As Lockhart Steele as my witness, I have long loved me some Deadspin. The fact that they've broken through the fortified hegemony that is sportswriting so quickly, garnering praise and attracting devotees, is a really wonderful thing. They've done it by leveraging the ill-tempered humor of the outsider crank that exists in all sportsfans, and have probably brought not a few folks who long thought sports were beneath them into the fold. Of course, former Black Tabler Will Leitch is a seriously good writer and, like us, lifelong St. Louis Cardinals fans. But then we saw his picture in the New York Times this weekend, took measure of his handsome countenance, a unique combination of Ben Gibbard and Steve McQueen, and thought to ourself, "He must have to beat the pussy off of him with a stick!" Kudos, Will, and read Wizznutz.
2. "Snakes on a plane" enters the lexicon.
And smartly, I might add. See The Upstate Life for details.
3. Winter Olympics approach
Or, as I like to call them, The Dangerous Olympics. Seriously. You start with the premise that extreme weather is a sporting condition that deserves special attention. Then you add a bunch of sports, all of which are such that you could fuck yourself up very badly for life if you screw up, and then finally, you add guns and weed. Track and field: so for pussies.
4. Seriously, even curling.
Many a back were a-thrown out lifting them thar pucks. Or whatever the fuck you call them.
5. I'm totally feeling you...
...Dude who writes SkeetOnWilla. Right now, there's a tiny open window for someone to drop some I Am A Bird Now science on the Americal Idol world. I was so hoping that one of those zaftig, gender-optional contralto freakazoids on bust some AT and the J science on those dipshits. It was way too much to hope for, but had it happened, it would have definitely been Fistful Of Best.
6. Nate Newton
How fricking awesome is it that Nate Newton wanted his name to be synonymous with high quality weed? Let's face it, steady pot use and grand ambition usually doesn't go together. Here's hoping that loadies nationwide salt their terminology with Newtonisms. "Man, I got a dime of Nate Newton, let's meet behind the dumpster after auto-shop and pull over right tackle." And then if someone accidentally drops the bong, motherfuckers can rag him by saying: "Dude! Ineligible man downfield." Of course, holding would still be a penalty.
1. James Frey
Don't you kinda feel sorry for the ferocity with which Frey was publicly excoriated on Oprah? Nah, me neither. I was just saying the other day that I wished that I had written something down on paper many years ago, so I could pull it out now. What I wished I had written down years ago? Seven words. "This James Frey dude is fucking bullshit." I didn't go out and get A Million Little Pieces then, and I never ever gave reading it serious consideration because I thought the guy was a fucking con artist from jump. There wasn't anything about his story that rang true to me, and I learned long ago that anyone stupid enough to tattoo "Fuck The Bull Shit It's Time To Throw Down" on his body was a chump and joke and deserving of in-your-face derision and mockery right then and there. I wish I had written this shit down. You'll just have to take my word for it. Nevertheless, fuck him and fuck him again.
2. Samuel Alito
Well, he's getting confirmed. Sorry. My only wish is that he should, at the very least, have to endure an ex parte session with a drunk John Riggins. Some say Sandra Day's rulings got a lot better after receiving his famous advice.
Kevin, man. You should listen to what the world's telling you. That Popozao shit is the wackness, bro. I mean, it officially buries the hip-hop limbo bar six feet in the ground. If we just fucking let you have a career, it sets a bad precedent. We won't be able to stop Kirstie Alley's neo-soul album. Nothing will stand in the way of Jenna Bush releasing her line of urban combatwear. We just cannot allow you to happen. And we're pulling out all the stops: mocking your in-studio rocking out, having James Lipton read your lyrics aloud. It won't stop there Kevin. You're being done a favor, dude. We're pre-emptively Oprahing you. Learn from this, and take heart, man, because you've got those indestructible sperm to fall back on. What you have tipping those things? Depleted uranium? Because those motherfuckers are bunker busting wonders of nature.
4. Speaking of K-Fed
You saw it in Federline's studio, and if you've ever watched an episode of Cribs you've seen it there, too: you walk in to any of these pop-music ass-clowns place and they've got their fucking home studio--gear that'd go along way to helping many a struggling good artist make a great record--and along one wall they've got a rack of expensive guitars, and you know that none of these bitches could get beyond three elementary chords if their lives depended on it. Just once, wouldn't you like one of MTV's producers to demand: "Hey smart guy. Pick up that axe and play it. Play it! Play it, you phony motherfucking phony-ass phony!" I know I would.
5. Test Icicles--For Screening Purposes Only
The worst record of 2006 so far.
6. Waiting until 1/27 to throw out your Christmas tree.
Monday, January 30, 2006