Shitface McStevens picks the NFL's BUM

I hope I can honor Vanderbilt's memory with my picks....

New England (+3) at Kansas City

Larry Johnson is constantly pissed off. He is never content. Within the first two minutes of the game he will have make the decimated New England defense contemplate why they 'got in the game'. Despite Tom Brady's enthusiasm, and the abundance of saliva on his cock, he will throw a couple of interceptions to a pretty shitty Kansas City defense. The Cheifs will be ruling, (and winning the gold) so badly, that they will activate former pro bowler Christian Okoye. His hitting power will be immense. Sorry Bski, go back to the hospital. Cheifs by 10.

Baltimore (+9) at Cincinnati

After losing to the Colts last week, Rudi took a doodie one that did not smell fruity, but kind of like Tootie. Carson Palmer contemplated joining the marine core in order to fight the evil forces of Cobra. He was slightly misinformed by the master of the cobra clutch. You see, part of Slaughter's plan was to get someone who could throw grenades really fast and really accurate. He had Lady Jay convince Carson to join the Slaughter House, which is located somewhere in the middle of the desert. Right about now his teammates are getting worried. A team consisting of Delta O'Neal, T.J. Hush, Rudi Johnson, and Chad Johnson, will infiltrate the Slaughter House. Using Slaughter's we all go home or no one goes home attitude against him, The team will successfully rescue Carson. At first he won't want to go, but then after a little convincing he will follow. They will get back just in time for the game. Chester Taylor will run all over the Bengal's defense receiving a boost from a victory of the Steelers. The Cincy offense will be tired, and a still pretty good Ravens D will prevail. Ravens by 3.

Carolina at (+4) Buffalo.

Home of the beef on weck sandwich, the buffalo wing, and former gateway to the Erie canal, Buffalo is a city in decline; economically and physically. Not only has the built environment been suffering, but people are physically leaving at significant rates. Though the population and human capital investments of the region have been declining, (mostly due to white flight to the suburbs and elsewhere) there has been a significant influx of Blacks and Latinos into the region. Puerto Ricans largely comprise the Latino constituent of the city. Their socio economic status is unusually low despite the relatively low standard of living in the region. They are even poorer than Blacks in the area, which contradicts previous social science research.
Basically, Buffalo fucking sucks in more ways than one. Carolina is not happy about losing to the Bears. Carolina by 13.

Chicago (+3) at Tampa Bay

When will the Bears get respect. Honestly, no one scores against them. Steve Smizer had mad yards last week, but couldn't get in the end zone. Chris 'I lack heart' Simms, will be punished by this D. The Caddy is not batty. (Though LDP is) He had a good week against a poor Atlanta defense, but he will be brought down to Earth. Brian Urlacher will prove he is Optimus prime, when he takes down the whole Tamba Bay offense line down with his left forearm. Tampa bay will try to run the 'train' but get smacked in the helmet for disrespecting woman. Mohammed will really want to score a TD to do his stupid JR Rider wannabe dance, however he will have a poor fantasy outing. Bears by 6

San Diego at (+3) Washington

Recently at an outing to Las Vegas, former San Diego wide receiver Quinn Early and current Washington receiver Santasimo Moss were hanging out in Las Vegas. They found themselves in the Sahara Hotel and Casino. They were chilling playing some three card poker, and felt the need to eat something. Quinn suggested they eat at the 'HOUSE OF LORDS'. Santana has never been the same since. Fortunately, Clinton Portis will have a monster game, and Drew Brees will come back down to Earth in a hurry. Washington by 3.

Clevland (+4 1/2) at Minnesota

Don't get it twisted. Minnesota is garbage. Brad Johnson has no cock. I've already scientifically proven Nate Burleson has no asshole. Mike Tice is a knee less hermaphrodite. Mewlde Moore however, is pretty. That gives them a chance, but still; DRONES (I like this spelling). Minnesota cannot stop; DRONES. Nothing can stop the 'the animal', 'the animal'. Look for a good game from Trent Dilfer. He has been known to throw some decent passes in Binghamton, New York. They also shutout Miami. Did I mention Nate 'the great's' asshole fell out. Clevland by seven.

San Francisco (+7 1/2) at Tennessee

The battle for Cream of the Crap. See crap is bad right. But somehow the cream of the crap is actually better than the crap. Thus you want to be the cream of the crap over crap. Chris Brown is a forgotten warrior, (Nightwolf). He will use his animality to rip the San Fran defense to shreds. KEVAN Barlow rules. He will use his ruling power to have a 100 yard game. Unfortunately, this will not be enough to conquer the child molesters from Tennessee. Let's go with Tennessee by 3.

St. Louis at (+4) Houston

I think Jamie Martin looks like one of the members of this Blog. While Marc Bulger is receiving brains from Jamie Martin's sister, Steven Jackson will run wild on Houston. To boost moral for the team, Dom Capers forced the team to spend three days at the strip club instead of practicing. Dominick Davis went to get a private dance and never returned. St. Louis by 10.

Jacksonville at (+3) Arizona SHITFACE MCSTEVEN's UPSET OF THE WEEK

Apparently, as proven by his performance last week, Kurt Warner has finally taken a dump. I gave him the fiber one and he finally came through (na mean). Also, we must take into account, that by beating a team you get its powers. Larry Fitzgeazy will use this ability to Ram the Jacksonville defense. Jacksonville plays down to its opponents. Plus, is Jacksonville even a secondary city? SHIIIIT, I'd call it a tertiary city. Arizona by 3

Miami(+7) at Oakland SHITFACE STEVEN's LOCK OF THE WEEK

Ricky will not smoke the Chronic. David Boston will travel to L.A. and go to Venice Beach. He will lose track of the game, but it won't matter cause Nick Saban is a wuss. The Miami D will get shit on by Randy while contemplating the thought that he might be related in someway to the He-man character Moss Man. After being shutdown last week Lamont Jordon will be pissed and play smash mouth football. He will prove how junior Junior Seau really is. Who's Miami's Quarterback again? Who ever he is, Warren will Sapp his energy away. The Browns shut this team out for God's sake. Oakland by 10.

Giants (+4 1/2) at Seattle.

Man! He couldn't even keep Felicia, after this verse you goin to need propecia. Joe Jeravizzle will show the world why the Giants should be sorry for letting him go. He'll score a couple. Hasselback will have a wonderful day, cause the Giants D will spend all their time trying to stop Alexander. Sean Springs is gone, remember? You know what that means. (arm wrestling arcade game sounds) PLAXICO PLAXICO PLAXICO PLAXICO. David Tyree will travel underground on the last play of the game and grab Alexander's foot. He'll tell him to rest in pieces. He won't, but he will fumble. Also, Matt's game will be thrown off when Tim takes his favorite Ninja Turtle (Raphael), and rips his head off. Only nerds like Raph by the way. Shockey will be pissed. He will get the ball. Giants by one.

Greenbay (+4 1/2) at Philadelphia SHITFACE MCSTEVEN's DON'T WATCH THIS GAME OF THE WEEK

Another cream of the crap game. Philly is playing for pride at this point, and Brett Farve is starting to lose his 'untouchable' qualities. He'll try to force it in to many times like when he tried to stick it to his deceased brother. Had to get that one in. Double D could break his neck again. Gado is the man though. McMahon will watch too many episodes of Mr. Show and end up quitting the biz inorder to destroy the moon. This will leave the Eagles with Detmer. He won't play it coy. Westbrizzle will fuck shizer up. Geese will shit on everyone's heads to prove to the world that they are watching crap. Mr. Owens will hysterically laugh as L.J. Smith follows the footsteps of Nate Burlson. His asshole will fallout as well. Somehow Farve will keep it close (badly), while getting Saliva spit on his pipe from announcers such as Joe Buck. Pick em! Who cares?

New Orelans at (+1 1/2) Jets ALSO KNOWN AS Shitfest 05'

Wow, how is it possible to be an underdog at home against the Saints. You gotta suck really badly. The Jets are absolutely horrendous. Worse than when Rich K. Coached them. I love it. The fans will really wanna win. Considering this will be their last opportunity to win for the year, Herm will get his plays from a unknown source. It will be later revealed that this mystery play caller is none other than Kermit T. Frog. Unfortunately, two things will prevent the Jets from winning. One: Herm Edwards will fail to motivate the team. At half time with a three point lead he will tell the Jets that inorder to play football they must run. He will then proceed to tell them, in order to do this, they will have to move their feet. Though it will go over the head of Bollinger, who is mentally retarded from being hit so hard, Curtis 'the man' Martin will be offended. He will think that the coach is fucking with him and mentally remove himself from the game, killing the only descent part of this shitty squad. Two: Papa Shango will make a comeback and play linebacker for the Saints in the second half. He will make the makeshift Jets offensive line sick. They will throw up and get dehydrated. Boo hoo. Joe Heazy will finally get his grove back after he pulls off the annexation of Puerto Rico on Ty Law. Saints by 10.

Pittsburgh (+7 1/2) at Indianapolis

I wish I gave a shit. Peyton's throwing hand will be chaffed from chronic masturbation. He will not throw the ball effectively. However, Edge will rip shit as usual. Stokely might even have a catch or two. Big Ben will prey with the Hulkster before the game. He will be in the second step of the the three step drop in the middle of the game and he will think 'shit I forgot to eat my vitamins'. As he has this revelation, Dwight Freeny will knock him out of this atmosphere. After fumbling the ball, Dwayne S the former Nets player will join forces with the late Yinka Dare and lead the Colts to victory. Indy by 3.

My Thanksgiving Wish List

Thanksgiving is the most special-est day of the year, when we all get together with our families, pray to the Turkey God, then eat a symbolic Turkey God which is stuffed with gifts. Here is what I'm asking good ol' TG for this year:

1) Carbon monoxide detector - Everyone knows that the way to Turkey God's heart is through practicality. You have to soften him up by asking for something useful and necessary, then you can get all the useless shit you want. Carbon monoxide is a silent, invisible killer, much like Kevin Bacon in Hollow Man, or Bryton McClure. These detectors save lives, and are also great places to keep spare batteries for your remote control.
2) Porn - The great thing about Thanksgiving is that it is secular. That means there are no religious moral judgements on your requests. Try asking Santa for Dirty Debutantes #1,769,888. First of all, he'll probably move your name onto the 'naughty' list(the bastard!), and second, you'll end up with HJ Honeys Vol. 8 in your stocking, which you already have. Santa knows shit about porn!
3) A Pony - Who wouldn't want a pony, especially with these high gas prices? Also, chicks dig a good pony. I realize that even Turkey God couldn't fit one into a turkey, so a test tube with a pony embryo in it would be fine.
4) A humorous tie - I wish for this every year. Turkey God has a great sense of humor, and he never fails to come through for me. Last year, the tie I got depicted a hockey player shooting wide of the goal as time ran out in overtime. The bottom read in big letters: "IT'S A TIE!" A little outdated now, but still classic.
5) Scratch-off lottery tickets - I love these things. They kill time, smell really good, make pennies useful for a change(pun intended), and sometimes you might actually win a dollar. My favorites are Bingo, because it takes half an hour, and Cashword, because that's when my BA in English comes in handy. I have the best scratching vocabulary of anyone I know.

I also try to ask for a couple of intangible gifts every year. This year:

1) The perserverence to finish something, whether it's my children's novel about the Hindu statuette that comes alive when placed in a magical bureau, or my screenplay about art-school waitresses who are also private investigators and surfing champions. I just want to be able to hold something complete in my hand for once, and be able to give it to my mom so she can put it on the fridge.

2) A friend.

Anyone else asking for anything interesting?

BfN Secrets

This being our 17-day anniversary, I thought I would celebrate by telling some little-known facts about each contributor. Some are shocking, some are a little embarassing, but it's all in good fun. Happy Anniversary!

Pinche Cabrona: Holds a world record in pizza tossing(12" and under), even though she despises pizza. Entertains geriatrics by dancing the Charleston. Can replicate any signature she sees(this comes in handy at baseball card conventions).

Madison Sinclair: Smokes a pipe, not filled with tobacco, but with ground-up baby teeth(he says it's the key to eternal youth). Plays a wicked lute(and a better skin lute). Once shook hands with Buzz Aldrin.

Shitface Mcstevens: Only person in recorded medical history to develop hairy palms and go blind from a certain act. Was runner up for GQ's 1992 "Scumbag of the Year Award"(just lost out to a young Brandon Call). Once used to keep a diary, but we found the key and read it, and found out his sick fantasies concerning Rhea Perlman and anti-bacterial handsoap, so now he doesn't keep a diary anymore.

Robert Paulson: Purportedly discovered a cure for the dreaded "Nerd Wrist." Can disassemble a chair and put it back together faster than you can tie your shoes. Sometimes you can find him wearing men's clothing.

and finally...

Vanderbilt Ignoble: Is awesome. I mean, like, really awesome, and he's totally a nice guy, too. Huge package.

Sleep? What Sleep?

I arose from my sleeping quarters at half past 7 this morning. Having tricked myself into believing that I could in someway positively influence my sleeping patterns, I had retired to the bedroom the night before at about half past nine thirty. Ten hours would seem more than sufficient for a man of my stature, however it just doesn't do it for me anymore. You see, I got addicted to using an enteron.

'ARRIS DOME-----------Go in and talk to Doan, who will tell you that his people are having trouble reaching their food supply in the basement. Talk to people, buy items if you need to, rest in the Enteron, then save your game. Examine the panel in the first room, where Lucca will say you need a password to enter. Climb the ladder to the left instead, then cross the high beams to the north, and read the note that is attached to the rat statue. Exit from the north, and the alarms will sound. Boss time.'

That is actually the only reference to the elusive enteron I could find. Basically, in the future people don't sleep anymore because they are too hungry. To sustain life they use the enteron. Using a technology text book, a handful of anecdotes, and a penis as coarse as sand paper, I recreated this device.

It was great at first. I no longer had to sleep anymore. Slumber is a bummer, especially when you get a chick's number! Na mean! I finally had the energy to do everything I've always wanted to do. I became a black belt in the martial arts, maintained two girlfriends, became an A student at the academy, and most importantly succeeded in my goal of averaging five shits a day. Oh yeah brother, life was sweet.

The problem was, my body was adjusting to the enteron. At first it only took three seconds to recharge. Slowly but surely, it was taking a long time to fully rest, until finally it was taking eight hours for me to recharge. My electricity bill was going up in price, the neighbors were watching me shower, and I accidentally ran over a child molester. Life was the pits. Life was shit.

I finally realized that there was only one thing left to do. Take the device to the scrap heap. I thought about fixing the enteron to make it more powerful, but unfortunately the lack of rest had me cranky and irritable. As a last ditch effort I made a 'mydol modification' on the enteron. It took care of that irritable feeling, but it did nothing to relieve my cramps.

The only just way to get rid of the enteron was to run train on it. By making this remark, I don't mean running train in the conventional sense. In this instance, there would be no male bonding or the slapping of appendages over a dehumanized female. I literally took the enteron to a train track, and tied it down so it couldn't get away. What I didn't realize is the train tracks hadn't been used in years. The construction of railroad infrastructure reached its peak in the late 19th century. I can still clearly visualize that palimpsest transportation landscape. The invention of the automobile and the airplane made trains lack economic viability. Once the impetus for a burgeoning manufacturing economy, this particular train track was left fallow. Weeds encompassed these tracks.

Hey, whats up with the word weed? Shit is fucked up! How come shit's got negative connotations? Honestly, how would you like it if you were called weed? Oh, we have to have grass. Post-enlightenment fuck faces love their square, homogeneous, neatly cut grass. Increased fetishization within the botany economy has given rise to fake lawns. Can appearance be anymore paramount? Does the upkeep of your lawn make you a military commander. You use chemicals and physical labor to rid this space of dandelions and cat tails. Most of them are invasive species. They were brought to your lawn through the nascent stages of globalization. When the transportation technology was ready, and the forces of capital accumulation reached an apex (for the 15th century), the Colombian Exchange took place. With this exchange came plant species from Europe and Asia that were naturally 'kept in check' within their own environments. Once they came to a ecological landscape in which they had no natural predators(in the plant or animal kingdoms), they thrived. So, in reality they are more like capitalist oppurtunists than 'weeds'.

So, as I'm laying down this enteron on the abandoned train tracks, this chick approaches me and says, "Don't do it."
I say, "Do what?"
She says, "You know."
I say, "C'mon, seriously?"
Doc Emmit Brown is like, "What are you talking about?"
She says, "Why not?"
We make gay, eat hay, fondle strays, listen to Mike Kaye, rock berets, and give babies Tay
SACHS

Following this orgy of rhymes, I go home to sleep. I go to sleep a bit early. The problem is, I forgot how to. That's why I stay in bed so long, especially on Sundays. Please help. I'll pay you dastardly. Even give you my Brian Taylor rookie card.

Vanderbilt's Week 11 NFL Picks

Here are some more expert picks from a football expert who used his expertise and expert knowledge to help you become an expert too.

Tampa Bay(+6) at Atlanta - After the Falcons win by 7, Warrick Dunn, who had rushed for the game-winning TD, will retire, telling the media "I'm done." Reporters will not understand, and will reply, "Yeah, we know. You're Warrick Dunn." Warrick will say, "No, I mean I'm done." This will go back and forth for hours, until Warrick thinks of a synonym.
Pittsburgh at Baltimore - On Saturday, Hines Ward, still feeling the pride of becoming the number one receiver in Steelers' history, will piss on Edgar Allen Poe's home, saying "Quoth Hines Ward: The Ravens fucking suck." He will be roundly criticized for not being clever, even though some will praise him for being at least slightly literate. It won't affect him, and he'll laugh himself all the way to 100 yds and a TD. Steelers by 10.
Carolina at Chicago(+3) - Before the game, Deshaun Foster will come face-to-face with his estranged step-father, Frank Lambert. They will hug, and Cody will say something retarded. This will give him the determination to block a lot while Stephen Davis runs for 100 yards. Also, two Panthers cheerleaders will be caught having sex at Mike Ditka's restaurant. Carolina by 14.
Miami(+2 1/2) at Cleveland - In the most flamboyant touchdown celebration yet, Antonio Bryant will sing the score to Rent into the football after a 30 yard touchdown pass. He will be dead by sundown. Browns by 3.
Detroit(+8) at Dallas - Roy Williams will intercept a pass intended for Roy Williams. When he hears about it, Joe Buck's head will explode at the thought of missing such an opportunity for witticism. Dallas by 6.
NY Jets(+13) at Denver - Curtis Martin will finally admit he is the cartoonist behind the comic strip bearing his first name. Fans will learn that, unsurprisingly, he has based Curtis on himself, Gunther on Herm Edwards, and Chutney on Chad Pennington. Wayne Chrebet is Gunk. Denver by 28. No, make it 35. I hate 'Curtis.'
Indianapolis at Cincinnati(+6) - This one is easy. Just look at the team names: a bengal tiger will always take a colt in a fight. Look for this logic in the background of other games, such as the Cowboys and Lions(cowboys have guns), and the Seahawks and 49ers(birds always beat gays). Cinci by 3.
Jacksonville at Tennessee(+4) - After Byron Leftwich's goldfish Abraham dies Sunday morning, he will be distraught. Jimmy Smith will tell him, "Together, we'll be fine," and Byron will dedicate the game in Abraham's honor. Jags by 10.
Kansas City at Houston(+7) - Both Trent Green and David Carr will miss this game, as they will be too busy playing each other in Mario Kart DS. Carr will dominate, even with less agile characters like Bowser and DK, and Green will try to avoid defeat by turning his system off "accidently." He will go to jail for 3-5 years for breaking international law. Houston by a TD.
New Orleans(+9 1/2) at New England - Corey Dillon and Tom Brady will be caught in a compromising position, and this game will go down in history as the "Snowball Bowl." The embarassment will get to Brady, and he will have a QB rating of 100 instead of the 115 he should have had. Pats by 17.
Philadelphia(+7) at NY Giants - Did you know Jeremy Shockey was part of the X-Men? You will after this Sunday. Despite his name, his powers have nothing to do with electricity. Actually, he is only able to grow hair at will when he gets angry. Being plenty angry after last week, watch for a long beard, and defenders getting caught in his pubes. Giants(hopefully) by 6.
Buffalo(+11) at San Diego - LT and JP take a drive to the OC on Sat. JP returns alone, and LT is found DOA. OMG! says Drew Brees. Antonio Gates has three TDs, telling the Bills he will TTYL. SD by 14.
Seattle at San Francisco(+12 1/2) - Shaun Alexander reveals that he is, in fact, God. No one is surprised. Seahawks by 3 TDs.
Arizona(+9 1/2) at St. Louis - Kurt Warner, frustrated at being constipated last week, will once again attempt to take a dump in the endzone. The Cardinals will burn two timeouts, but to no avail. Warner vows to eat more fiber. Rams by 13.
Oakland(+6) at Washington - Kerry Collins will call the Redskins' number one receiver "Tito Santana Moss." Santana will take it as a compliment, and will nickname Mark Brunell "Rick Martel," thus resurrecting the legendary tag team Strike Force. Redskins by countout.
Minnesota(+4 1/2) at Green Bay - Favre pulls out every play in his book to get this win, including shooting his own wife and children so that he will have some kind of personal obstacle to overcome. The police will wait for him to finish the game before they arrest him, because everyone in Green Bay worships Brett Favre. Seriously, he could kill an old lady, strip her naked, then light her body on fire while wearing her clothes, and Packers fans would still say, "He is just so working class." Packers by 3.

Dear Diary,

The craziest shit happened to me today. I fell down and bumped my head. I got up. I went to the store and I met a whore. He mopped my floor.

Well he mopped, if you want to call what he did cleaning! It was disgraceful. I kid you not. I said, "Ay, you blimey bastard, clean my floor."

He was like, "Ay, if you brought me some descent cleaning supplies maybe I could do it properly."

The thing is, the mop I have in my apartment is more than adequate. I may have bogarted it from Princess/Duke Ferdinand the seventh while watching the part of Superman Two when Clark does something back in 94', but damn kid, it's still a good quality mop.

See the thing that pisses me off about this person who offered to mop my floor is his views on Super Macho Man. Seriously dun, you can't dodge his shit by pressing left or right. The cleaner of floors proclaimed that you could somehow side step his macho punches. I got mad evidence. There was a paper published a few units back that claimed that my epistemology was correct.

Left him in that store. Ran over to the bad part of town. God it's really horrible down there. I can't deal with all of the poverty that consumes that part of town. I saw a bum's kid playing with power ranger toys. That shit is mad old. That part of town is indeed the periphery. To discuss it in other geographical terms is mad. The thing that touched me the most, was the hooker I paid 13 ducketts to give me a ride to funkyberg. I had never been there. I like it there. I might go back one day. The terrorist climate prevents it though. As long as were not on orange alert, I can still crack my face on the monkey bars protruding from your pops anterior lobe.

After I finished that, I ate a cheeseburger sandwich!

The end

Signed,
You,
ten years from now

Expecting

Jane bled as she walked across the carpet, leaving red prints of her big toe as her trail. When she got to the dinner table, she fell into a chair and rattled the table. A candlestick fell over, and Mark came out of their room.

“What is this? Jane, are you bleeding?”

“Yeah, I am,” she said, putting the pliers in her hand down on the table top.

“Well, what happened?”

“My toenail came off,” she said, pointing to her right foot.

“Jesus, could you be a little more careful at least? What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know,” he mumbled. “Well, why didn’t you put a band-aid on it yet?” His hands pleaded in exasperation.

“I can’t. We don’t have any.”

“You could’ve gone and bought some.”

“And bleed on the driveway, and in the car, and in the store?” Her lips started to tremble with her voice. She tossed her hair back from her eyes while her toe continued to drip. Mark took a deep breath.

“I don’t have time to clean this up right now. Why would you just walk across the house with a bloody foot?”

“I didn’t realize there would be a mess.”

“Well, what did you expect?” He saw the puddle beneath her growing. “Don’t move.” Mark went to the kitchen and grabbed some napkins, then handed them to Jane. “Wrap it up with that for now, maybe it’ll help it stop.” She put a napkin to her toe. It turned red, and stung her uncovered skin. She winced. “I’m sorry. You could have asked me, though. Here, I’ll get you something to soak it in.” He filled a plastic bowl with water and handed it to her. “I’ll go out and pick up some bandages, ok? Anything else you need?”

“Lunch would be nice.”

“OK, I’ll pick up a burger for you. Now, sit down and soak that toe, and don’t walk around anymore until I get back.” Jane closed her eyes expecting a kiss. Mark put on his jacket and shut the front door behind him, so she dipped her big toe into the water. The blood disbursed, turning the water faintly red. She could still see the exposed flesh.

Karma!

We need to band together and start a campaign for My Name is Earl for president. This is simply the best show on television; it totally knocked Small Wonder out of the top, sorry Vickie sorry Jamie. If this show doesn’t' get nominated and win for an Academy Award, this guy will be truly upset. Jason Lee's performance is flawless, I can't think of any other actor's portrayal of white trash as best as his, with the exception of Juliette Lewis in Kalifornia. But that can easily be offset by the brilliant stylings of Jamie Pressly. Her character Joy is a character that I love and hate at the same time. She should without a doubt receive a Grammy for her efforts. And we can't forget about Randy and Crabman, they too will each win a Tony and CMA award, respectfully.
It is very rare that I break out the old Video Cassette Recorder to make sure that I don't miss a single nanosecond of the action. I will live and die by the positive themes and moral values that are presented to me each and every Tuesday night at 9:00 on NBC. So, who’s with me? Anyone? Hizzah!!!! We will all soon follow the insightfulness of Carson Daly.

My Hero

Tara Reid is an icon for the new millennium. Her grace, beauty and charm is only surpassed by the late Princess Di. But, she's dead - so, Tara Reid's awesomeness is unmatched.

1. Tara Reid is an innovator. Take, for example, the fact that she was the pioneer of nipple exposure. This brilliant move would later be copied, but never mastered by such celebrities as Janet Jackson and Keira Knightly. Expect to continue seeing nipple exposure from other up-and-coming entertainers, but do not expect to see it in it's purest form as demonstrated by Tara.

2. When Tara disappeared from the silver screen for no other reason than "there was a lack of quality roles to be played", she did the next best thing: Not Broadway. Not Noxema commercials. No. She started gracing the pages of many a gossip magazine. Articles about drug abuse and eating disorders is the equivalent of prestigious cosmetic company endorsements. It makes business sense.

3. Tara Reid sold her soul to the devil for breast enlargements and then laughed at him when he realized that skeezy, slutty whores don't have souls. The joke's on you, Lucifer...the joke's on you.

4. When life throws you lemons, Tara makes lemon drops (extra Kettle One, hold the lemon juice). Because there's nothing like saying, "I'm on top of the world," unless you say it with a slur and mean it. Drunks are always more truthful than sober people, and that's how Tara Reid keeps it real.

5. An unconfirmed report was leaked regarding Tara's run for Ms. Teen New Jersey 1995. Allegedly, Tara's talent consisted of singing an Aria from La Boheme while giving body shots to the College of New Jersey Sigma Pi Frat boys. Now, that's talent.

For these five reasons and many more, Tara Reid is my hero and I'd like to meet her someday. Tara, if you are reading this: Call me, biatch!

The 20 Video Game Commandments

These tenets are simply a nascent attempt at understanding the social discourse associated with video games. There will be more to come. No claims are made about the finality of this document. Like the study of history, it will never be complete. This does not stop me from trying to elucidate this phenomenon, however.

1: Know thy Controller: This rule had been orginally created by Vanderbilt, and actually acted as an impetus for this list. I believe he first created this rule back in 2003. It holds true today, as it did then. He owned a Gamecube at the time, we didn't. The controller was foreign to us, especially to Sony sell outs like R.W. McQuarters.

This rule's pertinence is relatively recent however. Back in the days of Nintendo there was no good reason to know thy controller, well unless you were using this. Presently, in the days of video game proliferation, it is indeed necessary to know thy controller, especially in games like Mario Party, where you have to actually press the corresponding buttons. Remember, looking at your controller is a faux pas.

2. System Loyalty: If you have switched brand loyalty at any time in your life, you are a scoundrel. In fact, you are a dirty knave, and I don't like you. For most of us this means Nintendo all the way. The way it should be. If you were given another system as a gift, or bought a system at a garage sale, you are exempt from this rule. Conflict of interest only comes into play when you actually spent your hard-earned money, or your parents, on garbage like the Sony or Microsoft machines. (Sega gets respect)

3. Know the Nintendo Racing Rule: I would like to credit this rule to my main man, Subin Thomas. It is through him that I conceptualize this rule. Okay, essentially we are dealing with computer assistance here, but if you use that term, seriously, you are automatically a nerd for life. (Note: This rule does not apply to Guardian Legend. I've spent years of my life trying to disprove this, but to no avail)

Simply stated, the Nintendo Racing Rule allows any player in second place to catch up to the person in first. Originally applied to either F-zero or Mario Kart, this rule holds true for all racing games, including racing mini games.

4. Always Read the Instruction Manual (it smells good): It is likely that when playing a game for the first time, your dickhead friend who knows how to play the game will do one of the following: a) Purposely tell you the wrong buttons to press or, more likely b) Leave out crucial aspects of game play. A great example of this is forgetting to tell your friends that you can use turbo in NBA Jam, or telling them to shoot three pointers with Kevin Johnson. Yeah, I know, in real life 'he could hit those,' but not in the video game. Barkley actually shoots better from the outside than him. So supplant your friend's efforts to be a dick and just read the instruction manual.

5. Never Use Codes, Unless You Are This Guy: Codes are cheap. When people lose they accuse you of using codes. I always was the code master. People were jealous. One time R.W> McQuarters came to my house, and for 10 minutes, he kept on saying, "C'mon Mcstevens, we goin' to look up codes on the ethernet, huh Mcstevens?" It was funny actually, I wish could be there right now. Oh yeah, someone's mom accused me of using codes once. It was humilating. At least I don't use the game genie for codes, my NES just won't work without it. So there!

6. Random Select: In any competition game in which you can select different teams or characters you must do random select, except in the case of tournaments or games for 'big apple bragging rights'.

7. Tournaments Rule!: Always tournament style. Always! Actually, Gizer won't even play video games without a tourney being involved. Tourney's make everything better. Vanderbilt is winning our Madden tourney right now, last played like 3 weeks ago. When Vanderbilt's brother was reached for comment regarding his brother's lead he exclaimed, "Yes! Keeping it in the family!"

8. Arcade Versions Used to be Different Than the Nintendo Versions: Oh brother! A little anecdote. I wanted Superman for some reason. The arcade game fucking rocked! However the NES game, though one of the more interesting games that came out for the system when it came to plot and dialogue, fucking sucked, especially when you were expecting the arcade version. Anyway, Ninja Turtles II the Arcade game was the first attempt to actually copy the Arcade version. It came with two extra levels and a coupon for a free pizza that I never used. Recently, I heard that Tekken five on PS2 came out before Arcade Tekken 5. Fucking travesty!

9. Know Thy Opponent: I don't wish to elaborate on this subject

10. Select? WTF?: What is the point of the select button? Really, can't you use the d-pad to go any direction you choose? Why do you need a button to select. It would have been so much better if there was an oral stimulation button. Even if it was just there and didn't do anything, it would be better than the select button.

11. Never Throw thy Conroller: There are assholes out there that throw their controllers after they lose. I hate these people. They deserve to die. Except him. Not only can your controller be damaged, but your pride as well. When you throw that controller down, you're like yeah I lost, but I hurt your controller. I've seen Vanderbilt cry when people hurt his controller. Not a pretty scene.

12. You Can Bring Your Own Controller...Sometimes!: It is nerd shit to bring your controller to other venues(people's parents' houses), except in two circumstances: a) there is a tournament involved, b) there is multi-tappage in play. Always write your initials on a piece of tape before going to your friend's basement, or this might happen(explicit).

13. The Pause Button is for Pussies: If you use that shit you are a straight up pussy. Back in the days of Tyson, you pissed when the game pissed and you shat when the game shat. You couldn't even call the Nintendo help line unless you were between rounds. I trained myself in this manner. You know how many shits I held in while in the arcade. You don't want to know. Now these people leave their systems on over night. Fucking amatuers. Holding shit in builds character!

14. Home Court is an Issue: Despite the fact that everyone may own the same system, home court is advantageous. For example, when playing in Raveen Shenoi's house, the smell might affect your gameplay. He was used to it, hence advantage Raveen. My house, you might think it is weird to hear my pops yelling every few seconds. I've lived with it my whole life, I win. The best place to have a tourney is neutral ground like at someone's house who has no friends. Like this guy.

15. Video Game and Hand Eye Coordination: See this article.

16. Video games vs. Pussy: Yo yo let me speak on this. ODELE! (odele) ARRIBA LA RAZA! (arriba la raza) WOLF PACK IS ROWDY ROWDY AND BOWDY BOWDY

This is a question that has intrigued men everywhere since the creation of Faceball. Do I try to accomplish something my life(i.e. beating a video game), or do I go after the hedonisitc pleasures, such as vagina? This question has haunted me for years. If you want to know how it's empirically demonstrated, ask Vanderbilt or other males of our age. As a virile young man, it is common to bitch about a lack of vagina, yet all we do is keep on playing video games. Actions speak louder than words. Videogames to save President Bush!

17. Video Game Eilitism is Allowed and Encouraged: Just a few comments. Nintendo is the best. All other systems are garbage. Games of the masses are automatically garbage. (a.k.a. Grand Theft Auto and Devil May Cry) If you own a game inspired by a movie you are a herb. If you sold your Super Nintendo to Funcoland so you could buy a useless accessory you are looked down upon. If you ever say anything resembling the statement 'new games are better than that old stuff,' you are worthless. Puzzle games are for smart people, not nerds. Super Pang rules, and if you don't know what that is you are stupid. If none of your games have the Nintendo seal of approval, you are worthless.

18. The older the game is, the more respect it gets: Except in the case of Mario 1,2, and 3. Mario 3 gets mad respect. So if you refer to Shinobi and you are talking about the PS2 version, get out of my face. If you say you just beat Ninja Gaiden and you are playing X-box, die slow. The experience of previous days involved arcade play, thus making it superior to today's gaming experience. If it ain't in cartridge form, it's wack. You will always get more respect for playing games in the past than the present. Nuff' said.

19. Rematches are always permitted: Regardless if you have work the next day, or you have a big test to study for, or if you are late for your wedding, rematches are always allowed. The rivalry cannot quell until both participants choose to end gameplay.

20. The Evan Heller Rule is Banned: At the 1993 Convention on Video Game Etiquette(CVGE93) hosted by Howard Lincoln, the reset button was banned from being used as a tactic to prevent defeat. Please, don't press the reset button during a game, or you will be breaking international law. You will probably have to deal with these guys.

The Final Rule is:

IF YOU FALL ASLEEP WHILE PLAYING VIDEO GAMES YOU ARE MAYOR MC CHEESE

Grasps

The tiny scars on her calf were like Braille, and he wondered if they spelled out anything as his hand felt its way, hidden beneath the table. They were two of four, she to his right, her right leg crossed over the left, giving him access to at least a bare ankle. Farther from him, about a curved yard stick to his left, was one friend, and across the table, more than a handshake away, was another. He tried to concentrate on the conversation they were all having, but it was a struggle.

“Did you guys see that Hasidic guy on the dance floor?” one asked, and though he had seen the odd dancer and wanted to respond, his hand was now above the mosquito bumps onto smoother skin. The skin stole his voice.

“Yeah, I saw him. I’ve seen him there before, too. He never drinks, he just loves dancing.” The other had filled the silent space, and he felt less pressured.

When he sensed the waitress behind his right shoulder, he let go of her leg and turned to order. The waitress took everyone’s requests, going clockwise around the table. When she walked back towards the kitchen, his hand found its former place, this time on her knee.

He wondered if he was giving away his hidden action, if his face betrayed him, if his lack of concentration to the group was noticeable. He heard her laugh, and he moved his hand above her knee, his fingers slipping under her denim skirt. The muscle there was soft, and his fingers gave it some extra pressure. When she stopped laughing, he felt a few light kicks to his leg, and then a hand displacing his. She excused herself and got up from the table.

He could feel his face burning and what might have been sweat on his forehead, but he tried to get past it, sipping some of the ice-filled tap water and fiddling with his silverware. He and his friends spoke of sports and related disappointments, until he heard her walking back to the table. Her hand touched his shoulder, and he saw her slip her chair out from the table, sliding it away from him. When she sat down, he didn’t even try to find her ankle. Taking a sip of water, he crossed his own legs and let his hand grasp his sock. Before the food had come, his nails had dug their way through the cotton, finding his own skin, his own muscles, his own protruding bones.

Help

mayday, mayday!!!
I lost my goat again
I repeat I lost my goat again
if anyone can help resolve this crisis please assist.
Send money too

Vanderbilt's Week 10 NFL Picks

I thought I'd lend some people a hand by bringing my expert football knowledge to this week's games.

Green Bay(+9 1/2) at Atlanta - Michael Vick will be injured in the 2nd quarter and will be replaced by Ron Mexico, who looks oddly like Vick, but wears a sombrero. He will throw for 300 yards and give Brett Favre herpes. Falcons fail to cover.
Kansas City(+2 1/2) at Buffalo - With Priest Holmes out, Larry Johnson will have to carry the Chiefs. He will don his classic Grandmama outfit, and with Urkel as his lead blocker, will run all over the Bills' injured defense. KC by 10.
NY Jets(+9) at Carolina - Vinny Testaverde will hogtie Brooks Bollinger before the game and take his uniform, so he can start just one more game. Jake Delhomme will find Bollinger, and the two will cook up a zany scheme to get back Bollinger's jersey in which Herm Edwards wears a monocle and Vinny T. ends up drinking pee. Carolina covers.
San Francisco(+13) at Chicago - Instead of a coinflip, Muhsin Muhammad and Brandon Lloyd will arm wrestle for possession. Muhsin will go over the top, securing the ball and a Bears victory by 7.
Denver at Oakland(+3) - The five yard bump will take on a new meaning between Champ Bailey and Randy Moss. Look for hot man-on-man action on the 50-yard line, and a clean-shaven Jake Plummer looking flustered. Denver by a TD.
Arizona(+4) at Detroit - There's only one way for this game to end: Kurt Warner taking a dump in the endzone after sneaking in the winning touchdown. Cardinals by 3.
Houston(+18) at Indianapolis - The Colts will almost fail to cover the spread when Marvin Harrison catches the ball and refuses to give it back, then starts crying about how his fantasy value has fallen. Peyton feels his pain. Colts by 7,350.
Baltimore(+7) at Jacksonville - Byron Leftwich and his brother Willis got nothing but their jeans, but thats all they need against pedophile bicycle shop owner Kyle Boller. Jaguars by 6.
New England at Miami(+3) - Adam Vinatieri will melt during a 4th quarter field goal, shanking the ball right. He will seep into the ground and enter the water supply, and will enter the bodies of thousands of senior citizens and Cubans, thus becoming part of the Circle of Life. It won't matter much, though, since the Pats will be up by 14 by then, because Tom Brady get pissed.
Minnesota(+9 1/2) at NY Giants - Brad Johnson will eat a huge egg sandwich before the game, dangerously huge, and will have the bird flu by halftime. Eli and Plaxico will play Operation on the sideline. Giants by 17.
Cleveland(+8) at Pittsburgh - Trent Dilfer will show his versatility by successfully executing the the Statue of Liberty play a record 10 times. Steelers are upset by 3, and the Browns display why their name is what it is. The visitor's bathroom at Heinz field will never be the same again.
St. Louis(+7) at Seattle - Mark Bulger and Matt Hasselbeck will get into a literal pissing contest at halftime. Hasselbeck will fill a Gatorade bottle, one of the big ones, and Bulger will hang his head in defeat. Seahawks by 10.
Washington at Tampa Bay(+1 1/2) - Native Americans will be on hand to protest this game, as will the pirates who attacked that cruise ship last week. They will join efforts, and learn to love each other, as will the two opposing teams. This time, everyone wins!
Dallas(+3) at Philadelphia - The night before, Donovan Mcnabb will tape an episode of Queer Eye and by deemed 'McFab.' Drew Bledsoe will be more manly, and will spend Sunday chewing tobacco, drinking beer, and banging strippers. No contest. Cowboys by a TD.

Hope this has been helpful!

'za-na-"dü, -"dyü

"In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree :
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea." - Coleridge

I twirled the keys to my new place at 3498 Xanadu Way between my fingers. Part of the appeal of my new home was the street it sat on: Xanadu! For an entire month, I'd recite the first verse of the Coleridge poem everytime my Jetta would turn onto the winding road that took me home. Three years later, I occasionally catch myself audibly delivering the lines just as I activate the blinker to turn onto Xanadu Way. Just like I did today.

An inquiry to ponder...

I posit this question to all:

If you had to live the rest of your life one way, which path would you choose?

1. All the furney, but no piece

2. 'The' piece, but no furney

The stipulations are as follows:

If you choose path one, you will lose your piece. It will be as if you never had one. Essentially, you will be castrated, even though you won't actually feel the process. The reward of choosing this option is that you will be loved by all the furney. Girls will want you really bad. They will buy you shit and let you go 'blah blah blah' into their pussies. You will be the envy of every man on earth. Well the at least the men who don't know you don't have a piece.

Path two invloves recieving a more than adequate piece. In fact, you will have quite a nice piece. Your piece will rival Peter North's piece. When it comes to size, longevity, and semen production, your piece will be supreme. However, there will be no furney. None whatsoever. Women will be repulsed by you. Not even a prostitute will take your money. I propose that rape should be available in this option. There are no cosmic forces preventing you from 'pushing up' on a girl, so I would say you could still rape on this option. If you do pick this option please indicate if the ability to rape had anything to do with your choice. (Editor's note: This is satire. Rape is never an option. And stay in school)

Personally I would have to choose the second option. What do you become if you have no piece? You become furney! I don't want to be furney, I'd rather perish. Moreover, if I had a piece that awesome I would never leave the house. I would give narcissist a new meaning, one that not even Lex Lugar could touch. I'm sure there have been some individuals throughout time who have fallen in love with their pieces. 90 percent of them probably lived in Greece.

Plus there is still sexual stimulation in forcing furney to stare at your piece in admiration. They might not be able to touch it, but nothing prevents them from creating clever metaphors about the girth and awesome power of your piece. Plus, have you guys ever heard of the bread and butter technique?

Nuff said...

(the word piece was used exactly 13 times) Is that bad luck for my piece? (14)

I look forward to hearing your responses

What's for dinner??

A hot topic issue that you'll find the top debaters debating is the Death Penalty. Opposers say it is inhumane, expensive, and proven to be an ineffective crime deterrent. Defenders say "Yeee-hawwww!"

However, that is neither here, nor there. Today, I bring to the table a little gem that amused me: Deadmaneating.com is an informative website that records death bound inmates and their last meal requests before execution. So, this got me thinking...what would I order if I had the choice of determining the final contents of my stomach? This is hard question. I would want to include foods that somehow reminded me of better times. Actually...it's not hard at all: Extra cheese quesadilla, rocky road ice cream, assorted deli meats and cheeses, Hersheys bar with almonds or AlmondJoy, cheese blintzes, cheese enchiladas, fried mozzarella sticks, and chips and queso. I really like cheese. Chocolate is a close second-with almonds. But, this isn't about me. It's about those lucky bastards that get to pretend they're ordering whatever they want from room service at a five star hotel and it's free. It's all free. Come to think of it - those hardened criminals have it good.

Several now-dead-guys have no final meal request. I had to think about what could possibly make a person turn away free food. And, I don't think that it has anything to do with the fact that they know they are about to die. No, it can't be the cloud of depression that the condemned must feel looming over their heads on the eve of their execution, not at all. I think it's probably that they're on diets or something. I mean, people really take care of themselves in prison. They exercise, they watch what they eat to beef up/slim down. Just take a look a Martha Stewart - she lost 20 lbs. Had she been on death row - I guara-fuckin'-tee she would have had no final meal request.

But, diets are for pansies and people that read Cosmo. Take Alan Lehman (09/28/2005) Matheney from Indiana for instance. He ordered: chicken wings, a fried chicken dinner, large wedges of potatoes, corn on the cob, biscuits and a chocolate shake. This is my kind of guy: meat-and-potatoes-guy. From the contents of his last meal - I'd venture to say that Alan likes liked fatties in bed. From the fried chicken I gather that Alan had a frequent meal card to Popeye's. From the shake I assume that his favorite time of the year was when McDonald's sells the shamrock shake-the green one, right around St. Patty's day. Sweet Jesus - that shake is good.

Robert Alan Shields (08/23/2005) ordered fajitas with flour tortillas, shredded cheddar and mozzarella cheeses, diced tomatoes, diced onions, sour cream, pico de gallo, bacon, breakfast sausage, onion rings, French fries, barbecue sauce and picante sauce. Interesting. My theory is that Shields was married to a Mexican prostitute at some point in his life. Obviously, before he murdered the nurse at the sperm bank because she wouldn't give him needles for his methamphetamine addiction. Yeah, that's what happened.

Kenneth Turrentine (08/11/2005) from Oklahoma, ordered and ate 10 slices of cheesecake, 10 pieces of fried chicken and fried catfish. What can I say: This guy was morbidly obese. And had he not been executed by lethal injection, it would have only been a matter of time before his heart exploded.

The end.


Dedicated to the inmates on death row. See you in hell.

That Dream

I had that dream again last night. I was even more bizarre than usual. I couldn't help but want to keep it going, but that damn alarm disturbs it every time. Usually I welcome that horrific beeping to pull me out of that deep hellish sleep. However, this time I resented it. "Let me be," I demanded. It hurt more than ever to vocalize this morning; my throat was so damn sore. I abruptly received an elbow in the kidney from the body that lay next to me. Apparently we all don't wake up at the same time. What is she here for anyway? It occurred to me that I'll never be able to delve back into the story if I attempt to confront her now; it can wait till later.

As I buried my face into my pillow I was running the dream through my head. I just kept mulling over the last detail that I could recall. I had lost it, it's gone now and I'll never get back to that point. I then seem to remember a former girlfriend telling me that if you touch your head when you wake up, you will forget your dreams. When the hell did I touch my head!? I never did touch my head, the only contact that there was with my body involved an elbow and my lower back. Is there an exception to this rule that I wasn't aware of. I need to get a hold of that girl and find out the truth. She will surely know what to do.

I rolled over to kick that bitch next to me out of my house. I had things to do and she can not get in the way. I placed my hand on her shoulder and gently rocked her awake. After a few grunts and moans she spoke up, letting me know that it is okay if she sleeps in today. "There's no school today", she mentioned. School? What is she talking about, and I still don't know who she is. At this point it didn't matter; I picked her L.L. Bean book bag off the floor. I hated those bags when I was in school, I really didn't need to know the initials of who was walking down the stairs in front of me. I was grateful for those bags now, but unfortunately this girl's parents were too cheap to get the initials upgrade through the catalogue. I once again disliked those bags.

It didn't matter anymore, she deserved to leave; I just had to untie her first. I had never been so proud of my knot tying until then. But there was no time for it. God damn boy scouts, they tell you how to tie a knot but not how to untie them. I pulled open my night stand drawer. It happened just like the movies, where the drawer stop didn't work and the whole drawer pulled out and everything inside spilled onto the floor. I sifted through the crap and found the box cutter I was looking for. This was sure to work I thought, and as always when I think, I was right.

After a few thankful exchanges, we parted ways. I wondered if I'd ever get to see her again. I lost focus on everything else and I would just have to wait for another night for that dream.

In a Field

When I tried to get up and run, she grabbed my ankle, and I fell, laughing. When she ran, I did the same, and took her shoe right off. She hopped and ran her way into the trees, and I just sat and laughed and watched her, watched her leg muscles tighten and release.

I tore some grass out of the ground and smiled while I waited, ripping each blade down its veins. Then I put my hand in her sneaker, where my fist barely fit. To show I was a sport, I took off my shoes. I think there were birds. The longer I waited, the more I lost the laughter. When it was all gone, I got up on my feet and walked towards the trees.

When I saw the red, I thought it was in my eyes. I wiped at my closed eyelids, then opened them. Her head lay against a stone, and I could see the bottom of her dirty sock, brown with soil and mucked with twigs and leaves. I never got to see her fall.

A few words about Jake 'Flash' Gordon

Jake was born some time during the early to mid 70's in either Wisconsin or Kansas City. I am not exactly sure of answers to questions pertaining to when or where. He does have an Aunt in Kansas City, so it's fair to assume that some of his family is from there. Since Flash has no friends or family in Wisconsin(they all abandoned him?), he must approximately make an eight hour commute for every day his apartment is fumigated. Now, I don't know often his domicile is infested, but an eight hour commute is pretty harsh.

Fortunately, Flash does not need as much sleep as a normal person. He attributes his sleeping behavior to the abuse of coffee. However, this just does not cut it for me. Personally, I think he has a metabolism problem. He once said, "I need a full ten minutes of sleep every night. If I get seven or eight, I get pretty grouchy". Wow, that's amazing. The fact that he would make an eight hour commute from Kansas City for exactly ten minutes of sleep to work under the more-anal-than-you-think Frank Lambert bewilders me. Either he loves his aunt, he is getting road head on the way there and back (for the whole time), or most likely he's a retard.

Abandonment issues guide Flash's attempts at social interaction. First of all, it is evident from his behavior around Frank and Carol that he has never talked to anyone ever. He comes over pretty late one night to tell Frank that he will be late the next day as a result of his commute. Given Flash's course of action we must posit a couple of questions: Did he just find out that day that his apartment was being fumigated? If not, why couldn't he have told Frank at work that day? Well, maybe he solidified his plans to commute from Kansas City that night. More likely, it is possible that he just wanted to bother Frank on a Sunday, which is even more of an egregious social faux pas. Even given that this day was a Sunday, Flash's appearance at the Lamberts still doesn't make sense. Why didn't he use a fucking phone? He could have left a message. If you are going to miss work the next day you don't want to talk to your boss in person. If he disagrees with your absence, it could be socially awkward. However, Flash seems to lack an understanding of awkward.

Ok, Flash goes to the Lambert's house to alert them of his more-than-likely lateness. Instead of using the front door like a normal person, he goes around the back and startles Frank and his wife who are making out in Frank's pick-up truck. Of course, Flash means no harm, but he is cockblocking Frank anyway. However, Flash is no abberation to the individuals who reside in the Step by Step universe. Just about everyone on the show has participated in this action, including the baby, a rat, his mother, and probably an alien. Anyways, Flash sees Frank trying to do his thing, and knocks on the window. Understandably, Frank is upset, and asks Flash if his query can wait. Perhaps until he has gotten his nut off. Flash doesn't really understand what's going on, probably because he's never touched a woman, and waits for them, or should I say Frank, to finish. Since sticking your piece in furney(having sex) is an intimate action, people don't like doing it in front of other individuals, especially guys like Flash. This simple truth explains why Frank is annoyed at Flash for not leaving the space directly outside the car window. He does turn his head though, which should be good enough for a retard like Flash. Perhaps, he doesn't leave because he is afraid that Frank will forget about him. It is evident that not only have strangers and acquaintances ditched him, but his family as well, which is absent from the Midwest! Wait, didn't Urkel's parents move to Russia to get away from him? Carol is out of the mood now, so Frank has to walk around with blue balls. He's pissed!

As a result of Carol's housewife hospitality, the sexually frustrated couple reluctantly invites Flash into their home. Flash is overjoyed that he has been invited into someone's home. He has early Urkel syndrome. Apparently, no one has ever invited him into their home. Even though Frank is obviously being a dick, Flash takes his territorial overtures as love. Remember when I said that he has an abandonment complex? Well, it's about to manifest itself once again. Seeing Carol's spacious and rather plain kitchen facilitates a seemingly heartfelt soliloquy, in which he sucks the kitchen's dick. As payment for being invited into someone's home, Flash feels as if he must make them feel stupendous about themselves. Unfortunately, everyone but Flash can see this and thinks he's pathetic. Flash doesn't care though. He will say later on in Disney World, "Flash Gordon never backs down from a challenge. Let's do it!".

In this speech, he remarks on the intangible qualities of the kitchen. Essentially, sentimental garbage spews from his pie hole in an attempt to repay the Foster's for acknowledging his existence. He actually calls the kitchen, "American as apple pie". Like the statement, 'freedom isn't free', Flash's words mean nothing. His words provide insight into another of Flash's primary values: A love of America permeates Flash's being. His patriotic side will manifest itself in Disney World.

Since Carol has some kind of morality she actually invites Flash to stay for the night. It is odd that she feels guilt about this guy having to drive a few hours to get home, but feels none about her children being a pack of nerds and airheads. She justifies her decision by stating that it would be a far greater crime to have this deranged bastard behind the wheel of a car. Obviously, no one has ever invited Flash to stay at their house for the night. Needless to say, he explodes with joy. He must be thinking that these people must actually like him. He is exuberant about his oppurtunity to impress the Lamberts. These people are his new family. They won't abandon him like Mom and Dad. He quickly runs out to his car to grab his gear. Frank is wary of his guest and ponders about what he might bring into house. In an attempt at using a literary device, Frank refers to Flash as a tazmanian devil.

Carol: C'mon Frank, What could he have? A sleeping bag? A suit case?

CUE THE BAGPIPES!

Yes, Flash is retarded. He has no social couth. Not only is it late on a Sunday night, but he is a guest in someone's home for the first time. Frank is also obviously agitated by this inconvenience, so what does Flash do? He plays the bag pipes, and brother, there ain't no soft way to play the bag pipes. Why would he do this? Is he celebrating? Is he trying to impress the Lamberts? Or is he just retarded?

Later on in life(a few days later?) Flash learns from his mistakes. Or at least he thinks he does. Somehow, Frank and Carol are in the basement of their home riding a mechanical bull named 'Rolling Thunder.' It's not important why, but the bull is out of control. Frank and Carol are hanging on for dear life. It is obvious that they are collectively trying to shut down this machine. Cue Jake 'Flash' Gordon. He gets flustered when he sees this. Something about what they are doing is sexual in nature to him. They are not touching, they have all their clothes on, they are being perceivably hurt by a mechanical bull, but Flash thinks they are going to eventually have sex. He knows nothing of sex because he's never touched a girl, interacted with people, or been in someone else's house. Obviously he has never watched porno either. He goes to leave so he won't inconvenience his gracious hosts. About five seconds later he comes back down and unplugs the device. Wow, what a fucking retard.

To be continued....

A Question Asked; A Question Answered

So, yesterday I'm sitting outside smoking a cigarette, when this guy I didn't know asks me, "If you could meet one person in the world, through all of history, who would it be?" It was an odd question between strangers, but I thought about it anyway. There are so many people I would want to meet: William Faulkner, Jack the Ripper, Rodion Raskolnikov, Charles Manson, Charles Bronson, Sylvester Stallone....the list goes on and on. But if I really had one choice, it would have to be Mark Archibald Foster.

I will admit that I may have stretched the limits of the question by choosing a fictional character, but I do believe fiction exists, at least in some shape or form, and Mark Foster was a great fictional character. As Carol Foster's youngest child on the seminal sitcom Step by Step, he was a kid genius and loved video games. What more could you ask for? I'll tell you. First off, he's the only person I've ever heard of who used his knowledge of physics to hit a home run. I know he could apply the same knowledge to teaching me how to throw a perfect knuckleball, as has always been my dream. Also, he pretty much single-handedly engineered family friend Flash's world record time for visiting every ride and attraction at Walt Disney World, taking the record back from those villainous Russians. Mark was never as proud to be an American as he was on that day, and I would never be as proud to be a human being as I would be if I ever met him. Hopefully, he would help me break a world record too, specifically by flipping more than 40 quarters off of my elbow, effectively stealing the title from Fonzie's cousin Angie. The final perk, of course, would be the effect Mark would have on me comparatively. His awkwardness and anxiety would counteract mine. I would finally be a leader, and could get almost any girl I wanted standing next to that skinny nerd.

Mark's real life counterpart, Christopher Castile, seems to be a pretty cool guy too, so if I couldn't magically meet Mark Foster, Chris would do fine. He plays golf, collects baseball cards, and is an aspiring pilot! He even landed at O'Hare airport once. He has also written a book, which I have yet to read, or even find, but I'm sure it is just as inspiring as the author and the timeless character he played.

Anyways, after pondering the question and coming to a decision, I turned to the guy and began to expound my answer. But there was no guy, only a squirrel, and, as always, I was alone.

My Shitty Job

Honestly, folks, I am sick of my job. I've been doing it for years now, and with every passing day I hunger for a change. Try and think of the worst job in the world, the one job you wouldn't accept for all the gold in Ireland. Then, think worse. That's my job. I know what you're saying: "There can't be a job that bad." But there is. For, ladies and gentlemen, I, Vanderbilt Ignoble, am a toilet seat licker.

Again, I know what you're saying, probably out loud to your computer monitor: "That is not a job." It is. Allow me to explain how I came upon such an occupation. Once upon a time, I was a simple and honest investment banker, specializing mainly in douche futures. This was during the douche bubble of the early 90's, and, I must say, life was good. I had a top-of-the-line phonograph, and a Model-T with gold wheels and 6 cup holders. Suddenly, though, the bubble popped, spraying water and vinegar and whatever else is in douches(metaphorically, of course) in all directions, effectively cleansing my bank account. I had grown accustomed to my life of comfort, and needed to find a job that could suit my lifestyle.

The first job I took was on a lark. I saw an ad in the local Pennysaver which just read, "Do you like being tickled?" Who doesn't, I thought. I called the number, and before I knew it I was in a stranger's room, tied to a chair, my feet bare and a man dressed like the Green Lantern was tormenting me with a feather. There would be many more nights such as that one. Looking back, it's all such a blur. I do clearly remember the paychecks though, and the time I accidentally kicked Aquaman in the crotch. The money was good, but I wanted more. I would soon get it.

Word travels fast in the underground video world, and soon I learned of a new enterprise. It became clear that there was a very small, but very wealthy, niche market of men who fetishized other mustachioed men in bowler hats who licked the seats of toilets. I was approached mainly because I fit the part, and also because I had become very popular. I admit, I was a bit of a ham sometimes(my Patrick Duffy impressions were slightly over the top), but I ended up endearing myself to important people, which helped me down the path I would eventually follow. I did a lot of soul searching after I was offered this new "gig," as the kids say, but in the end I took it. I knew it would be lucrative. But there was a lot I did not know.

The first time wasn't so bad. The seat was newly cleaned, and I've always enjoyed the taste of bleach. But soon enough, our customers became very demanding, and before I knew it I was dealing with "the hazards" of the business. A drop would appear here, a hair or two would be hanging around there, and I dealt with it because of the sweet paycheck. Before long everything I ate tasted like pubes. It still does to this day.

When I say this is the worst job in the world, I say so hesitantly. No doubt, there were good times. How else would I have been able to visit Graceland and kneel before the King's throne, the same one on which he expelled and expired? The bad times outweighed the good, though. I won't go into details, but I will never look at Jared from Subway the same way again.

Do I regret my choice? Yes, I do. Very much. Jesus, I've spent 10 years of my life licking toilet seats. What the hell is wrong with me? My friends and family still think I trade douche stocks, which is why I have written this confession. I need to come clean and change my life. So, please, if you have any job offers, please don't hesitate to leave them in the comments section. If not, here's hoping for a new douche bubble.

This has been weighing on my mind

This past weekend, a carnival visited our town. I was intrigued, and went alone. I walked around and took it all in, the laughs of the children and the smells of the food I wouldn't touch with a 50-foot fork. Lost in my thoughts, I was surprised by a gentleman who emerged from under a canopy. He asked me if he could guess my weight. If I didn't think he could guess correctly, he said, a wager of a dime would be in order. I knew he wouldn't be able to succeed, so I agreed. He then disclaimed that there would be a 10 lb. cushion either way, up or down, to which I protested, but secretly knew it would not matter. I put my thumbs between my suspenders and my chest, in that satisfying pose I prefer, and began to rock on my heels. He guessed a good 25 lbs. off, then weighed me to verify my claim. Handing me a worthless trinket, he patted my back, and I was on my way.

That night, while laying in bed with my wife, I twirled my moustache, slightly brittle and noticeably lacking wax, and began to think of the day's events. What a business! What a scam! A dime to guess the effect of gravity on a stranger's body, and keeping the money, even in failure! Here was something I knew I would excel in. I became giddy imagining becoming a traveler, poking a subject with my cane to observe her gastronomic opulence, or analyzing a young boy's skinny legs. Finally, I had found a profession in which I would get paid for something I could enjoy and be good at. Not that I was a horrible auctioneer, but ever since that street urchin had bit my tongue on that scandalous night, I had not my former verbal dexterity. Besides, this weight-estimating was something I had done every day since I had married my angel. Through a series of quick observations, I was always able to accurately identify when my wife had lost a pound or two, or, more frequently, when she had gained a few kilos. Perhaps I had found my calling!

I looked over at my sleeping wife. She was heavy with exhaustion and flesh, and I knew then that it was all for naught. I could not pursue this beautiful fantasy, could not lead her around to various city centers and town squares. She was comfortable here; she would not stand for it, mostly because she could hardly stand at all anymore. 'Poor thing,' I thought. 'Poor heavy, round thing.' That's when I gave up. That's when I banished the thought from my mind, swearing to retrieve it only on those nights when I truly needed a sweet dream.

Seriously, it's chocolate

Look, I sat in chocolate, alright? That's it. Don't try to make this out to be some kind of freak wiping accident, because that's not what it is. It's just chocolate. If you don't believe me, go ahead and smell it. Go ahead and taste it. If you did, you'd just taste chocolate and khaki pants. This kind of thing happens all the time. One minute you're eating a cookie, the next minute a chip has fallen onto your chair, and you have no idea what's going on down there. It's warm down there, that's why hens sit on their eggs. Warmth makes chocolate melt, and melted chocolate is messy and can tend to look like poop. It is not poop! It is chocolate, and I'm not going to argue about it anymore!

First Post - Guidelines

Welcome to our blog! For our readers, here's a glimpse at our ground rules:

The Original Six(6) BfN Guidelines

1) All subjects of posts are to be decidedly trivial. Nothing approaching serious or political, unless approved by a 2/3 majority.
2) Posts may not be autobiographical. If a post concerns details of your life, other details must be outlandishly altered. Use your imagination.
3) Pop culture references are highly encouraged.
4) Acceptable formats: monologue, diary entry, script-format, general prose, list, and poetry if you're really that bored.
5) Readers may apply for membership, but they must answer a very very secret questionnaire and be approved by 2/3 majority.
6) BfN guidelines may be amended at any time(2/3 majority, again).

There you have it. Now, let's make some shit up!