When I started the MB back in 2000, my original intent was to showcase my resume and minuscule design portfolio. I had just made the transition from print design to web design and thought the purchase of the domain name would motivate me to learn more about designing and maintaining websites. It did.

In 2002, the MB transitioned from a professional showcase to a personal one. I started posting about all manner of nonsense, because, in case you have not realized by now, I have a lot to say about a lot of shit. In 2002 there was no Facebook. No Twitter. No MySpace. No news feeds. It actually took some doing to track down links and write about them. I was happy to do this because my job was mind-numbing and management at the data slaughterhouse had no idea what the hell I was up to. Soon, links, emails and IMs started flooding in from the likes of Jake, Michael, DJ, Kaye, Monica, CH, Gay Joe and Mark. Boredom loves company? I was happy to be posting regularly as it fueled my passion for creativity in ways that my career was not.

Enter Broz Design in November 2008 and my posting to the MB fizzling out. Maybe its because I am fulfilled professionally? Or because I would rather hang out with my kid than waste my time posting about a guy that got fucked to death by a horse? Or maybe it is time to take the MB into a new direction? I go with the latter. I have always dreamed about writing the Great American Novel but am no closer to that goal than I was last year. My New Years resolution for 2010 is to start using the MB to focus more on actually writing a book and get some ideas out into the ether. It may not lead to anything other than me doing what I have been wanting to do for some time and that is fine. It is not like you want to read about a horse fucking a guy to death, anyway. Right?

Labels: /mark, broz design, career, data slaughterhouse, dj, gay joe, jake, kaye, matt brozovich, mons, perversion, technology, tomfoolery

Jake's post got my juices flowing regarding my "career." While I am overjoyed I no longer have to answer questions like "Where do you see yourself in five years?" in employment reviews to people who have no right to judge my design abilities in the first place, I will play along with the question for just this post.

So, where do I want to be five years from now?

Simple; still walking the path of fulfillment. I want to be able to choose the work I want to take on. I want to understand the direct correlation between cause and effect. I want to be a single point of failure. I want my clients to be happy with the work I have done for them and be successful because of it. In short, I want to be exactly where I am today. Whether it be designing websites or writing the Great American Novel or shoveling mule shit. For the first time in my life I can say I am satisfied. I am satisfied without being rich, having a really bitchin' car or a loveless house in some wasteland suburb. I think that is the definition of success.

Labels: broz design, career, jake

Jake: The ShamWow guy sues Scientology.
Me: I am debating the purchase of ShamWows.
Jake: Ha! Check this one out. "You are gonna love my nuts."
Me: He is right, that tuna does look boring. "If I can do it with one finger, you can do it with one hand."
Jake: The guy is a genius.
Me: Indeed.
Jake: He is like a sideshow magician, throwing around some Three-Card Monte.
Me: You are getting the Slap Chop for your birthday.
Jake: Excellent.

Labels: im convos, jake, pop culture, religion, tomfoolery

While on a conference call with a client who spent the majority of the time figuring out an easy content management system who dropped the following phrase numerous times, "Okay. Hold on just a second ...5 minutes of silence... Ohhhhhhhhhhh. That is easy!" I was left with time to ponder important Art Director decisions. Decisions like who the hottest bitches of 2008 are. According to Maxim, it is Sports Illustrated Swimsuit cover model Marissa Miller. Well played, Maxim. I do, however, have to take exception with your placement of Britney at 19. Seriously? 19? Did you not look at this before making your list? FHM gave the hot chick medal of honor to Megan Fox. Even though Jake is gay and has no love for her, she is slutty delicious and I look forward to seeing her rack in more overly-hyped, big budgeted, acting-anemic Michael Bay joints. Then there are the lesbians. Apparently they are all about Tina Fey. Look, I get it. She is smart, cute, has that trashy librarian vibe and is funny on 30 Rock. But number 1? You disappoint me, lesbians. Her face scar alone should drop her out of the top ten (strictly from a comparison standpoint). Lastly, I take extreme exception with Gwen Stefani not being mentioned on any of these lists (and I know from personal experience that the lesbians love Gwen Stefani). Please review this Maxim, FHM and lesbians. That is all.

Labels: boobs, career, chicks, jake, lesbians, pop culture, swimsuit issue, taxi dev

The sparsely posted on MB was experiencing some down time while Jake configured servers and did some technical shit that you probably did not care about nor appreciated. The website is back online now upon meeting with a therapist and listening to its Cure music library.

Labels: geekery, jake, music

A recipe for Guinness ice cream. Before that tattooed freak Jake turned the wife and I on to Guinness Floats (two scoops of vanilla ice cream and one pint of Guinness Stout) at the Exchange Tavern one hazy evening, I would have cringed at the thought of a Guinness-based ice cream. Now all I have to say is, "Fuck yes."

Labels: decadence, drinking, jake, wife

There is nothing I can say about Lesbian Turkish Oil Wrestling except its arrival to the scene was long overdue. Jake, Gay Joe and myself discovered the national Turkish all-male sport back in the Data Slaughterhouse days which yielded many discussions and one inappropriate IM buddy icon that Joey rocked for two solid years thanks to a useless human resource department and a devil may care attitude. I am proud that the Turkish Oil Wrestling organization finally acknowledged the Women's Movement and decided to let oiled-up dykes grapple with each other in the Turkish tradition. It looks like Daddy just found a new show to record on the HD DVR.

Labels: data slaughterhouse, jake, lesbians, tomfoolery, turkish oil wrestling

Saturday saw the send off for my buddy Wil who is walking the Earth for the next six months to a year. He will return home whenever his money or his transsexual hooker sugar daddy connections dry up (literally). We procured a limo for his last evening in the city and took a dive bar tour of Denver in style. Some highlights:

• The limo was compliments of one of my work clients who hooked us up with an amazing deal. He gave us a two week old Mercedes Benz limo for the night and stocked it with complimentary beer, gin, whiskey and champagne. The whip was so new that the stereo could only play CDs as the sound system was like the Death Star in Return Of The Jedi and not yet fully operational. We only brought one CD between the seven of us. Said CD was a shitty local techno band and ended up being fired from the limo window by night's end.
• At My Brother's Bar, they have bacon listed as a menu item.
• Number of individuals in our group that ordered bacon: 2.
• Number of individuals that asked the waitress to "Look away" as he attempted to pick up and eat a strip of bacon that fell of the floor: 1.
• The Hilltop, my favorite college-era haunt, did not fail to disappoint (except for the omission of "Ballad Of The Green Berets" from the jukebox which was the traditional way to close all drinking benders back in the day). While walking into the bar a guy came out yelling "Who needs some blow? Some meth? Some X?" While sitting at the bar some troll-looking kid was attempting to start a fight with the a gentleman three times his size. The bartender encouraged smoking after asking if we were cops and than proceeded to light up and "fuck the anti-smoking laws."
• Changing the name of a strip club from Cheerleaders to The Player's Club does not make your joint instantly classier. You still have to wash the vomit and sweaty ass from the carpet.
• Number of individuals in our group that had their wife pick them up from The Player's Club: 1.
• Number of individuals in our group that lost an electronic device sometime during the night: 2.
• Number of individuals in our group that were called by the limo company with the whereabouts of their lost electronic device: 1.

Be sure to rubber up in the jungle, Wil. Once you establish your white warlord presence in Belize, we will be down to slaughter cattle with machetes in front of the locals as a lesson not to cross you. In short, be safe and enjoy your adventures.

Labels: bacon, decadence, denver, dj, drinking, drugs, ez, jake, wil

Me: Interesting.
Jake: Meh. She does not stun me. Who cares if she can play some golf?
Me: I guess it is nice to know that she is not just a useless hot bitch. She can hit the shit out of a golf ball, too.
Jake: Give me Heidi Klum playing with her tits any day.
Me: Well, duh. Her tits are fantastic.
Jake: "Great knockers!"
Me: The Seal thing baffles me. I bet she is a size queen. It is the only explanation.
Jake: Never thought of that.
Me: Him and Edward James Olmos could be brothers with all that shit on their faces.
Jake: Ha! Seal had lupus. Cut the guy a break. He is just trying to get by.
Me: I do not call banging Heidi Klum "Getting By." I call that "Out Punting Your Coverage." "Getting By" is laying wood to someone like Britney Spears.
Jake: That is not "Getting By" that is "Giving Up."
Me: Nice.

Labels: boobs, chicks, im convos, jake, music, pop culture, sports

• Jake got more ink over the weekend. Two words: fucking huge. At least something will be able to take the attention away from cock dagger now.
• DMX loves dogs like Mike Vick.
• Congratulations to 2007 Miss Teen USA Hilary Cruz (from Colorado; represent). I trust your response during the question and answer segment was not anything like this.

Labels: colorado, jake, link goodness, music, pop culture, sports, stupidity, tattoos

Jake: Amber marries Amber Doll.
Me: That doll looks a million times better than she does.
Jake: Ha!
Me: I would probably take a run at that doll but be creeped out the entire time while doing so. Then again, that describes sex with my ex-girlfriend so I might be able to handle it.
Jake: I have a feeling I would get in the middle of it and be like, "This is weird." It would be like jerking off in the shower and realizing halfway through that it is not going anywhere. Sure you keep at it for a while, but eventually your arm just wears out.
Me: No way. Once I am in that doll, I am committed. It is a lot like sex with the dead or bestiality; once you crossed the the penetration threshold, all bets are off. You do not just pull out and acknowledge weirdness in the middle of it. You have to finish and than punch the doll in the throat for judging you afterwards.

Labels: im convos, jake, perversion, sex

During the height of my binge drinking days I could drain things down my gullet that would curl the stomach of a goat; straight whiskey, Irish Car Bombs, Natty Light and tequilas that do not even deserved to be named. I was blessed/cursed with an abnormally high metabolism and a steel stomach that allowed me to absorb alcohol faster than your average frat boy. Enter this past Saturday. The wife and I watched some Roller Derby with Jake and crew downing numerous tall boys of PBR in the process. I came home to spend a good clip on the toilet cursing the PBR and saddened that my once iron constitution is now broken.

Labels: drinking, jake, poop, tomfoolery, wife

These past few weeks the wife and I have been up to our tits in U-Hauls, moving boxes, giant Tupperware containers and throngs of able-bodied help throwing our furniture around for the promise of free food and liquor (including one tattooed freakshow who has visited the new crib twice since moving day but has yet to bring over any housewarming scotch). Amidst the chaos we only lost one small mirror that the wife purchased on clearance at Marshalls. While the wife was conveniently out of town I spent the past few days unpacking, trimming juniper bushes, raking leaves, committing genocide on the ant colony in the mud room, configuring the entertainment center and setting up my office. My Dad gave me a bevy of tools; rakes, shovels, hedge clippers, an extension cord, a pruner, a hatchet, a lawnmower and a gas trimmer that came with the spoken caveat, "Don't tell your mother I gave it to you. I just bought it last summer." A housewarming party will be imminent. Bring scotch.

Labels: dad, jake, l-i-v-i-n, moving, the greens, wife

• Mr. Belding (Dennis Haskins) and Tony Romo singing a cover of Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'" with Metal Skool. Good times. I think I will email Metal Skool and offer to redesign their site. Yeesh. What they got there now looks like an aborted fetus.
  
• Behold the model index of the 2007 Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue. Enjoy wasting the rest of your day, boys. (Except for you, Gay Joe. Go find a homosexual site where dudes are dressed in SS uniforms and whipping each other or something).
  
• Jake's half sister is a transient pervert that likes to tie people up and drink their blood.

Labels: boobs, jake, link goodness, pop culture, swimsuit issue

Last night I watched the Avs home opener from a luxury suite at the Pepsi Center (the boys lost to the Stars 2-3 in OT). The old man, Jake, Nels and Aaron were also in attendance. My pops was responsible for the hook up as he procured the tickets through assorted work connections. The suite came equipped with a private bathroom, assorted domestic beers, food platters, period-by-period stat sheets and a computer with internet connection. Our luxurious time was surrounded by famous radio personalities with fake cans (Clear Channel suite next door), one drunk fan trying to start an "AVS RULE!" cheer (seats below us) and the now infamous silver bucket of happiness. The life of an unemployed artist is glamorous and fulfilling.

Labels: chili dog, colorado, hockey, jake, nels, sports, unemployment

Me: Then there are these fucking guys.
Jake: I like how you lead into that.
Me: (bows).
Jake: Dude thought the obituary picture was cute? Never mind that she died in a motorcycle crash.
Me: Yeah. She's dead, fellas. How about you try to tap the living, first?
Jake: Well, I would rather they try this than rape Tommy's little sister.
Me: I would rather them not rape anybody, dead or alive. I do like how they bought condoms. That was thoughtful.
Jake: Yes. You don't want to catch maggots.
Me: Or get the corpse pregnant. What were the other dudes going to do while their boy got his Ted Bundy on?
Jake: See if he liked it and then take a poke if it was any good?
Me: Yeesh. There are sloppy seconds and than there are sloppy seconds with a dead body. That is the lowest rung on the sexual deviance ladder. While we're on the topic, I'm thinking they should have bought some lube with those condoms, too.
Jake: Totally.
Me: You know, a guy I play hockey with kind of looks like one of those dudes. His name is Dave. He probably has sex with the dead, too.
Jake: Nice.

Labels: im convos, jake, perversion, sex, stupidity

The 15th Great Easter Bunny Hunt will commence this weekend in New Zealand. Teams of shooters will converge on the country's rabbit population and an Easter bloodbath will ensue. Nothing says "Christ Has Risen" like animal extermination (except for maybe the Jesus Chops). I would love to participate in this event because I am fucked in the head. I know Jake is down.

Labels: easter, jake, killing

• The rise and fall of an Indian reservation drug dealer. Jake digs the bear claw tattoos prominently displayed on homegirl's sweater puppies. He would. The guy does shit like this on the weekends.
• A dissertation on the NBA logo. The article argues whether the logo should be redesigned to reflect the current culture of the league or remain the way it is. I say redesign the logo to something that is indicative of the modern NBA; a tattooed kid with cornrows that cannot play defense and has no outside shot but can dunk like a hungry police officer at a coffee shop.
• Good to hear that Hank has not lost his edge.
• Tanith Belbin has made me a fan of Olympic ice dancing. There. I said it.

Labels: drugs, jake, link goodness, music, sports, tattoos

After my discussion with Jake and much deliberation, I decided this would be the mixed tape I would create for the Son of God:

1. "Jesus Built My Hotrod" by Ministry
2. "So Fresh, So Clean" by Outkast
3. "Down On My Knees" by The Crucifucks
4. "The Man Comes Around" by Johnny Cash
5. "Kill The Poor" by Dead Kennedys
6. "Holy Diver" by Dio
7. "When I Get To Heaven" by Ice Cube
8. "Killing In The Name Of" by Rage Against the Machine
9. "Sister Christian" by Night Ranger
10. "Sympathy For The Devil" by Rolling Stones
11. "If You Love Someone Set Them On Fire" by Dead Milkmen
12. "Epiphany" by Bad Religion
13. "Something To Believe In" by Poison

I know Jesus was a subversive Hippy and would probably enjoy some Grateful Dead, Phish, Widespread Panic and Cat Stevens, but that is not the point. The purpose of the mixed tape is not just to throw on a bunch of music that the recipient likes and is familiar with. Making a mixed tape for someone is the ultimate truth; it strips down the walls society builds around human relationships and then rebuilds them through the majesty of song. That, and if you give a mixed tape to girl hopefully it will get you laid.

Labels: jake, music, pop culture, religion, tomfoolery

Jake just strolled into my office with a belated Christmas gift; The Modern Drunkard, which gives me a reason to drink every day. Thanks for enabling me, Jake. I admire your immense liquor cabinet.

Labels: drinking, jake, tomfoolery

• The Philadelphia Flyers Have a Time Machine: Installment Five. I would also like to add the obligatory "Fuck the Flyers" for any hockey fans (Jake, Gary) who may harbor the delusion that I cheer for that asshole organization that took Foppa away.
• Pierce Brosnan requests that James Bond sex scenes be more explicit. I think he sums it up best: "What Bond needs is a good, palpable killing sequence and a good sex scene." I can get behind that, Mr. Brosnan.
• Jason Sehorn should be beaten with a sock full of quarters. Seriously. Marc Bulger over Tom Brady? The only thing that guy ever did right was landing this.

Labels: hockey, jake, link goodness, perez, pop culture, sports

Links Jake would have sent me this morning if he was not unplugged in Boston:

• Diseased monkeys threaten San Juan, Puerto Rico.
• A cockfight grenade attack.
• Pig tattooing.

Labels: death, jake, link goodness, monkeys, tattoos

In a few short hours, I will be on a plane headed for Chicago and the 2005 HOW Design Conference. Once the conference concludes, the future wife and I will be hanging around the Windy City for a few days. We will be back in Denver next Thursday only to leave for Oregon the following Saturday to visit with our in-laws for the week. Posting will be minimal to none on the MB during this time. If you start going through withdrawals consider Jake, Boing Boing, /mark or Fleshbot your methadone. Especially Fleshbot. They have dirty pictures and stuff.

Labels: /mark, career, data slaughterhouse, denver, how design, jake, travels

Jake: I sent my brother-in-law the screaming dad mp3. His reply was: "Man, I miss New England. It has been a long time since someone's dad called me a cunt."
Me: I am incorporating that into my verbal arsenal when I have a son. I will call him Mary, Cinderella, ballerina and cunt. Every once and awhile I will call him son, just so he does not commit suicide.
Jake: I am going to stick with "Boy" mostly. "Hey boy, get me a beer" or "Hey boy, mix daddy a martini. And do not cock it up like you did last time."
Me: Good times.
Jake: Yes.

Labels: c-bomb, im convos, jake

Thanks to Jake and the good people over at Joyent, the MB is humming like an old lady in line for the early bird special at Country Buffet. Over the weekend, I spent a good chunk of time drinking, working on freelance activities and setting up Broz Design.

On a related note: It took over an hour to cancel my web hosting service. After attempting to close the account online (due to errors on their end I was not able to), I had to call customer support. I was placed on hold and transferred between departments for almost an hour until I finally reached a competent customer service associate. She apologized for the run around and for Yahoo! not contacting me when their rates dropped. She then refunded my last two payments and made a humorous and deprecating remark regarding her current employer. In short, Yahoo! Web Hosting (except for the capable customer service associate Julie) sucks the sweat off of a dead donkey's balls.

Labels: geekery, jake, technology

Much like a keg of PBR in a university fraternity house or Paris Hilton on an aircraft carrier full of cocaine, I am tapped. I just do not have it today ("it" referring to the creative magic that makes me money and causes the ladies undergarments to moisten). While searching for inspiration that was non-porn related, I found a video of the best hockey fight I have ever witnessed. Then Jake sends over Jam On It by Newcleus. Any moment now I expect Turbo to bust out the storage room and do the electric worm past my cubicle. Things are starting to look up.

Labels: fighting, hockey, jake, music, pop culture, tomfoolery

Christmas came and went like my first college girlfriend; happy and magical in the beginning but quickly degenerating into a miserable coma-like limbo where my emotions froze and my body metabolized alcohol with the efficiency of a Nazi general. I made out with holiday gifts like two groping teenagers in a PG-13 movie. Aside from a pile of clothing and art supplies, I received high-ticket items from my lady (digital camera) and the parents (barbecue grill) and a most excellent scotch sampler from Jake (as I type this I am enjoying a nice glass of Oban). Posts in the next few weeks will be scant as I knock out a freelance gig, sexify the MB for 2005, snowshoe, play in a hockey tournament, polish off a scotch sampler and generally enjoy my time off from work. Peace on earth and all that shit. And fuck you, tsunamis.

Labels: drinking, hockey, jake, wife, xmas

Today in Colorado, the wind is as strong as a three-hundred pound bull dyke high on angel dust being chased by the police. Jake has volunteered his comments section for your best blowing metaphors. My lady's Dad (an engineer working on the Rocky Flats Closure Project) informed us that the site is on lock down and all work has been suspended indefinitely due to dangerous gusts that have shattered windows and made a general mess of things.

Labels: colorado, jake, wife, wind

Jake: Breakaway glass.
Me: We need to get some of that. Then you can come over to my cubicle and say you do not like my designs and I will smash a bottle on the table and say, "Now I got to cut you."
Jake: Yes. We could get in a fight in the parking lot and throw whiskey bottles at each other.
Me: That would be awesome. We would have to make a scene in the office first. "You fucked my sister!"
Jake: "How was I supposed to know she was a stripper?"
Me: "Fuck you!"
Jake: "I was asleep anyway!"
Me: *flings a salad plate
Jake: *plate explodes against the wall
Me: "Outside, bitch!"
Jake: We will probably need some fake blood, too.
Me: Totally.

Labels: fighting, im convos, jake, tomfoolery

Jake: Giant squids.
Me: The giant squids are taking over.
Jake: Yes. I have long thought that tentacles were the only things that might trump thumbs.
Me: Regardless, we still have the larger brain.
Jake: Yeah. But you give the same brain to a species with thumbs and to a species with tentacles and the tentacles just might be more useful than thumbs.
Me: Agreed. Squids could definitely hold more weapons with their tentacles. This is assuming of course, that they become amphibious, run aground and grow giant brains.
Jake: Right. I mean, they could spread just one tentacle over an entire keyboard. In order to compete with that, we would have to type with our fingers, wrist and elbow.
Me: Can they control sectional elements of their tentacles? Like in the instance of typing?
Jake: I think so. A tentacle is not sectional though. I think it is just a big bunch of muscle.
Me: So they cannot type?
Jake: I think they could.
Me: I am not sure. I am going to need to see a cross section of a tentacle in order to determine.
Jake: Here you go.
Me: That settles it. The squids can type.

Labels: im convos, jake, science

Congratulations to Jake and Heather who exchanged nuptials over the weekend. I was bestowed the honor of best man and spent the weekend drinking with Bostonians (hearing "Fucking Jeetah" and "This yeah the Sawks are gonna win it," on numerous occasions), viewing schizophrenic artwork, discussing the many uses for Marshmallow Fluff and watching Neal dance like a homosexual club kid full of horse tranquilizers to "Mambo Number 5." Click here for some hot Flickr action.

Labels: jake, wedding, weekend that was

A weekend of heavy drinking caused me a Sunday morning hangover that could rival a Kennedys (minus a sex assault and driving a bitch into a lake). The recap:

Friday. I attend the Great American Beer Festival at the Denver Convention Center. The Great American Beer Fest works as such: assorted beer brewers from all over the United States set up keg stations in a large convention hall. Attendees are given an empty one-ounce glass upon entry. Assorted brewers pour beer into the one-ounce glasses. Attendees shoot glasses of beer. This process is repeated for four hours. Our group becomes intoxicated quickly. I run into two sisters I went to high school with who are both wearing cowboy hats and have the following exchange:

"Courtney, how is everything going?"
"Good, Matt."
"How is your sister doing?"
"Ask her. She is standing right next to me."

The evening degenerates into immature drunkenness. A member of our group throws a road cone into a public parking lot for no apparent reason and hits a car. A large man in a jumpsuit passing by proclaims, "Hey man, that ain't cool" to which the cone thrower replies, "Keep on walking, Devo." The cone thrower later orders a $20 sampler platter at Old Chicagos, eats most of it and then smears the remainder of it onto the gentleman next to him. The evening concludes with our heavily intoxicated group standing outside of Old Chicagos waiting for our ride where a Ford Explorer with twenty two inch rims is urinated on, a foreign cab driver is yelled at for not using his mirrors and a biker riding down the sidewalk is kicked and told to buy a handlebar bell to alert pedestrians that he is coming through. The biker proceeds to ring his handlebar bell when he reaches the end of the block.

Saturday. Jake's bachelor party starts off at a Westminster dive bar called On The Rox. A meth addict shooting pool gives Jake marital advice. We consume $5 pitchers of beer and watered down whiskey. Our group becomes intoxicated quickly. Unbeknownst to us it is Karaoke night. Jake attempts to sing "What's Going On" by Marvin Gaye, but ends up talking through most of the song as our group heckles him unmerciful. We proceed to the Brunswick Zone where we bowl three games, smoke cheap cigars and drink numerous buckets of Coronas. After our games, we retire to the bowling alley lounge where unbeknownst to us it is Karaoke night. The evening concludes with a drunk hairbag singing Karaoke to Slayer's "Seasons in the Abyss," Jake's fiance cleaning puke out of her car, drinking a nightcap poured by a fat bartender in a sports bra with a large tattoo on her breast and me calling an Asian coworker "Spanish" while I dominate him in air hockey.

Labels: denver, drinking, jake, l-i-v-i-n, pop culture, tomfoolery, weekend that was

Jake knows of my adoration for women's tennis (more specifically, of my adoration for Maria Sharapova). Today, as I ate lunch from home, he calls.

Jake: Turn it to ESPN.
Me: Why?
Jake: Just do it.

I turn the channel to see Maria Sharapova, adorned in her little skirt, grunting, moaning and serving heat to Japan's Ai Sugiyama at Wimbledon. In a well-played tennis match, Sharapova won 5-7, 7-5, 6-1. She will now face Lindsay Davenport in the semifinals. It is moments such as these that reinforce why I am friends with Jake.

Labels: chicks, jake, sports

Women's tennis has always mesmerized me (this goes back long before Anna Kournikova appeared on the scene). It is a combination of the short skirts, the athleticism, the undulating buttocks and the orgasmic cries of ladies as they whack at the ball with all their might that does it for me. Today at lunch, while Jake and I dined on brisket sandwiches from Brothers Barbecue, my obsession with women's tennis reared its ugly head. Jake was trying to make conversation with me but my attentions were transfixed on the television behind him that was broadcasting a French Open match between Vera Zvonareva and Maria Sharapova. It was an epic struggle and, just in case you care, the 18th seeded Maria Sharapova upset the 10th seeded Vera Zvonareva.

Labels: chicks, jake, pop culture, sports

Jake: Mysterious noises in the street.
Me: The street is evil!
Jake: GEEEEEEET OOOOOUUUUUUUUT!
Me: RUN! FOR FUCK'S SAKE, RUN!
Jake: Next thing you know corpses will be bubbling up out of the swimming pool.
Me: Right. Then Coach Hayden Fox will struggle with ghosts in an epic battle to save his family.
Jake: Poor Coach. He battled and fought and all he wanted was a nice house for his family. Then the damned television sucked up his little girl.
Me: Unfortunately said nice house was built atop an Indian burial ground.
Jake: Coach did not know. It was not Coach's fault.
Me: I know, but Coach should have reevaluated the situation when the walls started bleeding.
Jake: True. But he was already missing his little girl at that point. Once she is inside the television, you are committed.
Me: I say fuck the kid, cut your losses and move onto a nicer suburban street named after trees.
Jake: What? Like Elm Street? Fuck that!

Labels: im convos, jake, movies, pop culture

The boys from work got together last night for a low stakes game of Texas Hold 'Em. I made out with the big stack, B-Dawg turned a tidy profit, Neal got lucky on the last hand that made his night respectable and I knocked Jake out of the game with a monster full boat (aces and sixes) to his strong two pair (kings and aces). EZ delivered the big funny of the evening after I turned him out like an abusive pimp than began to verbally humiliate him he shot back with, "I think you were circumsized to high." He is lucky I do not have a god complex at the card table ala Joe Pesci in Goodfellas otherwise I would have ended the night digging a hole somewhere in a vacant lot between Denver and Boulder.

Labels: data slaughterhouse, ez, jake, poker

American forces have captured Saddam Hussein. Instead of going out in a blaze of glory with cock and balls in one hand and firing a Glock 9mm with the other, Saddam sat cowering in his dirt bunker, weeping like a schoolgirl with a skinned knee and surrendered to a 19 year-old jar head from Jerkwater, USA. It was a positive event for President Bush who experienced a one second 100 percent approval rating from me. Shortly thereafter, I went back to hating his filthy, whitebread-eating Texan guts. Jake thinks the haggard Saddam looks like Charles Manson, whereas I think he looks like Jerry Garcia's fucked-up Arab cousin.

Labels: jake, politics, pop culture, war

For lunch, I got my sandwich on at Subway. Everyone always seems pissed at that place. The customers are agitated because they are in a hurry. Subway employees are either stoned college students with bad attitudes or middle-aged functioning alcoholics that hate their lives. It always seems that my sandwich is being rushed through the construction process, too. I am always getting yelled at from the toppings station: "What do you want on the spicy?" I am sorry, but I do not feel good about my sandwich unless I see the toppings being applied. One of those fucking junkies could be out of their mind and slip some onions or olives into my sub. Then, when I pull out my credit card to pay and ask for stamps, the people in line behind me have conniption fits. Hey mister and misses irritated corporate executive, a credit card is a widely used monetary unit and I collect sub stamps in order to one day obtain a free sandwich. I am poor, I do not carry cash and I like free shit, so quit getting your panties in a twist. I should have just gone to Quiznos with Jake.

Labels: data slaughterhouse, food, jake

Today in Colorado, it is fucking hot. Like Africa hot. Like flames of hell hot. People are finding all sorts of ways to keep cool. I log onto my computer after dropping a deuce in the corporate washroom and I have this IM message flashing on my screen:

Jake: A 28-ounce Mountain Dew Livewire Slurpee, my friend. It is a high that never lets you down.

Amen, Jake.

Labels: colorado, data slaughterhouse, im convos, jake

Friday. Work late to complete a corporate Flash presentation that nobody will pay attention to. After work, I play in a coed softball game where my team wins 26-4 and the opposing team's third baseman catches a ground ball with her face and breaks her nose. Immediately following the game a torrential downpour ensues and I sprint to my car leaving my glove on the field. I roll to Tyler's house and play College Football with the Slushy Gutter Crew. At one point in the evening Tyler pours me either a glass of bourbon, scotch, or whiskey. I drink it and proceed to kick his ass with Virginia Tech 30-14. On the way home I realize that I left my mitt on the softball field.

Saturday. I attend my company picnic and run the corporate Flash presentation I put in long hours over. Surprisingly, people pay attention, laugh and tell me good job. After the presentation the picnic continues at a nearby park with a luau theme and a pig roasting. I eat heaping platefuls of swine and mingle with coworkers. Jake, Gay Joe and I make fun of some pasty kid trying to play football. We call him "Mary" and giggle like the dickheads we are. Joe tells us about his homosexual encounters the previous evening. Hula dancers many years past their prime shake their asses for our amusement. I volunteer to dance with them, throwing my inhibitions into the wind like Kevin Bacon in Footloose. I perform a dance with pom-poms and hip gyrations. I win the grand prize in the company raffle (a $200 gift certificate to the Flagstaff House). After the picnic, I attend a lesbian wedding with Monica, Kaye, Aaron, Nels and Kerry. We quickly become the obnoxious drunk table at the reception. A plant is passed around and the recipient of said plant gives a toast. A diverse blend of people wishes the couple well including a militant lesbian with an attitude problem and a sexual predator with disheveled hair holding a kid that liked to hit people in the face. I share my toast with the happy couple, lifting my glass and saying, "Here's to eating pussy." They laugh hysterically. I love the lesbians and wish them the best. We roll to Monica's crib for a nightcap. I discover Kaye does not like playing drinking games with me. Monica informs me she picked up my softball glove up after our game. This makes me happy.

Sunday. I wake up at noon with a screaming hangover. I pour a glass of water and take ibuprofen. I watch Panic Room on digital cable. I drink a glass of water. I make a trip to Home Depot to buy some sandpaper and steel wool. I drink a glass of water. I strip paint for four hours. I drink three glasses of water. My Mom calls and invites me to dinner. I drink a glass of water. I drive to my parents house and eat spaghetti and garlic bread for dinner. We discuss home improvement. I go home to play a game of College Football. Colorado State beats Wyoming 21-3. Nels picks me up for our hockey game. I tally a hat trick and an assist. I drink seven glasses of water. Mark throws a shoe at Nels's face. I come home and take a shower. I go to sleep. If anyone asks me what I did this weekend, I will say, "Nothing."

Labels: /mark, chili dog, colorado, data slaughterhouse, diy, drinking, gay joe, geekery, hockey, jake, kaye, l-i-v-i-n, lesbians, mons, nels, sg crew, sports, tyler, wedding, weekend that was

A woman loses her leg in an escalator mishap at Coors Field. Jake brought up a great point regarding escalator safety. Whenever you step onto a moving walkway, you need to be prepared like a boy scout in case some shit goes down. Some may just jump over the handrails to avoid amputation. Me? I plan on using a fat lady as a human surfboard.

Labels: injury, jake, tomfoolery

Friday. She Who Will Not Be Named and I ordered some pizza and played Dynasty Warriors 4 until the wee hours of the morning.

Saturday. I watch the Colorado Avalanche beat the Minnesota Wild and played badminton in the park (note to cousin Jenny in Minnesota: after the Avs beat your boys like rented mules, I expect my free case of Pete's Wicked Ale and bottle of Bushmills to be delivered in person).

Sunday. I played in a tiring, demanding hockey game (we only had six skaters) and upon Jake's recommendation, watched The Salton Sea. It was an excellent film, and its good to see Val Kilmer back in his I am a bad ass and can play in diverse roles like Jim Morrison and Doc Holliday form as opposed to his I am just doing this for the money by starring in the Saint and Red Planet form.

Labels: colorado, drinking, geekery, hockey, jake, movies, pop culture, she who, weekend that was

Jake: The Gremlins kid was caught stealing a Deep Purple CD?
Me: I know. That makes it even more tragic.
Jake: How lame can one person be?
Me: Very lame. He was on the downhill slide after Gremlins 2, really.
Jake: Well yeah. But you figure that is as bad as it should get.
Me: True. You know you have hit rock bottom when you are lifting classic rock CDs from Tower Records.
Jake: There is always meth, though. He could still fall further.
Me: It is either meth or Hollywood Squares.
Jake: Or huffing silver spray paint and getting picked up on Cops with no pants and stained undies.
Me: Whippits?
Jake: Whippits are amateur hour, Matty. It is all about the metallics. Nothing kills brain cells faster. Even gasoline.
Me: Well that is plain silly. Everyone loves a good a bag of gas.

Labels: drugs, im convos, jake, movies, pop culture