"Dungy Couldn't Save His Own Son" or "You Disgust Me, You Stupid Pats Fan"

I recently wrote a blog post about my feelings for Bill Belichick. Obviously, I called him out for being an egotistical, cheating, classless, coach. If you haven't done so, you should read that article here.

In some sort of attempt to make himself feel better about supporting an organization full of cheats, New England Patriots fan Jason had this to say in response to my post:

It's amazing to think that Dungy, couldn't even help his son...that's right. He's so GOOD of a person that he put his job BEFORE his family. Sounds like the BEST GUY ever.

No, I'm not saying that Belichick is a saint, I don't even like the fact that we cheated...but I'm sick of EVERYONE thinking the Colts $h!t don't stink. These people are athletes and coaches...they aren't saints.

Oh, Dungy is such a good person...who couldn't help his own family.

My initial reaction upon reading this would've looked something like this:


Wow. Seriously? I mean... wow.

Where do I begin? After thinking about this for a while, I've decided there are two types of people who would make such a comment:

1) An ignorant moron who has never had to deal with a loved one committing suicide.

2) An ignorant moron who considers himself a "fan," and thinks that gives him the right to freaking rip a man's personal life apart.

The funny thing is that I never said anything about Dungy or any other Colt being a "saint." I just called Belichick a bitch.

Before you call me a hypocrite, please note that any comment I've made about Belichick has been football related. I'm not saying that makes it right or anything, I'm just saying that as much as I despise him, I would never trash his personal life. Especially if it was something like the death of his son.

At first I was upset about his comment, until I realized that we're dealing with an absolute imbecile here. Obviously Jason has never gone through anything closely resembling what Dungy and his family have dealt with. Anyone who has, would have tact enough not to try to discredit a man because his son committed suicide. Even if it was only written as a joke to prove a point on some no-name blog.

It's difficult for me not to attack Jason's personal life in retaliation, and make assumptions and accusations just for the sake of shock humor. But I'm going to refrain from doing that. Like a good Colts fan, I'll take "the high road." And for the record, compared to Belichick, Dungy is a saint. Heck, Jason is too.

"How to Dress for Success" or "Why I Hate You, Mr. Formal Business Man"

Photo was taken from this site.

I'm sure you've all heard how it's important to "dress successful if you want to be successful." Or "dress for the job you want, not the one you've got." Or "never wear black shoes with a brown belt." Or "pink is the new black."

Let me begin by saying that unfortunately, in our current society, all of the above statements are true. People have even done extensive research to prove this point (evidence here: Dress to Impress). I'm not going to sit here and try to tell you that it isn't true.

What I am going to tell you is that I hate this fact. I have never been comfortable in formal attire and that will probably never change. Take a look at those two guys in the picture above. Nobody is ever that happy in a suit.

The worst thing about this "appropriate business attire" is that people who work in virtual dungeons and never have contact with other humans are still expected to wear this hideous garb. We've given up comfort because some moron decided that you are more professional if you are wearing six layers of clothing and constantly sweating on your upper lip.

Well, I'm sick of it. I should be comfortable at work. You should be too. You want to know why so many people want to start their own business? It's not for the money. It's the idea that you can wake up in the morning and head to work in a mumu and nobody can tell you you're not professional.

I'm ready for a revolution! I'm too lazy to start it myself, but hopefully you aren't! If you don't get fired first, then I'll be right behind you! Vive la Revolucion!



As a bonus, we could also save the planet. See this story.

No Bears Fans Allowed!

I was recently reminded of something I already knew during this last Super Bowl: Few things are more annoying than fans rooting against your favorite team. We had a large party for the Super Bowl; a house full of blue and white die-hard Colts fans. We also had a single Bears fan.

If you've ever had to endure a big game while listening to somebody cheer against your team, you know exactly what I'm talking about. The Bears fan was a sweet girl who I already know and I know she's a great person. But I swear, to hear her celebrate when the rest of us were so upset (like during a turnover), is like listening to fingernails on a chalkboard. You could just feel that most of us were this close to punching her in the throat. I don't like to feel that way about a person, especially someone who I know is a great person.

I'm so glad the Colts won, because it would have been unBearable to watch her celebrate. I probably would have shot myself. Or her. Or both. Anyways, just thought I'd point out that fact. Definitely one of the most annoying things. Ever.

HELP!!!

We're currently experiencing a blizzard here in Indianapolis and I'm afraid my genius employers may not let me leave early. This means I probably won't get home till around 11:30 tonight. If I weren't still so happy about the Colts winning the Super Bowl (and didn't have a mortgage payment, a wife and an empty bank account), I'd probably just quit and go home. Instead I'll watch the snow fall, covering the streets with a blanket of disastrous slipperiness, while daydreaming about quitting my job. I wonder what the odds of winning the Powerball are this week?

A Gay Man Should Not Have This Job

As many of my readers know, I like to listen to books on tape while drving to and from work. Currently, I am listening to The Aeneid by Virgil. It is the story of the fall of Troy and the ancestry of the Romans and blah, blah, blah who cares?

Well, I have recently come to understand something about myself. Whether or not a person annoys me can be directly linked to the sound of their voice (for more info, read this).

Now, one would think (or at least I would think) that if you're going to make a book on tape, you would want a voice that best fits the genre or style of the book. For instance: The Bible would be read by Charlton Heston, Little Women would be read by Angela Lansbury, and If I Did It would be read by a sick bastard.

Unfortunately, Blackstone Audio Books chose Frederick Davidson to read The Aeneid. I know nothing about Frederick Davidson except for the fact that he is fffffffffflaming. The problem here isn't that he is gay, because he may not be. It's that he talks in that dialect which doubles the use of the letter "s" in every word. For example:

Waiter: "Good evening gentlemen. Would you like to try the soup or salad?"
Gay Man: "Yesssss Pleaaassssse! I would love a Sssssuper Sssalad!"

Davidson has also added his own twist to this speech, where he throws a "z" in between a mess of esses. As in, "Whimsszssical."

I normally wouldn't have much of a problem with this, except that he is reading a book that is totally unfit for such language. Imagine Braveheart, with Hugh Grant playing the part of William Wallace. It would totally ruin the effect. That's what this book is like now.

What Makes a Voice Annoying?

Okay, I work at a place where it is necessary to record audio. We have a couple people who come in throughout the week to do the recordings. For some reason, one of them just really annoys me. If I hear her having a conversation with somebody, that's fine. But when she turns on her "recorder" voice, or whatever the heck it's called, it's soooo annoying.

The odd thing is that I have no idea why. It's not the words she's saying, because half the time I can't understand them. It really bothers me that I can't pin down exactly why her voice annoys me. It just makes my skin crawl.

She doesn't have a lisp, it's not unusually high or low, there's no accent that I can trace. What the heck! It must be something in the cadence or rhythm. Whatever it is, I can't stand it.

That may be what's annoying me so much. If I could just say, "Man, her voice is annoying because she sounds exactly like Beaker from the Muppets," then I think I could handle it. It's like freakishly close to being a normal voice, but just barely off, which gives me this disturbing feeling in my stomach. Make it stop!

If anyone has any information on what makes a pleasant, or unpleasant voice, please let me know. I'm going crazy here.

Indianapolis Colts Choose a Mascot

If you didn’t already know, the Indianapolis Colts have chosen a mascot and revealed his new name. The mascot is a fluffly, friendly-looking colt. His name?


Blue. Blue the mascot. Actually, I don’t even know if it’s a he. Blue looks like a blue Elmo with a hippo’s mouth. His intimidation abilities are along the same lines as a Chucky Cheese band member. Good thing the Colts don’t already have the image of being a “soft” team. Oh wait.

I’m not sure exactly what I would be looking for in an NFL mascot, but I can tell you that Blue is not it. Maybe we should’ve had a huge horseshoe. His name could be Lucky. Lucky would already have his arms in position to signal touchdowns and field goals. When the other team scored, he could do a headstand which would make him look like a frowny face. Hunter Smith could use Lucky to work on his PAT attempts. Okay, maybe finding a good mascot is harder than I thought. I dare you to try to do better.

As it stands, we’re stuck with Blue. Guess I better start getting used to him. The only positive I can find in this moniker is that hundreds of drunken Colts fans will have a damn good reason to sporadically yell, “You’re my boy, Blue!”

Read IndyStar's columnist Bob Kravitz's opinion on Blue here.

What you crave

This morning I am being reminded why I only eat White Castle once every 6 months or so. I had “the crave” yesterday and there was no stopping it. It really did taste good, but now I’m paying the price. My stomach has been rumbling all morning and every time I let some gas out, I’m rolling the dice. I hate not knowing what’s going to come out until it’s too late. And since when did they start advertising their burgers as “Sliders?” That’s definitely a negative term that was invented to make fun of them. Now I see them using it in their commercials. And it's funny how eating a White Castle burger is the exact same experience as committing sin, or less specifically, doing something you know is stupid. Before you do it, you can think of nothing else and even though you have some faint memory of knowing it is wrong, you are able to find a million ways to justify doing it again. Then it's great while you're eating it and you feel pretty good. But the second you're done eating, you get that sick feeling of, "What did I just do?" Then it's nothing but regret until enough time passes that you forget what was so terrible about it in the first place. Anyways.

Yesterday church was very restorative for me. (how's that for segue?) The prayers were beautiful and I found it easy to pay attention. I hate being distracted by my own thoughts during church, and thankfully I didn’t have that problem yesterday.

Then we went to rent a movie and get some meat. Then I made my dining decision. We rented the movie “V for Vendetta.” Overall, it was a decent movie. Not near as good as its inspiration: The Count of Monte Cristo (at least the book, the movie wasn't all that great). But I enjoyed it. One thing that stood out was the excessive use of the word, “bollocks.” It was like the Wachowski brothers knew one British word and decided to use it whenever they wanted to remind us that we were in England. Ridiculous, but not bad enough to ruin the movie. So that was my evening.

Some People are Just Assholes

Well, I had a really good weekend: the Colts spanked Denver, I'm almost finished moving, I got to play some poker again, and guys group was great as always. But something stupid happened, and I was surprised to find out how upset I got for like twenty seconds.

Saturday morning we got like three inches of wet snow here in Indy. It really was incredibly beautiful, because the snow found a way to stick to every branch and fence and telephone wire. So everything was covered in white, and it just looked awesome.

Well, I went out to shovel the walk, and was amazed at how well the snow was sticking together. It would've been perfect for a snowball fight, but since I was by myself, I decided to make a snowman. This is something I haven't done in a long time, and the snow was just perfect for it. So it took about a half-hour to built a five foot snowman. By the time I was through, I was too tired to bother giving him a carrot nose, or coal eyes, or a hat. But I was still proud of my creation.

So anyways, he was still standing guard in the front yard Sunday morning when I left for church. But as I made my way home, I could tell from half a block away that something had gone terribly wrong. It was warming up and the snow was melting, but I knew ol' Frosty was big enough to last through at least another day. So I wondered why I couldn't see him standing there anymore. When I got closer, I saw his frozen, molested body lying helpless on the ground.

He was still intact, but had fallen over backwards. At first I thought that maybe he was just a little top-heavy and had fallen down. But as I leaned in close to whisper a few parting words, I noticed a size twelve footprint imbedded into his chest. I couldn't believe it. What kind of sick man (because it was a large foot) kicks a snowman down? And why? How in the world could a snowman offend someone to the point where they feel that it must be destroyed? He didn't do anything wrong. And who doesn't like to see a snowman in a yard? I finally realized that some people are just assholes and do stuff like that because they have small penises.

Then my thirty seconds of anger was up, and I just kind of laughed at the whole situation and at myself for having gotten upset at it. I can always make another snowman. I guess that guy can always get some Enzyte.

Damn the Snooze Bar!

Okay, who invented the dang snooze bar on an alarm? Seriously. That has to be the worst invention. For the third day in a row now, I've snooze barred my way into a hectic morning where I am rushing to be on time for work. I know it's my own dang fault, but I shouldn't even have that option.

So, who's the idiot who decided it was a good idea to add a snooze bar? Alarm clocks are one of the only things we buy that forces us to do something we don't really want to do. The whole purpose of an alarm clock is to wake you up! Why have an option that negates that purpose? It's bad enough that I set the clock 30 minutes early, in order to "trick" myself into being on time (come on, I know you do it too), only to wake up and say, "Oh, I've got thirty more minutes, cause I set the clock wrong."

The problem with the snooze bar is that it asks you whether or not you want five more minutes of sleep, while you're still sleeping. That's like asking an alcoholic if he wants one more drink, while he's in the middle of an all-night binge. Of course he'll say yes.

Honestly, who's going to say "no" to five more minutes, when you've just been torn from a nice slumber? If my dad were to have woken me up by saying, "Son, it's time to get up. But if you want five more minutes, just smack me upside the head and I'll come back later and repeat the process." He would've needed a medic every morning.

Does the clock think I accidentally set the wrong time on the alarm? I mean, I spent ten minutes trying to figure out how to set it right, of course that's when I want to wake up. But it takes two seconds to slap that button and just keep dreaming. They should make snooze bars just as difficult to set. By the time you figured out what you were doing, you'd be conscious and awake.

Isn't it true though, that those five minutes are worth more than a whole night's sleep combined? It's like the entire night is a warm-up for the real sleep that comes after you hit the snooze bar.

Anyways, if anyone finds out who invented it, let me know. And out of curiosity, how many other people set their clocks fast on purpose?

Hairy Men: Cheer it, or Shear it?

I hope you've all seen the Seinfeld episode where Jerry shaves his chest and is told by Kramer that it'll grow back twice as thick. If you haven't, it's hilarious. This is in fact a wive's tale as Jerry originally believes. Anyways, this episode is the unfortunate inspiration for this post. Reader beware: this post contains material that may upset your stomach and/or question your manhood.

I'm sure we've all had friends who have shaved their legs, or chest or back for one reason or another. I know swimmers who do it all the time. Oh, and I'm talking to the guys here. Of course we know women who shave their legs (hopefully).

This tale is my unfortunate encounter with someone who took shaving a bit too far in my opinion. It was a normal Friday afternoon in a college dorm like any other, where guys were finishing their last classes for the day, and preparing for a fun weekend to come. Myself and a few friends were in our dorm, when we heard a soft humming sound coming from the bathroom. We didn't think much of it, as there were many strange sounds that often came from this bathroom, and this particular sound seemed inoffensive in comparison.

Eventually I had to go use the little boy's room, and my life would never be the same. As I entered the bathroom, the humming noise go louder. I recognized the familiar sound of an electric shaver. Nothing wrong with that. But as I looked to my left, expecting to see a roommate cleaning up for the evening, I saw the raw backside "Steve." He was crouched in the corner with his back facing me, and he was looking over his shoulder like a little boy who's trying to hide something from his parents or something.

I said to Steve, "Steve. What in the name of all things holy are you doing?" Or something to that effect.
Steve: "Man, I'm just shaving my pubes."
Me: "Oh. Okay."
Right. So I went ahead and did my business, and left the room. As I told everyone else in the entire dorm what I had seen, we were all in agreement that this was not normal behavior. A few of us went back into the bathroom to confirm what I had seen, and to figure out why he was doing that.
Steve: "I've got a date tonight and you never know what could happen."
Oh, of course. Well, that explains everything. Okay, carry on then.
Well, we made fun of him for about a half hour or so. Then we made him sanitize the entire bathroom.

So now my question is: should Steve be considered a freak of nature? And believe me, he is, whether this instance warrants that definition or not. And also, shouldn't men just leave what God allows to grow alone? And also, what woman would Steve be doing this for? Don't answer that. Anyways, you don't have to answer any of these questions. I just thought it was a funny story. Please keep your comments as wholesome as possible.

Annoying Co-workers!!!

Okay, I hate to use this blog to vent, but it's my blog, and darnit I'm venting.

I'm at work right now, and I sit about six feet behind one of the most annoying people on the planet. It's like whenever I go flying, why do I always sit next to the biggest creep who wants to talk the whole time? This guy thinks he knows everything, and likes to talk about it. He gives advice to everyone, whether it's asked for or not. And he cusses all the time. I mean seriously, why waste good cuss words? They should be reserved for special moments and not wasted on day-to-day rabble.

Now all of that is very annoying, but the kicker for me is that he chews tobacco all...day...long........... Who chews tobacco at work!? I work in an office for crying out loud! And he spits his cud out into a little styrofoam cup that just sits on his desk all day looking at me. It's disgusting. And all day long I can hear that "Squirt" from his tar filled cheeks to the bottom of that defiled cup. I feel like a cat being rubbed the wrong way. It's like nails on a chalkboard. I'm going crazy.

Anyways, please please please, leave a comment that talks about your worst co-workers. It would make me feel so much better to know there are worse. And it may make you feel better. And it's fun to make fun of people who annoy you. Please leave a comment on this one. Take the time. It'll go a long way.