Keep John Hughes' name out your mouth

Around the intranets, there has lately been a lot of criticism of some of the writers of Page 2 on espn.com. This is with good reason, many of them are unbearable. I don't feel like it is something that continues to need to be harped on, though. In the interest of everyone moving on to bigger and better things, I provide these pocket sized criticisms, in hopes that they can be the final word, or at least useful in a pinch.

Bill Simmons is a Michael J. Fox obsessed, petulant, New England-centric old man with a gambling problem. He refuses to shut up about his friends or their terrible nicknames.

Scoop Jackson is an educated African American writer who takes on the persona of an ign'nant hustler when he vomits out his occasional column. He does it badly, Paul Barman sounds more street.

Dan Shanoff is a middle aged virgin with an obsessive hard-on for underdogs. Any underdog, anytime. Just give him upsets, dammit. Please.

You are now free to return to your regularly scheduled whatever the hell else you were doing.

Don't drink the milk, the shit's spoiled.

Perhaps as you idle away your time in the great big intranets, the voyeur in you wonders what type of trash the people whose blogs you don't read stack up. As a community service, I will relate what I found in my bedroom garbage can as I emptied it today. I'll leave it up to you, the reader to decide if it's vaguely interesting or not. I have faith in you like that.

Empty McDonald's french fry container: 1
The State newspaper, sports section, dated March 17
Empty bottle of grape Slice:1
Five week old, recently devoured Valentine's candy
Banana peel:1
Apple core:1 (Cause I'm healthy fool)
Empty Cinnamon Toast Crunch box, Net Weight 1lb 10oz:1
Coathangers: Bout a hundred

That is all.

I told her to shut up, but I said it under my breath 'cause I didn't want to start anything...

I guess it's considered timely to look back at what was happening at the beginning of our current little skirmish out in the Middle East. Firstly, I am not going to opine on whether the war in Iraq is good or bad. That's not what this shit is about. Now is the time for reminiscing and pointless nostalgia.

That night in 2003, I can remember driving after work to the house of Hogan, a young whippersnapper that I toiled away in the salt mines with. I had a Nalgene bottle full of Bacardi and Diet Mountain Dew, and that was all that concerned me in the world. I show up at his house, on Evergreen Terrace of all places. If I would have had a hacksaw that street sign would have come home with me.

But back to the lecture at hand. I go inside and Hogan is with his roommate smoking and watching the news. Night vision shots of rubble and the anchorlady trying to explain what a "daisy cutter" is. I got lit and watched that shit for hours, no clue what would go down over the next few years. I need to be more aware of my surroundings I think.

For Best Results, Play "Everybody Hurts" While Reading

There are times in everybody's life I suppose where they wonder if the prospect of waking up every day to go somewhere they hate so that they can buy things that they don't need or in some cases even want is something to be so cheerful about.
What is the point of slogging through one more episode of Everybody Loves Raymond?
A man I used to know apparently shot himself recently. The next time my alarm clock goes off before I want it to, I am afraid I will think he might have had a decent idea.

It's been a long time, I shouldn't have left you

Word on the street is our illustrious football coach caught himself a ticket at a speed trap in Arcade, Ga recently. I thought this might present itself with an inelegant segue into the tale of the first time I went to prison, due in fact to a speeding ticket.

On one of my occasional trips from Athens to Macon while I was an undergrad, I was pulled over doing 70-something in a 55 near the thriving metropolis of Eatonton. After I called and got paperwork on everything, I found out that I could either pay the $195 ticket or do 24 hours in jail. Being a college student at the time, I clearly thought it better to be locked up. Formalities were involved, as I was forced to wait for a certain time period to run out, and then drive to Eatonton and be booked there. When I arrived at the prison, I was told that it was good that I had come when I did, as they would have issued a warrant and come after me had I waited any longer. As I was being fingerprinted, one of the cops (deputies? I don't know) went to look for somebody high enough up on the chain of command to formally book me. I then was told to hose down in the shower and given my standard issue greens, (with bonus missing top button, Awesome!). A word of advice to any aspiring inmates: wear a plain white undershirt, with nothing on it, and you can keep it. Not so my faded white David Allan Coe tee. Actual jail was not bad on this occasion. I spent a little time playing chess with pieces carved from bars of soap, and a little more time watching others fight over watching wrestling or Monday Night Football. I had little fear of rape despite my inviting open collar and bare chest becase Eatonton's jail was not crowded, and I received a cell to myself for the night. Sure enough, about 11 AM the next day I was called to the door of the general population room and let out. The guys my age or near that were cops and wardens were cool enough about what I was doing, but the old guys who looked like they polished off a fifth of Evan an evening gave me the wholehearted bad cop Bull treatment. It was all in all not a terrible experience, though incredibly boring. Easily the best of the three times I have been locked up, and it sure beat paying $195.

Snakes 'n Beans?

A husband and wife apparently found a piece of a snik'em in their french cut green beans outside of Atlanta. They have appropriately overreacted. The company that produced the beans in question offered $200 to pay them off, but the couple deemed this insufficient. Many is the time I have found some screwed up shit in my food, be it hair, insect part, rubber band, etc. I never was enough of a dick about it to report things to the FDA. Appropriate conduct is to remove the offending particle, as well as whatever food was directly touching it, and go about your business. Shit, in Asia, people pay good money for booze with an entire cobra in it. In the wake of the Wendy's finger fiasco, I openly invite all people who find disturbing stuff in their food to shut the fuck up and move on with their lives.