Friday, May 8, 2009

I Think I Have a Problem

About a year ago, a friend of mine and I were talking sports over Dark & Stormy's.

Well, let's clarify that. I talked sports, and my friend talked Noam Chomsky. He specifically spoke at length about Chomsky's belief that sports take the place of religion in a secular society, and both are, as Marx put it, "opiates for the masses".

Long story short, my friend doesn't follow sports. And I do.


Put it this way. When the scene in this picture occurred, I was screaming with manic devotion at that fucking pussy Gay-Rod, demanding Varitek to drive and plant that pretty son of a bitch into that hallowed Fenway turf, a tombstone commemorating the death of Yankee domination.

Wait. What am I saying? Manic devotion? Hallowed? Tombstones? What the hell is wrong with me?

And that's not the end of it. Along with my beloved Sox, I closely follow the Pats, Bruins, Celtics,  Revolution, British Soccer (Liverpool), Thoroughbred racing, International soccer, boxing, mixed martial arts. Hell, I'd follow beer pong tourneys if they were televised. Basically, if it's competitive, I'll watch, follow, and back it.

Which brings us to tonight and the dual Playoff blow: The Celtics lost, falling a game behind the Magic, and the Bruins lost again, falling two behind the Hurricanes. Tonight, I feel somewhat like how I felt when my first girlfriend cheated on me with some gangly, goofy motherfucking dishwasher: Physically ill.

Therein lies the problem. This stuff makes me sick! I literally fell into a deep depression after the Pats lost to the Giants in the Super Bowl. When the Sox lost to the Yankees on Aaron Boone's homer a few years back, I puked, and felt like hiding in my room for days. Just a few weeks ago, when Liverpool was eliminated from the Champions league by Chelsea, I found myself crestfallen, contemplating the tides and wondering just how long it would take to drown.

And now here I am, a bald, goateed man on the verge... of puking, crying...

... or ecstasy? Maybe? Please sweet baby Jesus... let the Bruins win.

Wait. Jesus? What am I saying? Something's definitely wrong with me. Garcon, another Mint Julep, please. I feel a bender coming on.

Thursday, May 7, 2009


I have this friend. Great person.

One problem though. This person doesn't have a bullshit filter. Anything and everything that pops into this person's mind propels out and runs through my auditory canal like a hardcore squirt of fiery hot diarrhea, plopping and splattering forcefully into my brain like one of those horrorshow swine flu dumps that depth charges into the toilet bowl and blasts shitty water all over your butt cheeks. Just the thought of another of my friend's soliloquies has me actually desiring h1n1 infection.

Put simply, I'd rather puke and shit myself to death than listen to another diatribe about race relations and welfare, "opposite marriage", or how autism sufferers are "just faking it".

Yet, I'd take a million of my friend's scalding hot bouts of ultra conservative verbal dysentery before spending another day scanning the irrelevant Facebook updates page. Or worse: Tweeting.

(A disclaimer: To this day, I've never used Twitter. And I never will. From what I've seen and heard, it's something media outlets are attempting to push on America as the next big thing in social networking. Guess what: Something that basically amounts to the Facebook updates page minus the stupid apps and quizzes and plus a 140 character limit isn't the next big thing. It's texting. And everyone knows texting is so passe. Sexting is what's in. All the kids are doing it.)

So please: Before you go and update your Facebook status, or Tweet about how you're going to nap ("I'm sweepy") before going to the gym ("To git buff!") and renting Quantum of Solace (because you're just so alone), stop. Take some time to think about what you're going to post.

Because there's a good chance your nonsensical Too Much Information flood will send someone into meltdown.

Wait. That's a good line. I better post that to my Facebook page.

(Another disclaimer: I know zero people who Tweet. Or do I? You tell me.)