Thursday, September 11, 2008
Thursday's SUCK
Being Too Smart for Your Fantasy Draft
A few days ago, I earned the first pick in my NFL fantasy draft. I say earned because I assume that because of the daily--no, hourly--virtuous and kind deeds I perform for the rest of humanity I was quite deservedly granted the number one overall pick, so that I could dominate my "friends" and steal their money in a rout.
I debated for a day or two about whom I would take with the first pick. In our league, rushing touchdowns are worth six points; two more than passing touchdowns. Clearly this would push me toward picking a running back - after all, there are really numerous options at that position, and one fairly obvious choice: LT. LaDainian I Don't Even Need to See at Night to Run Your Face Off Tomlinson. The best fantasy running back, the best fantasy player, the overall baddest-ass motherfucking black visor wearing fast as shit stat monster who would would guide my team to victory.
Wait. Did you spot the factual error in the last statement? Exactly. LT wasn't the best fantasy player last year. Who was? The answer is obvious, and is probably seducing your girlfriend or mom at this very moment: one Thomas Edward Brady, Jr., quarterback and chief heart-throb of the New England Patriots, the team that decided it was too good to win the Super Bowl; so good, in fact, that they allowed any of their immediate relatives and close friends to play for them in that game. What else could explain their defensive line's inability to sack Peyton Manning's pathetic excuse for a brother...err, what? He actually IS a quarterback? I always thought the Giants just let some confused, whiny, armless guy play on their team for shits and giggles. And I'm not even a fan of the Patriots...
Tom Brady was THE only possible choice with the first pick. Had any of the other idiots in my league gotten the first pick, they would have wasted it on some chump like the aforementioned Ray Charles impersonator, or the player whose only career accomplishment in the NFL is setting the single game rushing record (given one entire year in the NFL, it would be reasonable to assume he could have at least tied the career rushing record). Luckily, I had the pick, and Tom Brady and his beautiful face would soon be nestled in my starting lineup for Week 1.
I have yet to mention that Tom Brady used to play for the University of Michigan. Being an Ohio State fan, I do have some deep-seeded animosity toward any player--current or graduated--from UM. Tom Brady, however, is so good that he completely removed any reservations I had toward having any Wolverine on my bench. In fact, his smug demeanor in interviews reminded me of how I would secretly enjoy the inherent irony in rooting for a player upon whom I should wish a painful and elaborate death.
Irony.
Let us briefly examine this word.
First, its definition:
The known: Week 1. Patriots vs. Chiefs. BLOWOUT. The Kansas City Chiefs are likely worse than a random assortment of Indian Chiefs who, upon discovering how to travel through time, found themselves lost and bewildered on a football field in Foxboro, Massachusetts on September 7, 2008.
The assumed: Tom Brady would surpass last season's record of 50 passing touchdowns in this game alone. I would amass at least 200 fantasy points, thoroughly crushing Kevin and setting the stage for a season's worth of disappoint and loss for the rest of my league.
The reality: A lack of irony. Yes, yes...I do mean a lack of irony. Well, at least in the Pictionary sense. I've never done this, but I would guess that if given the word irony in a game of Pictionary, I would draw the following:
(No, I would not draw an iron and a knee. That is absurd, would never work, and clearly is worse than the above example which I certainly did not choose for the purposes of this article and the comparison that shortly follows this.)
What I never knew and could never know, but what I do know now, is that Tom Brady does not have iron knees. Every scouting report I have ever read, every medical report I have ever seen, indicated that Tom Brady's entire body--excluding his heart--was ruthless, and more importantly, ferrous. Little did I know that Tom Brady's knees and knee ligaments were NOT MADE OF IRON, AND THUS WERE SUSCEPTIBLE TO DEFENSIVE PLAYERS DELIBERATELY RAMMING THEIR HELMETS INTO THEM. REPEATEDLY. ON PURPOSE. A LOT. MEANLY.
As it turns out, I am out a quarterback and now must play Jon Kitna in Tom Brady's place. This is the price I pay for being too smart for our league. I chose the smartest pick possible, and it along with Tom Brady's ACL and MCL blew up in my face. Sometimes, even the most intelligent members of society must bear the burden of knowing that they are, indeed, better and smarter than everyone else. Regarding myself, this inherent truth dogmatically applies to every aspect of life, including fantasty drafts. As a warning to future participants in any fantasy sport, do not make the smart pick. If drafting for the NBA, pick Michael Jordan over LeBron or Kobe, as he would be more likely to come back from retirement and average a quaddruple double than those players would be to get injured. If involved in a baseball draft, just pick Ted Williams, as the likelihood of his cryogenically frozen corpse being thawed and hitting for the cycle in 162 consecutive games compares favorably to the chance that Alex Rodriguez is downed by an errant pitch.
And lastly, if you're participating in an NFL fantasy draft, choose Michael Vick, who has never played a full season and isn't even in the NFL (drafts can allow write-ins). There will likely be a better chance of him getting out of jail and putting up monster numbers than a player like Tom Brady, whose lack of injuries was so absurd that he was SARCASTICALLY listed on the injury report for 53 consecutive weeks, suffering a season-ending injury in Week 1.
OH WAIT, THAT FUCKING HAPPENED,
FUCK ME.
A few days ago, I earned the first pick in my NFL fantasy draft. I say earned because I assume that because of the daily--no, hourly--virtuous and kind deeds I perform for the rest of humanity I was quite deservedly granted the number one overall pick, so that I could dominate my "friends" and steal their money in a rout.
I debated for a day or two about whom I would take with the first pick. In our league, rushing touchdowns are worth six points; two more than passing touchdowns. Clearly this would push me toward picking a running back - after all, there are really numerous options at that position, and one fairly obvious choice: LT. LaDainian I Don't Even Need to See at Night to Run Your Face Off Tomlinson. The best fantasy running back, the best fantasy player, the overall baddest-ass motherfucking black visor wearing fast as shit stat monster who would would guide my team to victory.
Wait. Did you spot the factual error in the last statement? Exactly. LT wasn't the best fantasy player last year. Who was? The answer is obvious, and is probably seducing your girlfriend or mom at this very moment: one Thomas Edward Brady, Jr., quarterback and chief heart-throb of the New England Patriots, the team that decided it was too good to win the Super Bowl; so good, in fact, that they allowed any of their immediate relatives and close friends to play for them in that game. What else could explain their defensive line's inability to sack Peyton Manning's pathetic excuse for a brother...err, what? He actually IS a quarterback? I always thought the Giants just let some confused, whiny, armless guy play on their team for shits and giggles. And I'm not even a fan of the Patriots...
Tom Brady was THE only possible choice with the first pick. Had any of the other idiots in my league gotten the first pick, they would have wasted it on some chump like the aforementioned Ray Charles impersonator, or the player whose only career accomplishment in the NFL is setting the single game rushing record (given one entire year in the NFL, it would be reasonable to assume he could have at least tied the career rushing record). Luckily, I had the pick, and Tom Brady and his beautiful face would soon be nestled in my starting lineup for Week 1.
I have yet to mention that Tom Brady used to play for the University of Michigan. Being an Ohio State fan, I do have some deep-seeded animosity toward any player--current or graduated--from UM. Tom Brady, however, is so good that he completely removed any reservations I had toward having any Wolverine on my bench. In fact, his smug demeanor in interviews reminded me of how I would secretly enjoy the inherent irony in rooting for a player upon whom I should wish a painful and elaborate death.
Irony.
Let us briefly examine this word.
First, its definition:
"an outcome of events contrary to what was, or might have been, expected"This offers some substance. For what happened was exactly contrary to what I expected.
The known: Week 1. Patriots vs. Chiefs. BLOWOUT. The Kansas City Chiefs are likely worse than a random assortment of Indian Chiefs who, upon discovering how to travel through time, found themselves lost and bewildered on a football field in Foxboro, Massachusetts on September 7, 2008.
The assumed: Tom Brady would surpass last season's record of 50 passing touchdowns in this game alone. I would amass at least 200 fantasy points, thoroughly crushing Kevin and setting the stage for a season's worth of disappoint and loss for the rest of my league.
The reality: A lack of irony. Yes, yes...I do mean a lack of irony. Well, at least in the Pictionary sense. I've never done this, but I would guess that if given the word irony in a game of Pictionary, I would draw the following:
+
(No, I would not draw an iron and a knee. That is absurd, would never work, and clearly is worse than the above example which I certainly did not choose for the purposes of this article and the comparison that shortly follows this.)
What I never knew and could never know, but what I do know now, is that Tom Brady does not have iron knees. Every scouting report I have ever read, every medical report I have ever seen, indicated that Tom Brady's entire body--excluding his heart--was ruthless, and more importantly, ferrous. Little did I know that Tom Brady's knees and knee ligaments were NOT MADE OF IRON, AND THUS WERE SUSCEPTIBLE TO DEFENSIVE PLAYERS DELIBERATELY RAMMING THEIR HELMETS INTO THEM. REPEATEDLY. ON PURPOSE. A LOT. MEANLY.
As it turns out, I am out a quarterback and now must play Jon Kitna in Tom Brady's place. This is the price I pay for being too smart for our league. I chose the smartest pick possible, and it along with Tom Brady's ACL and MCL blew up in my face. Sometimes, even the most intelligent members of society must bear the burden of knowing that they are, indeed, better and smarter than everyone else. Regarding myself, this inherent truth dogmatically applies to every aspect of life, including fantasty drafts. As a warning to future participants in any fantasy sport, do not make the smart pick. If drafting for the NBA, pick Michael Jordan over LeBron or Kobe, as he would be more likely to come back from retirement and average a quaddruple double than those players would be to get injured. If involved in a baseball draft, just pick Ted Williams, as the likelihood of his cryogenically frozen corpse being thawed and hitting for the cycle in 162 consecutive games compares favorably to the chance that Alex Rodriguez is downed by an errant pitch.
And lastly, if you're participating in an NFL fantasy draft, choose Michael Vick, who has never played a full season and isn't even in the NFL (drafts can allow write-ins). There will likely be a better chance of him getting out of jail and putting up monster numbers than a player like Tom Brady, whose lack of injuries was so absurd that he was SARCASTICALLY listed on the injury report for 53 consecutive weeks, suffering a season-ending injury in Week 1.
OH WAIT, THAT FUCKING HAPPENED,
FUCK ME.
Monday, September 1, 2008
Wednesday's SUCK
DELAYED MORNING WOOD
Today's topic is perhaps one of the worst afflictions in the modern world. I liken it to HIV/AIDS in both the magnitude of its victims and the method of its onset.
Delayed morning wood is a disease whose only visible symptom is a GIANT ERECTION AT AN INAPPROPRIATE TIME AND PLACE. It occurs later than normal morning wood does (...hence the adjective "delayed"); somewhere around one to two hours after waking up. As a general note for the unfamiliar, normal morning wood usually occurs almost directly after a man rises (lolololol) from his slumber. Accompanying an alarm is usually what appears to be a box spring from one's mattress that has somehow poked through the top and is now raising the sheets above one's body. Despite the unlikelihood of this event, it can be used as an excuse to confuse an outside observer.
Unfortunately, men suffering from delayed morning wood are often confused with pedophiles and people with general sexual issues. Based on my own studies, I would estimate that 91% of all public indecency cases are the result of delayed morning wood being mistaken for intended inappropriate sexual display.
I have experienced delayed morning wood directly - thankfully not indirectly - and I can verify that it is not desirable. The most vivid memories of my affliction stem from pitching tents in Psychology 101 during my freshman year. I suppose I was lucky that this was not Child Psychology, or some class involving lying on my back for a fifty minute duration or standing in close proximity to others' faces and asses. Nonetheless, it was a maelstrom of non-desirable circumstances. The class consisted of approximately 150 people, all eager to learn about interesting case studies involving railroad ties being rammed through an individual's brain, and surprisingly not eager to witness what appeared to be the same device in my pants.
Luckily I was able to disguise my late-arriving friend through various means. Had I not been so successful, however, I would most likely have been subject to much ridicule and questioning. I feared that someone would eventually wonder why I decided to bring a carrot to class; much less one that I carried in my trousers. I suspect that others have not been so successful.
Delayed morning wood most likely occurs because one awakens before their normal, biological time. For myself, this is something like 12PM. However, my Psychology class was at 10AM, so, near the end of class, my body was like oh shit wtf you're awake? why didn't you say anything goddamnit? oh well here's a boner. I mean, I'm paraphrasing, but it was basically like that.
In summary, if a guy has an inappropriate erection and isn't wearing a public masturbator trench coat, driving a serial killer van, or hasn't shaved for a while and has developed a pedophile beard (all demonstrated here), check the time...he might just be suffering from delayed morning wood. Have some compassion, please.
Today's topic is perhaps one of the worst afflictions in the modern world. I liken it to HIV/AIDS in both the magnitude of its victims and the method of its onset.
Delayed morning wood is a disease whose only visible symptom is a GIANT ERECTION AT AN INAPPROPRIATE TIME AND PLACE. It occurs later than normal morning wood does (...hence the adjective "delayed"); somewhere around one to two hours after waking up. As a general note for the unfamiliar, normal morning wood usually occurs almost directly after a man rises (lolololol) from his slumber. Accompanying an alarm is usually what appears to be a box spring from one's mattress that has somehow poked through the top and is now raising the sheets above one's body. Despite the unlikelihood of this event, it can be used as an excuse to confuse an outside observer.
Unfortunately, men suffering from delayed morning wood are often confused with pedophiles and people with general sexual issues. Based on my own studies, I would estimate that 91% of all public indecency cases are the result of delayed morning wood being mistaken for intended inappropriate sexual display.
I have experienced delayed morning wood directly - thankfully not indirectly - and I can verify that it is not desirable. The most vivid memories of my affliction stem from pitching tents in Psychology 101 during my freshman year. I suppose I was lucky that this was not Child Psychology, or some class involving lying on my back for a fifty minute duration or standing in close proximity to others' faces and asses. Nonetheless, it was a maelstrom of non-desirable circumstances. The class consisted of approximately 150 people, all eager to learn about interesting case studies involving railroad ties being rammed through an individual's brain, and surprisingly not eager to witness what appeared to be the same device in my pants.
Luckily I was able to disguise my late-arriving friend through various means. Had I not been so successful, however, I would most likely have been subject to much ridicule and questioning. I feared that someone would eventually wonder why I decided to bring a carrot to class; much less one that I carried in my trousers. I suspect that others have not been so successful.
Delayed morning wood most likely occurs because one awakens before their normal, biological time. For myself, this is something like 12PM. However, my Psychology class was at 10AM, so, near the end of class, my body was like oh shit wtf you're awake? why didn't you say anything goddamnit? oh well here's a boner. I mean, I'm paraphrasing, but it was basically like that.
In summary, if a guy has an inappropriate erection and isn't wearing a public masturbator trench coat, driving a serial killer van, or hasn't shaved for a while and has developed a pedophile beard (all demonstrated here), check the time...he might just be suffering from delayed morning wood. Have some compassion, please.
Monday's SUCK
UNNECESSARY, UNPROVOKED AND INCORRECT PLURALIZATION
So prevalent in today's society is the lack of and disregard for proper use of grammar. As an anal sonuvabitch, this really bothers me.
Let's begin with a concise review of how not to pluralize anything: by adding an apostrophe and an S.
An example: You learned this shit in sixth grade, you idiot.
What if I wanted to refer to more than one idiot? Would I arbitrarily add an apostrophe, throw on an S and call it a fuckin' day?
NO.
Why do people do this? I don't get it. The same goes with these other common, but equally wrong, mistakes:
"Sometimes (and really, only sometimes, I swear) I like to try to fit my penis inside the holes on CD's."
I have no qualms with this man's activities. Who I am to judge the sexual exploits of others? However, despite his penchant for trying to re-enact putting PLAY-DOH (yeah that's how it's spelled, assholes) through that weird plastic pasta-making thing (couldn't they have made something that would have instilled better life skills in children, like the... PLAY-DOH How to Work at a Fortune 500 Company by Making Shit Out of Clay That Tastes Like Salt Super Fun Kit), his grammar sucks. It's not CD's.
The same with years expressed numerically. I was conceived in a test tube in the 1980s, not the 1980's. However, the 1980's technological offerings enabled me to exist and to later bitch about inane things like this topic.
The ultimate goal of this post lies in the first two adjectives that describe the title.
Question: Have you ever been to Kroger's?
If you answered no, are female, and live in the midwest, you may possibly be the love of my life. Please consider contacting me if interested in pursuing a meaningful, passionate, grammatically sound relationship, or if you've just always wondered, What is it like to have sex with a horse?.
If you answered yes, well... you're a liar. No one has ever been to Kroger's. Actually, I rescind that statement. You know who's been to Kroger's?
Bigfoot. Bigfoot has been to Kroger's. He buys his condoms there. Yetis (not Yeti's!) buy ice cream at Kroger's. Fucking Santa Clause buys all of his gifts there. Chupacabras particularly enjoy their selection of salsa. In fact, if I hadn't actually been to a Sonic restaurant, I'd assume it was owned and operated by the same people who own Kroger's.
Hopefully you see my point. If not...well, all hope for you is probably lost. If you're saying to yourself, What is he talking about? I just got some stuff at Kroger's a few days ago... STOP. Think. The name of the store is...
wait for it...
KROGER.
Crazy, right!??!! I know it's hard to believe that the store isn't actually called [its actual name] + random apostrophe + S, but take some time to think about that.
Still a bit unsure about your favorite grocery store's name? Let's look at this from a different perspective...
If I told you I just got back from "Walmart's", wouldn't you have a bit of an issue with what I just said? You might say something like "from Walmart's...what? Walmart's Employees Work for Free Day? Walmart's One Day of the Year Where You Don't Feel Guilty Buying Stuff from Us because We're Donating .01% of Our Profits to Charity Day? What about, Walmart's This Joke is Getting Old Really Fast Day? I'm confused." Hopefully you would at least be cacophonous and acerbic in your criticism.
Just like you've never been to or heard of Giant Eagle's, you've never been to and will never go to Kroger's. It just simply isn't real, and you're a bastard for proliferating its faux name.
As a plea, I beg you to stop butchering the English language. I understand it has been an asshole to you throughout your schooling, but, like John McCain, it has been through enough torture.
So prevalent in today's society is the lack of and disregard for proper use of grammar. As an anal sonuvabitch, this really bothers me.
Let's begin with a concise review of how not to pluralize anything: by adding an apostrophe and an S.
An example: You learned this shit in sixth grade, you idiot.
What if I wanted to refer to more than one idiot? Would I arbitrarily add an apostrophe, throw on an S and call it a fuckin' day?
NO.
Why do people do this? I don't get it. The same goes with these other common, but equally wrong, mistakes:
"Sometimes (and really, only sometimes, I swear) I like to try to fit my penis inside the holes on CD's."
I have no qualms with this man's activities. Who I am to judge the sexual exploits of others? However, despite his penchant for trying to re-enact putting PLAY-DOH (yeah that's how it's spelled, assholes) through that weird plastic pasta-making thing (couldn't they have made something that would have instilled better life skills in children, like the... PLAY-DOH How to Work at a Fortune 500 Company by Making Shit Out of Clay That Tastes Like Salt Super Fun Kit), his grammar sucks. It's not CD's.
The same with years expressed numerically. I was conceived in a test tube in the 1980s, not the 1980's. However, the 1980's technological offerings enabled me to exist and to later bitch about inane things like this topic.
The ultimate goal of this post lies in the first two adjectives that describe the title.
Question: Have you ever been to Kroger's?
If you answered no, are female, and live in the midwest, you may possibly be the love of my life. Please consider contacting me if interested in pursuing a meaningful, passionate, grammatically sound relationship, or if you've just always wondered, What is it like to have sex with a horse?.
If you answered yes, well... you're a liar. No one has ever been to Kroger's. Actually, I rescind that statement. You know who's been to Kroger's?
Bigfoot. Bigfoot has been to Kroger's. He buys his condoms there. Yetis (not Yeti's!) buy ice cream at Kroger's. Fucking Santa Clause buys all of his gifts there. Chupacabras particularly enjoy their selection of salsa. In fact, if I hadn't actually been to a Sonic restaurant, I'd assume it was owned and operated by the same people who own Kroger's.
Hopefully you see my point. If not...well, all hope for you is probably lost. If you're saying to yourself, What is he talking about? I just got some stuff at Kroger's a few days ago... STOP. Think. The name of the store is...
wait for it...
KROGER.
Crazy, right!??!! I know it's hard to believe that the store isn't actually called [its actual name] + random apostrophe + S, but take some time to think about that.
Still a bit unsure about your favorite grocery store's name? Let's look at this from a different perspective...
If I told you I just got back from "Walmart's", wouldn't you have a bit of an issue with what I just said? You might say something like "from Walmart's...what? Walmart's Employees Work for Free Day? Walmart's One Day of the Year Where You Don't Feel Guilty Buying Stuff from Us because We're Donating .01% of Our Profits to Charity Day? What about, Walmart's This Joke is Getting Old Really Fast Day? I'm confused." Hopefully you would at least be cacophonous and acerbic in your criticism.
Just like you've never been to or heard of Giant Eagle's, you've never been to and will never go to Kroger's. It just simply isn't real, and you're a bastard for proliferating its faux name.
As a plea, I beg you to stop butchering the English language. I understand it has been an asshole to you throughout your schooling, but, like John McCain, it has been through enough torture.
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