Tuesday, November 5, 2013


The ghostly presence of Mayhem, shown here piling on

 An attempt to gain an extra edge went awry for the Green Bay Packers on Monday night when recently-acquired fullback, the Allstate Insurance-contrived mythical figure known as Mayhem, contributed to a play which injured his own starting quarterback, Aaron Rodgers.  As Rodgers was being sacked by Bears defensive end Shea McClellin, Mayhem apparently jumped on top of McClellin, forcing Rodgers’ left shoulder violently into the turf.  Rodgers left the game and did not return, and the Packers’ cut-rate insurance plan, Seneca Wallace, was unable to see over the heads of his lineman, as the Bears claimed their first victory at Lambeau Field since the Coolidge administration.  

Lost amidst the panic of a potential multi-week stretch without Rodgers is the shroud of mystery surrounding the Packers’ fullback, Mayhem.  An anonymous team source claims the signing took place during the bye week, with Mayhem to serve as a battering ram for rookie… battering ram..  Eddie Lacy.  The source remarked that the aim was to “get a real running game going, and turn the tables a little on the whole god-hates-us rash of injuries.”  Any ‘collateral damage’ to opposing defensive players was left out of his written contract, but the Packers apparently expected Mayhem to “at least twist a few knees from time to time.”  As Mayhem is technically a force of nature, and barely visible to the human eye (unless contractually obligated for television advertisements), league rules to not require the Packers to list him on the 46-player gameday roster.  The only sensory evidence of Mayhem’s involvement at the time of the play was a shrill, maniacal cackling heard by both McClellin and Rodgers after the play.  In an attempt to obtain comment from the fullback following Monday’s contest, a network camera operator slipped in a pool of gasoline, dropped his cigarette, and burst into flames.  

Beyond dealing with the loss of Rodgers, the Packers also now have a tough decision with regards to Mayhem's tenure in Green Bay.  Some are also pointing an accusatory finger toward the injury sustained by Jermichael Finley, which leaves his season, and perhaps his career in question.  Speculation is running wild regarding the fullback’s potential involvement in an incident bearing the undeniable mark of the kind of invisible player who falls on cars from great heights, distracts teenage drivers, and lights camera operators on fire.  In releasing Mayhem, however, the Packers are clearly concerned about the decline of the now-ever-important running game, as well as possible retribution from a potentially dangerous character.  In an official team comment on that very issue, General Manager Ted Thompson essentially defended his player, stating: “Mayhem is a valued member of our organization, and we currently no plans to release him, or reduce his role on the field due to these unfounded accusations of his intention to injure Aaron Rodgers.  Also, Mike McCarthy, the front office staff and I all agree – we don’t need that fucker releasing raccoons into our homes during Christmas dinner.”  

Packers fans, however are clearly more focused on the state of their star quarterback.  Wisconsin State Highway Patrol officers have been advised to keep an eye out for any cars parked near bridges of significant height, and the legal sale of Draino, handguns, and beverages with an alcohol content of over 60% have been restricted to hippies and out-of-towners until further notice.  The internet and social media are expectedly ablaze with Eeyore-isms, blame (in all directions), and doomsday predictions for the Packers’ season.  One such comment, attributed to the handle “Cow42,” actually predicted the Packers would somehow manage to lose 31 games this season now that Rodgers is out. 

Indeed, the gloom hangs heavy in Packerland, and as Mike McCarthy put it “We’re going to do the best we can, but to be honest, when was the last time you saw a Packer team that sustained a high number of key injuries,  had to start a backup quarterback late in the season, and relied on a strong running game and stout defensive line – when is the last time you saw a team like that really achieve anything?” 

Thursday, July 25, 2013

There's Needles and Grass in m'Beer

Over the last few years, I've unintentionally eased my way  into a mild state of semi-beer-snobbery.  I don't really drink to get hammered very often these days, and I've convinced myself that one really good beer every few days is a reasonable substitute for a healthy obsession with say, PCP or salsa dancing - neither of which really interests me.  So I'd agree with Benjamin Franklin when he said "beer is proof that god loves us," but I'll amend it slightly (since Benji was never forced to try Natty Ice) to "good beer..."  So I enjoy $6/ bottle beer that smells like raisin bread and has stuff floating in it.  That's where I am, and I'm okay with that.  As long as I don't ever get to the point of bemoaning someone offering me a 'crappy' beer, or planning a pilgrimage to Belgium just to have some 'elusive' beer that monks don't want to sell in stores.  

My point is, I like to think that I have some perspective about my snobbery.  I think that's important when you want to really enjoy all the other wonderful simple things life has to offer, or when you have no money.  So when I stumble across the following review - by, oh, let's call him "Mr. X." to make him even more enigmatic - of a bottle of beer (bold = reminder for perspective) - I can't help but wonder how on earth our species has managed things like the polio vaccine, space travel, or Mike Tyson's Punch-Out.

So here it is, Mr. X's beer review that reads like the highlights from a publisher-rejected romance novel:

"Starting with a brilliant and glowing ruby color, the snifter simply glows like a night light. Mildly hazed, the color is of deep amber honey in mesmerizing fashion. Capped with a dainty off-white head, its creme skirts the glass evenly until later in the session when it reduces to a collar along the glass.

Bursting with malt sweetness, the nose is chocked full of maple, buckwheat, molasses, toffee, and nuttiness. Its hearty sweetness nearly whets the mouth from its aromatics alone. A firm hop undertow peaks through with dried citrus peels and pine needles for a strong hop scaffolding although the scent is certainly malt-centric.

Likewise, the sweetness from malt is strong, seductive, and runs the gamut from maple syrup and brittle to bread crust and sorghum. Strong buckwheat honey toffee, pistachios, and fresh sweet tobacco keep the waves of sultry sweetness coming. A late rise of hops reveal a supportive balance with grapefruit and orange peel, pine and fresh grass, and with a deeply resinous bitterness that assists the sweetness with a malty-dry finish and alcohol flavors of spiced rum

Incredibly bold and even chewy at first, the beer seeps into the soft tissues of the mouth with its sultry sweetness in true dessert-like fashion- easily replacing port wines as after dinner digestives. Rich with residual sweetness, the late rise of alcohol spice and drying hops signal closure and extends well into aftertaste."

8 year olds, dude.

But seriously, "Capped with a dainty off-white head, its creme skirts the glass"?  Sounds like an excerpt from a Nabokov knock-off, or...  or ... a wine review.   Here's a not-so-short list of words in this piece that should never, ever appear in a beer review:

night light
creme (at least not this French version of the spelling)
soft tissues

(Coincidentally, the only other piece of writing which contains all of these words is "Le Bulion de Goarchende Feuerminteggs," a 19th century French short story about a young accountant, Pierre, who enters the dark, drug-riddled underworld of after hours, cross-dress tax auditing, and in a pot and morphine induced stupor, ends his life by jumping off an under-construction tower into a raging river.)

I wonder if he was listening to Ravel's Bolero, surrounded candlelight while he picked out just the right shirt for his beer 'session.'  For a few moments, I wonder how men who can have such a gloriously romantic evening with a brewski might ever bring themselves to have a highlife at a baseball game, or drive 30 miles for White Castle, or ever meet a woman.  When I process phrases like "the beer seeps into the soft tissues of the mouth with its sultry sweetness," I can't help but think of Adrian Cronauer in "Good Morning Vietnam" telling his Commanding Officer that "(he) is in more dire need of a blowjob than any white man in history." 

I digress.  My aim here isn't just to pick on this connoisseur/wordsmith and his red velvet curtains.  It's to pick on him and make myself feel better about myself and my own, more enlightened perspective.  And what do I think the answer to both my question about how that kind of dude meets women, AND the answer to why his perspective seems so disturbingly skewed?  Of course, it's money.  Money turns uninteresting and obnoxious men into'eligible bachelors.'  Money makes people think things that are exclusive are necessarily valuable.  So valuable, in fact, that they require entire vacations to Belgium to say "I've had Westy 12."  Magically, grapefruits and fresh grass and tobacco and leather suddenly appear in our beers. Beer with a higher pricetag needs to be described as 'sultry' or 'seductive.'  People with the palate of a de-tongued llama amass a bit of wealth, and suddenly, claiming to be able to discern between the Reserva and the Gran Reserva is of urgent importance.

Practically speaking, the sad thing is that the more people have (and express) this sort of attitude about good beer, the more exclusive it will become.  and the more exclusive it becomes, the more expensive it will become - rinse, repeat.  And if I have to pay even more for fantastic beer, well that deserves an emphatic and eloquent "you fuckers" sort of response.

For example, Westvleteren 12, has for a few years at least, been the highest-rated beer in the world.  Coincidentally (or not), you can only legally buy it at one single place in the whole big gigantic goddamned beer-selling world.  The abbey where the monks brew it.  Last year, they had a one-time public sale - you can't blame the monks, who don't sell more than they need to to maintain the monastery, and they sell enough on-site - but they decided on a public sale to pay for some major structural repairs.  Any profit they make goes to charity.  Six packs were sent to select stores in the U.S., in some, not all states.  The six-packs sold retail for about $85 (yes, that's still almost $15/bottle).  Within days, they were selling for $500 or more online.  There is an empty Westy 12 six-pack box  selling for $100 right now - no beer included - I can't even fathom the level of douchebaggery it would take to justify spending 45 BK doublestackers worth of cash (plus shipping) on the cardboard box of a beer you never even drank.  There are 4 or 5 beers on the shelf at the Hi-Vee down the road from me which even the nerdiest beer-nerd will admit are pretty-much-almost as good as Westy 12 (if not better), and they sell for $3-$6 a bottle.  This is the madness that the expensive/exclusive cycle drives us to - moneytoburn-ness causes us to believe that there is inherent value in something that is hard to get.

My guess is, that's Mr. X's problem.  He may have, at one time, been a mild-mannered accountant, minding his own business and enjoying the simple things in life, playing Punch-Out during his MillerTime.  It could be that the mysterious death of a senior account manager opened the perfect opportunity for him, and that the money turned his soul darker than a Russian Imperial Stout -- that his love affair with nuttiness, hop scaffolding and sultry malt undertows drove his friends and family away.  He may drive up and down the coast with his new gold-plated cronies, buying everyone out of the most sought after craft brews so he can stock his beer aging cellar and keep the promise of the finest reviews and higher prices for years to come.  It could happen.  Who knows.  Or maybe he's just a huge fucking dork. 

Thursday, May 28, 2009


- it's getting more full of our shit, and the internet is getting 'bigger.'

- it still takes just as long to get from milwaukee to madison, from new york to miami. planes aren't flying faster, cars aren't traveling at low-bit rate digital speeds.

- you can still buy land in montana, build a hut, buy a gross of freeze-dried food and a crossbow, and never see another human for as long as you live.

- if you wait a few years, everest's peak won't be within your capabilities.

- it's not getting smaller, because apparently distance never had any relevance anyway: http://www.trialectics.com/Physics/Quantum%20Nonlocality.htm

- hulu is sucking out our brains, which you'd think would make the world seem bigger.

that is all.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009


by Smapoffmai Johnsonrod

Former Packer quarterback Brett Favre and current Packers’ general manager Ted Thompson were exposed on Tuesday for attempting one of the most elaborate hoaxes in sports history. A series of e-mails between the two detailing their plans to sabotage NFC North opponents was inadvertently ‘forward(ed) to all contacts’ instead of being deleted, according to Thompson. “Fucking gmail,” Thompson was quoted to have said Wednesday to reporters.

The hoax began in 2007, when the two spread false notions of bitterness regarding Favre’s unwillingness to retire, and Thompson’s haste to move the team forward with young prospect Aaron Rodgers. Favre and Thompson staged a stubborn battle when Favre unretired, claiming to have desire initially to play again for the Packers. Hints were floated that Favre’s frustration had sprouted into revenge, and that he now wanted to play for the Vikings to ‘stick it’ to Thompson and the Packers for forcing him out of Green Bay.

“(laughter) Hell, I love the Packers, but brats give me gas, and I can't stand the vi-queens and bears. It was definitely time to quit playing for real, but this plan of Ted’s was just too good to pass up,” Favre told reporters at a joint press conference on Thursday morning. That plan -- involving Favre, Thompson, Favre’s agent, as well as members of the Denver Bronco’s front office and coaching staff who lost a video game contest to Thompson -- was a mind-numbingly complex attempt to submarine the Minnesota Vikings and Chicago Bears for the near future. The primary goal was to install Favre in Minnesota to bring the team hope of a championship, only to let them down with shoddy play and fuck-all, rainbow interceptions down the stretch. "Shit, I've been doing it for years by accident, who wouldn't believe it if I threw a couple 40 yard bombs to Charles Woodson in week 16 to lose the division?" said Favre.

But in a decision made by Thompson, the Packers avoided trading Favre directly to the Vikings to avoid suspicion. Playing for the Jets in 2008 also gave Favre a full season of practice at ripping the hearts from the chests of millions of Jets fans late in the year. The idea was that Jets fans would be a good sample population, having themselves plenty of experience (like Vikings fans) with horrible, late-season implosions. It would also give Favre a good learning opportunity to hone his skills as a coach-killer - an element of the Minnesota plan which was added after Eric Mangini was banished to Cleveland by the Jets, following a beautiful executed, lead-by-example drop-off in play from Favre.

After retiring a second time, Favre waited until the Jets drafted a franchise quarterback in the 2009 NFL draft, and pounced on the opportunity to ask for a full release from the Jets. He was getting "the itch" to play again -- an itch that many speculated could only be satisfied by beating his old team in a Vikings uniform. "I love calling it the 'itch' to come back," said Favre. "It's like Ted gave me a rash that only Major Dad can scratch (laughter). With that mustache. Actually, I do have some redness here, what do you think this is? Right here below my(expletive)."

Favre's Viking stint was intended not only to destroy the 2009/10 season, but also to create a fractured locker room by embittering Sagevaris Jackenfels, the Vikings 2-headed excuse for a starting quarterback -- and by dividing the remaining players over the whole situation. Coach Brad "Major Dad" Childress was an anticipated casualty as well. "I mean, in some sense, who wouldn't want Brad Childress coaching their rival?" asked Thompson. "But we've learned that

owner Zigi Milf has some weird-ass record producer named Glen Ballard (pictured) lined up to replace him if need be, so we figured that'd be even better." (Ballard is noted for making horseshit albums with previously worthwhile musicians, composing sci-fi computer game music, and creepiness) Thompson's hope was that Major Dad would get hired elsewhere in the division.

Da Bears

Thompson and Favre's plan extended to the Bears as well, though Favre never had any intention of infiltrating the organization personally. "I think older Packer fans would've driven down to Chicago and made a human swiss-cheesehead out of me with their shotguns if I played for the Bears. It's just not worth the risk." So Thompson used some indebted friends who work for the Denver Broncos, and his connections through Favre's agent, Bus Cook, to ensure a weaker Chicago team for years to come. "So let's just say I've got some friends in Denver. And we play MarioKart Wii on Tuesdays and Thursday nights over the internet thing. I'm always Wario cause he's as insane as they come, and he seems to be easier to maneuver on that trippy level where everything's shiny and you keep falling off into space. Anyway, we had this tournament going, and well, I wiped the floor with them. The wager was a couple of draft picks - yeah, I played the whole field, I'm that good and they know it... bitches! - sorry, so one way or another, we'd exchange them. But we couldn't figure out a way to get them from Denver to Green Bay, so I suggested something different. I said, how about you guys trade Cutler to Chicago if they'll mortgage their future for him? They knew, just like I did from Bus, that this Cutler guy is ready to crack. I mean, I won't get into it, but it's weird stuff, man and it's gotten worse. And I knew once the trade was done, I could get Bus to give Jay a little... 'push.' You see, madness, as you know - is like gravity."

The trade was made, and Cutler has apparently been seen snorkeling in Lake Michigan in drag on more than one occasion since his arrival. The Bears now have 3 draft picks in the next 17 years, a diminishing defense, a ticking time-bomb at quarterback, and a stadium full of F.I.B.'s. Thompson: "Mission accomplished there, I'd say."

Plans for Minnesota Foiled

But as the Chicago front seemed tied up, Favre's dreams of leading the Vikings to a crash and burn finale went up in flames prematurely. Thompson's e-mail slip-up sent a massive Gmail 'conversation' to his entire list of contacts, including a number of fan blogs, media sources, NFL GM's and Joey Buttafuoco, who was the first to publish the information on his widely-read fine dining blog. "Really, we're pissed and I'm pissed, and well, it blows goats," said Thompson, who is facing league punishment. "But Goodell talks the talk and really walks the walk of... well, a nancy. And he owes me a few fourth-rounders from that Halo 2 tournament anyway." Favre added "But really, purple? I mean it would've been tough. And I think they're in good hands with Sagevaris, so I think things will end up probably pretty much the same after Cutler goes postal on the 'El' in a gorilla suit next Monday."

When asked if the two had ever made plans to disrupt the Lions' operations, Thompson responded "they're the ones who play in Detroit, right?"

Doctors Report Emperor Palpatine's Dementia Worsening, Empire Fucked

by Alphuster Mervleputz, updated 11am ET 5/13/09

Empire physicians (pictured above with Mr. Palpatine) reported Monday that the Emperor's condition has worsened, and that his delusions have nearly eclipsed his rational view of the galaxy. Insistent on wearing robes he purchased in Liberace's estate sale, the Emperor has proclaimed that a Mr. "God," and his son, a Mr. "Jeeves Cryste," are responsible for creation and salvation, respectively -- and that it is his duty to oversee that all of this goes according to plan.

Meanwhile, the Empire's foundation seems to be eroding due to a lack of competent executive direction. The man many think of as Mr. Palpatine's second-in-command, Mr. Vader, has been missing since early March -- and many fear recent events and work-related stress have pushed Mr. Vader back to old drug habits, and that he is lost somewhere in the K-hole. In an anonymous call to the Times on Friday, a source reported that Vader was "totally fucked, dude. Why do you care about my friend, man, where's my sandwiches? I called like almost an hour ago and I'm STARVED!"

Other reports indicate that the safety of the new battlestation "Death Star," scheduled for completion next month, may be compromised as well, as a set of catastrophic-weakness-plans is apparently missing. Those responsible have been sacked. All attempts to reach the mysterious Mr. Cryste (in the desperate hope that he actually exists outside of Mr. Palpatines distorted sense of reality) to procure a solution for the Galaxy's problems have failed.


by Finkleton Pollutes, updated 10am ET

Some hope remains for investors duped by founding father George Washington (pictured), as it appears billions were withdrawn from Mr.
Washington's account just days before his arrest. "Few men have virtue to withstand the highest bidder, " said Washington Tuesday, dodging a question from a reporter inquiring as to his ridiculous age(277) and young appearance.

It is perhaps his mysterious exuberance which has grown Mr.
Washington's popularity among impressionable youths. His spoutings on the dangers of a powerful central government (usually in response to questions about his financial transgressions) have riled up young Americans unhappy with the prospect of "just another king," as one revolutionary-studies-major-from NYU-gone-Washington-groupie put it.

When asked about sentencing for financial crimes,
Washington responded "Government is not reason; it is not eloquent; it is force. Like fire, it is a dangerous servant and a fearful master. "

Friday, February 27, 2009

regional silverware

we got a coupon

expires February 31st

some days i hope i last that long

others, not past the 23rd,

four days of revealing

the darkened corners

of three year old unfinished business,

one day of draining

into a slowly cooling tub

(but i’ve not got it in me,

that roman trip that falls

on a well placed blade,

just before being conquered

i know it.

christ nick,

i’m not sure you had it either

if not for the drugs)

when you throw up

and it’s made of well cut diamonds,

rare as the Strangemorning,

hot as the things hiding behind the sun –

don’t you think you’ve peaked,

doesn’t a glass half full become quite a boring issue?

but there are ridiculous beats

that bring us out of winter

bass drums that make it warm

milwaukeeans who aren’t always drinking

humid and dry and nowhere inbetween,

peter, peter, making stew,

pete, you’ve got a lila blue

and a room of chops,

shaken in a glued-down chair

green lights on a road of stops

small car with curious hands

quick stops for pissing

long times for wide states

signs, the welcomes of governors

at night, in the rain

through eastern pennsylvania

up and down again,

through jersey and her bastard trucks

toward the ocean

seldom seen

near the hudson

far from clean

belly up, the less of luck

some misplaced loudmouth

spouting at the wrong fuck

shaking his fists and dying his death in a cold arrival.

i’m here to see it

i’m here to want home and enjoy the one i’ve made

i’m here to raise the whisper of a midwestern spoon

to the curdled scream of an east coast blade.