Well, well, well. It's really happening. The Steelers QB situation is a disater. Where the fuck is Brian St. Pierre? Flirting in the Parisian riots? Fucking seriously, we need someone to step it up besides little old Tommy Gun. BIG Ben is aht until the HUGE Monday night game v. the invincible Colts, complete with Manning sauce all over it. T.Gun is simply petrified to play QB...I can see it, the announcers can see it, and I am convinced that every defense in the league knows it. Granted, that sad day three years ago when he was temporarily paralyzed was extremely frightening, but if you are getting a phatty paycheck to be the No. 2 QB for a crazyass NFL team, then do it with confidence.
Or else you are just going to be raking up more garbage from your lawn along with the dead leaves.
Personally, I do not have the time nor gas money to go to TG's house & fuck up his curb appeal, but Stees fans collectively do. You've been served, dude.
Monday, November 14, 2005
Sunday, November 13, 2005
An Extraordinarily Uneventful Weekend
So, here I sit impatiently awaiting for halftime of the Stees/Brahns game to end so that I can witness more of this delicious smashmouth rivalry in action. Meanwhile, I think that it is important to add that I am doing so quietly and alone (Daisy Dogg is here, of course). This is very unusual, but I am finding it to be theraputic tonight. My typical schtick is to be around the Steelers "crew", drink I.C. Light to excess and down shots of red-headed sluts to celebrate each and every Stees score. It is really a brutal weekly tradition. Especially during late-night games, such as tonight's. Oh, one more thing about tonight's game. It's on ESPN and the intro that came on at 8:30 was a rap/opera to the tune of that "Lean Back" song that was popular this summer. One of the lyrics went like this, "Oh, no, it's gonna go down; Pittsburgh Steelers against the Cleveland Browns." Down rhymes with Browns...How fucking creative can you get?
But, as this weekend was pretty low-key altogether, it seems appropriate to fly solo tonight. First off, PSU had a bye week. This in no way detracts from our No. 5 BCS rating, but it simply delays the inevitable trouncing of Michigan State next Saturday, clinching the Big Ten & generally rocking the BCS. JoePa for PA Supreme Court Justice (Justice Nigro, I sure voted to keep your ass in black robes).
A great shaht aht to T-dizza for her wonderful company at the Handmade Arcade Saturday evening (hipster craft show in Point Breeze). Oh, BTW, thanks Kels for the idea. Good times had by all.
I NOW INTERRUPT THIS BLOGGING TO INFORM YINZ THAT THE SECOND HALF HAS BEGUN AND...CHARLIE BATCH HAS A BROKEN HAND!!! He actually broke his hand before he squeezed into the end zone for the last second TD. What a warrior.
MADDOX IS IN.
I've got to go...damage control time. Holy shit.
But, as this weekend was pretty low-key altogether, it seems appropriate to fly solo tonight. First off, PSU had a bye week. This in no way detracts from our No. 5 BCS rating, but it simply delays the inevitable trouncing of Michigan State next Saturday, clinching the Big Ten & generally rocking the BCS. JoePa for PA Supreme Court Justice (Justice Nigro, I sure voted to keep your ass in black robes).
A great shaht aht to T-dizza for her wonderful company at the Handmade Arcade Saturday evening (hipster craft show in Point Breeze). Oh, BTW, thanks Kels for the idea. Good times had by all.
I NOW INTERRUPT THIS BLOGGING TO INFORM YINZ THAT THE SECOND HALF HAS BEGUN AND...CHARLIE BATCH HAS A BROKEN HAND!!! He actually broke his hand before he squeezed into the end zone for the last second TD. What a warrior.
MADDOX IS IN.
I've got to go...damage control time. Holy shit.
Monday, November 07, 2005
The First Rule of Fight Club is...
When I was a wee 1L on my second day of Pitt Law orientation, a 2L bequeathed to me an amazingly important piece of advice. As a matter of fact, it may have been the most crucial piece of advice that I have ever been fortunate enough to receive.
And the very, very few times that I have violated this rule, I have always felt like a complete assmunch. So, Pete Smith (St. Louise de Marillac 8th grade class of 1993 & Peters Twp. H.S. class of 1997), wherever you are, thank you for passing along the Golden Rule of Law School.
The Golden Rule of Law School is: don’t fuck/hook up/make out with other law students.
The only exception is if you believe that your insalubriousness will result in a long-term thing/marriage.
It may sound matronly, but it is tried and true. At first, I thought that this was a ridiculous suggestion. But, as time has passed, I have seen how this rule has prevented many awkward situations. Not unlike today.
The Second Rule of Law School is: keep drinking and it’ll all be over soon. (That's my own personal advice.)
And the very, very few times that I have violated this rule, I have always felt like a complete assmunch. So, Pete Smith (St. Louise de Marillac 8th grade class of 1993 & Peters Twp. H.S. class of 1997), wherever you are, thank you for passing along the Golden Rule of Law School.
The Golden Rule of Law School is: don’t fuck/hook up/make out with other law students.
The only exception is if you believe that your insalubriousness will result in a long-term thing/marriage.
It may sound matronly, but it is tried and true. At first, I thought that this was a ridiculous suggestion. But, as time has passed, I have seen how this rule has prevented many awkward situations. Not unlike today.
The Second Rule of Law School is: keep drinking and it’ll all be over soon. (That's my own personal advice.)
Sunday, November 06, 2005
Batch You Think That Farve Sucks!
OK...it's official: Charlie Batch is a much better (backup) QB than Tommy Gun.
But, we all knew that, save Coach Caher. But, still, watching the game was difficult. I mean, Hines had his first reception of the game in the second half. That is re-god-damn-diculous for a pro bowl receiver who needed just four receptions (today) to surpass a Stee's all-time record!
Charlie Batch deserves my love for two reasons. No, three. One: he is a hometahn boy from Homestead. Two: he wears my lucky number (16). And three: he won his first start today since the year 2000. Christ, since then, I've graduated college, held multiple jobs, completed 2.35 years of law school and lived in this god-foresaken city for four years!
Onto things other than the lovely Stees. After being sick for like two weeks, I still do not feel like myself. I feel rather unattractive, disorganized and generally lame. How do I kick this crappy outlook? I know that for starters I should clean my apartment, as a clean apartment always makes me feel better. Did I mention that I hate cleaning? Many of my friends think that I am a clean-freak. They are wrong. Actually, I am really fighting my genetic OCD. Go ahead, laugh. No, please, piss your pants if you'd like. I clean because I would rather look at an uncluttered place than a shithole. And a few weeks after I clean, the shithole begins to reappear.
Abracadabra! Schzamm! Fuck, magic won't clean my apartment...It was worth a try.
But, we all knew that, save Coach Caher. But, still, watching the game was difficult. I mean, Hines had his first reception of the game in the second half. That is re-god-damn-diculous for a pro bowl receiver who needed just four receptions (today) to surpass a Stee's all-time record!
Charlie Batch deserves my love for two reasons. No, three. One: he is a hometahn boy from Homestead. Two: he wears my lucky number (16). And three: he won his first start today since the year 2000. Christ, since then, I've graduated college, held multiple jobs, completed 2.35 years of law school and lived in this god-foresaken city for four years!
Onto things other than the lovely Stees. After being sick for like two weeks, I still do not feel like myself. I feel rather unattractive, disorganized and generally lame. How do I kick this crappy outlook? I know that for starters I should clean my apartment, as a clean apartment always makes me feel better. Did I mention that I hate cleaning? Many of my friends think that I am a clean-freak. They are wrong. Actually, I am really fighting my genetic OCD. Go ahead, laugh. No, please, piss your pants if you'd like. I clean because I would rather look at an uncluttered place than a shithole. And a few weeks after I clean, the shithole begins to reappear.
Abracadabra! Schzamm! Fuck, magic won't clean my apartment...It was worth a try.
Saturday, November 05, 2005
Like a Virgin
So, this is it: my very first blog post ever.
Which I suppose comes at a very interesting time because yesterday I defended my very first deposition ever. There's a first time for everything "they" say.
First, about the title of my blog: I once was on a date at a fancy restaurant in East Liberty where everything was just a tad bit too gourmet. But, hey, I didn't pick the joint and I wasn't the one footing the bill (and I did have the chicken). Anyway, when the server brought out the bread and butter, I immediately began laughing so hard that I nearly soiled myself. The butter was flamingly hot pink. Really, really pink.
When I shared this information with a friend, he told me that the phrase "hot pink butter" could be mistaken for a description of a vagina. And I was forever sold on the phrase.
OK, as far as things in my life that are worthy of typing out and publishing on the internet, here goes:
Law school is dumb. The students are either completely lame or supersweet and married. Not that I am using the hallowed concrete halls of the Barco as my personal meat locker, but I spend so much time there that you'd think that I'd be attracted to at least ONE man.
The Steelers have to come up with something that makes Big Ben bionic. Seriously, what the fuck? How are we supposed to win a freaking Super Bowl for the Bus' last season when Ben is injured every two weeks? I am by no means a "fair-weather fan." I can not even remember the last time I missed watching (or listening to) a Stee's game. And, as far as that term goes, there is very little "fair weather" in the Burgh O'Pitts. All I am saying is that we should give Ben some more padding or more protection.
Oh, and my alma mater just beat Wisconsin. Hell yeah! Eat shit, U of Pitt.
We ARE Penn State.
Last night, I was in my PJs, sippin' a cold IC Light pounder while making fun of Amy Grant's "Three Wishes" on TV. Very comfortable and satisfying, really. Then, my friend called to tell me that she wanted me go go out to Lava for "one drink" to meet her new friend. (Note: Lava is within 500 feet of my apartment.) I (of course) protested and told her that she was too late; I was already in for the night. Lame, I know. But, she transformed this request into a "favor" and the guilt trippin' began. Before I could put an end to her pleading, she was parked outside of my place. I let her in and, well, within 15 minutes, I had jeans and a T-shirt on. So, long story short, I had more than one drink. I met some new people and had a boatload of fun!
The moral of the story is: don't put up such a fuss when your friend(s) try to get you to go out, even when you feel poopy.
One more thing, my fish tanks are completely going south. At the same time, I am very proud of myself for breeding my first generation of snails. Breeding snails is (in the fish business) considered to be as easy as falling down the stairs whilst wasted. But, I've never been able to get them to fuck each other. See, I bought 3 yellow snails with the optimistic view that they could not all possibly be of the same sex. And they weren't. So, a few weeks ago, I noticed what seemed to be egg pouches stuck to the tank wall above the waterline. And they hatched. Oh, did they hatch. Now I have over one hundred tiny little snails in my fish tank. And, I think that they are somehow polluting my fish.
In the other tank, there is no snail problem, but the fish seem to be dying nonetheless. I am sick of scooping out fish carcasses. It's depressing.
You might be thinking that I am simply a negligent fish mother. I assure you that I have been maintaining tanks for close to six years & this is a historic time of death and disease.
If you have any good ideas to stop this plague, please advise.
I'll shut up now. Go Pens!
Which I suppose comes at a very interesting time because yesterday I defended my very first deposition ever. There's a first time for everything "they" say.
First, about the title of my blog: I once was on a date at a fancy restaurant in East Liberty where everything was just a tad bit too gourmet. But, hey, I didn't pick the joint and I wasn't the one footing the bill (and I did have the chicken). Anyway, when the server brought out the bread and butter, I immediately began laughing so hard that I nearly soiled myself. The butter was flamingly hot pink. Really, really pink.
When I shared this information with a friend, he told me that the phrase "hot pink butter" could be mistaken for a description of a vagina. And I was forever sold on the phrase.
OK, as far as things in my life that are worthy of typing out and publishing on the internet, here goes:
Law school is dumb. The students are either completely lame or supersweet and married. Not that I am using the hallowed concrete halls of the Barco as my personal meat locker, but I spend so much time there that you'd think that I'd be attracted to at least ONE man.
The Steelers have to come up with something that makes Big Ben bionic. Seriously, what the fuck? How are we supposed to win a freaking Super Bowl for the Bus' last season when Ben is injured every two weeks? I am by no means a "fair-weather fan." I can not even remember the last time I missed watching (or listening to) a Stee's game. And, as far as that term goes, there is very little "fair weather" in the Burgh O'Pitts. All I am saying is that we should give Ben some more padding or more protection.
Oh, and my alma mater just beat Wisconsin. Hell yeah! Eat shit, U of Pitt.
We ARE Penn State.
Last night, I was in my PJs, sippin' a cold IC Light pounder while making fun of Amy Grant's "Three Wishes" on TV. Very comfortable and satisfying, really. Then, my friend called to tell me that she wanted me go go out to Lava for "one drink" to meet her new friend. (Note: Lava is within 500 feet of my apartment.) I (of course) protested and told her that she was too late; I was already in for the night. Lame, I know. But, she transformed this request into a "favor" and the guilt trippin' began. Before I could put an end to her pleading, she was parked outside of my place. I let her in and, well, within 15 minutes, I had jeans and a T-shirt on. So, long story short, I had more than one drink. I met some new people and had a boatload of fun!
The moral of the story is: don't put up such a fuss when your friend(s) try to get you to go out, even when you feel poopy.
One more thing, my fish tanks are completely going south. At the same time, I am very proud of myself for breeding my first generation of snails. Breeding snails is (in the fish business) considered to be as easy as falling down the stairs whilst wasted. But, I've never been able to get them to fuck each other. See, I bought 3 yellow snails with the optimistic view that they could not all possibly be of the same sex. And they weren't. So, a few weeks ago, I noticed what seemed to be egg pouches stuck to the tank wall above the waterline. And they hatched. Oh, did they hatch. Now I have over one hundred tiny little snails in my fish tank. And, I think that they are somehow polluting my fish.
In the other tank, there is no snail problem, but the fish seem to be dying nonetheless. I am sick of scooping out fish carcasses. It's depressing.
You might be thinking that I am simply a negligent fish mother. I assure you that I have been maintaining tanks for close to six years & this is a historic time of death and disease.
If you have any good ideas to stop this plague, please advise.
I'll shut up now. Go Pens!
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