Lightly sweetened, Plath-inspired cereal circles

The Treachery of Surrealist Painters

This is not a pipe, huh?

I tried to tell that to the cop that pulled me over last weekend. It did not work well.

So go fuck yourself, Rene Magritte. Thanks for nothing.

Goddam Cubs!

For those of you out there not reading this (and current Shitty Captain count has you at just a tad over 6.8 billion), I was going to put up this great post back when the Chicago Cubs clinched the division and a post-season berth.

It was going to be awesome. I had pictures and a couple of YouTubes of stupid songs - one extolling the virtues of the manager set to the tune of Rihanna's Umbrella (talkin' 'bout Lou Piniella-ella-ella-ay-ay) and another for that Eddie Vedder tune - and possibly a haiku or two defining the spiritual merits of the Cubs and the claiming of the Commisioner's Trophy. It was a Cubs bukkake with me in the center. And I was starry-eyed and smiling the entire time.

Thing is, sometimes the Captain likes to have some of what the land kids call the pot and I maybe forgot to put all that stuff up in a coherent and cogent manner, always saying "Oh, I'll do it tomorrow because I have all the time in the world because the Cubs are going to float through the post-season and win the World Series because all those guys at ESPN say they will and even that asshole Mark Kriegel says they will and even I say they will so I'm going to take a nap now and wake me when they sweep the Rays for the championship, 'kay? Great. G'night."

Then Dempster, unbeatable in the Wrig, walked seven, including loading the bases in the fifth and they didn't take him out and James Loney hit that massive grand slam.

Then the Dodgers rocked Big Z and the bats came way too little, way too late.

Then the Cubbies kind-of rolled over and died in Chavez Ravine.

And that was it. One, two, three, sweep. One hundred now becomes one hundred-one.

I'm not going to be all sour grapes and boo the band when it gets back to town, no. I'm not going to preach hellfire and damnation about who needs to go and Lou's inability to win after the regular season is over. I'm not going to say shit 'bout no fuckin' curse.

I'm going to wait until next year, ignore that pre-season exhibition Arizona Grapefruit waste-of-time and start over afresh once more when it all begins again.

I'm still glad I didn't do that fanboy bullshit of a virtual Cubs shrine. I could have deleted it and all when I came to my senses, but I always would have known it was there and no amount of hand-washing or crotch-scrubbing would make that filth go away.

So fuck you this year and good luck next year, you lovable, over-paid, need-to-start-pulling-it-out-in-the-clutch rapscallions. I'll always love you.

Seriously, though, you guys really do need to start winning in October. Or I'm going to start claiming South Side. At least they can win it all.

Corhole Is Stupid

Yeah, I said it. Cornhole is stupid.

And guess what? I live in on the campus of a major university.

The last time I threw a bean bag at something, I was trying to make a Tic-Tac-Toe. Not only that, but I was trying to prevent the other guy from ruining my attempts while at the same time trying to thwart his. Talk about nuanced. At least that's something to play for.

You know what else I hate? That game, I don't even know what it's called, where you throw two little balls connected by a string at a standing unit made out of PVC pipe.

Being so goddam popular, I've seen both on sale in the sports store across the street from the school's football stadium.

Now, I'm no general hater of mindless gaming to pass the time, no. But it just seems that college kids aren't really trying when it comes to dumb recreation.

We didn't have lawn darts (or yard darts, or yarts, or whatever the fuck) so we threw scissors up in the air. Sometimes at each other. That was fun. More importantly, it was innovative adaptation. Something severely lacking in the current crop of college youth.

To wit, beer pong.

Beer pong?

Double-you tee eff, son?! That is one slapdash, piece-of-crap excuse for getting drunk. Seriously, it's Quarters for retards. You can do the same thing at the county fair and win a goldfish, that's how simple it is.

Not only that, but it's also incredibly pretentious. The same people who won't drink muscatel with you at 10 in the morning because they're not, and I quote, alcoholics are the same people who get sloppy-faced wasted playin' the pong and chalk it up to the other guy's skill with a little plastic ball.

Of course, they may refuse to drink muscatel at 10 with you because you've pissed yourself but that doesn't lessen my point any at all.

All I'm saying, if you're going to get fucked up at least admit that's what you're trying to do. We had a game we liked to play fairly frequently. There was no formal title, but the rules were pretty simple: If you do a bong hit, then you drink a beer. That got you lit up quick. When we weren't playing that we had another game with different rules: If you take a drink of beer, then you do a bong hit.

There's no reason to be coy about getting your buzz on.

So back to my original point, which, up until now, I have not backed up very well (nor will I probably) - Cornhole is stupid.