Wide World of Sports

Hey there ‘Redheads… I’m not sure I’m ready to accept the fact that it’s a week deep into December. Time is flying like a clock in a catapult. The evidence was overwhelming on Saturday, when we got our first bit of snowfall. Luckily, I made sure to stockpile the essential bread, milk, and toilet paper before the big storm the Mayans tried to warn us about touched down and made the streets all damp. It wasn’t even good snowball weather. All it left me with was a minor inconvenience and a hankering for a milk and toilet paper sandwich.

I’d like to thank Tiger Woods for filling the void with plenty of salacious slush to frolic in. I kind of feel sorry for Tiger, mostly because of the many double entendres that exist in golf terminology. Por ejemplo, there’s no fair way to tell just how deep in the rough his balls are, but he needs to improve his lie with so many holes left to play. And it’s only too perfect that there’s nine strumpets (I’m bringing that word back) claiming he left a divot in their sand trap. Most women I’ve talked to seem to agree that the best word to describe him: Putz. Then, of course, there’s the obvious cat pun that I haven’t heard anyone make yet, so please pardon me while I make it here. He should probably change his name to *deep breath* Cheetah. I’m here all week. Try the veal.

If Tiger’s travails weren’t enough for you, then maybe you got a kick out the latest schadenfreude exhibition put on by the Washington Redskins, who outplayed the undefeated Saints for all but about two minutes of regulation. They had a chance to go up by 10 points with 1:52 remaining. Here’s a reenactment of what happened next. Viggo Mortensen represents the Saints, William Hurt represents every Skins fan watching, and the henchman with the chip shot chance to seal the deal represents Shaun Suisham

I suppose the other henchmen represent the many missed tackles of LaRon Landry… And after that, the Skins once again failed to succeed or succeeded at failure, and for all of that effort, they got squadoosh. I know the team is embroiled in a legal fight to change their name. After this loss, may I suggest they change it to the Generals. If you got trigger happy with your remote during the game, hopefully you were able to catch this infomercial gem that was on Channel 7 during the first half…

Wow, Bachelor of the Arts Baracus hawking cookware to a paid studio audience of fools not even fit for his pity… I’m pretty sure even Dirk Benedict would’ve turned that gig down. Mr. T’s street cred shouldn’t be swayed by this tiny pock mark. After all, he got past this…

Big doings in sports that don’t exist, too. Of the four teams that I helmed this fantasy football season, a whopping one of them, The Minnesota Vicarious, was able to back into the playoffs, while another, The Most Humble, has an outside shot. As for the other two, I’m starting to come to grips with the fact that my fantasy just might be mediocrity and crippling disappointment. I’ve got it that good, apparently.

Speaking of reality, do yourself a favor and check out my comedy compadre, Ryan Conner’s breakdown of the televised collision of two trains carrying a load of douche nozzles known as Jersey Shore. Click here to feel better about yourself.

To be continued…

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Marching In…

Hey there ‘Redheads… Welcome to the month of madness. Sadly, my Terps turned purple choking on a 20 point lead and lost a game that’ll probably keep them out of the NCAA tournament. Degenerate gambling just isn’t the same without a real rooting interest to pin your hopes to. It turns out, everything I know is wrong. I just found out that one of ingredients of the miracle cold fighter, Airborne, is bullshit, apparently. You might as well pop a Pez when you feel a cold coming on. They lost a class action lawsuit for false advertising that’ll have them cutting checks like Steve Martin at the end of The Jerk. I also ran across this depressing item…

MILWAUKEE (March 4) – Gary Gygax, who co-created the fantasy game Dungeons & Dragons and helped start the role-playing phenomenon, died Tuesday morning at his home in Lake Geneva. He was 69. He had been suffering from health problems for several years, including an abdominal aneurysm, said his wife, Gail Gygax.

I’ll put this in terms that the bereaved geeks will understand. He was losing hit points and was finally unable to make a saving throw vs. death. May a chorus of Umber Hulks sing thee to thy rest… His spirit will live on…in the hearts of people who have no life.

Originally, I wasn’t going to make this an official blog. I was futzing around, putting some ideas down in cyberspace to use for a YouTube contest that’s being sponsored by TurboTax, and I figured I post it for feedback. They want entrants to come up with tax jokes, with the eventual message being that TurboTax is the easy way to do it. So, I put together a small tax bit, in the style of a Dennis Miller rant (they’re fun to do…once you figure out the formula, it’s sardonic Mad-Libs). Here’s what I have so far…

Tax time is coming up soon. Taxes are a sticky time for most comedians because we ride the poverty line like a bear on a unicycle in the Russian circus. Unless IRS stands for Internal Ramen Noodle Service, there’s not a whole lot I can kick back to the government. Alot of times, I’m paid in free drinks. I can’t exactly put a stamp on a shot of Jager and expect to be square with Uncle Sam. Although last year, the Anheuser Busch brewery claimed me as a dependant. And deductions are tough to figure out. What about all the times I’ve donated my services and was charming and witty without proper compensation? What’s the blue book value of a fart joke?

For most people, doing their taxes is so horrific they get the same gut wrenching reactions as when they watch 2 Girls, 1 Cup. It doesn’t help that the tax code is so complicated, it makes Macbeth in Swahili read like the Cliff Notes to See Spot Run.

If you think you’ve got it bad, pity my friend, the accountant. Every year around this time he becomes so reclusive, he makes Dick Cheney look like Rachel Ray. He locks himself in a bunker and starts crunching numbers like Cookie Monster let loose in a Thin Mint factory.

All is not lost, though. Our push-button age that lets us google our youtubes has also brought us TurboTax. You plug in all of your information and suddenly you’ve gone from Laurel and Hardy to Ernst and Young.

Lotsa so *blank* it makes *blank* look like *blank*. It needs tweaking. I’m not trying to write Twain over here. I just want a passable entry into a YouTube contest. Not the loftiest of goals, but it’ll divert my deficit of attention for the time being.

Quick programming note: Turns out that I won’t be working with Judah Friedlander when I return to the DC Improv, March 26th-30th. Instead, Ian Bagg will be the headliner. His name is a much smaller score in Scrabble, but don’t let that keep you from checking out the show.

Switching gears to a serious matter, please take the time to follow the link and read about a plight that has befallen comedy comrade, Ryan Conner.

To be continued…