Thunder Matt's Saloon

TMS Booze Project: Taaka Vodka

2009-07-10T03:10:00.004-05:00

I always felt like an outsider when I'd read one of the TMS Beer Project reviews. Although I sometimes drink beer and even enjoy it on occasion, it's usually something I resort to only when every other beverage has been consumed. Being a saloon, I decided to spotlight my preferred vessel for inebriation: hard liquor. Without further adieu, I bring you the TMS Booze Project: Taaka Vodka edition...

Taaka Vodka

Distillery: Sazerac Co., Frankfurt KY

Type: "Genuine" Vodka

Receptacle: 750ml glass bottle (also known as a "fifth" for all you rookies out there)

Drinkability (1 being Jim Jones' kool-aid, 10 being the nectar of the gods): 2. This vodka was the cheapest liquor I could find at my corner liquor store. Unfortunately, their is a direct correlation between the taste and the prince. Whereas good vodka is nearly flavorless and smooth, Taaka has a sharp, acidic taste. I've never drank urine, but I would imagine that this is how the urine of somebody who drank an entire bottle of Kettle One would taste.

Heartiness (1 being fresh mountain spring water, 10 being a pureed British steak infected with mad cow disease): 8, but remember: Vodka is supposed to be more like mountain spring water than steak. Taaka is sickeningly sweet and slightly minty. If somebody would have given me Taaka in a blind taste test, I might have guessed it were cheap gin.

Intoxication (1 being your friend's weird pentecostal grandmother high on Jesus, 10 being Boris Yeltsin on a week long bender in the Crimea): 7, Its pretty standard at 80 proof, but the low quality tricked my brain into thinking it was much higher than that. The first few shots were atrocious, but after the cheap grain alcohol started eating away at my taste buds, I had no problem doing shots of this awful stuff. The resulting hangover felt more like a whiskey hangover than a vodka hangover.

Celebrities You May See Drinking This Spirit: Courtney Love, Shia LaBeouf, Vince Neil, whatever band is headlining the county fair

Affordability ($ being chicklets in Tijuana, $$$$ being diamond encrusted braised lamb shank from a trendy cafe on the Champs d'Elysee): $. Ounce for ounce, there are probably cheaper liquors out there. However, you'd have to get into 1.75 liter plastic jug territory and I'm not willing to cross that line just yet. For a fifth of vodka in a glass bottle, you just can't get cheaper than Taaka. I paid $4.99 for it; although it was a dollar off it's usual price of $5.99. Since the bottle holds roughly 25 ounces, and each shot is 1.5 ounces, that means each shot of vodka cost me about 30 cents. The extra 'a' in Taaka is for affordability.

It's Pop Culture Quiz Time!

2009-07-09T22:53:00.007-05:00

Featuring: The Exquisite Existential Horror of 16 and Pregnant

Ok. First and foremost: I am not here to praise this show.

I know TMS has a long and storied history of promoting incredibly crappy television. But that isn't my style.

This nightmare is merely on while I am in the room (actually, in the interest of full disclosure, it just ended and my fiancee changed the channel to the slightly less hateful Chelsea Lately). But it is the single bleakest thing I have ever been exposed to. And I have read almost everything Samuel Beckett ever wrote, and own Joy Division's complete discography.

So I did what my father taught me to do when encountering a tough chore. I made a game out of it.

The rules: Pick out the false statements from these random true facts about this show. Every right answer earns you $50 in TMS Fun Bucks, which can be redeemed for Mustache Rides from Chaim Witz¹

The "Facts":

1. Whitney is 16 years old and pregnant.

2. She has dropped out of school to have the baby, because she is ashamed of being pregnant.

3. Her mother is also pregnant.

4. Both she AND her pregnant mother are living at her "Mee-Maw's" house.

5. Her "Mee-Maw" is renting said house.

6. Said house is already overcrowded. Before Whitney's son and her brother are even born.

7. Her "Mee-Maw's" landlord is selling the house.

8. Once the house sells, they are evicted, meaning the only good thing about the crappy housing market is that maybe the depressed economy of whatever backwater community they live in will actually keep a roof over their head.

9. Since dropping out of school, Whitney was a social recluse. Because her friends will not hang out with her for fear of "getting pregnant theyselves."

10. Did I mention everyone in East Dogpatch, or Hooterville, or St. Louis, or wherever this takes place sounds and looks like an extra from Deliverance? Because they hella do.

11. When she ran into her friends at the mall on the first day she left the house in weeks, it was more awkward than discussing "Black Quarterbacks" with my extended family...

12. Oh, remember that House of Despair currently on the market? "Mee-Maw" has to sleep on the couch.

13. Whitney and her Babydaddy Weston (WESTON?) go looking for an apartment. Despite the fact that they live far enough from human civilization that the rent for AN ENTIRE HOUSE costs less than an efficiency in Lincoln Square, they still couldn't afford it. Because they are sixteen.

14. Weston.

15. Weston has a job, but his hours are being cut gradually...

16. While clearing a drawer out in "Mee-Maw's" old room (remember, she's on the couch now!), they found her New Orleans souvenir mug with a ceramic penis for a handle.

17. This made "Mee-Maw" so angry that she told them they had to move out. To recap this one: Whitney's grandmother kicked her pregnant granddaughter out because she found her mug with A CERAMIC PENIS FOR A HANDLE.

18. In an hilarious twist of fate, Whitney goes into labor on what would have been her Prom night. If she hadn't dropped out. Because of her baby.

19. Oh, and there were complications with the labor, necessitating a C-Section. Even after the labor inducing drugs were given.

20. Oh, lest I forget, the baby was not moving enough before delivery, which necessitated being placed on a Fetal Heart Monitor.

21. I still almost forgot...she was just going in for a check-up. The baby wasn't actually due.

22. The baby was born healthy, and Weston actually ended up being good with him. Which is fortuitous, because Whitney was clearly suffering from post-partum depression.

23. The notion of a happy ending was introduced, when Weston's parents offered to let them move into their storage room.

24. A few weeks later, Whitney sat with her baby, and stated in a flat voice "I was too young to have a baby. Thank goodness I had help."

25. The baby looked like a Gray with a pignose. Or, I guess...Sean Marshall.

26. Did I mention the baby is named Weston, Jr.?

27. In celebration of their life maintaining subsistence levels, Whitney ends up baking a cake. Which looks like the easter bunny had diarrhea. Only more depressing.

28. I was just reminded on re-reading this list that Whitney cannot tie her own shoes. She has reproduced.

29. Weston, Jr.

Answer key: If you said every single one of these things was absolutely true, give yourself a mustache ride!

Tune in next week, when a weeping teenage couple decides to re-enact the plot of Juno, only with more heart-wrenching despair, as they decide to bring a baby to term for adoption!

MTV, you truly are devoted to the joy and fun of youth!

1. The Chaim Witz Wild Mustache Ride is unfortunately closed for repairs.

Did Michael Jackson know about 9/11 before it happened? And did Corey Feldman do nothing about it?

2009-07-09T00:06:00.003-05:00

So in the midst of all the hoopla about Michael Jackson (he died, you know), a little tidbit of information almost got swept through the cracks. I say almost because if it wasn't for ol' Brant Brown, I wouldn't have known. But this is so earth-shattering I don't think I may ever see the world the same again.

According to the People Magazine website, Michael Jackson and longtime friend Corey Feldman hadn't talked to each other since September 10th, 2001. Nearly eight years ago. For whatever reason, their friendship ended the day before the heinous terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon (if you believe that).

Could the terrorist attacks of September 11th, 2001 have had anything to do with the end of Jackson and Feldman's friendship?

I think so.

Remember "The Goonies", the 1985 classic movie starring Feldman, Sean Austin, etc? In "The Goonies" several of the characters have a conversation in which Michael Jackson's name is mentioned. So too are hints about 9/11!

The clues are buried in this scene:

Chunk: Listen, okay? You guys'll never believe me. There was two cop cars, okay? And they were chasing this four-wheel deal, this real neat ORV, and there were bullets flying all over the place. It was the most amazing thing I ever saw!

Mikey: More amazing than the time Michael Jackson come over to your house to use the bathroom.

Brandon Walsh: More amazing than the time you saved those old people from that nursing home fire, right?

Mouth: Yeah, and I bet it was even more amazing than the time you ate your weight in Godfather's pizza, right?

Chunk: Okay, Brand. Michael Jackson didn't come over to my house to use the bathroom. He was about to. But his sister did.

First, there is the reference to two vehicles - two planes. Then there is the talk of a building fire. Then they talk about the Godfather, an surefire reference to New York. In the middle of it all is Michael Jackson.

Here is what I think happened: On September 10, 2001, Michael Jackson told Corey Feldman to alert the authorities of a terrorist attack on New York City the next day. Of course, there was no way Jackson could make the call without drawing attention to himself. So he asked Feldman to call for him. Feldman unfortunately either didn't believe Jackson or didn't believe such late notice would be effective. So he didn't dial anyone. The rest, you can say, is history. The planes crashed into the World Trade Center and the Pentagon (if you believe that), thousands died, and Michael Jackson held Corey Feldman partly responsible.

I know you are asking two questions: how did Michael Jackson know the attacks were planned for 9/11/01 and why Corey Feldman? Why not any one of Michael Jackson's other friends?

The answer is simple. Michael Jackson had to have been playing with the numbers and saw that Corey Feldman was born on 7/16/1971. If you take the first two numbers of the year (19) and then add to it each of the other numbers individually you get 19+7+6+7+1=41. Now look at 9/11/2001. Add 20+9+11+01 and you again get 41. It had to be 9/11/01 and the only person who could have stopped it was Corey Feldman. It was destiny.

Unfortunately, destiny didn't happen. If only Corey Feldman had listened to Michael.

On a side note, and I am just speculating here, perhaps the weight, the guilt, and the pain of knowing his ex-best friend failed to save the world weighed on Michael Jackson's heart so much it eventually gave out. Another thing for which we can blame Corey Feldman.

Koyie Hill Appreciation Society: 17 Hits & Counting

2009-07-08T08:15:00.006-05:00

Since the last KHAS post, Geo Soto remembered that the bat was for hitting, not for grinding his weed. Thus Koyie's opportunities have been limited. The backup backstop tallied his 17th hit against the Braves last night, 3 since the last post.

Some Koyie Hill Fast Facts:

Koyie Hill recently used his beard to sand down 100,000 Pinewood Derby Race cars for underprivileged Illinois youth.

Koyie Hill uses a donut weight for a cockring.

Koyie Hill's chest protector contains no padding and he only wears it for show as Koyie Hill feels no pain.

Have a Koyie Hill fast fact? Send it to khillas55@gmail.com

Down on the Farm with Aramis Ramirez & Reed Johnson

2009-07-06T01:20:00.002-05:00

As everyone in the free world knows, Aramis Ramirez and Reed Johnson spent three days with the Peoria Chiefs in preparation for their return to the Cubs' lineup. My Ramirez love has been previously documented on this site, and as Peoria is only about fifty minutes or so from LeRoy, there was no way in hell I was going to miss the chance to see my favorite player for the super low price of 9 bucks a ticket. Minor League Baseball: It Fucking Rocks. In previous years I've seen Kerry Wood, Hank White, and Nomar Garciaparra play for the Chiefs whilst rehabbing various injuries and I also got to see a pre-Cubs Darryl Ward play in Nashville against the Iowa Cubs.

Both Reed and Aramis got good reactions from the sizable crowd on hand. The two Cubs both singled in the first, Johnson (wearing #22) scoring on a single by Peoria first sacker Rebel Ridling (Jesus, what a great baseball name!). Rami would finish the day 1 for 2 with a walk, departing after the fifth inning. He did hit a deep fly ball, which the wind knocked down, otherwise it might have had a chance at getting out. Johnson was 1 for 4, but turned in some solid D before leaving after 7. Ramirez didn't get many defensive chances, but did snag a foul ball with an over the shoulder catch. I believe this was his first appearence in the field since his injury, as he served as DH during his two previous rehab starts.

Johnson's run and Nelson Perez's solo shot weren't quite enough, as Beloit put up four runs. Peoria's player of the game was Michael Brenly, who was 3 for 4 with a double.

If you've never been to a Chiefs game, it's well worth the trip. O'Brien Field is a great little ballpark, one of the better minor league facillities I've been to. There isn't a bad seat in the house and you can get a whole family's worth of tickets for less than it costs to park around Wrigley Field. For five bucks, you can park in Caterpillar's lot, right across the street from the field. However, concessions are almost comparable to major league prices, with beer going for $5.50 a bottle. I guess they have to make their money somewhere, though.

Pictures: Top-Ramirez adjustng his $300 shades while holding down the hot corner, Middle-Reed Johnson scoring the first run of the game, and Bottom-Michael Brenly cruising into second with a double.

Overrated/Underrated: Mexican Restaurants, Part Two

2009-07-02T19:27:00.012-05:00

I adjusted my list for the Underrated since my last post to include a couple more topics. However, since this post would pretty much be a novel if I included them all, and I still have to pick up Chaim's tuxedo pants from the dry cleaner (I accidentally picked up Chip Wesley's dry cleaning last night, no wonder it was shaped like a fairy princess dress) I moved a couple of the original items to Perfectly Rated.

Perfectly Rated:

Black Beans: Order them instead of refried beans. Tastier and healthier.
Mexican Beer: Corona is shit. But Negra Modelo is underrated, so it evens out.
Numero Uno: How can you go wrong with one beef taco, one beef enchilada, and one beef tostada, served with beans? Perfect staple menu item.

And so I bring you the Underrated:

Free Chips and Salsa.
Chips and salsa are far superior to rolls and butter. Period. Okay, your one exception is the Red Lobster Cheese Biscuit, but if you're that desperate, here's a tip: Go to Red Lobster, sit down and order your drinks. Wait for the rolls and then book out of there. Trust me, your stomach will thank you later. Anyways, the free chips and salsa are great for so many reasons. First off all, they are a tasty treat that is perfect for lining your stomach with the carbs it will need to soak up the grease and beer that will follow. In addition, the nachos are great for scooping up your beans (preferably black) when your meal does come. Plus, you can pour the salsa on top of your meal, adding that little something extra your double-steak chimichanga was missing.

Living in AZ, there are way more Mexican Restaurants to chose from than in the Midwest, and I actually will pick one over the other because of the chips and salsa. Here are some examples: Chevy's makes there own tortillas, hell, most places out here make there own tortillas. They even have cool machines or guys that are on display to prove to you they are fresh. Serrano's not only includes salsa, but also a spicy bean dip. And then there is Chuy's. Chuy's offers a full chip and salsa bar, with 5 different salsas to chose from. So skip the stale rolls and "fancy" churned butter. You know you want something salty and spicy instead.

Margaritas.
Where can a man go and enjoy a fruity, yet tart and refreshing alcoholic beverage and not get hit on by guys named Ken? That's right, the Mexican restaurant. Sure, I enjoy beer and whiskey just as much as the next heterosexual male that shaves his chest, but a man should have choices in life, alcohol included. Margaritas are like the nectar of the gods, especially on a 112 degree day when your shoes melt to the pavement before you even make it to the car.

Frozen or on the rocks, with or without salt, I don't give a fuck (actually I prefer frozen with salt, but I love anything slushy). Whoever figured out you could take a liquor as horrible and dirty as tequila and make it into a tasty beverage is a genius. If only "man-code" would allow me to drink these anywhere, but unfortunately when I'm walking around Hohokam Stadium with my $8 little green cocktail (Dos Gringos tent, center field grass area) I get those looks. And I'm not talking about from all the beautiful tail running around in skimpy Cubs bikinis. So thank you Mexican restaurants, for not questioning my sexuality.

Pollo Fundido.
Most of you are probably asking yourself, "Ginger, WTF is a Pollo Fundido?" It's probably because your idea of a Mexican restaurant has a .79, .89, .99 cent value menu. I kid, I kid. Honestly, I had never seen it on a menu when I lived in the Midwest either, so don't feel too bad. But really you should feel bad, because this treat that Taco Hell has yet to discover and turn into rat poison is a fat man's paradise.

Literally translated, Pollo Fundido means Chicken Something (I looked it up and the translator said fundido meant fade to black). Basically it's a burrito filled with shredded chicken and a mix of vegetables, from chiles to peppers to onions, and then deep fried. It's then topped with a cheddar/jack cheese, cream cheese and jalapeno mixture and baked in the oven till the topping is a gooey goodness. Top it off with some sour cream, some salsa and a black olive and you've got the best chimichanga you've ever had, son. Granted, it's not going be on your Jenny Craig's weight watchers menu at 585 calories and 31 grams of fat, but if you're looking for a belly buster at your Mexican restaurant, then order it up. And if they don't have it, just ask, maybe the cooks are from Mexico, or something.

El Pinche Restaurante.
Looking for a quick place for a bite during your lunch break and want some Mexican food but don't have the time and/or money for the whole waiter experience? Skip the Taco Hell and go across the street to that shady Mexican joint that has a whole pig skin, advertisements for phone cards and candles with the Virgin Mary in the window. Be warned, the menu board is probably going to be in Spanish so this is going to take a little bit of effort on your part, but don't worry or be scared, you racist bastard, it will be worth it.

First off, if you don't speak Spanish, just ask. Plus, there is a high probability the menu board will be covered with horrible photos of their food. They have everything that the Taco Hell has. Okay, so maybe they don't serve Volcano tacos, but it's pretty much the same fare, plus they have other great dishes you've probably never heard of. Just be careful to ask about the meat. In addition to the normal chicken, beef and pork selections, you may accidentally order stomach, tongue or even brains, which if you're up for a Andrew Zimmern adventure just might taste good. And here's another hint: these places make awesome breakfast "platos". If you've never had juevos rancheros, you're missing out. Personally I skip most of the greasy food and order myself a carnitas torta with avocado.

Tortas.
Speaking of tortas, here's another little known Mexican food secret that it's amazing Taco Hell hasn't bastardized yet. Basically a torta is a Mexican sandwich. It's served on a 6-8 inch crusty white bread roll called a bolilo, which is usually toasted on the flattop. You might be familiar with it's Cuban cousin, the Cubabo, which is made with roast pork, ham, swiss cheese and dill pickles.

But a torta can be so much more. Basically you pick your meat, which as I mentioned before can include almost any part of the pig, cow or chicken you want. Some of the more popluar versions include al pastor (marinated pork), carne asada (marinate steak), carnitas (fried tender pork), chile relleno (cheese-stuffed pepper), jamon (ham) and huevos (scrambled eggs). Then you pick your toppings which include avocado, sour cream, lettuce, jalapenos , tomatoes and cheese. I hear Wolter orders his with extra cilantro. Slap it on the grill for a minute and you got yourself a torta.

So what makes the torta so special? You know what, I haven't got a fucking clue. It's just great. Maybe it's because I'm used to eating Subway if I want a sandwich. It could be because the grill is perfectly seasoned. But the real reason, and I'm not being racist here, is that Mexicans know how to cook. Whether it's your corner-market taco stand, or the fancy French restaurant downtown, odds are that a Mexican is cooking your food, and if he is, it's more than likely it's going to be damn good.

Go Cubs!

Overrated/Underrated: Mexican Restaurants, Part One

2009-07-02T07:01:00.000-05:00

Without an idea to write about and my intern weekly post deadline growing near (yes, Chip Wesley, I will pick up your tuxedo pants from the dry cleaners still), I turned to a horrible first trip to Chipotle and one of my favorite TMS posts of yore as motivation for my next craptacular abortion. So here is Part I of Overrated/Underrated: Mexican Restaurants.

I give you the Overrated.

Table-side Guacamole
Honestly, up until a few years ago, I hated guacamole. It was texture thing, and avocado has a weird texture to me. When I finally came around I understood the tastiness of guacamole, but I never understood why it cost so much. I guess those fruits don't travel well. Living in AZ, this is not a problem, and I swear I never had a really good guacamole until I moved out West. The best way to compare it to someone who hasn't been west of the Mississippi is if you've ever eaten a tomato from your garden, and then compared that to one you just bought at the store. No contest. But I digress. Few restaurants still offer this table-side theater, as it's pretty much gone the way of the Caesar salad in Italian restaurants and saganaki (OPA!) in Greek restaurants. Because when it comes down to it, no one really gives a fuck how you make the guacamole. Sure, you can specialize your guacamole if it's being made in front of you (more cilantro please!) but shouldn't the restaurant be the one making the recipe. I mean, that is their job! So guacamole: good. But table-side, I'm not paying an extra couple bucks to watch you do your job, get back in the kitchen.

Mexican Salad Garnish
Stop wasting valuable beans and rice space on my plate with your stupid "salad". Yes, I am a fatty, and I don't have anything against vegetables, but does anyone ever eat that little corner of shredded lettuce and diced tomatoes that accompanies every meal you order at a Mexican Restaurant? But Ginger, "It's a garnish thing," you say. Well, then it's time it went the way of curly parsley. Look, your food isn't even really Mexican food. It's Tex-Mex. The taco, the burrito, the chalupa, do you think they were Mexican staples? No. So don't try to fool me by adding lettuce and tomatoes to my dish and calling it "classy". If I'm eating a greasy pile of carne asada tacos and bean enchiladas, I don't care if my plate is colorful. It's taking up valuable fat and calorie space.

Fried Ice Cream
How can you take ice cream and improve it? How about deep frying it and covering it with honey? Genius! Everything taste better fried. Exhibit A: Chicken Fried Bacon. Sure this dessert which spans both Mexican and Asian fare might seem like a tasty treat at the end of your greasy meal, but is dying for that treat worth it? If so, then go ahead. But if you want to live to eat another Pollo Fundido understand that to make fried ice cream you have to dip the ice cream in raw egg, which is then not cooked enough to remove the possible salmonella poisoning. Plus it's not even a good tempura batter like at a Chinese restaurant. Usually it's stale cornflakes. So keep your fried ice cream away from me, and while you're at it, stick your churros up your ass as well.

Menudo
To be honest, I've never had Menudo, so maybe it's actually good. And it's supposed to be a great hangover cure, which I could use many a Tuesday morning when I'm pulling a Wolter and calling in sick because of a Listerine and Binaca binge from the night before. But anything that involves cooking a part of an animal for an extended period of time (like 6-8 hours) just to make it edible is not good eats in my book. Plus the smell is horrible. So much so that I won't even venture near a Mexican restaurant on Sunday's. Which sucks, because that's the day that my hangover needs a greasy taco and hair-of-the-dog margarita to get me through the day the most. So GFY menudo, for making Mexican off-limits to me on Sunday. Oh, and the band sucked too.

Chipotle®
I had Chipotle last night for the first time and it was probably the most disappointing experience of my life, other than losing my virginity, although both ended up with me praying to the porcelain goddess afterward. I had heard so much about Chipotle. How great it was. How the burritos were the size of basketballs. How the salsa was the best ever. And this is probably true for 85% of the population whose closest competition is Taco Bell, but for me it was shit. Growing up in DeKalb, IL we had 3 different burrito joints. And that's all they did: burritos. Sometime during the late 90's they decided to all out-do each other. So within a couple months, you could order a 4 pound burrito that was twice the size of the one I got at Chipotle for half the price (usually around $4-$5), and didn't taste like a baby pooped in a soggy tortilla and covered it with baby puke sour cream.

Fish Tacos
Growing up in the Midwest, I had never heard of fish tacos. But since moving to the valley of the sun, I have noticed that they are everywhere. Every Mexican restaurant has some form or another, and if my 6 hours of watching the Food Network each night has taught me anything, it's that these California treats are sweeping the nation. At first, I was down. It was something new. But then I soon realized that really all I was getting was a small piece of breaded cod and some cole slaw in a mini tortilla. The only people who should be eating fish tacos are vegetarians, who are also probably munching on pink tacos as well.

Next installment, the Underrated, which will include: Free Chips and Salsa, Margaritas, Pollo Fundido, Black Beans, Mexican Beer and the Numero Uno.

Go Cubs!

TwitterLog: Day Three

2009-07-01T22:50:00.007-05:00

As Day Three of my week long immersion into the fiery depths of Twitter marks the halfway point of my week long experiment (In the contract that the Interns Union signed with TMS via collective bargaining we are forced to take the weekend off... if we don't we are stoned to death, or Wolter will punch us in the face...)

The "Like OMG I can use the series of tubes and clog up the Internets!" Tweet: @MileyCyrus: http://twitpic.com/8y2vf - Rocking out to "BAD" in my bathroom. MJ is my hero!

Miley: I'm sorry to say this but this is in no way original. If you were to take a poll of people this past week who listened to the song "Bad" you would probably have the discovered that it was quite popular, I mean hell even I'm sure you know how to use iTunes. P.S. Until today every song for the past four days on the iTunes Top Ten has been a Michael Jackson song.

Americas Daily Asshat Tweet: @DaneCook: Just stubbed my toe. Smashed it. Hard. I really want to hunt down & destroy all known sofas on this planet so no one else suffers this fate.

Wow Dane you are just so F#CKING HILAROUS. I bet you couldn't come up with another joke, just like that one, but different. Bet you couldn't. Wait? You mean thats all you do? Well lets pay this guy millions of dollars to tell the same joke... over and over and over and over and over...

Oh You Tweet Eh?: @WilliamShatner: Happy Canada Day to all my Canadian fans and friends. My best, Bill

I wonder if he uses Scotty or Priceline to get to Canada? I'll drink a LaBatt for Canada Day.

ShaqTweet: @THE_REAL_SHAQ: Wit love like all the twitterers show me, I don't want no enemys Love you all

Shaq: You're da man too.

Best Tweet (And Marketing Ploy) of the Day: @HyundaiNews: Hyundai's "1.49 Fill Fuel Up" in LA: Hollywood 76, 5890 Hollywood Blvd. (SE corner of Hollywood & Bronson). 1.49 gas 12-2!

Hyundai used Twitter to its full advantage and caused a scene like an Amish Bank Run outside of three gas stations around the US. Cars were lined up outside to get the cheap gas as a part of the larger marketing ploy that CNBC covered today where Hyundai will give you $1.49 gas for a year. While CNBC said that the average annual savings would be just over $500 at currently expected price levels, it could increase the market share of Hyundai in the US if it proves to be successful. Well I know one thing is for sure: It will have to work better than the Kentucky Fried Chicken campaign to fill pothole in Louisville a few years ago.

Fun Fact: The Col. Sanders Impersonator here actually
used to be a bank robber! Seriously!

Worst Tweet of the Day: @DeadSpin: The Jay Mariotti Online Express Could Be Headed Back To Chicago http://deadspin.com/5304711 #mediameltdowns #jaymariotti

This is the worst not because I hate Deadspin but rather because I just hate Jay Mariotti that much, but I am not going to sink to his level.

Almost In Defense Of...The MLB All-Star Game

2009-07-01T19:00:00.000-05:00

Originally, this post was to be titled War Criminal: The MLB All-Star Game. I was going to go on a glorious tirade about how I hated what the All-Star game has become. I was going to rant about the stupidity of making it "count." I was going to seethe with rage at the online ballot stuffing and the idiot fans having the right to vote at all. Like the Grinch who had just stolen what little joy was left to be had in the game of baseball, I looked upon my wonderful, awful post with a venomous smile and a black heart. Then, something happened...

Maybe my heart grew three sizes. Maybe the shots of whiskey caught up with me. Whatever it was, I realized my arguments about the All-Star Game were all wrong. So very wrong...

I've bolded my original arguments. Afterwards, I ripped them to shreds like I was Professor Punday grading my paper on Structuralism.

The pennant winner of the league winning the All-Star Game should not get home field advantage in the World Series; that honor should go to the team with the best record.

It didn't work like that before ~~Fox got their greedy hands~~ fan outrage over the 2002 tie convinced Bud Selig to change the Midsummer Classic. Before 2003, home field advantage in the World Series alternated yearly between the American and National leagues. Is awarding home field advantage to the league that wins the All-Star game fair? Not really. But it's just as ridiculous and arbitrary as giving it to the National League on odd numbered years and the American league on evens.

Besides, giving home filed advantage to the team with the best record isn't without its share of problems. There are some weak divisions out there. Should some lucky team get rewarded in the World Series for playing more games against mediocre teams? That doesn't seem right either.

The vast majority of those participating in the All-Star game won't be in the World Series, so why should they have a hand in deciding home field advantage?

The All-Star Game takes place in July, and no teams have been mathematically eliminated from the playoffs yet. And while an Orioles/Nationals World Series is a long shot, I doubt that their representatives in the All-Star Game are going to be so downtrodden that they half-ass it in front of millions of spectators. Plus, most players have provisions in their contracts ensuring they get hefty, performance-based bonuses for participating in the game.

Fans are out of touch and vote for players based solely on past glory. Also, teams with larger fan bases have an unfair advantage.

While I'll concede that players from larger markets tend to get more votes, baseball fans are smarter than ever before and tend to pick the right people about 70%* of the time. When that doesn't happen, players, coaches and managers get to have their say as well. Also, since each team has to have at least one representative on the All-Star team, an otherwise overlooked player on a shitty and/or small market team will have his moment in the sun.

Is the All-Star game selection process perfect? Hell no. It's full of ballot-stuffing and electronic vote rigging. It ignores merit and makes it a popularity contest. It gives those in charge the ability to make decisions against the will of the people and it ignores the wants and needs of citizens in sparsely populated areas. It's everything we've come to expect from American democracy!

Supposedly, the purpose of making the game "count" was to make fans happy after the 2002 game ended in a tie. Yet teams still go through pitchers and position players with reckless abandon, basically ensuring they'll run out of players and have to end the game in a tie sometime in the future.

I can't refute this. The commissioner is a moron.

All-Star voting ends tonight at 11:59 ET.

*statistic extracted from my rectum.

Death League Update: Karl Malden

2009-07-01T15:01:00.005-05:00

Born Mladen Sekulovich, Karl Malden was best known for his roles in A Streetcar Named Desire (for which he received the Oscar for Best Supporting Actor in 1952), On The Waterfront (for which he received the Oscar for Best Supporting Actor in 1955), and the TV show, The Streets of San Francisco (nominated for an Leading Actor Emmy four times). He served as the President of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences from 1988 to 1993. He was also known for his commercials for American Express.

I honestly don't know enough about Mr. Malden to write something clever or funny. He leaves behind an impressive body of film and television work. One point to me in the Death League.

CURRENT DEATH LEAGUE STANDINGS

RK	Manager	Deaths	Score
1.	Brant Brown	Bettie Page, Chuck Daly, David Carradine	14
2.	Chaim Witz	Carl Pohlad, Ricardo Montalban, Dom DeLuise	10
3.	Dave Thomas	Farrah Fawcett	8
4.	The Hundley	Eartha Kitt, Paul Harvey	6
4.	Daft Funk	Jack Kemp	6
6.	Chip Wesley	Ed McMahon	3
6.	Jordi	Bea Arthur	3
8.	Arcturus	Karl Malden	1
9.	Governor X	-	0
9.	Tommy Buzanis	-	0
9.	Lingering Bursitis	-	0

TwitterLog: Day Two

2009-07-01T12:00:00.000-05:00

Today I delved deeper into the infinite powder-blue and white madness that is Twitter. I discovered some Gems hidden beneath the surface, so lets delve in:

Tweet that made me want to drink my sorrows away: @ TilaTequila: Yea seriousy yall...there's more to life than being really, really good looking! Am I am really good looking! Ahahhahaa

Wow, I thought that I really liked Zoolander until the Playboy Model turned Reality TV Star turned Singer turned Playboy Model used a line from it and then inserted herself. Derek Zoolander is far to great of a man to be taken down to your level, Tila. By the simple fact that I mentioned her on TMS might bring her out of the D-List into the C-List... a risk I'm willing to take.

Dog Eat Tweet: @Casar Millan: A pack leader doesn’t project emotional or nervous energy, so neither should you.

Helpful advice, If I were a dog leading a pack of dogs.

ShaqTweet: @THE_REAL_SHAQ: Just shook the hand of the greatest artist since picasso Peter max is the best, I just left his art studio, we are doin a project togetha

Nice, I can't wait for the follow up to Shaq Diesel. Best Album of this or any century!

Best Tweet of the Day: @Deadspin: Police Called To Break Up High School Softball Game http://deadspin.com/5304735 #highschoolsoftball #softballteamsfight

Wow, a high school softball team brawl! Where can I buy tickets?

Worst (And Most Shameless) Tweet of the Day:

First some background. While covering celebrities is easy and fun, because you never know what in the world they might say. Yet just on day two I discovered that Tila Tequila is indeed quite possibly a very very sad person. She is now using Twitter for the proverbial "Booty Call" posting her phone number and asking for new "boos" to call her. After all of these it was then followed with this Gem:

@ TilaTequila: Ya'll be ready....I am up late working. I am currently writing an open letter to the PRESIDENT right now. U heard it 1st. Be ready!

Ha ha ha ha ha... you'll get back a "Thanks for writing to the White House..." letter and a photo of the President. What kind of shrewd argument will you be making to President Obama? I'm really interested to hear.

In a side note: Casar Millan is now following me. Looks like I'm the leader of the pack now.

Dear Jeff Tweedy: Please Rediscover Drugs

2009-07-01T09:30:00.002-05:00

PLEASE, GOD, NO

So the new Wilco album is out, and it kinda sucks. It sounds as if the band, complete with guitars, dusty memorabilia and memories, have decamped to an old person's home to record their dying days. It sounds like stagnation. It sounds like lack of effort. It sounds like late-era Steely Dan.

In their dotage, Wilco have become rather comfortable, and as such, their music lacks a certain cutting edge that it might still possess were its members embroiled in scandal, heartbreak, drug addiction and financial hunger, for it is from those difficult corners of life that great art often swells.

It's not just music, either; the second Stephen King signed himself to a gargantuan book deal worth millions upon millions, he stopped writing coherent, legitimately scary fiction and began phoning it in. Seriously, did anyone read "The Tommyknockers" or see that TV mini-series? What the fuck was that all about?

But back to music again, as there's where the bulk of this rant originates. I merely wish that musicians and artists would stop being so fucking selfish and would pick up the needle or the bottle again in order to give us, the paying public, some more of that good, old-fashioned, visceral, knock-your-dick-in-the-dirt music again! Or at least default on a couple of mortgage payments having blown $80,000 playing baccarat with Charles Barkley just to show that you still need the money and the fame to get by.

While I'm pleased that you fought an addiction to painkillers and won, Mr. Tweedy, the tough truth is that your music fucking sucks without that stuff, and I fear it shall taint your legacy permanently. If Rolling Stone gets a whiff of your current obssession with releasing hackneyed Americana records, you're well and truly fucked.

Songs like "Shot in the Arm" and LPs like "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot" were born in some gloomy, gloomy neighbourhoods of the human psyche, and now you're peddling rock lite that no amount of tongue-in-cheek branding can hide! Seriously! "Sky Blue Sky" was fucking awful! Music to mow the lawn to! Music to play while chauffering the elderly from doctor's appointment to doctor's appointment! Music to feed to patients in a methadone clinic while they lie in an apathetic stupor. Nothing intriguing or challenging about it, and that's the death knell for music, books, or really any creative enterprise.

To his eternal credit, Kurt Cobain gave us album after album of grimy, pessimistic music, and then followed through on his torment by putting a bullet in his head. That shows some guts! Meanwhile, Tweedy, you went to rehab and became a rather withered husk of that angry former self who is content to release drive-time dreck like "Impossible, Germany". Don't get me wrong; your human struggle almost cost you a marriage and several close relationships, but it also made your music kinda suck.

It's a difficult relationship between life and art, and normally, the two are forever inverse. When you're angry, you tend to write better.

Ask Chip Wesley, whose seething Cubs rants read better than anything on TMS.

Ask Billy Corgan, who got out all that teen angst on the first couple of albums while the rent checks were still due, and as soon as his debts were paid, we were forced to endure weighty, retarded concept albums about star-crossed lovers on imaginary planets, all of it backed by awful-sounding industrial rock that not even the most atonal, drooling moron could appreciate.

Ask Brian Wilson. In the first era of the Beach Boys, you could begin to hear the thin veneer barely holding that tubby composer together. When it finally did all go wrong, the band fucked off to Europe and recorded "Holland", easily my favourite Beach Boys record for its off-kilter mood and still-beautiful instrumentation.

Or maybe ask Axl Rose. Shit, if he'd have shown some balls in releasing "Chinese Democracy" during those weird, wild days of punching Tommy Hilfiger and slowly going insane, it might have been half-decent. As such, he waited until life calmed down again and he was able to "focus" on finishing those songs, with the ensuing album sounding like warm garbage being filtered through Fran Drescher's lower intestine.

Frusciante: demented, addled genius on drugs. Shitty, noodly guitarist off drugs.

Conversely, John Frusciante's weird, homemade solo albums while hooked on heroin may have been hard to listen to, but at least they bared his struggles for us to appreciate. Which reminds me, the Red Hot Chili Peppers are equally culpable of this curse... since they all got clean (and we all know they did because it seemed like all of "Californication" was explicitly, unrelentingly telling us this much), their music is now absolutely intolerable.

So that's just a small slab of the music world covered. If you look at film, check out George Lucas, whose bloated oeuvre became a sad parody of itself once the dude had more money than Jesus. Or books (we already mentioned King), where John Grisham can ejaculate a 372-page law/crime/scandal-packed novel every 12 months, each more contrived and devoted to legal minutiae than the last. In his new one, I hear some guy exploits a 401(k) loophole in conjunction with new legislation offsetting tax liens for offshore companies, with spooky, violent, and breathtaking results! Thrills ensue!

But I digress, and shift back to Wilco with the full brunt of my ire.

I beg the soft-rock collective to get Tweedy a forged 'scrip or two so we might be able to enjoy their output once again. Until then, their tunes are fast approaching Michael McDonald territory.

And you know what's funny about Michael McDonald? Never did a fuckin' drug in his life. Never had a nervous breakdown in his life, either, and you can hear it in that debilitating, nerve-damaging shite he calls music.

Dear Reactionary Cubs Fans, Please Shut the #$%@ Up!

2009-06-30T10:25:00.004-05:00

Some days I truly hate being a Cubs fan.

And that has nothing to do with the team. It's the fact that I'm unfortunately lumped into a group of reactionary jackasses that freak out as soon as things look a little dire and begin rallying behind ridiculous scapegoats and reasons as to why the Cubs suck.

The latest bag of shit being tossed around involves the Trib's Phil Rogers suggesting Carlos Zambrano be waived. You know, because his antics have begun to wear thin he will never mature into the ace the Cubs need him to be. I won't link to the pile of journalistic dog shit on the Tribune, but if you want to see what I'm talking about, go to this post at HJE where Bad Kermit tears it to shreds.

Seriously people. Just stop. Carlos Zambrano IS NOT the problem. Milton Bradley IS NOT the problem. If you really think they are the top two things wrong with this team, please, take your giant souvenir "W" flags, roll them real tight, and do your best David Carradine impression.

The vitriol towards Zambrano just stuns me. He had a rough game against the Sox sure, but has anyone noticed that since his meltdown at the end of May, Big Z has been pretty solid? For the month of June, he posted a 2.91 ERA, a 1.15 WHIP and held opposing batters to a paltry .212 AVG. Aside from this most recent outing, Big Z had a quality start every time this month. Lay off him folks. In fact lay off the entire rotation. These guys have pitched their asses of this season only to be screwed by a limpdick offense.

Then there's Milton Bradley. His offensive output should be more surprising than his actions. Clearly Bradley hasn't found a groove this season and for a guy who wears his heart on his sleeve surrounded by neon lights with loud big band music playing, his outbursts are pretty much a given. Should Milton mellow out? Yeah, he could tone it down a little, but you have to be naive to think that a 9 year veteran of the league that has shown these outbursts throughout his career wasn't going to have them in a Cubs uniform from time to time.

And even if Bradley is slumping a bit, his stats are certainly not the worst. Currently Bradley is batting .238 compared to Alfonso Soriano's .232. BUT, Bradley has a .351 on base percentage compared to Soriano's dismal .296. That's terrible, especially for a lead off guy. Even Juan Pierre had a .330 OBP during his stint in Chicago. Also Bradley has drawn 2 more walks than Soriano this season, in 118 fewer plate appearances. Hell I love Soriano, but with his contract and what he's done this season so far, it seems to me there should be a little more outrage over his play than the antics of a couple hotheaded guys.

And it doesn't stop there. Where's the outrage over Kosuke's .177 AVG through June? Are we just accepting that this is the norm for him? Where's the outrage that Ryan Theriot should be batting well over .300 but isn't because of his newfound delusion that he should try to swing for the fences when we really just need him to slap one to the gap in opposite field? Where's the outrage that Aaron Miles is still on this team? (Thank God he's on the DL) Where's the outrage that our farm system and scouting is clearly subpar at best and has been for some time?

We're still not to the halfway point of the season and the doom and gloom mob has already dialed the Illogical Reaction knob to '11'. I'm begging you folks, for the love of all that is sacred, shut the fuck up.

TwitterLog: Day One, Into the Abyss

2009-06-29T13:48:00.006-05:00

Armed with nothing but a semi-stable DSL connection and a large glass of sweet tea I attempted this day to digest the "Tweets" of the Internets most prolific posters, so into madness we descend.

Oldest Tweet: @LarryKing: Conan just did a bit on me as a "Transformer" -- I love all those late night guys!

Lamest Tweet: @AshtonKutcher: on donner on blitzen http://bit.ly/236c9F

Ashton: Give up on being cool. This image has been on the internet for a long time now. It would be like me Twittering a photo of an LOLCat, they're funny and cute but should be reserved for 13 and 14 year old girls. Sorry.

WTF Tweet:

1: @ParisHilton: http://twitpic.com/8rqcr - Camels are so Cute!
2: @ParisHilton: http://twitpic.com/8rpjy - BFF'S ;) Dolphins rock! So sweet and intelligent
3: @ParisHilton: http://twitpic.com/8rp9e - Dancing with a Dolphin ;)

Swimming with Dolphins, Riding Camels: Sounds like an average day for Paris. Ohh and P.S. Camels are cute, until they spit on you.

ShaqTweet:

1: @THE_REAL_SHAQ: Kevin harts momma so old She watches the History Channel to see if she’s on it. Uh oh Send me your best momma joke I'm waitn lil kevin

2: @THE_REAL_SHAQ: Kevin harts Mama is so ugly Her birth certificate is an apology letter from the condom factory. Shaq Bring kevin u wimp, lil wimp lol

Thank God there is some sanity on here, I mean momma jokes are better than nothing. Shaq keep on keepin' it on with the Momma jokes.

Best Tweet of the Day:

@SarahSilverman: Here's a fun tidbit: It actually takes more muscles to make your asshole frown than to make it smile.

Clever, witty play on an old turn of phrase. Well done.

Worst Tweet of the Day:

@MileyCyrus: reading "identical" by Ellen Hopkins. It is deff. in my top 3 favorite books of all time! :) so disturbing but beautifully written.

I describe a distrubing book with smiley faces too. Also there are many better books out there that you obviously haven't seen nor heard of. Please for your sake get a library card, or just buy a bookstore, your choice.

OJ Simpson's Low Down Dirty Shame

2009-06-26T11:56:00.005-05:00

Whaaaaaaaat's crackulatin'?

What's that? You thought that you wound't be hearin' from your ol' boy OJ just because I'm on an extended vay-cay in the slammer? Shit, son...I ain't never been in a situation I couldn't buy my way out of, talk my way out of, or stab to death.

So here I am in sweet ol' Chicago. I've been spending my time walking around into fancy restaurants and picking up people's checks. I don't mean I'm paying for them, dumbshit! The Juice is a bit low on funds right now so I gotta keep my spending down to the barest of essentials: imported hardcore German skin mags, Ten High and PCP. Oh shits yeah is there PCP.

But really, when I say "picking up people's checks" I really mean that I'm picking them up. I heard that Johnny Depp left some waiter a $4,000 tip last week at a restaurant near here. Fucks yes, that's what OJ's talkin' about! I'm hopin' that I can sneak up and steal a tip like that from a table before the waiter gets there. And if I run into Johnny Depp, even better! If that dude tips four large for a steak, imagine what he might tip The Juice for a BJ! I call my specialty the OJ/BJ. What's the difference between an OJ/BJ and a regular BJ? Two things - about $30 and also my thumb is gonna be two knuckles deep up someone's asshole the whole time. But whose browneye will it be? The answer may surprise you! Legit!

Aw shit, did I forget to tell you how I ain't in jail anymore? Sorry...that's the PCP. It turns out that they locked up the wrong dude! This whole time, they was lookin' for some guy named OJ Simpson to lock up. But guess what? I'm the one and only JO Sampson! I can see why they mixed me and OJ up since we're both such suave and sexycoolmotherfuckers, but once they realized that they had the wrong dude in custody, they let me go. Fuck you if you don't believe that's how it went down! And if you hear anything over the next few days about a "jailbreak in Nevada involving explosives, masked men and guards being incapacitated and sodomized" you know that it's probably some shit that Perez Hilton made up.

(On a side note, you may have heard that Perez Hilton had a few insulting names for will.i.am earlier in the week, which OJ does not approve of. Luckily, I can call Perez Hilton the most hurtful and demeaning word that I can think of: white.)

Aw fuck! Have I really been referring to myself as OJ this whole time? Just forget about all that because I ain't OJ. I'm JO (heh heh...JO! That never gets old. Crab meat and model trains, bitch!). What the fuck you mean 'Who are you talking to?' I already told you I've been doin' tons of PCP all week! Don't you listen to any of the knowledge I'm droppin' on your ass?

Look, the point is that I heard the Saloon is back open and that they boys need my help. Fuck me, the Cubs got swept by fuckin' Detroit? Those motherfucks couldn't buy a win right now! No seriously, they don't have any money! How the hell do you lose to Detroit? November 25, 1976...I ran all over those bitches for 273 yards and 2 scores! AND I had the runs at the time from doin' too much coke the night before! Let's check the OJ meter to see how high that kind of performance scores:

Five out of five! Double legit!

Nah, what the Cubs need right now is that killer edge. They need someone wreckin' fools and buttsexin' minors...I mean...leading them to victory! If only there was some young, good lookin' stud who could be cold as ice on the field but warm as a Towering Inferno in the sack that could up their chances of winning by infiltrating the Sox clubhouse for the next few days and evening things out a bit. If only JO Sampson was around and was a free agent.

Wait! I'm JO Sampson (fuckin' *wink wink*)! I'm definitely not OJ Simpson.

Shit son, I'll see what I can do. As much as I hate going back to any place called "The Cell" because it reminds me of prison, I'll do whatever I can to get the Cubs to the promised land! Maybe that'll cheer me up after losing two of my friends yesterday. I remember back in the 70's, me and Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett and Buzanis used to hang out on the Oriface Penetrator. Buzanis used to try and hook up with Farrah, but she'd always punch him in the balls. She sure was a feisty one. MJ and I used to crack up every time. I dedicate my sabotage of the Sox this weekend to both fo them and Buzanis' shattered left nut. Now that's the low down dirty shame.

Twitter: The Internets Evil Plan To Destroy The World

2009-06-26T11:12:00.007-05:00

Twitter may have started as a small innocent way for internet dorks and their friends to communicate via 140 character instant update feeds, but now it has turned into an evil menace intent on raping and destroying the world. It gives everyone the ability (but not license) to be expert on any topic and feeds into the notion that most people actually care what you think about.

This has not become truer for people that follow celebrities. TV shows make fodder out of what Paris Hilton thinks about the newest purse sitting in that hot little trendy boutique. Frankly, I don't care what she thinks, but I'm sure some prosti-tot thirteen year old does.

Twitter: That's Hot

To make it even better there are a host of people that pretend to be famous by living the secret lives of faux-celebrities, pretending to like the same things and say the same things in what really amounts to a (pathetic) attempt to gain "followers" or people that actually care about what you think. So when you follow a "Tweeter" you may actually be following your smelly aunt who has an abundance of cats and has been lonely her whole life, or even this guy:

1337 h4x0rs 4 7wi773r : i iz p@riz hi1t0n

My utter hatred of Twitter has prompted me to follow the worst and best “Tweeters” for a week, reporting back to TMS from the field. This actually might be the equivalent to sending a reporter to a war zone (or just the worthless intern to the coffee machine protected by bears... rumor has it we're expendable) To prepare I've been training reading status updates on almost as evil Facebook and for the experiment I will be taking food, water, clothes and a gun (nothing too fancy, just a simple .50 caliber machine gun) which I intend to sleep with. I’m preparing for the worst and might come back with PTSD.

Starting Monday I will be posting short "mini-posts" to chronicle the efforts of the Internets finest to actually make people care about what they think.

Surrounded By Communists to Twitter: Bring it...

In Memorial -Michael Jackson: August 29, 1958–June 25, 2009

2009-06-26T08:17:00.007-05:00

In case you were in a cave with Osama Bin Laden yesterday, Michael Jackson suffered a fatal cardiac arrest. He was 50 years old. Every news organization in the free world is going to try and sum up the legacy he leaves behind, both the musical one and the dark acid trip his life had become. All I want to say is that when I think of Michael Jackson, I don't think of the child abuse allegations, the bizzaro children, his strange personal habits, or the utter ruin of the man's face. Instead, I think of Las Vegas, 1983/84. I remember living at 5 Erwin St. on Nellis AFB and my mom driving my brother and I into the city to the Thomas and Mack Center to see the Las Vegas Stars play baseball or the Americans (lame ass name, right?) play indoor soccer. I also can remember driving to the pool in the base's Area 2, (which was in the middle of the desert and not off limits like Area 51). I remember playing soccer in the AYSO for a team I believe was called the Thunderbirds and going to the water slide across the street from the field with my little brother.

What does all this have to do with Michael Jackson? My mother had bought the album Thriller and she played it constantly. Hell, even when we listened to the radio, half the time they were playing "Thriller", "Beat It", or "Billie Jean". (The only other song I remember hearing as often was Van Halen's "Jump"). So some of the best memories from my childhood, I tend to associate with the music of Michael Jackson. He was always around, either on the TV or the radio. It seemed like everyone was either moonwalking or attempting to. I've never seen another musical phenomenon like what surrounded Michael Jackson. I missed out on Beatlemania and the Elvis craze, but I saw the Jackson fandom first hand. Love him or hate him, every one of us who grew up in the 80s was touched by it.

As far as I'm concerned, I've already mourned the loss of Michael, the man whose music was a part of my life, both as the little kid with the big afro with his brothers on the oldies stations I lost myself in during my early teenage years to the jeri-curled popstar with one glittering glove that he later became. That man disappeared a long time ago. (To the aliens who kidnapped Michael after the release of Bad and replaced him with one of their own, I can only tell you that the impostor has passed. Can we please have the real Michael back now? I would really appreciate it). In all seriousness, like Elvis before him, Michael Jackson remains an icon of the American Dream and of the bitter price that often comes with it. Like many, I will choose to remember the music he gave us, rather then the sideshow his life became.

Chicago Cubs: The Bill Gates of Baseball

2009-06-25T20:28:00.008-05:00

The Chicago Cubs completed their philanthropic trip through Detroit this Thursday, giving it's citizens a glimmer of hope in the city which has been hardest hit by the current economic downturn. The city's economy has been particularly effected as jobs at automotive giants General Motors Corp. and Chrysler LLC have all but disappeared and it's inhabitants have fled to other parts of the country looking for relief.

During Spring Training, Jim Hendry and Lou Piniella got together and decided instead of focusing on a World Championship this year, they would instead help other cities by losing most of their away games, thus improving the morale of a nation. "We wanted to be the Bill Gates of the baseball world," Hendry was quoted as saying. Bill Gates gives 100% of his personal earnings to charity through his Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation.

Not only do the Cubs help down-and-out cities by improving morale, they also help by boosting ticket sales. Thursday's game, even though it was a weekday day game, brought in a sell-out crowd of 42,332 fans, a season high for Comerica Park this year, although the ticket sales may have been skewed by the fact that it was "In These Tough Economic Times Day" at the ballpark. Fans that could prove they were unemployed paid five pence for a ticket and a raffle was held for a free house giveaway during the seventh inning stretch. Most of the crowd was able to take advantage of the cheap ticket prices, given that 22% of the city is unemployed, but the Tigers organization did not lose money on the promotion, as the average cost of a single-family home is only $7,500.

So far the Cubs have helped the cities of St. Louis, Phoenix, Milwaukee, San Diego, Atlanta, Houston, and Detroit, each by losing at least 2-3 games in those cities. Derrek Lee, known for his charitable efforts, was particularly shocked by the conditions in Detroit. As the team leader, he instructed his team not to win any games in the series. The fact that the Cubs were able to strand so many runners during the series, while still keeping the games close showed MLB that the Cubs weren't going to just "lay over and die", but would rather give the fans in Detroit some good action that would keep their minds away from their troubles, if only for a few hours.

The Cubs hope to continue their charitable travels, as they will travel to the South Side of Chicago, Pittsburgh and Washington DC in the coming road trips.

The Prodigal Son Wants A Crack At the State House

2009-06-25T16:30:00.002-05:00

Often, when people learn I am, in fact, from South Carolina, they are stunned. I’m an avowed atheist, a civil libertarian, and I have never shot a gun at anything living. I don’t even have a strong enough accent to place me anywhere near my home town of Charleston (most people assume I’m from Ohio or something). I hate NASCAR, and don't sleep with my cousins.

But, if you get to know me, the hints come out. I’m passionate about the fact that barbecue is a noun, and should be made with either mustard or vinegar. I strongly believe tea should be iced and sweet, or it’s better off in a harbor. When I drink I get maudlin about country songs and boiled peanuts. And, I own a few slaves (it’s a heritage thing, people. It has nothing to do with hate).

And, while I love my adopted home state of Illinois more than I love John C. Calhoun’s wild-eyed stare, I’m willing to do my part and throw my hat into the ring.

That’s right, Palmetto State. This expatriate Sandlapper is willing to come home and govern you. Govern you hard.

Well, that’s not really true. I’m in no way willing to actually “come home” for more than a few days at a time. But hey, in these internet-savvy days, you don’t need to actually live somewhere to control it. Most of the TMS bartenders don’t live anywhere near Chicago, and Chaim Witz was actually replaced by a team of Indian day laborers 7 months ago.

However, I've got big dreams. In 2012, I will be 36 years old. That's the first election where I will be legally eligible to be president. And, as that election approaches, I will be unveiling a comprehensive platform that is sure to galvanize the entire electorate (I'll give you a hint: Flying Goddamn Cars). I am the man to build a bridge to the mid-20th century's idea of what the 21st Century was going to be like.

Or, I would be, if I didn't have absolutely no experience in governing, a public record of underachieving, and almost zero personal charisma.

Easy way to solve this: get elected governor of some podunk state, be charmingly stupid, and pander to the masses. And here is where South Carolina steps in...

I'm not going to go deeply into this current imbroglio. We all know what's going on down there. And, frankly, I found those emails disarmingly heartfelt and embarassing. Human emotions like that sicken me, and I will not support their promulgation.

I think what outrages voters more than sinful behavior is pretending you aren't a dirty sleazeball. Bill Clinton still kept a reasonably high approval rate while nailing every thick ankled, small uvula'd woman in the Beltway. Sure he denied everything, but he did it with a wink that said..."you've all ridden a moped, too, boys..."

So, South Carolina, I make these promises:

1. I have no ability or experience in leadership roles. I know nothing about running a state government. This should not be a problem, as I'm pretty sure no one born in South Carolina in the past 75 years knows how to run a Quizno's in a strip mall, much less a State Government.

2. I will be abusing the power of my office. That is the strongest campaign promise I plan to make, and I'll be damned if I break it. You can trust in me.

3. Most importantly: I can assure the voters of my home state that if I disappear for 3 days I am safely ensconced in a mountain hideaway with a pile of drugs, a few handles of whiskey, and no less than 6 prostitutes of no less than 3 different ethnicities. In fact, even when I'm actually going on a hiking trip or just taking some time to catch up on reading, I will tell the press I am going to Argentina to bang my hot mistress. Because I have a rep, people.

So what do you say, South Carolina? Are you willing to take a chance on an unproven maverick who won't play by the rules? I mean, your leadership has been running your state into the ground for almost 2 full centuries. Why not choose a man who will do it openly, honestly, and (quite likely) completely fried out of his mind on psychedelic mushrooms and Islay malt scotch?

Vote Wolter. His Sordid Scandals WILL Go Into Sexual Details.

Paid for by the Committee to Elect Jon Wolter to Run South Carolina Into the Ground.

In Defense of...Public Urination

2009-06-25T09:24:00.009-05:00

We’ve all been there.

The seal has been broken for quite some time. The last round of Jager bombs you and your friends ordered right before you pounded your beer and stumbled out the door doesn’t seem like such a good idea now, does it? It’s cold outside and you catch a glimpse of the long line in front of the next stop waiting for two people at a time to leak out the front door.

You are pee dancing your ass off.

You start to weigh your options and your definition of shame takes on new and interesting shapes. Finally your entire life boils down to a single harsh reality:

You tried to fight the good fight, but if you can’t find somewhere to piss in the next eight seconds, you will be the coolest person since Miles Davis.

You start to look for some shelter like an ant in a rainstorm. A dumpster, the outcrop of a building, a sleeping vagrant. Really anything will do, as long as it’s out of sight from The Man. Ladies, this is one of those time when life is truly unfair. And yet, I can personally vouch that some of you haven’t let this “inconvenience” stand in your way. In fact, standing has nothing to do with it.

Once you give your body the go-ahead, there is no turning back. A mad man holding your own mother hostage could not convince you to stop. Sex, riches, power...nothing even comes close to the satisfaction that you’re feeling at that moment. All done and it’s time to catch up to your friends.

“Where were you? Did you....did you pee in that veterans cemetery?”

You are God damn right I did.

And frankly, I don’t see what’s so bad about it. Urine is sterile. It’s not like I’m taking a dump in a playground. You’re probably doing more harm to the environment when you wash your car in your driveway. And what about people who walk their dogs? My street is given a fresh coat of dog pee three to four times a day.

It’s not civilized, you say? It’s what separates us from the animals? Go to any private golf club in America. Your gender or race might be banned, but peeing in the bushes? Put me down for a 5 and I’ll catch up with you on the tee box.

Public urination is the God-given right of every American. It’s really the only reason that guys go camping. Besides, if I hold it there’s a good chance I could get uromisotisis poisoning and die. Do you want that on your conscience? Think about it.

The Closer Mystique

2009-06-24T12:30:00.002-05:00

Watching Kevin Gregg blow his third save of the year against the Tigers the other night got me thinking about closers. It seems to me that there are very few elite closers in the game, past and present. What makes an elite closer is something I like to call Closer Mystique, which I believe is made up of three elements, listed below in no particular order:

1. Reputation.
Don't underestimate the value of this factor. Much like the outlaws of the Old West, an elite closer generates a reputation throughout the majors. If the closer has a significant reputation, he's on the hitter's mind even before he throws a single pitch. This mindfuck often leads to desperation at the plate, enabling the elite closer to dispose of the hitter without even needing to make good pitches. Building a solid reputation takes time and perseverance. No one in the game has more of a reputation than Yankee's closer Mariano Rivera. He's been closing for the Yankees since the Bronze Age and while he's modified his technique to compensate for age, he remains one of the most effective closers in the game, his success enhanced by the rock solid reputation he's built as a stopper. Guys just expect to make outs against him when he pitches. Other pitchers whose reputation added to their success are Trevor Hoffman, Bruce Sutter, Rob Nen, and Eric Gagne (during his Dodger tenure).

2. Ability
This is pretty much common sense, but ability is an important factor, which itself has two elements, Velocity and Location. If you don't have the first, you better have the second. And without the second, it's unlikely that you're going to have a long career as an elite closer, even if you can throw the ball 100+MPH (See Farnsworth, Kyle). Most of your elite closers are going to be able to bring the heat. What distinguishes a closer from a middle reliever is the ability to not only pitch at high velocity, but to make good pitches. It's highly important that an elite closer keep his walks to a minimum, thus limiting the number of baserunners. Since closers usually pitch in tight games, this is crucial to maintaining the lead. There are guys (like the aforementioned Farnsworth) who can throw a fastball 100 MPH, but have no control over where it goes, or they leave it right over the plate, like Zumaya did for Hoffpauier the other night. So all the velocity in the world is useless without location. You can get by for a while on pure speed, but eventually a major league hitter is going to catch up to it and hit it a mile. There are only a few closers who have been able to get by with reduced speed, relying on location. Guys like Sweaty Joe Borowski, denzien of the backdoor slider, are rare and usually aren't successful beyond a season or two. Too be truly successful over multiple season, I truly believe you need a combination of velocity and location, perhaps best exemplified by Francisco Rodriguez. (It doesn't hurt that K-Rod also has his whiplash delivery, which helps befuddle the hitter even further). A few other closers with this perfect recipe of ability include Joakim Soria, Lee Smith, and Billy Wagner (when healthy). Add Carlos Marmol to this list when he's got his location working for him.

3. Mentality
Mentality can be broken down into two elements: Personality and Intensity. An elite closer has a personality very different than any other pitcher on the staff. He has the ability to come into the game with everything on the line, put it all out there on the field, and then come back the next day and do the same, regardless of the results. An elite closer cannot be afraid to lose games. Failure will happen, but the elite closer will refuse to acknowledge said failure and move on. There are no yesterdays when you're a closer. The good closers know this, the mediocre ones let failure get in their head and they flame out. A closer also has to have intensity. The best closers aren't just pitchers, but intimidators. They stare in at the plate with steely eyes and pitch not for the win, but for the kill. And they have to do this as many times as their manager will allow during a given week. The best closers have a fire unmatched by any other player on the field. The best example of mentality in action was the late Rod Beck. He stared in at the plate with a sniper's intensity, his twitching arm a further distraction for the hitter. The Shooter gave his all every single game and he refused to allow defeat to affect him. K-Rod, Mariano Rivera, and Bruce Sutter are all pitchers who show that intensity and disregard for losing that an elite closer must possess.

Thus we have what I believe to be the makeup of a great closer. I think if you have at least two of these elements, than you can close in the big leagues. If you have all three, you can be considered truly elite.

Summer Games: Disc Golf

2009-06-24T07:00:00.006-05:00

Now that summer is here, it's time to get that itchy shirt off and get outside. This is doubly true in times of Cub woe that we're currently experiencing - we need something to pass the time and dull the pain. Summer Games will examine some classic outside games, carefully choosing ones that lend themselves to shirtless participation and the coexistence of your favorite summer beverage.

Ay ay ay! Is summer EVER here! JC, the Midwest is getting it with a vengeance - 105 degree heat index with humidity levels higher than a hippie at Bonnaroo. That means we really DO need to get the shirts off and stay hydrated (The Hundley drinks Old Style Light, the official beer of Fun). And when it's this hot, maybe we should look to outdoor activities that are pretty mellow, like...say...Frisbee Golf! Oops, Chip Wesley has informed me that the proper terminology is disc golf. The last person to say Frisbee golf was tied to a stake at a Widespread Panic concert and continuously doused with patchouli oil.

That being said, DISC GOLF is a fun game. I poke fun at the stereotypical bohemian stronghold on the sport, but make no mistake, disc golf is for everyone. Surely you've seen a disc golf course where you live. Hell, in this part of Iowa I live in, there are 5 courses within a 30 minute drive, so if we have them, then you certainly do too.

If you know how to play regular golf, then you'll know how to at least score disc golf. Each hole has a specified "tee box" from where you make your initial throw (or "drive") and you simply count the number of throws it takes for you to get your disc in the basket. Much like regular golf, each hole is different, with varying degrees of difficulty and different assigned par rankings. As far as the discs themselves, you could go hogwild. There are specific disks for "driving" long distances, there are mid-range discs "irons" and, of course, short range discs or "putters". You should be able to pick up these discs for $10 a piece for basic stuff, though through eBay or local sports used sports dealers, it can be much less. And don't forget your disc bag to carry all of your ~~(weed)~~ discs around.

For those of you who are a bit too extreme for the normally mellow-paced disc golf, don't panic. If you've done enough disc golf, you'll notice that there's a hybrid disc golfer out there, one who's always asking you if he or she can play through. You watch them sweatily approach the tee box, hurl their disc, and then sprint after it. The round of golf is treated as a foot race. Not my cup of tea, but if EXTREME disc golf is your thing, more power to you. Maybe you could even get tatted up...

Probably one of the best parts of the sport is the ease of play. Sure, it may take you a few tries at figuring out how to throw a disc for distance and control (it's not like your backyard Frisbee), but after that the game is quite enjoyable. By and large, most of the courses are set up in and around city parks, lakes, and creeks so it's also a nice view. Much like Thoreau and Walden, you are one with nature, you are in a place where you are free from the demands of society, you're in a free place where no shampooing or deodorant is required, and no one will get up in arms if you puff some chiba. It's mellow, man.

Chad Cordero could not be reached for comment. He was ALLEGEDLY ding-dong-ditching various houses own by senior citizens.

War Hero/War Criminal: Anton Migursky

2009-06-23T17:20:00.012-05:00

In case you were unaware, and shame on you if you are, today marks the 25th anniversary of the "Ryne Sandberg Game". Before this game, Ryno was a virtual unknown among most baseball fans. But the NBC Game of Week would change all that. Down by a run in the ninth inning and facing the Cardinal's ace closer, Bruce Sutter, Sandberg hit the game tying home run to put the game into extras. The Cardinals would come back in the top of the tenth, scoring 2 runs and seemingly putting the game out of reach.

But Ryno would have one more chance to beat Sutter, as he came to the plate in the bottom half of the inning with one runner on. What would happen next will be forever ingrained in the memory of Cub fans of my generation and baseball fans everywhere with Bob Costas' classic call, "Do you believe it?!"

Twenty-three years and two days later, Anton Migursky would get his own day. No, Anton did not play for the Cubs, and I highly doubt you have ever heard of him. You won't find his name in the record books or sports almanacs. But he did manage to make what Koyie Hill would call, "One of the best saves I've ever seen in my life."

Migursky's job was keeping Cubs players safe. He was a security guard at Wrigley Field, and just recently retired this past Sunday. Almost two years ago, though, he became known as the best tackler on Wrigley Field since Kyle Farnsworth.

The scene is Wrigley Field, Cubs vs. Rockies. The Cubs were in the lead starting the ninth inning, but Lou's relievers couldn't hold the game down. After giving up a three-run bomb that cost the Cubs the lead, a drunk fan ran onto the field towards the pitcher, yelling, "What are you doing?"

And just like that, Anton Migursky jumped into action, clothes-lining the fan just before he was able to physically assault the pitcher. Piniella was even quoted after the game saying, "Lovie Smith is looking for him."

Unfortunately for the Cubs, the man Migursky saved was "Brown Spot" Bob Howry. Howry began his career as one baseball's elite pitchers, garnering himself a lofty three-year, $12 million paycheck from the Cubs. But when Migursky saved Howry, he was already on the downward spiral of his career, one that cost the Cubs too many blown saves to count (or that I'm too lazy to look up). In 2008 Howry continued his suck-itude and finished the season with a 5.35 ERA. The Cubs were finally able to decline arbitration on Howry at the end of last season and he is currently "pitching" for the Giants.

So this Bud's for you, Anton Migursky. For doing your job above and beyond the call of duty, you are a War Hero. But you should have tackled Howry, or just not gotten there so fast. If you hadn't tackled that fan, it possibly would have ended the headache that was Brown Spot Bob for the next year and a half. And for that, you are a War Criminal.

I Formally Denounce Our Newest Bartender

2009-06-23T10:30:00.003-05:00

"Let him that hath understanding count the number of the beast; for it is the number of a man; and his number is 666." Book of Revelation Chapter 13 Verse 18 (Also, the Book of Maiden, Album 3, Track 5).

They laughed. They all laughed.

I have tried to warn the other bartenders about the Scion of Satan we just allowed to waltz in here like he owns the place. And, for once, I'm not talking about Ginger Russ or any of our other summer interns (keep striving gentlemen: one day Chip Wesley will let you take off the paper trainee hats). No. I'm talking about the beer guzzling, obscenity spewing, foul-smelling demon in the vintage 1978 road cap (and for once, I'm not talking about Dave Thomas).

I'm talking about Damien Lucifer "Hack" Wilson Brown V. Or as he insists on referring to himself, Hack the Fifth.

I'll admit, part of my resentment stems from the fact that I momentarily assumed that Hank III was writing for the Saloon, thus increasing the Truckliness of this site 600-fold. But no. Instead of the Hellraising Grandson of Country Royalty, we get the Hell-Spawned Foster Son of TMS Bartendertry.

Oh sure, he looks like any other human larva at first glance. Unfocused eyes, poor coordination, thin dribble of drool, etc. (and, for once, I'm only partially referring to Chaim Witz)...but the moment Brant brought him back to the Saloon with the proud grin of the newly adoptive father/host organism I sensed trouble. And yes, to paraphrase that Imp of Beelzebub, my first instinct was to fob this evil off on the Heathen Chinese for what they did to Kingston Falls in general, and the vivacious and talented Phoebe Cates in particular. Oh, and Mr. Futterman...I'll never forgive them for Mr. Futterman...

So, mark my words, giving this preternaturally self-aware murderbaby a soapbox on this, the 579th Most Popular Vaguely Cubs-Related Blog on the internet is like dropping a Mancoulteratee in front of Jordi. It seems like a good idea at the time, but it will end in tears.

And a hell of a dry cleaning bill.

Introducing Hack The Fifth

2009-06-23T00:17:00.000-05:00

Hey, how you doin'?

The name is Hack. As the title up there implies, I'm a fifth generation Wilson, named after my great-great-grandfather Hack. Of course, my parents weren't the most original, as they named me Hack as well. You would think somewhere along the way someone would think out of the box. What if I was to become a reporter? Huh? How would a writer named Hack be able to keep a career? But I digress.

As you can expect, I was born into Cubs lore. Next to Ernie the fourth and Ryno the third, I am practically royalty. Of course, I haven't been around too long, but what I don't understand is the doom and gloom you Cubs fans are always talking about. For my whole life the Cubs have been pretty good. They've always had that Lee guy at first and that nutty Zambrano character on the mound. You know, I think Big Z would have fit in well with Great-Great-Grandpa. If it wasn't for those off-season regiments and that fitness thing, I think ol' Z would be the type to throw down a spirit or two. Or four or six.

As you can see, I'm a bit of a drinker myself. It runs in the blood. Not only am I a Wilson, but I am also a fifth! From the moment I got off my mom's boob, I've had a bottle of the Lord's holy brew in my hands. That's a fair trade, I think. I also like to think I can already out drink the average sorority girl. Bring it on, Brittney!

Now I don't watch too much of the Cubs. My attention span is still only about 15 seconds, tops. Most of my days are filled with the regular rigmarole of eating, sleeping, or taking a dump in my diaper. And I occasionally cry. I don't have time to watch baseball. But I do catch a Cubs highlight every once in a while. My old man, Hack IV, was a big fan.

So what I am doing here in the Saloon? Well, a few weeks ago, the old man and my grandfather, Hack III, threw back a few too many Old Styles and left me in the parking lot. Thank goodness that compassionate humanist Brant Brown decided to bring me in and keep me around. From what my new dad (that's what I call him) told me, that Wolter guy wanted to sell me to the Chinese. Something about payback for the great Gremlin invasion and impressing Phoebe Cates, whatever that means.

Now I live here in the Saloon, ensuring the wings are hot, the burgers are greasy, and the beer is tasty. I'll be popping in every so often to babble about something or another. Don't worry, I should start making sense in about 18 months or so.