We originally planned not to make a big deal out of Edition #69. We like to think we’re above that level of immaturity and dare not plunge to those depths of juvenility preferring instead to enlighten and enliven your minds with… ohh, who am I kidding here?
69, dudes! Whooooo! Wine me, dine me, sixty-nine me! Deck the halls, pound the walls, spank my ass, and lick my balls! E Dagger’s back, baby!
I’m tanned, recharged, feelin’ great, and most importantly – married! But that doesn’t mean I have to grow up. Inside today’s edition is a collection of links specifically designed to make your inner Beavis happy. Beer! Sex advice! Strip hockey! Hair metal! We got it goin’ on, so click it, lick it, and stick it. It’s 69 today, baby!
In the spirit of this numeric coincidence, let’s get to the subject matter at hand. In the realm of male-female interaction, we at the Cru Jones Society focus our energies primarily on relationships and dating. That’s not to say we’re not interested in the sexual side, it’s just that, c’mon we write fairly personally here and do any of you really want to think about Hart or myself doing the nasty dance? Didn’t think so.
Thankfully, ‘Net juggernaut The Redhead is here for you. We found this lovely lady on Twitter and aside from her prolific tweets and persistent blogging at her home site, she’s now writing sex advice columns for dandy sex toy review blog “Toy With Me.” She fancies herself “Dan Savage with a vagina – and most likely, a bigger dick.” Ballsy claim considering Dan Savage is reining deity of acerbic sex advice columnists, but The Redhead backs it up with astute advice coupled with an entertaining no-b.s. manner. Her latest column, with a focus on sweater kittens (boobs!), can be found here. And yet another can be found here.
We give this full CJS endorsement for two reasons. 1) While we enjoy Dan Savage, his columns skew a bit radical and tend toward completely unrelatable. It’s not that advice directed at a repressed teenager who constructs a Rube Goldberg dildo out of a toilet plunger, some plastic bags, and a disgusting amount of lube doesn’t interest us, but… who are we kidding? That doesn’t interest us. The Redhead skews more mainstream and those of you not living in the extreme 1% of the population might actually find some utility in her advice. 2) She’s promised to unleash the hounds and show us her rack if she reaches 1000 followers on Twitter. So get to clicking and earn us all a prize.
In other sex news, former New York Mets GM and current ESPN personality Steve Phillips has been suspended for an affair with a 22 year-old production assistant. Normally we wouldn’t care less about the personal machinations of a dorky television personality who, like most ESPN analysts, only perks up when a team within a 2 hour drive of Bristol does something interesting, but we found the details of this story too juicy to go uncommented upon. Apparently this woman decided to go all Glenn Close on Steve and his family and left a series of menacing and revealing messages for Steve’s wife including graphic descriptions of text messages she and Steve sent to each other graphically describing ways they wanted to sex each other (Ew), a disturbing account of the activities of Steve’s children (Creepy), and a detailed description of Steve’s birthmarks on his crotch and inner thigh (Ew again).
Deadspin has even more updates at the bottom of the piece linked above, so for those of you who love lurid details about the sexual congress of two thoroughly unlikable people, have a field day. You’re welcome.
As the segues write themselves here at CJS, this next story contains both sports and the promise of nudity. Unfortunately for most of you, that’s male nudity. And for those of you still intrigued, he doesn’t actually get naked.
Remember that scene at the end of Slap Shot where Ned Braden skates around the rink and strips down to his jock strap for no apparent reason while the Chiefs all fight the Bulldogs in the final game of the season? Apparently the Tampa Bay Lightning have seen this one too many times and have a coach that just doesn’t give a crap anymore. They played “strip shootout” where you had to remove an item of clothing for each shot you missed. Normally I’d make a gay joke here, but if you’ve known a hockey player, you know they’re the most wholesome sexless good old boys around. Any hint of sexuality here is ridiculous. These guys are just trying to break the grinding monotony of doing the same drills day after day. And considering how much equipment they actually wear, it’s no surprise that Martin St. Louis (who did the worst) missed somewhere in the neighborhood of a dozen shots and wasn’t even close to naked. Although seeing him fire one wearing sandals was definitely fun.
Staying in the hockey arena for a moment, have you seen the new Avalanche mascot? It’s a damn St. Bernard (yes, like Charles Grodin’s best friend Beethoven) complete with a booze barrel around his neck that apparently contains Pepsi. Once again, two things bother me about this.
1) Unless you’re the Huskies or have created some fantasy football team that pokes fun at Michael Vick, your mascot should never be a dog. Ever. Dogs are loyal, friendly, and ultimately pretty dull-witted. Is this really the species you want to associate your team with?
2) Aren’t St. Bernards typically used to rescue people from an avalanche? What type of message does this send to our opponents? “Hey we know you’re buried under a 4 goal deficit, but take a look at our mascot, take a little nip of his Pepsi barrel, and you’re gonna be just fine! We’ll get ya’ outta here, old friend!” WTF?
Considering our beloved Avalanche are themselves a relocated franchise (Suck it, Quebec!), we found this article on Mental Floss particularly enlightening. We’re pretty sure we speak for everyone when we say how sad we are that the White Sox never moved to either Seattle or Florida. Then Ozzie Guillen could have been another market’s resident blowhard crotch stain. Although we would have missed out on Shawon Dunston hilariously imitating Ozzie’s effeminate bunting style in the early 90s during the annual city series. That would have been a loss.
Hey, for all you ladies out there thinking about relocating, take a gander at this list and make sure you avoid these cities at all costs. And for those of you with inexplicable ugly fetishes, get on the horn to your travel agent and book the next ticket to any one of these 8 scenic destinations! We know it’s been too long for us since we hit the clubs in Huntington, WV or painted the town red in El Paso! And can you believe both cities in West Virginia and Texas (twice!) made this list? We know! What are the odds?
And yes, poor Detroit made this list too, which since I’m headed to the Avs/Red Wings on Saturday, I’d normally make a joke about, but poking fun at Detroit is like flipping off a blind person at this point. It’s just piling on.
Although all bets are off in any of those cities if you just mix in a little alcohol. Get yourself a little liquid party and you might just wake up next to someone who looks like the bastard child of Don Imus and a saguaro cactus. Here to help is Sporcle who asks us to name the top 15 selling beers in America. We were in college once upon a time, and know what it’s like to drink low grade beer, so our hopes were high for acing this particular quiz.
Needless to say, we were totally pissed that we only named 13, but in our defense, not in a million years would we have gotten the two we missed.
I think I mentioned this in our Las Vegas post, but if I didn’t, whatever, you’re getting this link anyway. Kyle Dunnigan does perhaps my favorite impression of all-time as he does Ray Romano doing his impression of Christopher Walken. This one comes out of me usually after I’ve been drinking, and after seeing Dunnigan do it again, I suspect I’m not as good at it as I think I am. So that’s disappointing.
It’s disappointing, but it’s not going to make me cry. We leave that to the movies. This week’s Confessional Topic is: What movie makes or made you cry? Feel free to give us one; feel free to give us 10. We just want to know what made you pull a Brett Favre and weep openly. Send your responses to firstname.lastname@example.org and we’ll have a nice long sobfest on Monday. It’ll be cathartic, and everyone enjoys a good cry. Or so Lady E tells me.
Here’s a story from the Dagger honeymoon just for fun.
As part of the package we bought for the trip, we had a sick (read: not sick) Pontiac Vibe rented from Alamo. When you drive around Hawaii, you’re struck by two things. One, no matter where you’re driving, the view is incredible. As a result, everyone drives really slowly. Two, music that has gone beyond dated, ventured around cliché bend, and sit in the bin of “hey, let’s use this song to sell consumer goods” at some ad agency get regular un-ironic airplay all through the dial. Songs like “Did You Ever Have to Make Up Your Mind?” by Lovin’ Spoonful populate the airwaves. It’s like living in a commercial whenever you turn on the radio. It’s weird.
Anyway, our cat Bumhug whom I’ve alluded to in previous posts, is probably one of the most gentle souls on the planet. He has the sweetest, most affectionate disposition of virtually any animal I’ve ever encountered, asks for very little, appreciates what he gets, and demands nothing. He also has one of the blankest expressions in the history of blank expressions. His face is the physical embodiment of tabula rasa.
So out of lack of anything better to do, I projected some thoughts into his head and gave him his own internal monologue. When he sits there just staring straight ahead as he always does, I’ll turn to Lady E and say, “You know what he’s thinking?” “What?” “Here I go again on my own! Do-do-dooooo-DO! Goin’ down the only road I’ve ever known!”
Yep, according to me our cat does nothing but sing crappy butt rock and hair metal to himself all day. I’ve used a ton of different songs to convey this point – “Kickstart My Heart,” “We Built This City,” “Talk Dirty to Me,” etc. – but the one that always stuck was “Here I Go Again” by Whitesnake.
So what do we hear while driving to dinner one night in Maui? You guessed it – Whitesnake. Lady E says to me, “Ohhh, it’s nice to think about the kitty.” So I said, “Actually, anytime you hear this song, it means he’s thinking of you.” She got all weirdly touched by this, and so I said “Let’s do him proud.” And we opened the windows, cranked the volume, and blasted the vocal stylings of David Coverdale down the beach in Maui. Not good times. Great times.
We obviously linked to YouTube above even though Hulu has superior quality and content. But that’s the beauty of YouTube. Where else can you watch a Whitesnake video followed by the intro to “Just the Ten of Us” and cap it off by watching 80s WWF Superstar Ken Patera murder a promo? And it’s all free. This truly is a glorious country we live in.
Unfortunately Hulu has decided its content is a little too good, and wants to charge you for it. Eventually someone will figure out how to monetize the Internet properly (something we’re particularly interested in), and it looks like Hulu will attempt to be the Jackie Robinson of this movement. Best of luck to you, but if you think we’re paying to watch clips of Jay Leno’s crappy show, you’re insane.
Apparently Seth MacFarlane doesn’t have enough to do and Fox doesn’t sign more than one developer at a time. He and Alex Borstein will star in a variety show for Fox next month that also serves as an hour long commercial for Windows 7. Sound awesome?
The answer you’re looking for is no.
While we appreciate MacFarlane’s spirit, his constant attempts to make us like big band music and vaudeville via cramming it down our throats on “Family Guy” have made me want to sharpen a pencil and shove it in my eye. We get it, Seth. You think contemporary sucks. Now shut up.
We have every hope this won’t suck, but after Rosie O’Donnell and Nick Lachey & Jessica Simpson tried to exhume the corpse of variety shows, we’re pretty sure they’re dead for good. Think up a new format.
On the other side of the coin, we come to this week’s CJS Required Reading. We’ve pimped the work of Chuck Klosterman many times in this space, and the need to do so has arisen yet again. He’s got a new book of essays out now called Eating the Dinosaur, and based on the sample I read at Barnes & Noble’s website, this book should be dynamite. If you’re a Klosterman fan, make sure to read all the tabs on this page because they won’t disappoint.
And as if we weren’t buying this book already, we heard Klosterman go on Bill Simmons’ podcast as the two exchanged hilarious takes on Michael Jordan’s brutal Hall of Fame induction speech (Klosterman’s take: He seemed like he was drunk, but not drunk enough to have fun – just drunk enough to be mean. Like he was drinking gin or something.), the latest RW/RR Challenge, balloon boy, how to throw a proper wedding, and a ton of other stuff. It’s always fun when it’s 1:00 in the afternoon and you consciously decide, “Yep. I’m not doing anything productive for the rest of the day. Take it away, Chuck and Bill!” Here’s Part 1. And here’s Part 2. If you love discussing the minutia of pop culture, I promise you’ll love this podcast.
And finally…. huh huh huh uh huh huh huh.
See you next week, buttmunches.
23 Oct 2009 E Dagger