Is Baseball More Fun When Your Team Is Losing?

I know, I know, there’s football stuff on today. I’m excited too but I’m a Rams fan. I don’t think we’ve had a first rounder since the 90’s, so I watched baseball all day. Something struck me by watching the Yankee game today compared to last night. I like watching baseball more when my team’s losing. 

It’s weird, I know. When the Yankees lose I refuse to watch SportsCenter because watching the highlights cooks the blood inside of me. Yankees won 7-0 last night. Which I should be excited about given the state of this team but somewhere around the 5th inning when it was 5-0 my brain went into airplane mode. I was on my phone or reading my book with the game on in the background; instinctively shifting my focus if I heard a bat crack or an announcer yell. I didn’t even get excited for Clint Frazier’s home run. In fact, I got mad at him. That’s how fucked up baseball is. Guy’s first homerun of the season and all I’m thinking is “you just couldn’t of fucking saved it for when it mattered could you?”

But when we’re losing, like today, I’m much more engaged. I’m hanging on every pitch, ready to fight an umpire if need be. If you’re team needs a hit, you convince yourself everyone is getting a hit. Players are only two things in your eyes in that situation- hot or due. Either way they’re hitting. When you see a rally forming, you start believing in magic. And if there’s a home run to take the lead, I become a man possessed. I’m yelling, speaking in tongues, my mom’s screaming at me, my dog’s shaking in the corner of the living room. But it doesn’t matter, because you’ve felt the magnitude of that moment flow through you. It’s involuntary. 

Baseball is the real beautiful game, soccer can kick rocks. 

Watching losing baseball is a win/win. Best case scenario, your team comes from behind to win. Worst case, you lose. But there’s something so beautifully American about letting a baseball game fuck up your whole day. 

Citizen Kane Loses Perfect Rotten Tomatoes Score From Negative Review From 80 Years Ago

Good. Citizen Kane isn’t a movie but a tool used by pricked up nose people to gauge their dumb perception of your intelligence. Movie stinks. An anti-riddle? Rosebuds a sled? Oh yeah good one Orson, you’re so woke dude. 

The review was from the Chicago Tribune. It was written by Mae Tineé. Get it? Like matinee. Just when you think this critic couldn’t be any more of a legend. They don’t necessarily bash Citizen Kane in the review, but they don’t suck it’s dick either like every one else. 

“It gives me the creeps and I kept wishing they'd let a little sunshine in.”

Go off King! Queen? Your movie’s creepy. Can’t see damned thing! Worst part is, that’s done on purpose and I’m supposed to praise Orson Welles for making a movie I can’t watch if there’s a glare in the room. 

I can’t wait to drink the tears of cinephiles for this one. You know a cinephile by, well, them telling you and your shock of seeing anyone describe themselves with a word ending in “phile”. Or it’s in their tinder profile. 

Orson Welles was a fraud. He made this movie by starting it where The Great Gatsby ends. It’s the big question everyone has for F. Scott Fitzgerald. Who really was Jay Gatsby? Welles stole the concept and put it on a screen. So it’s really not as original as everyone thinks. That’s not a fact, it’s a working theory I have, but it probably is a fact. 

Stop making me feel like I have to like things just because they’re old. It’s not that I don’t appreciate it or understand it, Citizen Kane was a boring movie with the most anti-clamitic ending of all time. It deserved to be knocked down a peg. 100% ratings are reserved for movies without flaw. Now the crown has found the rightful head to rest on, Paddington 2.

Arizona Man Arrested After His Finger Was Found In Neighbor’s Driveway

I fucking love people. Sometimes you just have to tip your cap to the greats. I mean I’ve had someone give me the finger before but this is just ridiculous.

Francesca Wikoff from Casa Grande, Arizona called police after finding a finger in her driveway. It was next to her car that had two tires slashed. The finger, she believed, belonged to a neighbor that her and her husband had an argument with the night before when he became aggressively drunk. So police followed a TRAIL OF BLOOD to the nearby house and arrested the man. 

Ok. So many questions. One, how is it even possible to cut your fingers off during this? Like was he holding the tire like a loaf of bread and the blade slipped? It’s called slashing tires pal, not slicing. Put your back into it. Ok then what? How do you just leave it there? Did he weigh getting caught and say fuck it the fingers a lost cause, I gotta bounce. Hmm pay some fines or save my actual finger? Then after leaving it and spewing blood all the way home, what’s your next move? You think he was like I can handle this. “Tis but a scratch.” Or do you think he quarterized it like Jamie Lannister? Go to the hospital dude, your finger fell off. 

I don’t think people really understand how truly difficult it is for a large part of the population to just be normal. Like most of us wouldn’t leave our finger in a driveway over a neighborly dispute. For other people that’s just not an option. 

NASA’s Roleplay Kink

Those perverts over at NASA are roleplaying all week starting tomorrow, April 26th. Probably a bit differently then what you might type in a search bar though. NASA is running the scenario all week of protocols in the event of a massive asteroid collision with Earth. 

The simulation was created as a dry run to see how different nations, emergency services, space agencies, and decision makers would be able to cooperate in the case of a doomsday scenario. Honestly I didn’t think that they were thinking ahead like this. Help me sleep a little better tonight. But I don’t want to know how well we’d sing kumbaya together while awaiting our death from a fiery space murder rock. I need to know what we’re doing to stop this thing. 

Do we have lasers? Like Torchwood or Death Star level lasers that could blast an asteroid to hell if need be? We’ll probably never know until the situation presents itself. My only other solution is nuking the shit out of it. There’s no way that works though right? Fucking Armagaddeon. Made us all think, uhhhh duh we could just blow it up. Probably not true. 

But this is good. Good to know the gears are turning here and this is a step in the right direction. Although...

Of course this could all be a front for what they’re actually doing. This asteroid simulation week is being run by NASA’s Planetary Defense Coordination Office. Hmm? There’s been a massive uptick in UFO sightings as of late. Or at least that’s what my Tik Tok page would have you believe. They’re coming eventually, maybe sooner rather than later. Prep up people, clearly NASA is. 

Corpsegrinder, The Claw Machine Hero

Never judge a book by it’s cover, especially if the title happens to be Corpsegrinder. I’m sure we all know Corpsegrinder, lead frontman for Cannibal Corpse. No? Its a country band. I’m kidding, it’s very obviously a death metal band. Never was my cup of tea, if I wanted someone to yell at me I’d leave my room when I’m hungover. But this guy is the man. 

While Cannibal Corpse is touring the country, Corpsegrinder is scouring the land for new claw machines to dominate. Now you might be wondering, what does a 50 year old lead vocalist of death metal band need little plush stuffed animals for? Well he does it for the the love of the game, but also he donates all his winnings to charity because he’s a legend. 

But take a look at his breakdown on clawin:

“I'm looking what's in there, and then I'm looking at how it's sitting inside of there. Is there something on top of it? Do I have to move that? As soon as I see how the claw reacts, I'll know if I'm gonna win. If the actual hands of the claw are set really loose, or maybe the machine has been used a lot, then sometimes stuff will just slip out.”

The guys a savant. There were even cheating accusations from his clawin videos posted on his Instagram (@georgecorpsegrinder). There are certain codes and cheats that claw mechanics use to guarantee a win to make sure the machines working properly. But not him, he’s just that good and I believe him. What would make you believe that Corpsegrinder isn’t a man of honor?

There’s only one rule. If you’re watching him perform, on a claw I mean not a stage, don’t say a single word until the prize has hit the bottom of the dropbox. Just because a prize is picked up doesn’t mean it can’t get lost on the transfer. Corpsegrinder admitted to once yelling at a child who celebrated too early about a Dale Earnhardt Sr. car that he was trying to win for his mother. None of us are perfect. Believe it or not, not even Corpsegrinder. 

So if you see Corpsegrinder on a claw do him, me, and the less fortunate kids he donates to a favor and just sit back, stfu and watch greatness unfold. Or run the risk of getting your corpse grinded. 

Wait, So You Shouldn’t Bring Your Students To Strip Clubs?

A misconduct panel has found English computer teacher, Richard Glenn, guilty of gross misconduct for his actions as a chaperone during the school’s Costa Rica trip in 2019. Strip clubs are a right of passage in a young man’s life. I remember my older cousins bringing me for my first foggy, cherry blossom scented lap dance when I turned 18. Maybe Richard was that spirit guide for these boys. How bad could it have been? 

The findings from the BBC report are as follows:

“-Drinking with pupils

 - Allowing one or more pupils to drink alcohol despite being under the legal age of 18 

 - Threatening to ‘kick the head in’ of one pupil and ‘kill’ another

 - Telling one pupil: ‘I'm not in trouble - you'll be in trouble’

 - After being aggressive to one pupil, he kissed the boy's forehead and told him ‘you're all right’

- Taking one or more pupils to a strip club

- Acting aggressively towards the woman leading the trip when she tried to help him back to his tent

- Exposing himself to the woman in a shared hotel room, although it was agreed this was not ‘malicious or sexually motivated’”

Holy shit who is this guy, Randy Marsh? There is a lot to unpack here so let’s just go through each individual accusation. 

Drinking with pupils and some being underage. Meh. I mean, UK isn’t 21 to party like it is here. I’m pretty sure you can do heroin at 16 in London. Where we go a little overboard is moving the drinks to the strip club to get lappies with literal minors. 

Telling a student that you’re going to kill them or kick their head in definitely won’t win you educator of the year. Curb stomping a child in the streets is a good way to find yourself in a Costa Rican prison for the rest of your life. And despite popular belief, forehead kisses do not overturn terroristic threats charges. 
The only shining light here is his defense. There is just no arguing with “I’m not in trouble, you’re in trouble.” Shit is air tight. 
Where I thought they had Glenn dead to rights was the aggression towards his fellow chaperones. That last bit threw me for a loop though. But apparently there is a way to expose yourself to a woman without any malicious sexual intent? Only the English could find a way to politely flash their wieners. 
My guess is Richard Glenn was a victim of his own past. Let’s think about it for a second. Shockingly enough he isn’t a PE teacher. He teaches computer science. Nerd. Glenn probably didn’t have the best time in high school, so he has one too many tequila sunrises and sees a shot to redeem the glory days with the popular kids this time. We’ve all seen the coming of age movies, think Superbad, Dazed & Confused, etc. What happens to the nerds who finally make it to the big party? They get too fucked up and fight with each other. 
Glenn was banned from teaching for three years. Pretty lucky if you ask me. Probably should’ve been brought up on criminal charges but that’s a jurisdictional nightmare. Justice is served in shame in this case. I got my Sunday scaries on Friday this week and I thought those were bad. Mild compared to this. Imagine an 11 hour plane ride back to England knowing that all your co-workers, student’s parents, and family know that you abandoned your responsibilities to get drunk with a bunch of teenagers that you tried to fight in a strip club? Basically the death penalty. 

Be Kind And Rewind, Or Get Hit With Felony Embezzlement

It was a happy time in Caron McBride’s life. She had found love in Texas, got married, and was on her way to change her last name when WHAM finds out she’s unable to because she’s been charged with felony embezzlement for not returning a Sabrina The Teenage Witch VHS that she rented 21 years ago. 

VHS finally got one. There were all sorts of warning screens and FBI statements at the beginning of VHS tapes and now we know why. Because of Caron McBride. This rental happened when Caron lived in Oklahoma. So this felon had the gall to cross state lines and live life on the lam for two decades in Texas. Big mistake. Maybe you can get away with felony embezzlement of rented property in Oklahoma, but not in The Lone Star State. 

McBride actually had to call the District Attorney’s office and get her charges dropped. The store she rented from closed in 2008. Charges were dropped and now she’s working on getting her criminal record expunged. But I’m not so sure about that. 

Caron is trying to say that she never even rented the VHS and it was probably her ex’s young daughters. But she’s selling too hard. Caron claims that she’s never even seen Sabrina The Teenage Witch and that it wasn’t “her cup of tea.” Ok, now I know you’re a lying criminal. Everyone’s seen Sabrina The Teenage Witch and it’s everyone’s cup of tea. Sabrina was a total babe, Harvey was the man, and Salem was a riot. Pshhh ‘not your cup of tea’, you actually expected me to believe that? And here’s the kicker, Caron had the audacity to call it “Samantha The Teenage Witch.” Congratulations, now you get felony embezzlement and slander charges. 

This One’s For Free

If my imaginary audience is still reading, it can only be from my phenomenal writing and obvious charm. But I’m no one trick pony. Sometimes I get these ideas that I do all this work for knowing damn well none of them will come to fruition. I don’t want to say I obsess, but it can get borderline manic. My latest has to do with The Dozen Trivia. 

I absolutely love The Dozen. It was hard pitch though to get my friends to watch. A show that asks trivia questions sounds so simple in theory. But The Dozen is so much more than just asking random trivia. It’s also very clear that Jeff D Lowe is immensely talented and hardworking and I’m not quite sure how he has enough hours in a day. 

For me, The Dozen is more than just Jeff asking people questions because I enjoyed the games within the game. I liked to particpate in the trivia myself but being a big fan of Barstool, I felt like I knew the inside jokes going on, the slights said, the subtle jabs, and rivalries brewing. I like knowing who’s going to get mad based off the way a question was phrased, or who’s going to say they got a harder question than the other team. 

So I forced all my friends to watch. Now we text each other after each matchup. 

Then Dozen works because it’s tailored to the contestants playing. And I wanted that, so I started my own Dozen. 

I offered it up to my group chat to see if they’d be interested in doing a trivia night. They loved it. Same exact rules as The Dozen. 3 v 3 tournament, same lifelines, same format, same everything. I made all the questions myself and hooked my laptop up to the TV for questions that needed a visual or sound. Only thing I was missing was a cool bell ding for correct answers and a buzzer for the wrong ones. We grabbed a few beers and did 50 bucks a head, winning team takes all. We laughed the entire night. 

I wrote all the questions which I found just as fun as actually playing the game. We’re all big sports fans so it was the four major sports questions, couple food questions, some geography and then my little twist. I added personalized questions that only my friends and I would know. There was an ex-girlfriend’s category, a who’s yearbook quote was this category, and a Baby Daddies of our town category where you had to give the first name of guys that knocked up girls we went to high school with. It was a massive success. 

You need to bring this joy to living rooms, reunions, frat houses, sorority houses, what have you. I believe  Barstool making it’s own Dozen Trivia card game to sell would be a lucrative venture. Have Barstool talent write different questions on sports, pop culture, geography, pictures of the celebrity mashups, you know, Dozen shit. 

Then, this is important, put in blank cards for the hosts to make their own questions. Leaving the host in the game is pivotal and separates this game from other trivia. It’s like Dungeons and Dragons meets Trivia Pursuit, with your host taking on a Dungeon Master type role. Even though they aren’t technically partaking in the gamesmanship, creating the experience for your friends is an awesome time and a position that should honestly be coveted. 

It’ll work. More importantly, it’ll sell. I know my friends and I will be purchasing. And you can have this, my gift to you. This is my written legal consent that you can take my little nugget of genius here and do what you please with it without fear of retaliation from me. Why would I do something that stupid you might ask. 

Because my other idea that I have is so much grander, has so much more potential, that I crunched some numbers and think it could make millions and millions and millions. But that one will cost ya. 

Big Bird Has Been Kidnapped

Yes, that Big Bird. Do you know any other Big Birds? Last seen wearing yellow feathers, no shoes, possible CDS history, approximately 7ft tall. Someone check in on Elmo, I know a criminal when I see one. Guy can’t handle sharing the spotlight. 

No but for real. Apparently there’s an international Sesame Street circus and somebody stole the Big Bird costume in Australia. Convicts. At first I wondered what kind of sick fuck steals a popular costume from a kid’s circus. Until I found out that it’s worth $160,000. Im sorry? Are the feathers made out of gold? No, ostrich feathers apparently. 

The circus director seems optimistic they can find Big Bird before he hits the black market. You know somebody has a fetish. The director told reporters of evidence found that could help lead to the BB Bandit. 

“He’s left a couple of feathers for us down Port Road, so maybe some of the cameras on Port Road will help us.”

Umm excuse me what? That makes it sound like Big Bird has become sentient and is plucking his own skin off as some kind of Hansel and Gretel trail to find him. If police find Big Bird they need to pump a couple rounds into him first to make sure he hasn’t become conscious. Because if he has, that would literally be the scariest thing to ever happen. 

The Guy She Told You Not To Worry About

Nick Saban has no idea that it isn’t college football season. Please don’t tell him. Forget mid-season form, the guy looks like he’s ready for playoffs in the spring. He yelled at a reporter the other day for talking about a player’s progress. Saban angrily pointed out to said reporter that he couldn’t possibly know anything about the player’s progress because he hadn’t seen him play yet. Alabama had their spring game, A-Day, today and Saban is already getting upset over trick plays and yelling at five stars to not “walk on the God damn field”. 

Coach Nick Saban runs Alabama football with an iron fist, but make no mistake, the Saban household is a matriarchy.

Attending Alabama you understand that there are many different Nick Sabans according to public perception. There’s the Coach Saban that he presents to the world- a good church-going family man, with old school morals and a strict code. Then there’s the Nick Saban that’s perceived- a swag dripping sex icon with raw sex appeal. You’d be amazed at the amount of co-eds walking around on gameday with the winking Saban button pinned to their hearts that read “DADDY SABAN”. I once walked into a graphic conversation at a tailgate amongst sorority girls talking in detail about how they’d “fuck his brains out.” It was unbelievably specific.

Nick Saban could have any woman in the state of Alabama. You think his lovely wife, Miss Terry, loses an ounce of sleep over this? You think Miss Terry is worried about Nick Saban leaving her? Wrong! Nick Saban worries about Miss Terry leaving him!

During his American Football Coach’s Association speech, Coach Saban spoke about the importance of his wife of fifty years. Coach explained he was chasing Miss Terry since the seventh grade and that she wouldn’t give him the time of day. She was the popular pretty girl from the city school. The “Queen Bee,” as he described her. Young Nick Saban was the quiet country boy who was always too dirty from working at his father’s gas station.

Miss Terry was dating a boy named Mickey Schaffer through her teen years. Nick Saban wasn’t even a thought to her. Every time Saban played their school in football he tried his damndest to beat up on those city boys. After years of persistence it eventually caught the eye of none other than the saintly, Miss Terry. The rest was history. 

Years and years later, Coach Saban’s hometown was hosting a homecoming game in his honor. Back in their old stomping grounds, Saban decided to take a bit of a victory lap. He found out that ironically enough, it was Mickey Schaffer who now owned a gas station. So he drove his wife by to “let her know how she picked.” This is how it went. 

Coach Saban: “See there honey. There’s your boy there, Mickey Schaffer. If you’d have married him, that’s where you’d be now.”

Miss Terry: “Bullshit, if I’d have married him he’d be the head coach at Alabama now.”

Alabama is losing three cornerstone defensive starters in Dylan Moses, Christian Barmore, and Patrick Surtain II. Not to mention 3/5 of their offensive line, the starting tight end, two star receivers, a three year starting running back, and a National Championship winning quarterback. Am I nervous? Of course not, we have Miss Terry’s husband as our head coach. 

The Original Influencers

Could you and your friends get so famous from partying that you wind up on TV shows, outshine celebrities in clubs, and have Macaulay Culkin and Seth Green portray your lives in a movie? Unlikely. The Club Kids were the original influencers of the late 80s into the 90s. There’s tons of partiers that could claim membership, but for the sake of time we’ll really only be talking about four today. Founder Michael Alig, Robert “Freeze” Riggs, James St. James, and Andre “Angel” Melendez.

Michael Alig had a bit of a stereotypical arc coming from Indiana to New York. Small town middle America boy comes to the Big City for college and gets his whole life dumped on it’s head. But after that there’s nothing classic about this tale. Alig was originally shunned by the underground NYC party community. Until he met a kindred spirit in James St. James. 

When Alig showed a knack for party promoting with a gender fluid, costume wearing, sometimes drag, army of partiers, St. James welcomed him back in. The two helped to create the Club Kids. They were loud and drunk and high and you couldn’t miss them. Seriously. 

 

They often drank and danced through the night wearing these “throw away” costumes. It was basically arts and crafts for the club. Look at that guy on the left, he’s the best. Can’t you just picture him? All tuned up, sweating his ass off on the dance looking like fucking Bowser all night. Phenomenal. 

The Club Kids freedom of expression, often through sexual fluidity, struck a chord in New York’s youth. It didn’t matter if you were a boy, girl, dressed up drag, or in clown makeup, photographer Walt Cassidy’s pictures suggested that everyone was screwin at the end of the night. Soon, wherever Alig and the Club Kids went, the rest of the City followed. 

They were a massive hit. They sang on stage with Bjork, held a 200 person pop up party in a Mcdoanld’s, had one of the most bizzare interviews on Geraldo, were featured in magazines, and influenced fashion and art. Their home base was The Limelight and they were untouchable. Were.

The Limelight was Michael Alig’s club where he made the rules. It was also his main source of income. It was owned by a shady character named Peter Gaiten. The Limelight was a restored church that was known for it’s multiple themed rooms for dancing, foam parties, or whatever else The Club Kid’s could think up. It was here that Alig got Angel Melendez on the payroll.
The character that Angel created for his Club Kid’s persona was well, an angel. He often wore some kind of wings with his outfits which turned out to be quite fitting. Angel was a drug dealer and although it wasn’t in his job description for Limelight, that’s exactly what he did at the club. Drugs were running rapid through the Club Kids. Go figure. The obvious addiction from their leader, Alig, was creating tension amongst the higher members. Instead of being known as the colorful party characters, the Club Kids were getting the reputation of the drug kids. 
Well that’s all the ammo Giuliani needed during his Quality of Life campaign. The Club Kid’s came right into the new mayor’s crosshairs. They were the embodiment of New York at the time, lawless and terrifyingly majestic. Giuliani closed down The Limelight and that’s when things really spiral. 
After the closing of the club, Alig, Riggs, and Melendez all moved in together. One drug infused night, Melendez was murdered over a drug debt dispute with Alig. There’s multiple accounts of what happened that night but with all the heroin going around who knows if we will ever really know. 
Robert Riggs claims that he came in to Angel roughing Alig up for not paying for all the drugs he’d been using. Things escalated and Alig called to Riggs for help. Riggs seeing that the confrontation turned violent, hit Angel three times in the head with hammer. Alig then smothered him with a pillow. Riggs also said that Alig poured chemicals down his mouth and taped it shut but that’s been disputed by Alig. Because if a hammer to the head and suffocation didn’t work, Drano should do the trick. One things for sure though, they murdered the shit out of Angel that night. 
Not knowing what to do with the body, the roommates left it on ice in the bathtub for a couple of days. They knew they had to confront their problem when the body began to smell. Eventually Alig was able to convince Riggs to dismember the body for ten bags of heroin. I mean, who says no? He cut up Angel and they dumped him in the Hudson River.  
After that, Michael Alig was telling pretty much every person he partied with that he murdered Angel Melendez. Loose lips. People didn’t know if he was joking or not. Rumor has it that he talked about killing him so much that it got annoying. Word got to Angel’s brother who told the police but he said he was shocked by the lack of hustle on the investigation.
Angel’s body was found by a bunch of kids playing and still not much was done. Apparently Alig was supposed to testify against the club owner of The Limelight, Peter Gaiten. Side note: same Gaiten that produced De Niro and Palminteri’s, The Bronx Tale. It’s speculation of course but I imagine Giuliani had a hard on for Gaiten who owned multiple clubs and was allowing, if not encouraging, drugs to be sold in his business. Gaiten was eventually found guilty and deported back to Canada. 
The Village Voice eventually did an article about the rumors around Melendez’ death. With a paper trail and a secret that everyone was in on, Alig and Riggs were picked up for the murder. For their help in convicting Gaiten, the two were given lesser sentences for manslaughter. 
Michael Alig was out of prison after serving only 17 years for the death of Angel Melendez. He died not long after from a heroin overdose. 
The most curious character in the Club Kid’s is Michael Musto. He was known for reporting the ins and outs of the New York underground. Musto never was considered a Club Kid but he was good friends with James St. James and was on stage speaking for the Geraldo interview. Although Alig created the group, it was Musto who coined the term Club Kids. The most known quote on the Club Kids was written by Musto. It really helped spread their notoriety when he said, “They are terminally superficial, have dubious aesthetic values, and are master manipulators, exploiters, and, thank God, partiers.” It was also Musto who wrote the piece on Angel’s death. I’m not saying he should’ve kept a murder hush hush, obviously. But Musto was along for the whole ride. Media lurking in the background of the life of these “influencers”, so ready for the rapid rise and the long, long, fall from grace. Ain’t shit changed. 

Steak-umms Has Beef

In a sea of mindless trash that is “Brand Twitter”, one company stands alone as a breath of fresh air with its legitimate thoughtful insight. I’m speaking of course of the Steak-umm Twitter handle. Yes, that Steak-umm. Brand Twitter is overrun by memes, outplayed jokes, and recycled content. But while everyone is zigging, Steak-umms is zagging by dropping some serious wisdom. Don’t believe me? Check some of these out. 

Steak-ums (I can’t believe I’m saying this) has a refreshing way of offering insight while being up front about their whole schtick. At the end of the day they’re trying to sell you something and this is how they stick out. Worked on me, I forgot how bangin steak-umms are. Is the meat made of cow utters? Yeah probably, but if you’re too good for a steak-umms cheesesteak then go shit in your hand. 

Steak-umms latest slingshot into the limelight came in the form of some Twitter beef. They came for a common enemy of mine, that wet sock Neil Degrasse Tyson. Most people with three names are dicks. Here are the tweets in question. 

Clearly Steak-umms has had enough of Neil’s shit. Everyone should, Neil’s an asshole. He constantly interrupts every single person that interviews him because of his god complex. He’s so self absorbed that he thinks no one could ever be saying something smarter than him so he doesn’t let anyone else speak. Google it. I’ve been done with Neil for five years now, all because he tweeted “Sometimes I wonder if we’d have flying cars by now had civilization spent a little less brain energy contemplating Football.” To which I responded something along the lines of: hey idiot, we have flying cars they’re just called airplanes. Might not seem like much but trust me it was a viscious burn for 2016. But enough about me. 

It’s important to clarify that I don’t think this was a political stance by our protagonist. I think that Steak-umm was simply pointing out that the beauty of science is that it actually isn’t a definitive “true”, but rather something that is perpetually evolving. It sounds like an oxymoron but science “facts” are being disproven every day. For probably the most recognizable scientist in the world to state that all science is true could be a reckless thing to say. Who better to let NDT hear it than the king? Plus they just don’t like Neil which is funny. Check out this killshot from 2018.

For rare Twitter sagacity consider giving @Steak-umm a follow. Yeah they use big words that no one knows sometimes to make themselves seem smart but I feel like that works. It’s a good follow. Ironically enough, the product that gives me diarrhea every time I eat it is now my go-to for advice on slowing everything down to really think things out. 

A Shitty Scottish Brother

Putting your sibling in terrible situations in front of strangers is one of the purest forms of bliss you can obtain. Making my little brother look like an idiot is truly my favorite pastime. This guy in Scotland just put on a master class on how to embarrass your sibling in front of the masses. 

 Sean Ewart was casually minding his own business over the weekend watching TV when his Ring doorbell alert went off. It was random drunk guy demanding to be let in to “take a shite”. That means take a shit, I speak fluent Scottish if you couldn’t tell. When Sean responded “naw mate”, it sent the stranger into a drunken tirade. “How no you fucking dick! You fucking bam, let us in for a shite!” Sean told the vagrant to get off his driveway before he phoned the police. Clearly irate, the stranger finally left.

At least, that’s what he told the press...

The story of the hammered pooper was picked up by LAD Bible, The Scottish Sun, The Daily Record, Glasgow Live and more. This mystery shitter was no stranger at all but actually Sean’s brother. When he recorded the whole interaction on his doorbell camera, Sean posted it to his Twitter (@SE250_). The video went viral and when the media came knocking for the story, Sean told them he had no idea who the guy was who wanted to take a shit in his house. 

This is next level. I don’t know how long he kept up the charade, but people who knew Sean’s brother and saw the video had to think that he had completely lost it. Sean made his brother look like a drunk, a lunatic who tries to enter random homes, and reminded the everybody that he poops. Just brutal. A hiilarious poop story. Or as the Scots would say, absolutely knackered by this brother jobby story. God, my Scottish is impeccable. 

Video here: https://twitter.com/se250_/status/1381306510748352513?s=21

Brazil’s Crack Clown

A Reuter’s article is making its rounds on Flavio Falcone, or “The Clown” as he’s known in São Paulo’s poverty stricken area dubbed “Crack Land”. There’s a lot of places that do a lot of crack, so to be known as THE Crack Land has to be an impressive amount of crack. 

Flavio is doing amazing work out in Brazil. He uses his rap culture clown to reach out to the homeless and break down any mental barriers they may have put up. The Clown has taken on a Robinhood sort of legacy. Finding housing, food, shelter, and mental health support for those more often overlooked by the Brazilian government. I applaud Flavio’s work and commitment to his people. With that being said, I have no fucking clue how this works. 

If you’ve worked in a bar, you know how funny drunk people can be. Unless you’ve ever worked in a field that deals with crack heads, you have no idea how funny they can be. Crack heads are like really big toddlers that I seriously believe can sometimes conjure up legitimate magic. 

Dealing with a crack addicted person you need to begin with as basic as conversation can possibly be to see how far gone they are. Literally the leading questions are do you know what year it is or do you know who the president is. In my experience they get it wrong about 40% of the time, just stare at you 50% of the time, and the last 10% they knock the world’s easiest questionnaire out of the park. Then they think you owe them something if they get it right, like they’re on a game show or something. 

Which is why for the life of me I can’t understand how the clown bit works. I’m glad it does, but don’t get it. The crackheads I know would shit their pants if they were high and then WHAM fucking clown in your face. Sober people are afraid of clowns, I can’t imagine what a clown looks like to someone who’s strung out. 

One time I had this dude, he was out it, wouldn’t look me in the eyes as I tried talking to him. He was absolutely terrified of the light bulb in the lamp in the corner of the room. Couldn’t get him to cooperate. He just kept pointing at the light bulb and making little yelps. He’d close his eyes real tight and then open them hoping this light bulb would be gone, and then whine when he realized it hadn’t gone anywhere in the seven seconds he had his eyes shut. I tapped on the bulb and explained to him that it wasn’t scary. Which made him gasp and reach for the piping hot bulb like he was going to squeeze it. Afraid he was going to burn his hand off, I ripped the lamp out of the wall and put it in the other room. That was a lightbulb. Now imagine a damn clown routine. 

Does Flavio have a routine? Fuck that. Fuck that sober? I need to know what it is. Does a rapping clown have bells and whistles? Does he have a squirting flower and a tiny car? Does he fall a lot and have a scary laugh? Who is this Crack Clown and what is his secret?

You know what, don’t tell me. Some things are better left unexplained. Congratulations to Mr. Falcone for getting the rightful international recognition that he deserves. Keep fighting the good fight, Mr. Crack Clown.

The 27 Club

If you don’t know what the 27 Club is, then what the heck DO you know? The 27 Club is very exclusive, very coveted coalition with only two requirements- you have to be so unbelievably talented and so unbelievably dead.

Some of the accepted members include Jimi Hendrix, Kurt Cobain, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, and Amy Winehouse. There’s more but these are like the Mount Rushmore of dead 27 year olds. Supremely gifted and taken way before they could express their full potential.

It’s my birthday today, turned 28. Now, I don’t want to die, I really don’t. But if I must, my preferences were 27 or 88. I guess I just wasn’t cool enough for those stuck up pricks in the 27 Club. I spent the whole year not looking both ways, walking with scissors facing up, and getting in with any stranger that would have me. What do I have to show for all my hard work? Still alive. 

Happy birthday to me I guess. I officially have no fame or potential, since God clearly doesn’t think I have the “stuff” to kill me off. But I had a great birthday. More people than I know/like wished me happy birthday, I had dinner with my family in a restaurant I had no business being in, I had beers with my brother and Dad, and the boys made Hoboken plans for this weekend to celebrate. Things are going pretty well so far, even though I didn’t die. 

Being A Good Person Is Uncomfortable

I believe strongly that at their core, every person is a good person. I truly believe that in my heart of hearts. I also believe that everyone is inherently bad down to their conscience. Hence the uncomfort. Hear me out. 

Nobody is religious in traffic. Have you ever been stuck on a major road like the parkway, bumper to bumper, inching up for hours. How good of a person are you then? The last time that happened to me I thought “This motherfucker better be DEAD. There better be EMTs puking in the median when I pull up. Really? You just couldn’t die northbound could you?” When I tell you the second I got up to the scene and saw bedsheets over ghoulish unseen figures I gasped and did the sign of the cross. What’s wrong with me, I was raised a good Catholic? Is this who I become at the slightest inconvenience to my day? Yes. 

Have you ever gotten bad news at an inoppurtune time? Not even like terrible timing but just slightly bothersome? Like have you ever gotten terrible news while watching a sports game that you were really invested in? I was still at school in Alabama in 2015 when my mom called me to tell me my grandfather had Alzheimer’s. Mind you, she called Week 1 Sunday of the NFL, right after kickoff. I waited months for football to start up again. I was in five fantasy football leagues. My brain thought “Really? Was grandpa’s Alzheimer’s not going to be there on Monday? You just had to tell me on Sunday when you knew I’d be watching RedZone?” But what my mouth said was “Oh shit really?” without moving my eyes from the TV. By the 4:00 slot I was uncomfortable again in my own head. I’m close with my grandparents, called them twice a week when I lived down south. Was I an awful grandson for not making a bigger spectacle of his diagnosis? It’s not like me being upset or me turning off football can cure Alzheimer’s? Another shameful thought.

What kind of world would that be? If we could honestly say whatever came to our minds. Like if you could be on a bus ride commute home and could say to a bus full of strangers “Maybe this person should just hurry up and die so we could all get home at a reasonable hour.” Would we feel better for being able to honestly get things off our chest? Or would we feel worse having everyone know that we belong in hell? I don’t have all the answers, I’m not a psychiatrist or a priest.

I’m here to tell you that you’re doing just fine. Not great, but fine. You can’t stop something from entering your brain. If you’re honest with yourself, you’ll admit that you mean your thoughts too. You can have horrible thoughts as long as you make yourself feel like a piece of shit for having them.

Being a good person means keeping those mean thoughts to yourself. Not acting on them no matter how true or funny they are. That’s what separates us from the sociopaths. You can be a good person who thinks bad things. I hope. 

I Already Hate The Jets

It’s Day -156 of the new NFL season and I already hate the fucking Jets. The whole fan base is made up of weasley little slime balls that never ever EVER shut up. Every tiny transaction gets it’s own parade. Trading Sam Darnold today was no exception. 

The flipping and flopping on Sam Darnold was a page one execution on the Jets fandom text book. The rise to savior and the fall to straight bum only took a three years. Three years to completely lose your spine on a guy. The Zach Wilson gif tsunami that I was subject to today was nothing short of harassment. 

But the SECOND I say something in response, I get “I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with the Jets.” That used to drive me crazy, I’m not even a rival fan. I like the Rams? But you know what? I do. I do have a Jets obsession, and it’s a Jets’ fans fault. 

Jet nation is made up of so many obnoxious idiots that it makes my mouth water seeing their season go down the drain every year. Everyone roots for their team to be good. It’s the whole point of being a fan. But in the NFL, it’s hard to be good year after year. I love rooting for the Jets to be bad because it’s easy. It’s such a sure thing for them to be terrible year after year after year. 

Truth is it doesn’t matter who they draft cause he’ll just be a loser Jet. Because they’re a loser franchise with a loser fan base. God I hate the Jets. It’s April! Suck a dick Fireman Ed. 

Fluff Piece

If you didn’t go to The University of Alabama you might not of heard of Luke “Fluff” Ratliff. Fluff was a 23 year old “super fan” for the Crimson Tide basketball program. He passed on Friday due to Covid complications, all of Tuscaloosa is in mourning. 

Fluff gained a following over the past few years. Type “Fluff” into the Twitter bar to see for yourself. It began with his natural knack for leading the student chanting section during the basketball games. His legacy grew from there with his witty tweets and ability to rock the fuck out of his signature plaid blazer. If you caught an Alabama basketball game this year, odds are you saw him on TV. He was shown most games because he basically was a part of this team. 

With Fluff’s passing there has been an outpouring of public affection. NBA players, current players, the Mayor, rival coaches, SEC Network are just some who have tweeted their condolences. Alabama Head Coach, Nate Oats, wrote a touching memorial on Twitter about how none of this feels real. I even got a update on my phone from Bleacher Report.

How is all this possible? It’s a tribute to the optimism and positive outlook on life that Fluff was able to convey in 23 short years. But it’s also a tip of the cap to the collegiate sports world. There is something to be said about the proximity between fan base and team in college. College sports just makes you feel more. For better or for worse in this case. Fluff used to say that his passion for college basketball was rooted in how close and intimate it was. He said college basketball was something tangible, something he could touch. 

Well he touched that world all right. The student body held a memorial service outside Coleman Coliseum encouraged with victory cigars, Budweisers, and whatever fresh ass blazer you could get your hands on. Roll Tide In Peace, Fluff. 

This Whole Town Lives In One Building

Would you get a load of this shit. Whittier, Alaska has a population of 220 people and they all live in the Buckner Building. The building was created as barrracks since up until the 1970s Whittier was just a secluded US army facility. Okay, those soldiers had to live there, who the hell would stay? 

So the building in question has everything you would need. There’s two grocery stores, the mayor’s office, police station, a church, a B&B, an indoor playground, and a school that’s connected by a tunnel. 

No excuse for being late to school now. All you have to do is take an elevator downstairs. It’s not healthy. Sometimes you need to lay low from your classmates. Like if embarrassing shit happens at school now there’s no where to hide. I remember in the 6th grade, I gave Tiffany Cedar a necklace for Christmas in front of everybody and afterwards I put my hands in my hoodie pocket and pushed my hands outwards out of embarrassment. Everyone said it was because I had boner that I was trying to hide. Very not true. Everyone did my weird boner pose at me for weeks to torment me. My only refuge was dominating the kids on my block in dodgeball where I was still king.

Or how about your first heartbreak? We all remember that one. Imagine getting over your ex when you run into her literally every single day. Not to mention you see the next guy who’s blowing her back out cause they’re riding the elevator together. It’s not some random dude either, it’s your neighbor Steve. 

Except I’m not the jealous type, and I don’t go to school anymore. I’ve been fantasizing about moving to Alaska for a little while now. I’ve always found summer to be overrated. Nobody can tell you to do shit in the winter. I don’t know if it’s an old wives tale but I remember hearing Alaska has like three weeks of no sun. Just permanent night time. So year round winter, with extra night time, and all in a home that you never have to step outside again if you don’t feel like? 

So who would stay in Whittier, Alaska? I guess I would. 

The Most Interesting Man To Ever Live

Some men fly above Icarus and maintain altitude. Emulating a life that that Dos Equis fraud could only dream of. You too Chuck Norris, little bitch. Nobody flew higher than, you’ve guessed it, Steve Aoki’s Dad.

Diminishing Hiroaki Aoki’s life to just “Steve’s Dad” is of course a joke. Steve will never amount to his father’s accomplishments. It’s okay Steve, it’s a feeling I know all too well. 

Rocky Aoki could have lived out his life in Japan, comfortable and wealthy under his parents success in opening restaurants and coffee shops. Not our hero. He learned to wrestle and came to America on a scholarship. Was he any good? Well according to his 3 AAU titles and the Wrestling Hall of Fame, he was pretty good.

Rocky pursued a business degree at NYC Community College. He rented a truck and worked 7 days a week, delivering Mister Softee in Harlem. Once he saved 10k he wrote to his father to invest in a restaurant he had been wanting to open. Four tables, small joint, maybe you’ve heard of it? Benihana ring any bells? That’s right, Hiroaki started his own hibachi empire on chocolate swirl with sprinkles money.
Think he stops there? Fool! We haven’t even scratched the fucking surface! 
Rocky knew that people loved onion volcanos and flying shrimp tails. Already capitalized on that. So he thought what do people love more than sick hibachi? Sex. So he up and started his own nudie magazine, Genesis, to rival Playboy and Hustler. The magazine was still in publication until only recently. Aoki with his Genesis brand, started the Genesis Club for the high end “it crowd”. It was six stories of the Playboy Mansion. After losing a cool two million on the club he shut it down despite spending most of his time there.
It didn’t matter that the club didn’t work out. Rocky had all the money to do whatever he wanted. That’s exactly what he did. In 1979 he created his own speed boat Benihana Grand Prix, which he of course won. A hobby that later on will almost take his life. He competed in the “One Lap Around America” race in a stretch Rolls Royce. Once the ground got too boring, Rocky joined The Double Eagle V, the first balloon to ever cross the Pacific. The Double Eagle wound up crash landing in California after taking off in Japan. Despite its rough landing, the flight was held as a World Record for 34 years as longest balloon ride.
Hiroaki Aoki definitely had an andreline addiction, but that wasn’t his only hobbies. In his free time he also searched for pirate treasure and played backgammon. He invested 3.5 million in submarines so he could search the ocean floor for “bones and booty”. Once he was challenged by a Russian prince to play backgammon. Rocky had no idea how to play. Four years later, he won the world championship. 
Alas, no hero is without their flaws. Rocky’s kryptonite was mainly sex and cocaine. Go figure. Remember that speed boating accident that almost killed him? Yeah that’s how his first wife and baby momma mistress met. That would ruin most men, Rocky bragged about it in his comic of himself, Mr. Benihana. By the time of his death in 2008, he was in a lawsuit struggle with 5 of his 7 children.
But we’ve all seen Godfather 3. We know the price of success and greatness. Doesn’t take away from all his accomplishments. Plus I think most of his children speak highly of him again.
Move to another country on a wrestling scholarship, sell ice cream to start a hibachi empire, dine with Muhammad Ali and the Queen of England alike, sell your own porn, get famous racing boats, balloons, and Rolls Royces while looking for buried treasure to put next to your world championship backgammon trophy. How many fucking lifetimes would that take you? If I go grocery shopping and do laundry in the same day I want a bench commemorating the moment with my name plaqued into the top of it.