Bits of tids (because it's a word, right, and I switched it around. BLAM! - Funny)

I know, 2 posts in one week, I'm totally spoiling you. But when I saw this, and then I read this, how could I not write something?

Some of you might think that the return of the pill-popping good ol' boy is a bad thing for the Bears. Some of you Krazy Israeli are actually concerned. But not me. Because, you see, any possession that puts the ball in FavRUH's hands is one less handoff to Adrian Peterson the Greater. And it's one more pass floating past an open receiver into the welcoming arms of Charles Tillman, or Nathan Vasher. It's gotta be tough for FavRUH, with all those young'uns running around all fast-y like, and he's got to gun it in, just like he did in the field back in Mississip, only some of those blurs aren't on his team, and then he's sad, and only the pills can make it all better.

What I'm saying is, now the Bears can beat the Vikings, even with Crybaby Sulkypants as our QB. So hooray for that.

A quick Turducken update - I've successfully boned a duck. They're oilier, so it was more slippery, which made it more difficult, but also more satisfying, see what I'm saying? Notwithstanding the sexual innuendo, I made a kickass recipe with curry, garlic (15 cloves, bitches) and soy sauce. But it did call for not just boning, but also skinning, so that's not going to happen again. But I'm now ready, I believe, to prepare the Holy Grail of Gluttony for the Family Fancy Pants in October.

Finally, I went to the emergency room this evening, because some angular man-child put his elbow through my chin while we were both jockeying for position to catch a frisbee during an Ultimate game.

Now, were we keeping score? We were not. Did I need to scrap with the guy for the disc? Not at all. Did I make the catch? Fuck yes I did.

So I get a tissue from one of the other players, and I throw some water on my chin, and I ask my team - "Does it look like I need stitches?" Now, I don't know all the players very well, but I hope none of them are med students, or doctors, because they all said no. They didn't even equivocate - "well, I'm not sure, but maybe you want to go home just in case." Nope. "Looks like a nasty cut, but I think you're ok." So, did I keep playing through the end of the game? Hells yeah.

And then I got home. Wife looks at me like I'm Massive Headwound Harry



(Linda Hamilton can for sure kick my ass, but she's totally a man. If you catch her in the right pose, you can see her junk through her skirt. Seriously - frank and beans, people)

So I go in to the bathroom, and finally get to see the gaping wound in my chin with my own eyes. And we head off to the emergency room, where I get 6 (6!) stitches. So for all you frisbee players, next time you can see bone through a cut, it might need stitches. Hippies.

He may know hookers, but he also knows international finance

Do you remember Eliot Spitzer? He's most famous for his love of dirty hookers, but he also was governor of New York.

Here's a reminder:



Mrs. Spitzer, by the way, is my nomination for saint. See how she totally didn't stab her pathetic husband in the brain, then dance over his expiring organs? Saint Silda, patron saint of patience and sleeping on the couch.

The fallout from Spitzer's impressively bad decision-making is ongoing. First, he cost himself a chance of ever running for President. He cost himself the Attorney General's spot in Obama's Cabinet, which might be a step fown from NY state governor, unless you consider that being governor of New York, your only responsibility is that Mike Bloomberg's morning quadruple espresso is delivered piping hot promptly at 7:14, as stipulated by the New York city charter.

Spitzer also cost himself any future victory in any argument with anyone, ever.

"Did you pay the electric bill, Eliot?"
"Actually, Silda, that was on your pile of bills to pay."
"Oh that's right, I'm sorry. You're too busy writing checks to more hookers. Don't worry, El. I'll feed, clothe, and love our children. Go pay some disease-ridden sex slave 20 bucks to pee on your bald ugly head."
"Yes dear. Sorry honey."

Man, Spitzer family dinners must be awesome.

Another consequence of Spitzer's indiscression is a run of really annoying, mildly offensive David Paterson parodies by Fred Armisen on SNL:



Why I added it here I'm not sure. Maybe because I've been slack on my video clips, and I felt bad. To compensate with something actually funny, here's the Upright Citizens Brigade, and their Bucket of Truth.

Upright Citizens Brigade

Bucket of Truth

Joke of the Day
Stand-Up Comedy

Get Funny Ringtones
More Funny Videos

Anyhoo, David Paterson is annoying and nowhere near as impressive as Eliot Spitzer. As a country, we lost some serious brain power when he had to resign and retire to a life of constantly being reminded of his love for dirty whores.

Fortunately, all that time being ignored by his wife and family have left him with some free time. And evidently he's putting it to good use, by writing to us from beyond his political grave. Spitzer's been writing for Slate.com, and it turns out he still knows what he's talking about.

It's a shame that we should lose his expertise simply over some silly misunderstanding about adultery and prostitution. At least he paid his taxes, right? That puts him one up on half of Obama's Cabinet. Plus, he hates corporations, and if we're going to do this socialism thing right, we need people who know how to hit companies right in the financial testicles.

And Spitzer knows a thing or two about testicles.

So here's my suggestion to Obama. On your desk, you've got the red phone for national security emergencies and late-night pizza deliveries (Bush's contribution to the speeddial list), your white phone for Congress, your green phone for Treasury, and your pimp phone for Canada, America's bitch.

I suggest adding another phone - your double-secret Dirty phone, for getting calls from disgraced experts. Douglas H. Ginsburg. Tom Daschle. And Eliot Spitzer. That way, we can still benefit from their knowledge, while you get deniability about your relationship with them.

And worse comes to worst, you can always have Secret Service shoot them.

Why I'd be the best leader for Greenland

In all the hubbub over Georgia trying to convince Russia that no means no, a bunch of other states want to move out of Mom and Dad's basement, despite the free rent. Greenland's story is the most compelling to me.

First, you have the first public act of sarcasm in human history. I knew about the Vikings and their love of funny hats,



but who knew they were so edgy? Now they're like the Janeane Garofalo of ancient empires.

The one thing that connects these in utero nations is their need for a leader. Someone with the fiery charisma and wild-eyed antisocial nature to really bring their new independence into sharp relief. And that is why I think I'm the perfect new king - or prime minister, or premier, I'm not too choosy about titles - for Greenland.

Other candidates may have stronger backgrounds in diplomacy, or management. But what I bring to the prow of the Greenland schooner is iconoclasm.

You want crazy ideas? Deal with these: I don't think Cypress is a real country. I think Vladimir Putin, deep down, wishes he'd never abandoned his ballet lessons. I believe dragons are the solution to the world's dependency on oil. Bunny rabbits represent all that is evil and unholy. Penny loafers are ugly, but make excellent doorstops.

It's this sort of nowhere-near-center thinking that will make Greenland a power player in the 21st century. With my firm hand on Greenland's mane I shall lead its gallop past other upstarts like Venezuela, Gibbon, and Papua New Guinea. Who will know how to deal with our truth? Together, Greenland, we will captivate the imaginations of the 24-hour news networks, and the PR will be fantastic, and unending. Tourism will skyrocket with my creation of the "Snow-Shoveling Championships," to take place annually until all the snow melts.

But then we won't need the snow, because the natural beauty of our great nation will finally be laid bare before the lustful eyes of the other nations. The U.N. will clamor to move its office to our southern coast, if only to make vacationing more convenient. Decades away, you say? Not if we start burning coal right now. Aerosol sprays, bans on recycling, subsidies for the use of plastics - as your leader I will do everything in my power to expedite global warming.

And when the seas rise, and the sun beats down mercilessly on the middle of the planet (now extending into southern Canada and the Russian steppe), people will flock to Greenland, and we shall be the new Global Empire. All this is possible if you make me your president, or "Snowman on High," or whatever your CEO designation may be.

Sure, there's a constitution to draft, and wigs to wear, and a war of independence and all that to be accomplished. And what of a national anthem (I suggest "Don't Stop Believing," by Journey)? But I hate wigs, and my penmanship is dreadful. Let's let the pinhead beareaucrats handle the details. In the meantime I'll be telling Denmark to go fuck itself, and leading a pack of Greenlanders toward the harbor, where we'll dump box after box of danishes into the icy Atlantic ocean.

Danishes, by the way, are my least favorite pastry. They're sticky, and they often contain fruit, which has no business within a sugary treat. So nuts to them, and nuts to you, Denmark. Greenland forever!

Yes I am, and no, I have no idea

He was a great writer and all, but F. Scott Fitzgerald was a dick. Yeah, Zelda was mentally unbalanced when they met, but his behavior didn't help the situation. But give the man credit, he knew it. He said - and here I'm paraphrasing, if not wholly making it up - that in order to be great, a writer must be a bastard, selfish, and greedy. I don't know if that's the only way to do it, but of the many published writers I know (2? No, definitely at least 3) 14% are complete douchebags. So there's gotta be something to it, right?

Right now, in my e-possession, I have 40-odd stories in various stages of completion. I also have a large unwieldy, thing, codenamed "Olga," that at this point I am consciously avoiding. I also have a wife who is slowly going insane, as the weirdness of moving back in with her parents splits her brain in two. Then there is Child, who at 4 months doesn't need to demand my attention because he gets it anyway, being obviously the smartest, handsomest, and kindest soul ever to inhabit a onesie.

I need time for all that, plus keeping up with the politics thing, and the Jewness thing, and the experimenting with transvestism thing...there's a lot on my plate. So something has to go. And if you'll notice, there is one substantial portion of my focus, one particularly dear to at least two of my six (seven? Is it seven yet?) readers, that is missing. And that would be sports.

Starting today I am giving up my passionate devotion to all sports, except for football.

My first thought was equivocation: I could put this off a month, and wait to see how the Penguins do in their pursuit of the Stanley Cup, whether the Hornets can prove themselves to be a second generation Phoenix Suns, or whether the Celtics can give their fantastically non-clutch superstar Kevin Garnett the title he so achingly desires, or whether Lebron could really take a mediocre Cavs team, less impressive even than Jordan's Jordanaires, all the way to a championship. Then I thought of the Brewers, and all that young talent, and that it looked like maybe Ben Sheets would stick around for 200 innings, and they might give the Cardinals a run for their money, and that could take me all the way to August, when training camp starts for the NFL. Then I realized that this was the sort of thing I wanted to avoid if I was going to do this.

So. Since Friday I have not once logged on to ESPN.com, nor Kissing Suzy Kolber, nor Free Darko. I won't even link to those fantastic sources of information, for fear of getting sucked in once again. And I will continue not checking those websites - or any sports website - or watching games on TV, excepting, again, football, until one of two things occurs: either I publish a story in some obscure, online-only literary magazine with a readership of 12, who themselves were assigned to read it as a writing workshop experiment in awful internet writing, or I finish a draft of Olga.

To put the questions to the answers in the post's title: "Are you fucking serious?" and "Do you have any idea how long you think you can keep this up?"

I assume Brothers A and S will keep me updated somehow, and I am still getting ESPN the magazine, so it's not like I'm going to shack up in the cave next to Bin Laden. But no TrueHoop, no Deadspin, no WithLeather, no Sporting News. No NBA on TNT, no Versus, no ESPN. Don't think I'm not terrified. But it's either this or I get Wife another husband, and she's already had it with the one she's got, so she's not really inclined to get all Mormony.

As a last hurrah, though, here are some thoughts on the NBA playoffs and one or two on baseball, which, now that I don't live in Boston, I don't really have to care about.

- I hate his team, I hate his style, I hate his combover, but Greg Popovich is simply a great coach. He will do whatever it takes to win, even if it means taking the entire sport of basketball down into the Dungeon of Unwatchability, which is what we in the bizz like to call San Antonio. Tony Parker has gotten too good for a French guy married to Eva Longoria, and with all those titles there is no doubt that Tim Duncan is better than Kevin Garnett. This will bear out if they meet in the finals: Popovich will take Doc Rivers into the deep grasses and show him what it is to be a real coach of men.

- I don't know if you noticed, but Chris Paul? That guard on the Hornets (when did they leave Charlotte?) is pretty good. He can dribble, and he's got a bit of touch around the rim, and he can poke that ball away with those sticky fingers, and that 3-pointer looks near effortless, and he throws lobs like parabolic poetry, and his teeth are perfectly white and straight. I bet he's real good to his mama, too.

- Now that Barry Bonds is gone, and Julio Franco is retired, there's no reason to care about baseball. I can't even root for the Diamondbacks to keep up their hot streak because they're an expansion team, and have already won a championship, over the Yankees, no less. So baseball isn't such a loss.

- Oh, and Cedric Benson? Don't think there's not plenty of time between now and August for me to find you, and slice your Achilles tendons while you're not looking. The only compelling reason for me not to bother is that I don't have the time for Chicago to host a parade in my honor, and give me a key to the city.

Some links, you know, for the kids

Here is the Balloon Brother, amazing David Letterman and Biff like sugar-crazed toddlers:



Back in the day I had to wait breathlessly by the radio for the prefect songs to come up, then mix them with my meager tape collection to explain to any number of special ladies how I felt, being too lazy to come up with an original thought. Now, just go to Muxtape, and you can post your mixtapes for all to see, including the girl who sits behind you in French, and who odds are will not actually enjoy Conor Oberst's whining. My recommendation? ABC, "Aisha."

In yet another sad political twist, Obama and Liberal Blogs File for Divorce, all because he went on Fox News. All I want to know is who is going to buy my love with a Playstation 3 and universal healthcare.

Freedarko is being annoying, but it doesn't matter. If you don't love your basketball lightly salted with Kierkegaard and Ghostface Killah, then I don't know what to say to you.

Yeah, it's a short post, but it's really all in the name of getting Brother Balloon some extra hits. Check out his website, The Twisted Balloon Company, and be amazed.

Screw you guys, I'm taking my ball and going home

Here are some reasons why Boston blows...

1) Red Sox fans, drunk and sweating on the un-air-conditioned T.

2) The T, summer, fall, spring or winter, it always sucks.

3) A 3-bedroom house costs, literally, 14.8 billion dollars. Inflation's a bitch.

4) College students, and their rock music, and loose lifestyles.

5) The Charles River. I suppose I should have some allegiance to it, but screw that noise. It's inconveniently located, and smelly, and cold. 

6) Frappes. It's a milkshake, you freaks! You are not French!

7) The accent. Not the accent itself, which I actually enjoy. I'm more aggravated by all the crappy imitations. For me, it's the original, or nothing. That's why I hate people who cover Britney Spears; no one else can do her justice.

8) Northeastern liberalism, Southern segregation. The city is like a Dalmatian: a black spot in a sea of white leftist guilt. 

9) Somerville, little annoying brother to know-it-all Cambridge. "Ooh! Ooh! Cambridge, check it out! We hate Israel too! Look! Just because we don't have Harvard or MIT, we're still cool, right? Can we come hang out with you and the South End? We've got those cool girl jeans, and hoodies, and everything!"

10) Beacon Hill. Not much of a hill, really, is it. Pompous pricks.

11) Hey, we have inadequate public transportation, we fight parking garage construction because we like our city to be pretty, not functional...let's make it illegal to park on the street! Yeah! That way, we get to ticket cars for pretty much anything!

12) The Commons is actually, get this, a park. But don't call it that, because that would be what normal cities do.

12)  I just...I just thought we had something. We had good times, right, Boston? Remember that one time, in the Commons? We had a bottle of wine, and watched the sunset, and talked about our feelings. Didn't you enjoy that? I just feel like, you know, we've been drifting apart. You never tell me what you're thinking about, or how your day is...maybe it's time we went our separate ways. 

So... goodbye. The Fancy Pants are packing it in, and moving to another town. One with...other...things...for...people. So, yeah. Bye.

I am weak, so weak

From the very beginning I have taken a firm stand against the juggernaut behemoth that is Facebook. Even when I learned that many people I love and respect had surrendered to its wily, sexy charms, I said "Nay! I shall not be swayed!"

And then I found out that I can find people with whom I went to camp. People who might forgive me for my obsession with proper grammar. Who might remember me when I was awkward and quiet, instead of awkward and outspoken. Gosh, with an opportunity like that, who could blame me for giving in?

So today I've succumbed. I am on Facebook, searching madly for people I once knew who now have children and double chins and less hair. It's like a constant high school reunion, except no one is having sex in the janitor's closet. And for those of you who know where I went to high school, it could happen. I don't know where the janitor's closet was/is, but I bet people were/are having sex in it. No one I know, but still.

Do not think that I'll be neglecting the Fancy Pants, though. Despite its god-awful name, which gets worse every time I have to type it, I'm standing by my blog, and shall update it as I see fit, as always. So don't think that just because I'm on Facebook, and football season is over, that I'm going to give up this crazy plan of writing out things I think.

Don't talk to me. Don't even look at me.

Brian Urlacher: Hey, what's goin on?

Me:

Alex Brown: Did you, um, did you watch last night?

Me:

Tommie Harris: You guys, I don't think he's talking to us.

Me: Who's Todd Collins?

Urlacher: I don't know that name. I don't know who you're talking about.

Harris: Yeah, that sound like some accountant, or something

Me: Don't lie to me, you pricks. You remember getting plowed like a choirboy last night? Does that ring a bell? Some "accountant" bending you over his knee in front of 80,000 fans, and opening you up wider than Wacker Drive? Is it starting to come back to you?

Brown: It wasn't totally our fault. I mean, Griese had 4th and goal with 7 minutes left, down 7. The field goal wasn't our call.

Me: At this point, the offense spends entire games with its collective head between its ankles. But you guys...I just thought you were better than that. 24 points to the Redskins? To TODD COLLINS? I swore he was taking my order at Dunkin Donuts on Tuesday, and Thursday night he's tearing out your rectum in ways that - I mean, thank god it was on the NFL Network where no one could see it, because children should be prevented from seeing that game. Now get out. Go away, I have to decide whether I still want you in my life this year. I am seriously considering packing it in, and switching over to basketball, because you have hurt me. I feel betrayed, and let down, and I just...Brian, I never expected this from you, of all people. Go, just...just go.

More on Noah Feldman, Child Professor

The Forward has an interesting piece here about Dr. Feldman comparing himself to the apostate to end all apostates Baruch Spinoza. Evidently when Spinoza gave religion the finger, didn't bitch and moan when he wasn’t included on Judaism's New Year’s card list. Surprising? No – Spinoza was a brilliant man, and helped usher in an intellectual revolution unmatched until Kentucky Fried Movie introduced the world to wacky random humor.

/ Digression – I did, in fact, just compare Baruch Spinoza to Samuel L. Bronkowitz. Cream in your jeans, indeed. /end digression

So it's not like Spinoza didn't know what he was getting himself into. Not to say that Prof. Feldman isn’t intelligent – he’s only a kid, and he’s teaching at Harvard Law! – but the Forward gives way too much weight to his article. Great dissenter? Let us quickly compare some highlights from the lives of the respective men.

Spinoza – engaged in a reverse-Abrahamic analysis of G-d, associating Him with all nature, which evidently ticked off the frum powers that were, and he was excommunicated (put in charem, for the Hebraicallly advantaged). Published just once during his lifetime, never married, and died ignominiously at the age of 45. His legacy and posthumous publications helped generate the fervor and rebellion that lead to the Enlightenment (thanks, Wikipedia).

Feldman – has examined the collision of church and state through books on democracy and Islam, both in the abstract and in Iraq, and on the Establishment Clause. His rebellion against traditional Judaism consisted of marrying a Korean woman. His writing has so far led to stereotypical Jewish self-flagellation, and immature insults on the level of “if you whine like a child, we’ll treat you like a child.”

Obviously Spinoza gets the nod in head-to-head heresy. We don’t know whether Dr. Feldman considered the intellectual or spiritual foundations of his secularization, or even if he has in fact turned away from all religious practice. We do know, that all he chose to write about was his high school’s decision not to keep other alumni apprised of his life-cycle events and personal successes. As though there weren’t enough Maimonides graduates on the Harvard alumni lists who could get that info through the Crimson Legacy, or whatever the Harvard alumni newsletter is called. So now we can move on from Dr. Feldman’s solipsism.

Anyone know why they keep calling Maimo a yeshiva?

And now for something original

Sometimes there will be commentary. Other times, like now, there will be funny. If you choose to hand out this application to potential exes, any consequences may not be traced to this website.

Breakup Application Date____________

Instructions:

Please complete all blanks: this office receives many applications during each scholastic term, and information can be lost in the file system/closet, behind rolling papers and extra bicycle tires. This is especially important in Section I, which may in fact include the reason for submitting this application in the first place. If that is the case, the applicant may want to consider whether completing the entire form, and submitting the application fee ($35 or the complete Freaks & Geeks series DVD) is worth the effort. If you require additional space, please attach an 8 ½ X 11 sheet of paper with any additions. Please do not wrap said paper around feces, spoiled pad thai, or any other potentially disruptive substance. Receipt of applications with that sort of additional material has resulted in vengeful posting of compromising photos and humiliating stories of questionable accuracy on the administrator’s Office blog. Please submit a copy of your original Relationship Application, and all materials related thereto, including pictures, your “Top Five Fantasies” essay, and notarized “Commitment to Excellence in Girlfriend-ness” affidavit.

I. General Information

1. Name: Last ________________, First __________________

2. Address _________________________________________________

3. Nickname, if any (does not include generics like Honey, Sugarlips, or Love of My Life) ________________

4. Phone Number ______________________

5. E-mail (required if applicant would like a response) _____________________

6. Date of Birth __________________

7. Height _______________________

8(a). Weight _____________________ (b) Seriously, Actual Weight _____________

9. Anticipated salary for the coming fiscal year ___________

II. Family Information

10(a). Father’s profession ____________________

10(b). If military, is your father stationed overseas? Y __ N __ (c) If not, please state the domestic base at which he resides, and the approximate time it would take for him to drive to campus _______________________________________________________

11(a). Number of brothers, if any, residing in state ___ (b) Athletic activities in which they regularly participate (includes any sports for which steroid use is customary; does not include golf or tennis) ______________________________________________

12(a). Does anyone in your family own a firearm, or other lethal weapon including, but not limited to, baseball bats, hockey sticks, Chinese throwing stars, cattle prod, mace (medieval kind, not spray)? Y __ N __ (b) If so, please specify past instances where family members have displayed an urge to use said weaponry against those who have “done the family wrong.” _________________________ ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

III. Short Answers/ Essays

Please answer either three of the five questions in the “Short Answer” section, or one of the three essay questions. Please note, however, that the application will not be considered unless applicant chooses to respond to Essay Question #3. Please submit answers either in type-written or podcast form; anything handwritten or longer than one page, size 14 type, will be filed in the closet and/or shredded for use in the hamster cage.

Short Answer Questions: Please limit answers to 140 characters, or the maximum length of a text message. No emoticons.

1) These reasons you have for ending the relationship – aren’t they, in fact, issues you’re dealing with that have nothing to do with me?

2) Did I cheat on you? Do you have any sort of proof to support such a malicious accusation, other than grainy YouTube footage? If not, aren’t we being a wee-bit paranoid? Couldn’t that be anyone’s penis?

3) What’s this really about?

4) Have you found someone new? Is it Jay from Carl Spackler’s Special Blend, my Frisbee golf team?

5) Please review the “Commitment to Excellence in Girlfriend-ness” affidavit you submitted with your Relationship Application. Explain the reasons for your deceit in signing the Commitment when you clearly had no intention of adhering to the duties and obligations stated therein. I mean really, can we both agree that this application could have been submitted months ago?

Essay Questions:

1) Analyze all the trumped-up reasons your mother and your friends hate me. Consider whether they have your best interests at heart; would your stuck-up whore of a sister really be ok with you being as happy as she pretends to be in her sham of a marriage? List the ways in which this relationship can improve, and detail your well-considered fifteen-point plan, if you think you’re so mature.

2) During your time in this relationship, you have failed to achieve many of your goals as listed in your Relationship Application. What have those failures taught you? Will you use that knowledge to raise your performance in future interactions, or will you persist in your vicious circle of unreachable standards and excessive, melodramatic responses when those standards are not met? Consider the ways your bitchiness impedes your path to contentment.

3) Is this application being submitted because you intend to “switch teams” upon ending this relationship? Please elaborate on the sundry ways your new paramour will please you carnally. The acceptance of your application will be more seriously considered if your answer is supplemented with pictures and/or movie footage.