Back to the Sack

I don't have my usual 79 mph BP fastball today, so I'll just throw some assorted junk up there and try to get some outs.

This was a particularly brutal Monday. The better the weekend, the harsher the transition to shitsackin'.

The answer to yesterday's word search was "peckerhead." The cab driver's first words to my father were, in fact, "Where you wanna go, peckerhead?" No points to anyone, although I liked the answers. Sorry if I misled anyone with the veteran comment. It wasn't so much a hint as it was a way of emphasizing that my poor dad deserved better.

I have no real reason to believe this next statement, I just do. I could easily run a quick internet search that could tell me for sure, but I am too scared to know if I'm right. So I will just say it, at the risk of ruining a sweet memory of my youth:

I suspect that Tintin comics are probably racist. I'm pretty sure, actually.

Why do white people love any white basketball player whose game exhibits even a faint glimmer of style? It's kind of embarrassing and possibly as racist as page 21, panel 5 of Tintin in Africa. But I can't help it. I like Adam Morrison.

Does it make it OK if I promise to continue hating JJ Redick?

OK, here's the setup:
"No automatic weapons were visible in the video Monday, unlike past videos by the al-Qaida deputy in which a gun often appeared next to him. In the bottom left corner, the video had the logo in Arabic and English of Al-Sahab, an al-Qaida video production company that made some past videos by bin Laden and al-Zawahri."

The person who delivers the best punchline re: this video production company will take home a dozen fresh genius points, certified as official by the GPIA.

The next time you go to the dentist for a procedure of some kind, I suggest not shaving for a couple of days beforehand. Hopefully your stubble will irritate his hands as he works and you will feel some sense of quid pro quo in the pain distribution department.

I am reading another memoir right now, The Tender Bar by J.R. Moehringer. My pops gave it to me for Christmas. It ain't all that, but it's keeping my interest, which is saying something considering it's a big nasty hardcover. It does make me miss the bar. Specifically the talking that takes place in the bar. My favorite part of the book so far is when one of the bartenders slips and falls behind the bar, cracking three ribs, while trying to demonstrate for the regulars how to play the Green Monster at Fenway Park. The doctor asks him how in God's name he had done this to himself and he moans through the pain, "Playing the wall at Fenway." From then on, this phrase is used whenever any drunk is suffering from delusions of grandeur.

The new Macbook Pro should be out in about a week to ten days. After that, I will wait about 2 weeks for the reviews and user opinions to start piling up. If there aren't any significant bugs, I am going to be mighty tempted to get me one. The only thing that would hold me back is the imminent arrival of the far cheaper core duo iBooks and then the superior "merom" chip soon after that.

Thoughts?

Safety First

It's not one particular column or idiotic statement, it's more of a feeling in my gut that's been slowly building for like four years, but whatever the case it is now official: I hate Bill Simmons. I really do. And to explain why would take way too long. I guess you could just cut and paste that column about Chuck Klosterman from the NY Press into a Word document, do a couple of "finds" on the words "Chuck" and "Klosterman" and than a couple of "replace alls" with the words "Bill" and "Simmons" and that would begin to tell the story. Again, too long and too hard to explain the exact reasons for my decision to give him official "hated" status, but he's there now and that should say enough.

I went to Astor and got a haircut yesterday. Rocco wasn't there but they said they had another "real good guy" who'd "take care" of me. Those are not words that instill confidence in me as a patron. If I went in for surgery on my meatus and they were all, "We're sorry, your doctor's not here. But we have a real good guy who's gonna take care of you," I'd be rather nervous. And so I was nervous at Astor. And sure enough, the guy butchered me (see fig. 1-a). Particularly my sideburns. You may or may not be aware that I am unable to grow real man-style sideburns (see fig. 1-b). The sideburn is one of several areas on my face that simply don't get hairy. So when I get a haircut, it's imperative that the guy leave what's there intact, because it's all I got.

But this guy yesterday gave me this real girlified, 1980's, too-short, too-wide sideburn cut that looks atrocious. Billy Ray Cyrus could pull it off, but few of us can match his charisma. Beyond Billy Ray and Rex Chapman, that look has never worked for anyone. Least of all now.




But we move on with our lives. That's what we do.

I had a great weekend, howboutchoo? On Sunday I spent about three hours with my pop, listening to him tell stories. He's 79 years old and he's had a very interesting life. Sometime soon I would like to sit down with him and make a concerted effort to chronicle it.

In the meantime, I will just tell you that when I was over there on Sunday I got a chance to look at a binder that his lady friend has assembled for him. In it are all the remaining artifacts of his life, some really fascinating stuff. Letters from interesting people, photos, postcards, his varsity basketball letter, etc. There were some pictures of my sister and me, one where I'm looking mint in my Cosmos T-shirt with my Silver Surfer poster on the wall behind me. I never even liked the Silver Surfer. It was a free poster, I remember that.

As I was looking through all the stuff, I noticed that there were lots of letters, notes and documents relating to my sister, and nothing from me. Then I unearthed a rather impressive fossil. Based on the doodles on the page and also that it was clearly typed with my father's electronic typewiter thing (word processor?) that he got in the mid-80's, I would estimate the date of the document as May 9th, 1984. I think my father had just gotten the typewriter, and I was messing around with italics to see how they looked. It was really just a piece of scrap paper, but somehow it has become the only thing my father has that represents who I am. Here is what it said:

This penis is substantially larger than the penises you are accustomed to.

We hope our new penis will not present any difficulties.

However, if you do find the penis is not comfortable strapped in the typical “over the shoulder” style, we are more than willing to provide an extra sack in which to cram the leftover penis and balls.

Enjoy the penis and remember always, safety first, especially when handling a giant penis.

He must have been so proud. Let's call that the first ever verbungle post.

We have a time-sensitive new prediction from Dan K. today. Interesting.

Also, if you want to get behind some good ol'-fashioned French-asshole-bashing, you should read Garrison Keillor's review of Bernard-Henri Lévy's book American Vertigo. I've never really gotten into Garrison Keillor so much, but I think he's spot on with this review. Lévy, if I recall correctly, is a pompous ass in need of a clubbing.

My father fought in World War II and was discharged in the middle of 1946. He enrolled at the University of Illinois that fall on the G.I. Bill. When he arrived in Champaign, he got off the bus and climbed into a cab to take him to campus. The cab driver's first words to my father, the 20 year-old veteran, were:

"Where you wanna go, (insert insulting but kinda funny word)?"

For ten genius points, what word did the cabdriver use?

Poachin' at the VA

You can sniff your way through the internet like a bloodhound, poking your browser into every dirty corner like one of them google webcrawlin' robots, and you won't find anything more satisfying than PBdotC's annual "Chicken Soup for Your Mama's Ass" column. I would suggest he make it a monthly but it's his world and I am but a dark brown Stuytown squirrel, attempting to locate nourishment in the cold city winter.

What I would like to do, humbly, is add a couple life lessons of my own. Of course, mine will be long-winded and somewhat useless. But they will bring you four minutes closer to quittin' time on Friday afternoon, so quitcherbicthin.

Lesson number one regards hailin' cabs. For me, the only time I find myself hailing a cab is when I'm a 30 minute subway ride from someplace and I need to be there in 15 minutes. The problem is that I usually find myself in this situation during rush hour, when every other schmuck is looking for a cab as well. Assuming these are your general hailing conditions, here are a couple of things to keep in mind:

1) If there are no cabs in sight, and ten people waiting with their arms extended, you should first consider hopping on the subway. Don't waste time thinking about it, commit immediately and get going. It might take you ten minutes to find a cab anyway, resulting in a net time gain of only five minutes. Depending on how important your appointment is, that might not be worth it. Especially because those ten minutes of searching for a cab are going to drive your stress level through the roof.
2) If you MUST get a cab, and again there are none in sight and a bunch of zombie hosebags are standing there with their arms out like ***BIG DADDY SPOILER HERE*** Donald Sutherland at the end of "Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1978)," I can tell you this: KEEP MOVING. Some people might tell you that if you stay in one good spot and be patient, you'll luck out. Bullshit. I'm not saying you can walk to the front of a line of people who are waiting. In fact, I'd go the opposite way and try to get one on a cross street. Just keep walking in the general direction of your destination and keep your eyes open. My latest move is a good and dirty one, and Stuytown/Peter Cooper residents might want to put it to use on their next morning commute. When I get out to First avenue and there are a bunch of folks standing there waiting for cabs, I immediately head north to 23rd street. Then, like a complete scumbag, I wait by the end of the driveway of the VA Hospital. Lots of cabs are dropping people off there, and as long as I don't wait by the hospital entrance itself, I feel pretty confident I'm not swiping a cab from a one-legged war veteran. In fact, I've noticed other people using this trick and going right up to the hospital entrance, so if there are no hobblin' vets outside, I actually get right up there myself. So far I haven't had to wait more than two minutes or so (plus the three minutes to walk there).

The other thing I'd like to discuss is time. I think I have an excellent grasp of time, and I think you should develop one as well. Not to say I'm not late all the time, I am, but that's because I'm either really busy, really lazy, or I screwed up somehow. Be aware of how long a minute is. An hour. A year. Once you understand this, you'll know that there's virtually no action in the universe that can be completed in fifteen minutes. As it is now, I hear a lot of people saying, "I'll just do X real quick and be back here in 15 minutes." No you won't. Learn how long things take. Most of the time estimates are off by between 40 and 60%. Thanks.

***

A last word on James "That's a Lie" Frey (thanks for your kind words regarding the disclaimer, btw) and then I'll let it die. I just think it's funny that he went on Oprah today and got his ass kicked. Hell, Larry King kicked his ass as well. I wonder if when the book first came out, Frey was terrified that the other shoe would drop and he'd be exposed. And then it didn't drop. And the book started selling by the million. And somewhere in there among the accolades and the high fives and the public lovefests, he slowly began to forget that he made that shit up. And he actually became arrogantly certain that the whole thing was true. And now that everybody's unwrapping the lies like delicious fruit chews, one after another, he's getting pissed. Like that angry look on the Wizard's face at the end of the Wizard of Oz that says "Why are you ruining this? I had a good thing going." Poor guy's headed for a bad fall.

***

Lastly, every three months or so, the verbungle.com staff tries to get a new word or phrase to catch on with the American people. However, with a daily readership that might not be large enough to field a soccer team, the math is simply not in our favor. And even the recent small-scale triumph we scored with "kwacha" was tempered by BJL's angry rebuke. But even when unsuccessful, we feel that the word-spread exercise has merit. And so we introduce today's word: rando.

A rando, which of course is short for random, is any person who shows up in a place where he or she is not expected to be and somehow impacts the events of that day. It can also be used as an adjective to describe the behavior of a rando. Here are two examples:

"The party was slammin'* until those two randos came in and finished off all our wine coolers."(Noun)

"How rando was it when that guy walked into the theater with like five minutes left in the movie, farted, and left?" (Adjective)

Let's do it.

***

I want to thank everyone for their chipwich replacement suggestions. I liked them all so much that you will each receive ten GP's as a reward. You gotta be in it to win it. PB will also get ten points for his wise advice: "You can't fuck with a chipwich."

We got a new prediction today, hosers.

* Let's bring back "slammin'" -- that shit is so lame it cracks me up. And "hood" as a substitute for the overused "thug."

This Post Guaranteed 100% Emotionally Accurate

Spoilers contained below.

So by now I assume you've all heard about the continuing controversy surrounding James Frey's memoir, A Million Little Pieces. The latest word is that future copies of the book will have a disclaimer of some kind explaining that the author took certain liberties with the truth. I'm sure James Frey is sick of the whole thing by now, sick of constantly having to explain himself. I know I would be. So James, I am offering you a verbungle.com freebie. No, not a hooded sweatshirt with a drawing of an anus on it. I am offering to write your entire disclaimer for you and you can simply cut and paste it (or just the parts that you like) into your next edition. You can even pretend you wrote it yourself. Deal? Good. Have a look.

Thank You for buying this book.
This Book.
Thank you.
This Book has made me a very Rich Man.
This is true.
There are many things in this world that aren't true but that is true like she of the eyes the nordic one is true.
Since I am now a Rich Man and there's nothing the Haters and the Doubters can do about it except continue to Hate and Doubt, I don't mind telling you right now that in the following pages I used what is called artistic license a few times.
OK, maybe more than a few times.
That means that some of the things you'll read in here maybe didn't happen so much exactly as I say they did.
By now you're probably familiar with some of the charges against the Book.
How I blew my Ohio arrest and subsequent jail time out of proportion a little bit.
How I altered the details of a Train Crash that killed a Girl from my high school.
That maybe I didn't undergo a root canal procedure without an anesthetic.
You're probably familiar with all that because of the Haters and the Doubters. And every day new Haters come forward, along with new Doubters.
But I stand by my Book and I stand.
By.
My.
Life.
However, since there will always be Haters and there will always be Doubters, I think I may as well come right out and clue you in on a few other details I've altered slightly in the name of privacy, art, and/or commerce.
But first I want to talk about the impact of The Book.
Several times over the last few weeks kids have come up to me on the street and they say, James, thanks for the book, man. You helped me overcome my addiction. Or, You helped me understand what my father is going through. Or, You helped me. Live. You helped me live. And I say thank you.
I say thank you to them.
To Them.
But then they ask me, James, is it true that you initially tried to publish this book as fiction, and when nobody was interested, you let them talk you into calling it a memoir? Because that would make it more spectacular, more marketable? Did you even edit the book after they requested you go in this new direction?
And I tell them.
Yes.
Yes.
No. Not so much. No. It's pretty much the same book. Exactly.
And they look at me.
The Look.
Confused.
Disappointed.
Sad.
And it's my fault.
And I feel it.
Just a hint.
The Fury.
I can control it.
I own it.
It's mine.
The Fury.
I own the Fury.
And then they'll say, wow, didn't you ever think that was a little dishonest?
Yes.
I did.
I do.
And they say, I thought you were Mr. No Bullshit. The meetings were Bullshit. The Rock Star who bragged about his heroin habit was a Phony. The twelve steps were Bullshit. You didn't buy into any of that because you were Mr. No Bullshit.
What about, The truth is all that matters?
What about all that, they say.
And I always say the same thing.
I stand by the book as being the essential truth of my life. The emotional truth.
Of.
My.
Life.
The book is 432 pages long, I tell them. The total page count of disputed events is 18 428, which is less than 5% of the total book pretty much the entire thing.
Go over anyone's scalp with a fine tooth comb and you'll find lice. Go over anyone's memoir the way the Haters and the Doubters have gone over mine and you'll find lies.
Lies.
You'll find.
Lies.
But I stand by the Book as being the essential truth of my life.
My Life.
And they look at me and the look is the Look that I've seen so many times. Before.
Pity.
Sympathy.
The Look.
I've seen The Look.
I know it's all my fault and I don't want the Look but the Look is always there.
The Look.
Fuck.
Pipe.
Whisky.
Whore.
Tussin.
Zotz bombs.
Cranberry Juice.
With vodka.
Jet Fuel with Tabasco.
Old Style.
I want it all.
I don't want the Look.
So I'll tell you.
I'll tell you now so when you see me on the street you'll know not to give me the Look.
Because you'll know that this book made me a Rich Man and rich men don't need Pity. They need cars and they need more Money but they don't need pity and they don't need doubt and they don't need The Look.
I once swore that I wouldn't dignify the bullshit but here I am.
Dignifying it.
The Bullshit.
Point by point.
The bullshit.
Dignifying it.
Dignifying it with a further response. Like I said I wouldn't do.
I lied.
I guess.
I lied.
Again.
Let's go then.
Here we go.
In this book you will read a phrase several times.
I am an Alcoholic and a Drug Addict and a Criminal.
Several times I say this phrase and I say it because it's true to the best of my recollection.
And if you were to see me on the street after reading this book and you were to ask me, James, by Alcoholic and Drug Addict and Criminal do you mean Wealthy Frat Boy who Drank Too Much and Snorted Coke with his Brothers and Became a Nuisance to his College Girlfriend?
Yes.
Is what I'd say.
Yes.
That's probably more accurate.
Technically.
But the emotional truth is that I was an Alcoholic and a Drug Addict and a Criminal.
The essential emotional truth is there.
And if you asked me about the rehab and you said, James, did you quit using crack cocaine because you ignored the 12 steps and came up with your own crude treatment strategy based on the principle of "Hold On", I'd say not exactly.
Not exactly.
No.
I never smoked crack cocaine.
Never.
Smoked.
It.
But I did do a lot of blow.
Which is the same thing.
And now I don't do it anymore.
Blow.
Ever.
But crack always scared me.
Never did it.
It sounded scary and ghetto and it gave me a street credibility that I thought would make my story more shocking. But no I never actually used it.
But I did quit blow.
And you'd say, speaking of crack, did you really fall in love with a Beautiful Crack Whore named Lilly while you were inside the clinic, and did she really kill herself the day you got out of prison? Which I'm guessing she didn't because you never actually. Went. To. Prison. Right?
I'd say, have you ever heard of a metaphor?
Wiseass.
A Metaphor.
A symbol.
When you set out to write the best book of your generation you use things like those. Metaphors. Look it up.
And I'd say, Halle Berry was a crack whore in that one movie with Wesley Snipes.
And she's beautiful.
Halle Berry.
Even as a crack whore.
So there you go.
And you might roll your eyes and say, What the fuck does that mean?
And I'd say metaphor.
Look it up.
And then maybe you'd say, Throughout the book, your temper flares up whenever you are confronted by authority. You come across like a real Tough Guy. I'm guessing that's all Bullshit, too?
Not Bullshit, I'd say. Artistic License.
Then I'd ask You, Did you ever find yourself in a situation where you're challenged and your blood starts to simmer and you want to Fight Back and instead you just say OK and do what you're told?
And then a minute or two goes by and then a day and then a week but your blood is still hot and your face is still flushed and you think of a hundred things you wish you would have said if you were strong enough or smart enough or quick enough or brave enough?
Me too, I'd say.
So every time in the book that I get in someone's face or fight someone or throw someone against a wall it's not really what I did but what I wish I did.
The emotional truth.
Of what I Did.
The essential truth.
Of what I Did.
And you'd ask me more questions.
About Leonard.
Not exactly real, I'd say.
Miles, the judge?
Nope. Uh-uh.
Composites, I'd say. Look it up.
And we'd go through the whole book page by page if that's what you wanted. If you were a Hater and a Doubter that's what we'd do.
Page.
By Page.
And you'd say lies.
Lies and lies and lies.
Lies.
And I'd tell you that I won't dignify that with a response but that the emotional truth is there.
It's here.
Here.
I am an Alcoholic and a Drug Addict and a Criminal.
Thank you for buying my Book.

-James Frey
New York City
January 2006

***

Speaking of amateur addiction cures, I eat an insane amount of junk food and it's killing me. So I've finally come up with something that might work. It's as basic as could be, and I'm sure a billion people have already thought of it and tried it, but up their ass. Every time I crave a specific piece of junk food, I will refer to my homemade chart and find its non-junk food alternative. Then I shall eat the NJFA and feel the healthiness course through my veins. I'm just getting started, but here's what such a chart might look like:

Junk Food	Non-Junk Food Alternative
Runt	Banana
Cheese	Tofu
Pringle	Carrot

Feel free to submit your own suggestions and help Hans Bungle on his way to sveltehood. Ten kwachas for whoever can come up with the best NJFA for a Chipwich.

IMIA

Dear iPod Godz,

I know I have taken my iPod for granted in the past. In many ways, having an iPod is like having a huge and glorious phallus. You only appreciate the luxury when someone takes it away from you. And someone, or more specifically my own carelessness, has taken my iPod away. I think it was Friday night. I was rushing home from work to relieve the nanny, and I think my precious iPod may have fallen from my pocket as I got out of the taxi. I have looked everywhere with no luck thus far. I am really down to one last hope, the edit room at work. Even if that is where I left it, it would take a miracle for it to still be there after a weekend and a day. But iPod Godz, I know that's an area you specialize in, miracles. You bring my entire music collection, humble though it may be, to my ears every day on my way to work. Miracle, right there. So if you come through for me this one more time, I will be an Apple user for life.

Thank you,

Hans Q. Bungle

P.S. Anyone else who might have an idea where it could be, please chime in. It's not:
-in my coat
-in my bag
-in any drawers
-between the couch cushions
-on any counters in my house
-in a tree

***

Is it just me, or is Jerome Bettis getting annoying? I say this as someone who's been a Bettis fan since the first time I saw him pulverizing would-be tacklers at Notre Dame. But it's time for him to step out of the spotlight already. He's fat, he's only effective about half the time, I don't even think he's that great a short yardage guy at this point. I'd like to see him win the Super Bowl but I'd also like to see less of him in general.

***

An easy whodat today for ten pernts.

word of the day

kill·joy (kĭl'joi')
n.

One who spoils the enthusiasm or fun of others.

Hansy the Greek

Since it's champeenship weekend in the NFL, I think it's only right that I, Hans Q. Bungle, go on record with some predictions.

Only problem is, I follow pro football about as closely as I follow local politics, so my predictions are essentially meaningless. That being the case, I am going to stay away from the traditional "what so and so needs to do" or "so and so's in trouble if" garbage. Instead I will issue several unorthodox predictions per game, and you can rest assured that most of them will prove completely inaccurate.

Game 1: Pittsburgh at Denver, 3pm EST

1) I predict that I miss the first two and a half quarters of this game because I am out shopping with my wife.
2) I predict that at some point in the third quarter, there is a questionable pass interference call on a long pass. I am not sure right now whether it will be a case of an official calling PI when he shouldn't, or failing to call it when he should. I may or may not get back to you on this.
3) I predict that the pre-game show has at least one stupid feature on QB beards.
4) I predict that I eat my share of salty snacks during this game.
5) I predict that somebody throws a really bad interception.
6) I predict that there is one defensive touchdown scored in this game.
7) I predict that I start the laundry during this game.
8) I predict that this game will be close throughout, with lots of "turning points" for the announcers to call to our attention.
9) In fact, I predict that the outcome is still in doubt until the final 30 seconds, maybe even the final play. As a result of this, I predict that most of the players from the losing team sit on the field shaking their heads for several minutes after the game is over.
10) Final Score: Pittsburgh 24, Denver 20.

Game 2: Carolina at Seattle, 6:30pm EST

1) I predict that this game is not that close, but the announcers will keep reminding us how you can't count out team X (the team that's trailing).
2) I predict that somewhere out there some college kids are playing a drinking game where you take a drink every time the announcers say the word "Hasselbeck."
3) I predict that, while alone on the couch, I break wind at least twice during this game.
4) I predict that I drink one beer during this game.
5) I predict that there is a replay that overturns a call that had gone in Seattle's favor, and the crowd gets all pissy about it, even though the huge stadium TV screens clearly back up the official's decision to overturn.
6) I predict that some of you will agree that the Carolina QB looks a bit like a certain somebody we know, others will not.
7) I predict that Seattle comes badly unraveled during this game, almost like they forgot how to play football. There will be at least one play where they are unable to get the right team on the field and have to call a timeout, or maybe they'll get a penalty for 12 men on the field.
8) I predict that the announcers do not use any "Brokeback Mountain" analogies, such as "With the safety blitzing like that, the corner's all alone out there on Brokeback Mountain" or "Wow, that should have been a penalty -- the runner was already down, and three guys piled on top of him like it was Brokeback Mountain."
9) I predict that Steve Smith scores a touchdown and does a really excellent and completely original TD celebration.
10) Final Score: Carolina 27, Seattle 14.

I know I'm going with two road underdogs here, but that's the way we do things here at verbungle. I don't think Denver and Seattle are as good as their records indicate. Plus, I'm very, very stupid. Feel free to weigh in with your predictions for the games. Closest guess gets 15 G.P.'s. By the way, here is the system we are using to determine who's closest:

The winner is the person who has the lowest total point differential between their guess and the actual score for each team. Example: for Game 1, if you said Denver 29, Pittsburgh 20 and the final score was Pittsburgh 23, Denver 17, you would have a total point differential of 15.

You must pick both games. Tiebreaker will go to the person who picked the winners more accurately.

Mamas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Kobes

You know one thing I notice every time I go to Southern California? A lot of the kids out there are wearing Kobe Bryant jerseys. And many of them are new, post-alleged-rape jerseys, too.

My kid will never wear a Kobe Bryant jersey.

Sure it's wrong to discuss that incident as if he's guilty. We'll never know. Charges were dropped. But it was definitely a scummy moment for him. And he's a scummy, unlikable dude.

In fact, I think Kobe Bryant may be my least favorite athlete of the last 25 years. As marvelous as his skills are, his personality is every bit as un-marvelous. Aloof, phony, selfish, immature, and arrogant.

(Or at least portrayed that way by the media, which is the same thing, right?)

So who are these parents who think it's OK for their kids to idolize Kobe? They should all be forced to hang out with him for 24 hours straight.

***

cW gets 12 kwachas for his answer of Zambia. Malawi was the other answer. PB may have gotten Malawi, but he may also have googled it. We trust him; if he says he didn't google, he'll also get 12 kwachas. For three bonus genius points, what now-defunct-or-relocated NYC pizza joint had a kwacha displayed under the glass counter (like it was the first kwacha they ever made), and what corner was this pizzeria on? And for 10 GP's, tell me whodat. Hint: he is far lamer than many things he would probably consider lame.

We have a new review posted for you on the mother site. Check it here.

comforting to know

Just checked. It's mid-January, and I still haven't forgiven Alex Rodriguez.

this probably isn't interesting

When NBDL Director of Media Relations Lenny Peacock* got up on Wednesday morning, it was shaping up like just another day. He probably had his bagel and a glass of OJ, then perused the sports section as he enjoyed a cup of delicious coffee. Then maybe he packed up his briefcase, said goodbye to the wife, and patted the dog on the head before heading out the door and getting into his car.

When he arrived at work, everything seemed normal. He said hello to his assistant and sat down at his desk to get started on a busy day of work. First thing to do: check the old email inbox to see if any media types had contacted him looking for information about the league.

This is where his day took a strange turn. In his email box were two emails, the first sent at 7:28 pm Tuesday night:

From: Big Jim Lang
To: Lenny Peacock/DLeague/NBA@NBA
Sent: 01/17/2006 07:28 PM
Subject: Question about NBDL logo

Sorry to bother you with such a trivial question - If the NBA's logo was modeled on Jerry West, what player is featured in the NBDL's?

Thanks in advance.

Big Jim Lang

The second, more long-winded version came in at 12:41 am:

From: Hans Bungle
To: Lenny Peacock/DLeague/NBA@NBA
Sent: 1/18/2006 12:41 AM
Subject: NBDL logo

Hello Mr. Peacock,

First, I want to wish you good luck with the league. I was a big CBA fan in the 80’s so naturally I have an interest in the NBDL. I am hoping it develops into a viable minor league for the NBA and provides a realistic second chance for all those talented and hardworking players who don’t quite fit the NBA mold on first glance.

The real reason I am writing to you is a simple question. We all know the silhouette on the NBA logo was modeled on Jerry West. But as hard as I try, I can’t figure out whose silhouette provides the basis for the NBDL logo. If I was looking for the best example of what your league is capable of, I’d go with Bobby Simmons. But I’m not sure when the logo was created and frankly it doesn’t look much like him. So who is it?

Also, I would consider buying some NBDL merchandise (T-shirts and sweatshirts) but the Reebok logo is displayed too prominently on them. Anything that can be done about that?

Thank you for your time.

Sincerely,

Hans Bungle

What are the odds, Mr. Peacock must have wondered, two idiots coincidentally asking me for the same stupid information on the same night. He would have had every right to freak out. Most men would have just ignored our moronic requests. But instead, being a sport, he graciously replied to both of us the same way:

No one in particular...It was graphically designed...in fact, we haven't ever said Jerry West was the design for the NBA logo.

So I guess that's it, I figured, apparently the image is based on nobody. Then I thought about it for a minute. If they are denying that the NBA logo is indeed based on Jerry West, when that is pretty much a publicly accepted fact, maybe they are doing it for a reason. Maybe Jerry West never said, "Make me into a logo." And maybe if they admitted that they did just that, Ol' Jerry could come looking for a big payday. Not that he would; I'm sure he's honored. But just to be safe, they cannot admit that it's him. And to be honest, I've never seen a smoking gun photo that could prove it is. This is as close as I've seen (from here):


So, I wondered, if they took an image of West dribbling and manipulated it enough so that it didn't exactly match any existing photos, couldn't they have done the same with the NBDL logo?
And if so, what player would they choose? Surely the player every DL player aspires to be, right? No, not Danny Vranes. Not Sam Vincent. Not Lancaster Gordon. Not Steve Colter.

Michael Jordan.

At 10:49 am, I got an email from BA suggesting as much:

The photo appearing at the following link, although taken from a different angle, sure looks like the NBADL logo--leg position, right arm position and left arm position all seem very similar. Not trying to argue, just commenting on the similarity. I'm sure there are a hundred photos of players in that pose.

Since I generally suck at GP questions, I exercised my bungle-given right to use Google. Google, unfortunately, has let me down. First time ever, I think.

I knew BA was a Chicago guy and as a bitter Knicks fan part of me wanted to write off his guess to Jordan-era-Bulls-fan arrogance. The images didn't seem all that similar to me:

But then at 1:28 pm D. Lee stopped by Haloscan to confirm:

I found out: the logo is Jordan.

I know it's after the fact but i suspected as much. I think the silhouette is from a classic tounge out dunk he did that became a frequently used stock photo.

So I am assuming that D. Lee has some evidence that it's Jordan. Probably not enough to convict, but enough to make his case. If not a photo, a link to a story or something other than a whisper in the hallway. If only to set our minds at ease. Even if he doesn't produce anything, I am splitting the GP's between him and BA. 10 apiece.

As for the acornym challenge, five points go to MrsSmal for getting "Satellite Media Tour." And fiteen go to crsmal for at least taking the time to make up some bullshit about the other three. I have no way of checking his answers, so I will assume they are either right or so stupid that they deserve the ridicu-points. I guess this is a risk I run when I ask a trivia question without knowing the answer.

By the way, you're all welcome for those ESSA files yesterday. Ingrates.

For twelve points each, with no googling allowed please, the "kwacha" is the monetary unit of which two countries? Maximum four guesses to a person.

* Name and title changed so as not to mess with his life.

Caution: this post contains ESSA*

* Extremely Sexy Selleck Audio

So it took a few weeks, but apparently "Brokeback Mountain" is now the default office synonym for anything remotely gay or less than hyper-masculine. Today at work I learned a new term: A "Brokeback Moment." This is defined as that awkward moment when two presumably straight guys look into each other's eyes and feel something...more...than...typical...manly...camaraderie.

For instance:

"Jed and I reached into the Doritios bag at the same time, and when our hands touched, we sort of had a Brokeback Moment there..."

So nobody got the Selleckdat challenge. Maybe my hint threw you off the trail. The answers we were looking for were (ESSA alert): "Gonads" and "Penis". Tough break. Joe is correct on the Labutedat. Can't award any points yet in NBDLdat, but we should have definitive word in the next few days.

I am constantly tormented by the quotation mark/period dilemma when the thing in the quotation marks is a name and not a quote. Does the period go inside or out? I read somewhere once that it should ALWAYS go inside the quotes. But that don't feel right to me. I'm going with my gut on this one. Period outside the quotes in certain cases.

You know what I always enjoy? When people talk in the jargon that is particular to their area of expertise, but they do it not just when communicating with others in their field but also among laypeople, assuming we all speak the same language. A friend recently forwarded me an email which went around his office to a large group of people in many different departments, with one tech-dude finally capping things off with this beauty:

Don said we can borrow one of the TIF or COORD lines from CER since there is no SMT scheduled.

OK, pal. That's a 10-4.

Hell, we'll give five points for every one of those acronyms you can decipher. For each one, if nobody gets it, points will go to the most ridiculous suggestion.

wanted

One Sam Vincent "Boston Bird Feeder" poster ca. 1985.

Will pay U.S. $10.

Sam Vincent, younger brother of Jay Vincent, was a stud point guard at Michigan State in the mid-80's. The Celtics picked him in the first round of the 1985 NBA Draft and had him pegged as the next great Boston backcourt man. Before he even put on his short shorts and stepped onto the parquet, he had his own poster: "Boston Bird Feeder."

Unfortunately, it never really came together for him. It turned out he wasn't that great at basketball. He drifted around the league for about six or seven years but never really made an impact. But I do remember reading in the Village Voice's once-great sports section that he achieved something rather remarkable. He was playing point guard for the Jordan Bulls and he managed an eight possession stretch in which none of his teammates even touched the ball. Four turnovers and four missed shots. And he had Michael Jordan on his team!

If you were his coach, wouldn't you just fire him on the spot?

If anyone has the "Bird Feeder" poster, I'm in for $10 plus shipping.

And I'll pay $20 to anyone who has a tape of the 8 possessions when he went solo.

This is another dude named Sam Vincent.

No correct answers on yesterday's Super Selleck Challenge. We'll leave that one up for another day* and we'll also offer eighteen genius points to anyone who can tell me whodat?

P.S. Holy Unforced Turnover! Sam Vincent is now coaching professional basketball! In honor of the Bird-feeder, 20 G.P.'s to anyone who can tell me, using google if necessary, whose image is on the NBDL logo. I have no idea. Although as I search for my elusive hoodie, maybe I should consider the NBDL store. Florida Flame, anyone?

* If you guessed already, feel free to guess again.

Jesse Stone: By the Numbers

Tonight I did you a service. I watched a Tom Selleck made-for-TV movie, and now I am going to tell you all about it. Because I know you missed it.

The movie was called Jesse Stone: Night Passage, and if I was writing a show description for the on-screen cable guide it'd probably go something like this:

"Jesse Stone is a veteran L.A. cop with an alcohol problem, an ex-wife that he can't forget, and a dog that refuses to eat. Looking for a fresh start as the Police Chief of the sleepy New England town of Paradise, Massachusetts, Jesse soon discovers that trouble can find you anywhere -- even in Paradise!"
That's so corny it almost makes me proud. Although it's probably too long for the EPG. The actual description was:

"A lawman becomes the new police chief of a small town."

Well, neither of those descriptions can properly illustrate how macho and excellent this TV movie was. I am hoping they make it into a series, and I hereby predict (#84) that they will. The story is simple and painfully predictable, the script is jam-packed with cringeworthy dialogue, the bad guys are all ugly while the good guys all look like J. Crew models. If there was a character who wasn't a walking cliché, I didn't see 'em. Still, the production values are excellent, the simplicity of the story is a nice little break for the old brain, and Selleck helms the beast with dignity and gravitas. A good time is had by all. But this review does not say nearly enough.

Here then is my numerical guide to Jesse Stone: Night Passage (spoilers included):

0: The amount of crap that Tom Selleck, as Chief Jesse Stone, puts up with in this two hour movie
at least 3: Number of female characters who want Chief Jesse Stone to bang them
at least 1: Number of female characters who Chief Jesse Stone bangs
28: age difference, in years, between Tom Selleck and the actress whose character he bangs
at least 2: number of times Chief Jesse Stone references parts of the male genitalia in the movie*
1: Baldwin Brothers who get kicked in the nutz by Chief Jesse Stone
1: Bad guys who drive Camaros
1: Number of dogs euthanized in this movie
1: Number of times the character played by Bobby Flay's wife tells Chief Jesse Stone that she's not wearing any underwear, and asks him "if that's something that might be of interest" to him
4: number of times I thought to myself, "This would be cooler if it was the story of a haggard, world-weary Magnum, P.I. twenty years down the line, instead of some other beefily-moustachioed character..."
1: number of complete episodes of Magnum, P.I. I have watched in my lifetime (the one where he plays basketball against T.C. or whatever his chopper pilot buddy's name is).
23,456: number of additional facial hairs that Chief Jesse Stone has compared to Magnum, P.I. (he has added a tasteful little goatee thing).
at least 4: number of times that it's made clear that Chief Jesse Stone drinks Scotch. Not Beer. Not Wine. Scotch.
at least 1, probably 2 or more: number of times Chief Jesse Stone flat-out tells someone how tough he is.
1: Number of wayward teenage girls Chief Jesse Stone tries to steer away from drugs.
1.5: Number of times that the old "Bad guy's about to shoot the good guy, and you hear a shot, and you (are supposed to) assume the good guy just got shot...but wait -- someone standing behind the bad guy has shot him instead!" device got pulled out.
10: Loads of laundry completed while watching Jesse Stone: Night Passage

Happy MLK day all. Please enjoy the 2 new predictions on the predictions page.

* For ten genius points each, tell me the exact words Selleck used when describing each of these man-parts (e.g. "cock" and "potatoes")

it make me go poo poo!

I like Indian food, I really like it. But it doesn't like me so much; I should probably be sitting on the toilet when I eat it.

in from the serengetti

hans, old boy! how's the knees and the small girl-chylde? i've just returned with your lovely great-auntie porceleena bungle from an extended trip in the zimbabwe. i'll tell you, things have changed since the 1920s and the mood on the ground is well, rahther nasty. some of the old locals are still quite friendly though ... just a matter of sorting it out ahead of time. i say! once we had it buggered up and you should have seen porceleena's driving while i fended off an approaching group of unfriendlies with great grandpa oxnard bungle's old elephant rifle. boffo! that old thing sure makes a fine racket! well i won't bore you too much with my tales of the olde worlde but i do say i find this whole Internet phenomenom to be lacking in ... oh how shall i put it ... diesel & duste.

do drop us a line next time you're in london. just take the train to king's cross and watch for the old red-topped flat across the way. that's still us!

yours,
great uncle cornelius

weakend

One of the better things in life is the weekend following your first week back at work after a long vacation. After sleeping in, knocking around and generally not giving a fouts for twelve days, five straight days of concentrating and laboring is enough to stagger you.

So I am doubly excited about this three day weekend. Unfortunately I am still sick. I was really zonked out today, got up just in time for the playoff games. I think it needs to be said that the 2006 NFL Playoffs have been tremendously unexciting so far.

6 games, 6 clunkers. Not one exciting finish. Blah.

Weekends used to be full of late night mischief and greasy morning grub to help the hangover settle in properly. Now I'm happy if I can get some good rest, a game of hoops, and maybe see a friend. I usually don't get all that.

There's a New Year's Resolution: see more of my friends this year. Once you have a baby it's frighteningly easy to fall off the face of the earth, and I think that's what I've done so far.

This whole community blog thing could be fun, let's ride it out and see what happens. I also like it because I feel less wholly responsible for the content of this site. I'm just a contributor now. If I ever get asked about it by The Man, I can say I'm just one of a few different schmucks who chime in from time to time.

I hate reading hardcover books. My chances of finishing a hardcover are about 1 in 3, as opposed to 2 in 3 for a nice mushy paperback. Are people who buy hardcover books the same people who pre-order $3000 computers before all the kinks are worked out?

The recent unsolved whodat was Matt Groening.

Whoa. Creepy.

I feel like I'm inside Hans's dirty little mind. It feels all...weird.

team bungle

Hi,

This is Elroy Bungle, Hans's cousin from Munich via Chicago. Hans has set up the community blog feature for verbloggle, so if you are interested in becoming a team member, please email him at hans bungle at verbungle dot com. Hans and I and the extended Bungle family look forward to hearing from you. However if you are a dipshit we will reject your application. In addition, be forewarned that we may abandon this experiment in a heartbeat if we so choose.

Do you feel welcome now? Good.

I will now return to watching a videotape of my head bouncing off a floor.

Elroy

Everybody Is a Star

After reading Pete's post the other day where he suggested refusing plastic bags unless you actually need 'em, I felt motivated to find an equally simple and effective way to do my part for the planet.

Here's what the Verbungle Eco Team has come up with: The Nadjective. From now on (beginning with the next paragraph, in fact) I will merge all my nouns with the adjectives that precede them. For instance, "hairy balls" will become "hairyballs". Every time I do this, I am eliminating one character space from whatever I am typing.

Our team did some calculations and here's what they found: if nadjectives replaced every "adjective space noun" in a givendocument, that document would become on average .000002 percent shorter. Doesn't sound like much, does it? But remember, the goal is to get the entireworld using nadjectives as soon as possible. When you multiple that .000002 percent by all the documents created and printed in a given year, including books, you would get a tree savings the equivalent of 19 Amazon rainforests per annum -- which also means we'd have 19 Amazon rainforests less paper per year (PPY) floating around in various garbage dumps and/or gathering on the corner of office desks awaiting signatures.

Anyone failing to comply with these newregulations could be fined or imprisoned.

We are also trying to find otherspaces that could be removed. One area we are looking at is propernames. For the sake of the planet, I'd be happy as HansBungle. Please share any other potentialexamples you can think of.

I was thinking today that it might be fun to do a communityblog like FJM. It would be exciting if like four or five of us had access to thatblog. Then when you woke up in the morning to check the blog, there could be a new and wonderfulpost from any of the contributors. Perhaps we'll turn verbungle into such a site. I am into collaboration, I don't need to be the straw that stirs the drink. I am sort of like Sly Stone in that regard. I want to see everybody shine. Anyone into this?

I had a lot of ideas for stuff today and I wrote most of it down so it'll be coming soon. One idea I have is, in lieu of New Year's Resolutions, I will create an AA-type list of amends I need to make in my lifetime. But since I don't have the energy to think of 'em all at once, I will instead post one every other day or so.

So today I'd like to apologize to MDilly for the time we poured that icewater on your ___.

Actually I'm proud of that. This is going to be tougher than I thought.

I guess I should start watching the Knicks, huh?

For ten genius points, whodat?

no dice

So I couldn't pull the trigger on the Macbook Pro. It's like a bad TV show, and I'm the crazy misguided kid who sticks up a bank and takes a bunch o' hostages before getting in that inevitable square-off with the cops. The kid walks to the doorway of the bank, holding a hostage at gunpoint, and looks out the bank window. Cops, dozens of 'em. All pointing their guns at him and waiting for the word. His plan has gone horribly awry and he's starting to panic.

"Don't do it," the police negotiator dude says. "It doesn't have to end this way."

"Get away from me!" the kid yells, anviously waving his gun around. "It's too late. It's over. Everything's over."

"It's not too late," the negotiator says. "Put the gun down and we'll talk. Just talk."

You see the kid's face, and there's a look of reason for a second, and he might even begin to put the gun down...

It's at this point in the show when the kid brushes some tears out of his eyes and does something horribly stupid and irrational, like turning the gun on himself or throwing the hostage down on the ground and opening fire on the cops before being riddled with return fire.

Then he's laying on the ground with the life seeping out of him, but still conscious and grinning crazily.

"I went out big, didn't I?" he asks the EMT who's loading him onto a stretcher.

"Shhh, be quiet kid, don't move, we're gonna fix you up OK," the EMT says. "Just stay calm."

Then the EMT rolls back the kid's shirt and sees the damage: blood and bullet holes dotting the kid's entire abdomen. The EMT tries not to grimace. He knows the kid won't make it.

"I'm gonna die," the kids says. "I'm gonna die. But I went out big, didn't I?"

The EMT is about to cry.

"Yeah, you went out big, kid. You went out big. Just like Butch and Sundance."

I don't want to be that kid.

So it's kind of like that. Or maybe kinda more like a much simpler and more accurate metaphor. I don't have one ready.

But the point is that the logic against pre-ordering this beast is just too overwhelming.

Really, there are two reasons, both potentially powerful, for ordering it now:
-if a ton of people order it, and I wait, the computer may be on back order and I won't get it until later, like maybe March
-like a child, I crave this cool new toy

But as far as I can guess I'll be able to get one a week or two after they start shipping, and in that time perhaps some disqualifying flaws will be discovered. Like the batteries last 8 minutes or the bitch gets unreasonably hot.

So I will wait until February (if I can), and then I will buy this thing if the initial word is good. I am stupid, very very stupid, but not stupid enough to drop 3 grand on an untested computer that has to last me at least four years.

Trying to finish the James Frey book before I read too much about it being horseshit.

For ten genius points, whodat?

the time has come

So today was a good day. A confusing day, but a good day.

I have a feeling that within six months there will be something better than the Macbook Pro that Ol' Rimmy introduced in his sermon yesterday. To buy this machine right now is to offer yourself up as a guinea pig, to invite frustration, bugs, and eventually regret and envy.

Cons:
-most software will not (yet) run natively on the Intel processors, resulting in decreased performance
-they have been supiciously mum on battery life
-the cool magnetic power cord that yanks out when somebody trips on it, instead of pulling your computer onto the floor, is untested (at least by real people) and unpatented
-it's expensive as hell
-they put in an inferior DVD burner
-no modem
-probably still has bad wireless reception
-first pass at an Intel laptop; they probably rushed to get this thing onto the streets and have bigger and better plans for something else shortly down the line, the MacBook Pro Nothistimewereallymeanit or something

Pros:
-I want it

Decision:
I will be ordering one tomorrow

Go ahead and try to talk me out of it.

Thanks for the fine answers in the Mac Challenge. cW has knotted things up with Deion. Good job by cW predicting an FM tuner for the iPod. Does it only work with the new video iPods? If so, that's lame. Fuggin' Apple.

Now it's time to go old skool. For fifteen genius points, tell me what google image search produced this image within the first three pages of results?

I miss the NHL strike.

all I want is to be a happy man

OK, before we get to the meat, the tender, juicy, medium-rare kangaroo meat of this post, it's time for some genius points to get handed out. Guaranteed, authentic, redeemable-at-participating-Duane-Reades Genius Points. And this challenge is time-sensitive. We'll call it a Bungle Blitz. Here's how it works.

1. Steve "Rim" Jobs will be delivering his keynote speech at MacWorld San Francisco Tuesday, January 10th at 12 noon HST (HaloScan Time). Dorks like me the world over are giggling with anticipation for what he might unveil. Rest assured, he will unveil something. Even if it is just his shimmering iRod. What I want you to do is guess what new products/alliances/religious tenets he will announce.
2. All answers are due by noon HST.
3. You will receive three points each for every correct guess, and two points for every guess that makes me laugh out loud (LOL). Only the first guesser of any particular item will receive the points.
4. For the laughter-generating guesses, I really need to actually laugh or at least smile. I will try to be fair about this.
5. For some speculation to get you pointed in the right direction, click here.

Thanks!

***

Now on to the meat. Yesterday we posted the complete words to the namedatlyric challenge of a few weeks back. Nobody got it. Too bad. The song in question is "Chaos of the Galaxy/Happy Man" by Sparklehorse, from their truly excellent 1999 album, Good Morning Spider.