Martin Shkreli Has Once Again Given My Brain A Swirly

Move over Dos Equis, you silver fox, there’s a new world’s most interesting man in town. Shkreli is most known for making headlines for charging dying people a million dollars for twenty dollar medication. That and his love for the Wu Tang Clan. Never said he was a good guy, but no doubt intriguing. 

Since doing a little stint in prison, Marty has gone off the rails. Last I spoke of him I wrote a blog on his predictions for the future of 100+ years. Where he details everything from teleportation and the death of sports to when we’re gonna start banging robots. Then that interview came out of the Bloomberg journalist who fell in love with Martin after covering his trial. Spoiler alert: she quit her job, left her husband, and froze her eggs to wait for Shkreli to get out of the clink. I mean, what the fuck is going on with this guy? 

Which brings me to this Tik Tok that I saw today.

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTRdoSTsG/?k=1

So Martin Shkreli had adopted the nickname “maricon” in prison. After hearing it repeatedly from the Spanish speaking inmates he asked Lolo, his hired lookout, what it meant. Lolo told him it meant “brave warrior” and Martin took to telling people “I’m The biggest baddest maricon in this place!” If the video is to believed, he even got “EGM” tattooed on his chest for “El Grande Maricon”. 

For those of you who’ve never worked in a kitchen, maricon is Spanish for the derogatory “f word” for gay people. If Martin is a homosexual, good for him, I totally support him. Even though Pride Month literally just ended I’m still an ally. However, given that he’s in a relationship with a woman I don’t believe he is. Stolen valor much? So he’s threatening dangerous criminals by basically calling himself “The Big Homo” while thinking it means “The Big Brave Warrior” in Michael Scott-esque fashion which is undoubtedly hysterical. 

But then I started thinking how there’s just no way. Martin Shkreli spent his time in prison employing inmates, teaching crypto classes, and researching AI. Someone HAD to have told him that he’s not saying what he thinks he’s saying. All the guy does is research, you’re telling me he’s not fact-checking the only definition he was given for what he was about to tattoo on his chest? 

Which brought me to an unsettling revelation. Is Martin Shkreli a comedic genius? He didn’t even show a hint of letting on that he was in on the joke in that Tik Tok video. No smirk, not stutter, just stone face.  Did he make the whole thing up because he knew it was hilarious? Self-deprecating humor that makes him look like a gullible idiot while contrasting it as a tough guy act? Martin Shkreli can’t be hilarious, can he? 

I watched it again to make sure it wasn’t a deep fake. That’d be ironic if the joke was on me the whole time. Why has Martin Shkreli set up camp in my brain? I’m over-analyzing this. I need to rid myself of this Martin possibility since he’s someone the American people have agreed not to enjoy. But, and I’d never thought I’d say this, I can’t wait to see what Martin Shkreli comes up with next. 

Facebook Community Pages Are The Best Thing On The Internet

The best display of the pinnacle of the human experience and growing technology symbiosis can be found on your town’s community Facebook page. The smaller the town, the better the drama. Old scores are settled, new rivalries arise. A place where reasonable questions start arguments. Where you can trash the local HVAC guy and then immediately post your elderly neighbor’s obituary. Where the 21st century town crier is a coveted position. A magical place, where you’re always right. 

Old people are the fuel that keep this fire burning. I’m using the term “old” loosely here, but you know the type. Their number one complaints are normally dogs. Whether they’re barking, running, or shitting, they’re not having it. They love posting fatal motor vehicle accidents to update you on traffic routes. They share information that’s way too intimate. They’ll strongly disagree with positive reviews of a family owned restaurant because their food took two minutes too long once. Holier than thou doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface. They often rant or rally their personal views to the masses and are shocked, hurt, and offensive when it’s not accepted as gospel. But they’re always correct. 

Worse than old people are the young people who argue with them. Again, using the term young loosely here. Mid twenties to mid thirties. Actual young people don’t waste their time on these pages, they probably don’t even know what Facebook is. This younger sub-strata of your community page are the aggressors. They defend their friends’ local businesses to a fault. They’re rude to the old peoples’ dumb questions. And if someone opposes them, they go way too far. They use terms like “keyboard warrior” and threaten to “meet up in real life”. A discussion as simple as shed removals could end with them saying things like “That’s why your son keeps getting arrested for heroin ”. But they’re always correct. 

But the absolute bowels of these Facebook groups are the founders themselves. The only requirement for being a moderator or founder of a community page is you have to be the worst person in the world. There’s an interesting book by Christopher Browning called “Ordinary Men” where he explores how regular people could possibly become Nazis during WWII. How come they were able to become so evil and commit these atrocities against their own neighbors. The argument being that group pressure forces people to commit sins they didn’t know they were capable of. That power corrupts humanity. These group founders toe that line. They see themselves as judge, jury, and executioner. They believe permanent bans shake people to their cores. Their meteoric rise from high school band to power wielding Facebook Gestapo has convinced them they’re local heroes. They think they’re self-appointed politicians and walk around the grocery store with their nose pricked up a little too high in the air. But they’re always correct. 

Of course the only way to navigate these cyber trenches is to mess with absolutely everyone. No discriminating, everyone can get it. I live in a square mile beach town and complained one time that there was too much sand on the walkway and that people need to learn to wipe their feet better when coming off the beach. 300 comments and unlimited dirty looks at traffic lights later and I’ve cemented myself as a certified player in this game. Disagree with things that don’t warrant an opinion. Ask questions that don’t make any sense. Accuse imaginary people of things that never happened. Have fun at everyone’s expense. Because you’re always right. 

Medieval Times Knights Are Trying To Unionize

I’ve been telling people years that chivalry isn’t dead. It’s alive and well at Medieval Times. It appears that Tony Soprano finally made his way to the castle. The HuffPost wrote an article on the working conditions of the Lords and Ladies at Medieval Times which can be read here. 

The workers are claiming the same as any workforce trying to create a union. Better pay, safer conditions, and more recognition. 

Better pay definitely. If the article is to be believed, some of the performers start out at Jersey’s minimum wage of $13/hr. I’m sorry? Thirteen bucks to take a joust to the chest and fall off a horse? I think not sir! These men and women are icons! Professionals! Should be celebrities. 

As for the working conditions, it appears the issues mainly stem from the loyal subjects in attendance. Grabbing at the damn falcon as it flies over head, clanging the goblets and spooking horses to the point where knights are knocked off saddles. Once the mead gets flowing, there’s no telling what the townsfolk are capable of. They want more security measures, sure, but that won’t fix shit. It’s old laws in the castle. Have a knight grab a glove and smack the customer across the face with it. That’s it, they have no choice but to suit up and duel now. Make an example out of the first one with that spikey ball and chain thingy and the rest should fall in line. 

Medieval Times is a magical place. A place for feasts, majestic creatures, tournaments of honor, and getting handjobs on field trips junior year of high school. I thought she just wanted my mashed potatoes but she wanted much much more than that. Second the lights went down she hopped on my lap and it was on. Whispers and rumors be damned. There’s still a piece of me there in the men’s bathroom. Took the bus ride home full of hickeys and dirty looks from Mrs. Nestor. My grandmother smacked me across the mouth when she saw the state of my neck. Never hooked up with that girl again after I courted her in the castle. No explanation, not even an acknowledgment, completely alphaed me. What a woman. 

It’s always been very clear to me that everyone gets exactly what they’re looking for at Medieval Times. So why not the workers? High time the King comes down from his ivory tower and does the right thing. 

The Curious Case Of Arch Manning

Not since LeBron’s “taking my talents to South Beach” presser has the sports world held their breath like this on a decision. As it stands today, Arch Manning will be a Texas Longhorn and a whole lot of people are upset about it. Let’s check in on the last two champions to see how they’re taking it. 

The Twittersphere of college fandom is not handling this well. The same fans who were posting Arch’s highlights, making banners for his visits, and pleading for him to joint them are now resorting to accusing him of only playing against JV talent. 

https://twitter.com/jukedlyig/status/1540117683236110336?s=21&t=CXHW2rRZSYeRzTA1DVk4FQ

Arch was touted as a coveted prospect since before he had his fist kiss. Programs have pulled out all the stops. Poor Lane, if it wasn’t Alabama I wanted it to be him. Lane Kiffin would grab “We Want Arch” signs from fans to hype up crowds, had “MANNING” conviently painted on the Ole Miss endzones, and had Arch as his 1 following on Twitter. But Kiffin wasn’t the only one trying to impress this child. 

I’ll be honest, when Nick Saban started showing up to Arch’s basketball games, and was rumored to be bringing on Manning disciple David Cutcliffe - I thought we were gonna get him. But it just wouldn't feel right seeing a Manning in Crimson. Hell, I spent the entire 2015 Tennessee/Alabama game motherfucking Peyton on the sidelines from the top of my lungs. Did I want Arch? Yeah. Will I trash him like everyone else now that he didn’t pick my school? Of course. But I’m not worried about it one bit. It will only make it that much sweeter when Alabama’s next quarterback and Texas native Jalen Milroe whomps the Longhorns upon their arrival to the SEC. 

Will Arch even be good? He’s never had to compete for a quarterback start in his entire life. You show me a Pop Warner or HS football coach who would start some no name under center over the kid with “Manning” on his back and I’ll show you a liar. Now he’s two seasons away for competing for his spot against the highest rated QB prospect in history in Quinn Ewers. Ewers is only the 6th prospect ever to receive a perfect 1.0000 rating from 247Sports. Good luck little buddy. 

Of course a lot can happen between now and then. Texas could suck and be subject to a mediocre recruiting class next year. People could jump ship in the portal is they underperform again. Arch could change his mind. 

But I doubt it. It makes too much sense for a Manning to not only lead Texas “back” but to be the ship that steers them into the SEC. And if I’m being honest, Sarkisian is one the smartest offensive minds in CFB to take him under his tutelage. As long as he’s sober. 

But this is the beauty of college football. The grown men who created photoshops of a junior in high school in their college jerseys are now bullying him online. As they damn well should be. So good luck Arch Manning, and I mean this sincerely, go fuck yourself twerp. 

People To Avoid At A Wedding

Wave goodbye to your PTO and lube up your checking accounts, it’s wedding season. Whether you’re a Travolta or a wallflower, nobody can actually dislike weddings. Worst case scenario, it’s free steak and booze. But in order to make it to the finish line flawlessly, there are characters at play that you might want to avoid. 

The bridesmaid/groomsman who thinks they’re in charge. They maintain at defcon 1 and never come down. They critique your every move as if everything is life or death. As if you bowing at the wrong time during the mass would somehow make the priest say “That’s it! I’m not marrying them.” They’re the ones who make everyone embarass the shit out of each other while getting announced during the reception. The shopping cart and fish hook can only hold on for so long. It’s like, chill out. It’s not that serious our friends are just putting higher stakes on cheating on one another. 

Old people. Avoid them at all costs. Besides the bathroom, a wedding is the most dangerous place for an old to be. I’ve seen ambulances summoned at the last three weddings I’ve been to. One for trouble breathing after walking outside to the cigar bar, another for heat exhaustion, and the last one took a tumble dancing. If no one spills on your dance floor your wedding sucks, but Nana and Pop Pop can’t navigate those waters. You don’t want to be the one standing there when they go down. Because either A. You look like the asshole who didn’t catch them or B. You’re now part of the de facto medic team who needs to save their life. But you’ve been sampling the bride and grooms specialty drinks for three hours and have no formal training. 

The Tik Tokker. It’s hard enough ducking and dodging the paid videographer, now we have a two front war against guerilla producers. Can’t I just have fun without you pimping me out for twenty eight likes on your Tik Tok? Get that light out of my face. Use all the hashtags you want, no one’s algorithm includes you screaming half-correct lyrics over a shaky video of other people having fun. I don’t care what the newest trend is, you’re thirty two, put the phone down. 

The couple who should already be engaged. If they’re at your table by happenstance, pray silently for a miracle. He’s dragging his feet and she’s not happy about it. All of that is going to surface tonight on your watch. If you hear “Can you settle something…” just run. Sprint away, don’t even explain yourself to anybody. And if you brought a plus one, point them out. Because somebody is about to get hurt during that bouquet toss. 

The first person to say “Ain’t no laws when drinking claws.” Kick them out. They’re not getting their hotel deposit back and they’re going to try and fuck someone’s aunt or uncle. They came alone to fuck and drink, but they’ve been turned down by everyone they’ve approached. So there’s only one thing left for them to do. Ruin everything. They may trap you bumming a cigarette or attempting to impart wisdom on the drink line. That’s unavoidable. But at all costs, distance yourself by ten rows on the bus ride back to the hotel because they’re going to throw up on the shoes you rented. 

So dust off those suspenders, pray somebody bombs on their speech, and get out on that dance floor. Nobody looks like an idiot during Shout, remember that. Boogie with the people trying to have a good time and skrrt skrrt the ones getting in the way of that. Let’s have ourselves a wedding season. 

My Most Embarrassing Moment

I’ve pissed myself, I’ve shit myself, I’ve thrown up on myself in a car in Atlanta and everyone had to sit in ther car with me two hours back to Tuscaloosa. I’ve been lost for hours and been found by my friends splitting a calzone on the curb with a homeless man. Im close, but I haven’t deleted all the copies of the picture of me asleep on the toilet with shit in the bowl, puke on the floor, and my weiner flopping around. But that’s all me drunk in college. I mostly laugh at that stuff.

Years of torture from older cousins and cruel friends has conditioned me to shrug off embarrassment. There’s not much you can say to me or about me that would cause me turmoil. But where I do lose sleep is when my actions cause someone else distress. That’s the stuff that makes me to throw punches in the air when the thoughts creep in during a shower. Even decades later. Here’s my worst one. 

My family is extremely close, and it was even more so  during the yesteryears. My sister is four years older than me and we used to tell each other everything. On this one particular day after school, she was acting strange. Everybody noticed it except my Mom who wouldn’t be home from work until 8:00. My sister was in the seventh grade at the time, so I was in third. Eight or nine years old. I remember my Dad calling her out on her attitude that day which was weird because she was the golden child. She especially didn’t welcome the criticism on today of all days since her friend Alicia was over. It was warranted from Dad though, she was letting him have it for no reason. 

Dad dispatched me out to get to the bottom of this. He instructed me to find out if a boy was picking on her, she got an ultra rare bad grade in school, or if a crush had been mean to her. Something was happening to my big sister, and I was going to fix this no matter the cost. Sleep easy Dad, I got this. Before I could even begin my inquiry, I was met with a crude “Do you EVER leave me alone?!” Real nice, good luck finding someone to play Beanie Babies with later. I reported back to Dad, who said fuck it and went back to bed. He was working midnights at the time. I wasn’t satisfied with the results so I went to the top of the stairs for a little recon eavesdropping. 

I was literally keeping my ear to the ground and couldn't hear shit. There was a lot of fast whispering going on but I couldn't make anything out. I heard the downstairs bathroom door open and close. Then nothing. Not even the subtle sounds of movement from whoever should have been left in the dining room. Did they hear me eavesdropping and scurry to the bathroom for privacy? Fools! Just made it easier for me. I Mission Impossible'd the stairs without a single creak to find an empty first floor. I crept up to the bathroom door and laid my ear against it. I could hear words but none of them were making sense. They were in there for way too long fiddling around with stuff. When I heard the sink start running, I booked it back to HQ (top of the stairs). 

I gave them about ten minutes of what sounded like homework and walked downstairs very nonchalantly without a word to either of them. I pretended that I was walking to the snack cabinet and then BAM beelined to the bathroom and locked the door. Time was precious, all my sister had to do was run upstairs and get the key to unlock the bathroom. Lifted the toilet seat, nothing. Checked the cabinets, under the sinks, nothing, nothing. I locked eyes with the trash bin. Unused toilet paper was clearly placed on top of the trash to cover something up. It might have gone unnoticed to the untrained eye, but I was on a mission. I looked underneath and found a wad of more toilet paper wrapped around something. This was it, I picked it up. A few weeks prior I had chased my sister with a dead bird on a dare from my older cousin, I wasn't afraid of touching a little trash. 

I ran out of the bathroom with my evidence, laughing maniacally. My sister screamed bloody murder while her and her friend bum-rushed me. They paused on either side of the kitchen table thinking they had me cornered. I was just looking at my sister like "That's right woman, you've been found out. I've got whatever sketchy shit you've been up to in that bathroom". They charged from both sides of the table, idiots. Hard wood floors, I slid right underneath. Bobbing, weaving, spin moving I made my way through the house. Alicia almost had me for a second and scratched me across the face trying to grab me. She drew first blood. I cranked up the Dante Hall moves and made my way to the front door. It was over, I won. They couldn't catch me in the open field. 

I took off down the neighborhood, package secured. I'm whooping it up and literally high stepping to the street corner. I'm doing touchdown celebrations and a second away from the Ickey Shuffle when I hear my full name screamed out by my father. Instant shiver down my spine. He spots me dancing on the corner and starts sprinting down the sidewalk. My dad, who I didn't even know could run, was barreling towards me at blazing speed. My brain went back into Agent Cody Banks mode: "Whatever I uncovered here must be very valuable and needs to be seen by the public. My own family is covering this up. Dad's flipped, this runs deep." I wanted to run but my legs were concreted in fear. 

My father had the angriest face I had ever seen him make, he was never the disciplinarian. Through his teeth he said, "Go back inside, apologize to your sister, and put that back where you found it. After that, go up to your room and I'll be with you in a second. What the FUCK is wrong with you?" I had never heard my dad curse, nevermind saying 'fuck'. I was fricken pissed. A second ago this guy was on my team? He was running the op! Yeah, I might've gone a little rogue, but I'm the one who completed the mission! Do you not see this scratch underneath my eye? I risked everything for this. Pent up with rage, I double-timed back to the house. 

I found my sister clearly distraught, being consoled by her friend. I walked up with the tissues still in hand and tried to reach out to apologize. I was genuinely sorry that I was the one who hurt my sister like this. I didn't know how I did it, but I was sorry nevertheless. My hand was slapped away by Alicia who said, "I think you should stay away from her for now". Fuck you Alicia, bitch. I jogged to the bathroom and tossed my questions back into the trash can. Fighting away tears of my own, I headed upstairs to await my punishment. Leaving my beloved sister crying on the couch. 

That's how her first period went. 

My father was still angry and trying his best to explain menstruation to a nine year old. It hadn't even occurred to me that my sister had girl parts and that they acted different from my own privates. I got a stern talking to on respecting people's privacy and why it's not a good idea to pick up a woman's used pad. Whatever that was. The whole mood was pretty somber and it stayed that way until I busted out crying. "Is she sick? Why won't it stop bleeding?" I thought her vagina was broken. My dad busted out laughing which only made my sister scream "None of this is funny!"

I'd like to take this time now to apologize to my sister. From time to time, that memory sneaks into my head and I have to bury my face in a pillow to ride out the cringe. Fuck, I'm sorry Laur. My sister and I are still very close to this day. She's married now with three little girls of her own and I'm godfather to the most mischievous one. She currently has a little boy on the way. Hopefully he respects his big sisters' privacy more than I was able to.  

My Barstool Idol Ideas

Let’s get the mushy stuff out of the way. There are a lot of talented people on Barstool Idol who are going to make it very difficult for the judges to make decisions in the upcoming two days. With that being said, if I didn’t have the belief in myself to be the best of them I would have stopped sending these blogs years ago. 

With all Barstool shows I consume, I play along. Try to beat teams to the punch on The Dozen, think of what I would say on a topic during The Rundown, and now, what content I would create on Barstool Idol. 

It’s easy to be a Monday morning quarterback, I get that. That’s what my criticism would be reading this blog. But all of my solutions, answers, and ideas came either immediately of learning the challenge or within five minutes. I know I can’t prove that but all I can say is I swear to God. 

Day One I absolutely would have gone the John Rich route. I’ve already daydreamed about doing this every time I’ve applied for Barstool Idol. I would choose my blog, 5 Insane Ways We Used To Flirt On The Internet. It’s not the best written blog in my arsenal, but some things are meant to be read instead of presented. This format gives me a list that would couple perfectly with a PowerPoint presentation. If you didn’t read the blog, the five ways with their own commentary are #WCW (Woman Crush Wednesday), Facebook Poking, MySpace Top 8, MMT Treatment (personal anecdote), and AIM Profiles. It’s easy to format, funny, relatable, and nostalgic - which always plays. 

I had two ideas for the group video on Day Two. Since one idea required a specific makeup of male, male, female, I had another backup idea in case the the structure didn’t go in my favor. 

Group Video Idea 1(mmf) : Video starts off with one of us saying something along the lines of “We have been making fools of ourselves during Barstool Idol in hopes of landing our dream jobs. So we decided to let complete strangers in on the fun witnessing our embarrassment. Where better than Times Square?” Then the camera would pan to us all dressed up in super hero outfits ready for a competition where whoever gets the most pictures with strangers wins. In a perfect world, it’d be myself vs Luke round one since we’re both bigger guys, and we’d give the girl a first round bye. The guys would incorporate body paint and look ridiculous while the girl would be like a knockout Wonder Woman or something. The two guys face off with a sign that says “Free Pictures Choose One” with arrows pointing to each of us. We’d incorporate super hero jokes and interact with the strangers taking pictures with us. Then whoever wins faces Wonder Woman in round two. The video just cuts to a million people taking pictures with her as her picture counter went up, and up, and up, and up as the guy stands there like a schmuck with 0 the entire time. For the final shot we grab like 20 dudes and have them line up to take a picture with whoever’s dressed as Wonder Woman. The camera goes slow-mo showing the length of her line and then cuts to a behind shot of the guy with nobody in front of him saying “Step on up whenever you’re ready.”

Group Video Idea 2: I’d call it Stool Science. Sort of like ESPN’s old “Sports Science”, but tackling the questions we’ve always wondered about ourselves. In this video we’d explore how many drinks it takes for us to be rendered blackout drunk. After each drink, each person would answer a funny and personal question about themselves written by the other members of the team. The questioning shot would be the face of only the team member giving an answer. The next day we’d review the footage and say which was the last question we remember answering. Then we’d give our height, weight, sex, and leave a chart for others to know where they might want to draw the line. Obviously, if Marcy was on the team she couldn’t drink. To compensate I’d have her write the majority of the questions. This would have made Yak basketball that much more difficult but it would also probably be hilarious if my entire team was hungover. 

Obviously a lot of Day Three was interactions off the cuff so I can’t attest to what I would have said since I don’t know what I would have been asked. But what I would have control over would be interacting with Frank and my merch. 

Frank is a delicate balancing act because you don’t want to come across like you’re teasing him. If you’re mean to Frank you’re a dickhead. But I think I could have him talking about funny topics related to his passion. Like asking him how he would feel about bringing in Theo Epstein to break the Mets’ curse. Or playing dumb about the Braves and asking him what the Tomahawk Chop is in hopes that he’d do it himself live on stream. 

As for my merch, I think I have a fire shirt. Again retro/nostalgia always slaps. I’d construct one of those retro sports shirts that looked like ESPN threw up a bunch highlights on the fabric. I think they used to be popular with baseball and Nascar. Like this: 

But instead of an athlete I’d do George Washington. With the Fourth of July right around the corner, I believe a graphic tee the first president crossing the Delaware and signing the Declaration of Independence would fly off the shelves to both genders. 

Barstool has done a great job putting on Barstool Idol. I’m invested and can’t wait to see what Day Four has in store. I just hope those contestants know how lucky they are. Because I’d lie, cheat, and steal to be in any of their shoes. 

What Is The Statute Of Limitations On Being A Post Grad?

I guess techinically speaking after graduation you’ll always be post-grad. But you know what I mean. How long am I allowed to be a Workaholic character? How long does my buddy get away with wearing a snapback backwards on his head? At what point does the allure of my untapped potential of being fresh out of college fizzle away into being just a lukewarm contribution to society? 

There are two types of people after they graduate college. Those ready to tackle the world and those who understand that it just ended. 

Sometimes we talk about stories from college like they just happened and that we’re still dealing with the blowback. But shit man, some of that stuff was eight or nine years ago. We’ve been out for six. Fuck is this supposed to be my prime? By the standards I hold baseball players to it should be. Am I bust? 

It doesn’t feel so long ago because not much has changed. We still gamble over beer pong games, argue over cleaning up the hundred empty cans in the morning, and navigate dodging our parents when we’re hungover. 

But then again, my old roommate FaceTimed me from Germany yesterday to tell me how his conference that he’s running is going. Then he tried convincing me to come out for a week and we hashed out the logistics. The only thing that stopped me was my upcoming twenty day Europe trip in September. That’s not a conversation post grads have. That’s not a scene from Workaholics. Not even Ders went to Europe?

But his biggest selling point was how much we could drink and how he thinks I’d slay in Germany. So…

Where’s the line? I feel like our generation keeps moving the goalposts on adulthood. Birthed by the internet to fuck around too much which resulted in stunting growing up. 

When am I a grown up? When I have a kid of my own? When the movies stops giving me a discount from my decade old student ID? Is this why people go back for their masters? To re-up their potential facade and expand their prime window. Maybe I have to look into taking out another loan because right now I’m riding this thing til the wheels fall off. 

Getting Banned From Arenas Is Fake

Faker than fake Klay Thompson. This story was making it rounds last week during the NBA Finals when a grown man who dresses like his favorite basketball player snuck into the Warriors’ arena and put some shots up on the court. Earned himself a lifetime ban. He also casually snuck in that he paid 10k for the tickets and wants you to know he’s totally cool with it. 

Yeah 

Pinned it too for good measure. 

I have reason to believe that the real Klay Thompson was behind the decision to ban his imposter. This Big Daws dude looks NOTHING like Klay Thompson. And I know that Klay hates him for it. He dons a full Klay Thompson uniform to Warriors games - shorts and jersey. That’s where the resemblance starts and ends. If you saw this guy in street clothes at the bar and he asked you if he looked like Klay you’d say, “Nope, not at all. What do you mean? Because you also have a goatee that makes you Klay Thompson?” You know real Klay gets clowned for this dude in the locker room. Klay has to know the guy is uhgly. I’m sure his teammates have a field day calling him his twin. 

My theory is Klay had enough. Got a whiff of the latest stunt and called the owner to ensure his ban. But bad news for Klay, if Big Daws wants to end his lifetime ban from the arena all he has to do is go to a game not dressed in a full Klay Thompson jersey. 

Stadium/arena bans aren’t real. When I was still a little tyke, brandishing a fake ID that I got shipped in a shoe box from China, I got banned from the Prudential Center in Newark. It was my buddies’ fault, he was acting reckless and my ID was checked after the fact just because I was with him. We were taken into a back room, had our photos taken, and given paperwork that laid out the details of our ban. I stole our fakes back off their desk before we were escorted out  the arena by some hidden stairwell. 

Problem was, I had floor seats for a Jay-Z concert at Prudential scheduled literally the next day. I paid big bucks for them for my brother’s birthday so I said fuck it and went anyway. No one stopped me from entering, no one kicked me out of my seats, AND the same fake ID they thought they confiscated worked again less than 24 hours later. 

Why wouldn’t it? What do you think happens? You think the people who take your tickets have a list of the thousands of people banned memorized to stop you at the gates? They don’t even check your ID at the gate, you think they have every single face burned into their memory? No. Or there’s some pit boss at every stadium running facial recognition software on a wall of 100 screens to make sure anyone who’s ever been banned never steps foot in their arena again? Of course not. 

So although Big Daws, Twitter, and the rest of the internet made a big deal about the ban it’s actually the littlest deal in the world. If Daws wants to go to a Warriors game all he has to do is not look like Klay Thompson. Which shouldn’t be difficult for him whatsoever. 

Pyramid Conspiracy Theories Are Very Mean

Conspiracy culture is so prevalent on social media that sometimes I forget the original conclusions even exist. Things that we read is history textbooks, completely disregarded. No path has gone more off course than the pyramids. 

Here take a quick look. Just searching pyramids on Tik Tok. Didn’t even have to add “conspiracies” to my search: 

The top six out of seven pyramid videos on Tik Tok all have the same message - ain’t no fuckin way people made these things. Aliens, lizards, wiped out advanced civilizations, anything and anyone but the people who actually built them. We have gotten so far from the plot, that people actually use the word “impossible” to describe the pyramids like they’re not right fucking there proving their existence. 

Hands down, undisputed, the most impressive and astonishing thing ever built by our species. Suddenly, we’ve all collectively decided, “Nah ya didn’t.” Based on nothing better than, “That shits way too hard for you idiots”. I know this is hard given what we’ve been spoon-fed, but honestly imagine a world where it’s a proven fact that 4,500 years ago, humans not even in the same realm as us technology-wise built the pyramids. Because as it stands right now, that is a fact. Then sit there and think how shitty it is for us to be like “Fuck you guys, you didn’t build that.” 

The pyramids have been around for so long that every day some new mind warping fact like, “Cleopatra was born closer to the invention of the iPhone than the construction of the pyramids,” pops up on Twitter. They’re the only remaining Ancient Wonders Of The World. The Great Pyramids of Giza have defeated time. Humans did that. And I for one, would like to take the time now to congratulate them. Good job Egyptians, you crazy sons of bitches, you did it! 

Just How Stupid Are The Oakland A’s For Drafting Kyler Murray

The Oakland Athletics currently have the worst record in the MLB sitting at 21-41. After finishing ten games over .500 last year, Oakland decided to trade away three All-Stars in a five day span - Chris Bassit, Matt Chapman, and Matt Olson. Now their home attendance rate has dropped lower than a Bronny James high school basketball game. 

All of the Athletics moves don’t make any sense. I guess they think that’s like their identity or something. Living on the ghost of Billy Beane. Besides developing players and then trading them the second they start producing, my favorite splash the A’s have made was drafting Kyler Murray. 

Idiots. Kyler Murray had a collegiate career batting average of .261. He had 10 home runs in 51 games his final season which is impressive, I guess. I admittedly don’t follow college ball that closely, but those kind of numbers can’t possibly be worthy of the ninth overall pick, can they? Kyler didn’t finish in the top 250 in batting average or home runs. I’d tell you where he ranked but it doesn’t go that low. 

Ok so he was alright I guess, surely his dedication to playing baseball influenced the powers that be to draft Kyler with a top 10 pick. Whoops. We all know how that ended. Kyler Murray nearly a year later was drafted first overall in the NFL draft to the Arizona Cardinals. 

I’m aware that most people don’t care or pay attention to the MLB draft. They draft two zillion players and college baseball just doesn’t have the same eyes on it as college football or basketball. But boy oh boy did the Athletics miss out on some ballplayers in a sad attempt to maybe sell a couple jerseys. 

Here are some players that went after Kyler Murray at 9. Number 3 overall prospect Grayson Rodriguez, Mariners ace Logan Gilbert (2.41 ERA), number 51 overall prospect Cole Winn, number 35 prospect Matthew Liberatore, number 27 prospect Nolan Gorman, number 14 prospect Triston Casas, number 75 prospect Matt McLain, AL Cy Young favorite Shane McClanahan, number 17 prospect Alek Thomas, breakout Cleveland rookie Steven Kwan, and the +210 AL Rookie Of The Year, Jeremy Peña. 

I’m sure there’s more there’s just too much to comb through and if I keep writing the same thing you’ll just skim over it. Seven top 100 prospects, a strong ROY possibility and the Cy Young favorite. Most of those prospects were taken in the first round, only a couple of picks or so after Kyler Murray. 

MLB is admittedly the hardest draft to predict. Some of those players before and after Kyler haven’t yet shown the promise they did going into the 2018 draft. But you have to at least give yourself the chance. Oakland consistently puts themselves in the position to fail. Kyler Murray had less of a chance of playing baseball than the A’s have winning the pennant this year, and godammit is that low.  

The Power Imbalance Of Asking A Favor

What’s worse than have a seemingly open weekend just to have a buddy text you asking what you’re doing Saturday afternoon. Tee times are morning, bars are at night, afternoons are for people who need something out of you. 

They say bullshit trigger phrases like “lunch is on me” or “I’ll stock the fridge with beer”. It’s all inflated. Mediocre ass plain pizza eaten with dirty hands. Beers? Pshh, yeah right. We’ll have two or three off the rip, realize we’re sweating it out immediately, and switch to waters within in an hour from the dehydration.

Moving someone in, moving someone out, putting in a pool, getting a completely new furniture set. All nightmares. But the only people who have the right to ask you to sacrifice your day off is close friends. Scratch that, the only people who should be allowed to ask for your help is anyone you feel comfortable giving shit to for even asking. Ripping on the dickhead who asked you to do this bullshit with the other poor souls they suckered is the only silver lining. Laughing at how much it sucks with others is sometimes the only thing keeping you going. 

But there are those who don’t afford us this luxury. I’m looking at you - in-laws, fair-weather neighbors, and worst of all, bosses. My boss asked me to put up his pool with him last week. I’ve never even used a power tool in my life. What the fuck do I know about installing pools? How did I thrash my boss for having the balls to ask me to work for him for free on my day off? “Absolutely, it’ll be fun. We’ll make a day out of it.” 

Oh we made a day out of it alright. A twelve hour shift pro bono. What did I have to show for it? A soggy caesar wrap, a sore back, a sunburn that should be studied, and a hurt ego after I didn’t know the name of some stupid screwdriver. 

Your lack of friends should not be my issue. Hire friends. Your authority over me has stolen all the fun out of it. The fact that I can’t take a deep sigh, and say in front of everyone “Hey, you’re a piece of shit for this”, means you’ve taken advantage of me. Now I have to somehow pretend like I’m enjoying myself wheelbarrowing sand back and forth in ninety degree weather. 

But we still do it, right? Even if we fucking hate them for it. Being a good person is easy, but being a piece of shit is more fun. Nobody’s said you can’t be both. Complain in front of them to let them know how much of an asshole they are. And if you aren’t allowed to complain in the moment due to the imbalance of power, you can always write a whole blog bitching about it afterwards. 

Man Suggests Ghosts Responsible For Lights in House While Covering For A Friend

Let’s just get it out of the way, yes, this was in Florida.  Jonathan Fowler displayed incredible loyalty and quick thinking when Polk County Sheriffs showed up at his doorstep with a warrant for April Gonzalez. Even going as far as blaming the paranormal for lights turning on and off in his house when he claimed no one else was inside. 

“Must have been termites…or earwigs. Ghosts, maybe.”

Look it’s not as bad as a defense as it might appear. The burden to prove that it WASN’T ghosts would be the prosecution. Prove that it wasn’t bitch. But honestly I think ghosts might be burying the lead here. Termites?! I’ve never met a termite but I highly doubt they have the arm strength to flick a light switch. 

I give April Gonzalez a 0 Madden Awareness rating. Obviously her and Fowler knew the cops were there, I’m sure someone shouted it out. You have to be on the same page. Turning off all the lights so patrols can’t see in the house is a good move. However, it immediately becomes the worst move when no one else is supposed to be there. 

“However, deputies said when they brought out one of their K9 deputies, Fowler admitted that Gonzalez was inside the home.” 

I’ll tell ya man, those fur missiles have a funny way of curing amnesia real quick. Nothing had changed, even with the dog the sheriffs still couldn’t get into the house. But the second they bring out the pup and get him all riled up, barking and drooling while holding him back, people tend to have a change of heart. 

One of two things happened when the K9 came out. Either he was scared shitless to the point that he stopped caring or he cared a whole lot more because he was holding and the dog was about to smell it. Better you than me. 

In classic Shakespearean tragedy fashion, Jonathan Folwer was arrested alongside of April Gonzalez for resisting an officer without violence. Free the commish. Tell Ghost Hunters to stand down, another false alarm. 

Tom Brady Has To Hand Deliver Game Used Underwear To Greg

The internet has a way of humbling all of us. All of us. Even seven time Super Bowl champion man rockets with super model wives. Tom Brady in congruence with launching his new underwear line released this tweet dangling a potential thirst trap. 

Funny, cheeky, Marketing 101. Of course Brady thought that the internet wanted to see the imprint of his dick and balls. Twitter went gaga a mere three days ago when Gisele “candidly” caught Tom checking himself out in the mirror in his new undewear. 40k? That’s a layup? 

But the internet had other plans. 

Fucking Greg, man. That’s the beauty of Twitter. The account who notoriously hit Canseco with the meanest “No way Jose” of all time, completely stole the thunder from the greatest quarterback who ever lived. Greg surpassed his 40k goal without even breaking a sweat, Brady is still at 37k. The internet would rather have Greg obtain dirty undies than see Brady’s camel tail. 

How does Brady react? 

I hate how fucking cool he is. A perfect answer. No man should have it all the way that Tom Brady does. 

Martin Shrkeli, aka Pharma Bro, Writes INSANE Blog Where He Predicts The Future

Martin Shrkeli has had such an insane existence that going to prison and teaching a class on crypto to inmates while blogging about the future isn’t the craziest thing he’s ever done. I’d say it’s third behind raising essential drug prices +5,000% and buying a one of one Wu Tang album for $2 million. 

As expected, Shrkeli’s touch with reality only grew further during his four year stint in prison. It’s evident that he spent his entire sentence reading Sci-fi to the point where he thinks he can predict the future. It’s a tough admission, but Martin and I have similar tastes. He reviews a lot of the books that I’ve read in my free time. Even in reviews his lack of self-awareness is astonishing. “Something about Issacson pisses me off. I’m not sure what it is.” A ballsy line coming from a guy who’s First-Team All-Punchable Face. 

Shkreli released a blog on his site detailing his left field blueprint for the future. It’s outlined in eight sections. Here are the summaries of some of my favorite prophecies followed by my commentary. 

1. Computing/Technology & Society 

2025 

A trend starts where we spend 8+ hours a day in our autonomous vehicles. Musk becomes the first trillionaire. - I like Musk, but I just know Martin’s one of those weirdies who worship him. There’s a massive massive gap between a billion and a trillion. Unless he cures cancer, sells everyone a personal robot, and declares himself King of Mars, I doubt Elon gets it done in three years. 

2026AI tops Billboard charts as the first non-human created or edited song. - Isn’t this just Skrillex? 
2035AI bipedal robots are commonplace. - I sure fucking hope so man. Make hangovers so much easier, count your days DoorDash. 
2040 Robots win the World Cup. - Idiot idiot idiot idiot. I’m all for robot sports but if you think the lunatics who follow soccer or the NFL will ever allow non-humans into the sport you got another thing coming. It would make it like Ford vs. Ferrari where manufacturing supersedes talent. Where’s the fun in that?
2055The grand AI Civil Rights Movement including human/robot marriages. - I saw the new Blade Runner too, Martin. If I can get a robot that looks and sounds like Ana de Armas you won’t hear me complaining. 
2100 Humans are on the brink of immortality. - Missed it byyyy that much! He also predicts that 2050 newborns will have a life expectancy of 100-125 and by 2080 it’ll raise to 150-200+ 

2. Socioanthropology, Religion, Philosophy, & Politics 
2022-2040Fall of Russia, Belarus, North Korea, Syria, and Iran as we know it. No more dictators. - Just like that. Generations of tyranny and terrorism, defeated by Martin Shrkeli’s imagination. 
2028First LGBTQ+ or woman President of the US. - Happy pride y’all. 
2030-2040A largely relative war fought either nearly or completely autonomously. - Oh really Martin, you think so? A ten year window where a war will happen? No shit. When was the last ten year span with no wars?
2045 Marijuana is legalized. - Seriously? Of all the bold claims this might be the boldest. 
2050Major sports (including NFL, NBA, MLB, NHL, and EU  Football) viewership down 50% due to lack of interest and health concerns. Some leagues are disbanded and boxing is outlawed. - I think this is more wishful thinking from the guy picked last on the playground. It’s so obvious Shkreli has never watched a game in his life. We are still in the birth canal of legal gambling and fantasy sports - our leagues aren’t going anywhere. 

3. Math/ComplexityI have no idea what any of these predictions mean so I’ll some them all up to a lot of things will be proven, apparently. 

4. Quantum ComputingAgain, all gibberish. But it appears that shit will get faster. Swagger jackin Moore’s Law. 

5. Electronics/Engineering/Hardware/Physics
2040 Human space flight to Mars. - I don’t think the flight is the issue as much as it is sustaining life there. Matt Damon taught me that. 
2045 Either Musk or Bezos will announce they are permanently leaving Earth in favor of space exploration. No return trip plan. - By that time, Musk will be 73 and Bezos 81. That’s what they play for. When they’re ready to die, say fuck it I’m going looking for aliens. 
2050 Human settlement on Mars or the moon. - This race would be so much cooler than the moon landing if Martin hadn’t killed off Russia ten years prior. First one to nuke Mars’ ice caps in hopes it creates greenhouse gases wins. 
2100Extra solar system human settlement with population of 1m+. - Fuck I hope so, I think I’m chic for my upcoming Europe trip in September. Bachelor parties outside of our system would be so sick. 
6. Money/Finance
2060JP Morgan or Bank Of America will be acquired by a crypto company. - I don’t know how that will happen since Shrkeli also predicts the Supreme Court will outlaw Bitcoin and crypto in 2025. Page out of Skip Bayless’ playbook.
7. Biology/Medicine/Chemistry
This is a lot of medical jargon I don’t fully comprehend. But Martin believes a lot of lives will be saved, treatments for muscular dystrophy and Alzheimer’s by 2041. And that by 2065 cancer will become rare. Funny, nothing about medication costing a billion dollars. 
8. Computing 
2060“Teleportation” of small molecules begins. - This is right around the time I’ll be clocking out if I didn’t already punch my ticket. I’ll be so pissed if I miss this. Getting home from the bar, getting food, traveling for vacations, poof! In an instant. 
That’s it for reading the future for now. Shrkeli wrote this blog eight days before he was released from prison. His biggest present-time concerns were the state of his cat and his ban from Twitter. I don’t know about his kitty but still no Tweets. Even with a limited platform, Martin has vowed to continue to keep blogging. Personally, I can’t wait to see what Brostradomus comes up with next. 

Marcus Stroman Once Again Looks Like A Big Dumb Idiot

Most athletes are celebrated for voicing themselves on social media today. The “shut up and dribble” crowd has pretty much all but dissipated. The only ones left have severe scoliosis. People love when Kevin Durant claps back at Twitter eggs with 37 followers. Or Christian Yelich’s “Relax Roxane” at the lady mad at his nudies in the body issue. And then there’s Marcus Stroman. 

I wouldn’t care if anything baseball related that Marcus said was clever, or funny, or even correct. But that’s just not the case. Every time he has a take or tweet he’s just abhorrently wrong. For instance: 

Betting on himself the next 5-7 years. Might have been the lock of the century to fade. Or when he said the Mets hired a terrible GM and he’s thankful that he’s gone. The Mets are in first place at 37-19 without their two generational talent pitchers. But Marcus knows best. 

My personal favorite, given my fandom, is Stroman’s comments on the Yankees’ rotation. When it became evident that the Jays were shopping their former number one pitcher, he was basically begging to come to the Bronx. When the Yankees never even considered making a move for him he was like a lover scorned. Couldn’t keep the Yankees out his mouth. Mainly criticizing the payroll since he wasn’t on it. But he also took a shot at the staff. 

Whoops! I mean I guess, technically, Marcus Stroman was correct that he’s not anywhere in these guys’ league. While the Yankees’ pitching staff leads the MLB in ERA, K’s, WHIP, BAA, and K/BB, Marcus Stroman has a 5.32 and a 2-5 record in Chicago. Gave up nine earned on ten hits in four inning worked during his last start. He’s on his third team in his last three seasons played. 

I’m all for talking shit. But you have to have something, anything, to back it up. Stroman’s had 1.5 good seasons, the rest of his career has been pretty subpar. He talks like he has a 2.80 ERA but actually walks with a career 3.71. 

I’m not sure what it is. Maybe he thinks he’s good because people take cool pictures of him screaming on the mound. Maybe the pipsqueak runs his mouth because he knows his daddy could beat up the entire world. Whatever the case may be, I’m confident betting against anything Marcus Stroman says for the next 5-7 years. 

 

The Smartest And Also Dumbest Man Alive - The Creator Of Fantasy Sports

If you’re like any red-blooded American, you’re in a fantasy football league. If you have a manic obsession like myself, you’re in multiple fantasy football, baseball, basketball, and hockey leagues throughout the year. We owe all of our fantasy heartaches and triumphs to one man, the reason why Joc Pederson was bitch slapped, 74-year-old Daniel Okrent. The father of fantasy sports and record holder of the biggest bag ever dropped. 

Okrent came up with the idea for fantasy the winter before the 1980 baseball season. It was weekly handwritten points system, “rotisserie” style. The “Rotisserie” leagues we still use today actually got its name from the restaurant where Daniel’s first league drafted, La Rotisserie Française in NYC. 

What started out as a $250 league amongst friends, spread as a worldwide phenomenon when Okrent became the first public editor for The New York Times. 

Now it doesn’t matter what time of the year, what time of the day, what’s happening, fantasy football will be somewhere on your timeline. Tragedy could strike, we could be invaded by a foreign country and someone somewhere would be rushing a deadline to tell you who they believe will “finally crack the top 20 wide receiver threshold this upcoming season”. 
According to sportsmedia.com fantasy sports was a $20.36 billion industry in 2020. BILLION and Daniel Okrent never saw a cent. The injustice. Okrent says he doesn’t regret not monetizing his idea which is total bullshit. I’m sure he didn’t live some schmuck life. Editor of The New York Times, author of multiple books, but you created fantasy sports my man! Your name should be next to Musk’s on the Forbes list! Your face should be framed in every sports bar! But alas, fate is a cruel mistress. And most embarrassing of all, Daniel Okrent as of 2015 has never came in first in a fantasy league. 

Jersey Beach Bar Survival Guide Vol. 2: Bar A

Bar Anticipation in Lake Como, and more specifically “Beat The Clock”. If it wasn’t for the two hour line that wraps around the street, it’s easy to miss. But hard to forget after you’ve been. 

For those unaware, Beat The Clock is a special that Bar A runs where beers start at .50 cents and increase .25 cents every hour until midnight. 

Right off the bat let’s address getting there. The Belmar train station is about an eight minute walk to the parking lot. Use it. Once you’re off the train hop in a minivan cab to the bar. Even though the price doesn’t make sense and the walk is so short, you’ll skip the entire next wave of people walking to the line from the station. 

This is a veteran’s secret. If you’re going for Beat The Clock, get there around 7:00. Beat The Clock doesn’t start until 8:00 but neither does the cover. And that cover is going to set you back about $15-$20. Which is the equivalent of 30-40 beers in the first hour. Also, there is a free quesadilla station situated right at the outdoor entrance. Tip the guy a few bucks, you’re gonna need all you can to line your stomach before what’s about to happen. 

The line. A lot of do’s and don’t’s. It sucks but everyone has to do it, deal with it. You can cut the line if you’re sneaky and know someone. Or if you have a small enough party. But I wouldn’t advise it if you’re not from around here. You will get in a fight and be kicked out of the bar that you were never even in. Secondly, do not piss in the parking lot. Not behind the trees, not in the lot over, not anywhere. There’s porta potties and they’re also going to have a long line. But if you really need to go bad, suck it up and wait in the line. Because if you don’t, the cops posted there who are specifically looking for pissers will slap you with a hefty fine. And I mean hefty. Lastly, and most importantly, bring two forms of picture(!) identification. These bouncers do not give a fuck. Doesn’t matter how far you traveled to get here, how long you waited in line, they won’t let you in. I’d say a good amount of the demographic in there have duplicate licenses. Lost, stolen, whatever, if you have ever needed to get another license it will be marked on your ID as a duplicate. When they see that, you need another picture form of ID or you’re fucked. I’ve personally seen them deny 1/2 of identical twins into the bar for not having a second form. They told one twin they’re good and the other twin they weren’t sure if they were of legal drinking age. Identical twins. 

Ok so you’re in, now what? The place is massive and while exploring is a fun idea, you don’t have ample time to do so. There’s the inside stage bar, inside back bar, outside shot wheel, outside island bar, outside left perimeter bar, outside sand pit bar, outside awning bar, the outside circular bar, outside bud light backdrop bar, and the outside back DJ bar. Establish a command center quickly and choose a corner of one of these bars with your squad. Once you have enough of your people taking over a section you’ll be able to come and go as long as your group doesn’t lose their position as a whole. Depending on your finances and availability you can always get a cabana in the sand pit but that obviously isn’t the case for most patrons. 

Ordering. Order in bulk. I don’t know if there’s a cap on how many drinks you can order at once but money talks. With beers this cheap, the bartenders are doing extra running around for cheaper tips. Put a big bill on the table, show them everyone around you who will be drinking it, and they’ll most likely abide. Everyone takes from the pile, everyone adds to the pile. Take a penny leave a penny. It’ll save you time on refills and waiting to get the bartender’s attention in the massive crowd. 

Depending on your measurables, you’ll be holding anywhere from two to four beers at all times. That beer needs to go somewhere. The bathroom lines at Bar A are probably the worst in the state. You just have to take it on the chin. There’s one near the stage, one near the outdoor entrance, and a secret string of porta potties. I’m not telling you where they are because that’s where I go but if you can find them more power to you. There is, however, another risky veteran’s move that I used to pull as a spring chicken. If you’re a large burly man with an equally large beard like I was, find the least confrontational person at the head of the line and tell them you work at the bar. It’s never not worked for me. People behind will get pissed but more often than not the person you just cut will actually defend you. Sometimes they even buy you a drink. All is fair in love and bathroom lines.

As for what to do, if you’re from the area you already know it’s an impromptu high school reunion. There’s too many people there for you not to run into someone that you really don’t feel like talking to. It’s probably a lot more fun if you don’t know anybody. There’s a lot of good looking people looking to drink a good amount of alcohol as they possibly can in four hours. If you want to bump and grind, head to the back for a DJ. The inside always has live music and I can’t remember a time when the band wasn’t awesome. If that’s your route get as close to the stage as possible to avoid the trail of shoulder shovers trying to make their way to the bathroom. 

I’d tell you to pace yourself but you’ll probably black out anyway. Just go with it. Get off the wall, get out there, tip well, fuck up, fuck down, and if you strike out - strike out swinging. There’s always next week but you’ll never get out of your slump without a couple AB’s. 

Engagement Culture Needs To Be Stopped

I’m at the point in my life where every other weekend is an engagement, bachelor party, or wedding. In other words, I’m broke. And the powers that be are ensuring that. 

Over this past weekend I attended a “surprise” day of the engagement party. Not an Engaagement Party, a party on the day they got engaged. A Proposal Party if you would. 

First of all, none of these Proposal Parties are surprises. Every single proposal I’ve seen in the last two years has had a party after where friends and family scream as the couple walks in. All the drunken aunts hound the girl about the ring saying “Did he do good?!”. And all the hammered men think they’re being emotionally vulnerable by clasping the guy on the shoulder saying “She’s one of the good ones. I’m happy for you man.” Honestly it’d be more of a surprise if there wasn’t a party at this point. 

My party this weekend had a strict 5:30 arrival time. So we didn’t ruin the surprise. Despite all of our cars taking up the entirety of the small twelve house cul-de-sac. 5:30, because no one can propose at a reasonable time to start drinking afterwards for some reason. Now I’m the one left picking up the pieces of the consequences of me drinking for eight hours straight. 

One of my issues that stemmed from this party was that I didn’t bring a gift. I considered bringing a bottle but my friend had hired a bartender for the event. Yeah, I don’t know who he thinks he is. So if I brought a bottle would this guy just pour it out to guests? Then they’ll never even know that I brought the gift when it’s empty and in the trash. I Constanza’d myself into a corner. So I didn’t bring one. 

Now it’s true that I am Scottish, but I’ve never considered myself a cheap person. Honestly though how much do you need from me just so you two can get married? 

Now hold on. Hold on! Apparently my friends forgot the $5k+ that we just spent in Vegas for another bachelor party in April. This is a proposal party, we still have an engagement party coming, the bachelor party, and then the actual wedding itself. The wedding which I’ll have to rent a tux since I’m a groomsman, plus a hotel room, and the wedding gift. The poor women have all that plus a bridal shower! 

Four parties to announce the same thing? You’re telling me I need a gift for all of them? Why is you two being in love costing me so much money? I’m starting to understand the complaints the old people had about our “participation trophy” generation. 

Maybe we’re a snake eating it’s own tail. Everyone getting married wants reparations for all the gifts they’ve shelled out to the couples that came before them. In which case fine, I’ll even the scales. Don’t get me nothin’ but a wedding gift and I’ll promise to do the same. 

….

And pregnancies?! Count your fuckin days because you’re next. Scammers, the lot of you. Announcement party, gender reveal party, diaper party for the guys, and baby shower for the girls. I see you, and you’re not getting away with this.