite, albeit incredibly disgusting and disturbing stories from when I was a poker dealer in the “Ohio Charity Gaming” scene. If you didn’t get a chance to read the first and second volumes, it’s a good idea to start with those because I am too lazy to explain all the background stuff every time I tell a new story.

On with the show… Now, I should probably tell you that I did not actually witness the events that follow, but they were told to me by several of the other dealers and I tend to believe everything I hear. Especially when it comes from a guy that makes his living splitting time between dealing poker and making egg mcmuffins. After hearing it, I rather wish that I’d not heard it in the first place and also that I’d never been born.

The story centers around one of the “regulars,” a 40ish woman everyone calls “KJ.” KJ usually comes to the “casino nights” with her pseudo-boyfriend Mike as always and always ends up complaining a lot and just being generally bitchy. A lot of times I just wanted to reach across the table and smack the three teeth she had left right out of her mouth, but I decided not to cause I didn't want to cut my hand. Her boyfriend wasn’t much better, and he thought he was God’s gift to the white-trash world, strutting around the VFW’s like owned the place. Which he probably did.

As it turns out, Mike was not KJ’s first love interest in the charity gaming circle. She had been with at least two other regular players, which always made for some tense games while I was around. All parties involved refused to just "not go" to the one place in the whole world that they would have a chance of seeing their top three most hated people. This just goes to show how sad these people’s lives are… they can’t live without their weekly fix of playing low-limit poker with a bunch of the seediest characters you’ll ever meet, in cigarette-saturated rooms that probably would have set off the smoke detectors… if there were any.

But even before uber-losers #1, 2 & 3, KJ had another love interest. This man was at least 60 years old. Like Sid on Big Daddy, his five-year plan was “don’t die.” Well, let’s just say sometimes things don’t work out according to plan.

The story goes like this: during another quality date that consisted of going to casino nights together for the 99^th straight weekend, the happy couple decided to sneak out and “fool around” in their car in the parking lot. The fooling around led to KJ going down on her “Golden Buckeye,” and… man this is gross… she must’ve done such a good job that the man was overcome with ecstasy, had a massive heart attack and DIED. So he’s dead. Thus, KJ was branded with the all-too-poignant nickname: "Killer Head" for the rest of eternity. The End.

p.s. – I don’t think she ever got in trouble for that. I’m not sure the penal system has ever had to deal with that kind of situation. If you ask me, this blowjob story blows Bill Clinton and Hugh Grant’s away. (pun intended in each of those last two sentences, btw). It’s stories like these that make me question my faith in human existence. It also makes me question why I decided to spend more than 15 seconds of my time working in these tardfests. It also makes me question whether it was ethical to accept their food stamps as tips. I made that last part up.

Word of the Day

Today’s post chronicles some of the most perfectly terrible drink ideas in the history of our planet. They range from “this tastes like piss,” to “this tastes like ass.” I realize that “Thirsty Thursday” was yesterday, but I just got the idea today so BACK OFF. Here they come…

New Brew - It seems Budweiser has a new idea. Introducing: “B-to-the-E. “The "B" standing for beer, the "E" for something "extra" and shown as an exponent of B.” An exponent!?!? I have a hard enough time remembering my address when I’m out drinking, let alone my high-school math classes.

I guess it’s supposed to fight for the mixed drink dollars of the young bar-goers, but if I ever hear anyone order this in my presence, I will take it upon myself to find a nice place for my 40 oz. Steel Reserve. And by “nice place,” I mean squarely across their temple. I can just picture those Aqua Teen frat guys ordering one of these… “Yo, D-to-the-P, hook me up with summathat B-to-the-E, bro!!! My dad owns a DEARLERSHIP!”

Liquid Ice - This one’s not alcoholic, but it is an energy drink put out by the man responsible for “Cop Killer” (who, in an attempt to define irony, went on to play a cop in “Law and Order, SVU”). This may be the most over-the-top website that I’ve ever seen for a product that most of you have probably never heard of. If you can get past the ridiculous intro, you can look at some more ridiculous content, such as some of its benefits: *increase concentration AND *gets you focused. I have some great jokes for the rest but I seriously doubt you’ll make it that far.

These links remind me of some of the worst beverage ideas of my lifetime, so I went ahead and listed a few more drinks that made your taste buds want to commit ritual suicide…

Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper – This actually just came out this month. What? I’m confused.

Pepsi Blue – An old CLASSIC. This BEGS the old SNL line “who are the AD wizards who came up with that one!?” This was seriously the worst drink of all time. It tasted like a mix between cough syrup and John Madden’s duck butter. My mom actually bought a couple cases of this when it came out, and I was able to save a few cans and a 2-liter, which I plan on serving at my wedding. That’s assuming that Clay Aiken says yes to my proposal AND that we move to Massachusetts. There was even a song about how bad this shit was. Listen to it, jerk.

Crystal Pepsi – Remember this? Awesome, so do I. Clear cola. It still has its own fan page. There’s also an online petition to bring it back, and we all know how effective online petitions are. I’m still waiting for the “Salute Your Shorts” DVD’s.

New Coke – And then Coke II, and now C2. All of which were/are horrible ideas and don’t even deserve to be dignified by me making fun of them.

Pepsi One – Not even securing THE Tom Green as a spokesman could keep this drink afloat. Mainly because it tasted like liquid aluminum with a hint of battery acid. BUT IT ONLY HAS ONE CALORIE!!! So does my semen, but you don’t see me whoring that around do you? Okay, so that was a bad example. Forget it.

Pretty much every Mountain Dew Spinoff Ever.

Imported Elephant – Danish malt liquor. I got duped into buying a 6-pack of this once because of the cool white elephant on the packaging. It tasted like the brewing process involved dropping a bunch of 1974 mint pennies into a vat of ball-sweat. It is now referred to as “Sweaty Pennies” by my buddies and I, and I hereby challenge anyone reading this to finish an entire 6-pack in one sitting. I think one of the customer reviews in that link says it best:

From Haywood Jablomi, 

“It tastes like something that came out of

the ass-end of a menstrual elephant.”

On that note, this list is officially over. Those were most of the “WTF” drinks that I can remember off-hand. I know there are probably buttloads more, but I’m done. Figure the rest out for yourself. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go meet Eric and drink my own pee.

Word of the Day

UPDATE: You have no idea what kind of acrobatic feat it took for me to make this post this morning. Picture this scene: me, drunk as hell, in my boxers w/ headphones on (the headphones are conveniently attached to no music source whatsoever) @ 3:00 a.m. Somehow I managed to click onto blogger, post my pre-written article, and then pass out at my desk only to wake up the next morning with my headphones (still attached to nothing) still on, a disgusting mix of vomit/drool on my chest, and my hand strategically inside the “piss-hole” of my boxers giving the “little robertcat” some drunken solace. That is either really freaking impressive or really freaking sad… You decide.

p.s.- Apparently, I also called my mom last night to tell her to thank my dad for passing his "superior wang" gene on to me. I rule.

I was going to blow your mind away with a stellar post today but I don’t feel like it because I busted ass on the ice during my intramural broomball game and now my back is as stiff as Christopher Reeve. Let the laughter commence… NOW. The beauty of that joke is that it worked well because he’s dead, but it also would have worked well if he were still alive. See you in hell.

p.s. – Broom-ball is the absolute worst sport EVER invented. If you don’t know what it is, just picture a bunch of co-ed mentally retarded first-graders (with helmets, naturally) trying to poke a three-legged schizophrenic rabbit with a stick. Oh yeah, and all of this is supposed to be accomplished ON ICE. The whole time I was busy spending 100% of my energy trying to not die, so needless to say I wasn’t emotionally devastated when my team lost 53-0.

Speaking of inventions, today is the 79^th anniversary of the first public introduction to the television. Back in 1926, some Scottish guy (John Logie Baird) presented his invention and since then, the world has not been the same. Let the obesity-fest begin. Somehow I doubt that he had “My Big Fat Obnoxious Fiancé” and “The Littlest Groom” in mind when he came up with the idea.

- Quick list of the worst things ever to happen to television: reality shows, lifetime, oprah, sex & the city, david schwimmer, webTV, poker, the last 8 years of saturday night live, rodger lodge, the last 5 years of the simpsons, steve irwin

- Quick list of the best things ever to happen to television: seinfeld, family guy, webster, ESPN, Skinemax (when i was 13, and now when i’m 22, but only when my internet goes out), bob barker, roller derby, kelly kapowski, hdtv

Thanks John, I guess.

I just found a few gmail invites that I didn’t know I had, so if you want one, I’ll give them out to the first few emails that intrigue me - whether they be funny, thought-provoking, or boner-inducing. Alright so I’ll probably tend to favor the boner-inducing ones. Sue me.

If you’re bored and like to play pictionary, go to iSketch and play an online version – except this one’s with paint. I don’t understand why, but people actually got upset at me because I kept drawing boobs all the time.

Also, I recently got on thefacebook.com. I used to make fun of it, but now that I’m on it, dammit if it’s not addicting. I recommend it if you enjoy wasting three hours looking at people in the “Formerly Male, Currently Horny” group. Alright I made that one up, but here’s my page. Add me so that the hot girl in my English class will think I’m cool.

Now if you’ll excuse me I need to go ice down my back. And my nuts… but I usually do that every night anyway. Uh oh. It appears as if my cable just went out. Scratch that part about the ice and add the part about me hanging myself with the coax cable. I can’t live without TV. Bravo, John Logie Baird. Bravo.

Word of the Day

^- See that picture? That’s me taking the bull by the horns. It’s a metaphor for how I like to get things done around here. That actually happened. Okay, so that’s not actually me. And I’m not even sure if that’s a bull. Or if those are really horns. Forget about it.

Today - January 26^th - is littered with a bevy of celebrity birthdays, so I thought instead of putting any thought into a real post, I’d give a tribute to the most notable ones.

Wayne Gretzky (1961) – “The Great One.” That’s pretty much all you need to know. It’s also all I’m going to write because I don’t really like hockey and there is no such thing as the NHL right now, so I’m not sure if any of his records even count anymore. But he was part of a really sweet cartoon on ABC when I was little with Michael Jordan, Bo Jackson and a few other superstars. I don’t feel like looking it up so get at me if you remember what it was called.

Eddie Van Halen (1955) – Dutch pianist and guitar aficionado. The guy could rip off FLAMING guitar solos, and most of the time you never even see them coming. They just surprise you out of nowhere and instantly light your eardrums (and anyone within earshot) on fire. They also almost all sound pretty much the same, although the “Right Now” solo is one of my personal fav’s.

Paul Newman (1925) – He is old, but I guarantee that he still bangs all kinds of chicks. If he can still get an erection, that is. I think the only one of his movies that I’ve seen is Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, which I think I enjoyed. Check that, I also saw The Sting, which is even better. I also hear he makes killer salad dressings and pasta sauces.

Bob Uecker (1935) – Baseball player, if you can call him that (he played catcher, kindof). With a career batting average of .200, it’s no wonder he’s more famous for his broadcasting skills and his role as “Doyle” in the Major League movies. He had a great sense of humor about his suckyness though, saying:

"I set records that will never be equaled. In fact, I hope 90% of them don't even get printed."

Here’s a list of a bunch of other memorable Bob Uecker quotes. One of my favorites:

"Baseball hasn't forgotten me. I go to a lot of Old-Timers games and I haven't lost a thing. I sit in the bullpen and let people throw things at me. Just like old times."

I think I just made it through an entire post without making a sexual reference AND a Saved by the Bell reference. That reminds me of the time in high school when I snuck in the girls’ locker room and caught Kelly and Jessie making out. That was the best day of my life, not to mention the quickest boner I’ve ever gotten.

That boner comment just reminded me that I made a reference to Paul Newman’s penis earlier, so that whole paragraph that I just wrote about not making a sexual reference was worthless. Sorry. I’m going to go listen to Good Charlotte and kill myself now. Bye bye.

But you probably already knew that. Seriously, is he not one of the coolest guys ever? I can’t think of three cooler guys on the face of this planet not named Alec, Stephen, Billy, or Daniel Baldwin.

Everything Snoop touches turns to gold (and probably smells an awful lot like like mari-ju-ana). He is the only human that can pull off his Snooptalk too. Fo’ rizzle dizzle. See, I couldn’t do it, even in writing. Even when I have no idea what the man is saying, hearing him talk or bust phat rhymes still gives me a warm feeling inside. Although that may be from the six shots of Beam that I just did. Whatever.

I also submit that the man is a genius. He and Dr. Dre’s “Nothin’ but a G Thang,” is seriously one of the best ten songs of all-time in any genre. Screw it, one of the best five. And I'm not even that big of a rap guy. I identify with this song more than I ever will to Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven.” Anyone who says they understand more than two consecutive words in that song is a damn liar. I don’t care if they’re on drugs or not, it makes no sense.

Here’s why Snoop kicks your (and every other badass MC’s) ASS, evidenced by the killer lyrics in the aforementioned "G Thang":

A) Snoop knows how to count to four:

“One, two, three and to the fo'.” (assuming fo’ means four)…

which is more than can be said for U2 in their epic crapfest “Vertigo”:

“One, Two, Three, Fourteen!” Idiots. Someone kill “the Edge” right now. Please.

2) Snoop lectures about not getting hoes pregnant:

“Now you know I ain't wit that shit, Lieutenant.

Ain't no pussy good enough to get burnt while I'm up in it.”

A-MEN, Brother Snoop. Snoop-a-loop!

D) Snoop’s a better speller than those nerdy little kids that they show on ESPN every year:

“It's the capital S, oh yes, the fresh N - double O - P
D - O - double G - Y D - O - double G ya' see.”

If that Buddiga kid would have rapped his word instead of passing out last year, he probably would have won the thing instead of coming in second. Pussy.

There you have it. Scientific proof that Mr. Doggystyle rules hard. In case you don’t believe me or were too lazy to read any of the above information, check out the following links and see for yourselves.

Quick Facts – “Foot size: 10 in Converse All Stars, 11 in regular shoes and 12 in dress shoes.” Great piece of information. I think I can sleep now.

Snoop wants to coach in the NFL – he already coaches his 10 year-old son’s team, so he’s got experience. His son is named Spanky, how awesome is that? He’s also organizing “Snooperbowl,” to go along with the festivities in Jacksonville this year. Oh yeah, and he picked the Steelers vs. the Falcons for that game. Uh oh.

Snoop going to Africa – He’s going on a month-long trip to work on some music and to “find himself.” Oh yeah, and to bring back some serious dank-ass sticky ickey chronic.

Snoop Dogg’s Doggy Biscuitz – this is his new shoe deal with Pony. Why didn’t I think of this? By the way, Snoop still rules.

Reunion with Dr. Dre – Guaranteed to be amazing.

Snoop’s Book – It’s pretty old, but if someone will buy this book for me with not my money, I’d probably read it. Or at least look at the pictures.

I could probably go on for like 500 more links on how sweet the Doggfather is, but I’ll let you figure the rest out yourself. Now, if you excuse me, I gotta go drop it like it’s hot. Which reminds me… Snoop even made that tongue-clicky thing sound cool somehow. He’s incredible. Anyway, I'm out. So why don't you jus' chill, 'till the next episode.

Monday. The new feature has been added, as promised. It's part of my "Word of the Day." I came through for you so now it’s time for you to pay me back. With sexual favors. I’m open to anything, so suggest away.

Also, a there’s a new “Tool of the Week” for you to not care about. You can read it if you want but to be honest, it’s not good. Whatev.

The Bengals didn’t win today, screwing up my prediction. I’m not really good at this prognostication stuff I guess. This is why I never bet on sports. Only cockfights. “Little Jerry ran from here to Newman's in under thirty seconds!” “Is that good?” “I don’t know.”

More importantly, the Lego Ray Allen that I listed on my Christmas list officially goes up for auction on Saturday. Organize yourselves, get some cash together, and buy it for me. My buddy Ryan thinks that he’s going to win it (backed by his 100 billion-or-so daily visitors, compared to the three people that visit my site – including my mom and dog Reese), but he’s got no chance. The only thing he’s going to get out of this situation is my lego nutsack on his lego chin.

I bet he doesn’t have this personalized, autographed poster-photo of me with Ray Ray when I was in seventh grade like I do. I’m the one on the left, my buddy D’s is on the right, and that guy in the background is some jackass that ruined the picture. I heard that guy’s dead now so justice is served. I bet RP also doesn’t have a mason jar full of Jesus Shuttlesworth’s semen like I just bought on eBay. Awesome. I rule.

That’s enough for now. More tomorrow, if I don’t get too drunk or get really bad diarrhea. That would suck (the getting drunk part I mean).

Oh, and my Super Bowl pick: Bengals, 376-0.

p.s. – I had a goal and two assists at our intramural hockey game last night. Those three goals ended up being our only ones… we got run-ruled by some kids that actually, you know, had PLAYED hockey before. I also tried to take off my skate and try to stab somebody, I’m only the second guy ever to do that. Did I mention that it was floor hockey? Okay.

Also, if anyone knows where I can get John Tesh’s “NBA on NBC Theme” ringtone, let me know. I’m too lazy to look for it. It also probably doesn’t even exist.

That’s because this post doesn’t exist. Because like God (and the San Francisco 49ers), Robertcat rests on Sundays (and any other day I’m too drunk to operate a keyboard & 2.4 GHz of computing power).

You see, Saturday nights are when I like to take my hand out on dates, and we usually end up drinking too much Hennessey and staying up WAY past midnight. Yada yada yada, I’m really tired on Sundays.

So, check back tomorrow when I have a real post, a new tool of the week, a new word of the day, a new feature (kindof) and a new assortment of nude photos of myself.

Until then, watch this flash animation and start questioning your (and the guy who created its) existence. I don’t know why this was created, I don’t know why I watched it, and I CERTAINLY don’t know why I am linking it.

Here's my Conference Championship Picks: Cincinnati Bengals to win. Get out your wallets, call your bookie, and wager your first born's left testacle on this scientific fact. Chad Johnson will catch 37 passes for 573 yards and 12 touchdowns, guaranteed. Then he will do a sweet touchdown celebration and say that he didn't remember doing it. Then he'll tell Oprah to call him. Then I will wake up from this dream and the Patriots will be playing the Eagles in the Super Bowl. Shit.

Now, if you excuse me, I’m going to go light up my toilet with a fury of vomit and try to get rid of this massive hangover. Laaaaaaaaaate.

I’m not a big fan of reviews. Movie reviews, TV reviews, restaurant reviews - to me they’re all a waste of perfectly good webspace that could be used to display perfectly good porn. They’re poisoning society and it’s time someone said something about it. And since I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who feels this way, it should probably be me.

Movie Reviews: I like movies. I usually like all movies, as long as they can keep me entertained for two hours (or1 minute & 21 seconds, depending on if it’s a porn or not). I refuse to read movie reviews because most of the time they spoil the movie, and all of the time they try to sound way too smart for themselves. I’m sorry but there was no interior character conflict or shades of disenchantment in Rookie of the Year. It was just a really freaking great movie. Funky Buttlovin.

Why would I want to read the review of some dude I never met whom I share no similar tastes in films? I wouldn’t. I already said that. Pay attention, idiot. I’d rather take a recommendation from a friend, and even then I usually don’t listen. I also know that I can give better movie reviews than Roger Ebert (that's his wife in the picture, btw) by sticking two thumbs up my ass, but I’m not going to do it because I realize that maybe, just maybe, other people find other things interesting than the things that I like. And because I think sodomy may still be illegal in Ohio.

By the way, I already used that Roger Ebert joke once before in this blog. If you can find it, I’ll give you a prize, and by prize I mean knuckle sandwich.

TV Reviews: TV pretty much sucks. There’s your review. If it’s not on ESPN, named Seinfeld, or is another sporting event, it’s usually not worth it. The only time my dial gets turned off of the “worldwide leader” is to watch Lifetime: Television for Idiots. Just kidding, but not really.

Restaurant Reviews: I’m not sure that I really care that much about these. Actually, reviewing restaurants isn’t a bad idea. Wait, no, restaurant reviews suck too. Whatever. I don’t think I’ve even read one in my life. I really have no purpose for restaurant reviews unless they are discussing entrees that rhyme with “macaroni & cheese.”

I know there are a lot of other types of reviews but I don’t want to get into them. Mostly because I’m drunk and I just puked on my keyboard, rendering it useless. I realize the irony of me saying that reviews suck when I am reviewing them at the same time, so don’t even bother. I also realize the irony of me saying that my keyboard was rendered useless and somehow I continue to type. Well, my friend, that’s because I lied. Peace out.

The first ever two-post day in the history of this blog, but it’s an emergency. After seeing the psychotic weatherman over at Gorillamask, I found a gold-mine straight out of Ohio University. Weather hasn’t been this funny since Chris Farley played “El Nino” on SNL. Watch these and then head to the hospital to get your spleen un-ruptured or maybe just go out and purchase a coffin, because you may die from laughing.

Completely Psychotic Weatherman - I’m not sure why this guy gets to keep his job. Maybe it’s because he makes people laugh their asses off because of how incredibly insane he is. Although it’s not too hard to believe, given that he works at a FOX affiliate. Check it out and then look for apartments in the Charlotte area. Check that, it turns out he just got fired this week. Too bad, it seemed like he really had a future in the business.

Horribly Awkward Weatherman - This weatherman’s forecast is just as funny (if not funnier) than the first one, but for entirely different reasons. This is one of the most horribly awkward things I have seen in a long time. Like the Star Wars Kid, you can’t help but die laughing but also feel really bad for the guy at the same time. Especially since he goes to my school.

Volume 2 in Robertcat’s poker-dealing saga is actually a prequel to Vol. 1. In case you missed the first installment, Red Chip Diaries is a new series of stories that chronicle my foray into the seedy Columbus, OH “charity” poker scene as a professional dealer. My buddy Lupus and I witnessed some of the most unbelievable and sometimes nauseating events during our 3-4 month stint working for “Ohio Charity Gaming, (OCG).” It’s best to read Volume 1 first so you can get the background info.

Our story starts with the young protagonists and a trip to Columbus, centered around one of OCG’s “major” Texas Hold-em poker tournaments. I considered myself a solid poker player, so I thought I’d enter the tournament and see what happened. So, Lupus, myself, and a few other buddies took off to the “casino” (which was actually a high school lunchroom, just to give you an idea of how shady this operation is).

The first thing we noticed when we got there (besides the stench of a bunch of 40soemthing alcoholics) was that Van Halen was blasting on the 1994 boom-box off in the corner. As it would turn out, Van Halen (NOT van Hagar) would be the backdrop for pretty much every story that ever happened at OCG. During my time dealing, I heard “Jump” enough times to make me want to “Jump” out the window, through a whole bunch of Mach 3 razorblades (complete with “moisturizing indicator lubrastrip”), into a colony of midget-warriors, who would then throw me in a swimming pool filled with lemon juice (and random animal urine).

Alright let’s get back on track. Now. So, because OCG is just an impeccably-run organization, it seemed they were short a few dealers for the tournament and were looking for volunteers. Louis (the founder of OCG in case you were too lazy to read Vol. 1, in which case I am supremely disappointed in you) then asks my buddies if they want to help out. Most of them said no, but Lupus stepped up to the challenge. We’d played a lot of poker before at our respective houses, so he wasn’t exactly MH about dealing, but he’d never done it on such a stage for such a physically attractive audience. And by physically attractive I mean these guys made Randy Johnson look like a GQ model.

So, the tournament starts and Lupus begins his career as a poker dealer while I begin my career as a guy who just wants to make enough money to buy beer on the weekend for underage girls who would in turn give him sexual favors. Lupus was doing his thing and I was doing mine, and yada yada yada somehow I made the final table, which was supposed to be played the next day. I actually had to come back to this place. I honestly think this is the place you hear about when people talk about “the bottom of the gene-pool.”

Lupus had impressed Louis so much that Louis offered him a job. A job that paid 18$/hr working on the weekends for his “front company” that I’m pretty sure never existed, and in turn Lupus was to “volunteer” to deal poker for Louis’ charity events. As I write this, I’m wondering whether writing this could get us into trouble. I hope not, for these stories must be told. Just for the record, I made this paragraph up, detective (except for this sentence, it’s true I swear).

So. Lupus got a job, and I was looking to make millions depending on how I fared at the final table. As it turned out, I got 2^nd, which was good for $1,000. I was pumped, my friends were pumped, and most of all, underage girls across America were pumped (and by pumped I mean humped). I had never seen this much money at one time in my life, so the whole way home I was flashing my newly-acquired “wad” to everyone on the street. Some hobo tried to take it from me so I killed him.

This story is already too long so I’ll save some of the other parts for later. Long story short, Lupus started working the next weekend and then hooked me up w/ a job as well. Thus, the beginning of the Rob & Lupus era of poker dealing begins. Join us next time when we talk about “the cripple” or maybe “the gangsters” depending on what I feel like telling, on…. RED CHIP DIARIES.

No real post today, but I’ve got a new "Word of the Day"(as always) and a few semi-features in the works, all involving some ice cubes, a nine-iron, and a buffalo (live or stuffed, preferably stuffed for safety’s sake). Look for them soon. In the meantime, I got your 24-piece set of web-finds right here:

Kerpal – “Kicked my dog.” – CLASSIC Jerky Boys’ prank call, set to flash. The animation is pretty weak, but the audio is killer. “YOU KNOW DAMN RIGHT!!!”

Kerpal Sound Board – create your own prank call with your favorite Kerpal quotes. “You don’t ask dumb question.” You bastard.

Johnny Deluxe - Vi vil ha' mer' (music video) – in honor of my “Danish” buddies, here’s a sampling of the hottest thing straight out of Denmark. I’m can’t be sure what exactly they’re talking about but I think it has something to do with “wanting to have sex with VIP’s,” which sounds like a pretty decent idea if you ask me. The video isn’t anything spectacular but the song is about as catchy as the Ebola virus.

Drømmer jeg? – another video offering from JD. Again, if I spoke Danish this song would probably have a lot more meaning to me. I just like to pretend that the chick is telling everyone that “Robertcat is a tiger in the sack.” But they’re probably just talking about hash brownies and wooden shoes or something. Oh wait, that’s Holland. Never mind.

Geography Bee (found on Gorillamask) – put all 50 states in their proper place on the map. I got a 90% my first try, but only because I refused to recognize West Virginia as a state.

p.s. - I broke down and got on thefacebook yesterday, mostly because I can’t resist the opportunity to stalk girls, but also because… uh… damn. Okay so there’s only one reason. Anyway, add me so I can stalk you too. Guys, you’re welcome to join in as well, as long as you put out.

In honor of the 135th birthday of Ms. Sweater Puppets herself - the ever-infinite Dolly Parton – I thought I would list a few of my favorite sets of boobs. At least the first few that pop into my head anyway. All of the links are safe for work, mostly because my grandma just got a computer and I don’t want her to be disappointed in me.

1) Lindsay Lohan – the youngest set of boobs in the list (they’re almost one, or 18, depending on who you talk to). These babies almost made Mean Girls watchable after Tina Fey takes of her shirt. Okay I saw it twice, shut up.

2) Carmen Electra – very versatile boobs. She can use them to get marriage proposals from all different kinds of complete wastes of humanity, i.e. Rodman, Navarro. I think I proposed to her once but it involved a different kind of ceremony.

3) Dolly Parton – it’s her birthday, and I’m pretty sure she INVENTED breasts. I can remember being in first grade and playing some game that ended with you saying “… milk carton, Dolly Parton!” and sticking your knees inside your shirt. If you can remember the whole bit, send it my way.

4) Tiffani Thiessen – real boobs, attached to the lady who portrayed the single most beautiful, perfect woman to ever walk the face of the earth - Kelly Kapowski. Plus, I got her autograph. And her phone number.

5) Jennifer Ellison – British boobs. I actually just found her this week but she’s smoking hot. I bet her accent is equally as hot. I don’t know anything else about her so this description will end at the end of this sentence.

6) Chris Farley – I never said my favorite boobs had to be owned by a girl. This picture may actually not be safe for work. Man I miss this guy. I was more sad when I heard he died than Dale Earnhardt, ODB, and Ronald Regan combined. Although I guess that’s not really saying much.

There are just a few of my fav’s. I’m sure you have your own. Feel free to send them my way too. Unless they’re named Venus or Serena, you sick bastard.

Today is the 117^th anniversary of the establishment of the first Penal Colony in Australia. I tried so hard not to make a joke about penal, but I couldn’t do it. So there it is. Laugh with me.

On January 18^th, 1788, England sent their first wave of convicted criminals to the island/continent which they would continue to do for the next 60 years. More than 50,000 of England’s finest were sent during that timeframe, setting the stage for such future genealogical disasters as Steve Irwin and AC/DC.

There were, however, at least a few good science experiments, resulting in eye candies like Nicole Kidman, Elle Macpherson, Olivia Newton-John (i guess), and Heath Ledger. Oh man did I just say Heath Ledger out loud? No, you typed it, retard, you can still delete it. Oh well, cat’s already out of the bag I guess. Frick.

Anyway, England had to send their convicts to Australia because the U.S. was no longer an option because we won the Revolutionary War, remember? Man that was sweet. They’re still responsible for most of Georgia, and for that I will never forgive them.

But get this: if the criminals acted up in Australia, they were sent to this other island where guards would play a game where they took three “inmates,” made them draw straws, killed the one that got the shortest one, and sent the other two back to Sydney. Once there, they would be sent to trial where one would play the role of the killer and the other would be the witness. Is that F’d up or what?

Australia also inspires a very plausible explanation for why a person’s baby might be missing: “Maybe the dingo ate your baby.” If you caught that reference, you are a champion of freedom and justice.

Kangaroos are funny. And feisty. And creepy. And dead.

Monday. Another Tool, another Word, and yet another crappy post. I sense a trend is in the making…

- Happy Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. MiLK day, as I affectionately call it. His birthday was actually Saturday though. Either way, he was a good guy and you should do something to honor him today, like show me your boobs. Or just listen to one of his speeches.

- Peyton Manning - your NFL season touchdown record-holder (49) - threw for exactly as many playoff TD’s this week (0) as Jon Kitna, Jeff Blake, Luke McCown, Brian Griese, Craig Krenzel, Rob Bernhard, Anna Kournikova, Bubby Brister, and “Icebox” from Little Giants.

- I saw Bill Walton speak on Saturday. He called Larry Bird “a true genius of the human spirit.” He also thanked Jerry Garcia for pretty much everything good that’s ever happened in his life. I wish that last sentence was a joke.

- The Bobcats looked sweet again on Saturday, giving Kent a few “golden flashes” of their own. I predict that within three years, most of you that follow sports will have heard the name Jeremy Fears. That kid can PLAY BALL.

- Dad’s weekend @ OU – it’s really sad to see frat guys teach their fathers how to properly slip roofies in girls’ drinks at the bars.

- Seinfeld Blog – has descriptions, scripts, and apparently downloadable videos of every Seinfeld episode, but I couldn’t get the vids to work because I’m MH. You can do a script search and find out what episode the “eatin’ onions, spottin’ dimes” bit is in. It has a lot of other stuff too, like naked pictures of Elaine. I mean I wish. Never mind.

- Oprah, I swear to God if you don’t call me then Steadman is dead. Just kidding, but not really.

Maybe I’m riding in the proverbial caboose of society, but I just found out yesterday that Napoleon Dynamite’s mythical “Liger” actually exists.

Apparently a Liger is when a male lion is crossed w/ a female tiger, creating a supercat that lacks a growth-inhibiting gene, making them like 10 feet tall. Don’t believe me? Check out the links below – see for yourself. “I like her bangs.” “Yeah, me too.”

Hobbs the Liger - Currently resides in the Sierra Safari Zoo.

Ligers and Tigons - Don't trust the zoo? Get your info from a Canadian 8th grader named Keith. He was in TAG, and those kids are smart - I should know, I was one.

Wikipedia's Definition - "Lions and tigers also do not usually want to mate with each other."

This Picture - I swear to God that Nicholas Cage is the one feeding him. He's also wearing Hammer Pants. Another Picture.

Now I’m just wondering if they truly have skills in magic as well.

Interestingly enough, there are those that are not very fond of this freak of nature, and they made a website about it. The official home of the Anti-Liger Alliance, seeks to “rid the world of man’s deadliest foe,” apparently with help from Mr. Miyagi and Optimus Prime.

I think everyone I know has heard about this, but in case you didn’t, check out what happened in a Vermont high school basketball game the other day. The final score was 5-2, with the game-winning shot being made in the second quarter. Sadly enough, if you add my career JV scoring average to the losing squad, we still would have lost. My favorite quote from the losing coach:

"We were one possession away to tie the game. We have not been in that position for quite some time."

If only my high school’s coaches would have thought of this maybe we would have won more than 3 games in the last 10 years. Or at least not lost them all by 50.

Speaking of Will Ferrell, I found an obscure video of his genius self speaking at Harvard’s 2003 Class Day while surfing PK.com. Pretty freaking funny. Check it out if you have a spare ½ hour (fast forward to the 1:30 mark). You'll probably laugh at least once.

"Some of you will be captains of industry and business. Others of you will go on to great careers in medicine, law and public service. Four of you — and I'm not at liberty to say which four — will go on to magnificent careers in the porno industry. I'm not trying to be funny. That's just a statistical fact."

Valentine’s Day is fast approaching, so I thought as a public service I would come up with a music mix guaranteed to light a fire in your relationship, whether it be legal in the contiguous 48 states or not. Now, I can’t say that I’ve ever used this tactic* nor do I really ever plan on using it, but I can’t foresee any reason why it won’t work for you. Good luck.

1) Boys II Men – I’ll Make Love to You – not necessarily to set the mood, just to spell out to the lady what you plan on doing by the end of the night. Give her a little head’s up. It’s only respectful, guys.

2) John Mayer – Your Body is a Wonderland – Like Pavlov’s salivating dogs, as soon as women hear John Mayer they instinctively drop their panties. It’s like gravity - I can’t explain it, but it’s really sweet when it works in your favor.

3) Paula Cole – I Don’t Wanna Wait – I’m not too familiar with this song because I DIDN’T watch Dawson’s Creek with my roommates every day from 10-12 on TBS last year after we got back from class, but it seemed to work for Dawson & Joey and you can’t argue with success.

4) Bonnie Tyler – Total Eclipse of the Heart – better yet, get the Old School version with the guy swearing. “I fuckin’ need you now tonight!” It’s good to work a little comedy in there, because girls like a sense of humor but for some reason aren’t as fond of farts as guys are, especially in those “intimate” moments.

5) Eric Carmen – Hungry Eyes – girls like Dirty Dancing, so pretend you’re Patrick Swayze and she’s that annoying chick who’s not as near as hot as she should be. Man that movie sucks.

6) Dashboard Confessional – Screaming Infidelities – girls also like Dashboard Confessional, but this song also works if the lady hasn’t been too diligent in “trimming the hedges,” so to speak. “Your hair… is everywhere…” Gross.

7) Tim McGraw – Somethin’ Like That – gotta work a little country in there. This song works especially well if you met your girl at the county fair while wearing a white t-shirt w/ a barbecue stain on it. This may only apply to people from Darke County, Ohio.

8) AC/DC – You Shook Me All Night Long – the energy’s rising, things are heating up, and it’s got a great beat that you can sync your pelvic thrusts to. Whatever you do, do NOT under any circumstances let an image of Angus Young pop into your head, or it’s all over.

9) Meatloaf – I Would do Anything for Love – 12 minutes of fury, this is like 3 songs in one. Guys, if you can last through this one without spilling your seed, then you get a prize or something. You also get a prize if you can recite any of the lyrics that aren’t included in the title.

10) Andrew W.K. – I Get Wet – absolutely the BEST song to release energy to, if you catch my drift. If you’re not humping by now, you can get your release by delivering haymaker fist-pumps and jump-kicks to your prude of a partner.

There you have it. A mix guaranteed to help you get your groove on or whatever. If you want a copy of this on a compact disc, send me an email and I’ll send one out to you. The only stipulation is that I get to watch when you try it out.

*Disclaimer: I have never had sex in my life, nor do I even know how that works. I am writing this strictly from what I’ve read in Cosmo and from what my uncle tries to tell me when he gets really drunk. I’ll spare you the details.

As some of you may know, last year my buddy Lupus and I were professional poker dealers for several months in the Columbus, O. “charity” gaming scene. We would work about 30 hours during the weekends for $18/hr dealing both live games and tournaments, our boss being one of the sleaziest yet somehow oddly likable guys I’ve ever met. Apparently he figured out a loophole in the system where he can run “Casino Nights” every weekend in the Columbus area, saying they were for charity but I’m pretty sure he pocketed most of the cash.

Anyway, during our time there we came across tons of “interesting” and “pathetic” people and experienced some “ridiculous” and “utterly frightening” scenes and stories that I thought would adapt well to this blog. I could probably actually devote an entire website to my poker-dealing experiences but I figured I’d do a series of unscheduled posts whenever I felt led to do so. Hand to God, every single one of them will be at least 99% true.

To get to know the “Ohio Charity Gaming” scene, first you should know about the people in charge and the people that work there. This group of characters honestly competes with the entire casts of OZ and Dukes of Hazzard put together. The names will not be changed unless I forget their real name or if their nickname is cooler. Let’s begin…

Louis (aka Louie, Lou) – he founded the whole operation. Every Friday-Sunday almost 24 hours/day, live gambling can be found in some of Columbus’ finest establishments ranging from VFW’s to American Legions. “Ohio Charity Gaming” he calls it, supposedly the profits are supposed to go to charity, but again, I have my doubts.

Lou used to live in Vegas and plays in all the major poker tournaments that you see on TV, and he’s been doing it for years. He considers himself one of the “original guys” and also thinks he’s famous. I think he may have won a lot of money in Vegas back in ’88 or something. Anyway, most of the patrons kiss his ass like he’s some kind of white trash god (who is also oddly rich).

He’s a skinny guy w/ big gold-rimmed glasses and longish greasy hair. Never in my entire time working did I see him wearing anything other than a nylon windsuit w/ no undershirt, 1988 Reeboks or Asics, and a “classy” gold chain to accessorize. I honestly can’t think of anyone to compare him to.

Vicki – handles the money. She’s been a major player in the Columbus underground poker scene for like 20 years, seriously. About as trustworthy as she was friendly, and she was about as friendly as that little girl from The Ring, except the ring girl was more attractive. Once you get to know her, she’s not that bad though. Vicki clocks in at about 5’4”, 200lbs, most of the weight can be found in her ginormous boobs that I’m pretty sure became fused to her stomach. I found her size 346JJJ-sized bra on the floor once, but that’s another story for another time.

Lynnette – Vicki’s friend who helped out keeping the books. Really nice, really fat. Fatter than Vicki even. It looked like Lynette was hiding bowling balls in her arms - bowling balls made of motor oil. It was disgusting to watch her try and shuffle cards, like a midget trying to glue toothpicks together. Her fingers looked like overcooked hotdogs. She tried to hug me once, I about threw up and told her to get the hell away from me and never do that again. For some reason all of the dirty regular guys liked to hit on her, which I never understood (call me crazy). I still liked her though cause she was nice.

Gary & Young Chris – Gary and Young Chris were buddies in their mid-twenties who started dealing a few months before us. Pretty cool guys, Gary always had sweet names for poker hands and Chris always wore his Blue Jackets jersey which clung on to his 300lb frame for dear life. I gave him a ride home once, it was like 45 minutes out of my way.

Old Chris – he was a good guy too, probably about 45-50 yrs old. He liked Lupus and I, and we always had a running game to see who could rake the most money. He always wore his Kangol hat and had a cigar in hand. He also thought my shoes were neat.

Lupus & I – two stunningly sexy super-sweet stallions somehow smack-dab in the middle of the freak circus.

There were a couple other random people who did odd jobs, but quite frankly I didn’t like them and they are pretty much irrelevant to all of the stories, and society in general too.

This has officially become the longest post in the history of Robertcat’s Blog. I would not have read this many words if it wasn’t written by me, so if you made it this far - I’m proud of you. Stay tuned for the next volume of Red Chip Diaries where I may actually tell a story.

In light of the recent catastrophic tsunami that soaked like 99% of Asia, my buddies Chris, Luke and I were doing the obvious: thinking of ways we could exploit others’ tragedy for our own betterment. We splashed several ideas around, ultimately coming up with the following… (Before you officially punch my ticket for hell, keep in mind that I’m only ½ serious, at most.)

Seeing as how the Lance Armstrong yellow “Livestrong” bracelets are all the rage now, we thought we’d tap into that market but add our own flair, hopefully setting a fashion trend to last for weeks, if not months.

Here’s the idea: In memory of those affected by the tsunami, we plan to sell our own “bracelets.” Now, these are not bracelets per se, but rather “swim floaties” (see picture above.) Printed on the floaties will be our catchphrase: “SWIMSTRONG,” for obvious reasons. I was going to build a prototype, but Wal-mart doesn’t sell floaties in January, go figure.

Each floatie can be had for as little as $5 a piece, and 0% of that will be sent to aid in the tsunami relief effort, but let’s not get hung up in details right now. Anyway, we believe these “Swimstong” “bracelets” would catch on like “wildfire,” ultimately making us billi-trilli-zillionaires at which point we may decide to pledge a certain amount of money to help out, but we’re not making any promises. Maybe we’ll pledge like $100 every time we have a conversation with an actual girl, who knows.

So… why not help a few poor college kids out (and possibly some starving kids in Mongolia) and get in on the newest, hippest fashion trend going? “Swimstrong.” Learn it, wear it, but don’t take our word for it. Ask THIS KID, THIS KID, THIS KID, and THIS GUY (although I think he may be a bit confused about the concept) how cool it is.

To get your Swimstrong bracelet, send your request and nude photos to heartlessbastards@makeusrich.com.

If you actually have a functioning heart with real compassion, go ahead and feel free to visit UNICEF and help out in the true tsunami relief effort.

Footnote: We originally intended to make a separate site for the “Swimstrong” effort, complete with advertisements, videos, infomercials and testimonials, but we lack the means, understanding, patience and video equipment to do so. Sorry.

Maybe just once, for a couple of weeks. Seriously, think about it. I’d be able to tell my family and friends that I’m dating a model, and no one has to know that she’s about a size six-squared if I never make any public appearances with her. Most likely never going out in public would suit her better anyway because we all know fat ladies have bad knees, making it tough to walk more than 50 consecutive feet in any given day.

She would almost for sure be a good cook or at least really sweet at ordering Domino’s, Chinese, or Popeyes, and if I ever run out of clean sheets, I’d just be able to throw one of her dresses on the bed and snuggle up in that. I could use her bras to store my bowling balls or whatever and her underwear as a spare parachute in case I ever decide to go skydiving. This is sounding more perfect by the moment.

We’d probably never have to throw out any leftover food, and I doubt I’d have to worry that she’d be sleeping around on me with her photographer who also shoots for the SI swimsuit issue and deals with drop-dead gorgeous women on a daily basis. In the mainstream model scene she’d be more overlooked than a penis in an Ellen Degneres-Rosie O’Donnell ménage-a-trois.

Although she still gets the “model” nametag, all the negatives of the so-called “good-looking” models would be virtually nonexistent. She wouldn’t be conceited like the regular gals, because she’d still have the “fat girl” complex and think she’s inferior to everyone else, which would help out my ego supremely. Although she wouldn’t be “full of herself,” she would DEFINITELY be able to “fill out her clothes.”

Which brings me to the next (and probably best) revelation:

I would never have to answer the “Does my ass look fat in these pants?” question, because she’d already know that her ass DOES look fat in those pants, it’s her JOB to have her ass look fat in those pants. It’s almost too good to be true.

Also, she would hopefully be smart enough to not marry Seal.

So if any of you ladies out there happen to be models and also happen to be on the healthy side of the cellulite spectrum, give the Robertcat a call @ 1-888-CHUNKYLUV.

Monday: a new Tool of the Week, a new Word of the Day, and a really crappy post. Guaranteed or your money back, right up your ass.

Random Stuff:

1) Glad I didn’t bet on the Wild Card games. 1 for 4 is pretty weak, not to mention Brett Farve’s performance last night and the broadcasting butcher show that happened during the Rams/Seahawks game. Joe Theismann is worthless.

2) Went to the OU Basketball game. We are sweet. So is the dance team. So is one of the new cheerleaders. I promise I’ll get some good pics next time (of the guys in the shower, duh).

3) My NCAA Hoops National Championship Pick: North Carolina. You heard it here.

4) Brad & Jennifer call it quits, it looks like I now have a chance. With Jennifer. Brad is still WAY out of my league.

5) Isn’t Ben Stiller due out with a new movie soon? I’m getting bored.

6) Oprah, call me.