I Have My Own Crossbow Ranch.

Hey, Douche! It's pronounced THEESMAN! It doesn't rhyme with Heisman. Change your name back, asshole.
PWN3D!!!!!

Sucka.

CHIKIEZIE SMASHED IT!!!!!!!!!!

Ditto Bush.

Quarter Pounder With Cheese..... GOT 'EM!

You know who the fuck I am?

I'm a baller. I got that Basketball Jones like Mekhi Phifer. I usually hoop it up two or three times a week and I been trying to step my game up. In high school, I was a Dwayne Schnitzius-type:

After countless 1v1 games with Pau Gasol aka Paul Gaston aka Buales, I now get comparisons to this guy:
Apart from his constant flopping, our games are pretty similar. To quote Drex: "Good D, Weird Finishes, Decent Shot." Recently, me and my boys have taken it upon ourselves to figure out who our NBA borderline allstar doppelgangers are. I'm Manu. Diddy is Ron Artest (or Eric Snow in his prime). Snake is LeBron (but not the best player to ever live). Snake's old man is Rip Hamilton. The Real Deal is Carlos Boozer. Clyde is Mehmet.

Clyde hacking the shit out of me:

[
Some comparisons from college, for those in the know: As previously mentioned, Buales is Pau Gasol. Slick is David West. Mr. Chicago is Gilbert Arenas. Letch is David Lee. The Donald is Andres Nocioni. Teeds is Brevin Knight. PDemps is Leandro Barbosa. Dobbs is Darius Songaila. And Figs is Oliver Miller:

]

Thursday nights, I play ball at a Catholic middle school with some older white guys. For the most part, these ballers aren't that great, but the court is pretty sick. Last week, Clyde and I walked into the gym and noticed a new guy. Guy looked like Undertaker's son.He rocked a tattoo of a Ram on his arm, a red bandana (indicating his gang ties) and a red shirt (indicating his job as a Macy's Security Guard) all while looking like the spawn of the Undertaker. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to disparage being a Macy's Security Guard, that's just what it said on his shirt. I knew a large greek kid (Pete Dakalakanakis) who became a Macy's Security Guard after dropping out of masseuse school (cockbreath).

I sit down and start to change kicks and I watch this guy shoot around and start to run his mouth. I can immediately tell I will hate this guy. I look at Clyde, also staring at this character and he's thinking the same thing. He's just a loudmouth dude who thinks he is awesome. (His NBA comparison would be Chris Kaman.) (His Life comparison would be Vince Vaughn, Philip Seymour Hoffman in Along Came Polly, and Jack Sparrow.)

We start warming up and Clyde asks dudeguy if he wants to run on our team (best move in world's history). The game begins and he's full of these little sayings like:

• "My rock! My rock!" (When we're on defense and his guy is bringing it up)
• "I got check, baby!" (When he wants to check the ball in for us instead of letting me do it, which is then invariably followed by him throwing a no look pass to no one or him just giving it to me anyway)
• "My rock! My rock!" (When he wants to bring it up the court instead of letting me do it, which is then invariably followed by him throwing a no look pass to no one or him just giving it to me anyway)
• "Ok, kid, good shot!" (When someone on our team makes a shot)
• "My Dad's the Undertaker!" (When someone looks at him)
• "Chill, baby, chill." (When your boy, Manu, had a sick, albeit weird, finish that went down)
• "We don't need that, chill, baby." (When your boy, Manu, had a sick, albeit weird, finish that went down)
• "Oh yeah? AC? AC, bro? You should go to the Borgata. Place is sick. Craps? Craps, bro? You should play Roulette. I was playin' when I was down there. Got up like 5, 600 bucks! Kept playin' bettin' like BAM! BAM! Going black, red, black, red! IT was CRAZY! [pause...quieter to himself] Then I lost everything." (In between games when someone mentioned an upcoming trip to Atlantic City)
• "This little guy is killin' us!" [X 15] (When this little guy was killing us on the boards)

We ended up running the table, and this character could actually play a little ball and earned the AKAs, Scott Joplin & Billy Joel (cuz that motherfucker was The Entertainer). I was laughing so hard at Broheim on some plays I was close to fuckin' up. We left the gym amazed at how awesome this kid was at life.

The entire week following, Clyde and I replayed this encounter over and over and prayed that ShaqFu would be back the next time we played. Thursday came and our prayers were answered and then some. Not only did the Undertaker come again, but his twin brother, Kane, showed up as well, rocking a throwback Jason Kidd Cal Jersey circa 1993. You could tell he was special, because he had an aura around his head. I was able to get a picture of him with my phone:

Kane rocked the shit, and him and the Undertaker went at it like the WWF was going to kill a Panda. It boggled my mind that one person like the Undertaker could exist in a world. But, the fact that he has an identical twin brother made me begin to wonder if I was in the Truman Show. I can't even begin to imagine what their parents were like, although I suspect their father had his sperms genetically altered to make them more awesome. I know what their moms was like, cuz her picture fell out of one of their wallets and I, smartly, picked it up and scanned it when I got home:
Damn, Guy. Brutal.

This post earned me some gelt.

Could Einstein catch? Did anybody care? No!

Possible Lottery Pick in 2008 NBA Draft.....

Waldo Geraldo Faldo.

My Social Skills Are Pretty Fucking Damn Fine.

Block out some of your day and watch this video if you know what's good for you and you know what's good for yourself. Trust me, I'll take care of you. Then I want you to become a leader. Get others involved to watch this damn video. (Beta 'fucking' Chi.)

I'm Gonna Fucking Haze The Shit Out Of You.

Guido - n. [That guido is a fucking guido]. adj. [That guido is fucking guido.]
See Also: Indoor tanning lotion, Goombah, Cholo, Muzza, Wog, Wop, USP, Dago, Gino (In Canada)

A sad pathetic excuse for a male; not necessarily of Italian descent, but most likely; usually native to the New York/New Jersey Tri-State area.

WARDROBE: tight zipper shirts, tracksuits, designer jeans, fuzzy kangol hats, tiny hoop earrings, fake gold chains, and related Euro-trash garb and tacky cheese-wear.

NATURAL HABITAT: Known to frequent Tri-State area malls looking for club gear to waste their week's pay on (most likely spotted shopping at "Bang Bang" in Staten Island). During the day when not at their food delivery, telemarketting, or construction job, can be located at their local gym tanning or lifting weights. Can be found nightly at mainstream danceclubs they read about online (SF, Webster Hall, Etc.). Most notable for cruising the Jersey shore in an old car (Honda, Mustang, etc.) which has been tinted, painted and sports $1,000-$3,000 rims in a feeble attempt to look like new. Guido cars usually have a boomin' system through which cheesy music like freestyle, commercial club/trance and hip-hop (anything KTU plays) is loudly blasted.


GENETIC LINKS: Directly related to modern day urban-guidos, A.K.A. "wiggers," A.K.A. "wegros;" urban-guidos are white males who once exhibited the traits referenced above, but have now instead opted to keep it unreal, with wardrobes consisting of clothes from labels like FUBU and Rocawear which they bought on sale at Macy's. These individuals still listen to the same music and drive the same type of car as their predecessor; it is usually just their choice of attire and use of slang and poor speech skills that differentiate them from the classic guido. Most guidos are distrusting of non-whites despite the fact some of their attire and music can be traced to non-white origins.

PASSTIMES/RECREATIONAL ACTIVITIES: Guidos enjoy beating up a non-white or homosexual while assisted by a group of 5-10 guido friends backing them up (Note-from a different entry on urban dictionary: "When guidos claim they beat someone up it is almost always a load of crap. Guidos are pussies. I have beaten up 3 so far and will continue as I see fit. The 3 guidos I've beaten up, I have also humiliated them while they were crawling on the ground, messing up their hair, kicking them in the ass, and spitting on them."); engaging in date rape; and displaying their lack of rhythm by dancing poorly in the middle of a club's dance floor while non-guidos look on in disbelief.

MATING RITUALS: (No description needed.)


Special Thanks: Dobbs, guidofistpump.com, The State of New Jersey, Urban Dictionary, Vinnie, Sal, Ricky, Muscle Milk, and of course, YAGAHBOMBS!

Awww, Dude, You Nevah Had Steak Tips, Dude?

Rick.

Fuck A Perfect Stranger, Call Me Balki.

A Wisconsin native, Larry Appleton has just moved into a new apartment in Chicago when Balki Bartokomous , a hitherto unknown cousin from a fictional island in the Mediterranean called Mypos, drops by to live with him. A sheepherder by trade, Balki interprets what little he knows about the United States through his own recollections of American pop culture, which are often out-of-context ("America... Land of my dreams, home of the Whopper"). Balki's signature is his "Dance of Joy", a cross between a Dosado and the Hokey Pokey that he performs with Larry in celebration of good fortune. Larry, an aspiring photographer, decides to take Balki under his wing and teach him about American life. Frequently, however, the neurotic Larry proves to be equally if not more inept in this respect than Balki.

On February 5, 2008, Warner Home Video released seasons 1 and 2 of Perfect Strangers on Region 1 DVD in the United States, YA DIGG????!!!! (Mah birfday is approachin, y'all.)

I growdsed up watching Carl Otis Winslow hold it down as an overweight, hard-working, and humble police officer for the Chicago Police Department. I remember him taking his role as the bread-winner of the household very seriously and his favorite food being doughnuts, which goes along with a well-known stereotype of policemen. I never knew, though, interestingly, that his first appearance was on the "Crimebusters" episode of Perfect Strangers, where he popped shit off with Balki.

"Balki, Wash U Ass!!!!" -C.O.W.

Coach Johnny O? That Kid Changed My Life.

Unaired VC Nike Commercial (stolen from SG):


First Toronto. Now Jersey. Just retire, ya douche.

Poundin' Sammy White Ales The Whole Time.

Yo, yo, yo, let's call Kyle Orton so we can kick his ass!!!


Burbonnais, IL - A couple summers ago - Bears Preseason Training Camp
My boy, Yopper was an unpaid intern for a sports radio station in Chicago, so his job was to drive a golf cart around training camp and try to get players to go on the show. On the last night of camp he got to go out drinking with all the Bears. Highlights:

1) Lance Briggs came in to the bar with a camo ski mask on and told everyone in there, "This is a fucking stick up!" while pointing his fingers like a gun.

2) Urlacher walked in with 2 gorgeous "dimepieces" whom Yopper said, "could have not possibly been from Burbonnais."
3) All 3 QB's, Rex, Griese, and "The Big Guy" Kyle Orton walked in together. Yopper almost got to play Rex in bags but Rex's team lost.

4) Urlacher left the bartender a $44 tip after ordering like 2 drinks that cost $6.

5) Rex ordered 4 shots of Jager and had to go talk to someone. Yops was right next to him and Rex is like, "watch these shots." He stands there for 10 mins and Rex comes back and gives Yopper one of the shots.

6) Orton was wearing a Beatles shirt and double fisting Miller High Life the whole night.

YEAAAA!!!!! =
Note: This is Jack, not High Life. But, you can imagine what it'd be like if it was.


Evanston, IL - Fall of 2005 - The Keg of Evanston
Typical Monday night at The Keg: $3 big cups, lots of drunk underage girls, sketchy Kellogg Business Students, hard core make out sessions on the dance floor, grimey games of quarters, townies playing pool, other-side-of-townies holding (various contraband), piss leaking out into the hallway, but on this night Kyle Orton and 5 other Bears players were in attendance.

The Bears had lost the day before, making their record 0-4 all with Kyle Orton at the Helm. It was clear they were just trying to get over another heartbreaking loss by breaking the hearts of young, ripe college girls:

Note: The above girl is not in college. Just try to use your imagination.

I had pregamed at the House (Frat.) and was feeling good. The Keg was less packed than usual, but I'd say it was about 70% full.

I walk straight up to the bar and buy my first Big Cup. I walk over to the dancefloor to scope out the situation. Girls were looking especially young and skanky on this particular night. They were not looking good. Just skanky. They never look good. I turn to head to the head and I immediately see a huge black dude who looked exactly like Tyrie from RW: Denver (although this encounter preceded the airing of that season of the Real World).
Tyrie stepped to the side and there in all his glory was the one and only Kyle Orton. Kyle Orton?? Kyle Muthafuckin' Orton. Are you kidding me? Former Purdue Stand Out? Current Starting Quarterback for the NFL's Chicago Bears? Former Purdue Choke-Artist? Current All-American Drunk, Kyle Orton?? I got butterflies! What was I going to say to this douchebag? Obviously I can't talk too much shit or Tyrie might stab my dad, but I mean, come on, this guy deserves it. He's a huge douche. A douche who definitely doesn't deserve to be where he's at in life.

I go take a piss, telling everyone I see that Kyle Orton is here, while simultaneously sopping up a ton of piss with my sole's, shoelaces, and bottom part of my jeans. A buzz starts to form in the Keg and by the time I emerge from the pisser I hear others talking about the king of douches.

I walk out, find my boys and tell them that I'm gonna go see how our boy, Orton, is feeling this evening.

I find Kyle sitting on a stool in the middle of the dancefloor (15-20 feet from where the stool belongs) and I notice that he's super fucked up.

Note: This was it, except instead of standing, he was sitting on a stool.

I have my big cup in hand, now close to its end, and I still don't know what to say, so I kill the cup and go up to the bar to get another beer and to confirm with the bartender that these guys were indeed Bears players.... They were. One of their back up safeties (a Todd Johnson-type) walks over and sits at the bar right where I'm at.

me: you play for the bears right?
him: yeah, unfortunately....we suck.
me: nah you guys could still win the division [their division was ass and they ended up winning it]
him: yeah, if our offense ever fucking does anything (orton is 3 feet away)
me: what position do you play
him: safety
me: you need another drink?
him: i dont think thats a good idea. the last one i got i spilled all over myself
me: oh aight.
[end of conversation w/Todd Johnson]
me: [turn to bartender] lemme get a big cup. [get the big cup. I immediately turn to orton and hold my big cup 4 inches from his face as he stares blankly at an ugly girl 3 feet in front of him dancing on a pole] Drink away your sorrows, bro.
Orton: [inaudible][I was able to infer from context clues that he did not like what I had to say and would not hesitate to get Tyrie to stab my dad or my mom if I did not leave, or he would have just jacked me in the face himself, (which in hindsight would have been sweet... lawsuit, bebe!) so I walked away like a pussy, but still... Kyle Mutherfucking Orton.]
Note: Orton responded to all of this by continuing to get wasted without regard to his dignity, playing every Sunday hungover, leading the Bears to the Playoffs, and dating a freshman girl who lived in Bobb-Muccolluch and later turned into a hyuge whore.

I Wanna Put Mascara On And Be In A Music Video.

I have been watching this season of American Idol. Let's not dwell on this. It's not my favorite show, or even in my top 10. I mostly watch it to hate on the guys and think dirty thoughts about the girls. Here is an example of the former:

Meet Jason Castro. One of two potentially heterosexual contestants on American Idol, Jason was born in the future. While some may think he is an alien, he is, in fact, a half breed human born on Planet Earth during a time when it was a Battlefield of sorts (the Year 3000). Shit was going crazy everywhere and there was a battle between good and evil, probably. These aliens came down to earth, I think, and they started fucking with the humans, saying crazy nonsensical shit, killing the blind, and mouthfucking Tom Cruise's floating skull. Then this big ass scary alien dude with dreds, Marsvolta, banged Jason's mom, Inez Castro, a distant descendant of Raoul Castro. He pumped her in the pooper, so she kept claiming she was a virgin (when she was just, in fact, a vaginal virgin). Everyone heard about Christianity and all that jazz so they thought maybe her son, Jason (initials: JC), could maybe the next "big guy." Wrong! Punked, Society! What Inez and everyone else didn't realize was that Marsvolta had super invasive semen that made its way (a la Stewie in that Family Guy) from her ass to her fallopians. The rest is history: JC was born, seen as a prophet, given a kingdom (Cuba), brainwashed by the Scientologists of the day, transported back to the year 2007 (a la Edward Furlong's character in T2: Judgment Day) to save the world, compete in the American Idol competition, ward off the homosexual advances of his competitors, and become the ambiguously spanish (white) Ben Harper. THE END.

DOUCHE! =

I Smashed A Rat's Head In With A Hammer One Day.

Some real dedicated Pats fans.

I Heard He Has Split Vocal Chords Or Some Such Shit.

My boy, Dan, in his Hip Hop Acapella group, Remix. REEEEE-MIX-MIX-MIX!!

Hey Horse Lady! You Smell Like Shit!

My Motorcycle Hit A Police Horse.

Bum Fights DVD = early birthday present for Storchavells.

This City Sucks. You Know What Cloverfield Would Do To This City?

I wonder why Reebok scrapped this ad:

Ahahaha. Wow.

Mr. Goosatelli Shan't Be Returning.

Real Talk, You Got Some BitchAssNess In You?

"It's a disease that is plaguing our community...bitchassness."
-Sean Combs

I Used To Watch Star Trek With My Boy Thundercat In The Projects.

No words needed.

Put Down The Crack Pipe.

Put down the crack pipe, Reggie Miller. You can't dunk.

Whoever used computer graphics to make it seem as though Reggie is dunking has got madddd skillz in computer shit, ya dig??