Am I getting soft?

Am I? Because last I checked I like a lot of hardcore stuff. Explosions in movies, heavy metal guitars, cutting things and lighting random shit on fire. All the Rocky movies, even five. Hot dog eating competitions.

Really any competition. Even figure skating. Remember Nancy Kerrigan? Because of her I hold out hope that every shitty Olympic competition ends up with a lead pipe in the ice rink and Colonel Mustard.

But I had to question all this recently, as hard as it may be, and ponder: am I getting soft?

Well? I'm actually asking this time. Tell me because if you don't I'll never know. I'll continue getting softer and softer, wearing more and more padding when I go riding a bike, buying more organic foods, and, perhaps worst of all, cutting out coupons. I need to know right now.

Images of Sly trudging through two-feet of Russian snow start to feel like a waste of film.

This is all in question for one reason and one reason only: my losing at minigolf on a date.

My roomie asked me if I lost at minigolf on purpose and I said, "No. I lost straight up." I walked into my room, shut the door and cried myself to sleep. I'm not ashamed of myself, my manhood. I'm just disappointed. Like a father-son relationship gone sour.

She said she wouldn't tell anyone, that it'd be our secret, but I declined. I will tell everyone. I lost at minigolf. It was like when Neo gets his powers sucked out of him in the Matrix. Like when Starr Jones lost all that weight. Like when Ellen told everyone she was lesbian and became unfunny instantly.

I had a ton of excuses prepared, just in case I lost straight up. Wind. Too early in the season. Too many pine needles. My cholesterol spiked. But when it comes down to it, I just flatout lost. I couldn't control the curvy features of the seventh hole. It was like Mickleson trying to get the chip onto the green at Augusta and it rolling back to his feet three consecutive times.

I went down several strokes at that hole, a deficit I could never quite come back from even with a hole-in-one on 15. The damage was done. I will never be the same. I'll fall in love with nature, start reading philosophy and romance novels from the 18th century. I'll get a dog and the alergy shots. I'll start to think Coldplay is awesome.

That is unless you throw hot coffee in my face and tell me to cut the shit. The latter is much more preferred of course.


Question you need to ask yourself: Are you ready for this Jelly?


1. Walked out of my car, saw nothing. Went into Dunky Doos, got a coffee, came back to my car and what do I see? A banana peel right outside my door. Is a cartoon character trying to kill me?
2. The dude that cleans Park Square Credit Union has the most underrated long hair in the history of hairdome.
3. The above story is the most sports-writing I've done in about three months.
4. After not having my check for this week, I threatened my boss that Tito and Ramon would hunt him down. Who knows if this was affective or believable to any amount.
5. Why does every cop that comes into Beef Barn get a bar-b-que chicken sandwich on wheat toast? This goes for Woonsocket, North Smithfield and State Troopers.
6. Telling somebody they're lucky they got sick and lost 12 pounds is a sure-fire sign you have a mental disorder regarding weight, food and empathy.
7. I don't like wasting things, so believe me when I say I hope I get a cold and flu really soon, so the extra tussin, niquil and theraflu will get used.

Snot rags from the past week.

First off, I have to apologize for not posting anything good this week. I've been sick, really sick. Instead of giving you blow-for-blow, snot-for-snot, recollections of my week behind mucus bars, I felt like saving you the tissues.

I'll give you a couple things I did during this time, however, to try and hold you over for a couple more days:
1. Saw the movie "The Boy Who Could Fly". There's a definite story behind this movie, but its not good enough to mention and the movie isn't good enough to imdb. Just know that I made my roommate rent it on Netflix and burn it for me.
2. I really only look forward to Playboy to see who's being interviewed. The interviews are about seven pages long.
3. Cottonelle is the best toilet paper to blow your nose with. I haven't done research on this, but I've blown my nose 1,000 times this week and not once has my nose been uncomfortable or red from it.
4. Sleep, in 8-hour doses, isn't painful. Sleep, 20-hour doses, damaging.
5. New phone today means new ephoto blog-journalism. Probably better picture quality too.
6. Small Lenders bagels are the best bagels, but the larger Lenders bagels aren't that good. What's wrong here?
7. New Metallica Guitar Hero makes me feel like a rock star again.
8. I have zero jokes to tell when I'm sick, so I must be getting better.

Writing one hour behind.

I will not turn my clocks forward or back. My cell phone, fine. My computer, okay. Those are set up to the internuts and satellites (yes, the same satellites from the Dave Matthews song). I can't do anything about those. But my car, no way. Time will come back to me. It makes me feel powerful and god-like.

For the past couple years, I've disobeyed daylight savings time (DST) and I haven't been shot in the head by a sniper yet. It's weird. I haven't walked into my car to see the clock adjusted, and when I put my key into the ignition the car didn't explode. I'm holding my breath.

You know DST was only put in to help farmers and retailers with the minute exchange? Basically, we gave an extra hour of sunlight so those jerkoffs at the kiosks in the mall could barrage us with fliers and new cell phone plans.

Half the world doesn't even use DST. A quarter of the world never used it. And by half of the world I include myself. What are people doing with their extra time? Watching internet porn. That's what.

When are we going to stand up for ourselves? When are we going to tell the higherups that we're mad as hell and we're not going to let you turn our clocks back and forward anymore!

And don't tease us with this extra light bullshit. You know you're just going to take it all away in November, when we're cold, depressed and eating baked beans straight out of a can.

Most of Americans don't grow corn or wheat on the prairie. We may prairie dog, but we don't have one. So leave our clocks alone. And our cocks, leave our cocks alone. Scramble the letters DST anyway you want, and we don't want them. Whether its DST, STD or TDS (testicular dysgenesis syndrome: I don't know what it is, but it doesn't sound fun just by the name).

Just leave us alone already.


Serious question of the week. This is serious, okay? So answer truthfully.
How come it's called teeing off in golf? You tee up, but you don't tee off. Is it becuase whacking off would be inappropriate? Becuase, truthfully, its more like whacking than anything else.


The pig pen of my day:
1. It goes without saying that the kid from the Mount golf team with huge cans is a dude. I'm not going to post about a 16-year old girl on a golf team with exquisite breasticles.
2. I've listened to the new Mastodon over 30 times already. 6-7 times already this week. My bosses are not happy with my music selection.
3. I will not run out of ways to describe this bottom list.
4. I like dropping mom-jokes on little kids when playing Call of Duty 4, mainly because they have to see their mom everyday and tell her the meatloaf is delicious.
5. The only deoderant I trust is Old Spice Red Zone.
6. Con-Air, no matter how you cut it, is an absolutely awful movie with a lot of awesome action movie-type stuff.
7. I shouldn't say "awesome" to a random guy when not listening and he just so happens to be telling me about a house burning down and dogs being inside. (1) I should be listening. (2) I should "yea" and "uh huh". (3) I should pretend to care a lot better.