XMAS OFF: Two Front Teeth vs A Red Rider BB Gun with a Compass in the Stock

This would be like the 1 seed against the number 16 in the March Madness of Christmas Gifts.

First of all, think of all the things you can do with a gun that you can't do with teeth. Shooting bottles, shooting someone's eye out... Well, I guess most of them involve shooting crap but that's pretty dope. A carbine action bb gun ranks up there with the greatest christmas gift of them all:



Crossfire! (Which is eternally from sometime in the future until we get our damn hover boards)

Why would you want those teeth anyway? To dig into a holiday ham? No, to "wish you Merry Christmas", specious reasoning at best. My only hope is that you are asking for two front teeth with the secret hope that your humbleness and holiday cheer will be grandly rewarded by the big man.

So the choice is yours, but choose wisely.

Kicking Ass and Eating Snow

Now I'm not sure if the storm this weekend was technically classified as a Nor'easter, but it was, in vague terms, 'the real deal'.

The snow fell hard and fast as I made a trek from NYC to Foxborough to catch my first Patriots game and was treated to a blizzardy clinic at the expense of the Arizona Cardinals. The best part was that we got hooked up with Club Seats, which means you can step inside the Club Lounge, warm your toes and do some serious contemplation:



After the game, I was listening to this track by the Interiors, and it got me all fired up:

The Interiors - Ghosts
The Interiors - Ghosts

This song and band are all about kicking ass and getting their ass kicked. A day after signing their record deal, lead guitarist Chase Duncan lost a half inch off his index finger when a brutal Chicago wind caught a metal door and slammed it on his hand. A devastating event for a young guitarist on the brink of success. Duncan got his ass kicked by that wind, but instead of packing it in, he has managed to kick even more ass and produce songs like Ghosts.

Everyone (including me) thought the loss of Brady was the end of the season in New England. We fooled ourselves into believing that we really wanted to blow the doors off every team and make another run toward perfection. We wanted to be unquestionably great.

But to be considered great, you must produce in the face of adversity. Whether it is losing a finger or a quarterback, the link between adversity and greatness is palpable, despite the fact that so many of us end up using it as an excuse.

So no matter if the Patriots make the playoffs or not, I feel reborn as a fan this season. And I think everyone should always be on the giving or receiving end of an ass kicking (and often switching sides) just to keep the world spinning.

Here is a quick clip of the snowy madness after a Pats touchdown:

Cross One More Off the List

I was surfing around tonight looking for a link to Jim Carrey on Saturday Night Live impersonating Jimmy Stewart impersonating Jim Carrey in "The Joe Pesci Show." I couldn't find it, but I did manage to find this, a mint transfer of my favorite TV commercial of all time:



If it doesn't load for you, go here.

I love the ending. "Passion" brings your eye down to the right; the logo brings it back up to the center. I don't know what it is about that detail, but it has always been freaking magical to me. Cheers. Throw back your Hob Nob.

We've secretly replaced Johnny's favorite gourmet coffee with decaffeinated Folger's Crystals. Let's see if he can tell the difference.

I'm not writing this to be mean, I'm just putting this out there for the sake of etiquette, and as a coffee enthusiast. Here is the first rule of serving coffee:

1. If you are serving exclusively decaffeinated coffee as "coffee," you may not present it as "coffee." You may not bring a carafe of decaf to the table, and say, "Coffee, anyone?" You must say, "Decaf, anyone?"

The second rule of serving coffee:

2. If you happen to ignore Rule 1, and serve decaf as "coffee," you must keep it secret, as the truth would greatly disappoint any coffee enthusiast who thought he or she was drinking full-on, robot chubby, caffeinated coffee for the past ten minutes. As Cousin Eddie says, "If he does lay into ya, it's best to just let him finish."
Speaking of bestiality, the whole "decaf as coffee" scenario is a lot like this:

Your significant other says, "Close your eyes, I'm about to pleasure you." You oblige and enjoy yourself for a while, but then your significant other says, "Open your eyes, I have a surprise for you." You open your eyes to find the dog pleasuring you. You recoil in horror.

Your significant other never should have said he or she would be pleasuring you. But, once the pleasuring began, however false the pretenses were, you were much better off not knowing the god-awful truth.

That is all. Thank you for your time, and Merry Christmas.

Johnny's Thoughts on Fantasy

I stopped participating in Fantasy Sports two years ago, as my former employer started cock-blocking Fantasy sites. The c-block pissed me off, and I missed Fantasy sports, as it was a main communication conduit between myself and a certain group of remote friends.

I was in a $20/each league for baseball and football. It was a fun distraction while it lasted. I competed to the best of my ability, but never got obsessed with it. Like the sports world itself, it was a generally pointless piece of candy that sparked conversation and got me through my work day.

I enjoyed the way Fantasy could hedge an otherwise disappointing Sox or Pats performance by my owning of the player who destroyed either team that day. Sometimes you got the best of both worlds. My Fantasy player could get four hits and 2 RBI off the Sox, and the Sox could win in real life.

Like any pleasure, Fantasy sports in moderation doesn't do much harm. It sounds like the Welker fan next to you had a bit too much mind space (or money) dedicated to the Fantasy.