Friday, December 29, 2006

I'm Riiiiiiiiiiiich, biiiiiiii-



There's a new Barry in San Francisco these days, and he doesn't have a gigantic 'roid-head, a propensity to piss off just about everyone he comes in contact with, or a federal agency trying to land him in jail. Nope. This Barry surfs, plays the guit-box, masturbates to Jack Johnson CDs, and beholds a nasty 12-to-6 curve. Welcome to the better, less ghetto half of the Bay Area, Mr. Zito.

As you admire the view from Pac-Bell .... uh, I mean, whatever this stadium is called these days, let me just slip this piece of paper into your back pocket. What is it, you ask? Oh, nothing. Just a little check for ONE-HUNDRED and TWENTY-SIX MILLION FUCKING DOLLARS.

Sure, owners and GM's have spent most of this offseason liquored up and engaged in one of their favorite holiday pastimes--throwing enormous sums of money and long, ill-conceived, guaranteed contracts to unproven, mediocre players (e.g. Gary Matthews, Jr., Gil Meche, Alfonso Soriano--not that he's unproven, but 8 years for this guy? Are you serious?)--but 7 guaranteed years for a pitcher? $126 mil for a #2 starter? I just don't get it. This has Mike Hampton written all over it.

I really wanted Zito on the Mets next year; I wanted him on the Mets for the next 4-5 years. But our resident savior, Omar Minaya, rightly displayed fiscal restraint and passed on giving Zito the 8th guaranteed year that would have been necessary to bring him to New York.

San Francisco baseball Giants, you can have your baked Zito and eat it, too (hey-oh!).

I have nothing more to say about this, for it has totally boggled the fuck out of my mind. But there's at least one guy out there who yanked it immediately after hearing about this signing: one Carlos Zambrano. The hot-headed Cub becomes a free-agent after the 2007 season, and since he's 3 years younger than Zito, a flame-throwing bona fide ace, he should be able to bank on a modest 12 year $270 million contract. Yes, please.

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Hey youse, have a great New Year. Catarina and I are off to tropical Chicago for a little of the Nochalotapus and a side of Umphrey's McGee. A full report will follow upon my return.

Peace, brosephs.

Tuesday, December 26, 2006

Wolfmother

In all honesty, I really want to someday be stranded on a deserted island. Not a "desert" island, mind you, because that would totally suck, considering there'd be no trees, animals, caves, fruit or the potential for scantily-clad island chicks with coconut bikinis. A "deserted" island, one devoid of any semblance of organized society, would be pretty tight; and I'm sure if I landed on or was exiled to such an island, there would be a CD player and either an ample supply of batteries or an outlet. This would enable me to have the oft sought-after "deserted island music experience"--I'm guessing I'd be able to bring the music of 5 artists, but if I was sent away in exile I might only be permitted two. Only two? I know, a total gasp, right? How could one choose?

From my perspective it's pretty easy. Over my 26 years on this earth, I've come across two bands that, as the kidz say, "own my face" more than any other: the Phish and Led Zeppelin. For my money it doesn't get any better than this, and I would have absolutely no problem whatsoever living out the rest of my days on some tropical island where I could eat raw fish, swim, chill on the beach, develop my theories regarding the nascent legal field of cave law, and listen to sick tunes from those two bands all freakin' day.

Granted, it sucks major scrotum that both these bands have called it quits and are no longer churning out face-melting and ass-kicking music. But left in the wake of the demise of Zepp and Phish are a crop of young face-melters, bringing an energy and intenstiy to their music that would make their musical "parents" proud.

While I have found more bands cast in the mold of Phish that occupy my ears as of late (Tea Leaf Green, Raq, Umphrey's McGee), I am constantly on the lookout for bands whose sound, like the masters of nordic-goth-metal-rock themselves, rapes, pillages and otherwise obliterates everything in its path. To me, the music of Led Zeppelin is like a roving gang of vikings, sweeping through villages on immense riffs; crushing buildings with colossal and destructive drums; seizing and boning your women with the help of screeching vocals, really tight jeans and a bulging crotch; and then, when it seems that there is nothing left to do but pull a General Sherman and burn that bitch to the ground, as the unstoppable force leaves town, they drink all your JD. Fuckers.

Until this past weekend I had found but one band that played no-nonesense, balls-to-the-wall, Zepp-esque music: Rose Hill Drive. If you haven't heard these dudes, you have no choice but to start listening ... now! (Go here to get your listen on)

This weekend I was fortunate enough to be reading glidemagazine.com's Top 20 albums of 2006 and decided that "Wolfmother" sounded like an awesome and potentially skull-owning band, so I legally "happened" upon their album and was blown away. At the risk of pulling another of my famous "White Stripes" episodes (I had never heard of the White Stripes until 4 months ago. After hearing them and being pretty impressed, I thought I'd let a few of my closest confidants in on this great "new" band I'd just stumbled upon. As it turns out, I think I was the only person on the face of the earth not to have heard of the White Stripes by summer '06. Evidently I need to get out of my cave more often), if you've never heard of Wolfmother, get on that shit ASAP. If my telling youse to listen to this great new band Wolfmother is like saying "you should really check out this new band The Rolling Stones," then you can lick my grundle. Either way, just fucking listen.

In keeping with my policy of no album reviews, I'll just say that they're definitely a viking power trio, and listening to them on Christmas eve night left my brain raped and pillaged, which is just the way St. Nick likes it.

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On to football.

Christ. I don't think I've ever seen a professional football team play as poorly as the Gmen did this weekend. That was scary bad. I'm not even going to rant and fume about how I'm tired of Tiki and Shockey, how Coughlin and his band of merry retards needs to go, and how Eli just stinks. Well, there you go, I just did.

The 4:00 game in the tri-state area was Cincinnati at Denver ... in the fucking snow. Booyah! Does it get any better than Christmas Eve, egg-nog w/ rum, a dank cheese h'orderve prepared by Mama Prukaz, and playoff atmosphere football in the snow? Nope. Damn, this game had it all: huge hits, a sick int from the only shutdown corner left in the NFL, an awesome late-game drive by probably the best young QB in the league, one of the classic blunders in all of sports and, oh yeah, snow. Man, if I was a Broncos fan I'd have an enormous boner for Jay Cutler; that kid's gonna be the shit.

As for the Jets/Fins game, well, that was maybe the most boring game of football I've ever seen. I guess I have to give credit where it's due, so kudos to the Jets for likely vaulting themselves into the playoffs. But I don't think there has been a more boring successful team than this year's Jets; it's like watching a bunch a' guys in green running through molasses. And if I was a receiver for the Jets, I'd kick Chad Sexington's ass--there's not a QB in this league who leaves his WRs more vulnerable to getting anniahlated by defensive backs than the Rhodes scholar. Get some mustard on that ball, Chad.

Oh, and let's all give a round of applause to the winner of AndyWon'tYouBrownBagMe II fantasy football: The Gambler. His Madden Curse squadron led by the real Manning and junk-food eatin' Marvin Harrison defeated Crablefarts' Steel Enima for the league title. Enjoy that loot, Mr. Gambler. I guess I'll let you buy me a beer at Langerado.

Werd.

Thursday, December 21, 2006

Pro Football: We Know You're Awesome, but ...

It's pretty much a proven scientific fact that the NFL rocks. In terms of overall awesomeness, the NFL is so far ahead of the rest of the pack that neither the NBA nor NHL even registers a blip on the radar screen; and while I woudn't go so far as to say that major league baseball can't "hold a candle" to the NFL, if it does indeed have a candle in hand, it's really small, for the most part inherently unfair, pretty boring, and hidden from nearly everyone's view.

There you have it. The NFL is the undisputed king of the American sports jungle.

That being said, while I could go on and on about how the NFL kicks ass, December is national "complain about something that's actually the best shit ever" month, so I'll do my part as a god-fearing, terrorist-hating, immigrant-stomping American and bitch about what is all and good in this here land o' plenty: NFL football.

Without further Freddy Adoooooo, the top 5 things about the NFL that suck rhinocerous penis with hoison sauce (I have to credit everyone's favorite schizophrenic, head-butting pop star, Wesley Willis, for that one)

1) Tolerance for Domed Stadiums

There are a lot of 'there's nothing worse than's in life, but when speaking of football there is no doubt that domed stadiums are the worst thing that has ever happened to the NFL. People in Atlanta, New Orleans, St. Louis, Indianapolis, Minnesota and Detroit should be ashamed of themselves (but, you say, what about Arizona and Houston?--they have retractable domes, something that is indeed shameful, but as long as it's open when the game is played they're off the hook).

First, the warm-weather villains. In defense of their stadiums, supporters in Atlanta, New Orleans, Arizona and Houston invariably fall back on the "Little Girl" argument, which isn't actually an argument at all, but mere whining. When asked why these cities require domed stadiums, the response is always, "it's too hot in August and September. It would be too uncomfortbale to watch a game when it's 90 degrees and humid." Nice try, ladies. Yeah, it's hot as shit in the south and southwest during the dog-days, and I've done my fair share of perpetual sweating on the bayou, so I know what it's like. But guess what, a short drive from Atlanta puts you in Athens, GA, where those Bulldogs fight it between the hedges in an open-air stadium. You know what the average temperature in Athens is in September? 83 degrees. You know what the average temperature in Altanta is in September? That's right, Jim Cantore, 83 degrees. Sorry, Atlanta, you're a bunch of pussies.

About 45 minutes northwest of 'Nawlins is a little town called Baton Rouge. The LSU Tigers play football there in an open-air stadium in front of 90,000 cajuns every week. Average temp. in September in Baton Rouge? A balmy 87. In 'Nawlins? You guessed it, 87 f'n degrees. Arizona? Houston? Need I bust out the thermometer on your asses? I think you get the point.

The verdict: Warm-weather domes are for pussies.

Cold Weather Domes: if warm-weather domes could talk, they'd say, "man, you guys are pussies." Ouch. But if cold-weather domes could talk, the'd be sayin', "man, you guys are not only pussies, but you're stupid." Shit. If Giants Stadium ever talked to me like that, I'd kick it in the nutz. Those cold-weather domes are right, though.

Let's start with the biggest culprit of all, Minnesota, a team that used to play outdoors at Metropolitan Stadium. Seriously, Minnesota, what were you thinking? Hmm, let's see, we play a physical game that requires extreme mental toughness in one of the coldest climates on earth. How can we flush away any advantage we have over our competition? I know, let's play in-doors in a fucking vaccum. I mean, we wouldn't want to have teams be uncomfortable when they come to Minneapolis, right? Instead of having an intense, wintercoat-clad fanbase, chugging cans of beast-ice around trash-can fires in the parking lot, rallying together in the sub-freezing temperatures on frigid December nights, let's have a relaxed short-sleaved bunch a' douchebags that like to dress up in the stupidest outfits possible (i mean, what is it about the fans of teams that play in domes that they feel required to wear retarded wigs and mardi gras beads?).

Shit, Minnesota, you really f'd this one up. Since 1992 the Packers are 40-4 at home when the game-time temperature is below 34 degrees. Translation: when it's cold, you fucking win.

Detroit, Indy and St. Louis: The same thing goes for these jokesters. Yeah, I know, the Colts offense is really tough on that "fast track"; the Rams' "greatest show on turf" was essentially unstoppable; the Lions are .... whatever. The fact remains that football is a game of toughness, and that means playing the game when there's rain, snow, sleet, hail, wind, sun, clowds.

Detroit, even though you're team sucks, if you had any prospect of being anywhere in the vicinity of decent, you'd be tough at home in December if you played outside.

St. Louis, you're just lazy.

Indy, if you played outside, maybe Peyton would have learned how to not shit himself when it's not 72 with absolutley no wind in Foxboro in January.

The verdict: cold-weather domes are for pussies (obvioiusly), and they're just plain stupid.

Remember that Bears/Eagles playoff game at Soldier field back in the '80's with the crazy fog? Not possible with a dome. Patriots/Raiders blizzard in January of '02? Not possible.

2) The QB Baseball Slide

"Roughing the Passer" is kind of a weak concept. I understand that we need some penalty that deters huge D-linemen/linebackers from killing our coveted defenseless, innocent, probably-smart, puny, immobile white QB's. Fine. That's not, as they say, where the beef lies.

I take issue with the NFL's treatment of QB's after the QB has left the pocket--when those slow-ass white boyz are on the run. Let's look at a rather common occurrence: QB drops back to pass, can't find anyone to throw to, feels the pass rush, steps up in the pocket, still can't find anyone open, decides to run, scampers a few yards down field, sees a menacing defender closing in for the kill, craps himself, then decides to slide feet first baseball-style, thus avoiding the wrath of the oncoming defender.

That, my friends, is the epitome of lame. But why do we let our precious QB's avoid a hit by sliding feet first? Well, they're Qb's, right? They can't possibly withstand a good, clean, hard tackle; they're not like RB's or WR's who know how to brace for impact; they grew up playing QB, wearing the coveted red jersey during practice, never getting hit .... ever; their bones would shatter instantly; it'd be Joe Theisman after Joe Theisman after Joe Theisman ...

Enough, NFL. Your rationale is bunk and you know it. Once the QB passes the line of scrimmage he can't throw the ball, right? If he can't throw the ball, then he's no longer a QB--he's just like everyone else. And what happens to everyone else? They get hit, sometimes even hard. So here's the deal. Once the QB leaves the pocket, you can hit the shit out of him, just like any other player. And if these bitch QB's can't handle getting hit, then maybe they just shouldn't run.

In a nut-sack: just stop treating QB's like they're vaginas made out of porcelain. If they can't take the punishment, stay in the fucking pocket.

3) Turf

Just like football is meant to be played outside in the elements, it's supposed to be played on grass--real f'n grass. And while we've come a long way from the days of concrete-like astro-turf, all this new bullshit does is prevent ACL's, which is good. But there's another way to prevent ACL injuries, just play on real fucking grass. I know it's more expensive than the fake shit, and I know that the NFL is a business, but football involves tackling, and tackling involves getting hit to the ground where it's dirty.

At the end of a game football players should be covered in dirt and blood and all look like this.

4) The Fox Robots

Fox began airing NFL games in 1994. At some point between 1994 and the present, Fox decided that it would introduce the NFL game it aired with a bunch of futuristic robots playing a game of ridiculously violent, high-intensity football (which, I might add, was played in a dome). This never really made any sense to me, but it must be somewhat popular because Fox still uses these silly robots for just about everything.

Here's my problem: when Fox comes back from a commercial and they show a live-action picture of something happening on the field--in the stands, or the blimp-view of the whole stadium--and Joe Buck is telling me that this broadcast is brought to me by a bunch a bullshit, the stupid robot is in the corner of the screen jumping and stretching, ostensibly getting loose for entry into a full-contact robot football game.

Now, I'm well aware that the robot is not real, nor is any robot football game this droid may consider joining. But that doesn't change the fact that if this robot was preparing to enter a game, it wouldn't need to stretch before doing so. Plain and simple, robots don't need to stretch in order to do anything. Machines are made of non-malleable metals and wires, not muscle-tissue that contracts and expands with use. A robot does not cramp up or pull a muscle if it gets up off the bench and runs onto the field--robots, like cars, are ready to go right off the assembly line.

So, Fox robot, you can pantomime stretching all you want, but you're not fooling anyone. And if I'm the NFL, I'm telling Fox to can the whole robot schtick, unless, of course, they use the T100.

5) Matt Millen

Jeez, Matt, you stink.

Before the Lions hired Millen in 2001 to be the organization's CEO and General Manager, Millen had a grand total of zero years of front-office experience. Nice move. The year before Millen took over (the 2000 season), the Lions went 9-7 and missed the playoffs for the 7th time out of 10 seasons. Hmm, missing the playoffs 7 out of 10 seasons is pretty bad, but you know what's worse? Since Millen took over, the Lions have gone 23-72, worst in the NFL over that 5-plus year stretch.

Let's check out the moves Millen's made:

Draft Picks:

2002: Joey Harrington (#3 overall), who is now on the Dolphins. Players they could have selected include safeties Roy Williams and Ed Reed, and DE Dwight Freeny. Harrington's okay, though, since they needed a QB. Note that at the conclusion of the 2002 season the Lions ranked 31 in overall defense.

2003: Hey, Matt, we need defense, right? Wrong. Fuck that, we're picking Charles Rogers (WR from Michigan State) with the #2 overall pick. Where's Rogers now? Out of football. Sweet. Let's take a look at some of the players they could have had: Andre Johson, Terrence Newman, Troy Polomalu and Larry Johnson.

2004: You know what's worse than finishing 31st in overall defense in a 32 team league? Yep, finishing DEAD LAST. That's what the Lions did in 2003. Who needs defense when you've got studs like Joey Harrington and Charles Rogers out there. Again, fuck defense and we'll pick Roy Williams (WR Texas) with the 7th overall pick. Honestly, Williams is a stud. Nice work, Millen. But wait, we've got another first round pick! Shoudln't we really consider going with defense? Fuck you, you're fired. We're picking RB from Virginia Tech, Kevin Jones. Sure, KJ had a sick 2006 campaign ... from a fantasy standpoint. Let's see who the Lions could have picked: D'Angelo Williams, Jonathon Vilma, Tommie Harris, Chris Gamble .... brilliant.

2005: Well, the defensive gods do shine on Detroit because the Lions jumped 10 spots to finish the 2004 season with the 22 ranked defense in the league. Not bad, Matt, but with our #10 overall pick we should definitely go defense, right? Fuck you, your fired. Can't you see my huge hard-on for unproductive WR's? Let's go with Mike Williams (WR from USC), it's not like there's anyone good left in the draft who could play defense. Oh boy. Matt, I hate to break it to you, but the two picks right after you selected Williams were DeMarcus Ware and Shaun Merriman. That's cool, though.

2006: I'm guessing Millen wasn't present on draft-day, since the Lions went with Ernie Simms (OLB from FSU).

Coaching Decisions:

In 2001, Millen hired Marty Mornhinweg, who had never even held a coordinator position. Genius. In two years under Mornhinweg's leadership, the Lions went 5-27. 'Nuff said.

I'm sure Millen's a good guy and he sure as hell was a sick middle linebacker (he won 3 superbowls), but Roger Goodell's got to get Millen the F out of Detroit 'cuz he fuckin' sucks

Evidently I'm not the only one who thinks Millen stinks. It appears some Lions fans are trying to get people to walk out of this Sunday's home game against Chicago. Good luck with all that.

Snoogins.

Hiatus Is Over

As I predicted on December 7, it was indeed a fortnight before another post found its way to this here pinko-commie rag. 14 days, to be exact, which is the definition of a "fortnight," so .... yeah.

My only hope is that this post-hiatus period doesn't proceed ike Phish's ... you know, described as sloppy, unspirited, predictable; and god forbid if anyone comments that this rag has "jumped the shark" or "run its course." On the bright side, however, if events do transpire in the manner just described, at least I have a DWI and a possession of controlled substances charge to look forward to. So I've got that going for me, which is nice.

Incidentally, as I write this I'm devouring my second kruller from Dunkin' Donuts. While past readers of this site (all three of you) may have surmised that I am what the French call a "cheeseophile," I'm also a sucker for fried dough and coffee. In addition to praising the quality of their fine donuts, the people at this particular Dunkin' Donuts get extra accolades for what I am about to describe. Is there anything worse in life than getting rung up at a store for something that costs $2.01, realizing you have no pennies because you have an irrational fear of them, handing over three singles, and then getting $0.99 in return? Is there? I don't think so.

Loose changee should be outlawed, mainly because it's dumb and small, and also because I never remember and am too scared to bring any of it with me. So, after ringing me up for $2.01 for my coffee, I started to hand over my remaining three singles, thinking I'd come away from this transaction with nothng but a pocket full a' worthless, disgusting change (4 of which would be pennies). But alas, the kind Dn'D lady waived off the thrid single and sent me on my way with a steamin' cup of joe and no pennies.

That, my friends, is how to start off a sick post-hiatus run.

It's recently come to my attention, though, that the pholks over at urbandictionary.com have chosen to define the term "cheeseophile" as: someone who engages in sexual activity with dairy products, in particular cheese. Okay, okay ... I know what you're thinking. Because I talk about cheese a lot and my first name is "Steppenwolf," I'm as prime a candidate as there is to be one of those guys who forces his bird into a wedge of brie over and over again, or takes his semi-melted sticks of butter like a suppository.

But no, the kind people at urbandictionary are clearly only out for quick, cheap laughs, something that we here at CYA (that's the dumbest shortened name for a publication that I've ever heard) find despicable and offensive. While Urbandictionary has chosen to use "pedophile" as it's root-word, I'm going to take, as Jacque Vaughn said prior to snubbing the NBA and its millions for his senior season at Kansas, "the road less travelled" and rise above an endorsement of child molestation. If you break down "cheeseophile," you have "cheese" and "phile," and as we all know "phile" is merely a fancy-boy way of saying "lover of," or "enthusiast." So there you have it. I do not enjoy having relations with dairy products, and I would never think of, ahem, "entering" brie without its consent (actually, if I was going to have non-consensual intercourse with a piece of cheese, It'd probably be with that harlot, brie). The point here is that I'm a cheese-enthusiast. Enough.

Sit tight, sports will follow.

Thursday, December 7, 2006

Jeez, I'm sorry, okay?

In my pretend world, the one that cards me at the door before sleep and kicks me out on my ass upon waking, people actually read this here site. I worry about these pretend readers, mainly because I haven't posted anything since the first of the month and they're probably bored and pissed. For this I apologize.

I have a good excuse, though. Twice a year, for roughly two to three weeks at a time, I adopt a persona so wicked and vile that it could be attributed to only one source--law school. In order to gradumatate next spring, I have to pass these bullshit classes, and to do that, I have to get my study on. So, for about a fortnight posts will be minimal, and when they do arrive, like this one they will suck ballz.

Here's some stuff that must be said:

1) Here in the center of the universe those who control the weather have decided to make it really cold overnight and then possibly snow tomorrow. As we all know, snow is generally the shit. And while there are a multitude of reasons why snow rocks, at the top of the list (and with no apparent challengers) is football in the snow. Fuck yeah. So, if and when I rule the world, my first order of business will be a short decree mandating that during the NFL season, if it's going to snow in any city that would host a football game that week, the game must be played on the day in which it snows. So, tomorrow would feature the Bills at Jets across the mighty Hudson in the dirty-dirty. Sick.


2) As much as the "children should be neither seen nor heard" idea is kinda cool, it's pretty tough to pull off. That being said, kids under the age of 18 shouldn't be allowed to ride mass-transit in major cities. They're annoying as hell and I generally want to fight them all when I ride the subway. If I acted on my instincts, I'd go to jail, which wouldn't be good at this point in my life. So, kidz, let's all come together and keep my ass out of jail; just shut up and walk home from school.

3) Chap-stick is necessary but lame. In the winter months, the wind and cold make my lips all chapped and shit, and that sucks. The only remedy that makes sense is to use chap-stick, but it feels all weird on my lips and I feel like a complete douche when I put it on. So .... yeah.

4) I don't particularly like album reviews, mainly because they don't relay any information that you couldn't get by just listening to the album yourself. The album review is fundamentally different than the live-show review in that the live-show review involves a reaction to a musical performance that could never be duplicated ... it's a review of an experience. The album review, on the other hand, is nothing more than one dumbass's take on something that never changes. If you want to know if an album's good, just sit down and listen to it yourself. Sheesh. With that, I give you my first album review.

I listened to The New Pornographer's latest release, "Twin Cinema." There was a time in my life where my attitude towards all things "hipster" was total condescension. While I still think that tight jeans, ironic tee-shirts, horn-rimmed glasses, wacky hair, mesh hats and cans of old-school beer are stupid, I'm not a a complete dick toward the "hipster" scene anymore. Anyway, "Twin Cinema" is pretty "indie," which I'm not that big a fan of, but it's alright.

The verdict: sit down and listen to it yourself.

That's it for now. If over the next two weeks you're looking to procrastinate or just read some shit, check out my man Ace's blog--it's a good read, updated daily, and loaded with links, music, news and other crap that's interesting, funny, bizarre, and awesome.

Werd, kidz.

Friday, December 1, 2006

Time Warner Cable Can Eat My Ass

By now, everyone is aware of the ongoing, incredibly childish, my-dick-is-bigger-than-your's feud between the NFL Network and many cable providers around this here great nation. Since I live in center of the universe, the only provider I give a shit about is the nefarious monopoly known as Time Warner Cable. These ass-mongrels have decided to play hard-ball with the crotch-pheasants over at the NFL Network, the net result being that us NFL enthusiasts are left with our flacid cycloptic snakes flapping in the cold rain and snow (and wind, I guess).

Evidently, the NFL Network wants a cool $140 mil from TWC to air the network for all viewers, an offer the TWC execs responded to by pulling down their pantaloons, lifting their sacks, pointing to their grundles and mouthing the words "lick it." They immediately followed this charade by claiming that $140 mil was "crazy expensive," and that they would be forced to offer the network only as an addition to their "sports tier," which subscribers can get access to for an additional fee. The NFL Network said "go F yerself," and that's where we are today. No NFL Network for us TWC-ers, which means we, like Spalding, will get nothing and like it.

I don't know who's at fault and, frankly, I don't really care. TWC has a monopoly over tens of millions of cable-addicts and, thus, ass-loads of cash, and the NFL gets billions from networks to air their games. So, neither of these douche-nozzles can exactly say they aint' budgin' 'cuz they needs the lucraz. Fuckers.

So, I've decided to take a gander at the programming TWC has decided to shell out for and see what exactly we Manhattanites can watch instead of sweet, sweet NFL action 24-7.

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The first 11 channels are okay. There's the standard networks, TNT, Nickelodeon, TBS, those wacky and zaney "MY9" and the "CW11" channels, and CNN. TNT and TBS are must-haves, and while I don't watch Montel Williams, Reba, or WWF Smackdown, the former UPN and WB are fine with me.

Then we come to Lifetime (channel 12). If you like movies about attractive women who enact overly dramatic revenge on their husbands, who have either a) beat the shit out of them or b) cheated on them with some young floozie, then by all means have at it. But as we will see later, they've got a separate channel for that shit. What pisses me off about Lifetime is not so much that I'd never in a million years consider watching anything it airs (mainly b/c they insist on remaining on basic cable, thus losing out on millions of male viewers not unlike myself, who would tune in daily if there was nudity), but they carry essentially the same programs as the CW11 and My9 channels. Yeah, from 5 p.m. to 9 pm on Lifetime you can catch an hour of some show called "Still Standing," followed by an hour of "Reba," followed by another hour of "Still Standing," which is then followed by yet another hour of "Reba." Meanwhile, on My9 from 2 p.m. to 3 you can catch an hour of "Still Standing" and then from 4 p.m. to 5 you can see another hour of "Reba" on the CW11. I don't care how many women masturbate to the short-haired Reba McEntire, if your name ain't Jerry Seinfeld, we don't need to see 3 hours of your show, even if you're a red-haired strumpet and we could spend that time debating the merits of the seemingly elusive fire-crotch.

End result: Lifetime's got to go.

Next we come to MTV. It appears that if you're not up before 9, you can't see any music videos. Awesome. Without getting into the specifics of the individual shows (we'll save that for another post), the programs on this channel are preposterous. I don't want to watch someone get "made" into someone or something else; I don't want to see 15 year old sluts bitch and moan that arms-dealer daddy only spent $250,000 on their effing BIRTHDAY PARTY; and I don't care about some BMX biker and his tub-o'-lard bodyguard, who, evidently, goes swimming in BMX dude's pool wearing only socks and a jock strap. Nice.

Conclusion: fuck Mtv.

I generally have no issue with the series of home shopping channels, but, seriously, who the fuck buys this shit? Anyone who has the time to buy shit off the TV clearly has no job (and, likely, no money).

Then there's Spike TV. I don't understand this one. When "The National Network" (formerly "The Nashville Network") made a huge deal about changing its name to "Spike," they made it abundantly and annoyingly clear that it was going to be "television for men." Sooooo, that means it's going to be the male equivalent of Lifetime, right? After getting cheated on by his cunt of a wife, lawyer guy bends the hot, young paralegal (female, I hope) over his office desk? I'm game. But no, apparently "television for men" amounts to a barrage of "World's Most Amazing/Dangerous/Wildest Police Chases," hour upon hour of various "Star Trek"-type shows, "CSI," and the occassional Ultimate Fighting Championship, a concept that sounds good on paper, but in reality is mad boring. I'll take 24 hours of professional football over that bullshit any day.

TV Guide Channel. Fuck off. Everyone's got digital cable, so no need for the scrolling guide. If you dont have digital cable, you're stupid (like my parents) and don't deserve the NFL Network.

WE: this stands for "women's entertainment." Like my man David Spade used to say (way too often), I liked this one better the first time, when it was called "Lifetime." Hey, TWC, just fucking pick one.

But wait, just two channels up from "WE" is "Oxygen," yet another network for women; this one, though, is aimed at younger women. Actually, it seems to be aimed at fat women, since it appears to air nothing but Roseanne re-runs. Two was bad enough, TWC, you can't get away with three of these channels. Stop being a pussy and give me football.

Then there's the spanish-language channels. I speak un poquito espanol, but not enough to understand what's happening on these inane programs. The "variety shows" are almost beyond comprehension, and the soap operas all seem to have that dude with the bowl haircut and the red dots (couldn't find a pic). I guess people like these shows, but do we really need 3 of these networks? C'mon.
Channel 62 is "Lifetime Movie." So, let me get this straight, we need one channel for the daily "Reba"/"Still Standing" marathon and another for the wife-kills-cheating/abusive-husband movies? Okay, okay. Deep breaths. Serenity now.

When we get to the 100 channel mark, this is where stuff starts getting all crazy. Most of these channels are okay by me (Sleuth TV, Science channel, Military channel, Game Show network), but there happen to be four (4) more Discovery channels ("Times" "kids" "home" and "health")--just condense that shit already.

Speed Channel: this should only be offered in the South. If you want to watch cars making left turns, you can watch it on sundays on NBC. A better idea might be to just tape one race and watch it over and over again whilst crushing cans of Schlitz Ice.

Turning to channel 127 I become incredulous. I cannot (and will not) believe my eyes. You thought you could get away with it, didn't you, TWC execs? Are you that whipped by your wives (I'm assuming for purposes of this post that all execs at TWC are men. Could I be wrong?)? Or have you all had complete sex changes? Channel 127 is "Lifetime: Real Women." Jesus fucking christ. Enough already.


And there you have it. I've done my best Ron Jawarski in breaking down the film, and we've got 5 channels dedicated to bon-bon eating fem-slobs, one shameful attempt at "television for men," and a bunch a' crap that normal people can't possibly care about.

Well, the NFL Network may be greedy, but at least they're not brain damaged like TWC and Eli.

Have a good weekend, everyone. Only an hour and a half 'til "Reba." Nooice.