Monday, January 11, 2010

Great (Look-Alike) Faces In History 2

Welcome back to our new weekly series of Great (Look-Alike) Faces in History. Last week we examined the striking similarities between a historical figure and a pop culture icon, and this week we will tackle two contemporary figures: Patrick Ewing and Michelle Obama. Continuing our theme from last week, we have chosen a First Lady as one of our subjects (perhaps a Hillary Clinton or Eleanor Roosevelt post is warranted in the future?), as well as an NBA Hall-of-Famer. Mrs. Obama is widely revered for her elegant sophistication and refined appearance, which contrasts with Mr. Ewing's hulking, brutish frame and pugilistic face. He is best know for the 15 years he spent as a bruising center for the New York Knickerbockers. She is best known for her patronage of J. Crew and for advocating on behalf of a farmer's market in front of the White House. (While her agenda may be underwhelming, at least she looks way better than that dog, MTL).

Yet, despite all their differences, there remain some inexplicable similarities between the two. But how does an ugly man somehow end up looking strikingly similar to a fairly visually-pleasing woman? I don't know either, but somehow it works. Upon encountering this post, some less-enlightened readers may cry racism. Nay, I say, this is a cultural study of the highest credentials. Furthermore, in a society and time where taboo and humor are so closely intertwined, nobody really knows anyway where to draw the thin, sharp line that divides them. Therefore, read on and be enlightened.

Patrick Aloysius Ewing:
Michelle LaVaughn Robinson Obama:
Now on to the similarities. They share many things besides their Baldwin-esque physical appearance (slightly different but obviously related). For one, they are both extremely well-educated: Ewing attended the School of Hard Knocks in Kingston, Jamaica before enrolling at Georgetown, while the First Lady matriculated at Princeton prior to attending Harvard Law. Ewing was a stand-out basketball player, being named 1985 Naismith College Player of the Year and garnering 11 All-Star appearances during his storied NBA career. Basketball has a strong presence in Mrs. Obama's family as well: her brother, Craig Robinson, had a notable career as a forward at Princeton, and then went on to win Ivy League Coach-of-the-Year honors at Brown before taking the money at Oregon State; Mrs. Obama's husband, Barry, also has a well-known affection for the game.

Now like Emeril, we take it up... another notch! Ewing won two Olympic Gold Metals, in 1984 and 1992, while Barry won a Nobel Peace Prize that just as easily could have been awarded to Mrs. Obama. In 1996, Ewing was named one of the 50 Greatest Basketball Players of All Time, while in 2007, Vanity Fair named Mrs. Obama one of the 10 Best Dressed People in the World. (Substance versus style, much?) In 2001, Mr. Ewing was implicated in a prostitution scandal based out of Atlanta's Gold Club; if you've ever seen Mrs. Obama's arms, you know she probably gives a mean HJ (legally, of course). And finally, it was rumored for years that Mr. Ewing's member was so large and his shorts so short that he had to engage in a pre-game ritual of taping the massive creature to his leg, so as to avoid offending the delicate sensibilities of the high-class New York sports fans, and ensuring that NBA broadcasts remained family-friendly. Mrs. Obama, for her part, has never taped a wang to the inside of her leg (insofar as we know), but she has most likely, at one time or another, attended to the Presidential Penis, so as to avoid offending the most powerful man in the world.

(Credit the inspiration for this post to the hilarious and increasingly popular

Thursday, January 7, 2010

Opinion: Mustard on Tuna Salad, Brilliant Addition or Misplaced Mistake?

As promised... my mustard-on-tuna salad review:

Application: I only used a minute amount... two thin yellow lines. Like an off color version of Whitney Houston's coffee table.

Appearance: The unmistakable hues of mustard dominate an otherwise snow white roll of tuna, mayo and cheese. The diversity is not an unwelcome addition to the purity of my roll (I'm an enlightened cat, after all), but nevertheless I am left with a slight feeling of discomfort.

Smell: Like Mustard, Tuna Fish, and Mayo

Taste: The usual cornucopia expected in my sandwich is hindered by the unmistakable spice of mustard. Explosions in the sky? Yes... but not welcomed explosions. I can't help but think, I should be tasting more tuna right now. Sadly, however, I am not. The joyous fishy taste of tuna has been robbed, like a gringo by a Mexican prostitute. My vivid memory of tuna salad has been bitch slapped by an impostor... a gay impostor.

Finish: Like the Village People, goes down rougher than a tuna salad should.

Verdict: It wasn't thatttt bad... but I think I'm going to save mustard for hot dogs and spaghetti with meatballs.

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

December Tweets 2

Holiday Tweets:

Sorry for Betting (my 60-inch flatscreen against the Saints): Who Dat!? Who Dey?! #anarmedsocietyisacivilsociety
This 4-year-old was definitely not sorry: #SFP #Xmas #sorrysorry
#musicmonday J-Kill "I'm in a Frat" sooo unapologetic: #SFPKids throw snowballs, cop pulls gun: #onlyinDC #SFP Unapologetic racism: #SFP @jaeDC @Dolski28
Make your guns bedside accessible! For only $39.95! #HappyHolidays #SFPThis should pick you up from the post #Xmas doldrums: Talk about getting the short end of the stick @jaeDC @TuckerMax
Woman achieves BAC 9 times legal limit, steals 2 cars, isn't sorry: #itsnotokay to punish behavior this unapologetic
A very well-hung man: #SFP #nowplaying @Dolski28 @brettshank

December Tweets 1

Enjoy the lack of sorry-ness from December:

"Beer is the reason we get up each afternoon." -Ray McNeill @TuckerMax @jaeDC @phila_lawyer @Dolski28 #SFP #Beer
10:27 AM Dec 1st, 2009
Thought for #WorldAidsDay: since alcohol kills germs, it could be argued that #Beer is the undiscovered miracle cure for #AIDS
10:29 AM Dec 1st, 2009
"Anybody that can't get drunk by midnight ain't trying." -Toots Shor #wisdom #avoidthehangover
"A psychologist once said that we know little about the conscience- except that it is soluble in alcohol." -Thomas Blackburn #fact #SFP
10:25 AM Dec 8th, 2009

"I do not free base cocaine... well, errr..." #SFP #psa @jaeDC @phila_lawyer
Bored at work or in class? The funniest Facebook f*ck-ups courtesy of @thehuffpost Enjoy!
"Alcohol is necessary for a man so that he can have a good opinion of himself, undisturbed by the facts." -Finley Peter Dunne #SFP
"When I read about the evils of drinking, I gave up reading." -Henny Youngman #iaintafraidtosay"To some, it's a six-pack, to me it's a Support Group. Salvation in a can!" -Dave Howell #SFP #igrewupon beer
ome secret beer fridge
This guy was definitely sorry RT @TFLN (818): he took off his pants and apologized in advance if I thought he was too small. #imsorry
This guy wasn't RT @TFLN (732): I'm drinking away my Christmas cash. People are going to get bar receipts as presents. #imnotsorry
#SFP=Sorry for Punching: Bahaha, crazy guidos

Monday, January 4, 2010

Great (Look-Alike) Faces In History

There are many well-known pairs of celebrity look-alikes: Sarah Palin and Tina Fey, Zac Efron and Clay Aiken, Courtney Love and Golum, to name a few. But there are a few you may not know about, especially when we start delving into historical figures and deceased persons. For instance, Norm from the long-running sitcom Cheers is a dead ringer for Mary Todd Lincoln, wife of the 16th President. Don't believe me? Check out the pics below.

Hillary Norman "Norm" Peterson:
Mrs. Lincoln:
If that's not a familial resemblance then I'll hang up my drinking shoes right now. And the similarities don't end there. Norm was from Chicago; Mrs. Lincoln married honest Abe, who eventually represented Illinois in the United States Senate. Norm was the most committed patron of Cheers (the only character to appear in all 270 episodes); Mrs. Lincoln was committed to a sanitarium for the last decade of her life. Phrased differently, Norm's best friend on the show was postman, Cliff Clavin; Mrs. Lincoln went postal. Norm had a woman's name (Hillary); Mrs. Lincoln had a dude's name (Todd). And my favorite similarity: Norm loved to get blasted; Mrs. Lincoln's husband was blasted. Too soon?

Happy New Year

And we're back. I hope the new year finds you all in good spirits and good health. I also hope that you took full advantage of the long weekend and are now struggling in the throes of yet another Monday morning hangover. (I know it is usually in poor taste to wish a hangover upon anyone, but on the first workday after New Year's it seems appropriate). Now if you're anything like me- and it's likely you are if you're reading this blog- you used New Year's as an excuse to embark on a 5-day booze-soaked odyssey that plumbed the deepest depths of human indecency and debauchery. In other words: a success.

Like any true group of un-apologists, our celebration began on Wednesday night with multiple kegs, clear, well-defined goals, and a determined attitude. Over the succeeding days and nights we rode this bender with all our might, enduring the highs and the lows, right up until the inevitable Sunday crash. Through the process we made some great memories- and forgot most of them just as quickly- and a number of entertaining story lines emerged. Some are hilarious, some macabre, and some are downright strange. Many are typical of any New Year's Week celebration and you may have encountered them in your own journeys: inebriated lightweights throwing up in the bushes and urinating in the planters, often at the same time; late night beer pong tournaments running until 4 or 5 am; high heel-wearing young women taking nasty spills on beer-covered kitchen floors, resulting in sprained wrists and broken elbows; and lets not forget the requisite fistfight between friends-of-friends over a backwards hat. Classic!

But the most entertaining storyline of our long weekend is a bit unique and you may not have encountered it. Then you again, you may have, and for that I commend you. It is an infrequent occurrence that grown adults pee their pants or wet the bed, even when blasted out of their minds. It is even less frequent that this happens two nights in a row. But I personally bore witness to this spectacle less than 72 hours ago. As Rube Baker famously uttered in Major League II, "Women: you can't live with them, and they can't pee standing up." In this particular case, neither of these two young ladies could even manage to make it to a toilet.

Our first subject is Tipsy McStaggers. She is a good friend of mine and we go back a long time, but in this case even I had to cringe at her antics. Tipsy is your classic functioning alcoholic: drinks like a fish 5 nights a week, handles it like a tank, and can get up and go to work at 8 am the next morning. But like most young women, she eventually reaches a tipping point (yes, I hate that phrase too, but it is actually applicable here), where she transitions from fun-loving screaming party girl to a zombie-like lazy-eyed drunk. On New Year's Eve she reached that tipping point and made it most of the way down the back slope. After losing a shoe and falling down multiple times, she and her thousand-yard stare eventually convinced one of the less-drunk party goers to drive her home.

The next morning her roommate, another good friends of ours, came downstairs to find Tipsy's pants and underwear in a sopping wet heap on the floor in front of the television, and what appeared to be a re-creation of the Chesapeake Bay on the seat cushion of a very expensive recliner. Upon being confronted Tipsy confessed to the deed and furthermore admitted to being awake and conscious. According to her, she just "didn't feel like getting up," and that it didn't really matter because "it was my chair." You can imagine our shock (and secret admiration) of her brazenly unapologetic response. In the ensuing discussion later on New Year's Day, the following gem came out:

Me: "You're telling me that as a 22-year-old person, you don't feel the least amount of shame about all this?"
Tipsy: "No, not at all. Plus this isn't nearly as bad as the time when I peed in my closet in front of my dad."


The second loss of female bladder control occurred that night. Although it was far less intentional than Tipsy's, it was no less entertaining. Daisy Sunshine is a nice, friendly Midwestern girl who lives down the street from us. She is literally the girl next door in every sense. On this particular night, she and one of our roommates, Victor, got very friendly. On the night of New Year's Day, most of our usual set was absent, because they were "recovering" from a "hangover," or whatever that means. Not us. There was still keg beer to drink and beer pong to play. After tiring of standing we moved to the living room for some card games. By the early morning hours everyone was thoroughly lubricated, none more so than Daisy. Around 3, she and Victor retired upstairs to his room, and the rest of us soon made our way to bed as well.

The next afternoon, I rolled out of bed just in time for the first bowl games. When I came downstairs Victor was sitting on the couch in the midst of an animated story.

Me: "How was your night? A success?"
Vic: "You want the good news or the bad news first?"
Me: "The good, I suppose."
Vic: "I got laid."
Me: "Nice, 'atta boy. What's the bad news then?"
Vic: "She passed out on top of me afterward, and I woke up about two hours later to her peeing on me."
Me: "Fuck me running! So you gonna invite her back tonight?"

Cue the Dave Chappelle lyrics:

Haters wanna hate,
Lovers wanna love,
I don't even want,
None of the above,
I want to piss on you.
Yes I do, I'll piss on you,
I'll pee on you.

It's your body, your body,
Is a portapotty,
When I pee I kick,
I'm gonna do karate on your body,
I'm want to pee on you,
Drip, drip, drip,
Yes I do I pee on you,
I ssss on you, ssss on you