Are you kidding me?

January 15, 2007

The Chargers have the biggest dick in the NFL and they still can’t get it up. Gates, Tomlinson, Neal…golden tickets to a Super Bowl.


And yet we get Colts-Patriots again. Thanks, San Diego. You fucking suck!

PS. I’m not even going to go over the CBS interview with President Bush that followed the game. He’s nearly as fraudulent and depressing as the Chargers this season.

Orleans, One, One, O Seven

January 14, 2007

I feel it my duty to report on New Orleans, albeit several weeks late.


What I did:
– Drink (sorry, I let you fellahs down)

– Not have dirty, STD riddled sex (sorry, I let you fellahs down)

– Attempt, at least once, to carve my way through the wall of humans ever-present at any given moment (I failed)

– Drink the most expensive shot of liquor from the most expensive plastic cup (johnnie red, economy, economy)

– Lose partial hearing to an 80’s cover band whilst fighting the urge to grab random asses in the crowd that was overwhelming and asphyxiating me, if only to carve a little space for myself (Come on feel the noiz)

– Witness someone disrobe for beads (It was a man, and he was urinating. He produced a great Arc De piss, but received no beads. I yelled “Holy FUCK!” like a real tourist)

– Stare out into New Orleans from my hotel window for nearly an hour, downing copious amounts of free tea for caffeine (my happiest moment there. little fireworks in the distance…)

– Watch an incredible, and incredibly short fireworks display in Jackson Square, in the midst of many other drunks (pretty impressive)

– Pee in a constantly wavering port-o-potty surrounded by thousands of people (I have no idea how I ended up in the “piss line”. A strange man opened the door on me as I was fastening my belt. He apologized. People took turns. How a city retains its toilet etiquette under such circumstances, I’ll never fucking know.)

– Witness a little devastation on my way in (Depressing, until the alcohol)

– Witness a little hope from people who shouldn’t have it (I asked a store clerk if things were getting back to normal. His response, in tattered English, was “Yes. We’ll recover.”)

Information overload. At any given moment, at any given glance, I saw something that I would normally take home and explain to my family on any given day. Any one event could define your day in its out-and-out weirdness, but there were just about sixty every sixty seconds. Everything was a little absurd (if you bothered to look around) and there was so much of it, so many silly red faces, that my brain overloaded and gave in to instinct. The near-midget transvestite casually grocery shopping, the drunken bums begging each other for “the booze”, the street kids’ dance, the street men singing their own little songs, the Police in cruisers watching porn, the idiotic tourists such as myself making their own little scenes. I liked it.

I didn’t get too drunk, except in the hotel room. And I had a good New Years.