Okay New Orleans, Get the #$%@ over it...

Count me in the 'hates-puppies' camp, as I was among the three people outside of the state of Indiana (and the Manning family) pulling for the Colts to win the Super Bowl last February. The Saints had barely eeked their way past Brett Favre to 'earn' the right to play for professional football's biggest prize, and nobody on the Saints team really gave me the Rudy-vibe underdog vibe enough for me to cast my vote in their camp. Plus I just could not get over Drew Brees' year-long tape worm as it clinged to his cheek like the tattered shred of a pap smear gone wrong. (Counting down the seconds here until every boat-shoe wearing, greasy-hair-having dude whose last name ends in 'eaux' comments with a, 'it's from a birthmark you douchebag.' 5....4....3....2....)

Here we are four months later, and the tattered Saints flags are still waving from car windows at an alarming rate. Aside from the undying, unyielding purveyance of black and gold vehicle decor, the constant crowing of the once petrified and ashamed fan base is borderline insufferable. It actually reminds me of LSU fan, who now is out in full force after Nick Saban (take that) turned around the fledgling program and made it into a national power despite Les Miles' best efforts to ruin the 'Dynasty that Saban Built (more boat shoe wearers in any minute...).

But Drew Brees recently made damn sure to dismantle the Saints dynasty built on savvy personnel moves and Vicodin (I'm talking to you, Sean Payton) when he agreed to be the cover athlete for this year's NFL Madden 11 videogame, which is due to release this August. It's long understood that Madden cover athletes are cursed to some sort of demise, permanent or temporary. The laundry list is longer than Greg Oden's...


Michael Vick served prison time for running illegal dog fighting ring, lying to federal investigators and animal cruelty leading to a year-long suspension. Vince Young took a 9 millimeter pistol to eat a basket of chicken wings, was suspended by the Titans and had a 9/17 TD-INT ratio in 2008. Daunte Culpepper, Eddie George, Marshall Faulk and Shaun Alexander all experienced the genesis of their decline in their 'Cover Seasons', before becoming NFL has-beens. Ray Lewis, Donavan McNabb and Troy Polamalu were all injured for the first time in their careers. Cover of Madden an honor? Probably. Chances of you making it through the next season unscathed? Zero. (Except for Brett Favre, and to be honest, Brett Favre is a cut above the rest of these douchers. Brett Favre is a man. He wears Wranglers. He plays pick-up football games in muddy pastures with his best friends from high school. Oh, and he posts the best season of his career when he's forty. What's your dad doing when he's forty? Exactly.)

Given the obvious, indisputable evidence supporting the Madden Curse and all of its ramifications, it's interesting to ponder what the power of the Curse could wield if it were used for good. What would happen, for example, if we put Tony Romo on the cover? Could Tony quit choking like Nick Anderson in the playoffs? Could Jerry Jones and the Stay-Puft Marsh-----er----Wade Phillips hold a non-Landry/Johnson Lombardi trophy above their heads?

As much as I hate Tony Romo and the horse he rode in on (Jessica Simpson), I'm willing to put the 'curse' to good use. So I present to you, five years of the curse used for good as we all know the NFL looks more like an episode of 'Playmakers' than those stupid NFL Play-90 commercials.

Madden 2006-Ricky Williams

Actually a legitimate candidate to brandish the cover, Williams left the Dolphins to pursue his true-love; pot. Ricky loves getting high more than making millions, and if he had been on the cover of Madden in 2006, Ricky would have pulled the 'Stud' and 'Turd' role. Even though the only cover Williams has been in is 'High Times,' he's still somewhat rehabilitated his career, thus continuing the fine run of upstanding UT running backs in the NFL (sarcasm).

Madden 2007-Tank Johnson

While it's rare for defensive players to get the Madden Cover, it does happen (Ray Lewis, Troy Polamalu). In 2006, as the Tank had been arrested for unlawful possession of a fire arm and verbally threatening a police officer, sh&t hit the fan when police raided his house to discover six unregistered firearms (including two assault rifles. Nice, Rambo.) Not only did he illegally possess these arms, they were also loaded and easily accessible to the three children in his house.

Madden 2008 Dual Cover-Michael Vick and Adam ‘Pac-Man’ Jones

Perhaps the most beat-into-the-ground sports topic of the last decade, Michael Vick's arrest for animal abuse and running an illegal gambling ring out of his back yard still draws tense conversations to this day. Largely billed as a 'White and Black' issue due to the cultural ties of dog fighting to the African American community (thanks DMX) Vick was sentenced to prison and suspended by the NFL for an entire season following his release. Ron Mexico found his way back into the NFL as a glorified back-up behind Kevin Kolb (how far you've fallen, Madden 2004 Cover Athlete).

After 'making it rain', and stripper was shot and killed by a member of Jones’ entourage in Las Vegas during NBA All-Star weekend 2007. He was also cited for reckless endangerment before being involved in another strip club shooting in Atlanta. When you think Pac-Man, you think of someone you’d want your daughter to marry. And you think of strip clubs.

Madden 2009-Plaxico Burress
So imagine you’re a Super Champion, emerging tier-one wide receiver and you decide to get krunk on a weekend in NYC. Well, if you’re heading to a club, you can’t roll without your strap, right? Well, Plax rolled with his pistol, and a shooting occurred. But the dumbass didn’t draw it on some clown looking to cause trouble; the gun went off in his pants and a bullet ended-up in his leg. Thanks to some of the strongest state and city gun control laws in America, Plax landed in the clank in is suspended indefinitely from the NFL. Nice.

Madden 2010-Donte Stallworth
Fresh off signing a multi-year, multi-million dollar contract with the Cleveland Browns, Stallworth partied the night away with his posse at a Miami hotel. Stallworth mounted his Escalade and killed a pedestrian. Of course Stallworth was hammered, he was jailed and the Browns voided his contract. Oh, and he was suspended the entire 2009 season.

Madden 2011-Ben Roethlisberger
Big Ben might not be guilty in a court of law, but he’s sure as hell guilty in the court of all-time creepy bastards. After beating a rape charge in 2009, Big Ben ‘had relations’ with a girl in the bathroom of a Georgia bar in 2010 when his bodyguard prevented a girl’s friends from coming to her rescue. Memo to Ben-Dude, you’re a multi-Super Bowl winning, multi-millionaire quarterback. I’m pretty sure you could score without raping chicks. The good news is, his public image is destroyed for the rest of his career. Serves him right.

They're not role models. So what?

In 1993 when Charles Barkley stated succinctly that he wasn't a role model, the American public went all wet and rubbery.

I knew who Charles Barkley was at the age of 12. Who didn't? The 6" 4' 'Round Mound of Rebound' had established himself as a bonafide All-Star and legitimate Most Valuable Player candidate every season. While PTA moms and ideologue fathers decried Barkley's honesty, I sat oblivious. Here's what I knew about Charles Barkley at the age of 12: If you picked the Phoenix Suns in 'NBA Jam' you were going to roll with Barkley and Dan Majerle.

I didn't care that 'Sir Charles' wasn't a role model. I couldn't have cared less about his personal life and his point of view. Did I look up to Charles? Sure I did. It wasn't, however, because he was what a man was supposed to be. It was because he rebounded the basketball like a beast as an undersized power forward in the NBA. Later on I learned he had a gambling problem and possessed the propensity to toss smart asses through bar windows, which did nothing to destroy my fond memories of glorious 'NBA JAM' sessions.


Amid the dreams of the adolescent youth that aspired to be like Barkley and the rest of his professional sports brethren laid an undiscovered secret long buried beneath billions in revenue and mistresses: Professional athletes are humans just like us, and boy do we all have problems.

As Tiger Woods worked his way through the hallowed golfing grounds of Augusta National earlier this month, I sat at home with my wife watching every second of the tournament I'd grown to love during the course of my fascination with golf. It'd been awhile since I'd seen Tiger, the whirlwind force that drove millions of kids to the golf course in the mid-1990s. It was his first appearance in a tournament since he came clean (well, unintentionally) that he'd slept with about 50 women that weren't his wife. Following the Thanksgiving TMZ-induced haze that had the nation gawking at the three-ring circus that was Tiger's sideshow, the American public (and Tiger's sponsors) firmly decided that Tiger was something they no longer believed in.

I'd made my mind up months before that I couldn't care less about Tiger's infidelity. After all, that's not why I watch him play. Sure he nailed some pretty stellar pornstar talent (and some questionable Waffle House waitresses as well) and made a mockery of his seemingly manufactured marriage to Elin Nordegren, but in the end Tiger is who Tiger is. He is the greatest golfer of all time, and he likes to have sex with women who aren't his wife. But as he played, hiding behind new Nike-branded sunglasses as if to hide behind a lonely mask, something felt different. The unflappable, distinguished glare and dedication that had led to 14 major championships and untold wealth was lost to a sense of vacated confusion. Yet there he was, one of the most amazing athletes in human history being condemned for a private life that's nobody's business but his own.




Talk radio and media outlets burned with scorn for the once untouchable hero. Mothers blasted Tiger for his poor judgement. Some cried for Tiger to be banned from golf for life. More than one disappointed father openly lamented that their own children could never look up to someone like Tiger because he is what we aren't; morally bankrupt.

The problem is, America, our landscape is rife with moral bankruptcy. Our business tactics, billion dollar bailouts and bonuses to under performing executives; ashleymadison.com and interoffice affairs are freshly exposed for all to see. But we overlook our faults because we are average. We are not elite. We hold human beings with special talents to higher standards simply because they are different and they have more. It's sure easy though to overlook a drinking problem or an abusive personality amongst us regular people, but the second you lay a DUI on a Major League Baseball manager the world wobbles on its axis.

There was that time you were maybe a little too heavy handed with your kid, and maybe you got a little too close to your secretary at last year's Christmas Party. And in the end that's okay because you didn't get caught. There weren't 100 photographers hovering around like ravenous vultures waiting to get a piece of you. Don't worry about Tiger. He's paying for what he's done. He's lost millions in endorsements, his reputation is in the toilet and his wife is about to take him for half of what he's worth.

Tiger Woods isn't your problem, and he shouldn't be your kid's role model unless you want him/her to learn how to knock a 7-iron stiff from 200 yards. Leave Tiger to the golf, and you worry about who your kid is looking up to. It just might have been you when you didn't tell the checker at Kroger that they over-refunded you $20.

There's a line in a pretty famous book that says, "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone." Me? I'm keeping my stones in my pockets and enjoying the talents of one of the finest players the world has ever seen.

Obama Takes Aim at Next Target

Gang, just got the heads-up on this from one of my buddies who works at Fox News. This story will drop next week. Check it out!

March 31, 2010

Washington, D.C. (AP)- With massive healthcare legislation overhaul in the rearview, the Obama Administration has set its sights on its next agenda item: Cap’n Crunch.

Weeks of swarming rumors were validated Wednesday when White House Press Secretary Robert Gibbs briefly addressed Crunch’s stronghold on the children’s breakfast cereal market.

“What we’ve got to condition this country to, is that when you’re successful and better than everyone else, you’re going to pay for it. And by pay for it, I mean give your resources to those not as good as you so that everyone is on an even playing field,” said Gibbs.

For decades now, Cap’n Crunch has held the top 3 spots in the breakfast cereal market with his ‘Cap’n Crunch, Crunchberries and Peanut Butter Crunch cereals. Market experts have attributed his success to the creation of a proprietary preservative process that indeed makes his cereals, “the Crunchiest!”

“The dude’s a f------beast,” said Tony the Tiger, whose Frosted Flakes slipped to seventh this year behind Corn Pops. “I mean, when you’re 3-foot-4, rocking the top three brands and banging Britney Spears; you’re doing something right.”

While most expected President Obama to address the sagging economy and immigration, his move to curtail Crunch’s runaway success comes to many as a surprise. The Obama Administration has long resented Crunch’s success, deeming it ‘bad for the common good.’

“Obama wants to nail his ass to wall,” said an anonymous White House insider.

Crunch patented his ‘Crunchiest’ formula in 1977 following an acid trip induced with Willie Wonka and three Oompa Loompas. The seven-day event, which was dubbed, “The Sugar Shacktory’s Mystery Tour”, spawned ‘the Crunchiest!’ formula.

“It was all about love, man” said Steven Ware, Willy Wonka’s head Oompa. “What came of it was pure domination and a few STDs.”

Cap’n Crunch immediately utilized his new formula in every batch of cereal. Within three years Crunch had etched his way to the forefront of the breakfast food movement, thus leaving his competition in his wake.

The White House’s “Crunch for All” initiative calls for ‘The Crunchiest!’ to be made available to all cereal manufacturers operating in the United States. By 2012, it’s estimated that Crunch’s market share will dwindle to that of lesser-known cereals such as, “Billy’s Poopy Treats.”

“Vat it does, eez, it geeves us a shot, you know,” said Count Chocula whose cereal is now back in play along with Frankenberry, Booberry and Fruit Brute.

Brute of 'Fruit Brute' fame went out of business in 1983 after allegations of methamphetamine addiction. After multiple rehabilitation attempts and a failed love affair with Kirsty Alley, Brute was most recently seen on VH-1’s ‘Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew.’ The first episode featuring Brute never aired, as Brute’s altercation with Grease star Jeff Conaway led to his dismissal from the show.

“Conaway is a douche,” said Brute in a recent issue of US Weekly, “but ‘Crunch for All’ means I’m back, baby!”

Cap’n Crunch is not the White House’s first attempt to bring down a cereal magnate. In February of 2009, the House Subcommittee on Children’s Foods began preliminary investigation of Toucan Sam of 'Fruit Loops' fame. Sam avoided congressional intervention following allegations of an extra-marital affair with House Speaker, Nancy Pelosi after Sam posted a picture of his penis on his Facebook wall with the title, “House Majority’s Peter.”

"The Captain and Speaker Pelosi are just friends," said a congressional spokesperson.

Crunch initially planned to fight the White House, but was recently quoted as saying, “I’m moving my s--- to India.” He declined to be interviewed for this story.

For now, the White House is excited about the change in our nation’s breakfast cereal competition, and hopes to attach a few ‘riders’ to “Crunch for All” legislation, including a federal mandate that all Americans must buy Band-Aid brand band aids or else face a fine.

“Band-Aid brand is outstanding,” said President Obama speaking to a 2nd grade class in suburban Washington. “You can have SpongeBob on your Band-Aids, and even the X-Men, too. Imagine what Wolverine and a little Neosporin can do to that scrape on your knee.”

As of press, the Trix Bunny, Snap, Crackle & Pop; as well as Dig ‘Em Frog and the Cinnamon Toast Crunch Chef have come out in support of Cap’n Crunch.

"Who's next," asked Crackle. "We're s-----g our pants, here."

America: Rise of the Empire

Let me be upfront before I get started: I did not vote for Barack Obama.

Call me out of touch, afraid of change or racist; I’ve heard it all. I was raised a Conservative Republican by Conservative Republican parents in Conservative Republican East Texas. Politics like religion are typically etched into the maturing psyche, and kids raised as Mormons typically end-up practicing Mormons. The same goes for Catholics, Buddhists, Muslims, etc. We are who we are primarily because our parents raised us to be that way. My mother and father raised me on Regan, Bush and the oil industry, and thusly; that’s why I am who I am.

On Election Night 2008 when the Western world celebrated ‘Change’, my wife and I shuddered to think what would become of my career. Just days before the FDIC ruled that my employer, Franklin Bank, was insolvent and no longer operable, the student loan industry that had constituted the nation’s higher education was squarely in the crosshairs of the Democratic Party. For years Ted Kennedy and his constituents hungered to make the Department of Education the only provider of student loans, thus driving private competition out to pasture and making Big Brother the only avenue to get a degree.

When Obama made his acceptance speech, I hung my head and muttered to my wife.

“It’s over.”

In 2008, like all years I’ve ever voted, I voted selfishly. Who was going to impact my bottom line and how? Who was going to enact policies that would most benefit my family? Obama and his party’s appetite to destroy the student loan industry made it an easy choice for me. I voted for John McCain in hopes that the Republican’s Party commitment to capitalism and private competition would stave-off a necessary career change. Unfortunately, Barack Obama’s overhyped rise to power couldn’t be stopped, and I was officially out of not only a job, but a career.

Fast forward 16 months and I’m doing just fine. I have a new career and a beautiful new son that keeps me up for hours on end. But it’s worth it. The American Dream somehow found its way into my life, and my continued pursuit of happiness drives me toward a better life for my family. As for our country? Well, the economy still blows harder than Paris Hilton after a lobster dinner, and the unemployment rate is soaring as higher than Robert Downey, Jr. circa 1990. Obama’s approval rating is in the toilet, and his ‘Change’ is on its death bed looking for a defibrillator. While the sluggish economy and failed stimulus initiative should be at the top of this Administration’s ‘to-do’ list, Obama and the Democratic Party has blown the last year attempting to ram a titanic health care bill down the throats of the American people.

I’ve always had healthcare. I’m going to venture that I will always have healthcare. It’s never been a concern or close to the tip of my tongue. Although I’m a ‘have’ as opposed to a ‘have-not’, I do recognize the need to reasonable access for those below the poverty line who simply do not have the means to acquire it. On the other hand, there are millions of parasitic-welfare drones sucking at the teats of government handouts that have no desire to better themselves simply because somebody else is going to do it for them. Universal Health Care has been the golden cow of the liberal Democratic Party for decades. Term after term they’ve tried to get it through, and finally after enough rule-bending, backdoor deal-making, Barack Obama’s legacy is near completion. Barry did it. He accomplished what Kennedy and Clinton could never do. He got a massive; almost $1 trillion healthcare bill passed that’ll insure 32 million uninsured Americans. It’ll restrict insurance companies from denying coverage to those with pre-existing conditions. Children will be able to remain on their parents’ policies until the age of 26. Those with health care plans will get to keep their own plan. What’s not to like?

The crooked process taken to achieve the ‘dream’ of healthcare reform sours our entire political process. Obama campaigned on a transparent political process, and he even declared that all healthcare conversation would be aired on C-Span. Apparently our President had a change of heart when it struck him that some Americans would be appalled at sweetheart deals given to Louisiana, Nebraska, New Jersey and others to buy votes. After Scott Brown won the Massachusetts senate seat long-held by Ted Kennedy and openly declared that he’d vote against the proposed Health Care initiatives, Pelosi, Reid and Obama scrambled to find a backdoor route to get the Democratic ‘dream’ to go through. As the President’s dream lay dying, he spoke plainly to members of the House and Senate.

“My presidency is at stake, here.”

So much for what’s good for the country, huh? In a few simple words the President illuminated the number one concern for all of our politicians: How am I going to get re-elected?

Barry’s got a fight on his hands with the Health Care Bill. Thirty-six states are in the process of taking legal action against the federal government (on the grounds that it violates the Constitution when the government forces us to buy things; like health care) to stop this bill’s passage, so Reform isn’t a slam dunk just yet. But that won’t stop him and his cronies from moving onto the next item on their agenda. You’d assume it’d be unemployment and the economy, right? Think again. It’s an immigration battle where liberal lawmakers are seeking residency/citizenship for 10 million illegal immigrants. As soon as these folks are granted residency/immigration, they’ll qualify for health care under the Obama plan. And somehow, these 10 million illegal immigrants weren’t included in the Budget Office’s cost estimate. Odd.

We’ll see where the country is in a few years. The Democratic Party is likely to lose its grip on the House and Senate in the mid-term elections, and a Republican legislative body will likely stymie further efforts by the Obama Administration to socialize American institutions. Obama will lose in 2012, and the country will skew back toward the right. Too much of anything is not a good thing, including 8 years of Republican rule.

Tacked on to the Health Care Bill is a little piece about the government abolishing the private sector’s right to make student loans. It’s not a big deal, after all. It’s just that 90 percent of American students pay for their college education with student loans. When the Department of Education seized control of the consolidation loan business in 2007, they were so backlogged that they stopped taking applications for six months. When’s the last time a government-run social program has functioned more efficiently than private industry? Never, that’s when.

Before too long your hospitals, doctor’s offices and student financial offices will look like your local social security storefront. Just remember, America; you asked for it.

Setting the Record Straight

I guess this may come as a shock to some of you, but I love my wife unequivocally above anything in this world. She is what drives me to become a better person and be a better man, and I couldn’t be more thrilled to be kicking off our family any day now. She is the most important person in the world to me, and I can’t imagine living my life without her.

I don’t want anything I write to be misconstrued as vitriol toward my wife or women as a whole. Hell, I love women. Women are awesome, spectacular works of biological genius above reproach. When I sit down to write on my blog, I do so to entertain, whether that be to incite frustration or elicit a fist pump. Like I said in my Facebook post: “Mission Accomplished.”

My goal is this most recent rash of postings is to pave the way for my book, “The Plunge,” which has been in the works now going on three years. It’s all but finished now after seven rewrites, and after I rework the introduction it’ll be going out to agents and publishers. As I’ve been writing new blogs I’ve been thinking of topics relevant to single guys going into relationships, which is a lot part of what “The Plunge” is about. The last blog that I posted was about older, single men being run-off by older, single women due to overbearing behavior. It’s actually directed at two of my friends currently going through that situation. It had nothing to do whatsoever with my current situation or my marriage. And I expected to catch some heat on the ‘Slurpee’ blog, but not for the reasons I caught it. Oddly enough for all of the negative feedback, I got just as much positive.

Sometimes the things I say are misinterpreted and taken out of context. Other times they’re not. My wife edits any blog that may be taken as negative toward her. You know what? She put her stamp of approval on that blog and gets exactly where I’m coming from. When and if “The Plunge” sees the light of day, my wife will have read through every single line and given her stamp of approval. Trust me, there’s probably some stuff in there that will irritate folks as well; but that’s the point. Entertainment.

So in summation, I love my wife. She’s my best friend. Oh, and she approves my message. Have you had your Slurpee today?

Stage V Clingers: A Comparative Analysis vs. The Slurpee

Memo to women: Guys want to be in committed relationships.

It’s true. It might come as a shock, but trust me on this one. Just as much as chicks start to freak out when they surpass the age of 25 without tying the knot, men, too start to feel their heartstrings tugged on by the finality of perpetuity. Think of it as the male version of the biological clock; we’re just tired of doing all of the fun stuff.

You’re probably thinking, “What the hell does that mean?” It’s an interesting premise altogether. For a woman steadily marching toward her thirties, when she’s considered ‘past her prime’ much like a 30-year-old NFL running back, the noose tightens steadily as all of her friends find men and settle down in remote suburbia. I can tell you from experience that when a woman is in her upper-20s and she’s never been close to tying the knot, warning sirens echo in the prospective male brain like a nuclear reactor meltdown. Why? Well, we’re wondering what’s wrong with you. Are you a Self-Made Diva? Are you too high maintenance? Do you wear deep-seeded emotional scars from failed relationships past? More often than not, the above questions aren’t what make you radioactive. The main problem is that you’re most likely a Stage V Clinger.

For a bachelor is his run before midlife, life is pretty spectacular. Unlimited free time, possibility, booze, chicks, sports, videogames, road trips and financial liberty are simply glorious. Those things that we love are the reason sometimes we decide to go it alone, because when you’re in a relationship a lot of that stuff goes out of the window. And do you know what that stuff is? That stuff my friends, is fun.

But in the end we get tired of that fun. Bars, apartments and occasional moments of shallow emptiness drive us toward the desire to settle down and become 'adults'. However, keep in mind that all of the fun stuff isn't easy to let go of. Women and relationships burn through time like hot knives through butter, and that knive signifies to imminent reduction of unencumbered time. When you've got a Clinger on your hands, brother you can multiply that by 1,000.

Let's use a Slurpee as an analogy. 7-11 stores, the owners and creators, of the Slurpee are pretty rare in these parts. And let's just say you're a huge fan of the Slurpee, and it's been years since you've had the pleasure of tasting one. At first you can do without Slurpees, because there are other things to hold your interest like ICEE and Parrot Ice. ICEE and Parrot Ice are initially outstanding; a new explosion of flavors create a cornucopia of fresh flavor that temporarily makes you wonder why Slurpee was so great in the first place. But over time, you start to ache for a Slurpee. You start to miss Slurpees and regret that you ever dismissed them for the love of ICEE and Parrot Ice. Slurpee becomes the nagging voice in the back of your mind, the bone in your fish-stick if you will. Slurpee kept getting stuck in your throat and setting-off a mean gag-reflex reserved for bachelor parties. And suddenly, just as your powering up your laptop to surf the web for good, free porn, you spy a headline that reads, "7-11 acquires 250 Houston Shell Stations." Bingo, my friends; Slurpee rides again!





After a few days, 7-11s begin popping-up across the land, and you rush into the first one you see. You order the largest Slurpee available and rip into it. Each gulp is delicious and fresh, baptising you in the everlasting love of high fructose corn syrup. But happens when you have too much, too fast? That's right; brain freeze. Too much of anything is never good, and the body revolts in excess. This relates directly to Stage V Clingers; your overbearing instances are a huge, pain-in-the-ass brain freeze.

Stage V Clingers want their new man every second of every day. After work? At her place. Before work? At her place? Staying the night? At her place? Want to watch the game with your buddies? Nope. At her parents' place. There is not one second that is excused from her presence, and do you know what happens if you try to do something without you? She digs her talons in deep, like a bald eagle into the scales of a snake and never lets go. And this is because the Clinger is afraid that if you leave or spend a night without her, you'll find something better and the pendulum of her biological clock will snap right off. This misconception on the part of the Clinger is what potentially drives Slurpee-loving men away. It's the misconception that just because we want time to ourselves, we don't like them anymore.



And to some extent, this is a manufacturer's defect with women as a whole. Men are lone wolves; roving souls at heart looking for excitement at every turn. To women, it's unfathomable that men could possibly enjoy hobbies and other interests that don't involve them. Somehow by enjoying these other things, we are selfish, immature bastards that don't care about who else we hurt. The Clinger takes this to the maximum level cap, and creates an atmosphere of perpetual misery.

Clingers, remember that men all want their Slurpees. ICEEs are okay for awhile, but in the end we want to be slotted where the natural order says we should be placed. However, brain freezes suck. Don't give men a brain freeze, and your biological clock will be serviced in due time.

51/49: A Philosophy of Life for a More Civilized Age

Could somoene please tell me why my wife finds the lives of dwarves...er...little people so mesmerizing? She's pounding a turkey sando, a can of Sour Cream Pringles and a 32 oz. bottle of Gatorade while taking in her SECOND episode of 'The Little Couple'. Too bad we're out of tequila...

I've been so damned busy putting the finishing touches on my book and writing query letters that I haven't had the time to write new material for the blog. So this week I'm airing the equivalent of the 'retrospective episode', you know, the episode of you favorite show where the main character hosts a bunch of flashback clips? Hell, even Seinfeld had a 'retrospective.' In that vain, I present to you something from my archives; 51/49.

In 2004 a good friend of mine, Dan Starr, created 51/49 out of frustration, and we ran with it for years. I hope you find it enjoyable, and if you don't, well; I'm sure you can still catch 'The Little Couple.'





Dan and I both found ourselves reunited years later after we first met still working within the same community college system where we had met four years earlier, neither of us making any progress in life doing the same job. My college degree disappointingly netted me the exact same position I had before I transferred from my hometown to Austin. The new campus became an exercise in exhaustion. We were underpaid, overworked and weary of doing the same thing.

I worked at the point of attack in the front intake center. Waves of mothers and students bombarded me daily; as a promiscuous 33-year-old Pakistani immigrant co-worker did everything he could to fan the flames of their discord by hitting on every woman that walked through the door. I slumped into a deep gloominess, losing 35 pounds and dying my hair bleach blond in a useless attempt to affect change in my dreary life. I experienced a quarter-life crisis, culminating in the purchase of a brand new Chevrolet Corvette, which I couldn’t afford.

The front counter was the waste disposal position of all college jobs, and I flushed my life down daily when I crawled through the door. The only advantage was that I’d get to check out all of the young girls who walked past everyday in short shorts and skimpy spaghetti tops. The scenery, however, provided only momentary respite from the dearth of my situation.

Dan worked in the back and had an office as the advisor to incoming international students. He had the joy of slicing through thick accents to determine whether or not a particular Middle-Eastern student named Amal had legally entered the country, and wondered if each student he saw was a terrorist. We hated our jobs, which is no different than most Americans I suppose. We occupied time by chatting on our interoffice messaging system, voicing our disgust with society like two haphazard revolutionaries looking to overthrow the status quo.

We’d shoot messages back and forth, and at times we’d each have the joy of listening to each other complain about all of our problems, namely his marital travails. As Dan complained about everything having to do with being married. One day like an absurd, Dan typed in a message after complaining about his son crying all the time, “It’s about 51/49, dude.” A seed was planted.


The idea birthed easily in passing, but over the course of the last four years it has matured into something that’s much more concrete, serving as a rally cry for pushing through the muck of female trials. We came to reason that out of a possible 100 happiness points, marriage and relationships made you happy on average 51 percent of the time, and miserable the other 49. The converse was true for being single, it’s heavenly 49 percent of the time, but lonely, self-destructive and vacuous the other 51 percent.

Both lifestyles have advantages and shortfalls. For example, if you’re in a relationship, then you’re never lonely, typically have a steady supply of passionate sexy-time, have someone to build a life with and also have to someone with whom you confide in. Conversely, being in a relationship reduces your free time drastically, restricts your from controlling what you want to do with your money and causes you to be responsible to someone every second of your life. Happiness prevails 51 percent of the time, but 49 percent of the time you wish you imagine what life would be like if that person wasn’t around.

51/49 fluctuates quickly, rapidly changing like the markets. For clarity, let’s take a look at a few scenarios. Let’s suppose that you’re a single person, living alone in a dank apartment. The few friends you have are busy and can’t be bothered by you for the third consecutive weekend. You’ve got nothing. You work your cell phone, racking your brain with ideas of who you can call to get out for the night. Then you realize that there is nothing. You realize that you’re lonely. You wish there was someone for you; to keep you warm through the lonesome nights. At that point, you may think that being single registers about a 20 on the positive scale, and an 80 on the negative scale. Therefore your number is 20/80 toward solitary living. But wait! The cell phone rings and it’s one of your friends returning your earlier desperation call. Before you know what happens, you’re invited to a party where there will be free booze and food….and possibly women. Suddenly the worm has turned, and not being shackled to someone else feels like the for certain best way to live life. That 20/80 number in the negative instantly becomes a 90/10 for the positive. If you weren’t single, you’d never be able to go out so whimsically and have the potential to pick-up other chicks. You feel like being in a relationship or even dating someone seriously sucks. 51/49 evolves with your current climate, and the average is slightly affirmative for relationships, probably on the strength of not dying alone.

Ideally we’d all like to have it both ways, but it’s inherently impossible by the very nature of relationships to have your cake and eat it, too. Relationships are self-dying and sacrifice. You have to give-up some things to enjoy to the fruits in return, and for some people, that’s the reason that their relationships fail. I love to play videogames, strum my guitar, watch movies, workout and write, but when I interject another person in my life the time I have to do all of those times flies out the window. To compromise I have to give-up some things I enjoy doing in order to give some of myself to that other person. That means watching some lame comedy rerun on the WB or a ridiculous reality show instead of playing my favorite game online with my buddy in Dallas because that’s what she likes to do; watch brain-wasting television programs. The bottom line is that successful relationships are give-and-take, involving a lack of selfishness and personal interests. And most of the time, if a man doesn’t give her woman her way; it’s an all out bitch-fest until she gets it. So what’s the point in even fighting it? Just roll over and accept it.

All of the days I spent self-aggrandizing, immersing my brain in worldly interests eventually became tiresome and pointless. I might acquire the most sought after items in a videogame or watch all three Lord of the Rings films in one sitting, but those activities were complete empty-headed wastes of time. Did it make me a better person, or was I building toward anything life? It seemed was that I mired in mind-numbing actions to dull my senses until death. There had to be more juice to squeeze out of the fruit of life.

After spending a few months of indulging in hedonistic pursuits, I would inevitably begin to feel like a loser and be lonely all of the time. My 49 percent slice of the pie became moldy. Like clockwork I’d begin to scan MySpace for women who were single or cling desperately to any shred of possibility with any woman anywhere. I searched for any remote possibility on social networking sites. The bottom of the barrel wasn’t scraped; it was busted through! A rainy night and cuddling on the couch with that special someone, watching a movie and giggling together sounded like heaven. I’d pray for a date night or a walk in the park. No matter where I was the grass was always greener on the other side of life, and it is in those moments of realization that I needed to be honest with myself to see where I wanted to be. So it came to Dan, then to me that the line that separated happiness in relationships was somewhat of a blur, but we always concluded that it was slightly better to be involved in the pursuit of love. But just barely.