The news of Justice Scalia’s death may be the biggest political event of our lifetime. With all due respect to Justice Scalia, his family, his brilliance and his undeniable legacy, Justice Scalia’s death at this particular time in our nation’s history may be the greatest news for liberals since McCain picked Sarah Palin as vice president, and maybe since Nixon broke a sweat in 1960. Continue reading
Helluva shot by Mr. Robert Lewis! Robert is the team manager for his high school’s soccer, football and basketball teams, but dressed and got in the game on his senior night. He made the most of it! Good for this kid.
I don’t watch the commercials during the Super Bowl. I know it’s a thing, but that is the time to load up the plate, go get another beer or project some combination of unfortunate events that would lead to you winning the squares at the end of the half. I catch up on the commercials on the internets on Monday when I’m not going to be that productive anyway.
So I missed this one during the game, and that is probably a good thing. I don’t know what it has to do with Campbell’s soup, but Budweiser’s lost puppy didn’t have much to do with beer either, I guess. And it sure beats the hell out of minute long constipation ads, Super Bowl Babies, abortions by Dorito and whatever that Baby Monkey Puppy thing was.
This one has it all. I’m a sucker for the “life goes by in a flash” concept to start with. Then you throw in this kid who probably doesn’t have much except football, who has his ups and downs, and ends up playing for the Packers. All in 45 seconds.
Through it all, there is his mom, cheering him on. Yep, this one’s for mom. Now where is my crying towel.
“I’m gonna drink a lot of Budweiser tonight, Tracy. I promise you that.” Continue reading
RIP, Glenn Frey and with him, The Eagles. “We may lose and we may win, but we will never be here again.” Continue reading
So I’m on the internets yesterday researching my Super Bowl prop bets like any normal person, and I run across this collection of Power Ballads, mostly from 1988 to 1991. I of course head right straight down that rabbit hole. Next thing you know, I’m crying like a little girl and singing along with Bon Jovi, “I’ll be there for you, these five words I swear to you.” I’m not saying that Trish and I were singing those words back in 1989 while driving around in a red Trans Am with the T-Tops out, but I’m not saying we weren’t either. Continue reading
WTF is up with this being Super Bowl “50”. To hell with that, this is Super Bowl L!! Continue reading
I have long held the belief that when I am rating something the choices should be one or zero. When I go to the doctor and they show me the pain chart I always say 10 – why the hell would I be sitting in a veritable petri dish of horrible infectious disease unless the pain was a 10? When I rate my Uber driver, it is a 1 or a 5. Who thinks about it enough to give someone a 3? If the ride was fine, you give the driver a 5. If it sucked, it’s a 1. Anything else is ridiculous.
I find that this principle has carried over into many aspects of my life. The principle is embedded into the title of this rant, which is actually a text I received from one of the other degenerates who (very occasionally) contributes to the backbone of this blog – which is a group text string of immature idiots with golf obsessions. He purchased Stenson in a Calcutta (if you don’t know what a Calcutta is this is not the blog for you – you might be looking for something about real monkeys), then asked me to purchase a portion of his share of Stenson in the Master’s. We are now a “team” of sorts in that we have a mutual interest in Stenson doing something exceptional at the Master’s. Of course, it would have been handy to know that Stenson has diarrhea so bad that food is going through him like water through a fucking squid, but whining about that now gets me nowhere.
If Stenson misses the Eagle, then he’s a zero. If he makes the Eagle, he’s a 10 (at least in that moment). Stenson sucks – he missed the putt.
We can probably all agree that Ann Landers was a seriously disturbed bigot. She once advised a troubled teen that if he had ever wondered if he was gay he almost certainly was. This is obviously ridiculous advice. God knows how many people are living the gay lifestyle today because of that column. It would be wrong, however, to completely condemn her methodology. For example, if you have ever asked yourself the question “Am I a pussy?” – you almost certainly are.
Monkey With A Gun 