Please abolish the “corner fade route” in college football.  It never, ever works.  It occasionally works in the NFL with a good quarterback and a playmaking reciever.  But in NCAA ball, whenever I see the play developing, I chalk it up to an incomplete pass or an interception.  It’s not on par with things that send me into “put the fucking lotion in the basket” mode, I’m just saying it’s headed in that direction. 

Speaking of quarterbacks, I wish there was a really good quarterback who was white but could sing with a thick Jamaican accent.  If he could get the right jersey number, we could call him QB40.  And that would be awesome.  (Sadly, this is my best joke of the entire post.  You may want to stop reading now and check back next week.  I’ve got nothing.  Seriously.)

Tonight at my buddy Scagnetti’s house, we sat around and watched some football and listened to  music.  He’s a new homeowner, and we discussed how cool it was that he just bought his first house.  Five years ago, we were pitching in on a bag of dope and discussing the best strategy to con a Kappa Delta into licking our balls.  Tonight, we bantered about how fantastic “equity” is.  I will now plunge an icepick into my eyeball. 

On New Year’s Eve, one of the Casinos had their Grand Re-Opening since the devastation of Katrina.  Seeking relief from a no doubt exasperating lifestyle, so many townspeople showed up at the casino we couldn’t even find a slot machine to play.  There was a giant balloon drop at midnight with well over a thousand balloons.  As a promotion, there were hundred dollar bills inside some of the balloons.  To recap, there were a couple thousand Katrina refugees crammed into a casino anxiously awaiting hundreds of money-filled balloons to drop.  Nothing can possibly go wrong with this plan.  I’ve never seen anything like it.  I saw an elderly 4ft Asian lady go Super Fly Jimma Snooka off a slot machine trying to get at a balloon that hadn’t floated completely down.  And people wonder why I love casinos so much.  I’m going back next week for their “What Will a Penniless Cancer Patient do for Free Chemotherapy?”  promotion. 

I’m currently living in a completely furnished apartment, rent-free.  What’s the catch, you ask?  Well, my grandad got re-married and is living with his new wife, so I’ve got his place.  I can’t decide what’s gonna be a better deal closer when I bring a girl back to the boneyard:  Gramps’ collection of ceramic homeless clown figurines, or a duct tape-covered recliner from approximately 1976.  Plus, the faint aroma of mothballs and Fiberlax is sure to get any lucky lady all hot and bothered.  Because there’s nothing a young hottie likes more than a man who knows how to stay regular.  Know what I’m sayin?

I asked my friend Weave what it’s really like to be a lawyer.  He said “it’s like scraping together every last penny you have for a bag of blow, then finding out the dope man sold you baking soda.  Then, snorting it anyway.”   Truly inspiring stuff.   And I was beginning to think my hundo grand worth of student loans wasn’t worth it!  Thanks, buddy!

And speaking of debt, Capital One called me again today.  Apparently they’ve seen through my guise of spouting garbled Portugese and then hanging up before they have a chance to respond.  Granted, it was a pathetic and childish ruse…but it bought me at least another week.  Finally, I just leveled with the poor douche who was trying to collect from me. It went a little something like this:

“Sir, this is Mark from Capital One.  We’d like to offer you a free check by phone to bring your account out of collections.  What do you say?”

“Uh, Marco? No, no! Hahahaha….get it? That’s your commercial!” (Clearing throat, embarrassed.  Apparently, bill collectors have little use for pop culture-related humorous references.  Go figure.) Look, Mark,  I’m not paying.  Sure, I have a little Christmas money I could put towards it.  But I’m not going to.  I’ll probably blow most of it on electronic toys for myself and piss the rest away to the bookie, to be totally honest.  But, either way, you guys aren’t seeing any of it. I’d like to say I’ll pay some next week.   But, frankly Matt, I’ve got too much respect for you to lie.  And I think that should count for something.”

“It’s Mark.”


And then I hung up.  Because, in retrospect, I think I can squeeze another week or two out of my garbled Portugese tactic. 

Apologies to the three people who read this for the lack of updates.  I’ve been moving Ex-Fiancee into her own apartment, and moving myself into Grandpa’s Swinging Bachelor Pad for the last five days.  (“What’s that, baby girl?  You like a man who can appreciate a commerative Elvis plate and is forced to keep the thermostat tight at 92 degrees year ’round?  Let’s do this.”)  But I’m back in my hometown now, so updates should be much more regular.  And that’s not just the Fiberlax talkin’.