Justin "Donkey Kong" Schwarz Bowls His Way to 2hr 57min Marathon Finish

By THB, 33 minutes ago

BOSTON -- Amongst a field of elite runners, it was a top-heavy, overweight gorilla who stole the show at the Boston Marathon. Thousands lined the Beantown streets on an overcast Marathon Monday to see the elite runners push the limits of human endurance. Few expected to see the sport itself undergo a stunning transformation. It was not that Justin "Donkey Kong" Schwarz's finished in 2hrs 57mins - though the time is impressive, especially for a creature whose arms outstretch its legs by such a margin - but the manner in which he ran the race that's causing all the uproar.



Some thought DK Schwarz (DKS) might be handicapped by a poor starting number, which placed him amidst a dense crowd of bodies to start the race. However, upon crossing the starting line, DKS spread his gangly arms and unleashed a furious Up-B donkey-copter. Some runners pushed back; some ducked; some tried to leap over DKS. It didn't matter. As they were bounced off the course into the brush on the side of the road, one and all could be heard moaning: "Nothing goes through that move."

DKS felt no sympathy. He repeated the move three or four times, by which time his path was sufficiently clear. DKS then lumbered off at an astonishing 6:48 minutes/mile pace, made all the more astonishing by his unwieldy feet-over-hands gait. Spectators were certain that DKS would fall off the level or get caight between two buildings and die, but DKS navigated the course with aplomb. Whispered a frightened young boy to his father: "That's one nimble ape".

Most thought DKS could not maintain the pace, but then again, most did not know about DKS's strict training regimen. In a November 2007 Dartmouth soccer game against Cornell, DKS received word that he should begin warming up to enter the game. However, this command came from a devious Waluigi-esque character out to foil DKS; there was no chance of DKS entering the match. For the 18 months preceding Marathon Monday, DKS had been trotting back and forth in a 20 meter interval. It was a training regimen not unlike that of Conan the Barbarian, who developed every last muscle in his body by pushing a water wheel in the desert for approximately ten years (the inside side of his body should have been puny - or at least slightly underdeveloped - in my opinion).

Tragedy befell DKS at the twelve mile mark. Seeing a PokeBall in the distance, the nimble ape accelerated to breakneck pace. As he reached his arms outward, DKS heard a familiar click beneath his feet. "Who put that theeeeeeerrreeeeee?" DKS could be heard screaming as the proximity mine sent him hurtling into the air. Spectators gasped as DKS vanished from sight.

When DKS came to his senses, he found himself back at the starting line. Muttering difficult-to-decipher obscenities under his breath, DKS took off at a gallop. He thrust several octogenarian "runners" out of the way. Although Marathon officials were certain they had turned stars off, some observers swore they saw a slight sparkle in DKS as he trudged ahead, now pushing septagenerians into the roadside.

At the thirteen mile mark, just outside the city limits, DKS made the decision that changed history. He had just caught the pack of normally-aged laggards when DKS stopped abruptly and began twirling his right arm around his head. After 10-15 seconds, DKS lowered his arm. He began flashing, his fur alternating between white and brown like a strobe light. The clock read 2hrs 56 minutes. Then, just as suddenly as he stopped, he hopped forward and released the punch of all punches. A bloodcurdling scream tore through the region: "JJWWWAAAAARRRTTTTZZZ".

Three things resulted:
1. The death of 1 Mario, 1 Luigi, 3 Yoshis, and 34 Jiggly Puffs.
2. The finishing line camera caught the blurred image of an oversized ape's fist just across the plane. The clock read 2hrs 57mins.
3. The brunt of the blow landed on the backside of laggard American Ryan Hall. Propelled by the blow, Hall shot across the finish line in 2hrs 9mins, clinching third place. It was the best finish by an American in forty years.

It was celebration time. With the course cleared, DKS finally had a PokeBall all his own. He sauntered over, a doofy grin on his face. But, alas, it was not to be. At the last moment, a Captain Falcon, clothed in a stealthy black suit and helmet, sprinted by DKS and snatched the PokeBall from his clutches. A close-up photo revealed a chaw in the Captain's lip. The Captain cooly dropped the PokeBall and held DKS over it as it opened. Cries of "F***! Bees! F***ing bees!" were the last the crowd heard from DKS as he bounced off the screen.

Trivia Update

Third place. Out of four teams.

Jesus saves

This morning on Sportscenter, Magic Johnson said: "Anytime I have playoff basketball, I'm in heaven". I agree with his sentiment, but I have doubts about how excited St. Peter is for old Earve. When Magic tested HIV positive, he came out and said he had no idea how he got the disease. It turns out he got it from the most unlikely of sources: unprotected sex with "multiple partners". It's unclear if those multiple partners were from one occasion, multiple occasions, or both, i.e., multiple partners on multiple occasions. Whatever the case may be, he probably trails Wilt Chamberlain, who claimed that he had sex with 20,000 women. Someone did the math, and it works out to 1.14 women per day from the time he turned 15 to the day he died. Someone else asked: "Is that number regular season only, or does it include the playoffs?"

With that backdrop, I enjoyed Magic's commentary. When asked what makes a team successful in the playoffs, Magic began: "Decision making is the key." Take it from him. He mentioned some cliche about having a good point guard before he revealed his true secret: "You need two wingmen who can deliver."



I don't know if Jesus (real Jesus) will be saving Magic, but Ray Allen (real Jesus Shuttlesworth) saved the Celtics tonight. In the fourth quarter, the Celtics were on the ropes. Ben Gordon was playing like Joe Johnson playing like Michael Jordan (Think back to last year's first round when Joe was NBA-Jam-on-fire all series and could not miss a shot no matter how difficult or absurd even though he's not a great player when it really comes down to it). Gotta give it to them, the Bulls were using tried and true NBA Jam play calling. Pass it to Gordon, and jab B for shoot, no matter where he is on the court. With 10 seconds left, that strategy tied the game. We were headed to overtime against a man possessed. But, with 2 seconds left, the clouds parted and Ray Allen hit the game winner just over the reaches of the devil incarnate, Joaquim Noah.

I needed it bad, having attended Saturday's heartbreaking Game 1 loss, where Mr. Shuttlesworth shot 1-for-12. However, I know someone who needed it worse than I. The Honest Godfather. THG. He was also at the Game 1 loss. FYI, I think I have his seat pegged. I'm pretty sure it's Section 304, Row 14, Seat 3 (could be 2 or 4, it's hard to be that precise from over in 307). You can probably figure it out by finding the two tickets that are selling for the highest price on StubHub. Those would be the seats on either side of this living legend.



THG was a sight to behold. He donned the same classic faded denim. He swapped his Larry Bird Jersey 33 for a Paul "The Truth" Pierce Jersey 34. The same green undershirt worked equally well with this jersey. Does he have a collection of green undershirts? Or just a single lucky undershirt? The world may never know. I must also set the record straight. The worn-in white Asics I mentioned before are actually worn-in white K-Swisses (unless he has two similar pairs of shoes).

I picked up on these details, but if you missed them, no one would blame you. Why? Because THG had dyed his fine, chain-mail-like mullet fluorescent green. It must be a new playoff tradition. It was stunning. The question hardly needs answering, but I'll indulge you. He made the Jumbotron. The crowd reacted favorably, of course.

I saw THG leaving the arena, but I could not bring myself to stop him. As I mentioned, Mr. Shuttlesworth was not all aces on Saturday, and he missed the would-be-game-tying shot in overtime. THG was walking in a cloud of despair (a fluorescent green cloud of despair), and I had nothing to offer that would cheer him up. I still don't have that cooler of homemade 22 or 24 oz beers at the ready.

When Ray Allen's three-pointer hit nothing but strings tonight, I leaped up from Big Blue in joy. I don't receive the Jumbotron feed (yet), but I don't need it to know the camera was pointed at the brightest object in Section 304, our modern-day light in the Old North Church, our beacon of hope.

Trivia Update

It was not our finest showing at Trivia. Heading into the two question finale, we were already out of the race for first. In addition, we named our team "Rivers JV Baseketball" in honor of Coach Armeen P, who planned to arrive slightly late. However, Coach-turned-socialite Armeen P never arrived. Thus, the joke did not work, leaving everyone to wonder if we really were a group of bad high school basketball players. Or if we were a group of bad high school basketball players having a reunion. I was embarrassed every time I had to hand in our answer.

Ever pushing the how-lewd-can-we-make-our-name-and-still-have-the-guy-say-it-out-loud boundary, the artists formerly known as "My couch pulls out but I don't" broke new ground this week. "Quiz on your face".

But that wasn't to be ejaculate's only cameo at trivia. One question asked: what white, odorless crystalline substance is also known as calcium-oxide? The bartender, a little bit of a Guy on the Right, leaned in and said: "Let me just say what everyone's thinking. Semen." I was thinking talc. Both turned out to be wrong. It was lime.

Anyhow, fresh off Magic's inspirational talk, I began thinking of ways to wrest the best name crown from MCPOBID/QOYF on the walk into work this morning. I have a candidate: "TriViagra". I don't know whether you pronounce it "trivia-gra" or "try-viagra", but I think either has the desired effect. No matter how hard the questions are, we won't be left stumped.

Thought: the title to this post turned out to be completely inappropriate.

Answer honestly: would you prefer to...always wear flannel or always wear turtlenecks?

Oh, no you didn't. You didn't just put flannel in the same category with turtlenecks. Turtlenecks for women are one things. Turtlenecks for guys are another. These two pictures pretty much settle the issue on turtle necks:



Wearing a turtleneck is walking a dangerous line between:

The guy on left: Mocha-latte-cafe-americano-drinking, Armani-Exchange-wearing, hair-gel-market-stimulating, the guy on the left fits in at clubs, probably enjoys shopping, and calls movies films. Guy on the left, you're worthless. Actually, I take it back. You serve one purpose. You make me think there's someone out there that I could maybe beat up. Even though you have a spiky belt.

The guy on the right: Guy on the right, I want to like you. You're nice, but every time I come over, we watch Friends and you keep asking me if I want anything else. Guy on the right, you already made two bowls of popcorn. Relax. And it's okay that you made the error that cost our softball team the playoffs. Yeah, I'm still pissed, but I always knew you would eventually screw things up. We just put you on the team because you show up a half hour early to every game and prevent us from forfeiting. Where did you get a plain black hat anyway?

Conversely, I made a collage to show how happy I am whenever I wear flannel (sorry adoring fans, can't reveal my true identity).



I'm smiling. It appears that I have friends (see random hands in right hand photos)! That kind of magic doesn't happen in a turtleneck, let me tell you.

I'm still full of pent up anger from someone comparing freaking turtlenecks to flannel, so I'm going to unleash a little fury on a couple other topics that I feel strongly about.

Oh no you didn't... wear Polo stuff. I hate your Polo polo. I hate the royal blue one with the red horseman. I hate the purple one with the gold horseman. I hate your Polo shorts. Why did you have to stick a stupid horseman on a perfectly good pair khaki shorts? I hate your Polo pocket t-shirt. (Actually, I kind of like your Polo pocket t-shirt, but that's the only Polo thing of yours that I like. And if you wear a Polo t-shirt with a big old logo in the middle and no pocket, then screw you.) I really hate your Polo dress shirt. Real classy. Maybe they can embroider A&F on the other side. Or NASCAR on the back. If you pair it with a Polo tie, you're a lost cause. I hate your half-zip sweater thing. I don't care if you got the gray one with the blue horseman or the blue one with the gray horseman. (Is it reversible?)

This is not personal. I just really don't like your Polo stuff. Take any boring article of clothing, stick the stupid horseman on it, and now it's "classy". Ditto for La Coste. It reminds me of a Pink song or something. How long can she keep churning out crap before we get sick of the monotony and kick the habit?

There's one exception to the not-personal statement above. The big horseman. You = Guy on the Left.

Oh no you didn't... Drop Shot Blog. I'm a fan. I think you've been doing some fine work. But you threw down the gauntlet with your egregious, arrogant, generally mean-spirited Scrabble Challenge:

"Hi friends! I have an important announcement to make, so this post will be brief. I will be bringing a Scrabble board back to Boston, which I am pretty excited about. This is my official open challenge to anyone who wants to play. Let me know if you're up for a game! In the meantime, get your game face on... "

Listen, Drop Shot Blog, I see your little dictionary-esque "About Me" section. That doesn't scare me. When Stump trivia asked which letters appeared twice on a single tile in Scrabble Espanol, I didn't flinch. "L" and "R". Heck, I could probably play Scrabble in hieroglyphics. I was already deep in the Scrabble scene when you were still eating Alphabet cereal. I could make a seven letter word out of a can of Spaghetti O's. I would drop a triple word score on my grandma.

You play for fun. I play for keeps, Drop Shot.

Other stuff

1. I have the same glasses as Laney Boggs in "She's All That".



2. I envy this blog. "A blog where I tell cute animals what's what". The followers are the best part. They just keep right on ripping on the cute animal once BZA is done. It makes me smile to think about people sitting at work just itching for a fresh target. What's it going to be today? Refresh, refresh, refresh. A deer? Oh Bambi, wait until I'm finished with you.

"Like I need you to f-ing smile at ME, Deer. You've let all those antlers go to your head. (zing!)"

-Kurt

3. An Allen Iverson quote I missed. After coming off the bench for 18 minutes (too few, in his humble opinion), AI said: "I can play 18 minutes with my eyes closed and a 100-pound truck on my back." Hold on. A hundred pound truck?

The Honest Godfather

I lifted this opening sentence from every high school essay I ever wrote: "Life is confusing. It's hard to define a moral code, to find a true calling, and to form a sense of purpose." In the subsequent five paragraphs (exactly five paragraphs, of course), I would expound on how a particular experience or person shaped Huck Finn's/Holden Caulfield's/King Lear's/Janie Crawford's worldview.

Aside: Janie Crawford is the main character from "Their Eyes Were Wacthing God". Don't worry, I didn't actually remember the main character's name from "Their Eyes Were Watching God". I don't remember anything about that book, except that it was the worst assigned reading I had to choke through in high school. In college, the worst was the first piece of assigned reading: "Refuge". This memoir has two parallel plots: one is about a mother and daughter who struggle against breast cancer; the other is about a dying wildlife sanctuary in Utah. Gaaaah.

I don't know when someone will finally get around to writing a high-school-assigned-reading-style novel about me, but future author take notice: I had my worldview-shaping moment this past Wednesday.

Since graduating from the fake world, I have been unable to answer the tough questions. OMG, what do I want to do with my life? OMG, what am I truly passionate about? OMG, do I believe in MG? OMG, is that song Death Cab For Cutie? I was lost. I was unsure what really mattered.

Enter The Honest Godfather (THG). Actually, enter THB. THG was already there, there being Boston Beer Works at 6:30pm on Wednesday, April 1, 2009. Celtics vs Bobcats in t-minus-one-hour. I was so busy talking to people I already know that I almost turned a cold shoulder on the smartest guy in the room. Thankfully, THG was not deterred. THG saw the disciple in me, crying out for guidance. He slapped me on the shoulder, and said eight words I'll never forget: "I'm going to be on the Jumbotron tonight".

How could he be so certain? I looked him over. I had to admit: he was Jumbrotron material. It wasn't so much the shoes: white, worn in Asics. It wasn't so much the jeans: a light shade of denim that none of the cool kids wear anymore and cut in a style that tapers in to the ankle ("white Asics sneaker cut" is the technical term, I think). It wasn't so much the jersey: a green Larry Bird (jersey 33, as noted by the Light Funky Ones) paired with a t-shirt of the exact same shade of green. A really nice jersey - don't get me wrong - but you don't stand out in a Celtics jersey at a Celtics game. It wasn't that he had a sign or a wig or some such gimmick. No. It was the mullet. It was beautiful. It was formed of tight gray curls that looked like chain mail. It may function as chain mail, too; I don't know. It stopped just below the shoulders. He had a matching goatee, which he kept neat.

I google-imaged "mullet", and, while some mighty fine 'dos pop up, none are too similar to what THG brought to the table. The closest likeness I can find is JCVD's brother in "Kickboxer". This doesn't do THG justice, but it's the best I can do. JCVD's brother is on the left. See the tight curls, matched with facial hair? Shorten the front, lengthen the back, tighten the curls, color it gray, and you have THG's 'do (roughly). Remove the muscles and insert a low hanging beer gut, and you have his physique.



So he looked the part. But I had to ask:

THB: "How do you know you'll be on the Jumbotron?"
THG: "All the camera guys know me. As long as one comes to my section, he'll put me on. Were you at Game 6 on the Finals?"
THB: (blushing) "No, unfortunately I wasn't."
THG: "I got on the Jumbotron that game, too. I was the guy with green hair! And my hair was a little longer back then. I was on the Jumbrotron a bunch of times. The best part was when I came here. I walked in and said hello to the bouncer. He knows me because I come here all the time. Then I was in here and some guy had green hair dye. So I was like, 'Why not?'. I went in the bathroom and dyed my hair. When I walked out, the bouncer was like, 'What the heck is going on?!'".
THB: "Because you walked in with normal (what was I talking about) hair and left with green hair?"
THG: "Yeah! He was like, 'what the heck is going on?! Is this a bar or a hair salon?!'"

Or a classroom? Because THG wasn't finished imparting his wisdom. The lecture went on:

THG: "This place has some pretty good beer. But it's pricey. The way to do it is to brew your own beer. You go up to IncrediBrew in Nashua. If you get a group, it's buy five kettles and get a sixth free. Each kettle holds 77 bottles. And not regular bottles, 22 or 24 oz bottles. And you can brew whatever kind you want, they have lots of good recipes. You bring those home, and you're set. It's much cheaper than buying beer. Wherever you go, you bring them with you. Parties, wherever."
THB: "That sounds like a pretty good deal."
THG: "Wherever you go, you bring them with you. When you fly, you pack 15 bottles in a cooler. Wrap them in newspaper, and you can check them. When I travel with my wife, we check three coolers and one bag with clothes (if that ain't love, then I don't know what love is). It's a great deal, you have all the beer you need. 45 beers. And those are 22 or 24 oz bottles, so it's really double. But airlines charge you for checked bags now. It sucks. That's why you gotta fly Jet Blue. They let you check one bag for free. That's 15 beers! And the second bag is only fifteen dollars. That's a dollar a beer. 22 or 24 oz bottles too, so it's more like a dollar for every two beers."
THB: "Not too bad. Especially compared to what they charge in bars."
THG: "I know. It's way better. I just went out to California for a long weekend to visit [I forget who]. I checked my clothes and took two coolers. When we came back, they were all empty. That's thirty 22 or 24 oz beers over the weekend!"
THB: "Holy mackerel!"
THG: "Yeah. It's good stuff too. My buddy here used to only drink Bud Light."

He points to his buddy, to whom he hasn't said a word in the last half hour. His buddy is wearing cargo pants and has a wicked crew cut, one of those with the completely shaved sides. Except his is only shaved three quarters of the way up, so he kind of looks like he has a bowl cut. Aside: I called a "bowl cut" a "bull cut" for my entire childhood.

THG: (continues) "Used to drink nothing but Bud Light. Now I got him trying all kinds of things. Stouts. Even a Chocolate Raspberry wine. And he loves it. Hey, I was just telling this guy how much you like the beers we brew at IncrediBrew. Stouts and everything."
THG's friend with bowl cut: "Yeah, they're good." He orders a Hub Light (Boston Beer Works's equivalent of Bud Light).
THG: "The best part is people don't know what to think when you take out one of the 22 or 24 oz bottles. They look at you and are like, 'What is that?'. Because you have a 22 or 24 oz bottle with a label that no one recognizes. It's great. If you share one, people love it".
THB: "Do they have labels? Or do you have to make your own?"
THG: "They've got some labels there. But I make my own sometimes. I made a glacier beer once. It was a nice beer, a glacier beer. I made this label, it had a pair of tits on it, and they were pointing at two beers. On the label, it said: 'Which one of the beers is cold?', and one of the lady's nipples was hard! Because it's a glacier beer! Get it? But you can do anything you want."

We saw THG at the game. We were in the top row of section 307, riding the wall. THG's seat was over in section 304, in the second-to-top row. THG did not use his seat. He stood throughout. And sure enough, when Ray Allen sunk a tying three with time winding down in OT, the crowd exploded, the DJ put on Metallica, and there on the Jumbrotron was THG, celebrating like crazy, his mullet swinging gloriously across the back of his neck. When Ray Allen hit the game-winning three in double-OT, THG graced the Jumbrotron a second time.

It was a good day for Ray Allen (two clutch three-pointers). It was a good day for THG (two Jumbrotron appearances). But it was a great day for me. I now know what kind of man I want to be.

Appendix

1. Whoever is working the Jumbrotron at the Cleveland Cavaliers arena is doing some good work. During one Cavs possession this afternoon, he played Dr. Dre's "Still D.R.E.". On the ensuing timeout, he played Rick Astley's "Never Gonna Give You Up". What range.

2. IncrediBrew exists. I will be planning a trip to Nashua sometime reasonably soon. Let's get a group together to take advantage of the buy-five-kettles-get-one-free offer that THG told me about.

3. IncrediBrew has a competitor in the Boston area. Deja Brew. What a name! It almost lures me in. But I'm going to trust THG. I'm sure he has been to Deja Brew, and he must prefer IncrediBrew.

4. If you aren't in the know about Foodler, you're missing out. You enter your zip code, and everywhere that's open and delivering to your door pops up. You have ratings, menus, even ratings for each menu item. I like telling people about Foodler because it's so cool and I know about it and that makes me cool by the transitive property.

5. IncrediBrew has a beer called the Hopzilla. The below image is either part of the label or the marketing campaign.



IncrediBrew says: "This monster will stomp on your taste buds with gigantic citrus flavors, full pungent hop flavors (in a good way) and a full mouth-feel. We don't even think about filtering this bad boy!"

I'm going. Soon. With a car full of 22 or 24 oz bottles.

O Canada, O Canada, we stand on guard for thee

National pride. I'm for it. At Lifestyle->Sports on Molson.com, this is the list of sponsorships:

1. "All six Canadian NHL teams as well as one U.S. team". (That U.S. team is the Detroit Red Wings, it sounds like it came free with the half dozen. NHL teams = day old doughnuts.) Pop quiz: can you name the six Canadian NHL teams? If not, please put down that honest brew. Answer at bottom.
2. The Canadian Junior Hockey League
3. Team Canada Hockey
4. Hockey Hall of Fame
5. NHLPA (National Hockey League Players Association for you warm weather folk).

Ask any college admissions officer. Well-rounded is so early 00's. It's about showing deep commitment to your one true passion. Like student government. Molson picked hockey, played the Canada card, and I soaked it up. Early acceptance! Full financial aid!

But, Molson, you have to be careful not to take it too far. There are times when someone says or does something so unbelievable that you just don't know how to respond. You stop for a minute and wonder if we're all on the same planet. Two examples come to mind:

1. The first time Mitalee visited my home, one of my THB-squared's was anxious to impress with his worldliness: "Oh, you're actually from India. That's where they have all the stray dogs, right?"

2. This fall, I arrived home to find an alarmed David Steinberg. For this conversation, substitute "handy" for "honest" in THB.

DS: "Dude, the light went out. I think we need to call an electrician."
THB: "Did you change the bulb?"
DS: "Oh."

Molson = Canada = Hockey + Beer. Hard to argue with that. Then, someone at Molson had one of those are-you-kidding moments. But they didn't just say it out loud. They printed it on their label.

Answer honestly: would you rather...give up sex for the rest of your life or watching hockey?

Well-

Tha-

I don't know what to say. I showed the bottle to someone. I swear it's real.

Extra stuff to amuse you since I can't add anything more to the main post

In a coincidence of epic proportions, a third stupid-comment example just occurred while I was writing this piece of the post, and I, THB, was the guilty party. "No!" you exclaim. But yes. DS and I are watching 24. (He is also blogging. I find this amusing. We are having a friendly conversation about 24 while I make fun on him on my blog and he likely makes fun of me on his blog.)

THB: I can't believe Jack is dying. (NB: he was just exposed to a deadly biological weapon).
DS: He can't die. There's a season 8.
THB: Well, maybe our hero Aaron Pierce will have to take his place.
DS: (Silence)
THB: (Grasping for the words that just escaped his mouth. Unsuccessfully.)
DS: I am not going to dignify that.

Damn it. Take Jack's place? Get serious, THB.

A list of Top 1's (starting with a couple related to our Northern Neighbors):

Top 1 national anthem in the world: Canada.

Top 1 thing about Canada: Table shuffleboard. This is a great table game involving finesse, strategy, touch, and even power at times. They love it in Canada because it's like curling.

Top 1 worst fast food meal: The McRib. Remember that thing?



Believe it or not, the history of the McRib is fascinating. It tested extremely well in Nebraska. Not surprising. But read the part about McDonald's simultaneously launching a McRib farewell tour and a Save the McRib fake-grassroots campaign.

Top 1 most useless person: A tie between those other two judges on American Idol. I don't know their names. You don't either. They're worthless and annoying and they always just agree with Simon anyway. With unemployment above 0% as it is today, these bums should be out of a job.

Top 1 music video I saw on Boston Sports Club TV this week: Paula Abdul's "Straight Up". A+! And, to this very day, it appears Paula insists on having things straight up. Like her pre-show drink or eight (ba-dump-a-dump).

Top 1 funniest article I've ever read on the internet: I realize this is no small Top 1. I have read lots of funny things on the internet. But this could be my #1.

This article came out after the Gillette Mach 3 and Schick Quattro challenged conventional thought on how many blades a man needs to finish off a close shave and have a disproportionately good-looking woman come stroke his face. But it came out two years before the Gillette Fusion! Unreal. I think someone at Gillette read this and thought: "This just might work".

Answer to the pop-quiz: Montreal Canadians, Toronto Maple Leafs (yes that's the plural), Vancouver Canucks, Edmonton Oilers, Calgary Flames, and Ottawa Senators.

The verdict is still out on Darwin, but Mendel knew his stuff

This morning, I sent my mom an email with my Sweet 16 picks (we do the tournament round-by-round in my house). I couldn't remember if I'd already sent them to her earlier in the week. I joked that this verifies I have her genes. My mom has a lousy memory. She once drove by a turn that she was supposed to take twice in a row. In retrospect, I'd rate this joke as a solid 0 out of 10. I'm not sure it even qualifies as a joke.

It dawned on me that this isn't even the best example of genetics in action. I thought I was original when I started this blog. Somehow I forgot that my dad has been the de-facto leader of the online fishing community for some time. He rules his domain from the best chair in our house, which he calls his throne and occupies almost always. At this point, it's not that throne, but I'm worried that transition may occur over time, especially with the prevalence of enlarged prostates, causing regular guys to need to use the restroom at all critical times (sporting events, photo opportunities, etc).

His moniker is "numbskull", and here's a link to his profile. I have to say I'm a little concerned about the short autobiography: "Usually skunked". I don't know what that means, but it doesn't sound good. He has posted 2,770 times since joining in November 2005. That's a prodigious rate of about 2.7 posts per day. You know what the most remarkable part is? I couldn't really find any embarrassing material (unless you count a penchant for using little colorful smiley faces). To my surprise, he appears to be an upstanding online citizen.

Speaking on upstanding online citizens, look at the banner ad on StriperTalk by Markus. (If it's not the same as mine, then Big Brother Google has identified me as a creep.)

"My name is Markus and I created PlentyOfFish.com; my site is free and we created 800,000 relationships last year. The majority of users are professionals and users who are serious about meeting someone. If you are looking for someone, you may as well join us, we have millions of people and best of all we are free! You aren't going to meet anyone trolling supermarkets or bars."

A few notes:
1. 800,000 relationships. That number is more inflated then David Steinberg's page hit count, which he has attempted to bloat by putting a trick link to his own site in his latest Twitter-like excuse for a post.
2. Professionals. Hmmm, what profession?
3. Notice Markus does not identify the minority of users. I don't want to know.
4. The assertion that you won't meet anyone trolling in supermarkets or bars. Probably not. Trolling usually involves unwieldy tackle and live bait. But if you do meet someone under those conditions, it's love.

Here's a real profile from PlentyOfFish, entitled "Looking for that one bite". At first, I was skeptical about dread66. He doesn't look much like a fisherman (see photo). But his emotional side, revealed in the About Me, just hooks me! A snippet:

"Your fingertips touch and smooth my skin
As you pull my dreads so tenderly"

This gives me a new business idea. My last idea: Segway tours of New Orleans. I had the New Orleans tourism market cornered. We had just got off of a tour bus. It was packed. It was boring. The tour guide pointed out a Walgreens. Unfortunately, I later learned that someone beat me to the punch with Segway tours. I am hoping to trump all with the Deja Vu Segway Tour of New Orleans.



However, I have thus far been unable to secure a use agreement on the requisite government technology ("a time window and Einstein-Rosen bridge through seven satellites that allows Denzel to look back four and a half days in time"), which limits my competitive advantage. Here's the new idea: hobby-specific internet dating sites that require themed profiles.

Site 1: "Lack a hitting partner? At RallyMates.com, we know that love, like tennis, is a game for two. We'll help you find the partner that gives you the confidence and comfort you need to put all your shots deep in the court!"

Site 2: "Feeling more like a pawn than a king? Come to CheckMate.com, where you'll learn the strategy you need to stay on the board late into the game and corner the queen of your dreams."

Site 3: "In the gutter? Does she keep splitting? At OnlyStrikes.com, we'll straighten you out and put you in the perfect lane to bowl her over. All you have to do is remember the clean socks!"

Who's with me? If you have a government contact, we'll combine these themed sites with the Deja Vu Segway Tour. Just think: you take your date on the tour. You mess it up (you're an internet dater after all). But you're not done. Four and half days later, you re-do the tour and correct your mistakes. Or you just give up and take the Other New Orleans Deja Vu Tour.

Loyal fans, hold tight!

I hear your cries! It's been almost a week, and no new posts. You're wondering if you can even go on. You're wondering if you even want to go on.

Fans, I have not forgotten you. I won't bore you with excuses. I promise you: new posts are on the way. I will soon leave boring-busy-land and resume the fast, furious, steroid-enhanced posting that you have come to expect.

So step back from that ledge, my friend.