Barstool Stories

Since I’m a glutton a punishment, I’ll give out another genius idea for free. One centered around intruding the already crowded subconscious of today’s targeted demographic. To help boost the subscriptions of overlooked podcasts and explore a new avenue for ad placement. 

It’s no secret that everyone and their mother has a podcast nowadays. That’s more true for Barstool Sports than anyone, who literally have a mother/daughter podcast with Alex Bennett and Kontent Kim. Personally, I haven’t listened to their podcast but every run in I’ve had with the pair, I’ve found them very funny and talented. But under the Barstool umbrella that boasts 100+ podcasts on the Apple Podcasts app, how do you stand out? 

Let me be clear, this is not a “Because I Said So” blog. But rather a how to promote any podcast working hard to enter the fold. 

First of all, you’re never going to get one person to consume all content. It just isn’t possible, I get that. When and where do people listen to podcasts? Commute to work, workouts, maybe while falling asleep? Let’s say you have a forty five minute commute to and from work. You workout for an hour and you listen for a half hour before going to bed. That gives you three hours for podcasts. That’s what? Maybe two podcasts? With most people capped out, how do you squeeze into their repertoire?

There’s mainly two types of podcasts. A general, all-encompassing type and a niche, or seasonal podcast. 

The first kind, the casting a wide net podcasts normally run all year round. That’s your Pardon My Takes, your DPSs, your Le Batards, your CITOs, your Rogans, your Macafees. They cover everything and anything. Usually hosts of these shows already had an established relationship with it’s audience for years before starting a podcast. That’s why it’s so difficult to walk on the scene, declare you have a podcast, and expect it to blow up without anyone knowing who you are. 

The second kind, is a specific topic looking to corner a targeted category. It could be all year long unless it follows a specific sport or show. That’s your business centered Token CEO, your poker centered Cracking Aces, your Bench Mobs, your Snuffing Torches. You get the gist. If potential listeners aren’t interested in your vocation or feel they don’t have the capacity to fit you in for a couple of months, how do you get them to give you a chance?

To figure that out we need to start at the beginning. The opening of anything new sees an influx of new temporary patrons. Whether it’s a new restaurant, a new gym, or a new podcast. That’s why the new Chick-Fil-A in my town had an hour drive thru wait the first few weeks. If you don’t grab their attention immediately or have that aforementioned previous relationship, you could lose them forever. The irony is that you’re being judged for your product at the worst possible time. Most podcasts need time to develop. Chemistry, successful segments, and voice aren’t fully established in the first few episodes. 

So how do you reel them back in once you have a finished product? Promotion, sure. But where’s that promotion? On their podcast’s Instagram and Twitter page? But why would I be following the social media page of a podcast I don’t subscribe to? The only people seeing that promotion are the consumers you already have locked in. Yes, maybe some clips find themselves on to the main Barstool account story, but that gets lost in the shuffle sandwiched between baby photos and the dinner of the girl in my stats class from five years ago. 

We have short attention spans. If a good podcast clip is followed by a funny dog video, I’m going to forget the podcast completely. But what if it was only podcast clips? 

You have to force our smooth brains to ingest the content we’d otherwise dismiss or scroll past. We’re creatures of habit, become part of the habit. 

There’s no such thing as down time any more. Not really. Even when you’re doing nothing, you’re doing something. Everyone has a specific lineup that they run through on their phone. My personal lineup is: Barstool blogs, Twitter, Instagram posts, Snapchat stories, back to Twitter for trends, back to Instagram for stories, and then the end all be all is Tik Tok because I can get lost for hours. 

But what if Barstool podcasts squeezed their way in unannounced? Right at the top of the top blogs of the day, what if there was a Barstool Stories button. I’m not talking about making me go to a new tab, people won’t give even that amount of minimal effort to disrupt their routine. But right there on the main page, if after I’m done catching up on the blogs, if there was an option to see short clips of all things Barstool, I’d click it. 

It’d give opportunity to new podcasts trying to showcase their talent to an audience they’ve been unable to reach for a plethora of reasons. Show how funny, or insightful, or dedicated they are. Another slot for advertisers to stake their claim. Another reason to stay on your page. Another way to remind consumers of important dates and announcements. A mainline into the brains of your consumers for all things Barstool without any outside distraction. 

I don’t enjoy Instagram stories. But it’s become woven into the fabric of what I do when I open my phone. I’m not even really paying attention. But I can still tell what gym someone who I haven’t talked to in years goes to, or who was recently engaged, who’s currently watching Sopranos, and who was just on vacation. Because even when mindlessly scrolling, our brains are still turned on. Weave yourself into the fabric, become part of the habit. Barstool Stories. 

Keep Your Friends Accountable For Their Draft Tonight

Entertaining yourself during the draft as a Rams fan is a tall order. We haven’t had a first round pick in five years. Jared Goff was the last one. I mean look at what the fuck the teams been doing for draft prep. Making the trailer for Mission Impossible 7. Mcvay is walking around the beach house we’re drafting in with the Lombardi and not a care in the world. Since I don’t have a Super Bowl trophy or a production company, I have to find other avenues to pass the time. 

Luckily for me, I live in New Jersey. Home of the most loathsome fan bases in the world. Most of my friends are Jets fans with a sprinkle of Giants. No matter who they draft each year, my friends tell me the Jets are going to win 13 games. 

Even if they didn’t like the pick, they’ll find a positive draft grade or watch hours of Bleacher Report clips until they brainwash themselves into believing they’re geniuses. Not this year. 

I texted all of my friends demanding the following: their dream pick, a pick they’re cool with, and a realistic nightmare scenario. Jets fans had extra credit for telling me “how much is too much” for Deebo Samuel. 

No saying “that’s what I wanted” while lying through your teeth. People will be held accountable for their desires this year. 

If you hate Jets/Giants fans this is what we’re rooting against and for with the four Top 10 New York picks this year. We don’t want the Giants to draft Evan Neal, Sauce Gardner, or Derek Stingley. We do want the Giants to trade the 5 pick and get stuck with low OL scraps after everyone else takes the top guys. For the Jets, please God, no Aidan Hutchinson with the four pick. No Icky Ekwonu either. No Garret Wilson/Jameson Williams/Drake London at 10. We’re praying that they draft Kyle Hamilton and trading the 4 pick for Deebo. 

Skin back in the game my friends. Feel free to use the blueprint to hold your buddies accountable for what’s about to happen in Vegas. Grab some wings, drink some beers, Hardknocks is right around the corner. May the odds be ever in your favor. 

*Bonus gambling tip. I’m 2/2 in the past two drafts in bets +1000 or over. In 2020 I predicted Jalen Hurts to the Eagles, hit. In 2021 I had the Rams drafting a receiver with their first pick, hit. This year, Rams to draft a QB with their first pick at +10,000, heat check.  

Pete Alonso Is A Goober

I don’t know if it’s Mets fans’ unrealistic view on Alonso. I had a friend bet me $200 he’d have 200 home runs before he’s 28. He turns 28 in December he’s at 109. Or if it’s that every time Alonso opens his mouth it seems so unnatural and forced. I can’t pinpoint exactly what it is but I can’t fucking stand the guy. 

I don’t know Pete Alonso personally. But also, yes I do. I know exactly who he is. 

Pete Alonso wasn’t one of the “popular kids” in high school. But he desperately wanted to be. He was most likely the king of the nerdy kids who worshipped him as a god but he in turn took them for granted. He would drop his actual friends in a heartbeat if any of the cool kids gave him the time of day. Because he was on the baseball team, he’d occasionally get invited to parties but would come in way too hot. Pete’s jokes would be way over the top and everyone would look at him like “Wtf your problem dude.” He’d turn beat red and spend the rest of the night in a corner singing rap lyrics too loudly. When his dorky friends asked him what the party was like he’d lie and tell them he fingered the head cheerleader. 

With his newfound fame and money, Pete Alonso thinks he’s the popular kid he always obsessed over. So every time he opens his suck, he tries to act like what he thinks cool jocks are supposed to be like. 

Don’t believe me? Here’s what he said following the benches clearing brawl with the Cardinals Wednesday night: 

“I’m a big, strong guy. If I wanted to put someone in the hospital, I easily could, but I was just out there trying to protect my guys.” 

The prosecution rests, your honor. 

Pete Alonso still thinks it’s cool as a grown man to tell people “Yo I could’ve fucked you up if I wanted to. I wasn’t even trying.” That’s middle school behavior. Mind you, this quote was in response to Alonso getting rag dolled by 49 year old Cardinals’ first base coach Stubby Clapp. Stubby Clapp? Cmon, he never stood a chance. 

I love to hate Pete Alonso. He makes it so easy. I can’t wait to collect my $200. And I can’t wait for the next brawl Alonso gets in. He’s either going to overcompensate and fuck someone up so badly that he’ll once again find everyone staring at him like, “Wtf is your problem dude.” Or someone’s going to give him a wedgie. Either way I win. 

Sober Hangouts: A Resurgence

Do you remember that feeling of coming home from grade school, having no homework, and getting permission from your parents to ask if someone can come over? You’d race to the home phone and slide the last few feet there in your socks. Go through the prioritized rolodex in your mind and pray their parents or siblings don’t pick up the phone. You held your breath as your friend said “let me ask” and then hash out the pickup/drop off situation if you got the green light. 

There’s been a time in your childhood where you asked someone to come over and hangout for the last time. You didn’t even know it happened. 

Life kept going. People moved in with their girlfriends. Some had babies. Everyone has a career. Imagine now, asking someone to come over after their 9-5 to draft Madden teams for a franchise? Can’t do that, we have work in the morning? 

So we cling to the weekends. Find a good band playing at a local bar. Drink at someone’s apartment just to go to a bar where you only talk to the people you were at the pregame with. Or smoke and watch the NBA playoffs and put in a same-game baseball parlay. Do bottomless mimosas at brunch. Dollar beers at Parker House on Fridays. Drink, drugs, pray you get laid. 

But hanging out used to be so much more simpler. Our uppers were Red Bulls and depressants were too much Taco Bell. We’d play Halo 2 split screen for six hours straight only stopping to walk to Wawa for snacks and sodas. We played knockout on rickety backboards in the dead of winter until our chests hurt. We had wiffle ball leagues in the summer. We dedicated entire nights to picking something out at Blockbuster and bought that liquid sour spray candy in the checkout line. We played MLB The Show ‘06 until the 2028 season without letting the sunlight in for days. 

We didn’t worry about Uber rides home. No bar tab regret. No sneaking into graffiti riddled bathroom stalls to throw up. No drugs. And certainly no hangovers. Just video games, backyard sports, and good vibes. 

This past weekend, someone from work asked me to grab a few drinks for Happy Hour. I told him I was staying in for a movie marathon with some friends. He was disgusted. Shocked by how enticing my lie sounded, I asked my group chat if anyone wanted to have a movie night. We’re still hurting from Vegas- physically, mentally, financially. I got three yeses. We showed up in basketball shorts, hoodies and slides. We piled onto the couches, dimmed the lights, brought a 2 liter of Mountain Dew and microwaved bagged popcorn. It was….divine. Exquisite. 

After the movie we gossiped like school kids. We made a graveyard of plastic cups, bags of chips, and spilled popcorn. We teased people for old girlfriends and talked of old rivalries. I felt thirteen again. I debated suggesting a sober sleep over but I was afraid they’d have me institutionalized. One thing at a time. 

There’s a lot of obstacles in our way. The convenience of online gaming has made split screen video games obsolete. We think with the wrong head too often. “Going out” tricks you into thinking hey, at least I did something this weekend. Fight back. Normalize calling your buddies again just to chill. Take care of y’all’s chicken, take care of y’all’s mentals. Bring back sober hangouts. 

Sincerely Yours, The Worst Fan Base On The Planet

Tar and feather me, drawn and quarter, give me sixty lashes, send me to the gallows. Whatever you need to do. Because I have a take you’re simply not allowed to have anymore. I’m sick of saying the things I think I’m supposed to say and instead of saying what I believe is true. I loved Bleacher Creatures vs. the Cleveland outfield. 

The Yankees faithful have always been a point of contention for outside fan bases. “You need people like me so you can point your fingers and say that’s the bad guy.” Well the bleachers sure gave everyone enough reason to point their fingers this weekend. 

This all kicked off when Cleveland’s break out rookie Steven Kwan ran into a wall chasing down a fly ball. Look, nobody wants to see Kwan hurt. He’s on my fantasy team for Christ’s sake, I extra don’t want to see him hurt. But that play turned into a double off the wall as the Yankees were mounting a ninth inning comeback. The fans were siphoning their own electricity at that point. If you run full speed into a wall, people are going to laugh and you’re going to hear it. It’s slapstick comedy 101. You think Steven Kwan is the first player to run into a wall? What were you expecting, a prayer circle? 

This prompted the biggest fake tough guy move from Cleveland outfielder, Myles Straw, who decided to climb the wall to confront the crowd. Straw, a player from the “Break All The Rules” generation. Who make MLB commercials promoting bat flips, ripping jerseys, throwing tantrums, and overt celebrations can’t handle a little heckling from the crowd. Give me a break. If a fan screaming “U mad!?” is enough to break you, maybe you’re not the cool fun guy players you think you are. Write a Player’s Tribune diary entry about it that no one will read and get over it. 

Which brings us to the incident. Someone threw a beer can from the bleachers while the ball was still in play. Shitty move. You want to ban the initial fan, I agree with you. But then everyone’s mouth started watering with headlines and trigger words like “player safety”. 

Really? That’s what we believe? We really think Myles Straw and Oscar Mercado’s lives were danger? Beer stops being sold in the seventh, the most those cans had in them were backwash. Be honest. They were fine. Nothing hit them, nothing happened. One beer thrown is an issue. Thirty beers thrown is a response. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. 

Don’t forget it was Myles Straw who broke that player/fan barrier first. Not the fans. You want to come into stands, fine. But as far as I’m concerned, now you get treated as a fan. When you say “hit me motherfucker” to a bunch of goombas who’s wife-beaters have been cutting off their circulation for nine innings, you’re gonna get hit. Now you get showered in eight rounds worth of Coors, Millers, and Bud Lites. 

Do you what I thought when I read Myles Straw’s comments on the Yankees having the “worst fan base on the planet”? Good. Lean into it. Feed off the hate, relish in it. You come to our house you deal with our lineup AND us. 

Kwan, Mercado, and Straw went a combined 0/10 the following day. The Cranberries couldn’t be more in your head. 

And in case the hand gestures didn’t get the point across, I think the “Guardians” have the pussiest players on the planet. 

If it were up to me, I would have put out t-shirts the next day saying “Welcome To The Bronx” with the pussy hands smack dab in the middle of the chest like Superman’s crest. Cause me? I always tell the truth… even when I lie. 

Governor Murphy Backtracks On NJ Cops Smokin’ Reefer

Legal cannabis sales in NJ officially began today, one day after 4/20. New Jersey police officers rejoiced last week when Attorney General Platkin sent a memo to the police Chiefs of the state warning that no disciplinary action should be enforced on cops who recreationally use marijuana off-duty. But the dream was short lived. Governor Murphy addressed the concerns claiming that he was open-minded to legislation that would ultimately ban cops from marijuana use. 

I mean, I understand. Cops only regularly find themselves atop the lists of suicides, cardiac arrest, depression, and divorce due to stress from the job. According to the National Alliance on Mental Illness 1 in 4 police officers have thoughts of suicide. In smaller departments, the suicide rate is four times the national average. 186 cops took their own life in 2020, 175 in 2021, and so far, 49 police officer killed themselves in 2022. According to a study done by US Department Of Justice, police officers have a life expectancy of twelve years less than the national average. Cops’ life expectancy after retirement is five years. Five years. Why would you want to help that? 

Police officers are also more likely to become addicted to opioids than the general public. Given the physical demands of the job, policing has a higher risk of job-related injuries. While the officer could be prescribed the medication with good intentions by a physician, it creates a dependency. Especially in smaller departments that can’t afford to lose an officer for long periods of time. Pressure mounts to return to work quickly. But how are you supposed to break up a bar fight, or fend off someone with a weapon, or chase down a burgular while you’re in chronic pain? That’s how addiction starts. But does anyone have a good alternative? Possibly something legal and used for pain relief? 

The issue is that given the current technology, there’s no way to determine if you’re currently high on marijuana. That leaves an open argument to question the judgement of an officer who may still have marijuana in their system. Even if it’s from thirty days prior. 

But ya know, we won’t question the judgement of NJ pilots, or crane operators, or doctors. They’re all good to smoke. But cops? No no no sir. 

The irony of course is that policing is the only profession actually ready to withstand recognizing impairment of employees during work hours. Departments have DRE officers (drug recognition experts) to determine if someone’s using drugs and what they’re currently on. For instance, if you’re clearly fucked up and get pulled over for a DWI but blow goose eggs into the breathalyzer, a DRE is trained to establish what drug you’ve taken. It’s the only job that’s professionally trained to tell if one of their employees is high during work hours. So let’s make sure it’s the only job you’re not allowed to get high when you’re off. 

It’s just dumbass stupid ass backward ass thinking. The arguments for legalizing marijuana were to increase mental health and decrease crime rates. So they restrict weed from the demographic that statistically has the highest potential for mental health issues. You want to lower the petty crime rates by legalizing weed? You want the people making those arrests to chill out? Hmmm I wonder what could help improve that?

Do the right thing Murphy, you peckerhead. Give them the green light to light up some green.

Fire Pit Roles

It’s that time of the year where you swamp your boxers by midday and flirt with pneumonia at night. We are all so anxious to get those late night backyard drinking sessions that sometimes we jump the gun. If there’s heat during the day you need to keep the heat going at night. So shake the dust off your cutoffs and chop some wood, it’s fire pit season folks. 

Free will is for the reality outside our simulation. Fire pits are no different. Every fire is the same, find your assignment and stick to it. Everyone has a part to play. These are the roles of the fire pit. 

Pit master. You know exactly who I’m talking about and what he looks like. Apparently every business major had to take a prerequisite in pyrotechnics. A man trialed in patience in getting it up, he’ll say “No it’s gonna catch” ten times while you sit there freezing to death wishing he’d let someone else take over. But don’t try, he’ll bite your hand off. Just let him blame the lighter, he’ll get it eventually. 

The DJ. Could make or break the fire pit. This person is going to be forced to speak since their phone is is sitting at the bottom of a red solo cup. Pray they’re a good conversationalist. Otherwise they’re going to play obscure music and explain every song to you. This music is meant to set the mood and fill the empty air. Play fire pit music. Nobody wants to hear about Tiesto’s origin story. 

The PDA couple. The fire pit is for reminiscing on funny stories from your childhood. Communal conversation. Laughter. Not for these two. They think the fire is strictly there for them. They’re ready to fuck right there on the rocks and they don’t care who’s watching. They’re uncomfortably handsy, they make out like teenagers, and create paranoia by whispering and giggling to each other. Everyone hates them. Go to the bathroom, no one will care. Get it out of your system piggies. 

The complainer. Look, there’s nothing we can do about the wind. We all took and seat and you chose wrong, deal with it. Your constant blinking and tearing up is a bit over the top. Just pick up your chair and move. No one wants to go inside and play a card game because you’re literally and figuratively crying. 

The one ready to fuck it all up. Drunkest person there. They almost broke the chair that’s too low to the ground by simply falling onto it. Getting out of the chair might as well be the Aggro Crag. Everyone’s nervous while they sway next to the fire, praying they remember how to “stop drop and roll”. They don’t do themselves any favors. They look for that gasoline spray bottle for hibachi style humor and to “see how high the flame can get”. But their favorite move is throwing a beer can in the fire for absolutely no reason. 

If you don’t find yourself in any of these roles, congratulations. You’re either a storyteller or a contemplator. 

Storytellers is easy. Look around the circle and think of an old memory that involves most of the people you’re with. Then just start with a “Remember when…” This will start a snowball effect that will in theory be picked up by the other storytellers. 

The contemplator is worrying everybody. They haven’t said a word the entire time. They just gingerly sip their beer and stare into the flames. Hypnotized. People will begin to notice and elbow each other and head nod towards you. Don’t panic. This is a healthy release as long as you’re not ALWAYS this person. Fire has held a trance on our species since we found it. Stare into the flame, see what you find. Convince yourself you’re going to change, you’re gonna go for it, you’re going to better yourself. You won’t, but that doesn’t matter. Because in that peaceful moment with you and the fire you believe you will, and that’s all that counts. 

Invest in a speaker, go to Home Depot, drink responsibly, play with fire, remember old times, make new memories. In five years time, one third of you will have babies, the other third will think they’ve outgrown backyard beers, and the remaining third will be sitting there wondering if they’ve gone about this all wrong. Enjoy it while you can. 

Beloved/Belittled Part 2: The Hypocrisy Of Cancel Culture

Canceling people isn’t real, we all know that deep down. The media declares “canceled” like Michael Scott declares bankruptcy. Doesn’t make it true. The evident proof is the difference in people who have committed the same “atrocities” that have received vastly different treatment. 

Example 1:

 

Do you know of a celebrity that stood up for their spouse on a very public platform? Somebody made a joke about their betrothed and they quickly ran to the defense to protect them from the masses? Yeah me too. Kristin Cavallari.

Kristin’s Instagram post of her then husband, Jay Cutler painted him in a not so flattering light. All the insta-comedians came out posting comments like, “WTF did he eat himself?” Unable to take the onslaught of jokes being hurled at her husband, Cavallari’s justice was swift. She posted another picture of Cutler with the caption, “Since Jay looked like a 300-pound lesbian in my last post, I felt I should do him justice by posting him looking hot AF in this one.” Despite her dragging the LGBTQ community into this for seemingly no reason, Cavallari was praised for her defense of her helpless husband. 

Fast forward to this year’s Oscar’s ceremony. Oh yes. Jada Pickett Smith, wife of our Fresh Prince, Will Smith, also found herself on the wrong end of a half-assed written joke. Given the praise in the past that people have received for defending their spouses, surely Will thought he had a green light. Just a little slap? Just a little one. What happened? Public hysteria and a ban from The Academy. With I Am Legend 2 right around the corner no less. What are we supposed to do? All pretend like he shouldn’t receive an Oscar nom for his reprisal of Dr. Robert Neville? Fat chance. 

Example 2:

Were you watching that time when millions of families tuned in to watch their beloved sport only to have an athlete wipe his ass with sportsmanship and give the viewers the middle finger? The athlete claims it was in response to years of targeted ridicule from the outspoken and often rough fan base. I’m talking of course, of Eli Manning. 

During ESPN’s Manningcast of Eagles vs Cowboys, Eli and Peyton Manning had Chris Long on to talk about the reputation of Philadelphia’s fanbase. Eli promptly gave the entire country the “double bird” on national television. Mind you, unprovoked. You think there were no more Manningcasts following that? Of course not. We chalked it up to a funny meme for a week or two and carried on with our lives. 

But now the same ESPN who broadcast Eli’s vulgar display of fingers, wants Kyrie Irving’s head on a platter for the same action. Unlike Eli, Kyrie was being called a pussy by the Celtic fanbase while casually dropping 39 in a heated playoff game. Why the different treatment? What is the obviously glaring difference between Kyrie and Eli hmmm? HMMMM?! Correct, Kyrie was outspoken about being vaccinated. 

Example 3:

Do you know any Russians with a little penis who’s taken the world by storm due to their thirst for violence? Every time you turn on a screen there they are, while everyone’s discussing their latest attack. Right, Hasbullah. 

Hasbullah has stolen the hearts of the American people with vicious haymakers and high pitched exclamations. The other side of that coin of course, Vladimir Putin, not so much. Just going to go ahead and say good cancel. Nailed this one. I fully endorse cancelling Vladimir Putin. But you see what I’m getting at here. 

Example 4: 

A not so funny lesbian comedian has found her way into making headlines for ridiculing and yelling at people who’s names she doesn’t even know. Uh huh, you’ve guessed it, Hannah Gadsby. 

Despite never meeting me, I was scolded by Hannah Gadsby in her Netflix special “Nanette”. Which The NY Times described as “Comedy-Destroying, Soul-Affirming, Art.” For her tongue-lashing, I mean in Nanette, Hannah Gadsby won an Emmy, a Peabody Award, a GLAAD Media Award, and an AACTA for Best Comedy Performer. 

But God forbid Ellen Degeneres yells at the people who work for her. Oh I’m sorry, have you never been yelled at by your boss before? Impractical Jokers-esque games with Adele in a Jamba Juice, word association with Justin Bieber, giving Kristen Bell a sloth to the point of tears? Did that mean nothing to you people? hope you’re happy, no more Taylor Swift jump scares. 

Example 5: 
How about a couple of dicksy chicks who made it into the limelight for their criticism of a wrinkly old white man who forced himself into occupying territory that he had no business being in? That’s right, former Playboy Bunny of The Girl’s Next Door hit reality television show, Holly Madison. 
Holly since leaving The Girls Next Door has been outspoken about the dark side of being Hugh Hefner’s girlfriend. During her A&E docuseries, Madison detailed the hellish conditions that came with the price of being a resident of the Playboy Mansion. She even went on to describe her love for Hefner as a Stockholm Syndrome relationship. Besides the docuseries “Secrets Of Playboy”, Holly has authored a New York Times Best Seller memoir “The Vegas Diaries: Romance, Rolling The Dice, and The Road To Reinvention” and was a contestant on Dancing With The Stars. Glad to see she’s doing well now, she was always my favorite. 
BUT when 13 time Grammy winners formerly known as The Dixie Chicks, found themselves in a similar predicament, they fell victim to possibly the first ever recorded canceling. During a 2003 London show, The Dixie Chicks were quoted saying, “We don’t want this war, this violence, and we’re ashamed that the President of the United States is from Texas.” Stations stopped playing their music, their Billboard Top 10 single fell to 43 in just one week, and my poor mother could no longer unwind on the back porch while listening to “Landslide” on the radio after a long day. The Dixie Chicks were forced into a long hiatus and a name change to “The Chicks”. 

These people choose the flavor of the week and their reasoning normally has nothing to do with what they’re being canceled for. They’re obviously not all made up. Again, want to reiterate, Putin definitely a good cancel. But as far as everybody as else goes, do your own homework and draw your own conclusions. 

Online People Watching And Findings

You know when you’re in an airport or at Disney World or sitting in Central Park and you’re watching the people go by and you wonder what they’re like? I don’t wonder. I know. It’s like a sixth sense. You ever seen that Cumberbatch Sherlock show? Where he meets someone and shakes their hand and says “your brothers a drunk” and they’re like “how tf you know that?!” That’s me. But instead of downtown London, I take my talents to dating profiles to sharpen my skills.

I know exactly who someone is by their dating profile. I understand the things they’re saying and the things they don’t realize they’re saying. Pictures and bios are equally as important for the power of deduction. Everything you need to know is right there staring you in the face. I can tell if someone’s quirky. I can tell if someone thinks they’re quirky. I know who’s hiding that they have money. I know the people who pretend to have money. I know the uptight and the loose. I know all. 

I’ve had Tinder for like eight years, never once been laid from it. Apparently my medieval bodyguard looks and knack for cristicism isn’t as charming as I think it is. But damn it if I don’t enjoy looking at the profiles. This is what I do with my time on these dating apps, here are some of my findings: 

- If a guy has a hat on in every picture he’s bald. Can confirm. But if a girl has a hat on in every picture she’s a redneck or has a tongue piercing. 

- Women 40+ think they’re these sexy experienced cougars but their blurry pictures only make them ineptly adorable. 

- There must be men out there who are attracted to women flexing their muscles, I just haven’t met any. 

- Just because your eyes are closed in a picture doesn’t mean we believe it’s candid. 

- Beware of bangs. 

- People who still duck face in every picture are out of touch with reality. 

- People who post pictures of them meeting celebrities at meet and greets think we’ll be impressed. But at our age, it’s just uncomfortable. We know they’re not your friends?

- Obvious catfish are as equally funny as they are sad. There’s so many out there that there’s obviously a decent success rate. Some poor soul will have their account drained but it’s like, lol how did you fall for that?

- What perception do you think you’re receiving when you put “I can out drink you” in your bio? Cause I can tell you it’s not the one you want. 

- Having a picture with a dog in your profile doesn’t make you wholesome. Most people have dogs, most people aren’t wholesome. 

- Putting something in quotations doesn’t make you an intellectual. 

- There is a staggering amount of profiles that say “My son/daughter is my number one priority, you will come second to them ✌️” These people obviously have no foresight. One, hello, and two, why would someone who’s never met you assume they take precedent over the child you’ve birthed? No duh.

- If you have sunglasses on in every picture I know you got that Rick Ross. 

- There’s a picture of you brushing your teeth to trick people into thinking that’s what you look like when you wake up but we know you already have makeup on. 

- Look, I’m not skinny either. But if every picture is a close up your face, we know. Own that shit, someone’s into it.

- Just because you have a thong bikini on doesn’t mean we think you have a nice ass. We’re not as easily fooled as you think. 

- End it on a positive. People who make fun of themselves are the only ones worth a shit. As long as it’s not overkill, we get it. 

Charmer, right? My lack of success on these dating apps is pretty glaring in this blog. I’ll admit, the girls took the brunt of this one since I can’t see the guys profiles. But stay tuned, I’m working on that. 

California Police Officer Plays Toy Story Song To Ruin YouTuber’s “Police Audit”

During the apprehension of an alleged stolen vehicle, “You’ve Got A Friend In Me” was heard blaring through a Santa Ana neighborhood. The music was played to foil the recording of a YouTuber who was videoing the police interaction. Since the song is copyrighted, if posted, the video could be taken down for the violation. The department has released a statement condemning the actions of the officer playing the music. 

Ok, genius tactic just deployed at the wrong time. 

Look I’m not going to get in how you would feel if a stranger constantly held a camera in your face while you were at work. I understand that the stakes are higher in police work than at your accounting desk. I’m fine with police accountability. Even though with most states mandating body worn cameras that record every police action, you can argue they’re held more accountable than any other profession. That’s fine. According to the information given in this article, this particular YouTuber didn’t seem intrusive. But this new genre of Police Audits have taken on a whole other life of it’s own. 

If I told you to memorize every word of three Harry Potter books by heart, could you do it? Not without an eidetic memory you couldn’t. But you’d still understand and remember the overall story. Police officers are not going to know every single law ever written. There’s too many. Just like how every surgeon doesn’t know how to do every surgery, or every lawyer know every case’s verdict, or every gardener know every single flower off the top of their heads. Sometimes it involves looking things up, collaboration, or cross referencing. But that’s what a lot of these YouTuber’s look to exploit. 

I’m ok with people videoing the police. What I’m not ok with is people trying to make the police look like dickheads while being pieces of shit. Allow me to explain with these true stories. 

There was one gentleman who went into Post Office with a video camera. He didn’t wait on line, didn’t receive any mail, didn’t have anything to mail out. He was videotaping everyone coming in and out, taping the women working there, and pointing his camera behind the counter to record any “behind the scenes” activity. It’s a small town, all the workers that particular day were senior citizens. They were old ladies. They got spooked and called the police. But see the Post Office isn’t a regular business, it’s a government building. The man knew that, he’d probably spent hours reading the fine print. The officer that responded was looking to ease the minds of the women behind the counter. When he asked the man to stop recording, the man had a speech ready with obscure statutes and rarely used laws. His action, suspicious or not, now turned into cries of violations of his rights. He was playing fuck-fuck games and worked hard to get the officer suspended. 

Another time, different YouTuber, found herself in the parking lot of a police department. She was peering into cars and videoing all vehicles in the lot. Let me be clear here, not police vehicles, but the officer’s personal cars. When confronted, the YouTuber was ready with how she was legally allowed to record in a public setting and that there was no wrongdoing occurring. She’s absolutely correct. But now those officers’ vehicles were going on YouTube for anyone who might have payback on their mind. Think that would piss you off? Some of those vehicles belonged to the officers’ spouses. The only thing you can do there is walk away or face a lawsuit and potentially lose your job. Luckily these particular officers walked away. 

Not all, but I’d wager a lot of these people don’t have many friends. They have a whole lot of time on their hands to play these gotcha games. Then they post their videos to YouTube and hover over their greasy keyboards answering commenters. I guess life’s less lonely when you have commenters validating your shitty ideals. But this is all for clicks. For some perverted interpretation of justice. These people think they’re Batman. But they don’t really care about police actions, they only care about their view count and their image. 

So far I’ve only heard of one great way to thwart these YouTubers. They’re trying to get you to act emotionally, but police aren’t allowed that luxury. But one cop figured out a way to turn the tables. There was a female YouTuber playing her usual fuck-fuck games when she got a little too close to this particular officer. He was on a first name basis with her and said “Oh ______! Your breath stinks! Seriously, I have gum. Do you want a piece?” She malfunctioned. She slapped at her camera and screamed at the officer to be quiet. All of a sudden her sense of justice took a backseat to her online perception. She tried to continue her antics but it was too late, she’d already shown her hand. As politely and professionally as he could, the officer started giving advice and recommendations for the bad breath. She packed up and left, video was never posted. Apparently her crusade wasn’t nearly as important as people knowing she had rank ass breath. 

I’m not one of those blue line weirdies who think police can do no wrong. I believe in your right to video the police. Like as of right now, it seems that California man wasn’t in the wrong for recording. As funny as it is to blast Toy Story, I’m not sure that was the right play. I’m not advocating for you not to pull out your phone. I’m just asking that when you do it, do it for the right reasons. 

Fear And Criticism Almost Cost Us The Existence Of Lord Of The Rings

It doesn’t matter if it’s a blog, a school essay, or even a long text. If you’ve written something or created anything, there’s a point where you look it over and think to yourself, “This is shit, I am shit.” Because of that fear, that apprehension, we almost missed out on the greatest fantasy series of all time, The Lord Of The Rings. 

JRR Tolkien is now a world renowned author. But that wasn’t always the case. The idea of “Middle Earth” started with Tolkien’s fascination with Norse folklore and a yearning for England to have similar tales of its own. So he began telling his children bedtime stories of a mythical land of elves, dwarves, gods and men. In fact, the first written accounts of Tolkien’s universe stemmed from sending letters to his kids to keep up the bedtime tradition while he was traveling. 

But JRR Tolkien wasn’t an author, he was a nerd. He was a literature professor at Oxford, famous for his translation of “Sir Gawain and The Green Knight” and essays on Beowulf. He was a linguistics expert. So he started practicing his stories in front of friends at a local bar. 

There is such a fine line between famous author and hardcore party animal. Seriously. Another friend of Tolkien’s, was Lewis Carroll. If you’ve read or seen Alice In Wonderland you know he’s taken all the drugs. But Tolkien regularly met with his group, The Inklings, made up of other Oxford professors who told their newest stories to one another weekly while getting hammered at the local pub. Among them was famed writer, CS Lewis, author of The Chronicles of Narnia. 

It’s been reported that The Inklings were initially uncomfortable listening to Tolkien’s tales of Middle Earth. The lore was clunky, some of the language was made up, and the characters were over complex. JRR Tolkien was actually teased in the halls about his fantasies by colleagues asking him “How’s your Hobbit?”

Tolkien believed his main work to be the The Silmarillion. The creation story of the Middle Earth universe set thousands of years before The Lord Of The Rings story. It was CS Lewis who encouraged Tolkien to pursue a story centered around the Hobbits in his universe. 

In 1932, Tolkien read aloud his finished book to his drinking buddies, The Inklings, and was met with applause. From here it’s mostly legend on what came next. Some say that Tolkien gave an early copy to a student who then gave it to a publisher. Other reports even suggest that CS Lewis broke into Tolkien’s house and mailed the copy to a publisher since the author himself was too afraid to. Whatever the case may be, that early manuscript was The Hobbit. 

The reviews came in for Tolkien’s masterpiece and people…. didn’t love it. It was widely viewed as a children’s book. It wasn’t selling and was on the brink of being a failure. That is until CS Lewis, a close friend and a famous author in his own right, decided to take matter into his own hands. His review was just as much a praise of Tolkien as it was a lashing to the public who didn’t recognize it’s greatness. The last line of Lewis’ review reads:

“The Hobbit on the other hand will be funniest to its youngest readers, and only years later, at a tenth or twentieth reading, will they begin to realise what deft scholarship and profound reflection have gone to make everything in it so ripe, so friendly, and in its own way so true. Prediction is dangerous: but The Hobbit may well prove a classic.” 

Following his friend’s encouraging review, Tolkien had an immediate bestseller. Tolkien’s works went on to produce movies that broke box office records and won seventeen Oscars. Both the series and the individual books stand on every list of the most sold books of all time. It’s estimated that over 150 million copies of Tolkien’s works have been sold. The Hobbit  first edition and first print is now worth well over $100k. 

You never know what you have. It’s a vulnerable thing to put words to a page. You won’t know if people like what you have to say until you put it out there. But determination and support from good friends go a long way. Odds are none of us will be Tolkien, but don’t be scared homie. Post that shit. 

Michael Irvin Gave Us Marriage Advice

Nuggets of true wisdom come from the most unlikely of places. It doesn’t come from seminars, or books, or classrooms. It comes from locker rooms, kind-hearted blackjack dealers, and old people at yard sales. Or in our case, Michael Irvin in the same restaurant as us during a bachelor party. 

Just so we’re clear here, yes, that Michael Irvin. Three time Super Bowl champ, Hall Of Famer, Dallas Cowboy #88, Michael Irvin. Normally, we’re not the type to ask for a picture but the sheer befuddlement  of seeing Michael Irvin mixed with sheer volume of alcohol consumed, forced our hand. Someone in our party approached him as he came in and asked if we could buy him a shot and take a picture with the bachelor party. 

Irvin politely declined stating he doesn’t take pictures in restaurants. Which, fair point, then a line would form for photo-ops when the poor guy is just trying to eat his food. We were happy with a wave and carrying on with our night. 

But something awesome happened as our food was getting delivered. Michael Irvin was leaving and came up to the table and asked us if we still wanted that picture outside. Absolutely, hot food be damned. 

He couldn’t of been more of a gentleman. Cracking jokes, contagious laugh, smiling like what we were saying was interesting. You’ve seen him on TV, the guy’s infectious. 

Michael Irvin then asked us who’s getting married. We pointed the sucker out. Now I’m going to paraphrase this next bit, because again, my mind wasn’t at it’s sharpest. But this is what he said. 

“Let me tell you something man. You see these hands?” His hands were pterodactyl wings. “My wife every night before garbage day tells me to take the garbage out. And I look at my hands and say to her, ‘These hands took you out the hood. These hands made us millions of dollars. Now you want these hands to take out trash?’- and all she has to do is look. I’m telling you right now young man, take the garbage out!” 

We all laughed along with our new friend Michael. A funny and insightful tidbit from a man who’s been married for 30+ years. I wanted to ask him to officiate the wedding but I was nudged in the rib. 

That’s what they say a successful marriage is, right? Give and take. Especially the small stuff. None of us are above it, none of us are safe from the glare, not even Michael Irvin. So to all you future grooms out there- go barefoot if you’re lazy, hold a jacket over your head if it’s raining, or curse under your breath once safely outside, whatever you have to do. But make sure you get off your ass and take that fucking trash out. 

I Will Not Say Happy Birthday To Myself

So much of our time is spent trying to be subtle about getting patted on the back. Hard to be humble when you’re stuntin on Instagram. No one’s sneaky, we all pimp ourselves out. Every post is the same. Oh look what I’m eating, hey look where I was, oh guess what I did last night. But the absolute worst is people’s Instagram birthdays. 

First of all, if you post a picture of yourself for your own birthday go take a dip in the Hudson with a cinder block. Where is your shame? What, no one would like your shitty picture if it wasn’t your birthday? So you tell everyone how old you are in hopes that someone outside of the same 80 people who react to your posts throws you a sympathy like? Is that how you get your jollies off?

Don’t even get me started on the birthday stories. You click on somebody’s avatar up top and there’s 67 little dots to scroll through. Now I have to do left and right thumb speed tap through your reposts of other people’s stories saying happy birthday to you. Those aren’t real friends. Most of the time it’s just another excuse for your friend to post another picture of themselves. Usually the person who’s birthday it is looks like shit and the friend looks like a million bucks. And now what? If you don’t repost their shoutout does that make you a bad person? They’re taking you hostage on your own birthday. Do you have to keep a list of everyone who gave you a story shoutout because you’re now indebted to shout them out on their birthday? There’s too many strings attached, where does it stop? 

You know what I did for my birthday today? Went to Rainforest Cafe with my nephew since we share a birthday. Got a jaguar cup and everything. Shit gets crazy in the late twenties. Granted, I just spent the weekend in Vegas so I’m out of celebrations, but still. 

I’m aware of the paradox I just created. I subtly dropped that it’s my birthday, what I ate, and where I’ve just been. You could argue that by writing this blog I’m just using a different medium to say happy birthday to myself and ultimately participate in the act that I’m condemning. But whatever, fuck you. It’s my birthday and I’ll do whatever the hell I want. 

Post Vegas Depression Is Real

Las Vegas is a canvas for the deranged. The out of touch, the ones who power through, all in one place and all trying to outdo one another. It’s all good vibes and bad intentions. The desert is stained with sin. The highs are perpetually high and the lows plummet through the earth only after it’s wheels up. 

I found myself in Las Vegas for a bachelor and a trip ten years in the making. A weekend full of stars for the Grammy’s and we walked around like we were bigger than all of them. A years worth of payments earned us the best tables, the biggest parties, and way too much money to spend. 

We went from beggars to royalty overnight. We spent 26k in one day on liquor alone. Us, the same group of guys who venmo request each other to cover the $100 tab at the local American Legion. But in Vegas, that group of guys who used to charge each other $1 for loosie cigarettes didn’t exist. We were throwing around money both literally and figuratively. And it did not go unnoticed. 

Back home, we’ve been hanging out with the same group of girls since the sixth grade. One of those girls has dated three of us. We do alright collectively as a group. Some more than others. But when you have the best views of DaBaby, Alesso, David Guetta, Tiesto, Nelly, and you’re paying two grand a round, we all start looking like McConaughey. Women were lining up and dancing on top of each other in hopes that the twinkle in their eye caught one our attention to allow them entry. We were playing live-action Tinder and using our personal bouncer to swipe left and right. One female in particular put on the best pole show I’ve ever seen while using our pool party umbrella. Nothing was left to the imagination. She had to have been a stripper, so us being gentleman, paid her like one. 

We were dressed to kill. We walked like the casinos owed us something. We had balls as big as the Paris balloon. We tripped through a portal where we were the kings of everything we saw. 

And now? Back to no one. Back to work. Back to New Jersey? How? Two days ago I was playing God and now I’m eating dinner in my room watching Survivor. I spent too much time in the fantasy that now reality seems fake. Everything is upside down.

Nothing could trouble me in Las Vegas. Oh we got stuck in an elevator for forty minutes with sixteen people? Don’t care. My flight’s cancelled and I have to stay another day? Don’t care. UNC blew the largest lead ever and I can’t cash the slip that would’ve paid for my whole trip? Don’t care, I’m in Vegas. But today I made a plate of tacos and when I realized I didn’t have sour cream, I was a split second away from launching the entire plate at the kitchen wall. 

But I wouldn’t change a thing. I made stories for life and secrets for the grave. Hunter Thompson in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas said, “Buy the ticket, take the ride…tune in, freak out, get beaten.” I agree, buy the ticket. The only thing you’ll regret is coming home.