Burn It Down

Yeah, So ... Ummm ...

My computer is busted and I’m going away until Sunday. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday and I’m spending it, as always, with my closest friends from college and other hangers-on (like my stupid wife, who did not go to college wih me: stupid). That said: if you read this thing and will be in Manhattan this week, please get in touch.

I’m going to be watching college football on Friday at George Keeley’s (Amsterdam and 83rd) and “proper” football on Saturday at the Kinsale (3rd between 93rd and 94th). Email is to the right over there. Seriously. I won’t buy you beer but you will be able to watch me wither every time Villa score and then mock me, which is probably worth more than free booze —- but not in any way.

Mrs. BID is going to be seeing plays all weekend, so I need people to drink with. It’s a giant city, so even though no one reads this thing, at least one of you no ones must live in New York. (Brooklyn if you’re Spurs. Queens if you’re making me dinner. Bronx if you must. Staten Island if you’re Wu Tang.)

Love me.

(Mrs BID asked, “Shouldn’t that be “Love, Me.” “No.” “So it’s …” “Yeah. Love me.” Don’t disappoint me people person.)

In That AT&T Commercial

Is that Luke Wilson or Pill Paxton? Poor bastard’s gotten “awfully jowl-ly” according to Mrs. BID.

In Case You Were Wondering

Yup. Still the Bengals.

Fuck me.

Although, Spurs did single-handedly save a weekend including

1. A crushing and season-ending loss for Michigan against Ohio State.
2. This cock-punching of a Bengals game —- against the fucking Raiders of all teams.
3. The tiny ball of pain consuming my intestines and making it impossible for me to stand for more than five minutes at a clip because I stupidly ate some “not that bad” steak with my eggs yesterday.
4. Not knowing before kickoff that Michael Turner wasn’t even going to play, thus depriving me of the opportunity to play Knowshown Moreno.

Still 9-1 will cure a lot of ills, even if it was mostly because Wigan played Titus Bramble and a scarecrow in boots in defense. Poor Edman. Defoe should’ve asked him to autograph the game ball.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Py2jn-D29Io&feature=player_embedded

Slim and None

Even though they don’t really have a chance today, I don’t get quite as excited for any game other than Michigan-Ohio State.

These are family values: wagons circled, debris, numb to the great outrage, taped ankles and a fuck you if you’re not with us; look me in the eye and know that eventually this will all pass. They’ll remember this day when they’re old and sit on dusty sofas dozing in and out of consciousness. You lost a lot but not your dignity. And you realize that it wasn’t just about winning but about patience and faith that it would get better. (RBUAS)

Go Blue.

Bill Simmons Is a Stupid Person Who Understands Neither Mathematics Nor Sports Unless The Latter Is an Emotional Crutch That Makes Him Feel Better About Himself And The Geographic Location With Which He Feels Most Connected

Seriously.

That cat is a fucking douche. If you can seriously write an article five days after the 4th and 2 call and say it was a ‘stupid’ decision, you’re a fucking idiot. If you equate this fucking regular season decision with any World Series or playoff decisions, which in the analogies are game/series long decisions, rather than decisions on a single play, you’re a fucking idiot.

I’m sorry your favorite team lost. That must suck. As a Bengals fan, I have never felt such fucking pain. I hope your gaping fucking chest wound of psychic pain can heal some time in the future. Know that I will be praying for your recovery.

This still does not change the fact that you don’t seem to know shit about sports, you ass-talking cuntface. You’ve proven you don’t know shit about baseball. You don’t pretend to care about hockey by blaming the owner of your local team (some of us kept with it through the shitty owner, just like you managed to pretend you gave a fuck about the Sox and Pats when they had shitty ownership, you fucking jackal —- and yes I blame you for the fucking bandwagon, you two-bit asshat). You just published a book about basketball, but you write about it as if you haven’t watched a minute of it since 1986 (outside of the Celtics’ 17th banner, obvs.).

So now you’re left with football. This is a sport in which your wife beat you in betting for two years. Yet still you lay some claim to be a savant about it. And you don’t fucking recognize that there might be a fucking reason that a guy who won three fucking Super Bowls made a decision you disagree with. Your couch-sitting, porn-watching, self-promoting, cock-sucking ass must be a billion fucking times smarter than the coach who took a team that no one (including you, so don’t fucking front, you cunt) cared about until he won a Super Bowl, and then another, and another. Obviously.

He must be stupid. Not you. Him. You, who spends most of his time trying to shoe-horn a shitty, shop-worn Karate Kid reference into a story about Brandon Jennings (who you spent months shit-talking before realizing he might not suck as much as your racist-ass provincialism assumed and now you can’t get on that bus quick enough), obviously know more about play calling in the NFL than the man you’ve spent the better part of the last decade worshiping. After eight years, because of one decision that doesn’t come out of the dusty pages of the NFL coaches’ playbook, you take the dick out of your mouth and realize it tastes funny.

Well, fuck you Bill. You might be the voice of the fan, but it’s the fan that makes me want to leave the sports bar, leave the bleachers, leave the Klan rally. You’re a self-important cunt who spends more time thinking about what will make you look smart than what actually is smart.

I hate the fucking Patriots. I hate fucking Patriots fans even more, since most of them didn’t exist until you were writing for ESPN. I was happy they lost that fucking game. But they didn’t lose it because of a coaching decision. They lost because of a shitty play call, a shitty spot and a shitty defense that wouldn’t have stopped Peyton Manning in two minutes if the field had been 600 yards long. Belichick knew that. You, obviously, still haven’t grasped it, you cock-gobbling assclown.

There's No Excuse For Shit Like This

HuffPo:

d’Armond Speers, a Minnesota man, spoke only Klingon to his son for the first three years of his child’s life, the Minnesota Daily reports.

Speers says that he spent the first few years of his son’s life speaking to him in the invented language of the alien race featured in the series “Star Trek” in order to better understand how children learn languages. Meanwhile, Speers’ wife continued to address the child in English.

…

Eventually, Speers gave up on Klingon communication, saying that his son “stopped listening to me when I spoke in Klingon” and “it was clear that he didn’t enjoy it, and I didn’t want to make it into a problem.”

I love that even a fucking toddler knows to disregard people who speak in Klingon.