An Open Letter To Deion Branch

Dear Mr. Branch,

It has come to my attention that you are still holding out of your off-season workouts with the Patriots, due to financial reasons. I am asking you to reconsider this and to put your differences aside in order to play along side your fellow teammates with the goal of winning another Super Bowl and cementing your team's status as the great dynasty of this millennium. Wouldn't it be great to be able to say that you were one of the top two or three players for one of the greatest dynasties in the history of sports? Isn't that worth more than money to you? Think of it, its third down and fifteen yards to go. You see the safety inching up. He's going to blitz. He's blitzing. And they left you covered by one man. He's yours, you can take him. Next thing you know you are streaking down the sidelines for an easy six points to cement another Super Bowl win. How does 'Deion Branch, Two-Time Super Bowl MVP' sound? Like it? What's it gonna take to make it happen?

No, no, no! Stop talking about your contract! The Patriots have given your offers of three years and five years. They are great deals. What's stopping you? A trade? What do you mean 'a trade'? How could you want to be traded? You might end up in Washington where there is no quarterback and you'll have to fight Santana Moss, Brandon Lloyd, and Ashley Lelie for playing time. Look, just take the money and lets end this.

No?

Mr. Branch, you're starting to tick me off. Give me a second here...

Ok, I'm gonna be honest with you. I don't care about you or the Patriots. In fact, to be totally honest, I am a die-hard Denver Broncos fan. That's right. I lied. I don't want you to win the Super Bowl. And while I am at it, I think I need to say that you are not that great of a player. You had five touchdowns last year. Five. That's not exactly great. I mean Terrell Owens had six TD's and he didn't play the entire season. Also, you have never had a thousand yard season or caught 100 passes in a season. Ever. So what are you fussing about? Rod Smith does more than you do and he is in his mid-thirty's. Isn't this just a case of thinking a bit too much of yourself? It's kind of like in the movie Major League when the Indians are informed that they were assembled as the worst players at their position so they could lose and move the team to Miami, when an absurdly over confident Roger Dorn says, "Even me?" Even you, Dorn. And even you too, Mr. Branch.

So if I don't care about you or your team why am I writing you? Well this is all in regards to your quarterback, Tom Brady. You see, I drafted him to my fantasy team (Tiki's Barbershop) this weekend with my second overall pick. I know, I know, that was a little high for Brady, but there is no way he would have been there when my next pick came around. I needed a qb to lead my team and its star, Tiki Barber, so I took him. Now don't get me wrong, I have no affinity towards Brady either, but I didn't trust Carson Palmer's knee just yet (Although I may be regretting that after this weeks MNF performance). Regardless, I took him and need some big numbers out of him. I know he won't be like Peyton Manning was for me last year, but I needed someone who could deal the ball and rack up yards.

(Before I get too far, isn't it funny how drafting a fantasy qb is kind of like dating someone? If you get Peyton one year you feel like you have landed the hottest girl you have ever seen. And all of your buddies are jealous of you, but deep down they are kind of pissed that they couldn't land the girl. They're like, "Man, nice pick up with So-and-so. If I had had the chance, I would have taken her. You're one lucky bastard. I got stuck with Daunte Culpepper, dammit." It's the same way with drafting quarterbacks. And furthermore, the relationship gets better as the player keeps churning out stats. Its like getting a gift every Sunday from your girlfriend. Suddenly, you care more for the qb than you do for the other players. Then the other players start complaining that you don't spend time with them. Next thing you know its just you and Peyton. You and Peyton. I'm lost, where was I going with this?

Oh yeah, relationships. So you have this great qb one year then the next year you're stuck with Jake Delhomme. Not that there is anything wrong with Jake Del Home Boy, but he's no Peyton Manning. He's ok, but you're keeping your eyes open for some new hot prospect on the waiver wire. Next thing you know, your telling your buddies, "Yeah, Delhomme is ok, but I think Charlie Frye is gonna get hot in Cleveland soon. I might pick him up" or "You know who is looking good is Griese in Chicago. What do you think?" A fantasy qb is like a girlfriend, you can't waiver on committing to them. It's never a good thing, and I don't want to go through this during the season.)

This is where you come in, Mr. Branch. I have been looking over your team's wide receivers and I am not very impressed. Think about it, how is my star, field general supposed to lead the league in passing yards this year when he is throwing to receivers that my grandmother could beat in a potato sack race? I mean, who are Reche Caldwell, Michael McGrew, and John Stone? Did you even know they were on the team? The depth chart at WR looks more like a list of guys you would find and karaoke bar on a Wednesday night singing Journey than the roster of an elite NFL team.

Basically, I need you to end your hold out and return to the Patriots. It's in both our best interests. You get to compete for a championship as the best receiver on a mediocre squad, while I get a quarterback who has someone to throw to. And think of this, my buddy Daniel even drafted you so he gets your stats too. Think of us, please. Your actions threaten more than you think they do. If that's not enough, our resident Pats fan, Drew, will stop crying about your hold out too. That alone should be enough incentive.

I feel like I've said all I can. Much like Ben Stiller in There's Something About Mary, I've told you my thoughts and will leave you alone to make your decision. Just remember that your actions could cause my trash talking, buddy Luke to win the league, something I would never forgive you for. Do the right thing.

Warmest regards,


B.Viddy
Thoughts From the Shitter

P.S. If you feel like taking a game off, week 8 would be great. Thanks!

Getting Drafty

This weekend we had our second annual Milwaukee’s Best fantasy draft. Our league is a collection of spares that involves many of the usual suspects. New to our league is Luke, who recently has been making his presence, felt on this site. For those of you who don't know, Luke was our personal waiter at Plucker's until he got fired a few months ago, now he's part of our group; only he no longer gets us beer and hot wings. And that sucks. Come to think of it, he doesn't contribute much anymore. Anyways, Luke seems like a legitimate threat to take my crown as champion this year.

(I gave myself last year's title after the real champion left our league this year. He beat me in the championship last year, so I'm just gonna go ahead and make my claim. There it's done. I'm last years champ. Anyone gonna argue? Didn't think so. Let's move on.)

Anyways, I'll save you the details of the draft being as they would only be funny to a few, but I will mention a few things:

--Two buddies did not draft their teams, but let the autopick do it. Consequently, they have Donte Stalworth, Jamal Lewis, and Duece McAllister on their teams. This is what happens when you have a real life and don't devote your Sundays to fictitious football teams. You lose.

--No one caught more grief than my buddy Conway for selecting two defenses. Leading to the running joke of waiting for his next turn and saying, "And with the 36th pick, Conway selects Drew Henson" or "Conway selects "pass." Needless to say we were rolling.

--Nothing is more fun than drafting a team while another manager is fifteen feet away in your apartment. Hearing my roommate yell "Dammit, Hunter!" after nearly all of Hunter's picks. Never got old. Not even once.

--Along the same lines, this also allowed for the uncomfortable situation where I was eyeing Plaxico Buress and Chad yells from his room, "Should I take Reggie Wayne or Plaxico Buress?" I was dead silent for his entire time on the clock before he panicked and took Jake Delhomme. Two picks later I took Buress only to hear, "Ass hole!" and what I think was his keyboard flying across the room.

--At one point my girlfriend walks into the room and looks at the screen and all smack talk we are writing to each other in the chat box. I straighten up and try to explain all the aspects of the draft, but end up sounding a bit too giddy about the whole thing, prompting her to make an unimpressed facial expression and walk back to the living room without saying a word. Gotta love fantasy football.

--I picked Tom Brady in the second (I know that was too high) as my QB even though I pretty much hate his existence with every strand of my body. Now I have to root for him. Why do I hate him? Plain and simple, he's better than me.

--My roommate came to me on Friday asking me to move the draft time to 3 pm because of prior engagements. After listening to his story, I kindly explained to him that having to go to cheer practice is not a reasonable excuse for missing a fantasy draft. In fact, I am ashamed that this conversation ever happened. Kind of like when the Marlins beat the Indians in the World Series in 1997, (another low moment for Chad) we would like to all just pretend this never happened.

OutKast and Idlewild: No, I didn't see the movie, but I did buy the album. Some people have criticized the album, but you have to expect that after Speakerboxxx/The Love Below. Idlewild doesn't have as many strong tunes as their previous album, but there is a lot of quality to it. If you like OutKast than you'll like this. It seems a bit strange for OutKast to be making albums together after they attempted break apart into solo careers with the aforementioned album, but you never can predict what OutKast is going to do next.

Going deeper, this album proves that Big Boi is far more talented than Andre 3000. If you really listened to Speakerboxxx/The Love Below than you saw this coming a few years ago. Besides Hey Ya! and Roses, there wasn't much to The Love Below, but Big Boi's Speakerboxxx contained a number of tracks that showcased him and his Purple Ribbon crew. This album is very much the same in that respect, highlighted by Big Boi's The Train. You can also tell that Andre and Big Boi are growing apart both musically and personally, rarely do they collaborate and seem to have developed an even greater gap in their styles. Big Boi has developed his own style of rap, while Andre seems to still be searching for where his vocals fit in the world of OutKast. Even the tracks Big Boi does not lend his vocals to, but only produces, such as Mutron Angel out shine what Andre has. Personally, I think Andre needs to come back towards the middle, he is getting a bit out there for my tastes.

The group seems to be together begrudgingly, but still find the chemistry that made them who they are. Overall, both give strong performances, but its Big Boi's show from start to finish.

Beerfest: If you liked Super Troopers go check this out. Hilarious, I can't review it without giving away the jokes, so I won't try. Yeah, it's stupid. Yeah, you'll laugh. You're just gonna have to trust me on this one.

The try for two

Today is a groundbreaking day here at The Shitter, we have expanded. Well to put it more appropriately, I have expanded. I am going to be taking on a new challenge, another site called Two Point Conversion. It is collaboration between Luke and myself. The intent is to have a point/counterpoint column that answers the questions of you, the reader, so feel free to send in questions. Our main focus will be sports on this site, but there will be more than just that. Kind of like the way this site evolved, I think the TPC will become its own monster soon.

At this point we will field any type of question, but expect a heavy amount of sports at first. The style will be very much like this because, well.... I’m writing. Luke will contribute the other half, so if you don't like his junk, just show up long enough for me to dazzle you with my magical words.

I know that I am attempting to sail dangerous waters, but I feel its necessary to reach out and see if I am talented enough to do this. I will continue writing here, but what you, the reader, gets is another place to check out my work. Hooray for you! That is, if you like this stuff, otherwise don't bother going there. This will not change the format of this site. I will still do sports posts here too, I just won't repeat anything from the site. Consequently, I may do fewer sports posts, but I will do them. So we all have that to look forward to.

Ok, I'm sorry that I didn't get a real column up here, but I will reward you with something in just a moment. Just try to give us your support as we venture into the unknown. And because this could be a colossal failure.


Bo Jackson - Tecmo Super Bowl Run


Sometimes certain things in life reach their absolute potential, and can never be reached again due to its devastating consequences. The NCAA giving SMU the death penalty is one of these, we will never see it again. Bo Jackson's dominance in Super Tecmo Bowl for Nintendo is another. He is the greatest video game athlete of all time. No question. Even if you don't like sports or video games, this is worth a viewing due to its absolute absurdity. How could the makers of the game be so enamored with this guy that they made him this much better than everyone else? Can't you just see Bo sneaking into the offices the night before the game's production and tweaking it to make him play like a combination of Jesus and Superman?

p.s. Bob Sturm posted this on his blog a few days ago, so I feel lame putting it up, but given the tag line to this site, I felt I should do it anyways. Besides, I knew about this long before he did, I just was too lazy to post it. Just gonna have to trust me on this.

Have a good weekend!

Semper Fi, Pluto

DATELINE--UNIVERSE

It is a very historic, yet sad day in the Milky Way. The battle of good versus evil was ended today when astronomers in Prague met to determine the official definition of "planet" (click here for the story). The scientists voted over two proposals. The first would broaden the scope of what could be called a planet. Under this proposal three new planets would be added to the solar system, bringing the total to twelve. Instead, the other, more sinister, proposal won. The new definition of planet removes smaller celestial bodies, and ones that do not travel in circular orbits from being defined as planets. What does this all mean? Adios, to our old friend Pluto. He has been stripped of his planetary status on this sad August day.

It is mildly cloudy in Dallas today, echoing the world's sentiment of being mildly heartbroken. We have only known Pluto since 1930, but I can't help but feel melancholy about this because I have the sneaky feeling he was bullied into it. This is like when I was a little kid and I loved WWF wrestling. I remember that sometimes, the champion would get stripped of his title for some reason, making me sad, but very suspicious of goings on behind the scenes.

(This was usually because the champ was injured in real life, but the WWF would create some wildly imaginative story line that would explain his absence and take his championship belt away. Setting up the eventual battle between two guys to determine who was the real champion between the former champ and the one who currently held the belt. Gotta love wrestling.)

I always felt as if the real champ had been cheated out of what he earned. (I should mention that I also felt that they were really fighting, and that The Undertaker was really a dead guy.) The point is, I feel about as sad as I did for those wrestlers as I do for Pluto. I mean did anyone really like him that much? Did anyone ever choose him as his or her favorite planet? Anyone? It was always Earth and Mars, or Saturn and Jupiter. Even Venus got a few raised hands. Pluto didn't even have a circular orbit. Poor, poor Pluto. I feel as if we took you for granted.

(On the other hand, think of the repercussions of this. Science books now have to be rewritten. And what's worse is the little third graders who will undoubtedly lose faith in their teachers and all humanity when they discover that the nine planets they just learned about are an absolute lie. Think of it? What mnemonic device are they going to use now that Pluto is gone? 'Mary Vincent Eats Many Jelly Sandwiches Under Nancy's Porch' no longer works. Where is she eating her sandwiches then? We need to know this!

But here is what is interesting, what if a little kid just failed a science test for putting '8' as the number planets on a question three days ago? What do you do? Does he get a one hundred now? I think he does. How could you argue with him? I'd give it to him based on his prophetic abilities alone, but that's just me. And yet, I digress...)

In retrospect, it seems like maybe we should have taken a bit more time to get to know Pluto before he left us. Good people of Earth, do me a favor, hold your loved ones close tonight and reflect on all the good memories of Pluto, and before you lay your head down, say a little prayer for him and his three moons. These fleeting moments are all we have left. Fear not though, remembering his icy geology, his oblong orbit, and his crazy tendency to sometimes be the farthest away form the sun but not always, should give us some condolence for the seventy-six good years he gave us. We'll miss you, buddy. Semper Fi.

State of the Union

Team USA Basketball beat Italy earlier today after being down at the half. I won't go into the details because I don't particularly know them. But as I read the story I began to think about the team that the United States is fielding. Lebron James, DWade, Melo, and Chris Paul just to name a few. Now many of you who are unfamiliar with the NBA might see look at this list and see it as just another NBA all-star game where the best players basically play street ball. No team, all offense, very messy. This is not the case with Team USA. The four players I mentioned are team players. Let me repeat that. TEAM PLAYERS. Yes, Wade might drive too often, but he knows when to dish the ball, as proven in the Finals when he let Shaq have his day. Carmello is the definition of clutch and all-star, but he also knows that on this team he is not the best player, so he has changed his game to reflect the niche of a role player. There are not many superstars who can do this and still score thirty-five points like he did today. Lebron is Lebron, enough said. Chris Paul is the best true point guard to come out of the draft since Steve Nash. He makes his teammates better, and that's his priority.

Note: I saw Chris Paul when he played in college when Wake Forest came to SMU. Despite the Mustangs actually playing a decent game against the Deacons, and almost winning; they could not stop Paul. He singled handedly won them the game by dishing the ball and opening up the paint by draining threes. I was convinced on that cold winter's eve that this guy was real. I feel privileged to have seen this.

(The highlight of the game though was me and the rest of the SMU student section reigning down chants of "zero, zero" to a player at the end of the bench who wore the number 'zero' as his jersey number. For those of you who are blessed enough not to have had to attend a game a Moody Coliseum, the student section is literally directly behind the opponents bench. I mean three feet from it. These people hear everything we have to say. In fact, when Texas Tech came to town, Bobby Knight complained that we were rude and used the term, "never encountered such fans before." Freaking Bobby Knight who has choked a player and thrown chairs onto the court said we were to rough!?!? I'll take that as a compliment.

Regardless, by halftime Zero was fully acknowledging everything we said and even was laughing about it. As he warmed up for the second half, we would "YAY!" his makes, and "AWW" his misses. It slayed him. It got to the point that his teammates joined in while the coach stared at us with a face that looked like we had just told him we slept with his sister. Good times. We eventually got the, "Put zero in!" chant going. Coach put him in. We cheered wildly. Stuff like that makes tough losses a little easier. Just thought you should know that. And yet, I digress...)

Add team oriented Coach K into this, and I see the United States winning this thing. Coach K's college style of ball resonates the team theme that is found in the European and World style of play. It's the only way that Team USA can win. The United States has such far better players that the NBA has become a personal showcase for the elites of the world to show off their skills against five guys, rather than looking for the open man or making the extra pass. Far too often players like Kobe put on personal highlight shows that dazzle us, but corrupt the game of basketball. Is it wrong? No, not really, but we finally realized that we need to play more cohesively to win on a global platform.

Maybe we lose a game, but who cares. This is not 1990 anymore. The world has shortened the gap in basketball between us and them, but we still do have the better players. They just need to play that way, and they need to recognize that they are playing along side four others who are on the same level as them, and use it to their advantage. Think of it as Hide-and-go-seek. Wait...bad example. I don't know what I was trying to prove with that... Think of it as Pac Man. In the early stage of that game, the little ghosts would chase your around, but they had no coordination to their attacks. Even the craftiest four year old could master levels one and two. You'd be strolling along munching on those yellow balls, making that "wonka wonka" noise Pac Man makes without a fear in the world. It wasn't until you reached the higher levels that the ghosts would come at you from all sides, predicting your next move and trying to impede your path rather than just chase you around. Suddenly you're surrounded by ghosts there are no yellow balls around and you feel the creeping terror. That wonka wonka turns into a blood-curdling scream real fast. Wait, where am I going with this?...Oh yeah, basketball. So basically basketball is like Pac Man, only if you are the ghosts. If you play like the ghosts in the first level you're done; no matter how good of a ghost you are. If you play like the raptor-esque ghosts in the later levels you can overcome the toughest opponent. That's what Team USA is doing right now. And yes, I know only three people still care about basketball.

Rangers: So the Rangers had won nine of their last eleven and not gained a single game on Oakland. That's tough to swallow. What's worse is that they then proceeded to lose two games in a row to the lowly Devil Rays.

(Side Note: In all seriousness, it just took me six attempts to write "Devil Rays." I kept writing "Devil Rats." Maybe Freud had something after all? Or maybe I'm just bitter. Anyways..."

Luckily for the Rangers, Oakland lost one of those games. I hate to say this, but its over for this team. And its not like they couldn't make it up. Between Oakland, LA, and themselves, they have the fewest games against teams above .500 by large margin. That means theoretically, if they could win the series with Oakland and the series with LA, they would have to play some good ball, but could take the division. It won't happen. Division winners don't get beat by the D Rays in crunch time. They don't get beat when the division is wide open. Face it, the Rangers are a very mediocre team in a very mediocre division. What does that make them? Mediocre

Along those lines, I think it's about time that Buck Showalter packs his suitcase. As Bob Sturm said today, there is no reason this team should be six games back. This team is under its fourth year of Buck, and has finished in 4th, 3rd, 3rd, and most likely 3rd again (although 2nd place doesn't seem unreasonable). It's about time for this team to do something. It has been seven years since they have been in the playoffs, and the team has not really been a contender in all but one year since. Buck has helped this team, but he is not going to be the one to get this ship to port. Showalter should be coaching for his job right now. Period. I mean I could manage this team about as well as he can. Make the starting line-ups, sit and eat sunflower seeds, make a predictable pitching change, and sit around waiting for a three-run homerun while I'm being paid millions. There hasn't been a better job since they invented the Monarchy. Where do I sign up?

To put the Rangers in perspective, me and my buddy Pat spent a late evening on my balcony drinking beers and discussing teams from all sports who we could never see ourselves rooting for. When we got to Major League Baseball I came up with my list. I included teams like the Pirates and the Brewers, but one thought came into my head. If I weren't already a Rangers fan, they would be on my list of teams that I couldn't see myself rooting for. That's a humbling thought to a fan. The best way to think about that is to think of it as the guy in everyone's group who has been dating his girlfriend for so long that he'd rather stay with her than break up with her, even though he cannot find one justifiable reason to keep her around. He hates how she treats him and he hates how he feels around her, but thinks that its just too hard to start something new after being so vested in the relationship that he can't give up. Maybe every now and then she brings him some excitement and joy, but overall everyday spent together is like a day spent crawling through the mud. That's about how I feel with the Rangers right now. I think I'm going to stop talking about this before I start slamming my head on the keyboard.

Quote of the Year: At the Rangers game the other night (why do I do this to myself?) Drew was talking about how he was glad he did not accept the position of becoming the SMU Mustangs mascot during this upcoming football season. He went on to say though, that his father had thought differently. The conversation went like this:

Drew: "My Dad said that becoming the mascot would be a once in a lifetime experience."

Me: "So is prison rape, Drew. It doesn't mean that it's good."

Conway: "Yeah, they're both hot, sweaty, and uncomfortable experiences."

ZING! Exploding high five for Conway.

*I just realized I inadvertantly plagarized the title of this from KCott. Had to mention this in good conscience.

To be honest...

...this blogging thing is having its way with me. I have a number of things to write about, but I lack the gumption to actually write about them. I chalk this up to being far busier at work. I mean who would have thought that longer tenure equals more responsibility equals more work. Gone are the days when I would have hours of down time between assignments. I feel the working world coiling around me and drowning me into the river of routine. I also think that the amount of writing has decreased due to it being the dog days of summer. I don't know about all of you, but its hard to be cheery when its 104 degrees out every freaking day. And that's not the worst part; it stays that hot until 7:00 pm. I am starting to think that creativity and my assertiveness to write is produced in the sweat glands because the hotter it is, the more I feel like I have none left. Basically, this means stop e-mailing me to tell me to quit being lazy and to get writing. Just kidding, keep it up. It keeps me off my ass.

Another thing I would like to take issue with is the direction this site has taken itself. When I started this thing it was geared towards putting up old intramural write-ups. That was very short lived and my writing took over; where I tried to mix pop culture with sports. While I tried to keep a distinctive sports flavor, that too, has failed. I find now that the name of the site is more fitting to the content than it ever was. Kind of like if the movie Speed had started out as a film about ballroom dancing before the whole bomb on a bus thing kicked in and transformed it to an action movie. Despite how well some of the content fits the title, this was not my intended substance matter. With that said, I will try to implement the following format; sports, pop culture, and random stories from life. I know that sounds familiar to what I have been doing. And I probably have been using this formula, but I feel I have strayed a bit too far from "sports" due to baseball being the only thing going right now.

One more point of interest is the quality of the writing. I feel it has suffered. A few of you have said it has matured and is of more quality. Maybe its just me? Either way, I just had to get that off my chest. I really don't want a bunch of e-mails telling me my writing sucks on a particular day.

(Side Note: Someone just brought food to the office for a presentation and it smells like cat food. No joke. My family has had cats for all twenty three years of my life, and the smell is unmistakable. I may not eat today because of this. The worst part? It's brisket, so it looks just like cat food too.... oh wait. Some random sandwich company just brought us some samples of their food. The smell is delectable. My lunch is saved. The gods are smiling. Wait here while I scarf this down.)

I also will be busy in the next few weeks. I am traveling to Colorado next weekend, then have a big birthday weekend planned. After that it seems as if I may be going to Nashville for a few days. So will I be writing less? Not at all, I am aiming for more. Stick around because I'm not intending on going Dave Chappell on yall and disappearing to Africa. Stay with me. I won't steer you wrong.

So here is the plan. I am about to throw down an energy drink and churn out as many columns as I can in as much time as I can. No editing, no nothing. Then I will go back and post them after I have edited each of them. Like an ice cold Gatorade after a game of basketball, I am gonna provide a steady stream of lemon-lime flavored goodness up in yo face. Not sure if I will get one up today, but I'll do my best.

So here we go. Time to flex my writing muscles. So just sit back, relax, and enjoy your two free tickets to the gun show.

B. Viddy

p.s. I have added a few new links. Check out my buddy Luke's site for a bunch of lists. The best is the one entitled, "DEALBRAKERS." Also, my buddy Prem is up there with some tales of the Far East. I am cautiously putting up a link to e-mail me. If you wish to write me you can through this outlet, but please continue to use the comments section. They are underused as it is.

p.p.s. I have been looking to use that Ron Burgundy picture in this blog for quite some time now. Success.

Wanted, Dead or Alive

Today I was sent to the Federal Building here in Dallas where I was to deliver the contents of an envelope to a specific lady (we will call her Judy) who supposedly worked for the IRS. I have no idea what was in this envelope: check, personal note, death threat, location of John Gotti's remains, three freshly rolled doobies, whatever. The contents were not the issue today. Instead, the issue was whether or not I was going to be physically manhandled to the ground by two federal security guards in an effort to subdue what they thought was a crazy person inside United States property. This is where we start.

I walked into the building and attempted to hand the two guards on duty the envelope I was holding rather than my government issued ID. Whoops. Apparently, in a federal building this is something that you are not supposed to do. They almost looked offended. It was like I had just walked up to them and pointed out an unsightly birthmark on one of their faces. In retrospect, that might have been a better idea. Furthermore, as I laid the envelope down on the counter, they stepped back as if I had just showed them a weapon. I felt like I was one of those outlaws who walks into a saloon in the Old West, boldly pressing up to the bartender and immediately placing a gun on the bar to demonstrate his intentions.

Now,I know that in no way in a million years could I pull off something as cool and outlaw-esque, but for whatever reason I felt that I was one bad glance away from having my shirt pulled over my head and my hands cuffed behind me as I lay flopping around on floor. All the while, I was just setting this envelope to down to pull out my wallet. Just an absurd over reaction on all accounts.

Regardless, I explain that I am there to deliver an envelope to Judy as they continue to give me a perplexed look like I were a giant chicken nugget speaking in some indecipherable Nugget language (Don’t ask why I used that metaphor. I'm not even sure). They finally let me through and direct me to the IRS office. I can immediately tell that this is not where I am supposed to be. I'm awkwardly standing in the room where people go to wait in line and pay their taxes and grumble to themselves about the government. Knowing that this is all wrong, I walk up to one of the windows and explained my quest for Judy. The guy listens for about .0032 seconds before telling me to take a number and wait in line. Great. This is going to be awhile.

I sit down and proceed to make my "Is the IRS really going to make me wait here in line just to be told that I am in the wrong place, when I already know I am in the wrong place" face. Apparently, the old man sitting next to me was able to tell what I was frustrated about because he leaned over to me and said in an raspy tone, "Dey wanna goul the get put, and that's all the money." I'm not exactly sure what he meant by that, but I think its safe to say he was sympathizing with me. I uncomfortably shook my head to agree with him. Weirdest of all, he then nodded at me with a squinty-eyed confidence as if to say, "Let's take this whole place apart right now. Together, we are unstoppable." Unnerved, I went back to staring at the wall and he went back to wheezing aloud.

Deciding to make the best out of the situation, I call my little buddy Drew to talk of the previous night's tomfoolery. Our conversation goes swimmingly for a number of minutes before one of the security guards walks into the office and makes it clear that my phone needs to be turned off or my immediate health may be in jeopardy. In fact, he barked this order at me like I was a dog who had just pooped on the new carpet. I didn't argue. I spent the rest of the time, for lack of anything else to do, trying to avoid eye contact with old man and reading Us Weekly. And for the record, Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban's wedding looked absolutely beautiful.

So I make it up to the open window after about twenty minutes, but I am begrudgingly informed that I am supposed to go somewhere else. Shocking. So, I am sent to an office that I cannot find, that's at the end of a hall that I cannot find, that's left from the elevators that I cannot find. I am running about searching everywhere for this place, looking more confused than my father does during a game of Trivial Pursuit. Consequently, I have attracted the attention of the security guards once again. After venturing about for quite some time, I find where I am supposed to have gone only to realize that I have been directed to a dropbox, not an actual human being. Isn't anyone listening to me? I feel like I am taking crazy pills! I make my way back to the security guards at the front who see me coming and start looking about as uneasy as Mel Gibson in a bagel shop in Queens.

I tell them my problem and say that I just need to deliver this letter to the lady. "Oh, you mean you just needed to see her. We will call her down here." Let me tell, you, I've never been so close to lunging towards someone's throat as I was at that minute. Before I could decide whether I was cat-like enough to make a sudden, but lethal, move without being caught by the other guard, he tells me that there is no one with that name at the building. Wait a minute. At about the same time, the guards and I realize that I have been running around haphazardly with an envelope for someone who they have no record of, and I have definitely not been acting as cool as I should be. In fact, the security guards later described my behavior better when they used the word "suspicious."

Ignoring my bad feeling and deciding that I needed to call my boss, I reached for my phone and flipped it open. "Sir, put the phone away now!" Crap. I am going to be on a terrorist watch list aren't I? I nervously put my phone down explained to them what I was doing, and all was resolved. And by resolved, I mean I walked out the front door without saying a word while the guards made sure I didn't make any sudden moves. When I returned later that afternoon with the explanation that Judy was not on the list because she was new, the guards greeted me with open arms and understanding by refusing to allow me past the security check point. Standing on the other side of a desk and a metal detector with two armed federal guards planted between us, I finally handed the envelope to the lady I had been looking for over the past 3 and a half hours. Mission accomplished, and I only almost soiled myself out of sheer fear twice.

Mark Prior on the Disabled List Again: My buddy pat summed this up better than anyone else when he said, "Mark Prior spends more time on the DL than I do on the couch." Now that's saying something. Is it too late to call this guy a bust?

MNF: I know its been like five days since Monday Night Football had its preseason premier, but I had a few thoughts. The new crew is okay. I don't understand why ESPN/ABC didn't just keep Madden and Micheals. The crew brought in the weakest link from the Sunday night crew, Theismann (who sucks), introduces us to Tirico (not bad), and catapults Kornheiser (too early to tell) into the mix. While many said Kornheiser did well, he seemed nervous at first and very restrained. What's worse was the absolutely horrid scoreboard graphic (Fox Box) strategically place right in the way of everything on the screen. I hope to God, they remedy this before the regular season. I found myself just staring at the graphic rather than watching the game. I wasn't even reading it, just looking at it without taking in its displayed information. Like I was day dreaming or something. It’s difficult to describe. Making it worse, they had to use a silly camera angle just to fit it on the screen. I think Pat put it best when he said, "I can't even remember what play they just ran because I am focusing on how much I hate this. " Agreed.

The Return of the Drew: Well, you know who came back into town on Sunday and proceed to beg me and Pat to go drink with him. As much as I didn't want to -- I played golf all day -- I regretfully accepted. We went to Pluckers and Drew proceeded to drink a superfluous amount of beer, and consequently; berate everyone and everything before we made him walk back to my apartment alone. Aside from that, the one issue I took with Drew's return was his refusal to chug a 34 ounce Mother Plucker like he used to do. If you haven't heard, he can do it in seven seconds. When we found this out, he was a god for two weeks…then we got bored of it. Regardless, that night he said he was not going to chug. What? Are you kidding me? That's like in the movie Major League II when Ricky Vaughn stops throwing 99 mph fastballs because he has a career to think about. Drew, this chugging thing is your meal ticket. Don't mess it up.

(Side Note: He eventually did chug one. After a few minutes, though, he gave it back to the Earth if you know what I mean. We'll chalk it up to taking the summer off.)

The Best Response Ever: I was feeling down at work the other day and posed the following question to my buddy RT:

Do you ever wonder what the hell we are doing with our lives?

Without missing a beat he shoots this little nugget of truth back:

Well, Im searching through TEC reports, but all I wanna do is go to the gym and play catch, then slam a twelver and pass out in my jockeys under the AC with a hot chick.

He's right. Put my whole life into focus. Thank you, RT.

Have a good weekend. I'll be back on Monday with more.

BRAWL!

I don't know what to say about the Rangers-Angels fight on Wednesday night other than to say that I was there. Do you know how awesome that is? Before that night I had never seen a baseball fight in person. I remember once in Oakland, I saw Bip Roberts charge the mound in the bottom of the ninth inning, but nothing much was made of it. But hey, what do you expect out of a grown man named Bip?

While the fight was started last night by the Angels persistence to hit the Rangers, and the Rangers stubbornness about upholding "the Code" of baseball, this all goes back to Padilla going Tom Cruise on everyone and suddenly losing his mind right there on the mound the night before. I've seen plenty of sports figures "lose it" in a game before, but to just start throwing at the opponent? That's pretty low. Not real proud to be a Ranger fan after that one. Making things worse, is that both these teams are in a pennant race and both of them seem a bit more concerned with dealing out knuckle sandwiches than concentrating on trying to keep pace with Oakland, who is playing out of their minds right now. Think about this, before last night (when TEX lost to Detroit), the Rangers had won four of their last five and actually lost ground on the Athletics. Its things like that that make me want to gnaw on a cactus.

The best part of the fight was Feldman throwing down his glove to deliver a blow and disappointingly landing it in Adam Kennedy's armpit. There is something very comical about grown men trying to fight each other, especially when it's painfully obvious that they have no idea what they are doing. They may be athletically tuned, but do not kid yourself; these are professionals, not a bunch inmates. A baseball brawl typically starts like the epic battle scene in Braveheart but ends like a pillow fight; they run valiantly at each other only instead of fighting they just pile onto one other and nip at the other team like a bunch of puppies. Its really kind of ridiculous. The same fight could happen at an office with pretty much the same results -- no one getting hurt -- only we would all be fired at the office...and I imagine paper would be everywhere.

Another interesting bit of the melee was Mark DeRosa's QB blitz. I think Cowboy's coach Bill Parcells should look into signing DeRosa. Did you see his Roy Williams sack on Adam Kennedy? No offensive line in the NFL would have touched him. Plus he would have made a great tandem playing along side DeMarcus Ware. DeRo and DeMarcus. It’s got a ring to it. Either way nice take down, DeRo.

That's all for now. I'll have another column up later today due to an overwhelming number of
complaints from many of you readers. The lesson, as always, complain till you get your way.

I'm lovin' it

From the jumbled outline I have created on a small pink sticky note, I can safely predict that my writing will be a bit scattered today. In fact, almost all my ideas are written on sticky notes that litter my pockets and desk throughout the day. With this comes the inevitable fact that many of these never make it from my pocket, but instead meet their ultimate demise in my washing machine. Say a prayer for the forgotten thoughts and stories, and lets focus our attention on our show for today.

I guess today's episode (Yes, I have taken to referring to The Shitter as a "show" that has "episodes." Deal with it) will focus mainly on a few musings that I have collected throughout the week, and anything that may come to mind in between. All right ramblers, lets get rambling...

RT sent me another gem today as I sifted out of my haze early this morning at work:

Okay, more ridiculous character: Mayor McCheese or Grimace?

Wow. All I could say was "Thank you for that."

(Is there anything better than completely random messages from friends that require an entire day's worth of thought? I mean I haven't thought about McDonaldland or its absurd residents in years, but now I am immersed in a world with the Fry Guys and the McNugget Buddies while Ronald McDonald prances around Filet-O-Fish Lake picking fresh hamburgers from the Hamburger Patch like he's Michael Jackson at the Neverland Ranch. This is why I love my friends).

So as the day went on, I gave this a little bit of thought and have made a decision. While I first made a commitment to the Grimace being the creepier of the two, I did some research on Wikipedia and rethought my choice. Mayor McCheese is, without question, far and away creepier. My main reason for choosing him is this: Which one would you rather want chasing you? I imagine the Grimace being kind of like Lenny from Of Mice and Men, a gentle giant. He seems like a big goof ball that wouldn't have a mean bone in his body. Just lots of throaty giggles and spinning around before falling to the ground in a heap of laughter. Basically, he's Barney the Dinosaur, only created by a guy on a severe acid trip. I think that's why he went from being the shake-stealing Evil Grimace to a gum drop-looking figure who seems like he would do a lot of tickling. He's harmless, I'm sure of it. Besides, you can't convince me that you don't want to give him a hug. I do.

Mayor McCheese, on the other hand, is terrifying. Look at him. I mean really look at him. That is a pissed off hamburger! He's probably pissed that you ate all his friends. Add to this that he has an unreasonably gigantic head AND a top hat and some glasses on a string. Bone chilling. I don't mess with cheeseburgers that look like Englishmen. Period. Furthermore, he's a frickin mayor. He has the power, not to mention the cronies (think Fry Guys), to take you or me out. I wouldn't mess with him in a million years. How did he get elected anyways? Isn't Ronald the most popular dude in McDonaldland? How did he lose in a town named after him? This is all a bit too fishy to me. And I can't reiterate this enough, but look at his frickin head!

I guess what I am trying to say is that when push comes to shove, I don't judge in McDonaldland, but I do know who I would talk to on the streets and who I wouldn't. I just hope the Grimace has got my back. So there it is. And just when I thought I had it all sorted out, Ryan comes at me with this:

And what about the Hamburglar? He would've made such a great, legit villain if he wasn't so gay!...Stupid girlish giggle of his, pissed me off.

Gold, Ryan. Solid gold.

Quirky Asian Guy from Subway: Yesterday, I went to Subway, as I normally do, for a tasty, delicious sub to fulfill my constant appetite. I get my food and am filling up my cup with Coke when I decide that I am gonna flip the script and get orange soda instead. A bold move. So I dump out my Coke and look around to see if anyone has noticed me wasting an entire cup of Coke. No justifiable reason why I felt that I had to look around. Just felt like it was necessary. No point questioning my idiosyncrasies, lets just keep going.

So as I am illustrating an unnecessary degree of paranoia to the entire demographic in Subway, I see a small Asian guy standing at the cash register paying for his food. There is nothing particularly funny about the way this guy is dressed, but his behavior is what left me standing at the drink fountain staring at him like I was at the zoo. While he was paying, he was inexplicably moving up and down by bending only his knees outward, like this. I don't even know what else to say about it. He kind of looked like an awkward ballerina, only in khakis. I watched this whole thing transpire until he left, but I was kind of disappointed in the end because I was expecting him to give the cashier a small bow before politely walking out the door. I guess the point of the story is that it was the most ridiculous thing I have seen in months.

Diet Soda: I spent the last part of my day yesterday eating some much-needed Cool Ranch Doritos. I love these chips like they are family, but I found a way to ruin them. Drink Diet Dr. Pepper with them. I forgot how bad that stuff is. There was a free one sitting around, and I am no sucker when it comes to grabbing a freebie, but I will not be duped twice. This stuff may be worse than Diet Coke. Sorry, all you diet soda fans, but diet soft drinks are terrible. Period. I will not argue about this. They ruined my Doritos, and almost my day. In fact, let me say this to you, diet soda, you pushed it too far when your messed with my chips. You've been warned.

Gumball-non: So today I grabbed a gumball and bit into it . It was not a gumball. It was a jawbreaker. Just thought you should know that.

Albert Clifford's the name, but you can call me A.C.: You know the "show summary" that comes up when you press "info" on your TV remote when you have digital cable or satellite? Well Pat sent me this today, containing the text from one of our favorites:

Today on Saved By the Bell: The College Years - Slater "finds out" that he's Mexican."

I have nothing to say about this.

Have a good weekend.

One more pitcher of margaritas, ladies?

Inspired by Bomani Jones's column that I linked to yesterday, in which he disassembles the premise of a song because he found it utterly ridiculous, I am going to do the same to Joe Nichols's Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off. Now say I am stealing this idea all you want, but my buddy Patrick and I have talked about this for a long time. If you're not familiar with the song its a country tune that is about how Joe Nichols's girl goes out with her girlfriends and always ends up disrobing after she has drank too much tequila. Stupid premise? Yeah, that's what I thought too. The song isn't terrible because Nichols is a good singer and its not horribly written, but its nothing I am going to spend twenty eight seconds downloading, although; its a bit ironic that I am about to spend ten minutes writing about it. So the lesson, as always, is don't put to much thought into my reasoning.

Regardless, ole' Joe seems to inexplicably stay home while she goes about town with her friends and comes home naked as a jay bird. My question is, what is he doing during all this? If I knew the girl was off making like she was on the French Riviera, I would be off at the shadiest smoke-filled bar tossing back whiskey and looking about as stable as Gary Busey during an overnight in Cancun. This premise is so unfeasible to me that it makes me want to put my fingers in the pencil sharpener. Just look at some of the lyrics:

"THEM PANTYHOSE AIN'T GONNA LAST TOO LONG
IF THE D J PUTS BON JOVI ON
SHE MIGHT COME HOME IN A TABLECLOTH
TEQUILA MAKES HER CLOTHES FALL OFF

SHE DON'T MEAN NOTHING SHE'S JUST HAVING FUN
TOMORROW SHE'LL SAY OH WHAT HAVE I DONE
HER FRIENDS WILL JOKE ABOUT THE STUFF SHE LOST
CAUSE TEQUILA MAKES HER CLOTHES FALL OFF"

What????

He's okay with this? Really? How? And it sounds like she is a repeat offender. If I had a girl who pulled this stunt recurringly I would not be cool with it. Period. I mean I would expect this behavior out of Tara Reid, but not someone I was dating. I mean he doesn't even sound like he's even remotely mad. My buddy Pat summed it up by saying, "he sounds more like he's just defeated by the whole thing and has a 'oh no, she is naked again' look on his face as he pulls at his hair." Agreed. I think Joe Nichols needs a little less "What ever am I going to do?" and a little more "Get your ass in the car!" Just a thought.

Better Than Nothing

Blogger is powering down for bit in like an hour so I don't have time to write a real column today. Instead, I figured I would give you a few quick links to check out. If I have time I'll put some quick hits at the bottom.

On with the show...

bomanijones.com--Good column by Bomani Jones about Rhinanna's new song and how absurd it is. I don’t like her or her music, but its a funny article and its extremely well written. Check out the comments. The first few made me crack up.

wikipedia.com-- Reason #1,036 why Wikipedia is the greatest site on the Internet, bar none.

wikipedia.com-- Reason #1,037 why Wikipedia is the greatest site on the Internet, bar none. Without question, the funniest thing on there so far. Will I ever be able to find a better reason to validate Wikipedia's greatness? In a million years? Ever?

espn.com-- Story about Maurice Clarett getting stopped for driving recklessly and having to be tazed. Unfortunately he was wearing body armor and sporting an AK-47. Wasn't he can’t-miss-prospect three years ago, and in the NFL last year? Talk about falling fast. Who does he think he is? John Rambo? How does this happen?

cnn.com-- A lawyer gets a little rambunctious during a trial and is ordered to have an alcohol test. Mistrial ensues. This is like a crystal ball into my future. I'm sure of it.

cnn.com-- If I was swimming in a lake and I kicked a fish, I would freak out. What would happen if a fish said "Screw it, I'm gonna get this bastard!" and kicked me? No clue. Some questions are best left unanswered.

cnn.com-- Me and a friend once got into a fist fight in middle school over who had received more signatures in their yearbook. We didn't speak to each other for a week, and yet somehow it was less childish than this.

Drew: Gets in Sunday. Is it too early to start dropping the "Calm before the storm" jokes? When I told my roomate that Drew would be staying on our futon for a few days he gave me the "Did you really just invite another person to stay in our living room this summer without making them pay rent?" look on his face. I think he's ok with it.

Rangers: Pulled out a win today, but it may bee too late. More on this later.

Sorry, no more time for Quick Hits. You'll have to make due. I spoil yall anyway.

Back by popular demand...

Ok Go-A Million Ways

I feel cheap putting up all these videos rather than writing, but tell me this ain't cool. Ok Go, you are always welcome here on The Shitter.

Solitaire

This is my third attempt at this column. I am throwing a petulant snit right now due to blogger being a jerk (see below ). Is it possible that this is the spirit of some great writer that is forcing my hand to write something better? Probably not. Place your money on my computer illiteracy and refusal to save midway through my work. There's a lesson here.

And we're off...

Solitaire. It's a very simple game, yet it recently held a vicious and dominating grasp on me that rivals Stalin's reign over Soviet Russia. To explain, I just ended a solitaire losing streak that went somewhere around thirty games. No joke. I'm not exaggerating. Thirty games. You know that guy in every group who drinks a little too much and always ends up wanting to fight someone by the end of the night, but every time he raises his fists he gets his lunch handed to him? Well that was me, only with solitaire. I kept going back to get another dose of abuse even though I knew I was about to dealt the business by a computer program. I felt like Marge Simpson in the episode of The Simpsons where she loses her mind playing the slots in the Springfield Casino and has to be physically restrained by her family.

(Side Note: Why don't more things from The Simpson's translate into real life? I know it sounds like a stupid question, but I have spent most of my adult life watching this show and what do I have to show for it? For example, in one episode Homer gets sent home from work, and consequently, to an insane asylum for wearing a pink shirt to his job. With this in mind, I wore a salmon/pinkish dress shirt to work today in hopes of an early dismissal. Let's be honest, I wasn't banking on anything, but the hope was there. What happened? Rather then get to go home and take a nap, I was told how nice I looked in my salmon colored dress shirt. Jerks.)

Regardless, I fought on. Why would I continue this masochist behavior? Because I had to win. And because thirty losses in a row is a dreadful, yet gaudy accomplishment that I found mildly amusing. Kind of like Sylvester Stallone's last ten years in film.

In my defense, I fought admirably. I refused to amend my game play by changing from a three-card-deal to the easier one-card-deal. Where a lesser man might have given up, I persevered. Victory tasted sweet, but I can't help but wonder what would have happened had this streak of "luck-non," as I will call it, had reared its head elsewhere? What would have happened if I were in Vegas? I mean, I know there is no wagering on solitaire, but what if my bad luck extended to all card games? Would I have been able to survive a long night at the Blackjack table? Or even worse, playing Texas Hold 'Em? What would be the over/under on me wondering off in severe debt and never being seen again? Would I have had to sell the naming rights to my first born son just to ante up for one last shot at breaking even?

I don't know, but I keep coming back to the idea that I my friends would find me three days later lying in the gutter outside the hotel, muttering to myself about some newspaper headline and wearing nothing but a worn-through jacket, an inexplicable two-week-old beard, and "crunchy" pants. Shudder.

Blogger, I hate you.

I just had the same post deleted for the second time! That's two hours worth of writing and rewriting that are erased from my life. Forgive me if I don't post anything for the next three weeks out of protest and bitterness. Mostly bitterness.

And a one, and a two, and a you know what to do...

OK Go - Here It Goes Again

Glorious! I am absurdly jealous that I didn't think of this. I dare you to only watch this once. It's not humanly possible. Have a good weekend.

At least you have your health

Awkward Moment

This clip involves three of my favorite things: Conan, Walker, and long awkward pauses after an AIDS joke. Enjoy.