Conspiracy Alert!

Lifted off Mad Scrolls's truly exceptional blog, this is another interesting look at conspiracy theories surrounding 9/11. I have a higher quality version, but it will cost you oven-baked pizza with an Arizona Cardinals jersey bottle cooler, a Coke Zero, and two open-minded Swedish nurses.

Oh well...

Certainly this is tardier than intended and no longer news, but Canada, in case you haven't heard, will not be gold-medal winners in men's hockey. I'll pause for a moment to let that sink in. Can't say I'm as bummed as I thought I'd be. They just didn't have it, no help from Nash-Thornton-Bertuzzi who were useless, and those damn women hogged all of Canada's scoring skillz for themselves. Not to worry hockey fans, in four years we all get to take out second and third mortgages to pay for tickets in Vancouver, where our team will be so ridiculously good that being poor for the next decade will be worth it.

Breaking News

The Vice President of the United States (or his real title, Emperor of the Imperial Senate) Dick Cheney was involved in a hunting accident over the weekend where he mistook his 78-year-old hunting companion for a quail, and SHOT HIM IN THE FACE. Harry Whittington, a lawyer, survived the "peppering" only to have a heart attack during his recovery. We can only hope that Mr. Whittington will avoid any more mishaps by secluding himself at the North Pole in an underground bomb shelter. In the basement closet. With his eyes closed and ears plugged. Hiding under his security blanket with his bear.

There's cold ones in the fridge!!!!

It was bound to happen eventually. Every weekend myself and my posse gather 'round to share fine discussion, enjoy finer athletics and the finest accompanying beverages. Sometimes this paradigm is uncomfortably affected, like when someone Ruins Poker Night (TM), the Oilers lose to "not Oilers" because once in the third period they didn't cover someone in front of the net, or some participant brings a stimulant just a bit too strong. Poker night has been going since September, so there's been many occasions where some or all parts of the evening have changed from the standard template, though lately blame rests with stimulant overdose. Poker night, like Kenny's death on South Park, gets "ruined" every week, though the fun is in the creativity. Last weekend, it was homemade wine. The idea of adding some class to the evening seemed like a good idea until we realized we're just not classy people, proven by the image of all of us at the table drinking straight from our own bottle. Strategy suffered. Before that, the growing presence of the "stickiest of the icky," or "snoochies," made it a challenge. The last straw, again from last week, was when yours truly went all in, was called by three others, then revealed The Greatest Poker Hand I'll ever get, a Jack-high straight flush. An exciting moment to be a part of, and my favorite way of ruining poker night.

It begins....

Four years ago, on a crisp Sunday afternoon, over ten million Canadians (that's without numbers from those in bars and restaurants) grouped themselves in front of the tv and watched the best team from the best country win the best tournament in the best sport. Whether you like hockey or not is irrelevent, because the next ten days will be more culturally all-encompassing than any other event. As was the case in Nagano, our national obsession will be confronted by the joys of a planet foolishly built round, meaning some games are damn early in the morning. I have a hard enough time rolling out of bed for a 10 a.m. class, let alone 4:00 in the morning to watch us stomp Italy. Here's the full schedual for the round-robin, all times Pacific:
Feb 15-4:00 am-Italy
Feb 16-11:00 am-Germany
Feb18-6:30 am-Switzlerland
Feb 19-12:00 pm-Finland
Feb 21-7:30 am-Czech Republic

I generally watch hockey from one of two places: as an analyst, who tries to understand why the game is unfolding the way it is and what is likely to happen in the future, or as a completely biased, irrational, screaming, beligerent fan. Fortunately, all my friends who'll be watching with me will also fall into the second category.

The Day the Music Died

This is bad news, but it seems to be getting better. First, Rick Tocchet got in trouble for being linked to an illegal gambling operation with a New Jersay cop. No big deal. Then reports came out that Janet Jones, The Great Wife (who won eternal acceptance for being happy when Canada beat the U.S. in Salt Lake, despite being American) was found to have been making bets through Tocchet's team. In the U.S., you can gamble all you want, just don't place bets for others or pass along money. So why is this an enormous deal? Not for anything that's happened, but the implications for professional athletes placing bets through illegal betting posts (this one perhaps having ties to Jersey mob types) is death, even if they aren't betting on their own sport, because of the possiblities for fixing games. If games are fixed, the sport is in deep trouble. Witness figure skating at the Olympics, or back to the 1919 World Series. Wayne was quoted saying he knew nothing about any gambling ring, but then reports came out of a tapped conversation he had with Tocchet where he wanted to make sure his wife wouldn't be implicated in anything. Oops. The most recent reports do support Wayne though, since the timing suggests that the conversation with Tocchet occured after he was informed by New Jersey police. So it looks like he's clear, but the distraction does not bode well for our fine lads in Torino.

Let us pray

Off IRC's greatest hits:

Our Father, who 0wnz heaven, j00 r0ck!
May all 0ur base someday be belong to you!
May j00 0wn earth just like j00 0wn heaven.
Give us this day our warez, mp3z, and pr0n through a phat pipe.
And cut us some slack when we act like n00b lamerz, just as we teach n00bz when they act lame on us.
Please don't give us root access on some poor d00d'z box when we're too pissed off to think about what's right and wrong, and if you could keep the fbi off our backs, we'd appreciate it.
For j00 0wn r00t on all our b0x3s 4ever and ever, 4m3n.

Man Report Card Week

Valentine's Day: The Super Bowl of Holidays (it's not so much the day, but the buildup that kills you) or The Annual Male Report Card (male test scores result in three choices for females: abort/retry/fail)?

Whilst at work last night, the topic of Valentine's Day came up. As is the case with most topics of conversation, it arose in the course of mocking a fellow employee. Both of us expressed the requisite disdain for the holiday (what's the point of celebrating the firing of Bobby Valentine? He brought the Mets to the World Series!), my reasons being the Sentiment at the Barrel of a Gun marketing style. There's still six more days of listening to endless "my boyfriend is going to do such wonderful/shitty things for me" diatribes, so with less than a week remaining, here's a shout-out to all you "men" out there: get your playtime in now before you get grounded.

Exciting news!

Don't worry everyone! It's going to be okay! This goddamm planet full of hippies really isn't that bad after all! Why you ask? We're only two points out of first place again!


Some of you might know me as a fan of the Edmonton Oilers. Count yourselves as people who do not know me very well. To say that I have a mild interest in their fortunes would be like saying my boss and White Goodman have a slight resemblance. Only last week I was writing a complaint about how we'd be lucky to grab the last playoff spot, our season was falling apart, and the earth would soon collapse into itself while singing Bjork. Essentially, all that could go wrong was going wrong. But now we're sweet again, and hockey is the Greatest Sport Ever again after being relegated to Worst Sport Ever (for a full account on Sport Specific Irrational Emotional Response Syndrome, click here), and after we beat Vancouver for the fifth time in a row, all is chedder again. Tonight we play Colorado and a win will be MOST GOOD. A loss will make me haul out my bitch-and-complain post that's saved for just such occasions.