Ochoquatro, Ochochinco, Ochosix

Lady and Gentleman (I'm realistic about the size of my reader base) I report to you today from the world of sport. I don't know if you remember this, but I'm a massive fan of the Super Bowl Champion New York Giants. Surprisingly, this has nothing to do with them. Instead I focus on a Patriot not named Brady.
Famed (for some reason) wide receiver Chad Ochocinco was at a charity event in Miami over the weekend when he was peed on by a lion. I'm overwhelmed by how fitting and ridiculous this is. Hold on, I need to hyperventilate into a paper bag.
Ok I'm back. I blacked out and hit my head on the coffee table. That's what this Ochocinco story is doing to me. I mean, he was literally peed on by a lion not named Suh. Even the animal world is sick of him. And how does he respond? Through Twitter of course. I'm reluctant to re-post his tweets cause I'm convinced it will lower the IQ of both of my readers. I will however re-post the responses the Lion tweeted.

"ROFL just peed on 85! I'm like Brady xcept I can hit a receiver!"

To be slightly fair, the lion was marking his territory. I'll spare the acidic-smelling details but cats spray a mist of concentrated urine to mark things as theirs. It's called matriculating or micturating or miniaturizing or something. Essentially, the lion saw Ochochinco and thought to himself "He's mine. He's got a pretty mouth" and claimed him for his own. Maybe now 85 will get his ring. 

People Mourn In Different Ways

I just realized its been a couple days since I wrote a gusher about the New York Giants winning the Super Bowl, which they did. In all my selfish fandom, I've been focusing on the glory of victory while ignoring the toil of defeat.
Patriots fans have been in somber silence this week. Nobody makes eye contact with me when I have Giants gear on, which is always. Its like people are too depressed to pick fights with me. I fought one Pats fan and he cried the whole time. Didn't even land a punch on me, just cried for his mama. I thought toddlers were scrappier fighters.
Pats players however have had a more positive reaction. So far, no word on how many Patriots have accepted the Aruba Tourism Authority's offer. Thats right, MVP Eli Manning gets to go to Disney World and the losers get to go to Aruba all expenses paid. It's almost worth losing the Super Bowl of you get to go to Aruba for free. Almost. Not really though, I'd rather have the ring
Not all the Patriots players are taking the loss as hard as some quarterbacks supermodel wives. Tight end extraordinaire Rob Gronkowski was spotted tearing it up Sunday night at a post-Super Bowl party.

Gronk is the shirtless one on the left, I think

I'm ignoring the pictures of Matt Light partying with him cause they're not as fun. Instead I want you remember that like 3 hours before this picture, Gronk was busy losing the biggest game of his life. While most of his teammates are crying themselves to sleep, Gronk is partying shirtless with LMFAO and some random skinny dude who clearly idolizes the tight end next to him. how the semi-mighty have fallen.
But I think we have the greatest post-loss burn of all time. We all saw Wes Welker drop what could have been a touchdown. In a situation such as this, the culprit is commonly compared to a delicious, tooth-destroying, crunchy, chocolatey candy bar. A candy bar that reflects what might cause a person to drop something he might otherwise handle easily.

900 pounds worth of failure

Pawngo, an online pawn shop, dumped about 8,000 Butterfingers in Boston. I presume they did so to thank Wes Welker for blowing the game, resulting in millions of dollars in lost bets. And what happens when you have a debt to pay? You pawn your wife's jewelry before the Tibetan Mafia finds you, that's what. Pawngo was just thanking Wes for his contribution to their quarterly sales revenue. 

By the way, Wes Welker has a history of poor life decisions. Have you seen his mustache?

Before I end this, I just want to post something my good lady wife wrote a couple weeks ago. Its a good thing I love her...

After we moved half the furniture we are quiet tired. We are settled in on the couch watching the Giants play the 49ers. I think the 49ers will win but if i voiced that a divorce would be threatened. The Giants are amazing but their running game this year is AWFUL. I feel if its another Giants Pats SuperBowl the Pats are sure to win.  

The Aftergeography

The celebrations continue. I led my own victory parade in the tub this morning with my rubber ducky standing in for Eli of course. More importantly, its been two days since the glorious victory and I'm still alive. Given that I live in Massachusetts, this is a tense time for me. I travel only at night and I've constructed a crude dead-mans switch just in case I'm caught. Supplies were running low so I had to venture out during the day. Boomstick in hand, I picked my way to my car.
 I'd say that this is the kind of car that could survive the apocalypse but the apocalypse isnt even here yet and its already contending for the worlds biggest paperweight. Therefore I was little surprised when I turned the key and the battery started coughing up blood before keeling over. Obviously that didnt actually happen, I'm just being colorful.
So I strapped on my +2Backpack of Holding and made for the nearest auto parts store. My legs thought it was about 2 miles away, my head thought it was 10 minutes, and my bladder didnt think anything cause its a bladder. I soon had a new battery for my 2001 Chrysler P.O.S. and was on my way home. But now I had to install the battery. I broke out my tools, and using my brawn and iron arms, I wrestled the old battery from its casing.
Having freed the rotting Autozone corpse, I shoved a brand new Napa one in its place. Then I closed the hood, turned the key and listened to that baby cough to life. I felt so manly. I was out in the cold with my tools working on a car. Successfully too. I took an immovable iron hulk and brought it to life again. Testosterone was coursing through my veins, a thousand years of ancestors were calling my name, cannons thundered in my ear! Thats when I realized I was having a stroke. I wont bore you with the details of it, but suffice it to say, I needed to go to the grocery store. Having done something manly I felt the need to balance it with something more feminine. So I made cookies.

Clearly I have a lot of time on my hands when I'm not celebrating the NY Giants winning the Super Bowl and Eli Manning winning his second, not his first, Super Bowl MVP title. I'm starting to run low on ways to celebrate their glory. 

The fries of champions. Not pictured: onion rings of glory

The Aftermath

Its the day after. 24 hours since kickoff. 24 hours since the NY Giants began winning the Super Bowl and I'm still in a state of shock. I love the way Two Time Super Bowl MVP Eli Manning sounds. If I change one letter in that last sentence it completely changes its meaning and I still love it. Take a look: I love the way Two Time Super Bowl MVP Eli Manning wounds. The state of Massachusetts is in silent mourning, a deep pall hanging in the air. I thought it rained overnight cause the ground was wet when I walked the dog this morning. Turns out it was just the tears of Pats fans.
The edible spread yesterday was fantastic if I do say so myself. All that remained of the wings was a macabre pile of bones, heaped halfway to the ceiling and reeking of buffalo teriyaki flavor. Following victory, I stayed up all night constructing a crude bone armor for my dog Flexxo. He looks so badass.

Not pictured: Dog in Bone Armor

There was so much sauce that we had to be hosed down afterwards. Well the sauce wasnt the only reason we had to be hosed down! Hiyo! Sex joke! As truly slendiferous as the wings were, they were clearly not enough for the Super Bowl so nachos followed shortly thereafter.

Its hard to see because I did a crappy job but I spelled out NY in salsa on the top layer. In the future I can think of several ways to improve these nachos like the inclusion of pulled pork, more cheese and beans that have been refried so masterfully as to make the eater question if they had not been fried yet a third time. Heres looking forward to next time.
So anyway, all of that truly amazing homemade delicious flavor was tremendously enjoyable on the way in. Once in however, the combination of wings, nachos and tension has left my stomach in such dire shape that I am unable to make any more Macbeth references. Theyre in there...or are they?
But I carry on, despite my considerable gastric distress because I am a NY Giants fan and the NY Giants are champions. When a NY Giant is injured on the field he injures himself further trying to get back on the field damnit!

A partially destroyed knee joint isnt enough to stop Jake Ballard and horrible gas and buffalo farts arent enough to stop me. Super Bowl Champion NY Giants.

Giants Got My Back

Two Time Super Bowl MVP Eli Manning!

I think we can expect an increase in posts in the wake of recent events. I have mentioned before how I'm a big-mclarge-huge fan of the NY Giants. I even mentioned a tattoo of mine that reflects this level of fandom. Its a heart-warming story that was recently repeated but is still worth remembering. Imagine if you will, the year 2007.....wavy lines wavy lines wavy lines.........
Its a crazy year, 2007. I'm living in China, doing my best to spread the glory of football and the NY Giants. Bush is still president, technically. I'm forced to stay up all night to listen to the web-radio broadcast of Giants games but its worth the exhaustion and incoherence in class the next day. Nobody believes in the road warrior NY Giants. I tell my Chinese friend, who I shall call The General, not to worry. A true fan sticks with his team through thick and thin. I then spent the next few minutes explaining what the term "thick and thin" meant to him. I'm the kind of man who makes outrageous declarations and then is forced to stand by them so as not to lose face. So I declared early in the season that if the NY Giants win the Super Bowl, I will commemorate them in tattoo form. The General asked what "commemorate" meant, and then promised to hold me to my word.
I don't need to retell the immortal glory that was Super Bowl 42. I don't need to remind everyone of David Tyree's mythic catch. Nor do I need to recount all the times the defense hit Tom Brady. I don't even need to mention the 17-14 final score or Eli's first Super Bowl MVP title. I just dont need to, we all know this stuff already.
I revelled in the glory until The General gave the order to get the tattoo. I love the Giants and I have many tattoos, I just dont like the needle part of it. Frankly, tattoos hurt and anybody who says otherwise is a filthy liar who is trying to impress you. But the pain is manageable and it passes in time. So we found a tattoo guy. He just happened to be the best tattoo guy in all of Wuhan, maybe all of Hubei so I ended up going back to him a few more times.

While I was getting worked on, I watched Family Guy on my Apple brand iPod and grit my teeth. All told, it was the most painful tattoo I've gotten. As you can see, my back is gross with little moles and birthmarks and whip scars. Turned out it hurts more to get a tattoo over those which has since led me reconsidering the full length mural of Michael Strahan wrestling a lion with his bare hands.
It took nearly two hours, including the 10 minute break I needed. It had nothing to do with the pain though. I was sitting backwards on a chair (the single coolest way to sit) and my crotch went numb. I tried using that excuse the other night too but it didnt fly. Anyway, I got up to stretch my legs and have a smoke. Two hours later, I was presented with everlasting glory, inked onto my living skin.

I will forever be reminded of that glory. I might not be able to see it without a complex arrangement of mirrors but I know its there. This brings a new question to mind. Do I get another commemorative tattoo? Perhaps it is the right time to get a touch-up, repaint the ol' thing, give it a new set of tires, other term for repairing something. The color is a bit faded after four years.
Thoughts? Comments? Questions? Concerns? Queries? Conundrums? Quagmires?

Super Bowl Champion New York Giants

I need to say this out loud and in print, Super Bowl Champion New York Giants led by two-time Super Bowl MVP Eli Manning. Oh my god, that feels so good. I want to get that phrase tattooed backwards on my forehead so that I can see it again every time I look in the mirror, which is pretty frequently.
I had a quick post at halftime about Madonna. I will follow that up next time cause the New York Giants just won the Super Bowl. There I said it again. I'm gonna keep saying it too cause it feels good. I dont even know where to begin. How about by recounting how Justin Tuck forced a safety on the Patriots very first offensive play. I enjoyed Chase Blackburns surprise interception. I will never be able to comprehend how Eli managed to thread the ball so many times to Nicks and Cruz. I need to take a minute and breathe into a bag.
During the fourth quarter, my stomach was churning and bubbling. I decoded the low pitch sounds that came from my gut and it was a warning about the forrest moving to the castle and I think I heard the phrase "no man of woman born". Point is, I've learned that buffalo wings, nachos, and a thrilling conclusion to the biggest game ever is a bad combination for my stomach. I've also learned that the cure for this is to douse it in the glory of a Super Bowl Championship.
The real challenge was keeping my voice down. As you probably dont remember, I now live in an apartment building. Of course its the freaking Super Bowl and the home team is in it so I'm sure that everybody is watching. Everybody that is except the two year girl across the hall. Its bad enough that she'll be crying for the next few weeks, I dont need to get that started early.
Honestly my biggest concern is that this is the second time in the last five years that the New York Giants have defeated the New England Patriots in the Super Bowl and Massachusetts fans are not known for their forgiveness. The Red Sox/Yankees thing is bad enough. I'm just lucky I dont dig baseball. But now the Giants are the spoilers again and that is something I care about. To illustrate how big a Giants fan I am, I have the NY logo tattooed on my back. I also shaved matching NY's into my dog Flexxo and my hair. That last one may or may not be true.
So here I live in enemy territory where I proudly flaunt my Giants gear. My good lady wife just completed her order at NFLShop.com. I can never return to the local Taco Bell now which really sucks cause the Crunchy Beef Burrito is amazing. But last time I was in there we exchanged smack talk in good jest. Now I fear the jest shall be no more.
But why live in fear when I should be living in glory! The New York Giants are the Super Bowl Champions and Eli is their MVP!!! This is far from over...

Countdown to Glory

Today is of course Super Sunday. Is there anything else I need to say? I'm such a huge Giants fan that when they won the NFC Championship, my mind exploded and starting leaking out my nose. Yeah, the doctor said it was hayfever, but I know how I felt man.
So of course the second best thing about Super Sunday is the food. I plan on making nachos once the game is on, complete with homemade tortilla chips and homemade salsa. You read that right. My good lady wife and I are just that good. She had wings in her sights and I am nothing if not a supportive husband. So off we went to the supermarket to get supplies, obviously wearing our Giants gear proudly. Did I mention that we live in Massachusetts, the heart of Patriot territory?
We strolled through our local Price Chopper, each wearing NY Giants hats, personalized NY Giants jerseys, and/or NY Giants hoodies. In other words, we are walking around covered in targets, insulting a bunch of probably 3/8's drunk Patriots fans. As the saying goes; if looks could kill, our bodies would have never been found and there would conveniently be no witnesses either. More than a few people said good luck. But the way they said it clearly meant "Good luck making it to your car cause theres a gauntlet waiting for you in the parking lot". Some creepy dude got on the store P.A. and started clinking bottles chanting "Warriors, come out to play-i-yay".
I am always prepared to defend both my team and my good lady wife so I made sure my impressive arms were on full display. With free tickets to the gun show being distributed liberally, we strut to the car, dodging only one would-be hit and run driver. NY Giants logo stretched across my rugged muscular chest and decorating my good lady wifes truly glorious bosom, we emerged unharmed and triumphant from our foray into enemy territory on Super Sunday.
But the glory of the day didnt end there, and the game hasnt even started yet. My good lady wife went to work immediately on the wings. She laid out and prepared buffalo and teriyaki wings. Covered them in their respective sauces, whispered encouraging things to them and put them in the oven. The love didnt stop there though. Every 15 minutes or so, she would remove the wings to flip them and reapply sauce. When the wings finally emerged, they were so chock full of delicious flavor that my mouth nearly seized. 
So now I sit, wallowing in my own crapulence, awaiting the glory that will rain upon the NY Giants and therefore myself. 

GGGGIIIIAAAANNNNTTTTSSSS!!!!

Let me get this out of the way. GIANTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SUPER BOWL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ok, Thats better. So anyone who knows me knows that I'm a hugely gigantic Giants fan. Its hard to quantify how big a fan I am so I'll use the completely scientifically objective 1-10 with 1 = I'm not much of a fan of those gentlemen at all, and 10 = This is so amazing that I'm forced to punch myself in the crotch repeatedly for reasons that make no sense. With that scale now established, I would rate myself at about an 11 on the NY Giants Fan Scale. 11, in this case is equal to roughly six thousand megatons of holy-ass-in-a-handbasket.
Now we get a rematch of one of the greatest football games of all time. I know my G-Men can make it happen, its just what they do. The reason Eli isn't considered elite is because he doesnt have a super model wife or an endorsement deal with Ugg Boots. But he doesnt complain, he just goes out onto the field and wins. Then he goes home to his wife in his Ferrari made out of pure gold. True story, I was on a plane with him and he sneezed and the most mesmerizing diamonds came out of his nose. They sparkled like nothing else. Typically, a poet would compare these gems to the stars in the sky but those are inadequate to describe their breathtaking beauty.
Where was I? Oh yeah, Giants rock, Pats can suck it. This is going to be an interesting few weeks as I live in central Massachusetts and I proudly wear my Giants gear constantly. I'd better be careful.
Long Live Eli! Eli for MVP of Life!