Northern Xposure Week 3: Bears-Rams postgame

24 09 2012



Well folks, looks like I told you so without even having to say it. DaBears, 9 days after being force-fed their own asses by a certain division foe who had previously been ass-served themselves, came home angry and proceeded to get the job done. World keeps on spinnin’. It wasn’t particularly pretty on the offensive side, especially on smokin Jay’s part, but the defense looked impressive as ever with 6 sacks, 9 tackles for loss, 2 INTs and a TD that I’ve basically come to expect versus teams like the rams. The Bears needed this easy one badly before heading south next Monday to face God’s team the Cowbastards, and if you consider the striking similarities between the two underperforming offenses and playmaking D’s it should be an intriguing chess match (though I can’t think of a single one of those that has ever happened). I’ll be sure to have some Jerry Wipes on hand when the shit hits the fan, whether it goes down happy or sad. In reality I’ll probably just pee on all of them regardless and regift them to a co-worker who happens to be a Cowboys fan.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to learn how to record and piece together Russell Wilson highlights from tonight’s game and sync them up with “I’m Coming Home” in a way that doesn’t make it the cliche to end cliches.


Northern Xposure Week 2: Chicago Bears

13 09 2012





Well folks, the big day is upon us once more. I’d be lying if I told you I haven’t been thinking about tonight for the entire week, and if there’s one thing I’m not it is a liar. Brian crushes skulls with his bear hands for transgressions far less than that. That being said, the stage is set for yet another brawl to the death between the two powerhouses that have combined to win 9 of the past 11 division titles (too soon?) I’m sure stats will be thrown around tonight like the ball itself or Cedric Benson’s torso, so I’ll bore you now with the only one that’s been on my mind: the Bears were 6-2 vs. the Pack in Lovie’s first four years as head coach, and guess what that record has turned to since A-Rodge took over? 2-6 (and no I’m not including the playoff game cuz fuck that game). Looking at it now makes me wince real hard. But finally, after a leap year being dominated, my Bears have awakened from hibernation. In unison. On all sides of the ball.

With the laughable trade for Brandon Marshall this offseason (cherish that 3rd rounder, Dolphucks!) and acquisitions Alshon Jeffrey and Michael Bush, the Bears are prepared to blast a huge load of offense all over the field right alongside the high octane Green and Yellow (that shit is NOT Gold, Come On!) The thing most people don’t realize, though, is that in these last 8 contests only last year’s finale saw the winning team score more than 30 points. And that was with Josh friggin McCown at the helm for the Bears. But 5Piece, how can that be possible with Aaron Godgers being the immortal QB that he is, you ask. The reason for this is a defense full of wily vets who know the Pack offense inside and out. So the big question is, can this aging but disciplined defense slow down the GB passing attack enough to let this BRAND NEW Chicago offense get a leg up? I say yes. Both secondaries will be susceptible, so I’m hoping for nothing more than a draw in that aspect (yes, even with Greg “he broke his fuckin…groin?” Jennings on the sideline). I think we’re headed for a 30+ point game for both teams. Mark my words though, (or don’t) these will be the difference makers tonight:

1) The trenches: whoever can better control the line of scrimmage for the run game and protect their gunslinger. Pretty easy to guess at who will have the better rushing attack, but pass protection remains a concern for the orange and navy. Advantage: Even

2) Cutler’s decision making: in Tice’s new offense, which may I remind you the packers have not played against, Cutler has much more freedom to change plays at the line of scrimmage, and utilizes shorter drops than under Mike “I heart sac(k)s” Martz. The audibles he calls at the line when the Pack brings pressure will be crucial to 3rd down success. And then, you know, there’s avoiding throws like the walk in pick 6 from last week. Advantage: Bears

3) Special teams: we saw Randall “Slob on my” Cobb go the distance last week with a little help from Keanu Reeves & friends the replacement refs, and as the all time kick return TD record holder, I don’t think I need to bark up the Hester tree too hard. Advantage: Even

4) WHO MUFUGGIN WANTS IT MORE?!?! Clearly the most important. Tonight will tell us, but as I understand it the Pack would rather not start the season 0-2 at home to a powerful division rival. Advantage (for now): Packers.

Fearless prediction: Bears 37, Packers 31


OW(T): FUCKING STOP with the Bill Cosby Death hoaxes already

30 08 2012

Let me preface this by saying this isn’t really an overreaction Wednesday post. It’s more of an any sane person’s reaction Anyday post, bumped back to Thursday on a count of novelization. Not quite as catchy, but fuck it. If you haven’t yet had to witness the tragic news I’m referring to: Some Mega-douche (Note to self: great supervillian name) has taken it upon himself to propagate the despicable rumor that Bill Cosby is dead. Oh, man oh man. Are you serious dude? The Cos is a fucking Legend. As in, I am Legend was written predictively about how Hux-daddy is going to save the world whenever the hell that Mayan apocalypse decides to rear its forgotten head. Look it up, Will Smith only filled in the role for Billy C because these days he’s too busy attending Playboy Jazz festivals in Hollywood (read the picture caption this time). Seriously, the only fathomable way that situation could be cooler is if he was sippin on his own exclusive pudding pop liqueur while scoring a beej from whichever Huxtable girl turned out hottest (I vote this one). Regardless, it’s pretty clear that Dr. H is still alive and kickin…all of our asses in life.

Bill, plotting his hilarious revenge.


Wait…now I’m just receiving word that this isn’t the first time some jagoff has started this rumor. And by that I mean I had known this already but saved it til now for dramatic effect so your heads didn’t immediately explode from unbridled rage. Because this is the FOURTH time. Damn internet-obsessed little (probably) racist shitweasels. Remember what happened to the boy who cried wolf? Yeah, I’m not exactly sure either, but what I’m getting at is I hope that each of these Gossipy Garys gets mauled by a wolf. Did I get that one right? Man, if I did that is one brutal children’s story. But nowhere as brutal as the thought of ultimate father figure William Cosby making goofy faces for us no more.


There’s certainly a lot of perspectives to break down here. First, and most importantly, we have Bill’s. Can you imagine what it must be like to one day pick up the phone repeatedly and have people on the other line stifle their tears and be all like, “wait… you’re not d-dead?” That would be a shitty ordeal to go through one time, let alone FOUR. I mean, damn. Bill is an old dude these days, straight up- I’m pretty sure this is not news to anyone. He is 75. So what kind of inbred tool-emporium does it take to not only pick on a random senior citizen beloved by everyone, but to do it the exact same way multiple times? I know he’s a comedian and they’re supposed to laugh at themselves and what not, but MAN is this shit really not funny anymore (and never was). All I can think to say is this. That, and leave Billy alooooooone! Leave him alooone!!! (Is the Chris Crocker ref. too old at this point? Good I was hoping so, enough with that whiny dude chick person)

Now it’s time to feed the troll, ideally by ramming a turkey leg of real talk down his throat. So let’s pretend for a minute to try and view this through the eyes of the giggling limpdick who thought this would be funny. In doing so, I have a confession to make. One hungover New Year’s day at a cabin, five or six years ago, some friends and I decided that our Boston College hombre was ripe for some panic to liven up his four hour drive. So we told him BC grad and NFL QB Matt Ryan was in a coma after a car accident. He gave us the typical “you guys better not be messin with me” pseudo-freakout, and in those ancient days without a smart phone he had to wait until he heard back from sources who weren’t as bored or dickish before chewing us out on behalf of his lightly soiled pants. Somehow, the mild humor that came from this vaulted us straight to prank calling a car full of girls and telling them a classmate of ours had died. This joke did not last long as their sobs became audible, and when we hung up the phone the joke seemed more like a particularly juvenile act of cruelty, even for us. My point here is, yeah, I was once involved with this ill-conceived, musty breed of humor, and spent more time pondering how cheap and eerie it is than we ever did laughing about it. Even the JD-bag hit me with the airtight “I’ve lost my memory after a car accident says my own sister and a girl at school we both had middle school chubs for, so put your damn shoes on pronto and get your parents to drive you over to… what hospital was it again?” I still remember that horrifying hour like it was yesterday. Amazing that he’s still managed to become more of a cockbag from there, amiright? (Pretty balls-out for 8th grade though I must admit). The thing is, it just isn’t a fair fight when you force someone to call bullshit on a death or serious injury, since the brutality of it if you guess otherwise is soul-smashing. Jokes like these are the comedic equivalent of masturbating in somebody else’s house: it seems humorously fun at first, you wallow in guilt over the awkward self-gratification afterward, and it’s despicable no matter how bored you are or how hot their mom may be. Not that I would know or anything.

Now onto the 300,000 who bought this particular troll’s nut butter at face value: you shitheads are at fault too. Make no mistake. You want to know why this idiot took the time out of his busy self-fellating schedule to do this? It’s because apparently there have been three other significant occasions where idiots have blindly taken social media as accurate news with the exact same story. That, my friends, is beyond gullible or lazy. I’m not sure at this point if I should be proud or wildly disappointed that the first two searches google just suggested me are ‘bill cosby dead’ and ‘bill cosby die’. At least those people do a little research. I can’t even begin to comprehend what type of person it would take to see “R.I.P. Bill Cosby”, click a thumbs up and then not even have the goddamn decency to look up a legit news story about it, or, more appropriately, hilarious youtube vids to remember Bill by. And since they didn’t that’s exactly what we’re gonna do now. Here is a tiny portion of the humor performed and inspired by the great and powerful Coz.

The man has even lent his name to an uber-hot idea to spice up your morning lovemakin/flu-havin

So much bippin and boppin my knees are slapped raw and my side hurts more than Jesus a decent amount, I suppose. But I guess it’s finally time to wrap up my dissertation, I think I’ve made my point.

So to this self-admitted attention whore whose name I don’t give a scrap of food which will eventually turn to shit about: Congratulations, you proved your unoriginal, plagiarized point about how people overvalue social media, rumors get viral REAL quick, or some crock of steaming shit about infotainment and how it’s numbing truth in journalism (stupid internet drones! lololz!). Seriously, phrase it as eloquently as your clearly bulging brain sees fit. You managed to fool a lot of idiots, but that’s simply because there’s a lot of idiots out there who don’t see your so-called “point” as common fucking knowledge to people over the age of 16 who use the internet regularly. All the lil’ shits younger than that likely only know the Coz by name primarily, so way to go on tricking a bunch of 5th graders into sympathy for an old celeb they barely knew. Now go do something useful with your life or limp back into whatever putrid ass you crawled out of. At least in there you won’t have to witness the genuine grief that’ll come when Bill Cosby actually dies. Because seriously, that dude can create more hilarity with one facial expression than you have in your entire life, let alone a stunt like this. For real. I just hope for your own sake you realize it someday too. Don’t just take it from me though:

“Every closed eye is not sleeping, and every open eye is not seeing.” -Bill Cosby


Overreaction Wednesday: The douchiest of Bar douches, bar none

11 07 2012

Attempting to tackle a list this extensive provides a tackling difficulty somewhere between Devin Hester and greased-up deaf guy, but having logged many hours on both sides of the bartop there’s are certain types you see more than others. Feel free to add the many, many douchebreeds I missed down there in the comments, if you wanna do a lil overreactin yourself. But in no particular order, here are the 10 that make it difficult to decide whether to suddenly start chugging a bottle or smash it  on my own head:

1) Overly stubborn underage douche

OSUD’s heart is pumping rapidly as he strolls up to the door with bros on bros, trying desperately to play it cool in a tight spot like Mime hero Cowboy Wayne. He’ll hand over the ID and then stand perfectly still, because everyone knows a bouncer’s vision is based on movement. As soon as he sees the bouncer’s head shake and is handed back his paper mache Texas library card dripping in palm sweat, it’s hissy-fit time. Typically he leads off with an “Are you serious?” and the info-gleaning “How is it fake?”, all the while hindering entry and exit for people who may or may not also be pieces of shit. In the interest of fairness an OSUD may also be of the female variety, using either the puppy dog face or  mega-bitch negotiating strategy to no avail. In either case, with one last ditch effort, OSUD will either attempt to whip out a cool $7 spot (see #4) or roll with the equally pathetic “But all my friends are in there!” Which brings us to…

2) The “I know THAT Employee” so treat me THAT special douche

I’ll go on the record and say I like a vast majority of the people I work with, and have no problem reciprocating a little favored employee treatment now and again. Furthermore, some of their friends are legit. I will respond to demonstrated legitimacy accordingly. The problem lies with the stumbling, entitled ones who learn a few names and suddenly decide they’re cooler than Morgan Freeman in a dry ice factory- and the only way to get that smoky haze billowing around their freckled ankles comes in the form of doing dumb shit just to see if they can get away with it. You may spot these douches dancing on tables, stealing glassware, or attempting to cut a line.

3) The douche who refuses to leave

We’ve all been here before: The lights come on and you’ve still got half a pitcher to finish. Reasonable people either nut up or shut up, get it down or set it down. Unfortunately, this leaves Sir-sips-a-lot who neither nuts up or shuts up, but pretty much just continues to stand and yell his too far gone nonsense to whoever will listen (see #2). This douche must either be shepherded from the bar manually if not coerced by questioning his pussified drink-slamming abilities or bringing up the idea of food.

4) Money flailing douche

Real blatant douche with flawed internal logic that reads: the more I act like an assclown toward the person who can serve me drinks, the faster I can obtain these drinks to spill all over my Ed Hardy shirt! SEE THIS MOTHAFUGGIN 10 SPOT YO!?!? Nope, don’t think he saw it. Maybe if I wave it around some more, or LIGHT IT ON FIRE!!!…MFD may also be seen attempting to bribe bouncers, taking rail shots, and puking later on the sidewalk.

5) Lil’ Roidrage

Mr. 5’7 Nick Jr.’s idea of a good time is rolling up to the bar with his two biggest bros and proceeding to nip at people’s heels simply daring them to bite. I was unfortunate enough to encounter Lil’ Roidrage on what else but my birthday. All it took was the attempt to get a drink in his vicinity and one smartass remark about not buying a round of shots for his posse because fuck that and BAM! My drunk ass was on its…ass. Avoid LR at all costs, he can be spotted his diminutive stature, constant mean mug, and the absence of females within a 10 foot radius.

6) Ballin on no budget douche

BONBD will roll up to the bar and ask for 14 shots, and typically not just any shots: we’re talking either patron or some randomly procured shot from the depths of a cracked iPhone. Something like a Tanzanian titty-twister or Nicaraguan bloodbath, and wait you’ve never heard of it? What kind of bar is this? He will hand over his Visa aluminum card and probably stare wide-eyed at the reciept when he gets it, like it was supposed to be 19.95 plus shipping and strangling, and then leave a $2.00 tip, if that. Uh yeah, you’re welcome for those Croatian cumstains, you…Croatian cumstain.

7) Clueless douche, Clouche for short

This category is reserved for all those people who suddenly decide to stand right in the one tiny gap for people trying to get through. The clouche typically must receive a number of nudges and spills before realizing the cost, and unlike most other bar douches may potentially reform their ways if only for a few minutes. Better yet, they often congregate in the one opening between the back of the bar and the warzone. Clouches may also be groups of drunk girls insistent on taking 5 different pictures at the same bar just like they did last week. Hold up, Cindi where’s the flash button on your Blackberry again? Fack, my eyes were closed in that one. Take 18 more.

8) Anyone who pumps the jukebox with hours of country music

Enough said.

9) “Flip cup in a booth” douches

Ah, to be just barely 21 again. If you must, please refrain from acting like you just won the state lacrosse title after your cup successfully lands upside down, and have fun spilling beer directly on your crotch!

10) Bartenders who make weak-ass drinks

This overreaction just wouldn’t be fair without a little bit of the flipside. Rum and coke does not mean coke with a splash of rum. I know time is of the essence, but if not 50-50 at least make 1/3 of it that tasty bottom shelf mouth orgasm. I mean come on, how the hell else do you expect me to deal with all these other douchebags?

Stay classy bargoers. Or don’t. Just don’t be one of these guys.


Overreaction Wednesday: Graduation

23 05 2012

I had to do it. Since ensuring my receipt of an empty leather binder crippled my presence in this beloved blogosphere of late, it’s only right that I drop a fresh turd all over this cultish ceremony from hell. From the Harry Potter-themed banners and apparel to the pre-packaged advice-spouting dildos on stage, it really adds up to be an impressive game of “what can be the most pointless.” Now I’m sure many of you loyal mimers have already navigated this underwhelming bore-fest (side note: a boar-fest would’ve been waaay better), in which case you are cordially invited to this trip down memory lane pain. For those of you who haven’t, I pray that for your special uber-generic, death-defying commencement you aren’t forced to endure the same breed of shit-blasting hangover you can only get from 13 hours of straight drinking previously- but I’ll be sincerely disappointed if you don’t.

“Here’s to the threesome in our future and the hershey squirt in my briefs. Cheeeeeese”

First off, don’t fucking say congrats, please. I’m far too sick of hearing that obligatory abreev that reminds me I couldn’t pull off a full Van Wilder, and now after five years in the making I have corporate America’s chode gliding slowly towards my wincing face (but thanks anyway). Second, if this is everything we worked toward in these years of three-story beer bongs, riding big wheels down bigger hills, and anonymous sex with dozens of honeys  …torchin bowls on rooftops, then a) this  convention is more of a buzzkill than the clueless bitches who got Montee Ball arrested, and b) we probably deserve one last high-frequency dosage of get-me-the-fuck-outta-here-or-kill-me-now captive listening that the “important” part of college was so grounded in.

Now don’t get me wrong, graduation weekend officially goes down as one of the best. Throwin em back amongst relatives (and friends’ relatives) to celebrate you, with absolutely no shame, is as close to a get out of jail free card as you’re ever going to get. This only makes it that much more dickish when your ultimate walk of shame occurs, in procession, at 10am. I realized then that I would’ve rather been in jail.

The perfect graduation metaphor, only less shitty

Now don’t you dare get on your high jackass and tell me I should’nt have been so hungover. As far as I’m concerned, it’s pretty much a right of passage to be hungover for graduation. It serves as one final flashback to those Friday morning zombie marches to class, and it made me realize that upon entering this so-called workforce, being even one-fourth that hungover will make a 9 to 5 impossible (see now that’s some real learning). Plus, how can you not take advantage of such a blatant parental encouragement to “celebrate?”

Having undergone this hellish ordeal one times too many at this point, I feel obligated to outline the do’s and don’ts for all you mimes in training.

Do: Piss and shit as much as possible before the ceremony. These types of mornings are known for their unpredictability.

Dont: Get so hammered you think it’s a good idea to sleep for a while at a bro’s place closer to the bars. Your back will hurt and you waste precious pass-out time on your morning stumble home.

Do: Load up on supplies before you leave. We’re talking 5-hour energy, emergency granola bar, and your game boy pocket. Drink 1 cubic shit ton of water before you leave.

Don’t: Sit in back at the ceremony. You may be closer to the speakers, but you’re farther from the potential throbbing headache known as the band. Also, you won’t have to walk or stand nearly as much. Extra clutch.

Do: Decorate your cap. Didn’t realize you could do this, I would’ve totally printed a checkerboard for that shit. Hustled some journalism bitches during all that nonsense talk. Nawmean?

Don’t: Listen to the speakers. Instead, rifle through your program looking for hilarious names (or potential ones). It will be worth it. Aside from the occasional (un)fortunate first name for a “Cox” or “Wang”, you may find the type of gem so taint-tingling that it can keep you from strangling yourself with that annoying-ass titty-tickler they call a tassel. That find, for me, was none other than Bridger Mann-Wood (no offense Bridger, your parents were absolute dickholes. “Um, yeah honey that would be totally awesome to hyphenate that shit, I’m sure his middle school years won’t be miserable”).

Do: Write down a fake name for them to announce. I was all set to go with Lloyd Christmas, but my family would’ve disowned me for sneaking by undetected. Better luck next time.

Don’t: Let the man get you down. Only piece of advice worth giving.

And that’s about all, folks. Everything about graduation sucks, so just do your best to… oh wait, the grad money. Riiiiight. I take back everything I said. Totally worth the two hours of holding in that haff-gallon of diarrhea.

Bridger Mann-Wood. Holy shit. So proud to be in his class.


Overreaction Wednesdays: Yapoo!

14 03 2012

As I scoured the interwebs for something to blow the weekly gasket about, I once again found myself drawn to a particular website (search engine? not for me) that prides itself on taking the already loose definition of front page “news” and going Jenna Jameson with it. While Yahoo! did tell me about the deal to clone woolly mammoths (a whole other can of worms that has historically ended in disaster), it seems like every time I hop over there I’m finding out about what some D list celebrity wore to freakin yoga class.”Granddaughter of Elvis to Wed”, “Make flowers last longer”, “Fight over Iconic Barber Poles”, and “Bikini film shoot for Bieber’s Girl” were a few of today’s big boner-inducing headlines (okay maybe that’s just the last one). And that’s a good day. Actually what is going on with the barber poles I wonder? Shit I should probably check that out… And that’s where they getcha. This breed of garbage is so stupid and pointless that I can’t turn away. It’s like watching the dudes from Jersey Shore talk politics or attempting to analyze the themes in a 50 Tyson rap: you’ll feel dumber for the experience, and because of that you’ll probably come back for more. 


Don’t talk shit about Romney, bro.

I’m not trying to say it’s desirable to only focus on all the “real” news going on worldwide because, let’s face it, most of it is just adding another paragraph to the “shit heap of world problems” wiki. It’s not healthy to to fux wit constantly if you ask me (though nobody did).  But dammit Yahoo, you’ve really got my balls in a spiky vicegrip on this one. While I may not want to know the details every time a Middle Eastern country starts beefin with another, I sure as hell don’t wanna spend my goddamn day trying to avoid clicking on a story about the world’s oldest manatee or how big Rosanne’s latest dump was. But you’re leaving me no choice (and my guess is around 11 inches). See, yahoo, I’m not telling you to stop sucking, (I never do) just try not to suck so damn hard. I wanna read a bullshit story about something that becomes an interesting anecdote, not something that afterwards requires me to take a cold shower and re-evaluate the way I spend my time. Tell me, are your journalists proud of their work? Like, let’s see what that beautiful 4-wide box-o-douchery holds now…Well folks, looks like we got something about Erin Andrews. Never mind, rock on yahoo (but seriously screw you). Peace out.

The Pekcorcism of Jeremy Lin

24 02 2012

After last night’s dismant-lin’ by the hands of the red hot heat (puns regrettably intended), knicks fans (read: the entire fucking world lately) are realizing that J-Lin aka Tebow of the NBA is susceptible to performances equally as shitty as his NFL media darling counterpart. The report that the two have become friends has to leave New Yorkers worried the foul stench of Tebow’s game may rub off, linfiltrate the once-Lindestructible’s new bachelor pad/lair, and


derail this much more respectable (though equally as annoying) Linderella story. In the words of the great scooby doo: ruh-roh.

Well don’t worry Knicks fans, if this apocalinpse (too much?) actually goes down as opposing defenses make like the heat and double ya boi on the high screens and/or continue forcing him to his left, have I got a killer bandwagon for you! (I know how much you love em)

Two words: Nikola. Pekovic.

No, that is not the sound clearing my throat and hawking a fat loog on the Rising Stars Challenge player list, it just so happens to be the name of the Montenegran Manchild starting at center for the Monstars Minnesota Timberwolves. Now while you take a New York Linute to laugh about a smaller market team you probably didn’t realize was better than you, ima try not to pop too much of a woody woodpek while I make my case:

-Since his Pekcellence is dropping shits on errbody, I spose I should hit you traditional bitches with his cumulative Randy Marsh-worthy game log

-As Aziz Ansari would say, This guy knows what I’m talking aboutthis guy definitely knows what I’m talking about

-At 6-11, 290 he is legally a monster and will literally eat you if you’re not finsta recognize (see scoob again)

-17-10-1 average in February, if that means anything to anyone. Also, shooting free throws better than Lin. Saywhaaa?

They say a picture’s worth a thousand words, though apparently this DOES NOT apply to term papers and dick pics, fyi. Anyway, it got me wondering what one of them fancy moving pictures is worth…

Tell me that is not some silky ass shit straight outta the nightgown factory. In case the wrinkles or absolute defensive bewilderment threw you for a loop, yes that is ol’ man Duncan having no idea what just happened to him, beginning to trot down the court totin a pocketful of Werther’s originals angrily muttering “kids these days…”

But seriously fuck all that “coherent argument” noize. Dude’s a boss, just look at his arm. I can only assume each of those is representative of an actual human the Pek-ing ball has crushed. Scarier still, he may have to get it updated this weekend after he got looked over for All-Star Weekend’s rising stars challenge going off right now, sparking protest from none other than Kevin Love. Now at the time they drew up that roster maybe he hadn’t roared loud enough yet. But after adding Lin to the roster and being faced with a decision on who should replace Tiago Splitter (which is actually not a product, I’m told), they chose this guy. Seriously? Derrick Favors has nothing on Dr. Frankenstein’s teddy bear. But by now the Lin-crowd is saying what’s your point? We’re sitting pretty with Lin despite his linfinite turnovers, so why care about this lovable brute?

That's Why.

My point is it might do the clinically Linsane a little good to siphon off some of that pressure that could melt rock towards a candidate with hide thick enough to take it, but that still has the same steez that has pantylin’s snappin across the globe: reinvigorating his team, starring in animated films/video games, and looking damn good in the process.


So if you wanna say that this whole thing is just an awesome way to bitch about the Peksecutioner not getting to bust a new set of skulls in the rising stars challenge, I’d say… well you’re pretty much right on with that. But bottom line is he deserves it, and anyone who thinks otherwise is full of more shit than somebody who drank too much Kaopektate. So suck on that, and let the Pekstravaganza begin.