Wwhazz and I stayed up late last night, ordered a pizza, started a hangout (which no one attended!) and discovered that merely by searching on YouTube for the terms “royal rumble” that you can watch almost every one since 1998.
You should be aware that this ability exists.
Also: tonight is Wrestlemania WhateverTheyAreUpToNow, wwhazz and I wanted to ordered it, but I think his wife hit him with a ham leg when he got home last night. He’s likely still out.
Holy shit, Macho Man Randy Savage died. Had a heart attack behind the wheel and hit a tree. He will be remembered.
Today’s science lesson: the Wildcat Formation. I’ll be shamelessly using Wikipedia as my primary source for this paper; it’s the baddest source I ever saw (like Michael Jackson’s Bad or George Thorogood’s Bad to the Bone, not bad bad.)
The Wildcat Formation is a “variation on the single-wing formation,” used in high school and college football for years but currently showing well in the NFL as well. It is heralded most directly by a direct snap to the running back.
One reason that the formation is so effective is that
the rushing play is 11-on-11 (although different variations have the running back hand off or throw the football). In a standard football formation, when the quarterback stands watching, the offense operates 10-on-11 basis. The motion also presents the defense with an immediate threat to the outside that it must respect no matter what the offense decides to do with the football.
The Miami Dolphins have had considerable success using the Wildcat, and even teams that don’t run it themselves admit that they have to spend extra time preparing the defensive plan to counter.
Now onto other news… this piece of goddamned fucking nonsense has officially replaced Daniel Hinkel (he bought me a drink at the Karaoke Kid; not a bad fellow) in the pantheon of Stupid Shit Written for a College Newspaper (2009 Edition). So in the interest of being added to yet another Enemies List somewhere in a Langdon St. efficiency, I give you Motherfucking (I Am Not Kidding) Erin Kay Van Pay:
According to Dr. Michael Farken of California’s Santa Barbara Regional Psychiatric Hospital, “Peen-Face” is a temporary physical condition that comes to fruition upon photographing a subject without their knowledge. It has serious consequences for the reputation of the victim. Peen-Face occurs when the subject’s mouth is open so far wide and in such a manner that it appears that a “peen” has either just been inside the cavity or is about to penetrate it. As the number of pic and run incidents increases, the number of Peen-Face cases increase s proportionally. Victims are typically in the background of the photograph talking, eating or playing beer pong. Lewd comments almost always follow the posting of pictures that contain this ailment.
Texas A&M freshman Sam D., 18, was shocked to find that moments after his buddy tagged a picture of him at a house party in which he had moderate Peen-Face, seven comments from three friends were posted accusing Sam of homosexuality. “My friends now think I’m gay. I was on the phone when [the picture] was taken… with my girlfriend.” Adds Sam, “Peen-Face has ruined my relationship and my life.”
Daily Cardinal: if that is supposed to be an attempt at humor, then you have failed spectacularly. You now have XPAC Heat. I hate writing GET-OFF-MY-LAWN opinions about college idiots, but when you write something so spectacularly stupid that it will probably used as a punchline in the next Funny/Stupid/Epic/Action Movie in the franchise (punctuated by someone’s dick getting exposed/hit/falling off or a fart that blow dries someone’s hair/smells/causes an explosion) it stimulates my Old Man Ganglia and I start shaking my fist at no one in particular. Stop. Just stop. Please.
Francisco Cordero came into the Brewers/Reds game last night to save the game and was roundly booed by those in attendance. Wwhazz and I thought it may have been better if Dusty Rhodes Baker was walking to the clubhouse earlier in the day and found CoCo knocked out under a cart of hot dogs buns. Milwaukee Brewers GM Doug Melvin would have to organize a game-long search for the culprit, and Bud Selig would declare that the Reds would field a Mystery Closer of his choosing. At the bottom of the ninth, huge fountains of flame would erupt from each of the four bases and ~~BY GAWD~~ THE BIG RED MONSTER KANE would saunter out of the bullpen. He would throw six straight strikes, then Pete Rose would run onto the field and get a tombstone piledriver. Sadly, it would still result in a Brewers loss.
We’re gonna have an old-fashioned, midwest/west coast rivalry here on wm.com (wrestlemania.com?). Wrestlemania ex-ex-eye-vee starts at 6pm Central (4pm Pacific). The free Battle Royal starts at 5:30pm Central (3:30pm Pacific). The Midwest Regional is at Moneypenny’s place in Madison. The West Coast Regional is either at GMX’s place, or at some Swedish Chef’s house.
- Everyone makes a prediction as to the outcome of the match.
- Your pick must be in stone before the opening bell rings.
- If your pick is not in by the opening bell, drink a penalty beer or shot.
- If your pick does not win, Stone Cold a beer or do a shot.
- There must be a pinfall or submission (or knockout, I suppose). If the finish is a DQ, no contest, or if Doink the Clown ruins the match the bet for that match is off.
- Side bets are allowed and encouraged.
- You can choose to double or nothing any bets for the purposes of tomorrow’s Opening Day matchup between the Brewers and Cubs at Wrigley (ugh) Field.
- Post results, side bets, etc. to whazzmaster.com
- Flair chops on the scientist are always welcome.
Gentlemen, start your engines…
Attention, Brewers Fans, you can download a Calendar application-importable file with all the scheduled Brewers games from this page. It also has instructions on how to add it to Microsoft Outlook. Thank you for being vaguely aware that people have computers, MLB. Now, please fix the fucking asinine rules about viewing games online.
This week is Semi-Annual Engineering Interview week at the University of Wisconsin, so I’ll be doing my usual spiel to attract Computer Science and ECE/CS double majors to come work for Intuit. As always, I look forward to my homeboys from California flying into town for food and booze and fun. This weekend is the Ice Fishing Extravadanza, and next week spacebee and I are flying down the Arizona for a (hopefully) warm vacation. Considering this morning was a weird mix of freezing rain and sleet, it will be a welcome change of pace.
On Saturday lawman and I split a bottle of scotch and hooted and holllllared at the TV. The Brock Lesnar fight was a bit disappointing, but dude had it coming. The whole fight involved him putting himself in extremely risky situations. I figured Mir came close to arm-barring him half a dozen times before he got a hold of the ankle. Also, you have to admit that Lesnar tapping to the heel-hook anklelock with Kurt Angle in the audience was hilariously appropriate. As a matter of fact, I can’t even remember how the main event ended. Man, that was a lot of scotch.
All I have to say about the Super Bowl is that the 4th quarter made up for the fact that the previous 3 quarters were some of the most boring football ever. Also, I hate all sports teams (and their fans) from Boston/New England. Haha, jerks.
The disappointment was palpable at The 4th Base, where wwhazz, bellygirl, spacebee, timmer, and I watched the Packers fumble away Brett Favre’s chances for glory on a cold and snowy evening in Green Bay. The day wasn’t for naught, we still had a goddamned helluva time celebrating the Old Man’s new career high in “Years Lived,” but a Packers Super Bowl would have been the cherry on top of a whipped cream-covered tit.
The game itself was sad, but we had a ball at The $th Base (dollar sign intended). Free jello shots when the Packers scored, fucking delicious food, lots of booze, and did I mention the goddamned delicious tilapia (twas good, not Bad)? Chocolate cake at the hotel room, and then off to the Magical Wonderland of The Landmark, where we played pinball, air hockey, some alien shooting game, and DANCE DANCE REVOLUTION. We Rascal’d it up for awhile, and then finished off at Vitucci’s (site of my sister’s birthday festivities as well.) We had a Pizza Shuttle Party. Timmer chugged like five $1 Mike’s Hard Iced Teas before we left Vitucci’s and I found him out back of JoCats pukin’ em up seven minutes later. Haha.
So next weekend is the Royal Rumble; who’s in? The week after is the UFC with Brock Lesnar, followed by the Super Bowl. Lot’s of Weekend Cheddah coming your way, whazzmaster.com. Hope you’re ready, guys.
Friday night maddddddddd and rach-o arrived with Quince in tow. Sadly, Quince couldn’t stay at my place by hisself, but lawman and rumthumb stepped into the breach and offered a dog hotel at their place. After a ‘getting-to-know-you’ session between Quince and Phineas, we all went up to Old Fashioned (for the first time of the weekend) and had some drinks and tasty treats. We got the incredibly good idea to head down to the Karaoke Kid and croon away, but upon arrival we found a line (!) and an hour-long wait to get a song in. Funny travel diary entry: we walked through Conklin Place to get to the Karoke Kid, and lawman told an interesting story about the summer that three weed plants showed up in the next door neighbor’s yard. And how they were gone immediately after that. We decided to finish out our sentence at The Gentlemen’s Playground, where we played some pool before retiring early.
Saturday morn my sister and her friend came up, and we hit Scubby’s tailgate at around 10am. A quick brat cook-up and several High Life’s later we were on our way to the Wisconsin/Buffalo game. Afterwards we hit the Stadium, which I hate, and looked for an hour for madddddddddddddd. After freezing my ass off for a while we retreated to the 72° comfort of my place and ordered Jade Garden for din-din.
Everyone fell asleep.
Upon waking up, madddddddd went and picked up Quince, we ate, and then sister and friend headed out to the bars. We spent the rest of the evening drinking and watching Will Ferrell. That Will Ferrell, he’s Teh Funny.
Sunday morning was a feast of epic proportions: scrambled eggs, hash browns with peppers and onions, bacon, sausage, bagels, toast, blueberry kringle, coffee, bloody mary’s, apple cider, apple juice, and orange juice. Holy shit I was full. Everyone left for home and I hooked up with Scubby to head down to peterstiffly’s place to watch the Packers game. Holy shit the Packers dropped a load in that game. The plus was that the day was filled with nostalgia. Scubby had to go work for awhile so peterstiffly and I headed down to the Kohl Center to watch the Badgers beat the holy hell out of Southern. They beat them by about 50 points. Then we met with Scubby again and all three went to the Old Fashioned for dinner (second time this weekend). Finally, we rounded out the night by watching Best of RAW Vol. 1 & 2 on DVD. Holy shit, when Austin assaulted Vince in the hospital and shocked him with the paddles we almost lost it. Hopefully we can get together regularly and do a Classic Wrestling DVD Nite. I’m excited.
Memoranda One: Apparently Michael “Kramer” Richards went buck-wild nuts and just started screaming ‘nigger’ at a comedy club in LA on Friday night. Jesus. What the hell brought that on? I’m reading conflicting accounts that suggest it was some Andy Kaufman-type shit. Uh, yeah dude, not funny. And I know it’s not supposed to be funny if that’s what it was, but even so: uh, not funny.
Memoranda Two: I’m watching He’s a Bully, Charlie Brown right now and oh man it’s bad. Top to bottom: the music, the voices, the plot. Charlie Brown specials were never the greatest entertainment in the world; believe me, I ain’t gonna go down that road. But this sucks at a remarkable level. Hence, my remarks: “it sucks.”
Finally: I’ll probably go see some movies this week. I’ll be in Racilla W/Skrilla Thursday through Sunday, and I think I’ll take in some picture shows. I kinda want to see the new Bond and the Tenacious D movie. Not sure about Borat, I think I’ll just wait for it.
For the first time in my young adult life I left the warm embrace of the United States of America. I left it to go to Tijuana, and for what? Luch libre wrestling masks. Some may ask about the wisdom of the trade, but not those who long ago turned for tequila at mere pennies on the dollar. You, my friends, you turned for far less than 30 pieces of silver. You did it for a glimpse at what Alejandro told you was “the best pussy in tee-jay.” It was fun enough, until I realized I had been trapped by “dos para uno” and it was growing dark. I then strolled back across the border with a bag of 14 lucha masks and an upset tummy. What was I greeted with on the train ride? A retarded man threw a Mounds bar at me and then expected me to give him $1 in return. First of all, I fucking hate Mounds bars. Need I remind you: Almond Joy has nuts, Mounds DON’T. Instead, Mounds have coconut out the ass. Gross.
It was good to see Steven E. again. Aw shucks, when isn’t it good to see that kid. On Saturday night we had a rousing game of Lucha Poker until I passed out on the table, snoring blissfully away on clouds made out of tequila and the best pussy in tijuana. Somewhere in there I must have smoked my cigar cuz I woke up in the morning tasting like ungodly hell.
Sunday wwhazz, maddddddddddddddddd, and I had an adventure down at Ocean Beach (motto: Our Weed Dealers Have No Shame) where we looked in tide pools and tried to catch crabs, lobsters, and zebra mussels. Also, for the record I had a delicious (read: “bangin'”) breakfast burrito. We got home in time for SummerSlam and I’m not gonna lie to you whazzmaster: it blew goats. I hadn’t watched wrestling for a long, long time and now I’m perfectly fucking glad. Vince can join the Kiss My Ass club if he thinks he’s getting my money again any time soon. Ring of Honor, baby, Ring. Of. Honor. The good thing was that the shitty PPV was over at 8pm West Coast~! time so we dressed up in our Sunday Finest lucha masks and hit the pool. No, not the small pool, the big one. We weren’t allowed in the hot tub cuz the cool kids called us emo and told us to go sit in the non-hot tub pool. We told them we didn’t want their dumb hot tub anyways, then bellygirl tried to break my trachea. She almost succeeded if not for my “go limp and pretend to drown” strategy. Then she took my lucha mask off and whipped it into the darkness. Oh yeah, belly? Stacy sez you try that agin and she breaks your knee — FIGURE FOUR LEGLOCK.
Sorry I couldn’t stay up too late, guys. Keep in mind that I was expected to return to San Jose and program computers all day, and I can’t do that with a massive hangover. Free sushi lunch was good, though. Tomorrow I should be back in command with some pep in my step. Lookin’ forward to the September trip home to Madison (boom! APARTMENT HUNTING COMMENCE!) and holyshitijustrealizedKVRsgonnabethere! Nice. Nice.
Thanks again for the great weekend you San Dog Krew. HOLLLARIT! HULLABIT? HOLLLARIT!