RAVEN MACK is a mystic poet-philosopher-artist of the Greater Appalachian unorthodox tradition. He does have an amazing PATREON, but also *normal* ARTIST WEBSITE too.

Wednesday, August 19

NFL Preseason Preview: Lower Middle Class

This is the second batch of NFL previews, the top half of the bottom half of the league, meaning these are teams that are below the mid-level line going into the year (according to Vegas oddsmakers, which is the source of my initial rankings), and could fluctuate up, maybe make a surprise run to the playoffs, or crumble completely. I do not pretend to fucking know (except I kinda do)...

#17: WASHINGTON REDSKINS
PERTINENT DATA: 8-8 last year, 30 to 1 odds to win the Super Bowl.
PERSONAL PERSONIFICATION: You know, I'm a lifelong Redskins fan, and I'd love to pretend that in my mind John Riggins' jersey-tugging touchdown run in the Super Bowl, or Darryl Grant's high-stepping, bumbling interception return for TD against the Cowboys to go to the Super Bowl would be the most identifiable moment. But life under Dan Snyder has sucked, and caused me tons of emotional distress. I should start a class action lawsuit against that motherfucker. I would have to say the true thing I mostly identify this team with now is the day Deion Sanders was standing at the podium in front of those three Lombardi Trophies that get paraded around like fucking crazy but don't really seem to ever need to be scooted over to make room for another one, in his gaudy ass burgundy suit with the yellow handkerchief sticking out the pocket, fucking Deion Sanders, as a Redskins. Fucking treachery from within. That's the Redskins to me at this point.
FRESH INJECTION: Lord Albert Haynesworth is a 350 pound dude who runs like a regular dude. He will, hopefully, super destroy the world in Washington, and maybe our defense can outscore the other team's offense.
DRUNKEN SOUL: Has to be Chris Cooley, by far the most popular player on this team, probably because his bruising retarded white boy style harkens back to the days of Riggo. I have to say though, Cooley's internet act is kinda wearing thin, and he also seems to think he's way funnier than he really is a lot of times. I would assume this is all part of the transition to married life, where his awesome "one of the boys" shit of fucking a couple cheerleaders is replaced by dorky once a week poker nights where everyone smokes cigars, which is straight up some corny assed shit. If you play poker, like that stupid fucking TV poker with flop and riverbanks and all that dumb shit, and you only smoke cigars while playing poker, you are a fucking dumbass. Straight up. You might as well just suck each other's dick once a week because you are basically elaborately playing out that fantasy but in a subconscious completely repressed way.
TEAM ASS: Dan Snyder will always be retarded, but he is also the owner. If somehow there was someone around other than dipshit Vinny Cerrato, maybe he could accidentally have someone feeding him advise that might lead to an accidental Super Bowl run. But as long as Vinny Cerrato is lurking around, and has number 11 volume in Snyder's little billionaire ear, the Redskins will struggle to not struggle.
TRENDSETTER: DeAngelo Hall looked really good at the end of last year, showing real ballhawk ability, which the Redskins have lacked. If Hall can somehow score about half as many times as Clinton Portis (and this is assuming Portis scores a slew of TDs), the Redskins might have a better-than-mediocre team.
TEAM ELDER: Tackle Chris Samuels was a first round draft pick in 2000, and has been largely overrated ever since. 2nd and 3rd pick of an NFL draft, and the Redskins got Samuels and Lavar Arrington out of it. I sometimes think the "Samuels is the best player on this team... period" meme is pushed to justify that maybe the Redskins haven't fucked up every high draft pick ever, since forever.
THE RUDY: The other tackle Stephon Heyer came a few miles away from Maryland and now somehow is our future at either tackle spot.
FORMER TROJAN: Tight end Fred Davis, who claims he will be jacking a spot from Cooley this year, but also fumbled twice in his first preseason game.
VIRGINIA BOY: WR Marques Hagans was a former UVA QB, and stands a good shot at making the team, simply because he can return punts and for some reason the Redskins have tired of Antwaan Randle El's 30 yards sideways/5 yards forward return style that he's been solidly endorsed to go with the past two years.
WILD SAMOAN: With no bonafide Samoans on the Redskins roster right now, even during it's swollen preseason status, I will go with rookie DE Brian Orakpo, because of the questionable linguistics of his last name, although I know he's a black dude from Texas. Samoan Pride Scorecard: Hawaii - 3, Auburn - 1, Brigham Young - 1, Nebraska - 1, Penn State - 1, Stanford - 1, Texas - 1.
THE ICKY: Rock Cartwright is one of the best names in pro football, especially considering he's a tiny little spark plug of a black dude.
INDUSTRIAL OVERLORD: Cornelius Griffin sounds as if he has used government defense contracts to build an empire that expanded into the privatization of the prison industry, and now to private security forces being used along the border with Mexico.
CRYSTAL METH BALL: The Redskins have the star power and defense to make a push for .500, and even if they get there, will probably finish 4th in the NFC East.

#18: JACKSONVILLE JAGUARS
PERTINENT DATA: 5-11 last year, 30 to 1 odds to win the Super Bowl.
PERSONAL PERSONIFICATION: I don't know, the Jaguars as an expansion franchise that remains, in my mind, an expansion franchise, with ugly tealish uniforms, lacks a real identity. When Jack Del Rio stormed in, I jumped on their bandwagon, with the chopping block in the locker room and all, but then the punter accidentally axed himself. So I guess for me that's the personification of the Jags - just as they start to get some swagger, they fuck themselves up, which they have by being the Bengals South the past few years, and with nothing to show for it.
FRESH INJECTION: Rookie tackle Eugene Monroe is a fucking monster, a new breed of offensive lineman who is 300-plus pounds but built like a running back, with quick feet and gangsta strength. Of course, this doesn't always translate to the NFL so easily (see Robert Gallery), but from having seen Eugene Monroe in college, I can assure you he should be a fucking monster in the NFL. Too bad he went to Jacksonville.
DRUNKEN SOUL: Cornerback Rashean Mathis is the gangstafied soul of this team. Of course, they've been second only to the Bengals in recent years in terms of players getting busted for stupid shit or shot up outside of clubs or shit like that. So a soul of a team signified by Rashean Mathis may not be what the team goes for in a year or two.
TEAM ASS: Jack Del Rio's old school schtick is great so long as they were semi-successful. Now, with the Texans on the rise and the Titans and Colts firmly planted above the Jags, they are arguably the worst team in their division for years to come. Thus, Del Rio's old school gooftronics are fucking wack, especially when Mike Singletary does it so much better.
TRENDSETTER: Has David Garrard run his course yet as the better alternative to Byron Leftwich? The Leftwich sour taste should be gone from the mouth of Jaguars fans by now, so David Garrard will have to sink or swim on his own ability, which really hasn't shown so much.
TEAM ELDER: The center of both lines are equally anquored, with both starting center Brad Meester and starting defensive tackle Rob Meier coming to the Jaguars in the 2000 NFL draft, second and seventh rounders, respectively.
THE RUDY: Back-up fullback Montell Owens rode down to Jacksonville training camp in 2006 from the University of Maine, busted up heads as a fullback, and more importantly as a special teams blockhead, and has earned a fat paycheck ever since, way fatter than UPS.
FORMER TROJAN: Back-up middle linebacker Thomas Williams, in his second year out of USC, meaning he was playing with all those super Samoans in college.
VIRGINIA BOY: Starting middle linebacker Justin Durant is in his third year, coming out of small HBCU Hampton University in a part of Virginia that I don't really feel much allegiance to, but it has lots of black folks so it's way better than stupid fucking northern Virginia. (HBCU was a precursor to the swine flu.)
WILD SAMOAN: Guard Vincent Manuwai, straight out of Hawaii Rainbow Warriors. Updated Samoan Pride Scorebard: Hawaii - 4, Auburn - 1, Brigham Young - 1, Nebraska - 1, Penn State - 1, Stanford - 1, Texas - 1.
THE ICKY: Rookie tackle Eben Britton, which is a nice name for a giant black dude. Also, what the fuck with the Jaguars drafting two tackles with their first two draft picks? I would assume someone knows what the fuck is up, and next year they'll be going for a high profile QB out of college after finishing towards the bottom of the NFL.
INDUSTRIAL OVERLORD: Montavious Stanley's family made their fortune coming down from the north during the Civil War when Jacksonville was an important trading port for the south. The north blockaded the town, and the Stanley family strong-armed its way into taking over the local livestock markets in straight carpetbagging fashion. Thinking of livestock made me think of Junior Johnson, who went from being an infamously uncatchable bootlegger to an early superstar of Nascar, and now he has a wide array of pork products under his name. There is some movie I can't remember the name of right now, but it stars one of those very competent but indistinguishably awesome '70s actors - maybe it was Jeff Bridges, and has Jim Croce doing the soundtrack, and was an ABC made-for-TV movie based on Junior Johnson's story, and it comes on the cable TVs at times and is a very enjoyable ass movie. In case you were wondering about a movie you don't know the name of you should watch.
CRYSTAL METH BALL: Jack Del Rio's ship was sinking last year, but he earned some extra time from his previous successes with this team (remember when they were gonna challenge the Colts for AFC South supremacy?), so he bought himself an extra year on that credit. This year, the ship will finish sinking, and they'll be even worse than last year, finishing 4th place in the AFC South for the second year in a row.

#19: HOUSTON TEXANS
PERTINENT DATA: 8-8 last year, 40 to 1 odds to win the Super Bowl.
PERSONAL PERSONIFICATION: The press conference unveiling of their ugly ass red, white, and blue uniforms will always associate the Texans with uncreative shittiness in my mind. First of all, the nickname "Texans" is a chump ass nickname. But okay, you go with that chumpy choice, hope to use a retardedly obvious marketing gimmick to capture the pride of football-crazy Texas people. The least you could do is pimp that played out angle with some fresh ass uniforms. But instead, the Houston franchise, in post-9/11 changed everything mode, went with the very predictable red, white, and blue. Played the fuck out. This team will always not be that much better than mediocre until they have suffered long enough under this style to have a refresh of their image with new uniforms. Most likely that will mean they will ride their current upward swing to maybe a wild card playoff loss one year, then back down to supreme shittiness with top five draft picks a couple years in a row, and then they hit the restart button and go with something fresher to try and brand themselves as a real Texas man's alternative to the Dallas Cowboys.
FRESH INJECTION: Defensive end Antonio Smith comes over from the Cardinals, whose defense came together as a surprisingly punishing unit for about the last six weeks of the season last year. Will that translate to a free agent success story with Antonio Smith? Lining up with Mario Williams on the other side of the line can't hurt the chances.
DRUNKEN SOUL: WR Andre Johnson is the NFL's lost-in-obscurity superstar playmaker in waiting, like Larry Fitzgerald was last year. Should NFL parity play in the Texans favor and they make a miracle run to like the AFC championship this year, it will be Andre Johnson on the cover of those 7000 fantasy football guides next summer instead of Larry Fitzgerald like this year. Man, how fucking uncreative are those things? I'm no fantasy football nerd by any means, but if I were, and I was standing at the book store magazine shelf and there were all those magazines with the same fucking guy on the cover, I'd automatically not want to buy any of them because they'd be drinking from the same pitcher of Kool-Aid. Same thing when it was L.T. on the cover of them all, and shit, it was only last year people were like, "who else would you pick first than Ladainian Tomlinson?" Look at that now.
TEAM ASS: Honestly, I am filled with such indifference to the Texans, it was difficult to come up with someone to actually invest any emotion in enough to say I dislike them. But I went with punter Matt Turk, who ended up being a tool when he played for the Redskins. Yet, at the same time, for a punter, he's about as great as they come, picking fights with regular players, getting injured playing basketball in the offseason, and just generally being a regular-style retard instead of a kicking specialist primadonna.
TRENDSETTER: Mario Williams is starting to live up to his 1st overall pick draft status, and being they've got a pretty solid defense including a tough line, he should continue to thrive, disrupt, get paid, and clock a grip.
TEAM ELDER: Starting guard Chester Pitts was the franchise's second ever draft pick, behind David Carr. He has started every game in the team's history.
THE RUDY: The other starting guard Mike Brisiel came into camp undrafted in 2006 out of Colorado State, and is entering his second year as a starter.
FORMER TROJAN: Rookie linebacker Brian Cushing is part of the supposed best collegiate linebacking corps ever last year at USC, and should be starting at outside LB by midseason at the latest.
VIRGINIA BOY: Ahh, the premier Virginia boy actually, QB Matt Schaub, Mr. UVA good-looking whiteboy with a strong financial future who made noise as Mike Vick's back-up before Vick went to prison from Atlanta. Last year, Schaub caught QB controversy with Sage Rosenfels coming in and doing pretty good outside of helicopter fumbling away that one game against Indianapolis they should've won as a statement game, but Rosenfels is gone, so Schaub is the man, unless there are Texans fans (hahaha... I know) who think Dan Orlovsky is the Man. Isn't Orlovsky the dude who ran out the end zone for a safety for the Lions last year and didn't even know that was not acceptable? That's not a good thing to have on everyone's mental resume for you.
WILD SAMOAN: No bonafide Samoans, so let's go with DT Amobi Okoye, who is a super-intelligent high wonderlic ass dude for a defensive lineman. He played college ball at Louisville, making the updated (and mutated) Samoan Pride Scorebard: Hawaii - 4, Auburn - 1, Brigham Young - 1, Louisville - 1, Nebraska - 1, Penn State - 1, Stanford - 1, and Texas - 1.
THE ICKY: Xavier Adibi actually played in-state here at Virginia Tech, and has a great name that sounds like something Mushmouth from Fat Albert would call a ghost were he guest appearing on an episode of Scooby-Doo.
INDUSTRIAL OVERLORD: Boomer Grigsby amassed millions as an early boom oil tycoon, and has since parlayed that wealth to make sure all his grandchildren - well, the ones with penises at least - are guaranteed membership into the Skull & Bones Society, where they join an elite group of young men who use Crazy Horse's skull as a bong, secretly.
CRYSTAL METH BALL: The Texans could easily finish at .500 again this year, but probably won't do better than another 3rd place finish in the AFC South, being the Colts and Titans are still there.

#20: NEW YORK JETS
PERTINENT DATA: 9-7 last year, 40 to 1 odds to win the Super Bowl.
PERSONAL PERSONIFICATION: Deeply-ingrained loser mentality of Jets fans who would boo Jesus if they picked him in the draft personifies the Jets to me. I think there's a deeper Jersey vibe to the Jets than what you have with the Giants, and Jersey people - of which there are a fuck-ton of - have a second class citizen chip on their shoulder due to New York City across the river. So New Jersey is mostly a passing through type of state, but a very populous one, so there's a natural inclination to be overly proud of your Jersey roots (most places where people are fiercely proud of being from are usually shitholes, like Jersey, or the south, or Puerto Rico, etc), and overly expectant of the Jets team I think, in turn.
FRESH INJECTION: LB Bart Scott not only superangrifies the entire defense, he helps bring locker room muscle to help instill new coach Rex Ryan's philosophy throughout the team.
DRUNKEN SOUL: Safety Kerry Rhodes is the spark plug heart of this team's defense, which is their strength, and he should be even more of a roaming berserker this year with Ryan's defensive stylos.
TEAM ASS: Actually, I couldn't find too many Jets worth hating either... I think their green and white uniforms speak to me, much more than their straight up green ones from the '80s did. But forcing myself to pick somebody, I will pick new CB Lito Sheppard, who for years wore shithead green in Philadelphia, and fuck him.
TRENDSETTER: Shit, Rex Ryan comes in as a highly-touted former coordinator with high hopes attached to that. Of course, right before him at this spot on the NFL coaching carousel was Eric Mangini, who had been affectionately called Man-genius early in his short stint as Jets head coach. Most places, it's sink or swim, but with the Jets, Rex Ryan will have to not only swim, but flourish. Whether he can do that or not will decide whether this team goes in the same direction for more than three years in a row for the first time in my adult life.
TEAM ELDER: DE Shaun Ellis was a first round draft pick in 2000. He also will be sitting out the first game of the season because Roger Goodell doesn't think hemp can save the planet yet.
THE RUDY: Guard Brandon Moore came into Jets training camp in 2002 as an undrafted defensive lineman, earned a spot on the roster, converted to the o-line, and now is their starting guard and one of their most consistent o-lineman at that.
FORMER TROJAN: Glamour boy QB Mark Sanchez is the latest USC quarterback prince to hit the NFL. Unlike Carson Palmer and Matt Leinart, who were lucky enough to settle into less high profile places like Cincinnati and Phoenix, Sanchez is tossed headfirst into fucking New York City, with it's everpresent eyeball-on-the-pyramid-tip media lights, famous people galore, and ridiculous club scenes of all types and flavors. Mark Sanchez will see quickly enough, firsthand, that Babylon the Great has not yet fallen.
VIRGINIA BOY: D'Brickashaw Ferguson was a tackle at UVA, who has really turned a lot of high-level linemen on both sides of the ball for such a mediocre college football program.
WILD SAMOAN: Back-up nose tackle Sione Pouha played at Utah, a state famous for Mormons, black Republicans, and Samoans playing college football. Samoan Pride Scorebard: Hawaii - 4, Auburn - 1, Brigham Young - 1, Louisville - 1, Nebraska - 1, Penn State - 1, Stanford - 1, Utah - 1, and Texas - 1.
THE ICKY: Jerricho Cotchery is an all-pro name for years, and he's moved from deep on the depth charts to a starter to now their #1 receiver during that time. And though his name is great, it does not ring as a fearsome offensive threat, which probably says a lot towards Sanchez's early development as a QB.
INDUSTRIAL OVERLORD: Kellen Clemens, Wall Street trustafarian kid taking his optioned-out 2009 4Runner to all sorts of Phish and Widespread Panic shows, plus maybe .moe if he can convince a couple frat brothers about it.
CRYSTAL METH BALL: Rex Ryan will do well I think, and the Jets will push towards .500, but probably fall short, and finish 3rd in the AFC East.

#21: TAMPA BAY BUCCANEERS
PERTINENT DATA: 9-7 last year, 40 to 1 odds to win the Super Bowl this season.
PERSONAL PERSONIFICATION: Those old school orange uniforms are what I associate the Bucs with. It’s too bad they were so terrible in them, because contrary to alleged popular opinion, I think those were one of the most pimping ass uniforms that ever existed. I’m glad they’re pulling them back out this year, although it seems like an excuse to superstitiously explain an impending lackluster season.
FRESH INJECTION: You know, Kellen Winslow the second will get a lot of attention coming into Tampa Bay, but really, until he shows up for a full season in the NFL, he’s more promise than delivered goods. Free agent addition at RB Derrick Ward, however, is a fucking bruiser of a back who, when combined in tandem with Earnest Graham, should help cover up the fact the Bucs don’t have an actual quality proven starting quarterback on the roster.
DRUNKEN SOUL: With Derrick Brooks gone, formerly a back-up LB Jermaine Phillips now takes the lead on their defense, and is one of the longest-tenured players on the team. He’s the man now, dog. (I’m pretty sure I’ve used that in these preseason write-ups already, and I’ll probably use it again. The old left side of the brain ain’t what it used to be.)
TEAM ASS: Even though he’s gone, Jon Gruden has to be remembered as a first class, self-important piece of shit. I imagine he’ll be highly entertaining as a color commentator on the cable TVs, but that’s all part of rehabbing his image before some other owner gets chumped into believing the hype, it’s a sequel.
TRENDSETTER: The only real solid offensive threat they have is Antonio Bryant, yet he likes to balance his awesome potential with a lot of bitching and griping. Whether he can score touchdowns more than he can get all pouty pouty four feet behind the offensive coordinator will probably determine whether the Bucs can squeeze a few wins out of this hodgepodge offense.
TEAM ELDER: Ronde Barber was a 1997 draft pick, and is still kicking strong. His twin brother is married to Russell Simmons’ ex-wife and appears on national TV around the clock, but young Ronde is still playing the pigskins, at least for one more year. Another Roanoke boy made good. (I don’t say “boy” in reference to his skin color; I say in reference to how when you are from the south originally, people still think of you as a kid from the south regardless of how long you live, hence the term “good ole boy”.)
THE RUDY: Former Florida Gator comes to Tampa’s training camp in 2003, fights for a roster spot, and after repeated Cadillac Williams injury-laden seasons, becomes the bonafide hard-working man last year in Tampa, and is technically listed as the starter going into this year, though Derrick Ward and Williams will eat up hand-offs as well, at least until Cadillac’s ligaments inevitably rip from his body yet again.
FORMER TROJAN: Rookie defensive end Kyle Moore was the 39th Trojan defender drafted this year, in the fourth round.
VIRGINIA BOY: Of course, Ronde is an Old Dominion favorite to this day, being I already listed him elsewhere for this team, let’s recognize LB Angelo Crowell, also from UVA, and in his seventh season of NFL success.
WILD SAMOAN: Sure, starting center Jeff Faine’s name looks potentially Samoan. he played at Notre Dame, not known for it’s Samoan recruiting, but also not known for being that good in recent times. Samoan Pride Scorebard: Hawaii - 4, Auburn - 1, Brigham Young - 1, Louisville - 1, Nebraska - 1, Notre Dame - 1, Penn State - 1, Stanford - 1, Utah - 1, and Texas - 1.
THE ICKY: B.J. Askew is the most ridiculous football name going, although if I ever happenstance across an issue of Maxim (or similar nimrod magazines with half-hearted attempts at pornographic images) that mentions this in a football sidebar, I will stop going with him on these lists.
INDUSTRIAL OVERLORD: Sabby Piscitelli’s family helped exploit the tremendous phosphate reserves in the Bone Valley outside of Tampa back in the 1800s, and used that wealth to build power in the port of Tampa, which has fed their economic clout ever since.
CRYSTAL METH BALL: The Buccaneers are pretty much doomed. Even if someone else in their division is worse than expected, it’s hard to believe the Bucs are headed for anything except last place in the NFC South.

#22: DENVER BRONCOS
PERTINENT DATA: 8-8 last year, 40 to 1 to win the Super Bowl.
PERSONAL PERSONIFICATION: John Elway’s stupid fucking horseface winning a couple of Super Bowl rings will forever be etched in my brain as an NFL-watching lowpoint.
FRESH INJECTION: Now that he’s no longer a Philadelphia Eagle, I do not mind admitting at all that Brian Dawkins is a fucking bad ass dude. I like smaller defensive guys who launch themselves head first like a missile and then quote the Bible when asked about it later on.
DRUNKEN SOUL: Champ Bailey is the flat-faced soul of this team, and really the only pre-eminate player they have.
TEAM ASS: Poor Chris Simms, with his ruptured spleen and high pedigree, never quite amounting to much more than like the 33rd or 34th best QB in the league (aka the best clipboarder around). He was forever doomed by his shitty father. I feel for young Chris, because his father is such a loathsome figure, he never stood a chance. And really, what better way to completely crash his soul than to become the starter in Denver, like he might, and piss all over both his father’s and John Elway’s legacies?
TRENDSETTER: Hahaha, whether Kyle Orton can prove the Cutler-haters wrong or not is the key to the Broncos immediate future. And with three interceptions right off the bat in his first preseason game, he looks to be proving the future is bleak. Oh well, high draft picks await at the end of the year. Lolol at you Champ Bailey.
TEAM ELDER: Offensive lineman Ben Hamilton was a fourth round draft pick in 2001, although he missed a year because of concussions. Fuck it man, go out like a champ. Crash your head into super-early onset of Alzheimers and get your crazy on in your 40s before you NFL money runs out.
THE RUDY: Back-up tackle (on both sides) Tyler Polumbus is a textbook NFL Rudy, coming from a local college - Colorado in his case - and walking onto the team as an undrafted homeslice last year, and carving himself a solid reserve spot on a mediocre assed pro football team. Their mediocrity is his wealth.
FORMER TROJAN: No former Trojans, so I revert to the USC of the South, the fighting Gamecocks of the University of South Carolina, which is where from Andre Goodman, starting cornerback, got girls pregnant at in his collegiate days.
VIRGINIA BOY: Wide receiver/kick returner constant end zone threat Eddie Royal came from Virginia Tech. He made far more noise last year in Denver than he did ever at Tech, which is probably because Frank Beamer doesn’t open it up on offense, ever. I met Beamer one time at the Starbucks in Waynesboro, gave him some daps and chatted for a minute. He had a big fat ring from some sort of ACC/Big East/bowl championship. I would assume it was from ‘99 when they lost in the national title game against Florida State, but I didn’t get a chance to scope it out and see for sure. He’s a really small, old dude in real life.
WILD SAMOAN: They don't have Samoans nor do they have third world sounding motherfuckers, so I'll pick Knowshon Moreno because that's some space immigrant naming he got given there. He's from Georgia by the way, and used to get high with the guy Killer Mike wrote "Samson" about. Samoan Pride Scorebard: Hawaii - 4, Auburn - 1, Brigham Young - 1, Georgia - 1, Louisville - 1, Nebraska - 1, Notre Dame - 1, Penn State - 1, Stanford - 1, Utah - 1, and Texas - 1.
THE ICKY: Elvis Dumervil, without a doubt. Black dudes named Elvis are automatically pimp ass, but you throw in some old world-sounding name like Dumervil that makes you sound like co-starred with Basil Rathbone in Sherlock Holmes movies before they had color inside of video machines, and that makes you number one.
INDUSTRIAL OVERLORD: DE Everette Pedescleaux’s family came to the midwest to exploit the cultural ignorance of gold rushing immigrants, make triple the money off their hard work, and build a family empire.
CRYSTAL METH BALL: The Broncos are completely fucked, and the Jay Cutler debacle was just the start of the post-Shanahan unraveling process. They will be bad enough that Josh McDaniels might not make it to year two, and even in the worst division in pro football recent history - this year’s AFC West - the Broncos will finish in last place.

#23: MIAMI DOLPHINS
PERTINENT DATA: 11-5 last year, winning the AFC East, then lost their home playoff game to the Baltimore Ravens, 45 to 1 odds to win the Super Bowl this year.
PERSONAL PERSONIFICATION: I’m not a huge Dolphins fan, but I can tolerate them more than most teams, and always identify them with the Dan Marino to Mark Duper or Mark Clayton heyday when they had the highest-powered offense ever that could bust open an 80 yard touchdown play any second. Of course, with Chad Pennington’s gimp ass arm, they are far from that now, but the memory remains.
FRESH INJECTION: Pat White, coming straight out of West Virginia, gives the Dolphins an actual former college QB to take over the wildcat looks that Ronnie Brown spearheaded last year. Brown did amazingly well, and padded his statistics with a slew of touchdowns from the trendy formation, but White should do even better with it. Hahaha, I hadn’t even noticed that color theme - Brown and White.
DRUNKEN SOUL: Ricky Williams is the most obvious and closest to literal drunken soul in the NFL. I love Ricky Williams, and have always meant to do the internet research legwork to see the list of players he has been traded for in his career, since Mike Ditka traded an entire draft for him one year, and then the Saints fleeced the Dolphins out of half a class of draft picks later on.
TEAM ASS: You know, even before he came to the Redskins last year, I knew Jason Taylor was a piece of shit. Not only did he do nothing to prove me wrong, he actually strengthened my low opinion of him. It’s almost embarrassing that the Dolphins were using Redskins draft picks they got for Taylor this spring, and Taylor was already resigned with Miami.
TRENDSETTER: Even though they have Ricky Williams and Pat White too, Ronnie Brown is still considered the man for the Dolphins backfield this year. His performance was misled by how many gimmick TDs he got with the wildcat, because as the year wore on, he wasn’t doing that well. Whether he can be Ronnie Brown - 1st round draft pick potential superstar, or Ronnie Brown - better than Curtis Enis but not by much, will determine how well the Dolphins can do this year.
TEAM ELDER: Safety Yeremiah Bell was a late round draft pick in 2003, bounced around as an NFL extra that first year, but came back to the Dolphins starting off the 2004 offseason, and has been there ever since. Homeboy even made the Pro Bowl last year.
THE RUDY: As is normal for Parcells imprinted teams, they had good contributions from undrafted dudes last season. Most notably was Davone Bess, who made some noise as the third receiver, as well as a punt return threat.
FORMER TROJAN: Rookie WR Patrick Turner hopes to be Parcells newest Keyshawn replicon. How many times have I used a rookie Trojan for these spots, and I’m not even halfway through the league previews yet? How the fuck did they not win the national championship last year?
VIRGINIA BOY: Defensive end Kendall Langford, straight out of Hampton, and starting with authority.
WILD SAMOAN: Ahh, a 350-pound-plus Samoan dude from Utah... a perfect NFL stereotype. That is second-year monstrosity Paul Soliai. Updated Samoan Pride Scorebard: Hawaii - 4, Utah - 2, Auburn, Brigham Young, Georgia, Louisville, Nebraska, Notre Dame, Penn State, Stanford, and Texas - 1.
THE ICKY: Fullback Lousaka Polite. “Fullback” is his position, not his first name, though it would make a great first name.
INDUSTRIAL OVERLORD: Channing Crowder’s great-grandfather set up internationally-minded financial institutions, to capitalize on Miami’s perfect location between America and the Latin world, and also grew financially from the cocaine money flowing through the area in the ‘80s. Dirty money is still money, and white folks know how to sterilize things better than anybody.
CRYSTAL METH BALL: All the football talking heads seem to think there’s going to be a drop-off with the Dolphins this year, but Parcells has always done way better his second year than the first. Not that they will, especially since he’s not technically the coach or anything. But they’ll finish second in the AFC East, and contend but fall short for a wild card berth in the playoffs.


#24: BUFFALO BILLS
PERTINENT DATA: 7-9 last year, 45 to 1 odds to win the Super Bowl.
PERSONAL PERSONIFICATION: Bills will always be connected in my mind to Bruce Smith and Darryl Talley, who looked complete secret degenerates, Smith the kind of guy who would make homemade piss on white chick flicks like Chuck Berry, and Talley just some sort of El Debarge on PCP looking motherfucker. I have always hated the Bills, for no other reason than I wouldn't want these two guys within 200 miles of my family.
FRESH INJECTION: Who else could it be? T.O. brings the drama, popcorn, strong denial of the inevitable, and a death kiss for Trent Edwards.
DRUNKEN SOUL: When Marcus Stroud came up from Jacksonville last year, he gave their defense an identity, and a big, fat, good-natured, black guy they could all rally behind.
TEAM ASS: Man, Marshawn Lynch gets busted for the most NBA-ish things, like smoking weed outside an industrial park. What the fuck? I understand basketball players being retarded like that, because they roll in small units and have had people do things for them since middle school. A top-level football player should get busted for domestic violence or club incidents, not simple shit like Marshawn Lynch gets busted for.
TRENDSETTER: Before he died, Bill Walsh said that Trent Edwards would be so great he would make Joe Montana look like a fucking faggot. But Trent Edwards also played at Stanford and Bill Walsh and the Dean of Stanford had a secret thing going on, so who knows how prejudiced Walsh was in his deathbed declarations. Still, whether or not Trent Edwards is the second coming of Joe Montana or the latest incarnation of Not Jim Kelly will tell a lot about whether the Bills have a promising future. Throwing Terrell Owens into the mix (meaning Trent Edwards' head) should help confuse the answer to this question as well.
TEAM ELDER: DE Aaron Schobel was a 2nd round draft pick in 2001, and punter Brian Moorman came on as a free agent that same offseason.
THE RUDY: Two years ago, some schlubby white boy LB named Jon Corto from nearby obscure school Sacred Heart came out for the team, and somehow grinded his way onto the roster. Last year, he started making special teams plays on the regular to continue his impossible dream, that makes fat, racist white football fans in Buffalo proud every Sunday.
FORMER TROJAN: Cornerback Cary Harris is yet another rookie defensive player from last year's USC Trojans team.
VIRGINIA BOY: Starting tackle Brad Butler played at UVA, apparently only a few years ago, and I don't remember him at all. Sounds white though. He should've been named D'Brickashaw instead.
WILD SAMOAN: No Samoans, and in lieu of obvious third worlders, I opt for former Penn State LB Paul Posluszny, because I dig Euro trash style of four consonants in a row, even if one of them is a Y perpetrating some vowelship. Samoan Pride Scorebard: Hawaii - 4, Penn State, Utah - 2, Auburn, Brigham Young, Georgia, Louisville, Nebraska, Notre Dame, Stanford, and Texas - 1.
THE ICKY: Cornerback Ashton Youboty, without a second thought.
INDUSTRIAL OVERLORD: Dominic Rhodes' families owned the grain mills that were the largest in America back when Buffalo was a major metropolis and Buffalo was a shipping star, being the western terminus of the Erie Canal. This is why, to this day, Dominic Rhodes tucks a single piece of wheat into his left cleat every game day. Also why he got along so well with those hicks in Indiana when he was a Colt.
CRYSTAL METH BALL: Questionable team adds T.O. to the mix is like ammonia and bleach. The Bills will implode at some point, because they weren't far from it last year, and even though Marshawn Lynch and Terrell Owens will have $500 fake wrestling title belts they defend during loud locker room games of dominoes, this team will turn to shit. It's going to be hilarious to watch. They will finish dead last in the AFC East, yet again.

Family Links

Feral Children are greater than sterilized parents. My favorite feral children are always ones raised by animals, because some 13-year-old kid in southern California with the mentality of a 2-year-old because of her fucked-up parents isn't quite as great as an Axel Rivas or Traian Calderer. The eugenics link says that Carrie Buck was from Charlottesville, VA, right up the road. It sometimes trips me out how much history I live around, and not just normal old people in RVs type history shit like Thomas Jefferson or James Madison's home, but crazy background of America shit like desegregation in Prince Edward County or eugenics labs or the underground shadow government entrance at the abandoned "rest stop" area near Shannon Hill off of I-64.

Friday, August 14

Friday Love/Hate

I love football season starting up again, so that I can torment myself with yet another shitty Redskins season, because I am completely unable to emotionally detach myself from something I have zero control over, simply because I've invested so much time over the course of my life into it emotionally, that I hold out hope it will eventually pay me back with a momentary euphoria that will, in reality, maybe last a week or so if they win the Super Bowl, and then I'll be kinda high about it until the next season starts, and then it fades. It's like really slow-moving crack, except Dan Snyder won't let me get high, even though every year he's like, "I got the good shit right here," switching the color of the caps like Stringer Bell and shit.


I hate the continued presence of liquid polymer application processes in my daily life. Hate it. I think it is giving me the dizzy spells lately, like my brain is kicking into some bizarre human safety mode. Maybe a terrible accident is about to befall me while applying liquid polymers and I have a guardian angel like that little green dude Fred Flintstone saw after taking too much jimson weed and the guardian angel is trying to make my brain hurt to keep me from experiencing the terrible destiny I would otherwise fall victim to. Or maybe they've just cranked up the HAARP project to a higher electromagnetic frequency. Who the fuck really knows? Speaking of silent weapons for quiet wars, I just stole "Wake Up" by Killarmy from inside the internets last night, the 12-inch single including the instrumental. I think I will delete everything off my gaypod except for the "Wake Up" instrumental and just ride around aimlessly all weekend.

Wednesday, August 12

NFL Preseason Preview: Bottom Quadrant

Preseason football starts up in full (partially) tonight, and much like preaseason teams working out the kinks, I'm getting my fake deadline thing in order, missing last night's 10 pm thing, but postdating it blogospheric style since nobody noticed anyways. This first batch of eight is the dregs of the NFL, at least the four longest shots to win the Super Bowl this year according to Vegas oddsmakers.

#25: SAN FRANCISCO 49ERS
PERTINENT DATA: 7-9 last season, 50 to 1 odds to win the Super Bowl.
PERSONAL PERSONIFICATION: Oh man, I used to hate the 49ers so much. When they were playing the Redskins one time when I was a kid, I made a voodoo doll with the #16 on it to try and break Joe Montana's career away. Like four plays later, an o-lineman with number 61 went down with some sort of knee injury. That shit taught me how powerful I truly am if I can only unlock my inner strength that cannot even be explained by science and mathematics. This is why I hate the 49ers to this day, even though they've been irrelevant for years, because of Bill Walsh's pseudo-scientific West Coast offense bullshit which has pilfered the NFL of its true soul for far too long.
FRESH INJECTION: Well, rookie WR Michael Crabtree is supposed to be the first bonafide superstar offensive weapon they've had (apologies to Frank Gore - the most anonymous Miami Hurricane ever) in a decade. Of course, at this point his cousin is talking shit about him maybe not even playing and waiting to get re-drafted next year. Yeah, I'm sure that'll work out well. Remember that Mike Williams guy from USC who was a top 5 receiver, took a year off, and got drafted but has never been more than that? Yeah. Exactly.
DRUNKEN SOUL: RB Frank Gore is one of those dudes who is really fucking awesome, but plays in obscurity, and by the time the rest of the league realizes how awesome he is, he'll be old by RB standards, so he'll have a couple lackluster but impressive seasons for like the Jets or Eagles or something, and play a couple playoff games, and then be gone.
TEAM ASS: Honestly, reading the Washington Post regularly, I'd like to like TE Vernon Davis, knowing him from his time at Maryland in college and all, but he just comes across as one of those overly dramatic types that ruins everybody's good time with too much seriousness and too much information all the damned time. I imagine he will marry a white woman but also eventually have a secret love affair with a black man. Because who else could truly understand his inner torment besides another black man?
TRENDSETTER: This team will succeed or implode according to whether crazy black dude coach Mike Singletary's militaristic oddballishness tricks them into not sucking.
TEAM ELDER: Both LB Jeff Ulbrich and TE/LS (that means long snapper bro, you will see it a lot with these longest serving members of a team) Brian Jennings were drafted in 2000, and both are role players on special teams at this point. Lunchpail type motherfuckers, except they make hundreds of thousands of dollars and the team provides lunch.
THE RUDY: WR Dominique Ziegler was an undrafted rookie in 2007, stuck with the team, and got off the practice squad at the end of last year, getting 5 receptions at the end of the season.
FORMER TROJAN: Starting guard Chilo Rachal is in his second year of fucking people up with his 315 pounds of Samoan mayhem.
VIRGINIA BOY: You know, they've got a couple former Va. Tech Hokies on their team (including CB Jimmy Williams as a back-up... what happened to that guy?), but the dude that stands out to me is back-up LB Ahmad Brooks, who came to UVA as a top national prep player and the son of a former Washington Redskin. But at UVA, he never fully lived up to that potential, though he carried himself like he went beyond it, eventually dropped out of school, got drafted into the NFL through the supplemental draft, and has bounced around. At 18, he was a can't miss next-Lavar Arrington. Eight years later, he's an also-ran on the 49ers second team.
WILD SAMOAN: 330-pound DT Isaac Sopoaga, a Hawaii Rainbow Warrior. I think I'll keep tabs on what school the Samoans went to in these write-ups, as it tends to be Hawaii, USC, and Mormon schools in Utah. I don't know what it is about Samoans and Mormonism, but they be on that shit. Personally, I'd love to see a couple of 300-plus pound Samoan dudes in the short-sleeved white dress-up shirt and dress slacks walking around trying to talk to me about Jesus. It'd be a refreshing change from the weasel-faced little pimple-freckled whiteboys we usually get. Oh yeah, so Hawaii - 1, everyone else - 0 on the Samoan pride scorecard.
THE ICKY: LB Takeo Spikes is one the NFL's best names of recent years, but I'm gonna have to pick over him this year for the first time in his career because the 49ers have a rookie TE named Bear Pascoe. Shout out to Richard Dawson.
INDUSTRIAL OVERLORD: Perhaps C Matt Spanos' forefathers helped exploit the labor of dream-seeking gold diggers during the gold rush to help build into the West Coast's financial heart, led by the now-gone and mostly-forgotten Pacific Coast Stock Exchange.
CRYSTAL METH BALL: Mike Singletary will scare motherfuckers that suck into mediocrity, which is what they'll be, and that'll be good enough for 2nd in the NFC West. I hope Singletary's wacky, intimidating ways are the wave of the future and not just something everybody will be like, "LOL, why did they think that type of coach would work?" in five years time.

#26: SEATTLE SEAHAWKS
PERTINENT DATA: 4-12 last season, 50 to 1 odds to win the Super Bowl.
PERSONAL PERSONIFICATION: Really, for me, the Seahawks have always been, at best, overrated pussies, and more often, a shitty team. So Shaun Alexander being hyped as the greatest RB in forever, having his gap-toothed smile of questionable sexuality, and getting knocked out of games fairly regularly because trigga gots no heart, that sums up the Seahawks for me.
FRESH INJECTION: T.J. Houshmanzadeh has been one of my favorite WRs in the league, because he plays with retarded passion, plus he's some sort of Hindu with longhair which makes me think he drives a car and owns a white tiger like Scarface. I mean, he has to. What millionaire Hindu dude with a ponytail doesn't own a white tiger and fuck Kim Basinger?
DRUNKEN SOUL: No doubt, LB Lofa Tatupu is a mid-sized monster, such a fucking bad ass presence that he's like the only Seahawk player in the history of the team that I don't think is a complete punkass.
TEAM ASS: I am so indifferent to the Seahawks, it's really hard for someone to even stand out as unlikeable. But for the sake of blogging out opinions for you, I will go with RB Julius Jones, because he grew up a simple small town boy in southwest Virginia, with a mom who worked in a prison and a dad who did something else all fucked up and tragically small town blue collar. He left the state schools behind to go play at Notre Dame, which is the least respectable, most traitorous thing a young man from these parts could do, especially considering the window of Notre Dame being an awesome showcase for yourself was nailed shut over a decade ago. Then, he played for the Dallas Cowboys once he went pro, which is something I hold against dudes completely, even if there's drafts and you don't really choose who you play for at first. Fuck Julius Jones. Why couldn't he be more like his brother Thomas?
TRENDSETTER: The foreseeable future of the Seattle Seahawks is in the hands of an old bald guy named Matt Hasselbeck. If he stays healthy, they will continue to be a large fish in the polluted cloudy pond that is the NFC West. If he is banged up and comes and goes and tries to squeeze another year out of his old ass self, they will suck, even in the NFC West. Best thing might be for him to just get concussed out of the league and let Seneca Wallace have a chance to shine briefly in David Garrard fashion.
TEAM ELDER: Starting tackle Walter Jones was a first round draft pick for the Seahawks back in 1997, when we didn't have terrorism yet and Octomom's mom wasn't made a Supreme Court Justice yet.
THE RUDY: LB Lance Laury came in undrafted in 2006, happily clunked heads on special teams, and has carved out a low roster spot ever since.
FORMER TROJAN: DE Lawrence Jackson was one of like 30 dudes drafted out of USC last year.
VIRGINIA BOY: Whiteboy wunderspirit DE Patrick Kerney is a former UVA Cavaliers standout, but's been injured at the end of the last three seasons, so is probably close to on his last legs, one would assume.
WILD SAMOAN: WR Ben Obomanu sounds like he might be Samoan, and that's good enough for me, since I used Lofa Tatupu in a different spot on this write-up. Obomanu played for Auburn though, which makes me wonder if he isn't Kenyan or something instead. I could look it up, but I have dial-up internet welfare and it's really not worth the trouble. You look it up if it concerns you. Samoan Pride Scorecard: Hawaii - 1, Auburn - 1.
THE ICKY: DE Baraka Atkins, who sounds like he might be some sort of real estate magnate in the manner of Furious Styles from Boyz-N-Tha-Hood. Remember when he took Trey and Ricky to that abandoned lot and schooled them on the scientifics of ghettotizing the black community, and then Grady from Sanford & Son wobbled up? Man, that was great. They should've had him say, "Good googley goop," though.
INDUSTRIAL OVERLORD: It sounds possible that C Mansfield Wrotto is descended from... well, Seattle doesn't really have old school industrial overlord type history. They've had Boeing, and the computer shit, but all that's been far more recent than dudes with wax-tipped mustaches and monocles standing around watching a clown they hired drive one of those bicycles with the big front wheel drive at a black guy in a fishing boat who turns toward the camera and has big bright white bug eyes before he dives into the water. You know them old time black folks can't swim.
CRYSTAL METH BALL: Holmgren got out just in time. I think the wheels are gonna come off this bus and Hasselbeck will be gone next year. Last place in the NFC West, but I could just be prejudiced because I hate them. Don't even really know why, but I do.

#27: KANSAS CITY CHIEFS
PERTINENT DATA: 2-14 last season, 60 to 1 odds to win the Super Bowl.
PERSONAL PERSONIFICATION: I have always associated the Chiefs in my brain with when big goofy Neil Smith was clogging up the defensive line and Derrick Thomas was stalking around, fucking up backfields with a vengeance. That, combined with that one period where their big rusher was Christian Okoye just kinda going helmet first through as many motherfuckers as he could, it makes me think of them as a hard ass team. This is also why Joe Montana didn't make sense there for me, and why Herm Edwards made perfect sense. Herm is old school. That's one former NFL head coach that I bet knows how to make some damned potato salad from scratch.
FRESH INJECTION: I'm not entirely sure the Chiefs getting what they got from the Patriots wasn't some sort of croneyism/collusion by the two sides, but - and forgive me for sounding like a normal football dork meme here - Mike Vrabel, regardless of how much he plays, will instill some fighting spirit into the 29 draft picks from the past two years on the team. It kinda sucks they also got Zach Thomas, because he's like the polar opposite NFL whiteboy LB. Vrabel is half-anonymous and a headcracker, and Thomas is well-known and not nearly as good as his hype for the past half a decade.
DRUNKEN SOUL: They ran Herm off, and Matt Cassell came in, but you know, Tyler Thigpen came from nowhere last year (well, actually Coastal Carolina University) to keep his head up at least under center, and give them some hope, and even caught a TD pass on some wackadaisical flea flickerings. Obviously, he's not the answer to anything, but if you have a clipboard holder who will do whatever the fuck you ask of him, that helps the Kool-Aid get drunk.
TEAM ASS: RB Larry Johnson is kind of a shithead. You know, often times, thuggish ruggish skill position superstars get by because they say wacky things or dress outlandish or something or other. But then every once in a while you get a guy like Johnson or Lawrence Phillips - straight up shithead dudes who beat on women and have names like any ol' white guy insurance salesman ever.
TRENDSETTER: Scott Pioli, you're the man now, dog. While I'm sick to fucking death of the whole BILL BELICHICK FOOTBALL INTELLIGENCE TREE thing, I would expect Pioli to not do too bad. They already had a ton of young talent, and he's done well. I'm actually surprised nobody yet has said, "How will Belichick do without his GM accomplice in success?" I was bummed Herm got let go, because that's a fun dude, but new coach Todd Haley has a healthy spark of retard passion as well.
TEAM ELDER: Hahaha, their longest serving player, starting guard Brian Waters, who they signed as a free agent in 2000, doesn't even want to be on their team anymore. That's probably not the best situation for locker room leadership.
THE RUDY: Their team Rudy is an actual Rudy - starting center Rudy Niswanger, who came into camp in 2006 as an undrafted rookie from LSU.
FORMER TROJAN: Well, even though he never actually started a game for them, QB Matt Cassell held a clipboard for USC. I bet he was actually doing one of those samurai sudokus though.
VIRGINIA BOY: Last year, the Chiefs spent their first two draft picks on dudes with the same name from Virginia - T Branden Albert from UVA in the first round, and CB Brandon Flowers from Virginia Tech in the second round. Both had impact, but I'd give the edge to Albert since he plays left tackle - THE MOST UNDERRATED AND IMPORTANT POSITION KNOWN TO FOOTBALL MAN! Seriously though, you can find competent cornerbacks at any warm weather school every other draft, but solid left tackles don't come so easy.
WILD SAMOAN: DE (of course) Tamba Hali, who will probably move to off-the-bench with the switch to a 3-4 defense and them drafting another defensive end with their first round pick the past two years. He played at Penn State, which means Samoan Pride Scorecard: Auburn - 1, Hawaii - 1, Penn State - 1.
THE ICKY: RB Dantrell Savage sounds like a wrestler's name from 1983 who would be managed by Sir Oliver Humperdink and be tag team partners with an evil Jap guy who carried around ninja weaponry.
INDUSTRIAL OVERLORD: DE Wallace Gilberry's family helped buy up smaller farms to turn red winter wheat into a prominent ingredient in mass-produced breads, and fix the market price using the Kansas City Board of Trade. The Gilberrys and Hallmark family, also of Kansas City, often make $1 bets about switching up-and-coming stockbrokers with common ghetto black guys, to prove to each other it is environment, not genetics, that breeds success.
CRYSTAL METH BALL: This is a young ass team stocked with a lot of potential. Regime change combined with them being in the AFC West - one of the shittiest NFL divisions in years this year - should fire them up to finish 2nd in their division, which will still be a couple games below .500.

#28: CLEVELAND BROWNS
PERTINENT DATA: 4-12 last season, 70 to 1 odds to win the Super Bowl.
PERSONAL PERSONIFICATION: John Elway putting daggers in their heart, and Ernest Byner helping with timely fumbles, has pretty much summed them up for me ever since they briefly absolved into Baltimore and sealed that memory. Ever since they came back, nothing's changed my memory bank yet.
FRESH INJECTION: He may only be a free agent trying to nail down a starting spot on the offensive line, but Pork Chop Womack would be a positive influence on any team, if for no other reason than he's 330 pounds and goes by the moniker "Pork Chop". Large black people from Mississippi named after pig products tend to be good folk.
DRUNKEN SOUL: Speaking of giant black dudes from the south, there are few dudes who look sharper in Cleveland Brown orange than 350 pound Shaun Rogers. That guy is awesome, and like any good defensive tackle, he'll clog some shit up and be a constant, heavy-breathing, overweight, annoying presence for opposing offenses.
TEAM ASS: With The Soldier gone, I guess WR Braylon Edwards will get a chance to drop twice as many passes.
TRENDSETTER: More than Brady Quinn, the future success of Cleveland will fall on Eric Mangini's head. Mangini didn't really do that bad with the Jets, but then again, you've gotta question a dude who got Brett Favre in and then named his own son after the guy. That's some pathetic ass bullshit right there. It also seems questionable the Browns would hire a Belichick coaching offspring in Mangini after things went so boringly unimpressive with previous Belichick coaching offspring Romeo Crennel.
TEAM ELDER: Phil Dawson has been the Browns only kicker since they reformed in 1999.
THE RUDY: Kick returner/WR/punt returner/RB/wildcat QB/nickel back/whatever else Joshua Cribbs is the perfect example of an NFL Rudy - came to camp in 2005, undrafted out of nearby Kent State, made the team, and after a few years, last year earned a reputation as a dangerous return man and do-whatever-you-ask straight-up bro. Homegrown heroes like that keep the drunks happy, especially in depressingly shitty places like Cleveland.
FORMER TROJAN: Rookie LB Kaluka Maiava is straight out the USC, and related to professional wrestlers, but honestly aren't all Samoans related to professional wrestlers?
VIRGINIA BOY: Virginia Tech pushes special teams as important in its "Beamerball" style, and it paid off for S Nick Sorensen, who hasn't exactly lit up the league with his defensive backery, but does well enough and complements that with tenacious special teams play to keep clocking his grip.
WILD SAMOAN: Well, they drafted David Veikune out of Hawaii to play LB, but I'm gonna go with Melila Purcell, a DE also from Hawaii, because he's been around the team a couple years (drafted in 2007) but hasn't really held on too well yet. Supposedly, with a new coach, this is gonna be his year. Samoan Pride Scorecard: Hawaii - 2, Auburn - 1, Penn State - 1.
THE ICKY: Even though it's the most popular name on earth, WR Mohammad Massaquoi is a great name, and it's not like I know a bunch of Mohammads. Nice repeating initial, and he sounds like he could be like a militant Muslim Iroquois, looking to secede from Quebec by accumulating a bunch of automatic weapons.
INDUSTRIAL OVERLORD: LB Kamerion Wimbley’s family used the introduction of the railroad sytem to capitalize on Cleveland’s excellent location on the Great Lakes waterways to establish a large shipping and freight corporation fueled by the area’s immense manufacturing center. That is, of course, back when people made shit in America other than fat ass bellies.
CRYSTAL METH BALL: They’ll be about like last year, and probably last in the AFC North.

#29: OAKLAND RAIDERS
PERTINENT DATA: 5-11 last season, 100 to 1 odds to win the Super Bowl.
PERSONAL PERSONIFICATION: Them somehow managing to make it to a Super Bowl during Al Davis’ descent into madness, and starting center Barrett Robbins disappearing into a Tijuana substance abuse haze before the big game, that pretty much sums up their highest point of this phase of Davis’ dementia.
FRESH INJECTION: Here he is again, Jeff Garcia, lurking in the background, trying to catch some spotlight behind an underperforming starting QB. What is it about Jeff Garcia that makes people not want to let him actually be their starting quarterback without having to eventually get around to it begrudgingly after injuries took away every other excuse?
DRUNKEN SOUL: CB Nnamdi Asomugha is probably overpaid (imagine that happening in Oakland) but he’s pretty fucking solid. Plus, even though his name doesn’t sound it, he’s a local boy, from Cal.
TEAM ASS: Guard Robert Gallery is probably a team goat for fans, but it’s hard to not figure WR Javon Walker as the biggest shithead on this team. He took a substantial drop in salary to try and stay on the roster, which most likely is his last chance at NFL wealth so he can spray people with champagne and then get robbed in Las Vegas alleyways. Or maybe he can have his good friend die in his arms outside a sketchy night club like in Denver?
TRENDSETTER: Usually, when trending a sports franchise, the old saying, “this team lives and dies with...” whatever or other you are trying to get over as the most important factor. But honestly, the Raiders will live or die with Al Davis living or dying. Brains don’t regenerate brain cells, so until the old dude kicks it, they’re kinda screwed. I always imagine Davis being the kind of owner you’d see feuding with Rodney Dangerfield in an ‘80s movie, who bosses the coach around and calls the sideline to demand a long pass play, and talks to players behind the coaches’ backs, and even like taste tests hot dogs before the game and sets the thermostats in luxury boxes with a piece of tape that says “Don’t set below 72, that’s more than cool enough!”
TEAM ELDER: Punter Shane Lechler and kicker Sebastian Janikowski were both draft picks in 2000. Really, we should’ve known Al Davis was retarded back then. No one drafts punters ever, but he did in the sixth round. And I don’t think anyone in history has ever drafted a kicker with a first round pick like he did with Janikowski. Amazing.
THE RUDY: DE Tommy Kelly came to the Raiders as an undrafted rookie in 2004, worked his way into the starting line-up, fleeced an old man with the early signs of Alzheimer’s out of a ridiculously lucrative football contract, and then tore his ACL and sat out most all of last year. The stupid movie Rudy could only wish his life went so well.
FORMER TROJAN: RB Justin Fargas, always headed head first towards a concussion.
VIRGINIA BOY: LB Isaiah Ekejiuba is a UVA product, and just got paid motherfucker, simply because of his special teams play.
WILD SAMOAN: Starting offensive lineman Samson Satele is a young brutarian. He’s also another Rainbow Warrior from Hawaii, making the Samoan Pride Scoreboard: Hawaii - 3, Auburn - 1, Penn State - 1.
THE ICKY: There’s nothing hilarious or wacky linguistically about the name Johnnie Lee Higgins, but it sounds great and conjures up images of juke joints and people getting stabbed with rebar behind cinderblock buildings because one dude danced too close to another dude’s big assed ol’ lady. Thinking about things like that makes me happy. Stupid fucking Wal-Mart, ruining everything good.
INDUSTRIAL OVERLORD: CB Stanford Routt’s forefathers controlled the labor at the Oakland Long Wharf, eventually owning a sizeable chunk of the Transcontinental Railroad, ended up buying parts of town on the cheap during the late 20th century, which it has parlayed into a nice profit selling back to white folks “gentrifying” Oakland, which means you take a ghetto place, squeeze the ghetto out but act like it’s still all ghetto-ey and multicultural so you can live vicariously through yourself until after about 10 years, everyone realizes there’s nothing but wine shops and organic delis and shit like that.
CRYSTAL METH BALL: They will really really suck again this year, but should be able to squeeze 3rd place out of the really really sucky AFC West.

#30: CINCINNATI BENGALS
PERTINENT DATA: 4-11-1 last year, 100 to 1 odds to win the Super Bowl.
PERSONAL PERSONIFICATION: The highlight of Bengals history in my dilapidated brain will probably always be the Icky Shuffle, which christened their new Bengal striped jerseys as something to enjoy, unlike those ugly ass plain pre-striped jerseys. Of course, Cincinnati's done everything they could to make the Bengal stripes a heritage of shit as well, but still, the Icky Shuffle man. Chad Ochocinco's got nothing on Mr. Woods.
FRESH INJECTION: Oh man, so Roy Williams' depleted soul apt to get burned so often the past two years got run out of Dallas finally and lands in Cincinnati as a "key free agent acquisition". No wonder this team is so shitty.
DRUNKEN SOUL: When you watch the Bengals, inevitably their defense is on the field. The one thing that stands out is the crazy 325 pound monster with the crazy long hair coming out his helmet all Troy Polamalu style, but twice as large. That is Domata Peko.
TEAM ASS: I know it's contrarian and funny to be all like, "Chad Ochocinco's the best," but really, I am not bringing the 8-5 dislike from a he-tarnishes-the-game's-noble-image angle. I just think he's a twinkly-eyed black dude who overcompensates for being secretly gay by trying to do goofy things in the football game to get attention from people. It helps him postpone his inevitable coming out of the closet. You see, much like T.O., 8-5 is probably not very much liked in most locker rooms, except for from people he buys replica wrestling championship belts for because they play dominoes together. So, also like T.O., he shows his ass to bring the further silent ire from his teammates. This meshes well with his deeply hidden homosexual desires, not really towards teammates because the gays aren't monsters or anything, but in regular life. But he has to suppress it in his current work environment. So if he can sabotage that, and cause silent scorn towards himself, it helps him justify that all those other dudes are ignorant assholes, which is also why he can't be allowed to be open gay. Hopefully, after another couple years of underperforming on his incredible self-hype, 8-5 can leave the NFL behind and find true happiness in a mutually satisfying homosexual relationship somewhere. I hope he has invested his money well. They could probably adopt a Russian kid together.
TRENDSETTER: This team pretty much sits in Carson Palmer's hands. If he can keep upright, they could be middling, nowhere near the firepower on offense they had when they made the playoffs a couple years back. If he is bludgeoned into early submission again this year, which is probably likely, they will continue to bludgeon up the game of football on Sunday afternoons.
TEAM ELDER: Long snapper, deep reserve tight end Brad St. Louis has been with the Bengals since getting drafted in the 7th round in 2000. They've only lost 85 games in that time.
THE RUDY: Back-up RB James Johnson signed on last year as an undrafted rookie, made the practice squad, and actually got upgraded and played in the final four games of the season.
FORMER TROJAN: Well, besides Carson Palmer, there is heralded rookie linebacker Rey Maualuga, who is supposed to be a super destroyer, but fell to the second round of the NFL draft for some reason.
VIRGINIA BOY: I root for my home state without prejudice in the college football, but my allegiance to either UVA or Virginia Tech wavers, depending on how fucking annoying Charlottesville people are to me. Today, I didn't leave the house because it was too fucking hot outside, so I shun former Virginia Tech kicker Shayne Graham in favor of perennial back-up linebacker/defensive end Darryl Blackstock, who has a thriving NFL career as someone who can fit well with the 3/4 defense that has become the new vogue-ish rogue-ish bone.
WILD SAMOAN: You would think after having used Pekato and Maualuga already, it'd be hard to find bonafide Samoan Warriors on this roster. Not true holmes, as Cincy's got the mad influx of former Boo-Yaa Tribe members. I will honor rookie fullback Fui Vakapuna, because that's a solid position that pays well if you're good at it, doesn't get a lot of attention, but if you can block through motherfuckers, power run in short yard situations, and maybe catch a dump-off pass or two, you can bank a fat stake out of the NFL. He played at Brigham Young too, making the Samoan Pride Scorecard now read: Hawaii - 3, Auburn - 1, Brigham Young - 1, Penn State - 1.
THE ICKY: Defensive end Frostee Rucker sounds like the type of guy that knows where to get a good barbecue sandwich, although I'm not sure on the local barbecue customs of south Ohio, which can sometimes lead to lengthy arguments between know-it-all white fuckers inside the internet about stupid shit they probably don't even really know about anyways. But I guess that's really the point of the internet anyways, isn't it?
INDUSTRIAL OVERLORD: Back-up QB J.T. O'Sullivan's family may have helped shape this Queen of the West city along the Ohio River all the way back when it was still known as Losantiville.
CRYSTAL METH BALL: I foresee a year better than last year, but still not so great (sub-.500), and a solid 3rd place finish in the AFC North, behind

#31: ST. LOUIS RAMS
PERTINENT DATA: 2-14 last year, 150 to 1 odds to win the Super Bowl.
PERSONAL PERSONIFICATION: I always thought the simple yellow and blue was a pretty pimp color combo, especially with the curly ram horn helmets. But right after they won the Super Bowl, they switched it up to those ugly ass gold and darker blue deals, all caught up in their own GREATEST SHOW ON TURF hype, which of course got derailed by Tom Brady's rising star and Kurt Warner's crucified son of god. That gold shit really is ugly as fuck, but unfortunately NFL uniforms are moving further and further towards soccerfag style trash with cybertronic doodads instead of nice simple primary colors.
FRESH INJECTION: Center Jason Brown is supposed to be a younger, awesome stalwart of the offensive line to help replace Orlando Pace's leadership in the trenches. But I have to say if you're biggest addition to a 2-14 team is a new center, well, there's not much to say.
DRUNKEN SOUL: It seems too easy to say Leonard Little as a joke. Steven Jackson is one of the best players mired in shit right now. Really, him and Calvin Johnson should start a support network with each other. The little bit of the Rams I saw last season before Jackson was banged up, it was almost sad to see him outperform and eventually get gang-raped by the entire defense, which kept him all sorts of fucked up. Perhaps Kurt Warner wasn't lying and there is some sort of God and he will smile benevolently upon Steven Jackson's health this year, and dude can see some jerseys at NFL Shop.
TEAM ASS: Again, it is too easy to pick Little, being he killed a lady while drunk driving. I got stuck behind a drunk driver in a truck last night with my three kids in my truck and it pissed me off, mostly because the dude pulled out a side road in front of me to where I had to slow down and shit. Then I noticed him swerving pretty badly, but the road he came out of was a road this dude who used to date my aunt and is the father of two of my cousins lives at the end of, so I was worried it might be his brother who lives a couple roads over. Well, the swerving truck didn't turn the way to that dude's house, in fact, leading me on my way home, so I figured now that we were on a back road, I'd get right on his ass real close to scare him and maybe he'll wreck, fucking drunk ass bitch. It was funny, every now and then he'd speed up ridiculously fast, getting a good quarter mile ahead of me, then he'd catch the paranoias or be cleaning up a beer he spilled or something, and I'd be right back on his ass. I have a lot of pent-up aggression lately, so I told myself if he turns onto my road, I'm gonna follow him home and fight him, just because that's how my mind works. Drunk driver, my kids in truck, unnecessary anger, let me fight. But he went straight when I turned left, and surprisingly he didn't wreck when he was flying like 65 mph through the curves heading down to the creek on Antioch Road. So yeah, I'm not gonna pick Leonard Little and instead will say rookie LB James Laurinaitis, because he is the son of a Road Warrior, but just looks like a douchey white dude.
TRENDSETTER: Steve Spagnuolo is a funny-looking alleged defensive mastermind, which means he's basically the 2009 version of Buddy Ryan. I don't see Spags doing anything awesome like punching other coaches on the sidelines or starting headhunting bonuses for rival team's star players, so I guess the Rams success will depend on how well Spagnuolo can instill a fortitude into a team that has looked like it just doesn't give a fuck half the time the past couple years.
TEAM ELDER: Leonard Little, defensive end, 3rd round draft pick in 1998.
THE RUDY: Back-up LB Quinton Culberson came in undrafted in 2007 out of Mississippi State, made the team through special teams play, and got a few shots to become a starter last year and make that last big Rudy-like jump, but there's a reason some of these guys are Rudys.
FORMER TROJAN: The Rams have no former Trojans on their roster, which is probably another reason they suck. Their back-up TE Daniel Fells played at Cal-Davis though, which has a prominent small college football history.
VIRGINIA BOY: Defensive end Chris Long was a monster in college and will eventually be the same in the NFL. He's the most dominating player I've ever seen play at UVA, actually winning games for the team as a DE. Every now and then I see his pops picking through the fruit at Harris Teeter on Emmett Street too.
WILD SAMOAN: Damn, they don't have no damned Samoans either. In lieu of actual Polynesian pride, let's go with safety Oshiomogho Atogwe, who sounds like he is probably from some other sort of country where we dump our lead-laden electronics trash at. No offense to foreign people with names that are outside my frame of reference, but that's the reality - America dumps shit in places where people have funny names to us. We suck. You should all join together and murder us, before we regroup from this most recent financial calamity and force our way upon you all again.
THE ICKY: Guard Richie Incognito has one of the greatest names in today's NFL. Sounds like he could be a shitty independent rapper or a character on The Sopranos, most likely as part of Ralphie's crew.
INDUSTRIAL OVERLORD: Back-up QB Brock Berlin's ancestors capitalized on a thriving river trade back when England took everything east of the Mississippi as laid out in the Treaty of Paris in 1769, so all the Frenchies jumped across the river, only to have the French sell the area to Thomas Jefferson in 1803 as part of the Louisiana Purchase.
CRYSTAL METH BALL: They will still not be very good, but I think an offense re-energized by a new coaching regime, and a defense that has shown flickers of fuck-you-uptitude, will allow them to at least move up to 3rd in the mucky NFC West.

#32: DETROIT LIONS
PERTINENT DATA: Infamously 0-16 last year, 200 to 1 odds to win the Super Bowl.
PERSONAL PERSONIFICATION: They will always be the franchise equivalent to former coach Wayne Fontes - loveable, a funny assed dude, but even at their stars-aligned very best, they're barely better than average. I will always love the Lions though, I guess because I root for underdogs and that's basically been them my entire life.
FRESH INJECTION: Pro Bowl LB Julian Peterson returns to Michigan (he played college ball at Michigan State) to give a shitty defense a shot in the ass. Actually, they have a halfway decent corps of veteran linebackers all of a sudden, until one of them goes missing on a fishing boat or overdoses or tears his arm off in training camp.
DRUNKEN SOUL: Poor Calvin Johnson, probably the best WR in the league, mired in nothingness. I don't do much with the fantasy football, because it's a time suck, but last year the Yahoo league I was in, they had their ratings all wonky. Like Calvin Johnson was like 130th or some shit like that. So basically I just moved a bunch of dudes like that up to the mid-30s in rank, so that my early picks would be the normal bullshit, but I ended up getting a good slew of dudes who were undervalued. Actually, mostly I had a shitty team, but Calvin Johnson was really good, and he always will be. I feel bad because I'm old school in that I'd like for a guy to stay with a team and they improve eventually. But will the Lions actually ever get better? I'd hate to see a dude like Calvin Johnson spend his whole career doing nothing of note outside of individual accolades. Although it would be pretty funny if he did, and then the Lions would have the history of Barry Sanders and Calvin Johnson, two of the all-time greats at their respective positions, who couldn't overcome the shit ass stank of the Ford family that owns them. (Insert Calvin pissing on Ford logo sticker here. Or one of a dude in a Calvin Halloween costume pissing on Jeff Gordon's wife.)
TEAM ASS: Defensive back Anthony Henry was part of Dallas' offseason scapegoating process. And with Phillip Buchanon new to Detroit too, lining up on the other side of the field at CB, it ushers in the Lions' new defensive backfield mantra of We Were Great Five Years Ago.
TRENDSETTER: Matthew Stafford will not be this year's Matt Ryan, but it's also not really up to him. After a lengthy, unexplainable tenure turning this team to complete shit like Matt Millen had, the future of this franchise is most definitely in new GM Martin Mayhew's hands. Shit, they went 0-16. He can't even think playoffs; he's got to think 8-8 consistency in five years time, and then think of moving beyond that. It's like taking over an expansion team.
TEAM ELDER: Kicker Jason Hanson has been with the Lions since getting drafted in 1992. By this point, I'm sure he's numb to everything and takes it out on the football with his foot, which has enabled him to remain successful at his frou-frou position.
THE RUDY: An undrafted free agent from Carroll College in 2003, Casey Fitzsimmons cracked the roster and now is an NFL whiteboy who takes on that straight-up throwback blue collar role of tight end slash fullback.
FORMER TROJAN: Platoon wide receiver Keary Colbert played at USC a while back. Lolol at Mike Williams, one of 17 first round wide receivers Matt Millen attempted to save this team with.
VIRGINIA BOY: No actual collegiate players from Virginia, so I go even further back to high school, when WR Ronald Curry was the Virginia state high school player of the year (he was a quarterback back then) and shunned the state schools to go play for North Carolina, because they'd let him play football and basketball.
WILD SAMOAN: The Lions have a handful of proud Polynesian men on their offensive and defensive lines, but none are more noticeable than starting center Dominic Raiola. He played at Nebraska, who also seem to have a healthy Samoan contingent in their recent history. Samoan Pride Scorecard: Hawaii - 3, Auburn - 1, Brigham Young - 1, Nebraska - 1, Penn State - 1, Stanford - 1 (that's where the Atogwe kid played at).
THE ICKY: Well, he's only a back-up kicker invited to training camp to give Jason Hanson someone to play backgammon with, but Swayze Waters is a great fucking name. Plus, when he gets cut, he can pack his bags, head to the door, snap his fingers and say, "I'm Swayze" and walk out the building with pride knowing he wasn't even good enough to play with the remnants of the shittiest team in NFL history.
INDUSTRIAL OVERLORD: Daunte Culpepper sounds as if he may have broken up unions to keep labor costs down as his start-up car company in the '30s took valuable market share from the Ford family since Henry Ford refused to offer any sort of extras to the car-crazy public back then. You could get it in black, or black. Really, the more you read about Henry Ford, the more of a trifling, stubborn asshole he comes across as, which makes it far less shocking that the Ford family kept Matt Millen around for so long.
CRYSTAL METH BALL: They won't repeat with a goose egg in the win column, probably winning a few games this year, but they'll still be last place in the NFC North, and mostly irrelevant unless you're some sort of closeted nerd who does 39 mock drafts between Thanksgiving and next April.

Friday, August 7

100 VINYLZ: #68 - Rowdy LP by Hank Williams Jr.


(1981, Curb Records)
Another of my folks' albums that I've got now. The cover of this LP has Bocephus kicking it with a pair of trashy yet what up womenfolks in the booth of some place that allows him to have a bottle of Jim Beam and a personal jukebox. On the back side, someone's spilt a beer and everyone's laughing instead of canoodling, but I remember being a young buck and looking at all that and thinking, “I’m not sure what’s going on here but it looks cool as fuck,” like you think back before you know what’s going on completely but you’ve looked at some magazines hidden under the bed and you get that uncontrollable tingle to your brain and body.

August O.C.D. #4: Atlas Fantasies

I have been half-assedly working on sketching together a non-fiction book proposal about riding Greyhounds, which I've done far too many times in my life. The sample part of the proposal was fairly easy, though I could probably tighten it up, or maybe rewrite it from a different segment of bus travel in Oklahoma City that's just as notable and interesting to read. It's all that proposing part that I stumble with.
So what I've invariably been doing is pulling out the atlas, and plotting all sorts of strange paths. Sometimes off-the-beaten paths through the south, sometimes following long former U.S. highways that have been replaced by sterile interstates and clogged up with suburban sprawl and stoplight cluster crawl. Other times I draw out giant shapes across the country with itineraries that take about 5 hours of ride time a day (ideally, which is rarely how a bus rolls), and imagine all the bullshit I'll experience. Plus plotting out shapes makes me think of that kid in Iowa that was trying to blow up mailboxes and leave a smiley face pattern as if Detective Freamon and McNulty were gonna use thumb tacks to chart the crime scenes on a bulletin board.
But I've been spending a lot of time looking at atlases. I briefly entertained the notion of making "collages" over state road maps, using an exacto and my shoebox full of clipped pictures from magazines to cut out perfect shapes of little triangles or squares of tiny sections of states separated out by roads, but looking it over, it seemed like the final product wasn't gonna be how I wanted it to be. I need to get one of those in-depth state road atlases for a couple states and do a few pages together to make giant retard things using that motif. My early choices to do such a thing would be Vermont, Alabama, and North Carolina. Probably Carolina because the likelihood of me going down there and being able to actually buy a state road atlas are probably better than most. Then again if I go to North Carolina, I'd probably just try to find Vollis Simpson's compound of homemade whirligigs, go to a strange town's dirt track, get drunk, and try to figure out where one of my handful of old school homies who live down there actually live and if I could make it there without getting busted for DUI, or if I should just find a logging trail and sleep in the passenger seat of my truck.

100 VINYLZ: #69 - For the Record: The First 10 Years 2xLP by David Allan Coe


(1984, Columbia Records)
This really was my first taste of David Allan Coe, as my dad used to play the fuck out of this after the folks got it one time ripping off Columbia House for a new set of LPs. I mean, I remember when "The Ride" was big on country radio, and that was a weird ass song compared to other shit of the time (like Oak Ridge Boys or George Strait or whatever the fuck was big then, but it wasn't strange ass shit about riding in a Cadillac with the ghost of Hank Williams). Honestly, as a double record, it's a great collection, but you could get by with side A and then have like the five best other songs on side B. I'm not complaining or anything, because extra is good in this case, but the side A barrage is one of the best sides of an album ever. "You Never Even Called Me By My Name" me and my buddy Boomer saw get played on the jukebox at a weird small town bar in Lincolnton, North Carolina, and drunk dudes were on the bar singing out loud, Mexicans in soccer jerseys were smiling it up, and the girl working the bar kept giving me free beers while her coked up boyfriend went in and out of the bathroom relentlessly. Me and Boomer ended up jumping the fence and going swimming at our hotel next door and watching crackhead chess go on where one dude was peeking around the corner of the building like The Three Stooges to watch someone be gone from their room while his partner probably stole their stash, and you could see the two people who walked off arguing over some other sort of sketchy deal, and me and Boomer were silently tripping out on all of it, and when the two who had left turned back to go, the guy peeking around the corner wasn't paying attention so I yelled out, "THEY'RE COMING BACK!" which probably worked to his benefit because they looked at us in the pool and he could scurry back with his little cockroach redneck shuffle and get thangs straight. And that's just one memory from the first fucking song. How 'bout when I got a DUI in Richmond and had outstanding warrants and was in jail the night before the Cowboys/Steelers Super Bowl, and really the only person who could bail me out was my roommate who I had gotten in a fight with on the way out the door. But he came and bailed me out, not after splitting a bunch of Schlitzes with the bail bondsman he rounded up on a Sunday morning, and the bail bondsman gave me his card, saying, "I hear you guys got half a keg left so you might need this again tonight," and laughing. And we walked out and my roommate sang, "I was drunk the day I bailed Raven out of jail... and I went to pick him up in the rain..." but we didn't get hit by a train luckily. Beautiful delinquent fucked up memories.
Honestly, if I had a time machine, I'd just go back in time to 1973 to hire David Allan Coe and the Grateful Dead to play a concert for my birthday party. But also to be even more honestly, I tend to break things, so if I had a time machine, I'd go back and wreck it in the process, so I'd be stuck in 1973, talking my crazy futuristic jive talk, and I wouldn't ever meet David Allan Coe or the Grateful Dead (how would I abduct them anyways? I hadn't thought about that yet) and I'd just be stuck in some place somewhere, getting a shitty job that would be extra shitty because I'd get paid like $9 a day, and I'd fall in love with some slut. But then would I be cheating on my wife? I mean, I couldn't go back to the right time it would seem, but it's not our death parting our bond either. Man, that's why we'll never get time travel right. Too fucking complicated. Fucking Tesla.
Speaking of which, last Christmas I wrapped like 12 strands of Christmas lights around the tree in the front yard, like right around the trunk and the branches as they split off, because that was funny to me. I left it like that and plug it in from time to time, with my thinking it's a Tesla coil of lounge, meant to keep my compound chill when we have company. You know how people are.
(NOTE: The picture I used in this post is actually of the CD and not the album because it was the best I could find since the internet is run by wack robots who want to dilute true lounge with their cybertronic clutter.)

Friday Love/Hate

I love the unclogging process. I have been denying myself words because I haven't been working much, and I have this fucked up thing where if I'm not providing for my family, I feel I should deny myself pleasures. But writing the words that constantly clog up my brain isn't really pleasure so much as necessity. Those things get backed up to the point I get all self-destructive and reckless, except I sort of quit drinking for the most part, which usually unlocks my recklessness, so instead of self-destructive I just get all depressed and half-suicidal-by-chance reckless, meaning I'm less worried about falling off ladders 32 feet in the air or stupid thangs like that. Plus, in all that backlog, I lose so much - stories, articles, instant haiku, tons of rhymes - it just clogs up as a dam in my mind and I tell myself, "Remember to jot this down" in one of the 37 composition books I have stashed everywhere in my daily routine, but I don't take the time because I know if I start, I might not stop for a while. But letting it loose makes me a happier human being. Not so much so people can see it, because honestly that's not important to me, but it helps. Sometimes I wish I could just be locked up somewhere, writing, or etching my word devilry out onto old pieces of cardboard, or something. But I realize we don't really have mental institutions for lightweight screwballs like myself anymore in this country, and for real jail is too real for a lost in thought idealist whiteboy like myself. Plus, I got a family. My house has cluttered energy though, and I'm not sure why because it's not that cluttered. It used to be haunted, but we moved the ghost along, but I think there's some psychic cobwebs still hung up around the place. So I kick it in the camper the gypsy lady left here five years ago, and hope the skunks that live somewhere on our property aren't out as I walk back across the yard through the just past full moon light and spray my retarded ass with skunk evil.

I hate having air conditioners put in my house finally, even though we made it till the beginning of August at least. It changes the feel of a house, like a fucking space pod separate from your outside world. The freon also weakens the bones, and used in accordance with fluoridated toothpaste and HAARP beams from the angels humming nationwide through cell phone towers, leaves you susceptible to watching too much TV or goofing off on Facebook for two hours when you should be re-writing that one stupid thing to submit to the Oxford American since you are what half of those fuckers want to be. Conditioned air? I have become far too soft.

Wednesday, August 5

NFL: Preview of Impending Previews

Football season is almost upon us again, the professional variety, and I will again endeavor to over-indulge in self-importance and share my long-winded, misery-steeped opinions on the grand ol' game of the egg. Besides, I haven't been doing much else lately. I've dug long and hard through my Lindy's Pro Football magazine, making note of a bunch of stupid little fucking things that I will share with you in the coming weeks. Basically, even though I should probably be dedicating myself to making them dollars, I'm gonna shoot for the weekly update every Wednesday night, so you fools can amuse yourself at work or whatever and get geeked up for fucking football like any good American suck ass should.
I have some half-retarded, half-mathematical way I rank the teams, basically starting with their Vegas odds to win the Super Bowl, and from there, goes up or down according to whether they win or lose, and to who, and whether on the road or at home. What I'm saying is it's straight nerdery, so I wash my hands of it if there's minor ordering problems, like whoever should be #2 is #4 or whatever. Fuck all that noise. But I'm also not nerded out enough to explain it in detail, especially since it's pretty minor league when it comes to internet math nerd formulas. I didn't even have to bust out algebra or scientific calculators or nothing like that. Straight up marks on notebook paper or die is what I say.
Anyways, during preseason, I'm gonna do team previews, starting with the shit and move towards the cream, so to speak, and run you through a bunch of useless bullshit that will probably make you laugh and entertain you but really has absolutely zero value whatsoever in the grand scheme of things. So I figured in this pre-preseason week, I'd bust out an explanation of the impending team profiles, like I did last year. And basically it's the same, but different. So I'll run you through the data as it'll be datalyzed...
PERTINENT DATA: Very simple, I drop last year’s record all parenthesizered, where they finished in their division, any playofff bullshit if applicable, and the Vegas odds for them to win the Super Bowl this season.
PERSONAL PERSONIFICATION OF THE TEAM: Just what be in my head as exemplifying what the fuck the individual franchise means to me in my brain, which isn’t always a well-trimmed backyard, if you get my drift.
FRESH INJECTION: This will be a new face that will alter the course of this team’s history, I guess. I mean I know it’ll be a new dude, but the altering team history is the “I guess” because really for a lot of teams, shit don’t change.
DRUNKEN SOUL: Dude, it’s the soul of the team, the dude that makes their blood flow with a passion to score more points than the other teams in a strange game with an oblong ball made of leather that you have very arbitrary rules of how you can move it forwards and backwards and if you break them old guys throw yellow kerchiefs at you that are weighted down with beanbags.
TEAM ASS: Look, I’ll be honest as fuck... I’m a hardcore Redskins fan, so when I pick the team ass of a lot of teams, it’ll probably be because of stupid personal vendettas that make no sense. Which is fine, because this is my shit. You might not even exist as far as I know.
TRENDSETTER: The future of this franchise will be steered by this individual, again, I guess. Who really knows with this shit? Basically, I know as much as them dumbasses on the talk radio squawkbox or on the TV sports barrages, but I’m here to tell you no one really knows shit. Last year, the Patriots were gonna win it all. First game, Tom Brady knee snap, they’re fucked. Next thing you know, Matt Cassell is Undercover Jesus and it’s all good and they look respectable but don’t make the playoffs. Now Brady is back and... wait, what the fuck is this, the NFL or WWF?
TEAM ELDER: This shall be the player on the roster who has been on that roster for the longest time. Not necessarily the oldest dude on the team, but the dude with the longest term of continous service at the team he is at. It’s amazing how short it is a lot of times, in this era of free agency.
THE RUDY: I will attempt to make this an undrafted college free agent who has stayed on the team he first tried out for, earning a spot, probably from special teams play, and perhaps parlaying that into an eventual starting role a few years down the line. Really, with basketball having such limited rosters and baseball being a clusterfuck of minor league dues paying, the pro football Rudy is the one place where a guy could be driving a UPS truck one month and then playing on Sunday Night Football in a prominent role the next. And to be honest, I’ve never seen that Rudy flick, mostly because I hate Notre Dame, and plus I hate white people that feel good about everything. If like Rudy made the team and celebrated with a sorority slut but then ended up giving genital warts to his childhood sweetheart who I bet was in the movie helping him have confidence and they had a baby that was jaundiced because of all this somehow, so Rudy had to quit the team to work in a paper mill to get health insurance (they used to do that back then at jobs), then I might’ve watched the flick, but probably not even then, mostly because Rudy sounds stupid.
FORMER TROJAN: Previous years, I’ve always done the former Hurricane from the U (of Miami, in Florida), but they’ve fallen on hard times and don’t get the NFL draft dominance like they used to. Pete Carroll’s USC Trojans do that now, in the ugliest ass uniforms ever, so I’m switching gears this year. Roll with it.
VIRGINIA BOY: I am very proud to be from Virginia. You know why? Because I was born here. Home pride is some funny shit because the thinking is, “Well, I was born here so it must be awesome, right?” So I’ll highlight the dude best repping my home state’s college football mediocrity in the NFL.
THE WILD SAMOAN: The Polynesian islands are the future of football because they’re not confined by our pathetic high school football rules where you can only play and practice a tiny part of the year. Samoans motherfuckers play year round, on fields pockmarked with lava rocks, and college football is their ticket off the island and out of the sugar cane factory. Plus them dudes are big as fuck, naturally, from all the pineapples and Spam in their diet. They are the new wave of football burliness, and I look forward to Lofa Tutupu committing a hostile takeover of some west coast team, declaring himself the GM, and making it an all-Samoan team that does that crazy war dance like the rugby team before kickoffs.
THE ICKY: Named after Icky Woods (who might’ve been Ickey for all I care), and given to the guy on a team with the wackiest name, by my very simple-minded standards.
THE INDUSTRIAL OVERLORD: A variation on the Icky, but about a dude whose name sounds like he would’ve kicked it with Rockefeller and Hearst drinking the blood of poor at ultra-secret Illuminati meetings, smoking rare hash through the skull of Crazy Horse.
CRYSTAL METH BALL: I will pretend I know what I’m talking about, and that you care, and predict what spot in their division they’ll finish and any postseason possibilities. All of this will be completely wrong by the end of the season, but it’ll give you something to read and me something to think about.

J.J. Krupert Top 13 Countdown - August '09

Here is the top 13 plus-minus most played not skipped tracks on my stupid little gaypod silver shuffle which I never take out my truck and hardly lock the doors but I tuck it into my gearshifter cover thing that's all baggy and can easily hide things like this. That's what I does.
#1: "Uncle Sam Goddamn" by The Brother Ali - I don't know, after that one CD and seeing him live, I was all like, "Man, this guy is gonna be the greatest thing ever." Then he did a tour with Rakim and Ghostface Killah, and it could only mean bigger and better things. But then he put out that crappy assed CD that I can't even remember the name of but it sounded like a smart dude knowing he was smart and being really uninspired by it all. At this point, I'd say Brother Ali is more hype than delivery, though the potential is still there. I still like this song a lot, and my 10-year-old kid is all about it, but honestly his last CD had nothing even close to this. And if you want to be the Truth, you've got to do more than rap intelligently while making 50 Cent style hooks but with religious references instead of champagne ones and expect me to give a fuck. What color is this dude anyways? He better not go to Tanzania though with his albino ass.
#2: "Contrabando y Traicion" by The Los Tigres Del Norte - I am all about some norteno music, probably because being a shitty housepainter by trade, I have spent time cramped up into dilapidated vans and trucks owned by other whiter people than myself with assorted Mexicans. I'm not sure why, but this is probably my favorite norteno song, although to be honest, most norteno I actually possess was when I stole a bunch of Los Tigres Del Norte from inside the internets.
#3: "C.R.E.A.M." by El Michel's Affair - I'm an ol' Wu-head, through and through. And persnickety too, to the point I’m all like, “Man, they started falling the fuck off with Wu-Tang Forever,” and “Bobby Digital sucks a dick.” But that’s how I roll... passionate and hateful. Anyways, there’s been a slew of things to tinkle the memory machine of ol’ Wu-heads lately, including the super-dupe Memory Man DITC/Wu mash-up mixtape (which isn’t a mixtape at all but a digital file you can steal from inside the internet’s womb), and some of this shit right here by El Michel’s Affair, an old school style funk/soul band, most likely full of whiteboys I’d guess, probably from Williamsburg, Brooklyn, Babylon, USA. But regardless of that, this is some good, laid back shit, some funk ass band recreating Wu Tang instrumentals. It’s so good in fact the one song they have where Raekwon actually raps with them is their worst song. Of course, Raekwon sounds bored as fuck half the time anyways. If Only Built 4 Cuban Linx 2 ever really comes out, it’ll be sponsored by Ambien (which is some fucked up shit that’ll make you see packs of dead people standing around your bed and shit).
#4: "Happy Hour" by Corntooth - Not only is Matt Conner my old roommate, he’s my favorite country singer of the past twenty years. That’s one tormented motherfucker half the time, to where I seen him want to kill a dude over a slice of bread and like pictures of ugly chicks scatting (not like Ella Fitzgerald either), and I’d like to hear more tormented workingman angry kill kill soothing country sounds. The band Corntooth is some Richmond music all-stars bullshit, which I guess half of them don’t kick it with the other half of them anymore, or some such bullshit like happens when big egos from small ponds hang out too much during their free time blocks.
#5: "Cold Rain and Snow (instrumental" by The Grateful Dead - My brother-in-law had given us an external hard drive chock full of music a while back, but I only hit it up every now and then, usually in searching mode just to see what’s on there, since there’s a lot of shit I’d deem of questionable sexuality. But I found some Dead thing that’s like alternate takes and instrumentals. This has come up on my gaypod a couple times and I hit repeat and freestyle wacky white workingman knocking off of work early to go sit by the river and wait for death to free me from this slavemaster world type freestyles.
#6: "I've Got Dreams To Remember (Bitch)" by Otis Redding - Otis Redding is my favorite mainstream non-pervert soul singer and this is my favorite Otis Redding song. Much like millions of redneck men before me, who grow old but still drink and end up at parties where you pitch a tent to pass out in but wake up Sunday morning to start drinking beer again around the smoky coals of the bonfire pit and you request a soul singer to come on and the person in charge of music plays them but then your favorite song comes on and you do weird scoot wobble dances across the slick with dew grass, I’m gonna eventually be a greybeard and kick it like that to this song.
#7: "Something Went Wrong Again" by Thee Headcoats - When I hit the lottery, I’m gonna waste part of my money by hiring Billy Gibbons and Billy Childish to sit around and make music with me while we get drunk as fuck in my basement. I’m not exactly sure where Billy Childish is from, I’m thinking maybe Scotland but I know those non-British subjects to the Queen get all weird about their personal ethnic heritage even though to me, as an American, fuck them, so I’ll just say that whatever Billy Childish is, he’s a national treasure, and they should build statues of him, except not concrete ones but give stacks of old bicycles and scrap metal to mental patients and let them make giant whirligigs that are inspired by Billy Childish. If it looks like him, all the better.
#8: "Trap Door" by Jake One featuring MF Doom - I played the hell out of the MF Doom from this year, but for some reason this track where he’s just a featured guest catches my earball regularly. I’m not even being consciously contrarian where I’m like, “Haha, y’all be listening to his regular shit but I’m rocking the obscure stylings!” I just like the song a lot. I don’t even know who Jake One is, but if he’s a dude who just hooks up beats, I bet he’s got a fragile ego and really overblows all the work he does as this masterful musical masterpiece because he took the nerdlab time to learn how to push buttons and manipulate really great music that someone else found for him, or he happened to catch when listening to the first ten seconds of every song on every album he bought at some dank record store in a city 45 minutes from his home.
#9: "Castles Made of Sand" by Jimi Hendrix - My daughters really got into The Beatles for a while so I put some Hendrix on my gaypod to school them on something far less annoying and old people-like than the stupid Beatles. In actuality, in high school, I first started to discover my contrarian personality when out of a group of four tight ass homeboys, three of them were all into Jimi Hendrix, to the point that was all they played. I was the fourth and I’d kick shit, with a serious look and attitude, like, “I don’t know man, Santana was probably better, he had that whole crazy rhythm thing going on.” Oh man, such bullshit. I hate me some Santana now, but the Santana that’s still alive suffered the same soul-sucking cybertronic surgery that Cheech Marin got. You know, that’s how Oscar Zeta Acosta died, when the CIA abducted him and tried to steal his soul, but he just concentrated real hard until his heart exploded instead. In case you don’t know, Oscar Zeta Acosta was Hunter S. Thompson’s lawyer, the character in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, and a big influence on that gonzo style. Whenever people give me Barnes & Nobles gift cards, I just order more copies of Revolt of the Cockroach People and leave them in hotel room drawers. It be my bible. Man, when I hit the lottery, I gotta remember to put Zeta Acosta books in dank ass hotels, like the whole Gideon bible thing, but in reverse, for delinquents and loungers.
#10: "Purple Stuff" by Big Moe featuring D-Gotti - I should mention that I only bump the screwed version, so if you go to the youtubes and search “Purple Stuff” and see the video with the 300 pound black dude in the shiny purple suit and that little crazy leprechaun running around and the music’s all normal speed, understand it doesn’t sound right unless you slow it down like DJ Screw would’ve done. It doesn’t hurt to see how a hydrocodone pill tastes either.
#11: "Straight Gangstaism" by The Geto Boys but actually The Convicts - 3-2 was Big Mike’s rapping podna in The Convicts, and they got a Rap-a-Lot deal to get Big Mike into the Geto Boys to replace yelling ass Willie D (who I think I read is selling real estate in like Kurdistan or some shit nowadays) because Dre was trying to get The Convicts to be on Death Row since they were Snoop Dogg’s roommates... all of this is gleamed from smoked out memories of reading Rap Pages, so don’t hold me to it, although if I just wrote it on the internet then it must be true, so go tell your friends. Anyways, 3-2 has a remarkably unworthy career for a dude who was featured on two banging ass tracks from that era - this song and “Pocket Full of Stones” by UGK off the Menace II Society soundtrack. This song is just some gangsta ass memories of childhood and how good it feels to grow up and be a successful street thug nonsense, but man, the Rap-a-Lot crew of anonymous, barely credited producers who made their tracks back then were on it on this song. I can’t even explain how the piano or whatever the fuck it is throbs at your brain when you’re high. And Big Mike’s crazy style (highly underrated in the world of the rapping music) that gets all hyper like Outkast but’ll slide into the drawliest drawl all of a sudden, it sounds perfect. 3-2 does that shit too, but with about nine cotton balls of Puerto Rican blood stuffed into his mouth. It’s a great fucking song, and easily one of the best five Geto Boys songs ever, and it don’t even got Face, Bushwick, or yelling ass Willie D on it.
#12: "Higher Field Marshall" by Prince Far-I & Peter Broggs - An internet dude inside the Secret Clubhouse who is into the dub music shared this at one point, and it has survived a long life inside my gaypod, and rarely gets skipped, which is impressive considering I stole a bunch of those Trojan boxsets a while back and threw them in the mix and it totally burned me on all sorts of dub/reggae/ska all that for a while. Man, that shit gets repetitive as fuck. Maybe I don’t get high enough. (That could mean to get high more often or it could mean to get even more fucked up on a daily basis. I won’t tell, just don’t make me take drug tests for my food stamps.)
#13: "African People" by The Jay Boys but kinda Madlib - “Indian Reservation (Lament of the Cherokee People)” song by Paul Revere and the Raiders is one of those old ass corny AM radio songs that I actually liked. It’s got some weird things going in in there, and plus it’s some straight up white guilt poor indian people lyrics to top that off with. So to hear a weird dub version about Africa, man, that really taps deep into my white guilt. Haha, not really, but that made me think of how much I hate those shirts that say COLO(RED) or whatever, to bring awareness to Africa’s plight as pit of the world, at like $20 a pop. Why don’t I just buy some cheap ass t-shirts and send them the change? Fucking white people. We ruined Africa by thinking we knew what was best for it, and now it’s all fucked up with child soldiers and people killing albinos for their bones and eating the brains of your enemy to prove a point, so we, as white people, think we can fix it and make it better because we know what’s best for it. Sometimes it’s best to just get the fuck out of the way. If you’re drunk driving and you run over some lady, don’t go trying to put a splint on her broken leg with a 2x4. Just let it be and let everybody figure out how to move on on their own.

August O.C.D. #5: Historic Porn

Look, don’t tell anybody, but once in awhile me and the ol’ lady might try to watch a porn movie. Very rarely does it actually happen though because very little porn is geared to be enjoyable to a functioning couple. Mostly it’s weird, control freakish bullshit meant to be viewed by weak-minded dudes who want to control the world they feel so lost inside of all the time. At least that’s how I see it. I’m not sure what’s stimulating about having three dudes standing around one girl and trying to blast cumshots on her face. That actually seems kinda gay to me, to be perfectly honest. In fact, a lot of man/woman porn seems ultimately gay to me, not in the sense it’s gay porn but in the sense it’s for guys unable to admit emotion to women or bond with them, but can do that with their bros, at a woman’s expense. This often involves her ass as well. Very odd. But anyways, I’ve sought out porn that might be interesting to both of us and not make us feel all creeped out or bored or whatever, and here are some things I’ve noticed. First off, porn video stores really get lazy by the fact they’ve got porn. I mean, they sort of separate it into categories, sort of, but beyond that, nothing. You’re thumbing through flicks trying to find something, and honestly, you’re gonna see something fucked up in the process. And once it’s in your brain you can’t make it go away. It sucks. Secondly, once you find movies that might not be bad, nine times out of ten, they end bad. Like what is the deal with newer porns (meaning since 1989 in my mind, and not featuring Randy Spears or Tom Byron) doing this thing where it’s sex, but you have no sound from the sex, and soundtrack is some generic ass music like a new age musician trying to make what they think is rock music? Does anybody like this? Shit, if you’re gonna dub over the sounds of the people completely (which sucks, by the way), you might as well just play some old wacky ass funk music and kick the whole porn soundtrack stereotype in full. This new age rock crap is terrible. But also, it seems no porn anymore is really about a storyline, which doesn’t have to be that great, but it’s nice to have a little story to explain why those two chicks are fucking that one guy in the back of a tractor and trailer, don’t you think? Doesn’t have to be a Pulitzer story or anything, just a simple tale to tie the scenes together.
But ultimately, what I want on my quest is historic porn, meaning set in the olden times, with chicks wearing lots of clothes that may not ever come completely off. We watched Pioneer House not too long ago, and oddly enough, that shit was highly sexual to me. And this dude in Australia sent me some old porn tapes of his, and sadly most of them sucked. Poor dude spent a ton of money mailing them to me. But there was a Dracula porn flick from the ‘70s or early ‘80s that was kinda cool, except the historic porn was very sadomasochistic. What I want is just some good sweet old school historically accurate porn, set in an old log cabin, perhaps along the river where flat-bottomed boats of trade poled by regularly, and all sorts of wild encounters happened from that. In fact, that’s a good idea, and if I could make it, I’m sure I’d get wealthy, because people love porn and spend money on porn like mad. Except those that spend money on porn like mad are social misfits and total malcontents and only want to watch nine dudes stand around glad-handing each other while they commit bukkake on some chick’s face. Fucking world. I wish it would blow up sometimes.

Friday, July 17

Friday Love/Hate

I love how much dumpster vegetables I've been hauling in for my flock of chickens every week. There's a store that I don't think too many people hit and it's chock full of shit every day when I hit it at the perfect time coordinated with one of their produce dudes. Seriously, I throw anywhere from five to ten gallons of food in the back of my truck every time I check it. Them chickens of mine be getting fat off some watermelons and cantaloupes and they love that corn, which I used to cut off the cob until my wife was all laughing at me about it, so now I toss the whole thing in there. All the chickens have names now too. The americauna pair, which are the oldest, and now not the biggest, are Erishkagol (rooster) and Innana (hen), but Erishkagol is a pretty ass rooster, all speckled with green ass feathers. I like to get him out and stroll the yard carrying him around. That type of shit apparently helps keep a rooster from being an asshole, which they are prone to be. The three RIRs ended up being named Lounger, Luna, and Katya. Honestly, I can’t tell them fuckers apart to this day, but I do know there’s one of them that always rolled with our youngest chicks who were the outcast of the flock once they moved into the big pen, so that one red is Lounger. All you have to do is watch them for a few minutes and the Lounger will work the flock, kicking it everybody, and you know to yourself, “Oh yeah, that’s the Lounger.” The two white leghorns are still called Gwen and Cheap, and I can’t tell them apart either, and white leghorns are some ornery birds that I can never catch when I go into full-blown Rocky training mode inside the pen trying to get a bird. Plus my walls are only like four feet tall with bird netting over that, so I can’t do more than squat run after them. The buff orpingtons are the tight one though, yellow with fluffy ass legs, but one of them's a rooster. We call him Dixie and his girl is Daisy. That shit's funny to me. And then the austrolorps, I thought at once were a rooster and hen, but looks more like two hens, and Dixie runs that little crew of Daisy and the two austrolorps, who got named Fancypants and Swaggerbritches. And really the whole point of all this was to tell you those two chicken names, which are absolutely ridiculous. No, I didn't make them up
I hate the Bruno movie already, just because without it actually having crossed my eyeballs, I have bore witness or read far too many egghead cultural dissections of society at large in relations to this stupid fucking movie. You know what? Borat wasn't nearly as funny as the TV show was, especially since a good bit of it was recycled schtick. And really the only thing left for holmes to do would be Ali G goes to Africa, but he won't do that, because you're not supposed to make fun of the helpless, only the ignorant, except for the fact that many of the ignorant were helpless in their achievement of that ignorance. So when you make fun of them and feel good about yourself with your liberal, do-good judgements, your thoughts are logging chains and you are dragging them mentally behind your Prius pick-up. Racist fuckers. Go back to Wholefoodsica.

Thursday, July 16

100 VINYLZ: #70 - The Best of John Coltrane: His Greatest Years 2xLP by John Coltrane


(1971, Impulse Records)
Man, I had a hard ass time finding the info for this double LP online, so I'm guessing it's not that common. It wasn't fetching fat dollars on ebay or anything, but it wasn't showing up all that often or easily in google searches for Coltrane discographies.
When it comes to the jazz music, I like freaked out skychasers like Coltrane and Ornette Coleman and Sun Ra more than the other standard classic stuff that whiteboy music experts tend to like (although that might be exactly what they like and I'm just playing myself). This is a nice collection of stuff from some of Coltrane's better years, and honestly is the only Coltrane I have on LP. I had like 7 or 8 tapes as well that I bought back then, but shit, tapes are obsolete even to me, Mr. Anti-technocracy. And I don't really think I'd need anything more, although if I could Coltrane's Sound on LP, I'd jump at that.
One time, me and Boomer were wandering around North Carolina, looking for some piece of shit armory building to watch some piece of shit wrestling show featuring Buddy Landell vs. Ricky Morton, where we'd most likely get drunk in the parking lot, stumble in, and soak in the sociological mayhem of multicultural underclass Carolina. But we couldn't find the place, and there were burned out buildings along semi-back roads, like they had riots but in the country. So we go up to this convenience store for me to go in and ask directions and buy another 12-pack, and the lady behind the counter gives me some half-assed bullshit, going right back where we were, but just deeper into the muck. Boomer figured we should ride through town and see what else was going on, maybe get a hotel room beforehand if we can find one, and some pimped out Cutlass cuts into the parking lot quickly as we're trying to pull out, Boomer stops, I look up, and there's one of those roadside markers saying "John Coltrane was born a block from this spot in..." with all the rest of the pertinents. I had no idea he was from Shittown, North Carolina, but it explained a lot.

Wednesday, July 15

100 VINYLZ: #71 - 21 & Over LP by Tha Alkaholiks


(1993, Loud Records)
I had for a long minute lived with a crazy girl in college we still refer to as The Bi-yotch, and she had a stereo that I used for the records I would play and the tapes I would buy. Well then I finally slid away and moved in with some dudes, including my man Boogie Brown, and it was your normal shitty Richmond house with one dude per room and overpriced rent and lots of weed smoking and beer drinking. When first living there, I hadn't shifted out of buying records, because I already had such a large collection, you had to be constantly adding something to it, because a record collection lives and breaths on shelves and inside of milk crates and wants to be fed and trimmed down and shuffled and fingered and all that. The first time I heard Tha Alkaholiks was on a King Tee single (which I think is on this list later actually), and it was some good shit. Their first group single, with Tash finally on it (he was in "Club County" at the time of the King Tee recording), so I had to have this shit when the full-length LP was at Willie's. But I didn't even have a record player. My wacked-out super-brain roommate Crazy Jai had gotten one of those little kids record players, a Sesame Street one, no shit, with a Big Bird head on the arm with the needle. So there I was, in my shitty room, mattress on the floor (eventually to rest inside a 2x4 frame on some milk crates in lounger fashion, till I broke that shit fucking a chick one night... yeah, that's how I roll), with my brand new Tha Alkaholiks full-length LP playing on a Sesame Street turntable. It was one of those moments too goddamned retarded to really imagine correctly in a visual way, which I seem to get a lot of in my life. But Tha Liks were the shit.
Looking back, amazing to think that Loud Records started out with only two groups - these guys and Wu-Tang, making it automatically better than pretty much any rap label in existence nowadays. I mean seriously, everybody has mixtapes or myspaces now and gets hyped up as some real flavor. But here was Loud, actually finding acts that had something to do that was original, and doing it. Even Tha Liks, the whole concept of being drunk asses, that would be a song concept to a modern allegedly great rapper. They took it as a whole schtick, but it didn't get played out (at least not on this first record).
Secondly of note, this album contains "Turn the Party Out" featuring The Lootpack, which was the first song that came out produced by Madlib (who I think might've produced another track or two as well, maybe "Mary Jane" off this LP). It's just crazy to think how much smaller hip hop was then, with Tha Alkaholiks being brought out by King Tee - a west coast legend, on the same label as the Wu-Tang - an impending shapeshifter of hip hop, and getting production from a friend in Madlib who'd become underground rap deity. But at the same time, I doubt hip hop was all that much smaller back then, so much as it was more discriminating. Every fucking wack ass 15-year-old couldn't just pop open the laptop and set up a myspace and start throwing shit at the world until something magically sticks, often times due to its retardedness not its greatness.
But I digress. Suffice it to explain my personal hip hop preferences in that when I used to make mixtapes and would use "It's My Thang" by EPMD with that bassline, I'd follow it up with "Only When I'm Drunk" by Tha Alkaholiks and not that stupid assed Jay-Z song with the bitch singing the corny R&B hook. Which one? Exactly.

Look Up At The Stars & Analyze The Skies

Full of hate and stifling self-paralysis half the damned time, like moving through thick southern humidity except mentally. Feels like I've turned a corner, but then again feels like I've turned the same corner 38 times already and I just keep running around the same damned piece of shit plot of land while the grass grows taller around the edges of everything, making it harder to see an actual escape. We are in some trifling assed times, but not really at the same time. I'm not in a shanty. My kids don't have flies on their eyeballs. Sitting full-bellied on food stamps, which gives me a complex (but the radio noise the other day was all like, "1 in 9 Americans clocking their food stamp grip so Congress blah blah blahzay blahzay..." through another day, riding around in a truck that's three months late on payments between jobs that run too long because fuck man, how'd I get here? Someone point out like three forks in the road I took that I could swerve the other way and make it less a fucking frustration to hear the alarm clock boop at me in the goddamned morning.
But really, just keep going. Honestly, no victim talk or anything, but shit man, I'm not equipped to understand how to navigate this world. Grew up in a shit assed place with a shit assed education where it was coastable easy to be big fish in a small pond, and didn't have the foundation to respect the extras to learn how to succeed. If anything, I was taught from an early age that there's some twisted nobility in poverty, that success breeds betrayal to your true self, which of course is just someone else's bullshit that got slipped into my cerebrum. But seriously, it's hard for me to navigate this world, especially the financial aspect of it that gets so heavy lately. Not much old work out there, not much new work out there, not much switching of jobs to be doing either. That's just how it is right now, hold pat with the shitty hand, wait for the dealer to dole out a few more cards, and hope to break even by the time they kick me off the table.
And at the same time, all that's such bullshit. Full grown men should take full grown responsbility. Even if the fucking work sucks and is slow and tedious and soul-crushing and unable to make the ends meet, I should've pecked 20,000 words out today by supper, and then revised 10,000 from yesterday tonight while watching another crappy movie distract me from another wasted night before they finally figure out the date behind the dash on my inevitable grave marker. I went to where my dad and uncle are buried the other week because I was in the area. My dad's grave has a chainsaw on it, no shit, and actually has "Tuna" on it as well, which always impresses me. Nicknames don't often become so overbearing in life to make it on the grave. The chainsaw's on there because he worked small engines most of his life. (In fact, the motherfucking place he worked at, formerly a family business of my second cousin, has had my goddamned riding mower for like two months now, trying to fix some simple shit that I was afraid I was gonna just bend into place half-assedly, which apparently, I should've done, being I fixed my push mower on my own so I could push that slow ass thing around the two acres and keep from losing the baby.) My uncle has a drag car doing a burnout, and like you'd expect with such an image, he died young. I often times condemn myself wondering what'd be the token life image on mine. A 5-in-1, for all the years begrudgingly spent painting? A fucking computer box?
I don't know. A man shouldn't wrestle so hard with mortality, but that's what we do when we feel the coolness of a rock against our back and see the hard place closing in faster than we'd like. Just keep going. Things need to be done, and they occupy the body hard enough to distract the mind, and you end up feeling much better than having it distracted by another crappy movie where the body doesn't move and all the stress and frustration digs into your stomach and lungs and builds up around where your umbilical cord first tugged you out into this mess. Stick and move. Wednesday is Mr. Mom day with the kids, so we'll probably go hiking at the natural area in the morning, build another quartz statue for whatever reason, let the girls soak their feet in the creek, come home, and slug at it all a little more, hopefully a little fresher. Motherfuckers everywhere are struggling, and far worse than me or mine, but it feels like a pile-on at times. I can sit here and wish this or that about not having been equipped with the proper navigational tools to chart my way through the life storms, but fuck it man. I've got stars overhead, ground underneath that's as mine as a regular man can actually own land in this country, and I've got a solid family in this house. There's a world in my head I want to toss at the world outside like throwing knives and cold beers (or a bowl of rice), and it would rather cloud and confuse and delude me against such a notion. I need to move to embrace the perseverance of the demented wandered who, no matter how much they lock the doors and try to keep them contained, just stares at the gate, waiting for no one to pay attention. I need to sludge through the shitty days, dust down my lungs, fumes up my nose, silica through my skin, and let it all percolate up top inside, and stare at the gate, wait for everyone to go to sleep, no one paying attention, and run like a motherfucker, six or seven hours. Sleep is the cousin of death. So is sitting on the couch or in a chair staring at screens.

Friday, July 3

Friday Love/Hate

I love packing 40 hours of work into the first part of the week, taking Wednesday off as usual since my ol' lady works on that day, and then being done by Thursday night at midnight. Three long ass days don't really suck when you got ig'nant radio moments like "Simple Man" or NPR talk radio speaking upon opioids or even just working downtown Charlottesville where there was a rooftop outside the door I painted upon and you could hear a railroad WHOO-HOOOOOO and walk outside, hop the rail and stand on the rubber roof looking for graffiti on the CSX. Good shit. A long ways (like a decade-plus) from hearing Flip the Biker talk about man-pussy while we re-glazed Civil War era windows by railroad tracks while the Marshall Tucker Band was on the radio. Now those tracks are grassy and a bike path, and not the type of bike like Flip rode. But I guy dress.
I hate how that one Dr. Seuss book about The Lortabs has caused everybody to hate Snitches to this very day. I always thought Snitches were cute, with those droopy ears and long blue hair.

100 VINYLZ: #72 - Burnin' LP by The Wailers


(1973, Tuff Gong Records)
Admittedly, after having dated a few hippie girls, and marrying a wonderful buxom bulbous-personalitied woman who be loving some Marley as well, I get burned out on the Marley, to the point, yeah, I hate it. But if I were forced to pick one album by him and his cohorts, which I apparently did when making this list, Burnin' is the one I'd pick. "Small Axe" be my song y'all. It's like me, but in a reggae song made before they saw me even grow into being me. That's why Bob Marley is so great, he could see the future, which he did, and also why the CIA injected him with futuristic cancer cells before they knew how to decimate underclasses with the AIDS coots.