here's to le bong james

 In honor of the self appointed king of the Not Buying Atrophy this year Miami Heat... (Le Bong James does not win again!)

fuck yeah!

here is the post i wrote after he signed with the Heat. it turns out that you cannot just buy  a trophy, i guess...   


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It has been hot lately and humid. That is much better than snow. I can always take off a few more clothes…fighting visual, aren’t ya? Thank god I still have a few blue Speedos floating around the underwear drawer…Hazy, lazy days of summer sure beat the cold, calculating, cutting air of Michigan winter…It is not the heat…

    
I hate when someone tells me it’s at least it’s a dry heat  as well. Oh, the stupidity! Hot is hot, cold is cold. Humidity is evil, but hey this is Michigan, wait five minutes the weather will change. Oh well, it is Nothing But Athing…

    
I pulled the cover from the grill around noon yesterday to have an impromptu BBQ and Roxy threw the cushions on the chairs, and said, “Well, I don’t have to worry about it raining.” Yes, you would think that statement was accurate. Not so much... I was out there fifteen minutes later grabbing the cushions in a torrential 5 minute squall. Oh no! maybe I will be Not Bar-be-queuing Anything…. Then it was sunny again…Okay, that was a bit more than 5 minutes but you get my point…

    
When we were young we did not have central air. We did not have even a window rattler. We had fans. They blew the hot air around in an effort to help the heat go away. It didn’t work. You were simply dealing with hot air blowing around. Maybe that is why SO MANY people of our generation are so full of hot air. I do not remember the first time I heard, It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity.” Nothing But A long time ago.

    
I read a lot of comic books when I was young and in one of these comics I saw an ad for a book that could help those of us that were not living in the hoity toity subdivisions near my neighborhood, like Princeton Estates where central air was probably more common. I sent away for manual called something like Nordic BTU Assimilation, Thermodynamics and Michigan summer.

    
The book was not as cool as my secret decoder ring, and from what I remember it talked mostly about this new fangled idea called Central Air. My father believed that color TV was the devil and he could see color in the B&W console we had, so the chance of us getting central air was almost as good as LeBron staying in Cleveland finding a dinosaur skeleton in my sand box.

   
The best way to beat the heat is to beat the stupidity. Shut the windows on the sunny side of the house early in the day and close the drapes to keep the heat out. Then draw in the cooler air on the shady side of the house. Central air is not needed, but it is sure really COOL!!! There are other secrets but I am holding back a few, just try this one first. Or get central air. It will help when the hot air of the Opinionflashers start spewing the *facts.*

    
The last week in sports saw the most ridiculous occurrence in my recollection. I blame this media circus for the swing in local temperature. We could blame global warming global climate shift. We could also blame the Russians as I am sure they have a weather machine, which is not covered in any of the disarmament treaties that have been signed since the cold war. I know think they use it to f with our American Chi...

   
If you do not know what I am talking about, you have been mercifully free of the ravages of stupidity know as The LeBron LeBong James, (lbj) signing. As most of you know, he is the self appointed KING of the NBA Nothing But Arrogance. This  IS the ONLY STORY in sports. For some reason, unlike all the real good sports, NBA free agency starts like three decades before anyone can sign to a new team. Not only is this a mind-bendingly dumb idea, it causes the sportsheads to look for no other valuable things to report.

   
This causes the entire  world of sportsheads, for three millenniums, to focus on where the f- is lbj going to land. The ludicrosity of it all is the inane banter and the constant complaining by the sportsheads about how this story won’t go away. Opinionflash! It does if you stop talking about it. Just like Eldrick. I would rather hear about his dalliances than ONE MORE word about lbj…Jus’ sayin’

   
 Free agency starts……then……wait for it…..wait for it..........something like.... eight days..... later the bums can find their Donald Trump lotto deals. Other sports free agency starts and SO DOES SIGNING…What a great idea!!! Then we can talk about the signings, not speculate on the one big dumb idiot and where he is going to sign his deal.

    
Needless to say, after about three nanoseconds of the Hugeicrite pontificating on where and why lbj is gonna do this or that, my brain started to leak and I tuned into a country station and we all know how much I like county music (actually the guys found) a suitable replacement in oldies and classics. I actually heard One Tin Soldier” and I was not the person singing it! Praise God!

    
So lbj is “taking his talents to South Beach.” Looks like the Heat are a shoe- in for the NBA crown next Year. But you really gotta axe yourself, “Who cares?” The NBA No Body Around. It is filled with stupidity, like all sports, but not for me anymore. I’m taking my talents to every sport but the NBA. No Big Audience. I may start watching golf…and the World Cup of Soccer…When does that start?....... bruce you idiot it is over ...BTW Spain won..…

    
The NBA season competes with the NHL season. And since NHL is easier, for some reason, for me to type, it is my favorite sport. Well, not really that reason, HOCKEY ROCKS!!! The best sport is Hockey, because there are No Hop-head Losers…

    
The days go by and each show I listen to brings in another sportsbrainiac that *knows* what lbj is gonna do…WHO F-ING CARES? I have to find another station....Dammit!! However, lbj, the supreme ego maniac that he is, decided to have an HOUR long special on his decision. He is just a Nother Big Asshole.

   
By the time he decided, even if you liked basketball, you would say to yourself who cares…He is not coming to any team but one, so the fans of the other teams, like 98% of the forty or fifty idiots that still care about the NBA ’Nother Bad Attitude do not like his decision. If we want to stop the spiraling madness of pro sports some day we are going to have to stop watching.

    
The good thing for me is I will stop watching the NBA No Big Absence. The unmitigated gall by which he chose to *tell the world* his decision is what is wrong with sports. Opinionflash! No Athlete
is bigger than the game. It is too bad that lbj thinks he is….oh the stupidity…

    
Hey lbj how many championships have you won? ZERO… How many times have you acted unsportsmanlike like? AT LEAST ONCE Too many to count. Then why are you the king? YOU ARE NOT!! So, buh-bye, loser I hope you never win a championship, but if you do, it will not matter to me, as I will never see you play again…as if he cares...

    
And of course there was all the hype and lead up to what is probably the worst day in Cleveland sports history. Maybe not the worst, the day Art Model moved the Browns to Baltimore after Irsay moved the Colts to Indianapolis is bad. Well, there was also Elway and the Drive…Makes me glad I am a Michigan sports guy, we only have the Lions to break our hearts, and the Ohioans have all the aforementioned and the Blue Jackets…bummer dude…

    
The NBA No Brainiacs Allowed, gave us Latrell Spreewell who years ago spit on his coach and some how he still finished his career, without being banned from the sport. It is only spit, but it is a larger picture deal. The abject lack of respect is appalling. Hey, try this-on Monday, go to work and spit on your boss, when they tell you what to do. See how long you keep your job.

    
They also gave us the more recent Gilbert Areanas gun debacle. The NBA, No Brain Attached found out that Gilbert thought it would be okay at bring his arsenal and put it in his locker. Hey, they were unloaded, so give the guy a break. He did get suspended for the rest of the season. However, if you or I do something that ridonkulous, we would probably be at filling out some new applications and maybe even looking at a stay at the old Graybar Hotel…

    
lbj took his talents to Miami, and they paid him a pile of cash. He thinks he will win it all. I do not blame the Miami Heat. The NBA Never Be Appealing is like other sports but on some kind of egostroidammoth scale has allowed this kind of shenanigans to occur. They have allowed the inmates to run the asylum. This is the kind of stupidity that looses the casual fan, and does not grow the sport.

     
And now the Miami Heat has the *trifecta* Wade, Bosh and lbj. Who f-ing cares. If you are going to watch the NBA Never Bout Anyone but me, good luck. I will take my talents to the fishing channel in the absence of hockey. I will take my talents to watch NASCAR…

    
It is summer. It is slow for all sports but baseball. It has been hot lately. Ya gotta find a way to beat the Heat. I started by eliminating the hot air from sports shows talking about lbj. The Heat scored the prize. I do not blame the Heat. It is not the Heat, it’s the stupidity...

Just another day in paradise

wait...what?

guess what?

so like yeah...

i was kidnapped by some underworld spy or the wife of a close friend...

yesterday i had 203 fucking page views...
right...
sure...

or something like that...

who really knows?

i don't....

i know, right?

the 3d world is stranger than fiction...

peace love and rock-an-roll, y'all

Just Another Day In Paradise!

just so you know...

i was not raptured...

seems that there are a lot of others that were not as well...

matter of fact?

i did not know one single person to be raptured....

wait? what?

it is six months from now?

hey anyone wanna buy a few thousand   i survived the MAY 21, 2011  rapture t-shirts?


cheap!

jus sayin....

Just Another Day In Paradise!

A quick note 5 24 11

helllooooo..
TRENDING NOOOOOO!!!TRENDING NOOOOOOO!!
the anti rapture (and not much else)
the anti rapture (and not much else)
the anti rapture (and not much else)
the anti rapture (and not much else)
the anti rapture (and not much else)
the anti rapture (and not much else)
the anti rapture (and not much else)
lady gaga (lady gag-me)
the next rapture (that was just a practice)

tUcKeR and i are doing well.

we miss you all.

we are geting things right in the 3d world...

i had a few minutes and i thought...

i will go on to drop some f*bombs bombs on your blogs, you know slinging some f bombs  wittyshit, you know, just to let you know im still alive and...make you laugh...but NOOOOOO!

what. the .fuck.

guzzleboner googblefucker was not letting me sign in fom my igoogle page...

had to go back to explorer....

now im pissed and stressed...

so if i normally comment on your blog and you have missed me, which i am sure you have, like herpes...and other diseases...

*fuck..blah blah blah..funny thing. more swearing. some other really witty thing...and a gratuitous fuck.*

copy and past to your comment section and sign my name.

i give you permission...

oh and see ya in a few whiles...

Just Another Day in Paradise...

Wordy Wednesday...5 18 11

editors note: the 3d world is requesting that i spend some time doing shit that i do not want to do...so i am taking a hiatus. believe me i would rather be here, bloggererland...i need to deal with stuff that i cannot type away, cannot pretend is not there, cannot ignore any longer.

i will be back as soon as possible. i know i have some stuff to deal with, like awards and such...

oh and i have to get some discs sent out for contest winners from way back, but, you know shit happens...just wish i were partying naked. then i could blame this all on the booze. 

if i have time i will stop by your blogs too...

i will leave you with a little story...

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He wakes up, just before the alarm rings. The same routine he does every morning, as he has forever. It is his favorite time. That time while his nerves are still sleeping and his lungs have not started burning, and hurting.

Here, for just a minute, he is whole and unbroken.

Here, for a moment, life is still filled with possibility and a bright future.

Here, for just a minute, he has not abused and battered his body for years.

Here, for a moment, he still feels young.

Here for this moment. He lives for these moments.

But quickly they pass.

And reality says hello.

He crawls out of bed and turns on the heat pad. Lying back down, he starts the routine that his day has become. Every joint gets a dose of heat; the snooze alarm keeps the routine fair.

It could be worse.

His breathing is cool. The burning has not yet started. No exertion in sliding a heat pad around the old bones. No exertion, no burning. He begins to plan his day like he has done for years, except he will go nowhere today. 

He will stay home.

Just like yesterday.

And the day before that.

Doing very little.

No gain. No pain.

Take that Nike.

Or Reebok.

Or whoever coined phrase, No pain. No Gain.  

It is still semi-dark. The sun has yet to break the horizon. The alarm sounds. He adjusts the pad. The warmth is like a welcomed friend, soothing the stiffness. He stretches as the heat does its job. And then he settles in for the duration, at least an hour and a half. Ten minute moves. To each major joint.

every. fucking. day.

He closes his eyes. A smile plays upon thin lips. He strokes his beard, and decides after this round of heat therapy, he will go to the downstairs bath and shave the scruffy, unruly beard to neat and trim.

After what seems like days, he gets up and walks down the hall and then down the stairs. They seem like they are miles long. And this is going down. He does not remember them ever being this long.

He says under his breath, “No chance we are making it back up those in one sprint. We will need to take a break.” 

Still stepping.

Down. Down. Down.

Still stepping.

Beckoning.

Down. Down. Down.

The steps end in an unearthly darkness.

He is in a part of the city he has never been before.  The odor is a sharp punch in the nose, equal parts of yesterday’s urine and fresh feces. The weight of oppression is everywhere. The desperation is palpable.  The distant screams of sirens is never-ending.

The darkness is a hungry gelatinous moss, pervasive and intrusive, blanketing the city. No crack or crevice bears light, for it is merely food and sustenance for the darkness.

A baby cries. Dogs bark. Humans yell things at each other that even he would be rarely vocalize. This place is home to the pounding proliferation of poverty and drumming din of the disenfranchised as its essence assaults every sense.

The squalor is disgusting to even the rats and cockroaches.

He sees a figure in the distance, pushing a cart of some sort. A hooded, twisted stick of a human, sex and age indiscernible, crab-like, slowly inching along, singing and talking to itself. Oblivious to the murk and morass in which it moves.

Suddenly, from the shadows, its headlights gobbled by the gelatinous moss- darkness, a speeding car approaches, filed with teenagers, catcalls, and bravado. The driver swerves toward the crabstick, veering off at the last possible instant, tires belching a wave of puddle grime. The crabstick scuttles sideways causing it and its cart, contents and all, to tumble.  The tsunami of slurry slop, however, is unavoidable. It washes over crabstick, the cart, and its pathetic plunder.

Two brown bottles whiz through the air, exploding beer infused shrapnel as they hit the filthy pavement. He expects to hear the roaring of gunfire at any moment.  However, and thankfully, it is not forthcoming.

The cacophony of crazy laughter echoes the city canyon walls, obscuring the curses and ranting of the crabstick person. Buried is also the raucous rattling of worldly goods strewn like so many trash bags from a moving vehicle.

Here, for a moment, even the unending din subsides, lost in the insanity of a completely senseless act of plain stupidity; a random and unprovoked maneuver of malice.

Here, for just a minute, he hears only the beating of his heart. He hears only his humanity, and no one else’s.

He is compelled to act.

To move.

In his limping metered gate he shuffles over to help crabstick. The mad mutterings are laced with expletives and gibberish. He reaches down to help crabstick. Crabstick, its hooded head still dripping, looks up.

Their eyes meet.

Crabstick’s eyes are bespectacled and blue, eerily similar to his own. The beard, more white than its original red, also a haunting similarity.  A thin lipped grin reveals teeth that have seen a few too many cigarettes, chased by coffee. The hint of stale beer clings to this specter of some fucked-up funhouse mirror.

Wordlessly, the two broken individuals return the cart to an upright position and load crabstick’s worldly possessions. 

Absently, he feels a dim burning in his hips and lower back.

He says to himself, “No good deed goes unpunished.”

In the distance, he hears the sounds that are familiar, yet he cannot quite place where they come from and how he knows this voice- noise.

A sirens wail?

It grows louder and closer. He struggles to place it, or its significance. There is so much confusion of sound in this place. The gelatinous darkness disguises and controls all, as sound and light are also blurred.

Crabstick’s cart is full, and the mutterings have ceased, as crabstick and his stuff move noisily away.

Still the voice-noise beckons. It becomes louder and more urgent.

The burning in his back and hips are now demanding of attention as well. The fingers of the gelatinous moss begin to relax their slimy grip.

His blue eyes open suddenly.  For a moment he is unsure of where he is. The stench and decay are gone, replaced by the familiar aroma of fresh brewed coffee and a woman’s perfume. 

Thank God, he did not have to climb back up those stairs.

“We’re leaving” says a woman’s voice.

He reaches over to hit the snooze. 

And slides the heat pad farther up his torso to continue the routine.

Just Another Day In Paradise