Summertime...

And pimpin' still ain't easy. (Untrue.)

So after Saturday's FA Cup showdown between London's Chelsea (boo hiss) and Liverpool's Everton, the 08-09 football season will be over!!!
A football-barren landscape is all I see. Thank God this sport's off season is only 2 1/2 months.
The mighty Red Devils ended their season with a flat, uninspired defeat to Barcelona. After 65 games this season (for about 80% of the season we were involved in 3 different competitions) the 66th match proved to be too much. I watched a little on break at the office, and it was pretty much a soccer version of Pacquiao v. Hatton!

Still, at the end of the day, we finished with trophies from the Club World Cup, the Carling Cup and the Charity Shield season opener. Best of all, we were champions of the English Premier League, the most competitive season-long campaign in the game. 38 matches, 90 points at the end of it all; our third year being the best in the Mother Country!

For you traumatic brain injury victims who couldn't care less, I'll stop boring you.

The rebound relationship that will fill the summer void left by Manchester United is going out on the boat:
1 15ft. motor boat
one cooler
2 bags ice
~24 beers
one pitbull
other person to pilot the boat (most of the time)

All you need for a kickass Saturday (or Sunday).

While the beach is fun (gray Tybee Island sand, hilarious rednecks near the pier, hot bia's and absolutely no surf) the boat is always going to trump it. It's like one of the last bastions of Americana! Everyone waves to each other, like boating is an inclusive redneck, baller, fisherman, prepschool, ex-pirate club. All you need is to have a boat.

I am pretty curious about the distinct lack of black people out on the water...perhaps someone can clue me in on that. Steven Colbert's Black Friend may know.

Oh yeah, expect more Blog apathy. I've learned that putting in some boxing work on the heavy bag after lifting weights makes me not really give a damn about anything. Especially typing

-J

Rake

Pete Dougherty, (said scoundrel) known to be a "geezer" in the Mother Country .


"A rake. A scalawag. A ne’er-do-well. A scoundrel. Even a reprobate. There is power in the way people perceive you, especially when they think they have you figured out. It is essential that you are, at some point, considered one of these, if only for a short while, and only by a small group."

Brilliant. Pretty much sums up my MO when studying abroad in London, though with an added "guy from the Dirty South" tinge.


Cheers, Esquire!

-J

Glory, Glory Man. United

Letters from the Back of the Line Part 2

More word from Rambo:

"Dear JG and Porn:

Guys, this shit can only be described as a mind fuck. The drill sergeants control every aspect of our lives, at least for the next 3 weeks. They put shit in our food that prevents us from getting boners and turns our poop green. And I have 30 seconds every night to take a shower. Basically, life sucks during red phase. Upside is everyone is really cool and we get lots of exercise. But don't worry about me. I just have to do the time. Enclosed is a sample envelop for you to copy when you write me. It would be good to hear from you guys. Let me know what you've been up to and how things are at home.

Best Regards,
SPC Rambo
US ARMY"

So, after I write a good, and above all, normal letter to Rambo, our mutual friend decides that Rambo would love nothing more than a letter that goes a little something like this:

"My Dear Rambo,

I am missing you velly hard en much. I has your picture in my pocket all times and pray to Allah for you quick returns and many joy. I has got e new dress lest wick to put on whin you getted back to mi for a short whilst.

Lookee, I knowed you has truble wif my bed Englis. I is tried, I mean tired, uf et as well too et thes time. I rilly miss you. I go to car of yours at place you once live [this would be me and Porn's house] and some rilly rilly white guy [Porn] and what appear him lover with beard [this would be me] wus kissing in thes back seat and rubbing wildly. Does you know this peeples? They have keys and play wrap music thet say "All I want to do is rub my zoom zoom in your boom boom". I only thank you give them keys.

I no can take if they are wif you as too. My brother once kiss man and get stoned by local militia. I no can take you kiss man or get stone. Not in head, it hurt! I too get stone when look at cousin pee-pee, but I was little and they only throw little rock. You have big sweaty muscle and get big sweaty rockers.

I send picture for you to lick at whin yu furget what true love be on a page with color. You have my heart and I pray fir your return, so I can show you dress and clear up white boy/beard boy issues. Please no be crooked, be straight. You no get lot of virgins if you crooked.

With many heart,
Maquilla Mosamma, le hot momma, hee-hee."

Good Lord, I wish you could see the picture he sent. Two parts Robin Williams, one part female Mooslim!

I'm calling push-ups. Yeah, and lots of yelling at Rambo...

-J

Letters from the Back of the Line Part 1

(Hell yes, I'm listening to Fortunate Son by CCR)

So Rambo, as I've mentioned before, has finally got in touch with us. He shipped off to join the Army the last week of April. Cos his first letter is so damn good, I'll just throw it up here unadulterated.

For the sake of nunyafuckinbiznass, of course I'm "JG" and Rambo's other best mate is "Porn" (the reason why, that's a whole nutha story)

"Dear JG and Porn:
Let me start off by telling you how much my ass hurts. My left cheek is as red as the devil's dick and swollen as a fat girl's stomach at the Golden Corral. They gave us penicillin shots in the ass, basically. I'm still here at Reception Battalion and waiting to ship downrange to basic training. All we do now is stand around in formation, get shots, and eat like pigs. Believe it or not the food is really good. For the most part all the other recruits are pretty cool and the officers and drill sergeants are very professional.

(At this point I laughed my head off, envisioning new and wonderful asswhoopings Rambo is being subjected to, then the hardass who dished em out watching over Rambo's shoulder as he writes this!)

As soon as I get downrange I will send you my mailing address. I also may have you mail me my cell phone. Please don't wreck my car and don't fuck on my bed.
Love you guys,
Best regards,

SPC Rambo
--- -- --
US Army

Hooah!"

Gay fish, yo.

WHAT THE HELL HAS HAPPENED TO RAP!? All these whiny ass auto-tuned crooners are killing me. Or rather, making me want to kill myself. I'm sure Tupac and Biggie are rolling over in their graves, and Easy E wouldn't have wasted a bullet on these jokers, let alone give 'em an STD. (Waste of fucking time) aha. ha. yeah

If you don't know what autotune is, it's that ohsofucking annoying "computerized" vocal effect EVERYONE is using these days. And it's ignorant-ass "music lovers" like yourself (I hope not) that are fueling this gayfest.

I implore you: stick your "808s and Whining" CDs in the microwave, if only for a few seconds!

Who was the first person to release an album that was entirely autotuned (making "genius", fishstick-loving Kanye think it's an OK thing to do) you might ask? Let me tell you: fucking Cher! As in, Sonny &.

Christ deliver me from these persecutors of my eardrums! Seriously, I know I'm a fan of Old Testament God, the badass, fire & brimstone One, but this is too much.

As with many large categories (rules, groups, stereotypes) there are a few exceptions. I've heard a handful of songs with some autotuned choruses or something that are good. But they're easily the minority.

I know if I ever see that circus freak T-Pain, I'm gonna give him some straight uppercut-pain, and knock his goofy, Mad Hatter'd ass out. Granted, T-Pain's probably better than his real name, Faheem Rasheed Najm. (ah, Google) Not to hate (I voted for Barack Hussein Obama) but his agent probably told him sales would be better if his name didn't look like one on a Florida pilots instructor course app.
Tallahassee-Pain, the full version, I feel I don't even have to make fun of, you are already doing that in your head.

I say all this because I recently had a discussion about this damn autotune madness, and people who agree are like Copernicus finding an understanding Catholic.

By far my favorite song with this over-hyped phenomenon would be Trey Parker and Matt Stone's "Gay Fish". Classic.

"But now I’m out and I’m free to love what I want
Be it yellowfin or bass or that trout in Vermont
I slap that marlin ass, make that grouper butt shake
I’ll come to your house and have an orgy in your mothafuckin fish tank"

Thank you SouthPark. Thank you!
(Gay fish, yo.)

-J

Wenger Knows

...he's full of shit. That would be Arsene Wenger, long-time manager of London's Arsenal Football Club. And I know he knows he's full of shit. All his talk of the world seeing a "magnificent" display in the Champions' League semifinal against Manchester United was hot air. The only 'magnifique' display was from Manchester's Red Devils, who beat Arsenal like Manny Pacquiao beat Hatton: quickly, ruthlessly and making it look bloody easy.

Cristiano Ronaldo scored a 41 yard free kick. For the football-challenged, when the opposing team has a free kick, you get to set up a "wall" of around 5 of your players to cut the angle down and cover about half the goal, leaving the goalkeeper less area to worry about. Apparently Arsenal needed 6 players in their wall, their 'keeper Manual Almunia looking like a poster boy for the "Help I've Fallen and Can't Get Up" commercials. This is him in a rare moment up on his feet:



Granted, I'm sick of all the politically correct "Oh, we respect our opponents and won't be complacent, anyone can beat anyone in football blahblahblah." I've heard it way too many times, and the logic is, you don't want to appear to take beating an inferior opponent for granted if, by some ungodly event, you lose to that team with worse players/less budget/both.

But in Wenger's case, it's talk a lot of shit when you're the inferior team. Can't look bad afterwards....right?

"I am very confident [Arsenal] will produce a magnificent performance and that we will manage [to win].

-J