Pseudo Uber-Post

BB's to go: 194.75 or $7.77

WILL THE REAL CHAMP PLEASE STAND UP, PLEASE STAND UP?

Obviously, I’m not the Champ. I wish I could say that my assholic douchebaggery was the result of a cheap attempt to drum up hits to my site, but it wasn’t. So, now I have to face the fact that, not only did I act like an ass, but a stupid one at that.

I guess the identity of the infamous PC is still not known, although many have been quick to claim authorship.

Here’s my take:

I think the Champ’s ghost writer is Dugglebogey. He was the first, I believe, to bring the Champ to our attention, and the first to get into a flame war with him. There was also that cryptic post that was only a picture of the Champ and a statement about how the internet only exposes one’s stupidity to the world.

I think there’s also an un-indicted co-conspirator that we’re overlooking. Jordan has said more than once that he’s spoken to the Champ.

What do you know, sir, and when did you know it?

Hey, wait a minute, as I'm writing this, I ran across this. Falstaff, selling Neverbluff t-shirts. Hmm...


A MODEST PROPOSAL

Now that the secret’s out, I have a suggestion. Why not keep the site active and let other bloggers submit posts as the Champ? It could be a running story/joke amongst our community?

Of course, this would depend on the cooperation of the man behind the Champ. Given the small number of hits this sucky blog gets, I’m willing to bet he/she won’t read it. So I ask you, my loyal handful of readers, pass this along.



MY EVENTFUL MORNING

6:37 AM.

My two-year-old, the Little General, walked up to me while I was guiding my eldest through her morning routine. She had something in her hand.

I asked her what it was.

She gave it to me.

It was a piece of shit. She started to raise her hand to her mouth.

“No, no, no, honey!” After the hand-washing and teeth-gnashing were over, I tried to debrief her. The Little General is quite good and directing us as to where our shoes go when we’re not wearing them, whether or not we need to wear coats, and what she wants to eat (Cheese, now!) but her verbal and comprehension skills aren’t up to rather abstract questions like “Where did you find the poopy?”

Luckily, my four-year-old helpfully told me.

“From the hat, daddy.” She pointed to a dress-up hat lying on her bedroom floor.

A hat, of course, how could I be so stupid? Sure enough, the hat had the immediately recognizable odor of human feces.

“Hon,” I asked my eldest. “How exactly did a piece of poop get to be in your hat?”

“I think Charlie (the LG) put it there.” Her sly smile told me all I needed to know. Never has her nickname, the Big Monkey, been more apt.

6:55am

Rudy! Rudy!

We live in a four-block chunk of nice homes, sandwiched between an industrial park, college student ghettos, York College, and a typical York inner-city neighborhood. As a result, we get such free entertainment as people smoking pot openly in the park behind our house, random, senseless crime (our neighbor had a tree dug neatly out of his yard and stolen one night,) and semi-annual productions of public domestic disputes.

Rudy! What the fuck are you doing?!

As I’m switching child seats from my car to the Mistress’, I look up to see Rudy walking down the sidewalk, being tracked by an obviously upset woman in a mini-van.

I catch the Mistress and the little boogers at the front door. “We’ve got another domestic disturbance out there.”

“Again?”

“What’s a mestic ‘sturbance?” The Little Monkey asks.

I peek out and the pair are down the road a bit, obstructed by the arbor vitae bordering our back yard.

“Okay, let’s make a break for it.”

Ah, free from the drama of the unwashed. But wait, just as we make it to the car parked at the end of our back yard, Rudy turns down our alley, followed by Angry Driver Lady.

Rudy, what is your fucking problem? You are not FUCKING walking away from me!

Apparently, Rudy was going to walk away, if possible, and the pair pulled next to us just as the Monkey says in a loud voice:

“Mommy, is that the ‘sturbance?”

“Get in the car, girls,” the Mistress says, clamping her teeth so as not to unleash a torrent of sailor-like admonishment at the ghetto-rats.

7:22am

I hit the local gas station/mini mart for coffee and gas. I pay two dollars for the privilege of getting access to my own money.

PHUTT!

Out pops what I think is my receipt. But no! It’s a message, not only thanking me for using the ATM, but also giving me three dollars off my next purchase. Cool! I get my fee back, and free coffee!

Hey, I’m up three bucks today! I figure that’s about as good a break as I’ll get this week.

7:35am

I turn the radio to NPR and hear a quick blurb about the managers of a German nuclear power plant that lost the keys to their security offices. They apparently looked everywhere for them, but they still couldn’t find them. Now they’re going to pay to have 150 locks replaced.

I can relate. I lost my keys last week. When it was all said and done, I paid about two hundy for two new car keys. Are you kidding me? That doesn’t take into account the doctor’s appt. the Monkey had to miss because I couldn’t get her there, the vacation hours I had to use to straighten this mess out, and the duckets I’m doing to drop to get my house locks replaced.

The top headline was the arrest of the Deputy Director of the Department of Homeland Security being arrested for trying to seduce someone he thought was fourteen over the internet.

Are you kidding me? Isn’t Homeland Security cracking down on kiddie porn and this type of exploitation? We are truly seeing the end of days.

7:55am

Station surfing…stop on C-SPAN, where two GOP House members are explaining how we need to keep flushing money down the Iraq toilet at the expense of such terrorist-linked programs as Medicaid and energy assistance programs.

“Next we go to Brambleton, Kentucky,” the host announces. (Fake town. I would never impugn the dignity of such a noble state.)

The caller spends about five minutes explaining how the GOP needs to act like fiscal conservatives for a change, etc. He then asks a question:

“Representative X, what’s wrong with your chin?”

Silence.

“It looks like you have something on your chin…oh, I see, it’s Karl Rove’s ballmark.”

Had I been in an accident at that point, I would’ve gotten a transcript to prove that I’d been incapacitated with laughter and that was why I swerved into the other lane.


ACTUAL LIVE POKER PLAY

Played live poker for the first time in about two months. It was the World Tavern Poker Tour thingy.

People take this no-money tournament way too seriously. Sunglasses and IPOD’s abounded. I mean, come on, it’s a two hour tournament. Can’t you keep yourself occupied for that long without music?

Secondly, people are trying to read everyone, everything’s a tell. I mean, you don’t know me from Adam, how can you possibly think I’m bluffing just because I rub my chin after I look at my cards? It’s silly.

I was the official Recipient of the Wired Pairs. I saw probably twenty hands the whole tournament and had the following pairs: Q’s (won), 5’s (folded), 9’s (won), J’s (lost), 7’s (busted out.)

Despite there being no money involved, it’s a tough tournament because of the starting chip stacks and blind structure. You need to win pots early or you’re going to get blinded out within two hours. At least they did a better job of keeping my table full.

I busted out one person and took down another large pot, before my set of Jacks ran into a flush draw that filled and my 7’s ran into ANOTHER flush draw that filled. Damn.

WHO'S THINKING THESE THINGS THROUGH?

We're planning a trip to the shore in May. This is one hotel's 'Pirate Weekend' Package:

Treasure Hunt · Return of the Dolphin Contest · Parade · Free Swords · Free Pirate Hats · Craft Show · $1,000 Grand Prize · Lots of Other Prizes!
May 18 - 21 $1503 Days / 2 NightsFamily of 4
Type B 2-Room Efficiency Suite
Late Checkout on Sunday - FREE
Upgrades: Type C, D, or E - $10/Night (if available)Extra Person - $10/NightDeposit in FullLimited Availability


Um, I'll think I'll pass on giving my kids swords.

GIVE, DAMN IT

Click on the link to Bobby Bracelet's blog and see how you can help a little girl who lost her mother recently to cancer. Ever since I became a father, stories like this really hit home. The Little General's about the girl's age, and I can't imagine how awful it would be to lose a parent at that age.

If her story doesn't encourage you to give, you need to take a look at your soul.