worth a shot ...

[the following is an actual email sent to my discussion leader]

Ms. Tillman,

Please don't misconstrue my tone as rude, abrasive, or challenging in any way. I come humbled, merely asking if I am actually getting a zero on last week's writing assignment because I posted an hour and a half late. I just looked at the gradebook, and after the missed assignment the week before, it'd be a bit devastating to have back to back zeros, despite me earning them. I could offer excuses, but that would just be pathetic (it's my job's fault, scout's honor). What if I fingerpainted you a "World's Greatest Graduate Assistant" banner to hang above your desk? Or I could crank out some more construction paper flowers with green pipe cleaner stems, like the ones I made my valentine?

After reading the syllabus, it just seems that I could've lied and said my internet wasn't working, printed it out and handed it in on Wednesday and gotten full credit. I fully understand that you have an obligation to teach me the error of my ways, but wouldn't "honesty is virtuous" be a much greater lesson for me to learn? Don't answer right away, but really spend some time to reflect on the impact you would be making on my life, and then visualize the envious eyes of your graduate peers as they stand facing your desk and sigh, defeated, while reading in bold, fingerpainted letters that it is indeed the one and only Kacy Tillman who reigns supreme over all others.

Brian Hall

justice, served with a side of humble pie

[author's note: the following story is true. the names have been changed to protect the guilty]

meet parrish.


parrish at parrish's 

parrish is the proprieter of parrish's bar and grill, located in the historic square in downtown oxford. he's a charismatic guy, and his bar is one of the few places in oxford where one can avoid the stench of old money and radical southern pride. gross.

meet the protagonists.


kelso and cheese, after a hard day's work 

on the left, we have kelso, world-reknowned for his cameo in a freshman blog post and his love for mahatma red beans and rice. on the right, there's matthew "cheese" mcchesney, most famous for his luck with the ladies and a pension for passing out in his computer chair at 2:30 in the afternoon. and then there's me (not pictured), armed with bourbon breath, an arsenal of passive-agressive insults and a canon powershot A85.

once a year, the entire town of oxford shuts down for a saturday and everyone enjoys the double decker festival, a music fest in the square. for the college student, double decker is an excuse to get publicly drunk and stumble around seeing everyone you know. minds of tomorrow, indeed.

so the three of us are out and about, amongst the masses, enjoying the gale force winds and overcast weather the day provided for us, and we decide that a refill is necessary. en route, cheese makes a pit stop at the local tobacco store to purchase a ten dollar cigar, and then its onward ...

now meet the antagonists.


the antagonists, playing it cool 

on the left, there's dude 1, decked out in cool-guy sunglasses and cowboy boots. on the right, there's dude 2, who, judging by the long sleeve shirt, apparently got the memo that it was going to be cold outside, but nonetheless decided that his legs must be exposed to the public.

on our way to the refill station, we take the alley that runs next to parrish's and notice a truck with a few kegs in it, undoubtedly being delivered to parrish's to help quell its patron's thirst for life. as we walk closer, dudes 1 and 2 come out of nowhere, each grab a side of the last keg waiting to be delivered, and they dart off, running as quickly as two dudes can whilst bearing a full keg.

initially, there was silence among the three of us, but it ultimately sets in: those bastards just stole a keg from parrish's. not the levee; not the burgundy room; but they just took a keg from parrish's. not on our watch.

as they scurry off to their car and deposit the keg, we casually walk after them, and as soon as they shut the tailgate to the dudemobile, cheese strolls over, stogie in mouth, and initiates a nice friendly conversation with them. freaked out, they simultaneously light up cigarettes and commence "play it cool" mode (pictured above). cheese talks to them for a minute, mere banter, saying nothing of what everyone there knows just happened. the whole time he's talking to these guys, i unsheathed my trusty canon powershot and took picture after incriminating picture of dude 1, dude 2, and the dudemobile, fully loaded with power windows, power seats, and a stolen keg in the trunk.


when you're a dude, you park where you want to 

after a full roll of evidence, kelso and i walk over:

cheese: "these are my friends, john and charles"
kelso: [without missing a beat] "call me chuck"
dude 2: "sup fellas. um, so listen ... we know you guys saw what went down and like ... is there a problem?"
me: "actually guys ... yeah, there is a problem"
cheese: [sternly] "parrish is a friend of ours. so we're gonna need that keg back"

defeated, dude 1 opens the back of the dudemobile, and silently hands over the keg, destroying all his oh-so-recent hopes of cute girls doing multiple keg stands and passing out in his bedroom. we grab the keg, exchange condolences with dudes 1 and 2, and start the victory walk back to parrish's. slowly. with a swagger.

as we approach, parrish and the keg delivery guy come running out of the alley with rage in their eyes, ready to bust heads, but quickly calm down when they see familiar faces beaming with confidence and sweat from carrying a keg. parrish, being the cool guy he is, offers us a few free rounds, and we spend the rest of the afternoon celebrating in the newly opened back half of our new favorite bar and grill. the free beers were nice, but the true spoils came from the glazed but joyful faces of the other intoxicated patrons; everything in its right place.

as for dudes 1 and 2, i deleted most of the pictures, or at least the really incriminating ones (closeups of their faces, license plate, etc.). for now, they roam free, and will hopefully heed this as a warning shot, fired over their bow of greed and petty theft.

and to all others, just know this: wherever there is wrong, wherever there is injustice, wherever a man's buzz is being threatened by the selfish acts of others, wherever there is crime ...

we'll be there.

scott rolen for pope!

first of all, i'm really excited that the catholic church is allowing the cardinals to elect the next pope. this is a very wise move, and i commend the church for such a great pick. it probably would've been safer to go with the world series winners, the boston red sox, but i'm glad that catholics saw through the hype.

now, since the cardinals are being given the sole resposibility of electing the new pope, i am hereby starting a campaign: scott rolen for pope! given his work ethic on the ball field, and his rbi's last season, i think he would make a fine pope.


this guy is so a pope 

lets look at the platform:

1) unfortunately, we just lost the most travelled pope of all time. but scott rolen is used to playing away games for months out of the year, and is no stranger to life and the road

2) the former pope was a strict traditionalist, who vehemently opposed women priests, as well as other liberal movements in the church. scott rolen is also a baseball traditionalist, who sprints to his position every inning exchange.

3) pope john paul II was an international icon. scott rolen has six gold gloves.

there you have it, an air-tight open-and-shut case for the new pope. so, to the people of st. louis, let your ball players know that electing the pope is an important decision, and remember: if god chose the pope, he would pick scott rolen.

rolen for pope! otherwise, you might wind up with this guy.

breakfast of tomorrow

every once in a while, when you least expect it, something magical happens, and it changes your life forever.

in the grocery store the other day, i was wondering down all the aisles, searching for deals, because thanks to the capitalist pigs at bancorp south and a brilliant change in the ole miss payroll calendar, i've been left with no money for groceries. so i'm aimlessy strolling through the store, upset at having no money, and there it was: a beacon of light from the heavens had descended upon the frosted flakes. i can't be certain, but i'm pretty sure i heard a chorus of angels somewhere in the distance.

what was so majestic, you ask? well, chill out, smelly, and i'll tell you, for these were no ordinary frosted flakes. nay, these frosted flakes were frosted flakes of the future, frosted flakes from another era, frosted flakes from a time of intergalactic warfare, star wars frosted flakes that included a free lightsabre spoon right there in the box!

[at this point in the post, the author would like to discuss how the spelling "light-saber", though widely accepted, is ultimately incorrect, because the swords of our day are not called "sabers", thus making the term lightsaber utter nonsense]

perhaps a few souls out there can't quite grasp the significance of a lightsabre spoon. i have provided visuals.

here's what breakfast used to look like. classic, but boring, and a bit hackneyed.


not bad, not bad 

and here's the breakfast of tomorrow.


breakfast 2k5! 

and now you get it. i swear, if i had the money, and they were all my spoons, i would throw out all our old spoons and replace everyone of them with a new and improved lightsabre spoon.

i think we all can agree that the breakfast of champions has officially been one-upped, for i am now enjoying the breakfast of jedi knights. if anyone would like to join me for breakfast, i'll be the guy in the alvin houseshoes, enjoying a bowl of frosted flakes through the use of my red lightsabre spoon, whilst listening to the imperial march. oh that's right, the dark side. i'm dark. intrigued? i thought so.

leon can't cook without that dough, baby

its that time again. hot dogs, peanuts, beer, box scores. america's pasttime is back, after an insane 2004 season. the boston red sox snapped their 80+ year streak of mediocrity, reversing the curse of the bambino, and thereby eliminating any reason to be a boston red sox fan. seriously, the world series win was the worst thing that could happen to that franchise, because it erased all the allure of cheering for the cursed red sox. they're no longer underdogs. the boston red sox are now just a team that doesn't win that often.

so here are the teams you should cheer for this baseball season:

al west: oakland athletics. while other teams are born on third and think they hit a triple, the a's are a testament to any baseball fan without a trust fund. having one of the smallest payrolls in baseball doesn't stop the a's from being a force to reckon with on the field. cheers to incredible scouting and to billy beane. also acceptable: texas rangers.

al central: minnesota twins. the blandest division in baseball has one saving grace, and his name is torii hunter. the greatest home run thief in the game is reason enough to back the twins. but just for insurance, think of how much fun the twins had in "little big league". also acceptable: chicago white sox.

al east: boston red sox. yeah, the defending champs are a fun team, action packed with quality individuals, pitted against the evil empire, etc. however, they won last year, and now they're boring (see above). but so are the alternatives, and the red sox have johnny damon. they also bogarted edgar renteria (thank you, players union), and that's enough to get behind them. also acceptable: baltimore orioles.

nl west: los angeles dodgers. one of baseball's storied franchises, the dodgers proved to be class acts during last season's nlds. after being defeated by the cardinals, the dodgers, as a team, walked over to shake hands with their opponents, congratulate them on a great season, and wish them luck. kudos to sportsmanship, and long live the dodgers. plus gagne is ridiculous. also acceptable: um, the padres?

nl central: st. louis cardinals. its only right that the best team in baseball have the best fans in baseball. the cardinals also have the best defense in the game, headed up by the greatest third baseman to play the game, mr. scott rolen. and considering the alternatives, this is a no-brainer. also acceptable: pittsburg pirates.

nl east: washington nationals. in the worst division in baseball (and possibly all of sports), its hard to pick a team, so just cheer for the nationals, since they're brand new, and haven't had a chance to suck yet. although, i would've liked them better if they were the washington monuments. also acceptable: florida marlins.

teams that no one should ever cheer for (from bad to worse): san francisco giants, new york mets, houston astros, philadelphia phillies, atlanta braves, new york yankees, and the god-awful chicago cubs.

so there you have it. go cardinals.

viva las tunica

friday night and i'm sitting at the $2/$5 hold 'em table in the poker room of the grand casino, with eight other individuals. my stack is up to about $135 dollars, fluctuating around a steady increase from my original $80 bucks.

"you need a drink, sweetie?"

i try not to look over, but couldn't help but answer the senior citizen cocktail waitress with the super low-cut top.

"sure thing ... another budweiser would be great," as i tossed her a white casino chip. one US dollar, depending on the strength of the yen. for a second, i actually forgot about playing cards, and just thought to myself, jesus, i hope that my tipping her is not in any way contributing to her justification of wearing such an inappropriate top.

"five to you, sir," the dealer interrupted. three of the eight had called the blind, and the action was to me. cupping my cards, i carefully pull up a corner--not too high, because someone, somewhere is trying to cheat me. its a casino, after all. a good glance (only a glance) at my cards shows me that i've got ace-jack offsuit. lets not get hasty, as i toss in a red chip. five US dollars, depending on the ...

"here you go, sweetheart." senior citizen cocktail waitress gives me a fresh beer and a gap-toothed smile. i thank her as one more person calls the blind, putting action on the small blind. this jackass had overplayed every hand all night, but profitted early off of an even dumber lady who thought her two pair was going to matter when all five cards on the board were diamonds. he won a $300+ dollar hand with a seven of diamonds, so he could afford to be stupid. "i'll raise," said jackass, as he placed five red chips inside his betting circle. 25 US dollars. the table groaned, for it wasn't the first time this jerk had ruined what everyone wanted to be an inexpensive flop.

4 out of 5 players called, including myself, making the pot $105 bucks. lot of action. the dealer flops three cards: ace, ten, ace. above the waist, i do my best to remain stoic, but i'm quite sure my feet immediately started tapping. it checks to me, and since the pot is already big enough, and i dont want this set to get busted by some guy who i let stay in for free, i raise it ten. modest, meetable, but intimidating none the less. of course, everyone saw through me, or had nothing, and they all tossed in their cards. everyone except, of course, jackass, who didn't flinch as he uttered the words i had avoided all night: "i'm all in."

my mind started racing ... i've got a set of aces! this asshole's got to have something, but how can i lay this down? his preflop raise screamed pocket pair, and i've been reading him all night. ok, quick, hands that can beat me: AK, AQ, A10, and pocket 10's. i really don't think he's got an ace. gotta be the 10's. no way, this asshole would've preflop raised a lot more if he had tens; that's how he's been playing. i've got to call, i've got to call. but $100?! no, i've got to call, he's got two pair, that's it, i've got to call ...

"i call."

we simultaneously flip over our cards, and he immediately starts cussing when he sees the ace. i immediately start smiling when i see the seven of diamonds and the seven of clubs. oh my god, what a call. the pot is now $305, and i'm at a massive 92.5% advantage to win the hand.

the turn card comes: 4 of clubs. i exhale the tiniest bit of air, but i'm now standing up, because jackass is standing up, and i just felt like it was the right thing to do. one more card to go, he's only got two outs ... i'm 95.5% percent to win this hand. oh my god, one more card ... please, no seven, please no seven ...

river card: seven of spades. jackass wins it with a full house, sevens over aces. i glance one more time at my pathetic little set of aces, and can't help but notice that my jack is committing suicide. 95.5%.

"nice hand," i managed towards jackass, as i started on my way out of the poker room. "tip the dealer."

a truly sad state of affairs

are you kidding me?! tell me this woman didn't take a field trip to joseph mccarthy's grave.

take a look at this picture, and then you tell me one way this woman contributes to society. seriously, just one. this is absolute theater.


unbelievable 

those were the good old days, huh ann? back when those damned commies were scared to mess with america. hell, we'll get those reds yet.

next stop on ann coulter's tour of american shame:

the japenese internment camps of the pacific northwest

(wouldn't it be great to stand in front and high five for intolerance?)


[special thanks to kelso for pointing out this outrageous picture]