Actually, I'm not rooting for them. I watched the TCU Horned Frogs vs. The Iowa State Cyclones in the Houston Bowl, and while I'm no big fan of Iowa, it is right next door, so hey, go neighbor. But in my fan frenzy, I had an epiphany- if a frog came across a cyclone in real life, who do you think would win? And so began my trek across the utter ridiculousness that is the college sport nickname.
A while ago, my hockey obsessed friend was watching a NHL game between the Devils and the Penguins. And I looked at him incredulously- "Who do you think is going to win? How in the hell could a penguin defeat the devil? I haven't even seen that in comic books." To which he rolled his eyes, but I think I have a valid point- the names of teams should be at least halfway menacing, or else who would take you seriously? (Devils won.)
So I began looking into the names of college teams, because unless you live in the Midwest, nobody takes them seriously. And I'm beginning to understand why there are so many college dropouts in this country.
Take for instance, the University of California at Santa Cruz Banana Slugs. Now, I have no idea exactly what a Banana Slug looks like, or what it does, but it certainly doesn't sound scary. I'm pretty sure I could take on a banana slug. Another of my favorites: the Endicott College Power Gulls. What the shit is a Power Gull? A seagull with a machine gun?
Some just don't make sense at all to me- like the Vassar College Anchormen. Are Miles O'Brien and Wolf Blitzer in the Alumni Association? I'll bet there's a jazz flute section in the band. And a personal favorite- the Rhode Island School of Design Nads. Not Power Nads, or Big Nads, just Nads. Maybe the writers of Beavis and Butthead graduated from there.
Georgia seems to have a distinct array of stupid names. For example: the Georgia Technical Institute Ramblin Wrecks, and the Life University of Georgia Running Eagles. For the record, Eagles fly, and I'm not very afraid of my old car coming after me.
Here's the matchup of the century- Arkansas Tech. Wonder Boys vs. the Heidelberg College Student Princes. It's on after Queer Eye For the Straight Guy.
Part of the problem is that these names aren't scary enough. It's hard to summon pride and spirit for teams named after animals so low on the food chain even we don't eat them. Like the University of California at Irvine Anteaters. Go anteaters? Dude, they're gross. They eat bugs. And the University of Alaska at Monticello Boll Weevils? Dude, those are bugs!
Some are just strange. New Jersey State College Goth Knights. Makes me want to hide my black hair dye and nail polish. These kids were scary in high school, sure, but it's just a phase, right?
Or there's the Trinity Christian College Trolls. Christian Trolls are scary only because if it's the next Shrek movie, I might have to see it.
But there is a ray of hope- Say hello to the California State Long Beach Dirtbags! Now that's a team I can get behind. Met more than a few in my lifetime.
I guess I'm just gonna have to get over it. There's so many college teams that maybe they simply ran out of names. And I guess I can't really say too much, because I am a Cornhusker. But before you say anything, asshole, husking corn is hard. It's hot and your hands bleed. And the people who do it are crazy. Psychopathic crazy. So don't fuck with us. We're scary, damnit.
And the next time the Jamestown Jimmies fight the St. John's Johnnies, I'll be watching golf.
Go Camels!
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Sunday, December 18, 2005
Ma, It's Not Wasted Space
In my years, I still haven't found anything as gut-wrenchingly embarrassing as a sex conversation with my mother. Now, it's not your run of the mill, what does this do, where does this go conversation of your teen years, this goes way beyond- the things she wants to talk about are things that even I have trouble talking about without blushing, and that's saying something. So imagine my chagrin, when at Applebee's, in front of my cute bartender, she pops out with "I heard guys like having their prostate rubbed, Jess. Where is it?"
EIWWWWWWWWWW.
Okay, trying to get beyond the fact that she figured I would know, (which I do) I couldn't believe she had the balls to ask her daughter whether she should stick her finger up her boyfriend's butt, which after I told her exactly where it was, she started contemplating out loud.
Now, I don't know much about normal conservation topics involving one's mother, but I'm pretty sure this one doesn't count. Especially when the next thing she says is- "I used to lay in bed with your dad, and he always said the area between his balls and his ass was wasted space. Is that true?"
DOUBLE EIWWWWWWWWWWWW!
Oh God I think I'm gonna barf. Now she brings up the only taboo from childhood that still counts- your parents having sex, and combines it with like the worst mental image I have ever seen. I felt faint when I told her in a teeny, tiny voice- "No."
And she starts ranting about how retarded my dad is, and how glad she is that sex with her boyfriend is better, and how excited she is to try all these cool new sex tips I'm giving her. And I ran for the bathroom.
What I don't understand is how exactly she knew to ask me these things. My sexual escapades are not unknown, but for God's sake, even my mother knows I like to get a little freaky? And now, apparently, the cute bartender at Applebee's has a faint inkling, too. So I'm on a self-imposed exile from Applebee's. That's not a very cool way to pick up guys- "Hey, my mother says I'm good in bed! Wanna see if she's right?"
As for my mother, let's just say the next time I'm having a conversation with her will be inside a church. I'm hoping the presence of God will shut her up. But that's a job even the Almighty might have a problem with. As for the rest of you- It's Not Wasted Space.
EIWWWWWWWWWW.
Okay, trying to get beyond the fact that she figured I would know, (which I do) I couldn't believe she had the balls to ask her daughter whether she should stick her finger up her boyfriend's butt, which after I told her exactly where it was, she started contemplating out loud.
Now, I don't know much about normal conservation topics involving one's mother, but I'm pretty sure this one doesn't count. Especially when the next thing she says is- "I used to lay in bed with your dad, and he always said the area between his balls and his ass was wasted space. Is that true?"
DOUBLE EIWWWWWWWWWWWW!
Oh God I think I'm gonna barf. Now she brings up the only taboo from childhood that still counts- your parents having sex, and combines it with like the worst mental image I have ever seen. I felt faint when I told her in a teeny, tiny voice- "No."
And she starts ranting about how retarded my dad is, and how glad she is that sex with her boyfriend is better, and how excited she is to try all these cool new sex tips I'm giving her. And I ran for the bathroom.
What I don't understand is how exactly she knew to ask me these things. My sexual escapades are not unknown, but for God's sake, even my mother knows I like to get a little freaky? And now, apparently, the cute bartender at Applebee's has a faint inkling, too. So I'm on a self-imposed exile from Applebee's. That's not a very cool way to pick up guys- "Hey, my mother says I'm good in bed! Wanna see if she's right?"
As for my mother, let's just say the next time I'm having a conversation with her will be inside a church. I'm hoping the presence of God will shut her up. But that's a job even the Almighty might have a problem with. As for the rest of you- It's Not Wasted Space.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Keep That Shit Away From My Ass!
Ha Ha This is so funny I had to post it. I know it's not mine, but since I'm incredibly nice, I figured I should share it. Enjoy!
I love my job...
This is even funnier when you realize it's real! The next time you have a bad day at work... think of this guy. Rob is a commercial saturation diver for Global Divers in Louisiana. He performs underwater repairs on offshore drilling rigs. Below is an E-mail he sent to his sister. She then sent it to radio station 103.2 on FM dial in Ft. Wayne, Indiana, who was sponsoring a worst job experience contest.... Needless to say, she won.
"Hi Sue:Just another note from your bottom-dwelling brother. Last week I had a bad day at the office. I know you've been feeling down lately at work, so I thought I would share my dilemma with you to make you realize it's not so bad after all. Before I can tell you what happened to me, I first must bore you with a few technicalities of my job. As you know, my office lies at the bottom of the sea. I wear a suit to the office. It's a wet suit. This time of year the water is quite cool. So what we do to keep warm is this: We have a diesel powered industrial water heater. This $20,000 piece of equipment sucks the water out of the sea. It heats it to a delightful temperature. It then pumps it down to the diver through a garden hose, which is taped to the air hose. Now this sounds like a darn good plan, and I've used it several times with no complaints. What I do, when I get to the bottom and start working, is take the hose and stuff it down the back of my wet suit. This floods my whole suit with warm water. It's like working in a Jacuzzi. Everything was going well until all of a sudden, my butt started to itch. So, of course, I scratched it. This only made things worse. Within a few seconds my butt started to burn. I pulled the hose out from my back, but the damage was done. In agony I realized what had happened. The hot water machine had sucked up a jellyfish and pumped it into my suit. Now, since I don't have any hair on my back, the jellyfish couldn't stick to it. However, the crack of my butt was not as fortunate. When I scratched what I thought was an itch, I was actually grinding the jellyfish into the crack of my butt. I informed the dive supervisor of my dilemma over the communicator. His instructions were unclear due to the fact that he, along with five other divers, were all laughing hysterically. Needless to say I aborted the dive. I was instructed to make three agonizing in-water decompression stops totaling thirty-five minutes before I could reach the surface to begin my chamber dry decompression. When I arrived at the surface, I was wearing nothing but my brass helmet. As I climbed out of the water, the medic, with tears of laughter running down his face, handed me a tube of cream and told me to rub it on my butt as soon as I got in the chamber. The cream put the fire out, but I couldn't poop for two days because my butt was swollen shut. So, next time you're having a bad day at work, think about how much worse it would be if you had a jellyfish shoved up your butt.
Now repeat to yourself, "I love my job, I love my job, I love my job"
I love my job...
This is even funnier when you realize it's real! The next time you have a bad day at work... think of this guy. Rob is a commercial saturation diver for Global Divers in Louisiana. He performs underwater repairs on offshore drilling rigs. Below is an E-mail he sent to his sister. She then sent it to radio station 103.2 on FM dial in Ft. Wayne, Indiana, who was sponsoring a worst job experience contest.... Needless to say, she won.
"Hi Sue:Just another note from your bottom-dwelling brother. Last week I had a bad day at the office. I know you've been feeling down lately at work, so I thought I would share my dilemma with you to make you realize it's not so bad after all. Before I can tell you what happened to me, I first must bore you with a few technicalities of my job. As you know, my office lies at the bottom of the sea. I wear a suit to the office. It's a wet suit. This time of year the water is quite cool. So what we do to keep warm is this: We have a diesel powered industrial water heater. This $20,000 piece of equipment sucks the water out of the sea. It heats it to a delightful temperature. It then pumps it down to the diver through a garden hose, which is taped to the air hose. Now this sounds like a darn good plan, and I've used it several times with no complaints. What I do, when I get to the bottom and start working, is take the hose and stuff it down the back of my wet suit. This floods my whole suit with warm water. It's like working in a Jacuzzi. Everything was going well until all of a sudden, my butt started to itch. So, of course, I scratched it. This only made things worse. Within a few seconds my butt started to burn. I pulled the hose out from my back, but the damage was done. In agony I realized what had happened. The hot water machine had sucked up a jellyfish and pumped it into my suit. Now, since I don't have any hair on my back, the jellyfish couldn't stick to it. However, the crack of my butt was not as fortunate. When I scratched what I thought was an itch, I was actually grinding the jellyfish into the crack of my butt. I informed the dive supervisor of my dilemma over the communicator. His instructions were unclear due to the fact that he, along with five other divers, were all laughing hysterically. Needless to say I aborted the dive. I was instructed to make three agonizing in-water decompression stops totaling thirty-five minutes before I could reach the surface to begin my chamber dry decompression. When I arrived at the surface, I was wearing nothing but my brass helmet. As I climbed out of the water, the medic, with tears of laughter running down his face, handed me a tube of cream and told me to rub it on my butt as soon as I got in the chamber. The cream put the fire out, but I couldn't poop for two days because my butt was swollen shut. So, next time you're having a bad day at work, think about how much worse it would be if you had a jellyfish shoved up your butt.
Now repeat to yourself, "I love my job, I love my job, I love my job"
Sunday, December 04, 2005
Teeth Are Overrated, Anyway
So it turns out I'm good at ice skating. And with all talents one possesses, one must best decide what to do with said talents. Being of the belief that figure skating is for sad girls and gay men, I have decided to apply my talents in an area that desperately needs someone like me: Ice Hockey.
Hockey is pretty tough. The ice is slippery, and people will punch you in the face without any forewarning. And it's had it's share of problems. It just got over a strike, and most Americans don't like watching sports dominated by people named Sven. So I, yes I, am volunteering for the thankless job of restoring hockey to its once prestigious title of America's least watched sport.
The problem is, most people have a hard time watching hockey. The puck is too small. So, as soon as I'm on a team, I'm going to demand that we use something a little more visible- like a bowling ball. It will make the game a lot easier to follow. But Sergio the goalie is gonna have to get some more padding!
We need more players, too. 5 people is not enough, and there's only four if there's a power play. Football has 11 players on the field, plus the 600 guys on the sidelines. Did you know that the same guy who plays 4th string right tackle is not the same guy who plays 4th string left tackle? Americans love excess! We need like 12 guys out on the ice.
And we're going to have to make the fights more interesting. There's 24 hockey players stoned on testosterone and wearing ice skates, so there's always going to be some bloodshed. But Americans need more than just some broken noses. We don't watch NASCAR because it's interesting, we watch it because there's a chance we're going to see an explosion or two. So from now on, players can whack eachother with their sticks. In fact, let's trade the traditional hockey sticks for some good old fashioned baseball bats. That ought to help. So go ahead! Feel free to beat a Canadian over the head.
Basketball has always been know for it's half time contests. A fan gets to come down and shoot a basket for a prize. Except they have to shoot from half court, and the prize is always a gift certificate to The Olive Garden. So let's kick ours up a notch. We'll let the fans onto to the ice to fight over the teeth left from bowling balls and baseball bats. Whoever collects the most teeth wins a gift certificate to The Olive Garden. But they get to take Bjorn, Gunnar, and Ivar with them. Someone's gotta pre-chew their food for them.
And by the way, what's up with this 3 period bullshit? Who wants two halftimes? American's like their games to come in pairs, not treys. Even baseball has the 7th inning stretch. I don't care how Canadians count, us Americans don't want to do more than we have to, and two halftimes is twice as much standing and stretching than we're comfortable with.
We should change the prize too. Who the hell is Stanley? And why would anybody want his cup? I think we should play for pizza. The winner gets free Pizza Hut for life. Or we could play for free dental work. Maybe we could have some sort of lottery. Fuck this Stanley guy. And his stupid cup.
We're going to start serving beer in the penalty box. We'll call it "The Penalty Box Pub," and I guarantee that players will do anything to get in there. So our halftime show will always be fully stocked with teeth. And whoever loses the most teeth during the half will get a free drink with a purchase of any menu item over 5 dollars.
We're gonna need to make over our fans, too. Hockey fans are crazy, sure, but there's not a rink full of cheeseheads, or people doing the "truffle shuffle." So no fan is allowed in unless they are wearing one of the following:
A beer can hat
A viking hat, a hat in the shape of a food object, or enough mardi gras beads to make Pamela Anderson work for them
Enough body paint to make Jackson Pollock jealous
Bongo drums
Indian gear
A jersey made entirely out of garbage bags and stuffed animals
Nothing
Our fans need to be as unruly as the players. So upon entering, all fans who are dressed in the proper attire will be given their own baseball bats. Feel free to beat eachother senseless, just like your favorite hockey players do!
And finally, all hockey players have to have theme names. Like "American Gladiators" used to. So Sven is now "Nitro," and Roland will be "Turbo." It will give hockey a more American feel. "Killer" and "Dog the psychopath " will be reserved for championship games only.
I think I'll start knocking some teeth out now just so I fit in when I get there. I'm also in the process of giving myself a black eye. Does anybody have a hammer? Or a baseball bat?
Hockey is pretty tough. The ice is slippery, and people will punch you in the face without any forewarning. And it's had it's share of problems. It just got over a strike, and most Americans don't like watching sports dominated by people named Sven. So I, yes I, am volunteering for the thankless job of restoring hockey to its once prestigious title of America's least watched sport.
The problem is, most people have a hard time watching hockey. The puck is too small. So, as soon as I'm on a team, I'm going to demand that we use something a little more visible- like a bowling ball. It will make the game a lot easier to follow. But Sergio the goalie is gonna have to get some more padding!
We need more players, too. 5 people is not enough, and there's only four if there's a power play. Football has 11 players on the field, plus the 600 guys on the sidelines. Did you know that the same guy who plays 4th string right tackle is not the same guy who plays 4th string left tackle? Americans love excess! We need like 12 guys out on the ice.
And we're going to have to make the fights more interesting. There's 24 hockey players stoned on testosterone and wearing ice skates, so there's always going to be some bloodshed. But Americans need more than just some broken noses. We don't watch NASCAR because it's interesting, we watch it because there's a chance we're going to see an explosion or two. So from now on, players can whack eachother with their sticks. In fact, let's trade the traditional hockey sticks for some good old fashioned baseball bats. That ought to help. So go ahead! Feel free to beat a Canadian over the head.
Basketball has always been know for it's half time contests. A fan gets to come down and shoot a basket for a prize. Except they have to shoot from half court, and the prize is always a gift certificate to The Olive Garden. So let's kick ours up a notch. We'll let the fans onto to the ice to fight over the teeth left from bowling balls and baseball bats. Whoever collects the most teeth wins a gift certificate to The Olive Garden. But they get to take Bjorn, Gunnar, and Ivar with them. Someone's gotta pre-chew their food for them.
And by the way, what's up with this 3 period bullshit? Who wants two halftimes? American's like their games to come in pairs, not treys. Even baseball has the 7th inning stretch. I don't care how Canadians count, us Americans don't want to do more than we have to, and two halftimes is twice as much standing and stretching than we're comfortable with.
We should change the prize too. Who the hell is Stanley? And why would anybody want his cup? I think we should play for pizza. The winner gets free Pizza Hut for life. Or we could play for free dental work. Maybe we could have some sort of lottery. Fuck this Stanley guy. And his stupid cup.
We're going to start serving beer in the penalty box. We'll call it "The Penalty Box Pub," and I guarantee that players will do anything to get in there. So our halftime show will always be fully stocked with teeth. And whoever loses the most teeth during the half will get a free drink with a purchase of any menu item over 5 dollars.
We're gonna need to make over our fans, too. Hockey fans are crazy, sure, but there's not a rink full of cheeseheads, or people doing the "truffle shuffle." So no fan is allowed in unless they are wearing one of the following:
A beer can hat
A viking hat, a hat in the shape of a food object, or enough mardi gras beads to make Pamela Anderson work for them
Enough body paint to make Jackson Pollock jealous
Bongo drums
Indian gear
A jersey made entirely out of garbage bags and stuffed animals
Nothing
Our fans need to be as unruly as the players. So upon entering, all fans who are dressed in the proper attire will be given their own baseball bats. Feel free to beat eachother senseless, just like your favorite hockey players do!
And finally, all hockey players have to have theme names. Like "American Gladiators" used to. So Sven is now "Nitro," and Roland will be "Turbo." It will give hockey a more American feel. "Killer" and "Dog the psychopath " will be reserved for championship games only.
I think I'll start knocking some teeth out now just so I fit in when I get there. I'm also in the process of giving myself a black eye. Does anybody have a hammer? Or a baseball bat?
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