Dear Leslie

I want to thank you again for the lovely baseball outing your company hosted this last summer. The Brewers won, Ben Sheets allowed only one hit, and the beer flowed. Lots of beer flowed. You see, I know each person was supposed to get just two beverages. Do you know what two beverages does for me? Nothing! Two beers in my stomach is just a waste of alcohol. Twenty beers, now we’re talking. Anyway, I managed to secure a number of un-punched tickets at the Brewers game. I’d trade my punched ticket with the five-year-old’s ticket – he certainly shouldn’t be having any brew – all while resisting the urge to hit on said five-year-old’s smoking hot mom. Actually, all you [company name] people looked pretty damn hot after having consumed twenty beers. Wink, wink.

So now, with the weather changing and these damned holidays approaching, [compayny name] is sponsoring a Christmas party. My roommate (and black eye giver) signed me up for the steak dinner which I’m sure will be quite tasty. My tummy will greatly appreciate it. However, I was deeply disturbed to hear that the free beverage service will only be offered from 5:30-7:00. An hour and a half?! What the…?! Sure, Ben in accounting who never gets out on the weekends might bring his wife and get a little toasty in the hour and a half, but seasoned veterans like myself will only be left wanting more. Yeah, I’m sure I could (gasp) buy some outrageously priced drinks but with the way the economy is nowadays, hell, let’s just say I’ve been using shower gel for purposes it wasn’t intended for. Hard times, I tell you.

If I happen to stumble in to you at the entrance as you greet everyone as they arrive, well, there will be a reason for it. Just like before the Brewers game I finna have to do some pre-game preparation. I think I counted thirteen empty beer cans before I set foot in Miller Park and I’ll admit, that might have been a little excessive. I didn’t step on any little kids on the way out but I think they saw me coming and got out of the way. I’ll try to keep the prep for the Christmas party to eight or under. And I know how you HR people are. You’re going to want everyone to have a good time and do the whole meet and greet thing and make sure that everyone knows everyone else. That’s fine, just don’t try to drag me away from the beverage bar for that hour and a half. After 7:00, if you watch me closely, you might even catch me emptying my flask in my empty glass. You’re welcome to search me at the door, pat me down and all. It’ll be in the front middle pocket. Please be gentle.

B to the...

Greg Reynolds, ESPN’s “Streak for the Cash”

Greg Reynolds, ESPN’s “Streak for the Cash”
My buddy and long-time friend Greg Reynolds from Chico, California, almost won $1 million dollars last night on ESPN’s game “Streak for the Cash.” Basically you have to pick 25 games in a row without a loss to win the million dollars. What makes the game somewhat plausible is that you don’t have to pick against the spread or the Vegas line, just straight out wins.

Greg started out at the end of October with a win on the Breeders Cup. Ya, I know, why would you jeopardize everything on a stupid horse race but as Greg and I have talked about it, he had to get his first win somewhere. Greg’s called me quite a few times asking for my opinion on games and various matchups. Other times he hasn’t (when he almost lost taking Allen Iverson’s points and assists against Kobe Bryant’s points alone – Greg pushed on that one).

Sunday night my phone rang. It was just before the NFL night game and Greg wanted my opinion. I had already “given my opinion” to my man but I was getting three points; Greg wasn’t getting any points. After talking about how ugly Philip Rivers is and how LaDainian Tomlinson is getting worn out from all those TV commercials Greg decided to go with me on the Indianapolis Colts selection. The Colts won on a last second 51 yard field goal. Whew.

Greg was out of town on Monday. Greg doesn’t have AT&T so he didn’t get my call. Greg picked the Packers. Fuck.

I didn’t like this game. The line had started out with the Saints favored by three points but by kickoff the game was a pick. Three point swings in the NFL are huge, almost unheard of. Something didn’t seem right. Then six of the nine ESPN “expert” analysts picked the Packers to win, an almost sure sign that the Saints were going to triumph.

I tried calling Greg again. No answer.

I went online and saw that Greg had made his pick already but I wasn’t able to see which way he went.

I tried calling Greg again. Fuck, no answer.

Now, knowing that Greg had made his pick, well, I had to give Greg my advanced-gambler’s-addict-supreme advice. You see, with the line on the game at a pick (no points going either way), and with ESPN’s “Streak for the Cash” game not using the point spread, Greg could effectively make himself a $500,000 winner before the game even kicked off.

I know some shady people. I know some even shadier people out in California (you know, with the bright sun and all). All Greg had to do was secure $500,000 from said shady people, drive on over to Las Vegas and wager on the opposite side of the game which he picked on ESPN. If the game he picked in Vegas won, he wins $500,000. If the game on ESPN wins, he loses $500,000 to Vegas but brings in $1 million from ESPN. $500,000 winner either way. He wouldn’t even have to watch the game. He could have been sitting in the Cheetah Club getting b-jers from every skank in the establishment.

But no, Greg doesn’t have AT&T. Greg didn’t get my call. Greg certainly didn’t get any b-jers. Greg was not yelling “Winner, winner, chicken dinner!”

Speaking of which, you’d be surprised by the reactions I get when I tell people I’m having KFC on Thanksgiving.

In Honor of Texas Tech Being Ranked #2

And no, I did not participate in the making of this video.

First Day Back

Uh, the gym today… I knew it was going to be rough. I didn’t think it was going to be that rough. It started out on a bad note as the lingering pec tightness I had two weeks ago was, well, still lingering. You’d think two weeks off would take care of minor shit like that. I had to stretch a bit and it seemed to go away after a while. I knew going in that I wouldn’t be able to handle the weights that I used to (245 lbs 4/5 times on the bench). I got 205 up ten times. That’s 20 lbs off of what I used to do ten times. After realizing that I lost any ambition of going up to 225 and stayed at 205 for two more sets. On to the incline. After four sets of that I was pretty much fatigued. I could feel my arms start to get wobbly on the last two sets. I got some wussy sets of dips in, a couple flat flyes, and a set of sit-ups in before I called it quits. I was beat. I looked at the clock. I had spent just under 30 minutes in the gym. It’s not like I was breathing heavy or anything (which is good considering the chest cold I had), but my arms and chest were thoroughly fatigued after two weeks of lifting activity that was limited to a beer glass and my cock. You’d be surprised at which of those two is heavier.

So, if my performance in the gym was so meager and short after just two weeks off, what’s that say about the next poor girl who steps into my bedroom after I haven’t had sex in…

…shit, I think it’s been a year now.

Poor girl.

Motivation

All the years of my life lifting weights and I have never needed a “training partner” or some other form of motivation. The mere guilt of not lifting has been enough motivation in the past. But lately, fuck, I can’t seem to drag my ass to the gym for the life of me. Oh, and trust me, I’ve had some legitimate excuses for not going lately. I’ve also had some total bullshit excuses, too. I had a chest cold for a good week that literally left me weak after doing routine shit around the house like mopping (ok, so that really shouldn’t be considered “routine” when I do it once a month). I was well enough to lift last week Thursday and Friday. That’s when the bullshit excuses started. “Oh, I haven’t lifted for a week, why not just take off the rest of the week and come back fresh on Monday?” Then Monday came and I still didn’t make it in. I don’t even know what today’s excuse was, just didn’t feel like it. And now, after taking two weeks off, I’m kind of scared to go in and utterly fail at pressing what I used to do. Hell, I even popped in the Branch Warren video for a bit this weekend to get myself psyched up for the gym. There he was with his buddy putting up 405 on the incline bench eight times. So it got me to thinking, what if I had a workout partner? First of all, I’d have an obligation to go in or else let my partner down. Second, if I found the right person, the workouts would be much more productive with little sitting around reading the paper. And having a spotter on the bench press? I haven’t really had one of those in a number of years. Every once in a while I’ll ask someone to spot me and I always get a good two or three more reps knowing I have someone to help if need be. That being said, no, my ideal training partner would not be some hot blond with fake titties out to here. I hate to put “partner” and “guy” in the same sentence, but my training partner would have to be a guy with similar size and strength as I. No FA, I’m not looking for anyone under 180 lbs, you’d be out. Oh God, sounds like I’m describing my perfect man and not a workout partner. “He’d have to have brown hair and nice abs, at least six feet tall with a cute butt.” Yeah, never mind, I’ll just go to the gym by myself tomorrow.

(FA, don’t worry, you wouldn’t fit that description either. 5’10.5” doesn’t equate to six feet tall.)

Gotta Wonder What She's Thinking...

...when she stands there looking up at you, cocking her head to the side, all the while you have your cock in your hand, beating off at a feverish pace, consentrating so hard (ha!) that you don't even notice a little puppy has entered the room. Poor pup.

Yahoo Personnal Ad

Found this one yesterday. When you put your picture up on some tame website like Yahoo, don't you usually have some kind of clothing on? This girl, nothing. Good golly, I'm surprised I'm not seeing nipple in the picture. Must be hanging a little low.

One Word

FUCK!

Presidential Race

These projected electoral figurers are shit when they have 10% of the votes in. That's like saying I'll whack off once a week for the next four years because I only did it once last week. Bullshit.

Gayest Text Message Ever

Sing it! I wanna sex you up!

One of those where you regret it immediately after hitting the send button.

Flabbergasted

Wow. Really, just wow. Somebody actually reads this site. Really, I'm not kidding. Somebody actually reads this site. I'm in awe. It seams that somebody went to my friend's bar & grill after I linked the establishment on the last post. Seriously.

So, while I have this almighty power to influence people...

You're going to vote for the RIGHT president this Tuesday, correct?