Since I think... two games into the rangers series I started a playoff beard. I had one before, but right after carnival I shaved it. This was met with "You are such a pussy dude." And "I know this is your girlfriends fault."
Well, it wasn't her fault. I just look like total shit with a beard, and I had never experimented with a real go getter paul bunyon effort. I shaved just before graduation so I didn't look a total immature asshole for professors, family friends, people giving me $100 that I hadn't seen in 5 years and didn't really know who they were...
But here it is! An indepth analysis of the playoff beard!
pregame pants poo.
what a sick soulpatch.
whoa! but that's not the worst...
KABLAMMO!
Last night's brutal smackdown of the pens was the last game I was able to watch since I am leaving for Greece tomorrow, so let's hope this post will ignite the blogger fire within these total duders.
I don't know if everyone has seen this video or not, and sorry to post youtube crap, but this is pretty rich. There used to be and might still be a snack called Corn Nuts, which I never tried, but presumably they sucked ass. They apparently put this radio ad on the air. I'm not sure I believe it, but either way I think it's pretty funny.
Like any good American, I'm very interested in most infomercial products.
Historically, I've been a big fan of Billy Mays' work. The louder he yells, the more interested I get. I can't even begin to describe how angry my roommates are because the majority of our household cupboard space is filled with OxiClean, Orange Glo, Vidalia Slice Wizards, a carton of Mighty Putty... the list goes on. If I had the money I'd buy a fleet of Awesome Augers, but I hear the shipping is killer.
My current favorite product is the Shamwow. Can you believe that thing? Look at how it soaks up the cola! I'll admit that Vince doesn't have half the enthusiasm of Billy Mays, nor does he have a rockin' beard, but I give him points for trying. And look at that thing soak up all that cola!! Sweet baby jesus, that rules.
But I digress. After spending $25 on a reasonable-quality haircut this afternoon, I realized there's a product out there that would eradicate my need to ever pay for haircuts again. You guessed it, the Flowbee!
Imagine, a set of clippers hooked up to your vacuum. No mess, no barber necessary, just clip, suck, and be done with it. Of course, before committing my hard-earned cash to the purchase, I decided to do a little research; you know, get a feel for the Flowbee brand and the classy folks who use it.
I was shocked to find that, unlike what I'd previously expected, the people who used Flowbee were anything but classy, and in fact, I think they're god-damned crazy.
What. The. HELL is with this lady? I don't even want to talk about it. Within seconds of watching that thing I was done with the Flowbee.
Don't ask me why, but I decided to dig a bit further, and this is where things get weird...
Oh my god. Somehow, your standard Flowbee user manages to wear the same shirt (I think it comes with the system), strike the same pose (instructions in the manual?), and always, always have a TERRIBLE-LOOKING HAIRCUT. Ack!
It's What We Do You may not be aware, dear reader, but a common activity enjoyed by the PND staff during our sparse downtime is beer pong. And we don't joke about beer pong. Sure, sometimes we'll mix it up, and throw down dixie-cup style...
...but we're still not joking.
So when a couple of suckers roll up and challenge us to a game, we accept. And when a couple of suckers roll up, challenge us to a game, force us to play on a non-standard, non-4'x8' and not-even-plywood pong table, we accept. Of course, this results in one of two outcomes: 1. we deliver to those suckers the sickest game of pong they've ever seen, and 2. somehow those suckers eke out a victory (generally via saran wrap on their cups).
Dark Times One evening, not so many moons ago, in fact only days ago, the PND staff team of Tommy and yours truly failed to deliver Outcome 1. Devastating. Tommy's hair instantly grew long and black, and he dealt with the situation the only way he knew how: deep, despairing depression.
Heads hung low, we walked away from defeat in shame. For days, Tommy remained inconsolable. My own despondence was a physical force, a weight pressing down from above, a personal thundercloud that promised to turn the cheeriest of times into a funereal affair. My god, I think we were clinging to all we had left: guns and religion.
A Glimmer of Hope On the evening of Thursday, May 8th, Tommy's despair lifted, if only ever so slightly. For on that day, he was to witness the only possible performance worse than our pong night experience: Pittsburgh Pirates baseball.
Defying all expectations, the Buccos won. John Madden would go on to claim that the key to the Pirates ball-game was scoring more runs than the other team.
Tommy instantly sprang into action, realizing that if the Bucs can win a ball game, by god, we can AND WILL, slam down some suckers like they've never been slammed before. Expertly arranging for the arrival of pizza, Tommy sped post-haste to PND half-headquarters, with suckers in tow, and the game was on.
Make no mistake, it wasn't revenge we were after. It was a reckoning.
Throwing Down When Tommy arrived, the suckers immediately turned to last-resort tactics: hip-hop bashing. The psychological warfare was starting early.
Gametime. Tommy is on fire. Literally. His eyes are blazing, but his hands are rock steady. He shoots heat seeking missiles. I perform well, but don't match up to T-bone, I swear he's been attacked by a radioactive spider. Game 1 is a blur, sheer beer pong destruction.
Game 2. The suckers recover from the nuclear bomb that T has just dropped on them. With all of their effort they muster enough game to sneak one past us. We're even, 1 and 1.
Rubber match. There is so much intense high-fiving and sucker-hating shared between us that I've got the missiles now, too. At the close of the game, I home in on their last cup, it was like dropping a marble in kiddie pool. With the odds against them, team suckers put enough away in redemption for overtime. Overtime 1: we give up some momentum, they think they've won. Of course, we force overtime 2. We will not lose. The suckers drop the ball during 2nd overtime, in fact, they drop it anywhere but in our cups. Victory.
The suckers sit the fuck down...
... but wait, are they still smiling?
Nails in the Coffin We know this won't do. They still think they've got game. It's almost like when the bad guy thinks he has a chance before the good guy goes Super Saiyan and BUSTS HIS ASS UP. It. Is. On.
I look at Tommy, and he looks back. Have you ever known, beyond a shred of a doubt, that you are about to completely and utterly destroy your competition? This is our shared understanding.
Tommy sinks one. A gentle splash follows as I do the same. Somehow, we waste our rollbacks, this is their chance to get lucky. And yes, they get lucky. Sucker number 1 misses. Sucker number 2 shoots a wild shot, it rings around the outside of back left, hops across the middle of the formation, and drops into back right. It happened so fast we couldn't defend.
Tommy understands that one cup is already too many. His anger is visible, his will to dominate a force in its own right. He can't miss anymore, and he doesn't. They have three cups left. I am in the zone, I'm throwing more marbles into their kiddie pool. They have two cups left. Tommy smirks as he devastates the opposition, they're down to one. I don't hesitate to shoot. I don't need to look at the outcome, I know where that ball is going. Tommy knows where that ball is going. The suckers realize where that ball is going. Game over.
The crowd goes fucking wild. The announcer can't even believe his eyes. Welcome to PND beer pong, it's serious shit.
So as I'm walking to class at about noon this morning this dude who just looked like a student in basketball gear goes flying by me as I exit Wean. Seconds later I hear a CMU bike cop scream "STOP THAT MAN!!" And a guy who looked like he was from food services is power walking to catch the black kid and the bike cop is already a football field behind after starting within 20 feet. This kid was not that fast, although he was running for his life. It was more of us having the slowest cops I have ever seen in my life. I think the university should seriously consider fast scooters or maybe rocket skates to further insure my protection. The kid was caught later, I believe, as there was a big hulaballoo outside my class soon after where tons of people were watching and many cops were walking by.
So the job search has been a major concern of mine recently, oftentimes I'll think about really weird jobs that I'd consider taking. And I mean jobs that are like one in a billion, like that dude from the verizon wireless commercials who just fuckin walks in the background. Can you imagine being that guy? I know it seems sweet right, but if you knew what you were getting yourself into as that guy, I bet you'd think pretty hard about accepting that job. I bet the verizon wireless dude cries himself to sleep everynight in his bed made out of money.
"Is this how I'm contributing to society?" That''s what you'd ask yourself every morning as you lay next to 2 naked broads you don't remember ever having met. Then you'd roll onto the set in your hummer, arriving 8 hours later than the sound guys and stage crews, sit in a chair with your name on it sippin on a tall chilled glass of yoohoo as cameramen and other people with skilled jobs give you dirty looks. Then you film your 4 second commercial where other annoying ass, talentless people actually do the hard part -- and for fucks sake these people fucking SUCK at it too, why is it so hard to find real actors for this sortof crap? theyre gettin paid so much goddam money honestly it is not that hard! Anyway filming wraps up in the course of about 5 minutes of actual work, so you peace out as the stage hands spend the next couple of days cleaning up the set. Meanwhile, you hit up the nearest D-list celebrity club and get photographed in pictures with agent scully and the son of the guy who played huggy bear. That guy will be your best friend, because he's one of about 4 people in the world about whom you can say "I'm working harder than him." Then you grab 2 bitches in the club that've always wanted to bang a celebrity, spend an extra 25 minutes telling the 250,000th rendition of the how-you-got-that-job story because they're dumb as fuck, bang them WITH your horn-rimmed glasses on, and go back to sleep atop your pile of money.
pregame pants poo.
what a sick soulpatch.
whoa! but that's not the worst...
KABLAMMO!
