If I had a band...

If I had a band, we'd find our origins in a shady laundromat. I'd be out of quarters, but let my damp whites stay in the dryer a bit longer anyway. Because I've got my keytar, it goes with me everywhere. The drummer, Sven, would be an immigrant from Laos who learned percussion from the local temple as a boy. He's stuck with two sticks and a washing machine lid. It sounds magical, like a tiger mauling in a Vegas show. We're solid.

We'd graduate to bigger venues, of course. Next door to the laundromat, the Italian deli. That's where we'd meet the guitarist/glockenspiel player, Benito. He's not bad, but we don't want a showboat to steal the show. The early songs would be based on our common disdain for Kathy Griffith and fruit-flavored beer...two of the worst things in the world. The angst wreaks like Old Spice, and you would dig it.

While my keytar gently weeps, Sven keeps the beat and Benito fills the spaces. The buzz builds and we'd be signed by a shady guy who claims to make records out of the trunk of his Buick. Likely the same place he kept his second wife before she disappeared. We don't care. It gives us some cred.

Our name would be "Butt Pie" or "Midget Armpit". Benito would leave the band over the decision. We hated that asshole anyway. We're a two-man show and that's how it stays. Sven is the Don Juan of the group. He lands at least one groupie per show. It's the same chick every time, but he's still "the man". I remain the creative-type without any time for a lady or life.

Things grow nicely. We're selling at least one or two hundred records per year when we finally make it to the radio. Dr. Demento puts us at #8 on his countdown. We are now legit and demanding more money. Our manager threatens to beat us senseless. He wins. We can't sell out anyway. Good call, Charlie.

Benito begins bugging us since he now knows he missed a big fucking boat to stardom. We tell him to eat it. We tour the seedy part of town. On tour, Sven catches an STD from a toilet seat. He loses his right arm in the ordeal. He's never quite the same after that. One armed drummers can't be trusted so I fire him and go solo. I'm a legend at this point, anyway.

I write my swan song about the entire history of our band. It's called "Dirty Laundry in a Midget's Armpit." You will have heard of it and love it. It's remixed by DangerMouse many years later. I put out a Greatest Hits EP to fund my LSD habit. Next step, Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

It's a sure fire plan, I just need to find a keytar and kill my washing machine here at home.

Search Engine Obfuscation

I have to share this. I was just perusing my Google Analytics for this blog. It's amazing to see how people reach this thing. Particularly via Google.

I've covered a fairly wide range of topics in the short amount of posts here. And in writing those, I never imagined the combination of search terms that would lead readers to this kick ass blog. Yeah, that's right. Kick ass blog. I dare you, commenter dudes, to disagree.

I know people hit Google with some crazy ass searches. People with monkey fart fetishes need somewhere to go, right? I know I do. Even Ann Coulter has to let down her bitch facade every now and again. When she does, she takes solace in the fact that she can find a million other people out there with a taste for Simeon flatulence. Mmmmm, bananas.

Here are a few of my favorite Google searches that have landed readers to this blog:

gay cowboy big lebowski
"stephen hawking" "ladies man"
gay baseball players touching nuts

What in the world of Hee Haw are you doing looking for, people? And why are two of my top five referring Google searches about gay cowboys and baseball players touching nuts?

I realize as I'm writing that I'm now only helping my cause by getting myself ranked higher by mentioning all of these terms together in a single post. A fella has to strive for greatness somehow, right?

I might also mention that if you review this post you may also see the following Google searches land people here.

"monkey farts"
Ann Coulter flatulence
gay Simeon big nuts

Awesome. SEO folks would be proud.

Thank You Fantasy News Guys!

Every day in baseball, from the first crack of a bat in Spring Training to the final out of the World Series, you have guys getting injured. Pitchers with tight forearms or sore elbows, fleet-footed base thieves with sore groins or quad muscles, nearly half of them suffer from some sort of malady throughout the season. It's commonplace. In fact, it's turned the athletic trainer position into a science. Well, it is a science technically, but it's more advanced now than ever. Is that better?

A good trainer knows how to get you fixed and back out on the field in a flash. The key is, not missing any starts if you're a player. And if you're a former Mets trainer, you're also running a lucrative steroid business behind the scenes. And saving used syringes for use in Congressional hearings years from now. Sick fucker. But this is all beside the point. The trainer is there to mend the player and get him back in the lineup.

As a competitor in as many as three fantasy baseball leagues every season, injuries are on my mind. You watch the wire to see who may have pulled up lame or been replaced early in the game. Why did the manager bench him? Is he going on the Disabled List? Shit! As stressful as it may be, it is a fact of life. Injuries happen a lot. What you don't see very often, though, are players being sidelined with injuries like hemorrhoids. What?! Are you serious? I thought those were reserved for middle-aged guys who try too hard to "drop the kids off at the pool" when they are irregular? This is not something you expect to see your second baseman sidelined for...yet I just did.

Kaz Matsui is the starting second baseman for the Houston Astros. He's my backup 2B, and I spent a draft pick on him. He can steal bases and hit for a pretty decent average. But he seems to have a nagging case of the 'roids. No, not steroids, either. This is the second season he's been benched for any amount of time due to the inflamed blood vessels around his anal sphincter. This year, the docs have even gone as far as to diagnose him with anal fissures. Whiskey Tango Foxtrot. What the hell are those? According to MayoClinic.com...

"An anal fissure is a small tear in the lining of the anal canal. Common in infants ages 6 to 24 months, anal fissures are less likely to develop in older children. Adults may develop anal fissures as a result of passing hard or large stools during bowel movements."

Holy hole in the anal canal, Batman. That sounds painful. No wonder it is causing Kaz to miss playing time in Spring Training. Well, at least he can feel at ease that this is something the trainer will keep in the clubhouse. No need for anyone outside to know why he is ailing, right? I mean, all they need to know is, he's out of the lineup. Dear, Kaz. Please do not visit any fantasy baseball sites...ever.

"Joseph Duarte, of The Houston Chronicle, reports Houston Astros 2B Kazuo Matsui (gluteus) is expected to miss four or five days after being diagnosed with a condition known as anal fissure. Matsui will go through individual workouts at the team facility but will not play until at least March 14. Doctors have prescribed a different medication to help alleviate the problem." --as reported by KFFL.com, March 11, 2008

Oh shit. How embarrassing is that? Since the inception of fantasy news, nearly everything goes reported to the community of pasty-faced fantasy geeks, like myself. As a consumer of these news feeds, I can honestly say, I don't need to know that level of it. Seriously, guys. If the dude has a rip in his anus, let him be. Call it a bruised gluteus and leave it at that. It's not as though we're talking about an elbow injury with a pitcher. When you hear that, you automatically start watching to see if it requires surgery. It's a tell-tale sign that the guy may be out a while. How the fuck do you deal with anal fissures as a fantasy team owner? You wait and see, I guess.

Here's to hoping Kaz's ass takes a few days off and heals. And a little more fiber wouldn't hurt either, Kaz. If you're tearing it, dude, you're trying too hard.

The Dude is not in

I'll be out for the next two days. What could possibly tear me away from the Nut Punch? It is the eve before I embark on a journey to Chicago, Illinois. At 8:00pm CST tomorrow, I will be entering the doors to the Portage Theater. It is time for the first Lebowski Fest Chicago.

As an avid fan of the movie, my love of all things Dude is dwarfed by many others I am sure. I look forward to seeing many of them there. Here's the agenda:

8:00 Doors
9:15 The Steepwater Band
10:15 Blue Moon Swamp (Creedence Tribute!)
11:30 The Big Lebowski!

The Steepwater Band opens the night. Never heard of them before, but they sound intriguing. Then what would a Lebowski event be without some Creedence? Blue Moon Swamp intends to provide just that. I hear they're a pretty good Creedence cover band. I can't wait.

At 11:30, it is the pièce de résistance, a screening of an original 35mm print of the film. It is the tenth anniversary of the original theatrical release of The Big Lebowski. (Well, technically, the movie launched on March 6, 1998, so we're a day off. Who cares?) This is the crown jewel, kids.

I'll be using my Twitter account to keep up on the goings on. So, check back here to see the latest posts if you're not regularly following my illustrious daily events through Twitter.com. I'm giddy like a little girl right now. Tee hee. Can't wait. See you cats on the flip side.

Warning: May Cause Irritation

I've been out of commission lately with a pretty wicked head cold. And during that time, I"ve had the opportunity to watch a lot of TV. While doing so, I noticed something that had always bothered me, but never really got around to blurting it out. What the hell is it with television commercials and their ridiculous disclaimers? I'm not talking about the amazing side-effects you could experience by taking a certain drug (though explosive diarrhea is a real bummer). I'm talking about the stuff that warns us not to attempt what we just saw or lets us know that what we just saw, may not be real. Thanks for the vote of confidence, asswipes.

Example: Snapple^® Antioxidant Water (Go figure, the online version doesn't have the disclaimer. So feel free to try whatever and know you may have legal recourse should you get injured.)
Synopsis: Guy cracks open a Snapple Antioxidant Water and discovers that the world is now covered with bubble-wrap for his own protection against the world.
The Key Moment: At the end of the commercial he has the brilliant idea to go jump off a skyscraper because, hey, he'll just bounce right?
The Disclaimer: "Do Not Attempt."

I'm left with the complete disappointment that I, too, cannot jump off of a skyscraper without getting hurt. Damn you, Snapple! Isn't this kind of thing against Darwin's little idea? Aren't we improving the species by losing the idiots that think this is really safe to do? Are the folks at these major companies really afraid they'll be sued by a moron that tries it and gets seriously injured? When did we as a civilization leave the realm of common sense? Somebody answer me, dammit! I just don't get it.

Example: Toyota Tacoma Pickup
Synopsis: Hillbillies in the high desert video taping their buddy driving his Toyota Tacoma. In comes a giant meteor and hits the pickup. The pickup survives proving how durable it is.
The Key Moment: Out of the dust and smoke of the meteor impact, you see the pickup survives completely in tact and drives away.
The Disclaimer: Dramatization. Access Cab shown with available TRD Off-Road Package.

So, Mr. Toyota guys, what you're telling me is that you didn't actually have the foresight to predict the time and location of a sizable meteor hitting the Earth? This wasn't real? Or are you telling me that if I don't get the Access Cab with available TRD Off-Road Package, then I'm fucked?

Either way, the fact you had to explain to me that (A) this was not a real scenario and (B) your vehicle is not meteor-proof, is ludicrous. I think if you really want to make this commercial better, you put a Snapple in the driver's hand and bubble-wrap that meteor. And then stop assuming that your entire viewing public is a bunch of booger-eating morons...because in reality, it's more like 13% booger-eating morons. Get rid of the disclaimers and help us lose that 13%. We'll all be better off. Thanks.