Aspen

So I am trying to write something but Star Wars Episode III is on. Watching that seems to suck any kind of inspiration out of me. Change channels I must.

So this past a weekend a friend came and visited which was a great time. His old room mate from college also came up, we shall call him 'Nick.' Now Nick lives in a little place called Asssspen. Nick is a nice guy and I am sure he means well but that guy could not say three sentences without mentioning Aspen. Needless to say, he got really annoying. He would also compare everything to Aspen. I now never want to go to Aspen. I don't even like the Aspen tree anymore. I don't care how much snow Aspen has gotten. I don't care how your rent is more expensive in Aspen, actually I am glad that his rent is more expensive. Once again, he is a nice guy and means well it is just really annoying.

Aspen.

Oh yeah, what is that picture you put up Tanner? Wow.

How to give yourself pnuemonia

OR: A 7-step process for fluid-filled alveoli.

Step 1: Get fired/resign from a job you hate.

Step 2: Fill your days of unemployment by staying up really late, sleeping in really late, drinking heavily on Fridays, Saturdays, Sundays, Tuesdays, and sometimes Thursdays, developing poor eating habits, watching shitty movies, and blogging about being unemployed.

Step 3: Come in contact with someone who had a severe cold. It helps if you live with this person, or if you suck on her toothbrush while she's not looking.

Step 4: Catch severe cold.

Step 5: Continue Step 2.

Step 5b: According to this picture, it helps if you look like Tiger Woods:

Step 6: Finally go to the doctor because you haven't gotten over your cold in three weeks and you're beginning to get cold shivers and night sweats and you can't stay awake for more than three hours straight. Also, your chest feels like exploding anytime you try to anything remotely athletic. So that must be bad.

Step 7: Have doctor tell you that you are an idiot because anyone your age and in normal physical condition can fight off a cold, but your lifestyle has run down your immune system so much that you now have pnuemonia.

T-Money's Super Bowl Preview

OR, Nachos? Bean dip? Nachos? Bean dip?


The great American holiday is nearly upon us. With all due respect to Thanksgiving, the gorging on food, drink, beer, football, and consumerism is just up a notch on Super Sunday. When else is it appropriate to slam down a 30 stone on a Sunday afternoon? Where else could the terms "Bud Bowl", "Nipplegate", and "wide right" become part of the American lexicon? On what other day can you see Elvis Presto?...IN 3-D!!! It's a day for men to be men, and boys to be men, and women to be men, and Michael Jackson to appear on top of a scoreboard proclaiming, "heal the world!"


I have only been interested in the game itself as a fan twice: In 1995 when my beloved San Diego Chargers got ass-raped by a left-handed Mormon, and in 2006 when I screamed "Lofa Tatupu!" for 3 hours in downtown Seattle and lost my voice for the rest of the week. The game in '95 was so painful that I quit watching halfway through the second quarter and instead played Tecmo Super Bowl (the greatest NES game ever) in my tear-stained Junior Seau jersey. I was in sixth grade.

But aside from the 2 heartbreakers, the Super Bowl has brought me 20 years of joy. And I owe it all to one thing: the prop bet. In addition to my annual "you pick a team and we'll bet a soda pop" wager, I typically pick one ridiculous thing to root for. Maybe a safety (odds 1:800) will occur. Maybe overtime (odds 1:900). But my bet this year tops them all. My dad is in Vegas, and he has placed a $20 prop bet on Junior Seau, my childhood hero, scoring a touchdown (odds 1:500). If Junior Seau somehow scores a TD on his plastic hips, I will nail down 10 g's. Go Junior.

Other than old man Seau, I have nothing else to root for. I would root openly for the Pats if Tom Brady wasn't so perfect. I mean, even the coolest, most respected men on the planet have glaring flaws. Barack Obama smokes cigarettes. Tiger Woods has that terrible "Dave Chappelle impersonating a white guy" voice. Matt Damon was the star of the only movie I've ever walked out of. But Mr. Brady is too perfect. If you asked 100 straight men who they'd hook up with if they were forced to "gay out", 75 of them would say Tom Brady. (My personal choice is this guy). Mark my words: within 20 years we're going to find out something terrible about Tom Brady. His aura just reeks of Patrick Bateman. Dude's probably got like three dead hookers in his closet.

Super Bowl pick: Patriots 31, Giants 13.