For you, Lady Geiga

Well, I don't think Big Bob headbutted any "lezzies" last night, which is probably a good thing for him, but not a very entertaining thing for us.  That being said, if anyone on the soccer team reads this, that last statement is good for at least most of them hating me before they meet me.  Classic.  At least things in that regard are back to normal. 

But more on what isn't normal.  Like hitting rock bottom last night with a gruesome combination of pizza, doughnuts, lack of pull-ups, and shitty bands playing at the Sundown.  So, I've taken almost three full weeks off any formal (pull-ups aside) kind of athletic endeavor, which would just about cause AI's face to implode.  But I think the agenda of getting after it to make up for... not getting after it (?) has kind of gone over the top now.  During the first three weeks or so of November I kind of pulled out all the stops and started eating foreign things only known to RC like "quinoa" and "leafy greens."  Now I feel as though I'm drifting through an endless savanna of Squilliam C-like decision making where I don't even know what I want anymore.  Might be time to get back in shape.   

Recent developments in 5629 should make for an intriguing situation.  Cowboy's excessively cool record player with lots of vinyl supplies is now in the living room, along with JJ's old PS2 that Soberding cleverly scammed off of him Scott-free.  In addition to these somewhat-precious materials in our living room is the presence of the Broom, Dino-saur (this weekend), and the ever possible D-Simms visit.  I may as well leave this laptop up there just so it can be that much more mildly catastrophic.  Or, for a disaster in a messier form, we could probably convince C-Mac to go upper-deck someone on the chixxe's team's toilet after a 1-2 GC finish at a beer pong tournament.  Just an idea, but unfortunately not actually something that happened.  Except for the tournament.  And the C-Mac rumor.  So close, maybe another time.  Let's see if we can people to really hate us!

Saturday evening

Le Malde has seen meat spin.  Oh yeah!

Weekend Betting Lines

Spreadings:
Dino's Return-to-Portland weekend fiesta (-10) vs. Miami vice living
Infuriated drunken cuss words from Michigan fans in Portland (-4) vs. Family friendly environment at the alumni pub
5629 plunging out of time-to-get-in-shape mode (-8) vs. Keeping everything in line until Nov. 22

Over/Under
Domino's orders: 1.5
Outlandish fantasy league trades made with Xmas: 0.5
Hours of Mario Golf played in 5629: 7.5

This weekend should be amusing with the many differing agendas.

Nothing Interesting

Nothing of much interest has happened in our house lately and I haven't heard of anything else going around (I'll just let the potential for a link on those words set in so you can use your own imaginations).  I guess the Mosby beginning the drinking season is kind of news, as is Chopkins absolutely blowing it on hole 18 last night while playing Mario Golf (+3, what a rube). 

It's difficult to write about things when nothing really happens.  I've been largely home alone the past few days because Tarry has become a fire hydrant-drawn ghost, the Cowboy seeks to estrange himself further, Chopkins spends his eves in the library, Mosby could be anywhere right now.  Maybe joining the Ringer in getting stuck playing with jellyfish in Mexico while bad things happen back home.  Lady Geiga has twice told me he's been working on a guest post and so far he's 0 for 2.  Soberding, after an embarrassing exposure of his robotics, has presumably gone AWOL, though I'm sure a replacement clone will turn up eventually.

Slay-J Kim is still growing and nourishing his balls in a futile attempt to try to kill me in Bond.  Please.


Looks like you'll never find A.I. in the state of Michigan...

Startling Theory Made Fact

Can YOU spot the Soberding copy?

Not going to say I'm surprised here.  This is an after-party of the newly elect governor of Michigan, Rick Snyder.  My best friend is seen in the back row/middle of this photograph, with the governor's son, another friend of mine, to his right. 

But... more importantly... The "guy"... with the glasses...  

We finally have photographic evidence.  Soberding is, in fact, a robot clone.  Now that he's been exposed I'll gladly assume his cushy internship in the white-collar world and build my way up to the top in order to get to the bottom of this.  Wait, what?

We shouldn't be surprised by this.  We've already seen a, "malfunctioned," shall we say, robot Soberding-clone wandering campus.  How many more are out there?  What does this mean for Soberding's girlfriend? Is she...?

Autumn

It's good to be in Portland.  The weather report for Ann Arbor, Michigan, my fabled hometown, calls for a low of 25 degrees and all kinds of schloppy icy precipitation.  Just two days ago I was gently bitching to Ascott about the "minging rain" (did I use that correctly?) in the Forest, when I really should have been complaining about the fact that I was 100% for sure ruining my hip on that very run.  Rest assured, I'll be healthy in another day or two.  Looking outside my bedroom window right now makes me awkwardly laugh to myself, probably scaring people outside on the sidewalk as they walk past my basement window.  That window provides me an excellent view of the side of a small bush, the sky, and a few pieces of boards that keep dirt from obstructing said view.  It also serves as a target for the contracted mowers and leaf blowers to see how much debris they can spray directly toward me while I type this.

According to the always reliable status of J Bass's facebook, it's another beautiful fall day in Portland.  I think I finally understand some marketing aspect of Halloween that included all the fall colors like orange, yellow, and red.  Back in Michigan the trees started broing out and getting nudey mid-late September and all the recycled Halloween color schemes never made any sense.  Remember all those school calendars when you were in elementary school?  Brits, disregard these statements, I'm sure you weren't allowed to see obstructive pictures that took away from the facts (i.e. what day was when).  September was always the shitty back-to-school drawing, October the autumn colors and maybe some pumpkins and a witch.  November was always Thanksgiving with some cartoon Pilgrims comically faking friendships with Native Americans before indefinitely stealing their land and useful farming techniques.  Well, finally, the calendar fits.  October in Michigan has always been desolate, freezing, and of late, deceiving because that's when our football team decides to ruin a perfect 5-0 start two years in a row.  Dammit!

Gamesmanship

Given the recent hub that 5629 has become for gaming, I felt like a post was in order.  It arguably began when I absolutely slaughtered everyone that challenged me in Goldeneye, but it definitely heated up when Pussyhands thought his floppy fingers could be dexterous enough to beat me in Blitz.  After making Pussyhands... uh... "no longer exist on earth" (I guess that's what the young people say now for embarrassingly destroying Tarry's fragile masculinity) several times, there came a lull in gaming.

Now, we have Mario Golf from T-Bar, which brings in a whole new and strange element to our shit talking.  On one hand, as much of an urge as you have to tell Le Malde to eat shit as he lines up his drive, you also have an odd desire to share some bromaraderie by giving advice on his putts.  As an angry T-Bar spikes our only good controller on our stained carpet, I have an inkling to reprimand him.  Granted, a comical argument ensued which almost drove T-Bar out of the room after either a) peeing on our carpet and taking the game or b) punching Tarry in the face and taking the game.  Unfortunately neither situation occurred, and the game casually progressed with people being for the most part quiet while putting took place.

I'm not sure why the shit-talking took respective leave during Mario Golf.  The entire point of shit-talking in videogames is to fuck with Tarry, or maybe some other bros in order to throw them off.  From now on Le Malde gets no tips on drives unless they're going in the water.  He showed no mercy to T-Bar when he tricked him into driving the ball 4 yards.  But T-Bar... come on...