I am a huge Indians Fan!

Hey Buckaroos - Word UP, it's the code word.
James T. Tressel's ( and the T. stands for Tribe) back transmittting the good word to my scarlet and grey congregation. Can I get an AMEN? I can't hear you I SAID CAN I GET AN AMEN? That was much better. Now where was I?
Oh yeah so like I was saying I am a huge indians fan. Not those smelly ones with the red dots and the towel hats and the snakes in baskets, dancing to flutes, flying carpet, welcome to mini mart - can I helpyouverymuchthankyousir, dirt mustache kind.
I am talking WOO WOO INDIANS.
Man I can't wait to go to the Jake tonight and watch the tribe squeeze the salty puss out of white sox tonight. I've already drank half a bottle of Goldschlager and I'm funking pumped, kids! They're going to the fucking playoffs and Jimmy T is going to be there to root them on. I even cancelled Ohio state's football game this saturday because I'm going to be there tomorrow also - high as a kite, and if they win tomorrow come find Unkle Jimmy and we'll be knee deep in strippers by 7:00. I'm going to get so f-ing blasted. My wife really wants the tribe to win too. She knows how violent I get when I'm ripped and Wedge and the boys let me down. Plastic surgeons are really amazing.
I get really tired of all the little PC fucktards running around crying about indians being against the indians because of their name. Let me settle this argument once and for all, the cleveland indians are NOT ashamed to be associated with those red skinned, feather wearing, piss poor immune systemed, likey the fire water, buffalo hunting, pointy tented, big chief no fart ( ask me about that joke sometime), trail of tears (more like trail of whiny babies), welcometomycasinomynameisyouspendumwhitewampumhere kind.
GO TRIBE!
WOO WOO WOO WOO WOO!

House Guests

Let me first start of by saying, I'm drunk.

Seems like we got some visitors to the Cassa de Tressel. My wife agreed to host some hurricane refugees. Now I'm all about giving back to the community, I go and visit sick kids in the hospital, I try to recycle, and when the Sunami happened I added a twenty dollar donation to my daily caramel machiato at Starbucks, but my home is my castle, not a freakin refugee camp. The other day I go to make a peanut butter sandwich, and this guy Louie, who lost his house or his family, I can't remember which, maybe both, he ate my peanut butter. What a selfish prick. Then the other day, I'm on my way home from work, and let me tell ya, I got a dump on deck that could sink a battleship. I'm tellin ya, this thing could'a held the levee, that's how big it is, a real bowl-stainer. All I want to do is take my newspaper, sit on the can, and unleash hell, but this (pardon my french) cunt, is already in my bathroom, dropping her sandbag in Lake Ponchatrain, so to speak. And yeah, I'm a patient man, but she took for fucking ever. And then, I finally get in there, and it stinks...bad. I mean the fucking paint is pealing off the walls. Let's get FEMA in there for chrissakes. Nobody stinks up my bathroom but me. That's Cassa de Tressel Rule Numero Uno. I wound up having to break into my neighbor's house and use his shitter, and man, it was doosey.

I mean, I feel bad for these people, but you gotta understand, I have a routine. Take for instance, my evening routine. At about 7 pm, I get home from work. I take a dump, eat dinner, watch The Price is Right, which my wife is supposed to tape, then I play some internet poker, and then usually I go to bed. Well now all of that is out of whack. I already told you about the bathroom. My wife is too busy, to cook, and the stupid refugees are home watching TV all day, so of course it screws up the VCR. God, quit moping and get a freaking job. I mean when they're not watching my TV, they're on Craig's List, god knows why, hopefully looking for jobs, so I don't even get to play Internet Poker, and forget about downloading porn. One of them's sleeping on the fouton in the computer room. And he snores, so good luck trying to pop one out witht that goin on.

Man, don't even get me started on what this has done to my sex life...

Ride the Cosmic Ghost

Gost riding through space,
galaxies spun of azure,
like some strange cosmic seamstress.

Dancing across the heavens,
light years and warp factors,
to new worlds not yet seen or felt.

And so I ride with you,
for adventure and discovery,
through channels of light and the fabric of reality.

The Five People You Meet in Mitch Albom's Vagina

Rough weekend. Yeah, so I was little stressed out yesterday, so I decided to take a nice hot relaxing bath. I'll tell ya what, I got this new soap from Bath and Body Works, and it was so nice and relaxing. Cucumber Melon with Exfolating beads. Heavenly. It's like taking a nap in a field full of dasies after smoking a big fatty and popping one off into an old gym sock. So there I was soaking in the tub, mellowing out, I got my duckies, I got my new soap, I'm flipping through the channels, looking for a good Titty Movie on the flat screen, trying to forget what a shitty Saturday I had, but then what do I land on but the Sunday Sports Reporters.

First thing I want to say is FUCK YOU, Mitch Albom! I'll start however many quarterbacks I feel like starting. Maybe next week I'll line up under center? Maybe I'll go dig up your buddy Morrie and start him. I'd start you, but you probably throw like girl, you blowcomb haired mama's boy. How do you like that? My wife made me read, The Five People You Meet in Heaven, and Frankly, it was the gayest book I ever read. Hey I got a better title for it...how bout The Five People You Meet in the Woods Behind a Restop at 3 am? If I want football Advice I'll ask someone who knows what he's talking about, If I want to read something that induces meunstral bleeding I'll call you.

Global Warming is Horse Shit.

That's right, global warming is horse shit. Before you get all worked up, Starfire, set down that granola bar and lend me your hippie ear. PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE don't even start flapping you southern baptist slack jaws about intelligent design or I swear I'll feed you that big assed trophy on my desk.
Just look at this chart:

you know what this chart means? absofucinglutleynothing. That's right it's a bunch of horse shit to try to scare hippies and canadians.

This chart represents the increase in the amout of whining done by hippies since the term "greenhouse effect" was coined. Greenhouse... you know damn well that some pothead hippie who probably couldn't even bench his own measely hippie weight came up with greenhouse.
This planet has been around way, way, way friggin' longer that we have been vactioning on it. Don't even get me started about how E.T. banged a monkey and started this whole mess. So confident as we are that we could really even "break" the planet, it's a bunch of donkey crap. Long after we've nuked each other into sweet, holy oblivion, mother nature will be doing just fine. A force as mighty as the national championship winning Ohio State Buckeyes couldn't even make a dent.
We have only been collecting data on weather patterns for about 140 years and only for about 40 years with any real accuracy. Ready... get set... BLINK. Now that blink is the time we homosapien flesh bags have been farting around here on earth, the rest of your stupid, little life up to that blink is the age of the earth. not much data to go on. Except for the fact that that maybe that was a wink, not a blink, and if your a dude you're probably a mo.

This is a sample chart it means nothing, just like global warming. Now drop, give me fifty and make a sandwich.