Written By The People, For The People

Every so often, believe it or not, I run out of things to say and/or talk about.  This is not entirely uncommon, especially given the extent of my abuse of spray paint, WD-40, and other inhalants.

So I employed your help via the social networking juggernaut know as Facebook.  On that note, What ever happened to Myspace?  Is that still a thing?

Regardless, I asked all of you what I should write about, and you provided me with some fantastic ideas ranging from regular, run-of-the-mill ideas to some of the more mundane.  As I sat here wondering whose submission to use as the topic of this very post, I realized, why can't I use all of them?  So here is your blog post, America (or at least the thirteen-or-so of you who responded):

It's been quite the eventful year.  Things started with a bang as the "Who Dat" bandwagon swept across the country, ending up in Miami with the New Orleans Saints' first NFL championship.

There are few moral victories as grand as this one.  This victory was the culmination of years of recovery efforts since Hurricane Katrina obliterated the city.  The Saints were okay the first season after the storm, but they kept getting better and better every year.  As New Orleans was repaired, so, too, was the Saints' roster and record.  It's this Steve Perry-esque inability to stop believin' (Doss) that brought New Orleans a championship and hope for the future.

Ironically, this is usually the time in the MLB season when I, a Cubs fan, do stop believin', and this season is no different (Kate).  What is different this year is the exodus of "Sweet" Lou Piniella (below).

This man turned arguing with umpires into some sort of grandiose display of belly-shoving and spitting while shouting.  He launched bases, kicked dirt, and spat in faces.  He involved almost anything he could in his arguments, be it dirt, baseball caps, or bases.  This propensity for props makes Lou Piniella the veritable Carrot Top of MLB managers.

Ironically, as we discuss this, Atlanta Braves manager Bobby Cox, who holds the all-time record for career ejections, has also announced that he will retire at season's end.

The two of these men have certainly left their mark on baseball with their Hall of Fame careers.  Hearing Bobby Cox say he won't be a Brave next season is like hearing Hitler say, "Actually, I like Jews now." (Stuart)  As long as I've heard the words "Braves baseball," I've thought of Bobby Cox.

He's as much a part of Atlanta as debauchery in general (Pattillo).  Atlanta is a city that's cost me three cell phones, two hotel room deposits, a wallet and a half (don't ask), a car tire, Kevin Eubanks tickets (Mandel), and a large portion of my sanity.  I wanted to be a doctor before my first trip to Atlanta.  Now look at me.  I'm trying to be the Hunter S. Thompson of dick jokes.

A time that was supposed to be spent preparing myself for medical school, college was instead a video-game filled drunkfest caked in weed resin (Tuna).  But son of a bitch, it was fun.

Let's take a look at me (above).  It's quite easy to list the ways I've gone wrong:

1. Given the number of chins showing, I've obviously had my daily serving of Jamocha Shake (Mandel).

2. Horizontal stripes are not flattering.

3.  White men are not meant to have afros (Drew).  I've had years of extensive research, and not only do chicks not dig it, but you might also have groups of closed-minded southerners chase you with various blunt objects.

4. Walking around with an unlit cigarette is not cool. It doesn't work like actually smoking to be cool.  People can tell when you aren't smoking.  It just makes you look like a precocious cocksucker.

So here I sit, pretentiously agonizing others' faults with words maybe 20 people see on this blog, maybe 21.  But when it comes down to it, I wouldn't be able to lambaste Twilight as a med school student when I'm too busy learning what actually creates human feces (there's a chapter on that, right?).  I get to sit here and buck America's largest trend: choosing between Team Edward and Team Jacob.

May I begin by saying that I'd rather be struck by lightning than see any of the Twilight movies.  Sorry, it's actually a sore spot because a local girl was actually recently struck by lightning and killed, but Ben asked for lightning.  But back to Twilight hating.  I'm sorry how much you love it everybody.  I refuse to like it (Katie).  Those movies are terrible.  How is her decision that difficult?  As the movies have progressed, The vampire (Edward? Jacob? Arsenio?) looks like he's been going in for increasing dosages of chemotherapy.  The werewolf hasn't withered throughout the movies and is surprisingly well-groomed for a werewolf.


In the end, though, it's a question that will never be answered.  It is a rhetorical question with no true answer.  Just like, "Which is better, cake or pie?" (Greg)  What kind of a fucked up question is that?  It's an answer I don't want to know, because it means one of them is inferior to something.  They're both phenomenal!!  (This is where Twilight differs, as both suck equally instead of being equally awesome)

There are so many layers to this cake question.  What kind of cake or pie?  Does a cupcake count?  Doughnut?  Is a cobbler a cake or a pie?  What is a cheesecake?

When it comes down to it, I don't want to choose.  Key Lime pie is my favorite...until I have a really good red velvet cake...until I eat pecan pie...etc.  Choosing between cake and pie is like picking between boxers and briefs.  People may have their preferences, but as long as your nuts don't get caught in your zipper, it's all the same.

(Derek)...that is all.

I do know one decision that is much simpler: to eat meat or go vegetarian (Duff).  It's in our nature to eat meat.  Rich, bloody meat.  Some people feel that's cruel...it's unnecessary.  That's garbage.  You ever eat a porterhouse?  There isn't a damn thing in the world wrong with that.  You don't like killing animals for food?  I didn't see you picketing out in front of The Lion King.  How do you think Simba and the gang get their sustenance?  I can tell you for damn sure it isn't from any tofurkey.

And you think slaughterhouses are so terrible?  Well feast your eyes on this!!!

This is a machine used for manufacturing tofu.  This machine is responsible for making tens of millions of baby soy beans into tens of millions of bastard soy beans every year, because mommy and daddy are in your bean sprout salad.

BTW - Tofu is just plain disgusting.  I'd rather eat staples, toner from a copier, or just about any other office supplies you can find at work (Cathleen).

As for me, I'll gladly eat veal, knowing good and well it is the meat of a baby cow.  I will not, however, eat the meat of a mini-horse (Mandel).  That just doesn't look appetizing.  Those mini horses just always look dirty, no matter how often you bathe them.  They're like the carneys of the Animal Kingdom.

But you know what?  That's the kind of man I am.  I enjoy my steaks still bleeding and my chicken still kickin' (salmonella be damned).  Cake vs. pie?  I'll take both please!!  This is America, after all.  I hate Twilight and am not afraid to shout it at a rabid group of teenage sociopaths.  I'm the kind of guy who looks at his own grandmother sitting down to rest/nap and sees it as a golden opportunity to take a funny picture victimizing the family matriarch (Liz):

 The poor woman was trying to nap.  What a son of a bitch I am.

You know what, when I sit back and think about all the things that piss me off (Hunter), I come to realize that I'm right there at the top of the list.  I piss me off.   I'm a spray paint-huffing, grandmother patronizing, cake and pie eating fan of the losingest team EVER that gave up the med school dreams after six months...in undergrad.

Thanks for the help guys.  You've led me through this exercise to realize that I'm a real son of a bitch.  It was a simple question: What should I blog about?  It wasn't supposed to be some exercise in hating myself.  Thanks a lot, gang.



Until next time, peace out, bitches.