Why you should NOT be excited about the NBA draft.

I'm gonna go ahead and put it out there from the get-go.  I am not a casual NBA fan.  In fact, this last season, while watching Toronto play some team like Milwaukee, my girlfriend had the audacity to enter the room and ask, "Why are you even watching those teams?"  After shaking my head, I responded, "Because it's the NBA."  

The lockout just about killed me.  I remember being so excited for the season tip-off on Christmas day. Weirdly, it felt like opening a holiday gift with a tag from David Stern.  An all-day gift I enjoyed very much watching with my younger brothers and getting blackout drunk in the process.  A Merry Christmas indeed.

Tonight is the NBA draft.  Supposedly one of the greatest days for fans of specific teams.  In theory, you can acquire that young talented player that can push your team, your city, and your heart into another stratosphere.

I'll never forget when I was at my cousin's house in 2005 awaiting the selection of New Orleans.  He and I were literally standing up, nearing anxiety.  Bogut was (sadly) the clear cut favorite for overall number one, but after that things were a little dicey.  Marvin Williams, Deron Williams, Chris Paul, and Raymond Felton were the most likely candidates for N.O. at number 4.  I felt great overall because I knew that my team was going to get (what I thought at the time) would be a pretty good player, maybe not an all-star caliber player, but a for-sure starter.  Marvin Williams went number 2 and I felt good.  Everything was going to plan.  As we awaited the next pick, my cousin and I talked about what we liked and didn't like about the point guards.  I confessed I hadn't seen much of Derron Williams playing in the Big Ten (Illinois).  Due to the guaranteed tv time that UNC gets, I was familiar with Raymond Felton.  I admired his quickness.  But that was it.  At the time, I thought he was a reach at four and still'd be a reach at twenty-four.  Too many turnovers, not a good jump shooter, lack of basketball IQ, always seemingly out-of-control, etc.  But Chris Paul was special.  Yes, even at college.  Living in the south we got a lot of ACC play, and I remember watching the diminutive Paul dominate that league, but I couldn't help but wonder if his size would be a problem at the next level.

My cousin REALLY wanted Paul, and I trusted his instincts so I pulled for that pick.  Derron Williams went number 3, Paul went 4, and Felton went 5.  Bing bang boom, Stern rattled off the names of 3 PG's.

From my cousins' reaction, I thought he had won the Louisiana state PowerBall lottery.  There may have even been tears.  The point is: HE KNEW HE HAD SOMETHING SPECIAL THAT DAY.  In his gut.  In his bones.  He knew that the New Orleans Hornets franchise was now a playoff caliber team with the addition of a single player.  Because this player was an all-star. A franchise and city-economy changer.

The passionate NBA lover inside me wants to be that excited all the time about the draft.  That's what it's all about.  And while obviously if you have the last pick in the second round, your expectations are in check, but what about those teams in the lottery?  SHOULDN'T THEY RIGHTFULLY HAVE INSANE EXPECTATIONS?!?  These kids are supposed to change everything.  That's why they're being pick so high, right?  These players are supposed to not just be the best in America but the best in the world.

Here is the fact of the matter: Picks 1 through 5 are (in theory) supposed to be INCREDIBLE.  And here's another fact: since 2000 this has never happened.  NEVER.  The closest we've ever had was that 2003 almost popped off that cork.

Let me be as clear as possible: overall, the NBA draft is a complete joke.  Since we have the genius that is hindsight, we have the ability to see where guys were picked and how they faired.  Close your eyes if you're not ready for some tough reality.

In 2000, apparently the best five players in the draftable world were KMart, Stromile Swift, Darius Miles, Marcus Fizer, and Mike Miller.  Great start.

In 2001, apparently the best five players available were KWAME BROWN, Tyson Chandler, Pau Gasol, Eddy Curry, and J Rich.  40% of these guys ended up being COMPLETELY WORTHLESS and rained down torrential financial constraints on their franchises.  Awesome.

In 2002, someone named Nickoloz Tskitishvilli was drafted at number five to attempt and play center for the Denver Nuggets.  NUMBER FIVE!?????  Who is this person?

In 2003, the Basketball Gods opened their hearts and blessed the land with what is WITHOUT A DOUBT, the greatest draft the NBA has ever had.  In the top five we were all blessed with LeBron, Melo, Bosh, and Wade.  Unfortunately this top five is also most known for the Darko fiasco.  Ironically 3 of these top 5 now play on the same team and just won a championship together.  Seems like pretty solid logic to me: put the best players from the best draft year ever on the same team.  What do you get?  Champions.

In, 2004, we were gifted with Dwight Howard at one overall.  Looking back now, I definitely thought that scrawny high school kid from Atlanta might be okay.  But not the best in his position.

In 2005, see above for former reference.  Looking back, Bogut at 1?  Marvin Williams at 2!!!???  Damn.

2006 makes me want to punch a nice old lady right in the face.  In order: Bargnani, Aldrige, Adam fucking Morrison, Tyrus Thomas, and Sheldon Williams were your top 5.  Honest to God, what is wrong with these GM's?  And the excuse of "Well this was just a bad draft class" is dead wrong.  The GM's didn't do their job and find the best possible talent because Rudy Gay was at 8 and Rajon Rondo was at 21.  These are guys you can build a franchise around.  Ask Tornoto how building around Bargnani has gone.

2007 yielded Oden, Durant, Horford, Conley, and Jeff Green, respectively.  I won't go into the whole Oden thing, but it's more sad and humiliating than enlightening.  Obviously the misfortune of Portland became the franchise-changing grace that would be Kevin Durant in Seattle/OKC.  All jokes aside, how great of a professional basketball Jeff Green is! 

2008, really not bad for once; basketball fans were due.  Rose, Beasley, Mayo, Westbrook, Love. 

2009, Griffin, Thabeet, Harden, Tyreke Evans, Ricky Rubio.  The Clippers finally hit with a top pick.

2010, Wall, Evan Turner, Derrick Favors, Wesley Johnson, DeMarcus Cousins.  I asked myself then, and I'm still asking now... "Who the fuck is Wesley Johnson?"

If the draft shows us anything, it's that it's really REALLY hard to assess who will pan out and who won't.  And overall I would agree.  But shouldn't at least the top five be insanely awesome?  The GM's of the league literally cannot assess the talents of only five guys to determine who's elite?  Or hell, even determine who the single most greatest player draftable is at that time?

As a fan of a team who picks in the top 3 or even the top 5, I have a right as a supporter of that team for that GM to draft an insane talent for years to come.  The simple fact that history shows this happens rarely sucks out all the life from the awesome party that should be the NBA draft.  For Christ's sake, what's 2003 known for more...?  LeBron, Bosh, Melo, and Wade or fuckin' Darko Milicic?

As you watch the NBA draft tonight, remember not to get your hopes up.  Unless you're New Orleans who have a sure thing... right?  RIGHT?!?


#mmjb

The Mirage that is the College Football Playoffs

What a bittersweet day in sports.  The NCAA has announced that there will be a four team college football playoff.  While the words "playoff" and " college football" when combined force cream in my pants, it's all ultimately unsatisfying.

To the committee, congrats on almost getting it right.  College football had a chance to fix what was without a doubt the worst computer ranking system on the planet.  But no... instead of actually doing justice and making things right - a real legitimate chance for a playoff - the committee kept all the power in their hands. 

If you thought the computer ranking was bad, wait til you see how bad these knuckleheads mess this up.  Think about it: by only allowing four teams, you're essentially picking the top four teams from the top four conferences.  Who's that?  Hmm, let's see: if USC or Oregon wins the PAC 10 (refusal to acknowledge the term PAC-12) then boom, they're in.  If Michigan or Ohio State wins the Big Ten then boom, they're in.   And then...?!  What's going to happen when the SEC tournament comes around?  Obviously LSU and Alabama can't play each other due to both being in the SEC western division.  So what then?  Let's say both of these teams are ranked #1 and #2 respectively when they meet.  Does that mean on November 3rd when the Tide rolls into Baton Rouge that it's for all the marbles?  Is the committee going to take two teams OUT OF FOUR from the same conference?  Not a chance.  Even though these are clearly the best two teams?  And then, what if Georgia somehow wins the SEC east, plays either LSU or Alabama, and beats them?  Because Georgia (by definition) won the SEC does that mean they have an argument to be in the top four?!?!  #ridiculous

What's going to happen to that final spot?  What about the likes of Oklahoma, Oklahoma State, Texas, Kansas State, Nebraska, & Wisconsin?  Will the Big Twelve winner be considered a shoe-in?

And ACC fans... yeah right and good luck.  You could win every game and possibly not get in to the top four brotherhood.  Clemson, Virginia Tech, Miami, & Florida State?  Sorry.  Is 12-0 Clemson better than 11-1 Alabama with a loss to LSU?  Maybe... maybe not.  The point is that we'll never know because someone on the committee thinks that they know.  And that's what matters right....? Right!?

Isn't the whole point of playoffs to give teams with great regular season records a chance to compete for the big kahuna?  Because that's not happening here.  Do you think undefeated Boise State will be in that top four?

And as much as it pains me to say, you know Notre Dame will be in the conversation just because they're Notre Dame. Don't even get me started about this.  When they get absolutely thrashed in a bloodbath by USC, some idiots out there will still argue that they're better than say a Florida State or a Georgia or maybe a one-loss Alabama or LSU.  It's all too cringe-worthy.  Committees love the Irish.  But when was the last time they did ANYTHING?  Who is the last great Notre Dame pro?  Jimmy Clausen?  Dear God.

It's all one of the darkest, worst jokes I've ever seen in all of sports and in fact, the word mirage comes to mind.  Webster defines the word mirage as "something that appears real but is not".  Sounds pretty accurate to me.  In theory, we all like the word "playoff" but there is no real playoff happening here.  Whether it's a committee or a computer or a talisman, FOUR TEAMS IS NOT ENOUGH.  Of course, at some point you have to pick a number of teams and go with it.  And of course those last teams not in will scream and rant and throw temper tantrums

So what's the number? 10.  If you can make the top ten of any poll - AP, Coach's, BCS, RPI, whatever, just pick one - you deserve a chance.  This would only take four weeks to complete and allows the mid-major to get in.  I'll never forget in 1998, when Tulane, headed by Shaun King, went 12-0 and ended the season ranked No. 7, and thinking, "Wouldn't it be fun to see how far they can go..."  A 10 team playoff gives college fans that wet dream.  Check it out: http://www.printyourbrackets.com/10teamsingleelimination.html    Teams 10, 9, 8, 7 duke it out first, while everyone else watches, then those two winners play numbers one and two and so on til we have a winner.  It's so simple.  Incorporate the playoff games into the already pre-contracted bowl games.  Everyone benefits from this.  The mid major gets a big check and an increased viewership.  Right now, I couldn't give a rip about the J.P Morgan Gingerbread Bowl, but if you tell me that whoever wins that game takes on USC or LSU or Alabama next, you're damn right I wanna see how they match up.  That's right... I'm now watching the J.P. Morgan Gingerbread Bowl. 

Like riding in a stretch-Hyandai limo.  Like going on a date with a hand model.  Like going in just tip deep.  Yes, you're riding a limo.  Yes, you're dating a model.  Yes, you're technically inside.  BUT SO WHAT?!?  If you're not going to do it right, then what's the point?  I want the real thing.  Not a mirage.

#mmjb

I Caught a Sharter!!! What an Idiot!

Thursdays are what I like to call "Taco Days".  They are the one day a week I get to look forward to coming to work.  It was a nice, cool day here in L.A.  The walk between my office building and the farmer's market where the tacos are at is a little bit of a hike.  It's not that long, but I'm lazy so it seems longer than it probably should.  Most of the people I pass when walking there are for the majority the kind of people whom you want to punch as hard as you can right in the nuts, i.e. lawyers, bankers, & agents.  But today was different...

I had no idea today would be such a great day.  A random woman literally farted right next to me.  Now it wasn't one of those juicy, heart-felt, damn-that-feels-good, rip-roaring tuba blaster kind of farts.  And no it wasn't silent-but-deadly.  It was somewhere in the middle.  Yes, I heard it, and yes.. good God, it was eye-wateringly deadly.  And for the record I want to make it clear that this woman was not old broad who's lost all control of her bowels.  No.  I'd say she was probably around the age of twenty-eight.  All that being said, it still sounded incredible.  Looking back now, I think I smelled it so fast because she was wearing a standard, black skirt.  A truly easy exit.

I was behind her by about a foot, which was both good and bad.  Obviously bad because some random person just sprayed me, but obviously good because I got to watch what she did to try and fix it. 

Now it all goes without saying that if this happened to any one of us, we'd tried to play it off like nothing happened or better yet blame someone else.  But she wasn't with anyone, and she wasn't on the phone or anything like that.  So was riding solo. 

Just then, she stopped.  I did what anyone would do and acted like I had just received a call on my cellphone and peeled off to the side to watch.  She too removed herself from the flow of human traffic.  And then she did it.  She quickly turned her head from side-to-side and deemed that no one was looking.  Little did she know... Slowly, she dropped her right hand down her side and acted like she had a quick scratch on her butt.  But there was no getting around it.  She dug deep; quickly, but still deep.  She wanted to research if she had in fact just soiled herself.  She brought that research-steeped hand to her face and acted like she had a cough.  Bingo.  Her face said it all.  She had in fact sharted herself.  I literally laughed out loud.  I cannot describe to you the sadness on this woman's face.

Now I do not know the extent to which she pooped herself.  Was it a simple microscope droplet or a full-blown mudpie?  We'll never know for sure. 

When I got back to my office with my tacos, although the previous events of the day one would imagine would lessen the joy of food, I enjoyed them greatly.  But they went through me like water.  And as I sat on the pot down the hall, I couldn't stop thinking about what had just happened.  It consumed me.  Why would someone have gas that bad?  Did she hear it too or just feel it?  Was her day ruined?  Did she have an extra pair of panties in her car?  Or would she go commando for the remainder of the day?  How?!?!?  She was wearing a skirt for cying-out-loud!  

The take-away of this story is this: "Sharting is not something to be taken lightly."  Do not risk it.  If you feel that gas coming, and you think you can let a little bit slip out with no consequences then yes, most of the time you'll be right, but if you miss just once... [silent pause].

The only thing that could be worse is if someone catches you...  And then writes about it.

Mudpies.

How to Know if She's "The One" i.e. The Most Incredible Template for Women to Find Success with Men

Don't kid yourself.  Relationships are the hardest thing on the planet to get right.  Men and Women could NOT be any different.  Throughout my time here on Earth, I have put my dick in chicks I'm proud of and those I'm... well, not so much.  But, that's life.  We learn from our mistakes and move on.  I'm a big fan of self-reflection.  I like to think about WHY it turned out good or bad.

It may seem hard to believe, but I get asked all the time for relationship advice.  I assume it's because I don't sugarcoat the bullshit.  Below are the top ten things I truly believe are most important when it comes to telling if she's "The One".  Let's begin:

#1) Is she a cunt?

This is without a doubt the first thing that should go through your mind.  Anyone who's at least been through middle school knows that some girls out there are just "mean girls", "bitches", or my personal fave, the more British colloquial: "cunt".  You MUST avoid these girls at all times.

Problem is is that these girls are often times hot.  Like huge sunglasses hot.  They've been chased after since they were thirteen, and it hasn't stopped.  Think about what it's like to be a hot girl for a moment.  You have dudes drooling over you all day, you know it, and all you have to do is breathe.  Tough.  Real tough.  

But these girls are a BIG risk.  Yes, you are pounding grade A vag on the reg, BUT you have to put up with so much bullshit that it becomes a personal decision about purely carnal satisfaction versus migraines.  Hey, maybe the orgasms help with the migraines?  I say fuck that.  There are plenty of good-looking girls are there that aren't cunts.  

Gentlemen, do not under any circumstance sell yourself short just for puss.  I know it feels good.  I've been there.  Just say no.

The Solution: Every guy on the planet has a huge fear: "If I go with the sweet girl is she going to fuck me as well as the "bitch".  The sad thing is I think that every guy out there wants a sweet/nice girl, BUT we've all been burned when push comes to shove and that sweet lil' girl wants to just "make out".  WTF is this?  Why have women not figured it out yet that Men are the most disgusting creatures on the planet?  Period.  We want to fuck.  Not "make love".  Everyone from Ludacris ("lady in the streets / freak in the sheets") to the band Cake ("short skirt / long jacket") has tried to educate the public about this.  Women, turn on your radios.

#2) Is she funny/fun?

A real game-changer here.  Unfortunately, there are just not that many funny people out there, which is sad and which is why you should value this at all costs.  A girl that can make me laugh is pure gold.  But make sure you're still attracted to her physically.  Personality alone will not solve a lifetime with a girl.  Gentlemen, listen up: you must stay attracted to your girl as long as you possibly can or your mind will drift.  It's dude-human nature.  

The Solution: Work yourself raw when your girl goes to sleep.  You'll at least fake your mind into believing you were with someone new.  

#3) Is she desperate?  These may be the sorriest people on the planet.  I just feel sorry for them.  But gentlemen, it's not YOUR individual fault that the girl you're considering got cheated on when she was seventeen and just hasn't found a way to grow past high school.  These girls will cling to you and wring your sanity dry.  Simply avoid them.  There's really something to be said for being an independent woman these days. 

The Solution: If you're a little worried, early on, break a date off with her and pay attention to her reaction.  Wait a week to call and reschedule.  When you call back pay careful attention to her tone.  Does she act like it's no big deal that you were "busy"?  Or does she blow up? Assess the reactions and really think about it.  I once pulled this stunt with a girl and was asked questions such as: "Where have you been?"  and "Why haven't you called me?"  Really?  We had been on one date.  Next.

#4) Does she like or at least tolerate sports?

If women only knew how huge this was for most men.  Growing up in the South, I assumed that sports were the only thing in life that mattered, and I still honestly have a hard time seeing otherwise.  Luckily, I noticed that in Boston, a different type of sports was just as popular (if not more), i.e. Pro sports.  This reminded me of how awesome America is.  Although different areas of the country value types of sports differently (pro vs college), the country as a whole loves sports.  But what about the girls...?  If you're a sports fan, which I assume you are as the majority of males are, this is a crucial element to daily living.  When I first turned on the channel for the last year's U.S. Open of Golf, my current girlfriend out of nowhere started asking me questions about the players and *gasp* even started coming up with nicknames!  Our relationship changed immensely that day. 

The Solution: Turn on a game you want to watch.  Is she interested?  Does she ask questions about the team?  Or at least comment on their jerseys' colors or mascot?  Or does she leave the room, call her friends, start texting, pick up computer, etc?  Not a good sign. 

#5) How much make-up does she need to feel "comfortable"?

I once dated a girl that took literally over an hour to make sure she was "ready to be seen".  What the fuck does that even mean?  If women knew how little we care about this, I think it would shock them.  Maybe I should have put this as my number one, because I'm HUGE on this.  You can only fake it for so long.  Plain and simple.  Remember,we're talking about the "one" here...

I'll never forget, after a date, I went home with a girl in Boston while in school.  It was dark, late at night, and the last thing I was thinking about was how much make-up she was wearing.  We went to her apartment.  I was black-out drunk.  I woke up next to what may as well have been a stranger.  This was not the same woman I saw at the bar.  And yes, I swear to God that shots started happening after we had been talking.  Whoa.  Lesson learned.

The Solution:  This one's easy.  When you first go over to her house, ask to use her bathroom.  When inside, take a look through her cabinets and notice the magnitude of make-up she has/seems to require.  This is a VERY telling sign.  I once went out with a girl who literally had every single cabinet full of this shit.  That was the end of that.

#6) How much does she expect of you?

Pressure is awful.  It creates stress and shortens one's life.  I used to date a girl whom I believe was much more into the idea of me being a potential doctor than being with me as a non-doctor.  At that point, expectations were solidified.  And I fucking hated it.  No one wants to feel as though they're doing something to please someone else against their own desires.  Although often times we put up with it if it's temporary, when talking about the long-haul, no one should have to deal with this type of pressure.

The Solution:   Look at how her mother talks to her father.  Is it respectful?  As they say, the apple does not fall far from the tree.  Does her mother pressure her father; either directly or passive-aggresively?  If so, get the fuck out.  Fast.  That shit may as well be genetic.

#7) Can she hold her liquor?

A tough one here.  A lot of girls, wait, no, fuck that, all girls are to some extent concerned about their weight.  Thusly, many of them to simply choose not to eat.  Is this healthy?  No, but starvation does work.  However, when women (or anyone for that matter) drink on an empty stomach, bad things happen.  One New Year's Eve, a girl in our group was already passed out before midnight.  How is this even possible?  Yes, she was basically a midget in stature, but really?  I swear to God, there is nothing more annoying than having to babysit a drunk girl.

The Solution:  When courting early on, at the bar, feed her shot after shot.  And yes, obviously include yourself in such lovely gaiety and merriment.  Assess how she's holding up.  If she's on the floor after one, say hi to the girl on your other side.

#8) Is there any possibility she'll let you pop one off on her face?

Anyone can let it rip in a vagina but Good God, man, if your girl will let you shower her noggin' with some vanilla hot sauce she either A) hates her father to her core B) is damaged beyond repair from past relationships OR C) she loves you like crazy and is willing to get real nasty in an attempt to show how far she's willing to go to be with you.

Think about how disgusting this is.  Some dude is literally hosing you down with something from inside them.  Pretty raw if you ask me. 

Solution: Baby steps.  Start with the stomach.  Gauge her reaction.  Believe it or not, lots of women I've been with like the literal feeling of having cum on them.  Maybe not their face, but on their tits, stomach, back, etc.  Just check first.  Do not under any circumstance blast your love hose on her without consent.  It's rude.

#9) Would she support you if you lost everything?

According to anthropological studies, during those caveman times, women would typically try hardest to match themselves up with the cavedudes who had the most cows.  I find this most interesting.  Let's call this "resources".  Women are programmed to make sure that if they have kids, they will be fed.  Plain and simple.  But modernization has changed the game.  Nowadays it's money, life's most crucial necessity.

Fact is, some girls are gold-diggers.  Do not dig your own grave with these girls. 

The Solution:  Just one time, lie to her face.  Tell her you lost everything.  You got fired.  You got kicked out of school.  You have nothing.  Assess her reaction.  Does she blow up and start naming off meaningless things such as mani-pedis, facials, & the country club.  Or is she supportive?  If so, lock it down.

#10) And lastly, Is she Asian?

The Holy Grail of Women.  Loyal.  Honest.  Smart.  Trustworthy.  Kind.  Thin.  Really, the list just goes on and on.  If you're lucky enough to land one of these magical creatures, then by all means reward yourself.  You've achieved something special.

The Solution: Visit your local neighborhood's Chinatown.  Go to school in Boston.  Or move to California. 


You're welcome.

PICKS THIS WEEK - Valero Texas Open

Now that we've gotten the RBC Crapitage out of the way where absolutely nothing looked good, it's time for the Valero Texas Open, where things have changed.

Don't kid yourself, this is another fill-in tournament, but not for us.  There's money to be made.  Here are some of the cats I like this week:

1) Young money.  We all want it, but few can achieve it.  Bud Cauley has it all.  Imagine having insane raw talent, being rich, and playing golf for a living.  You're officially Bud Cauley.  Dude turned pro in 2011 and is currently ranked top 25 in scoring average and has played over 40 rounds this year so you know it's legit.  I can't get over how good this kid is for his age.  Like most youngsters, he's playing and traveling his ass off, but this is good.  Not to mention he went to the University of Alabama and is from Florida.  Dude is Southern and awesome.  Pay attention to him.  This week he beats the ever-loving shit out of fucking Ryan Moore.

Bud wins vs. Moore -125

2) Listen, I get it, to go against the defending champion is a legit risk.  But when that person is currently ranked 174 out of 182 in scoring average (I kid you not, look it up if you don't believe me; it's that bad) you simply have to take it.  Brian Gay, is without a doubt a terrible feeling every.  single.  time.  He went to the University of Florida.  And if you're from Tennessee, not only do you not acknowledge that these people exist, you hate them for no reason.  It's a weird relationship.  But it's real.  However, I can put aside bullshit for potential cash.  This week Brian Gay wins versus Brendan Steele.  Those fucking highlights and weak ass clubhead-driver speed pull it out.

Gay wins vs Steele -130

3)  This last one's killing me.  But, there's a great lesson to be learned here.  And that's: you should NEVER let your emotions dictate your money.  Because, I love Swedish golfers.  Fuck, one just won last week!  But there is one thing out there I love more than Sweden, and that's Southern America.  And guess where Matt Kuchar lives...  Yup, you guessed it, my former residence of Sea Island, Georgia.  Nothing beats this place when it comes to golf.  Nothing.  Having lived there for four years, I can't even begin to describe the level of golf culture this place has in its blood and water.  It's such a sub-culture.  And I desperately miss that.  All that being said, this week Matt Kuchar wins versus Fredrick Jacobson.

Kuch wins vs Jacobson -170


In honor of the tournament this weekend, I filled up my Swedish car with a shit ton of Valero Oil Gas today.  You're welcome, Valero.  Keep the tournament coming.  Now let's tee it up.

The Day I Truly Fell in Love with Lesbianism

Imagine you live in the South and you're gay.  Conservative social stigmas are fighting against you from day one.  I can only assume it must be pretty shitty.

I now live near what is most likely the gayest neighborhood in America.  Rainbow flags blow in the bright Southern California sun in the median on Santa Monica and Sunset Blvds.  And this is cool.  Everyone deserves a place where they can feel comfortable.  That's fuckin' America.

But there's a problem.  And it's in this story:

It all started on an awesome night with my younger brother, Jordan, and some of his buds.  We were pre-gaming for a night on what Knoxville, Tennessee (my hometown) calls "The Strip" which is like a landing strip of college hedonism via bars, clubs, restaurants, and regret.  Except this shit ain't shaved.

I do not remember the name of the bar itself, but it's completely irrelevant.  It was a bar, and it had alcohol.  Done.  It was not that crowded.  We got there a little early.  We proceeded to the bar and started putting shot after shot after shot back like we were made of money.

As time went on, the bar started getting more crowded.  Jordan introduced me to all of his friends, and those people's friends, etc.  All of a sudden, I noticed people's behavior started changing.  All the alcohol people had consumed was now flowing through their veins like a silicon slip n' slide.  Something bad was bound to happen.

Sure enough, like all people, Jordan has a handful of friends who are like magnets for shit/awesomeness/whateveryouwannacallit.  We'll keep him nameless so I don't get my shit kicked in.  This guy is always on the prowl for some puss.  A real hero indeed.

Luckily, the place had a great vibe, and I noticed him (as usual) being a pro.  He had the girl doing everything that girls subconsciously do to show interest.  I was proud of him like a brother.  It was gonna happen for him.

Some time went on as I caught up with Jordan and his other buds.  The bar was now really fucking loud, and people were acting like idiots.  All of them.  It was awesome.  I looked back over at the nameless friend, and he was talking to two girls neither of which was his former conversational girl.  Two things went through my head: 1) he swung and missed with the first girl and now he's reloading or 2) he's going to hit the jackpot and have a threesome.  I almost soiled myself.

Women don't go to the bathroom alone.  One of the girls had to use it, so the other one went with her.  I had to talk to him / know what's going on.  I approached him.  Here's the conversation as I remember it:

"Dude, tell me it's going to happen with them two."

-- "No, it's not."

"What?"

-- (while pointing) "She's coming too."

I needed a diaper.  Sure enough the two girls returned from the bathroom with the girl he was talking to earlier.  My head about exploded.  He left with all three of them.  I felt like I had just witnessed a miracle.

I just shook my head.  Could this be the most defining moment of this man's life?  Perhaps yes.  And certainly not in the way he probably expected...

About an hour later, the bar was closing.  Time to take this party back home.

Now what I'm about to tell you is going to sound so ridiculous your incredulous gauge is going to fucking explode, but it happened.

Before we get to the juice, I want to paint of picture of who's now in this group.  A lot of people; most of whom are nasty dudes, making what's about to happen all the better.

My brother's apartment (where we were all headed) was a three bedroom apartment.  As we made our way up the stairs, the line of people about to enter this apartment went from a second story entrance all the way down the stairs, around the corner, and to the street.  I was somewhere in the middle.  One of the roommates took out his key, put it in the door lock, opened the door, and entered.

What happened next was both the most terrifying and amazing experience of my life.  Having entered and seen what he saw, he ran back into the entranceway and yelled at the top of his lungs, "holy shit, dude, these two chicks are scissoring!!!!!"  I kid you not, a fucking riot ensued.  Beers hit the ground.  Mouths dropped.  Cigs were disregarded.  Random neighbors including the drug dealer from the apartment below came out of the woodworks.

People pushed with all of their might to get a view.  I, in fact, used the back of one of my brother's taller friends as leverage to get a better view.  And I saw it.

Two of the three girls who had left with my buddy earlier were butt-naked, crotch-to-crotch.  They had pulled out the couch from the bed and turned it into an arts and crafts sex table.

I'll never forget the look on their face as they grabbed their clothes and pushed through the crowd of mostly men.

Having heard all the commotion, my brother's friend ran into the room (from his bedroom) not wearing boxers mind you but holding his boxers in front of his crotch like a wet dishrag.

"What the fuck's going on in here!"

-- "Dude, you missed it..."

"What?"

-- "Those two girls you were with... were SCISSORING!"

There was a moment of speechlessness amongst the group, including both roommates as we all digested what we had just witnessed.  I for one could barely breathe.  This was the kind of thing that men only dream about, or perhaps partake via the digital world behind closed doors.

Looking back now, these girls reenforced a great life-lesson.  Yes... grinding crotch with someone is truly an awesome act.

My Greatest Day as a Big Brother

Now what you're about to read may be too intense for some.  It involves cock.  More specifically, young cock.  Just be aware.  You've been warned.

Let it be known that I'm a really lucky son-of-a-bitch.  Why you ask?  I have the two most awesome brothers on the planet.  There's no doubt in my mind I wouldn't be nearly as awesome as I am without them.  This story involves my youngest brother, Jimmy, probably around the age of 6 at the time, with the next older brother, Jordan, aged 8 years, making me a nice solid 13 years wise.

As most oldest brothers out there are aware, you're the one who has to do all the "babysitting" on the weekends when the parents get that deeply needed break from the little shits they call their children.  As the oldest, you instantly become the surrogate.  No problem, right?  Wrong.  Dead fucking wrong.

Now I need to let you know my youngest brother is a bit of a sparkplug, and that's an insanely sarcastic understatement.  And honestly, I think it's his best asset.  Dude is fearless and doesn't give a fuck about anything besides being awesome. I like to think I've absorbed some of it over time.  But this night was different; bigger if you will when I realized what being a big brother meant, i.e. letting him know what his cock was for.

We had just finished playing some backyard "Streetball" aka three white dudes trying to be athletic via playing basketball and failing miserably (except my middle brother who for some reason has the most amazing hook shot on the planet, I kid you not, it's insane).  Anyways, our mom used to always make us take showers after "streetballin'".  Of course because Jimmy was the youngest, he had to go first.  So after the game he ran upstairs, turned on the water, and assumedly got in the shower.  But something changed that day.

What happened between the time he turned on the shower and came back downstairs I'll never know, but I can only assume it was glorious.  If I had to take a guess I'd say he probably saw Jules Asner on the E! channel back when she was relevant and hot as shit doing some travel show.  God knows how many times I popped one off watching that channel before I had the internet in my room.

Little did Jordan and I know, as we sat at the kitchen counter on barstools having some lovely and refreshing Big K Cola what we were about to witness.  Then... it happened.

"GUYS!!!"  Jimmy yelled.  As Jordan and I turned our heads towards Jimbo, I thought the worst: "Holy shit did he fall in the shower and crack his head open?!? or "Holy shit did he fall down the stairs and crack his head open?!?"  But no; as my head turned to face Jim, I then saw it: my little six-year-old brother's penis pointing mightily towards the sky.  Like a Vienna Sausage in Antarctica, there it was. There it was.

"WHAT DOES THIS MEAN???!!!???" Jim yelled while pointing at his newly discovered red rocket.  Unfortunately, it was simply too much for Jordan who literally put his Big K Cola down, jumped off his bar stool, and ran away, hiding in obscurity.  Looking back now, I can't blame him.

I realized that (like it should be) it was on my shoulders as the oldest brother to explain to him his greatest gift as a man.  I took a second to gather my thoughts and come up with some sort of answer as I watched Jim squirm waiting for an answer from his oldest (and supposedly wise) brother, albeit completely naked and scared shitless.

I didn't know what to say, but I had to come up with something!  Jim really wanted to know what it meant that his penis was ready for some wear and tear, and I had around one second to come up with something.  I told him, "It means you have to use the bathroom."  He replied with, "But I just went!"  Fuck... he got me. So I gathered myself and just told him the truth.  "Listen, Jim, sometimes these things happen to guys.  And it's going to happen more and more and more as you grow older."  "BUT IT HURTS!" he screamed innocently.   I assured him that it would go away in a little while.  He simply shrugged, said "Okay", and ran back upstairs to actually take his shower.  And although I never told him a real, concrete answer, I knew that he was awesome enough that he'd get plenty of opportunities in the near future to figure out his love rod.

As I sat there by myself in shock and awe with what I had just seen, I smiled, thinking two things: A) my little brother was going to be okay in life and B) everything was still right with the world.  My little brother had just had his first erection.