July 2013 Archives

riley cooper

Eagles wide receiver (and extremely rare white wide receiver) Riley Cooper was caught on tape dropping the n-bomb. What prompted this, you ask? Did a gentleman of color run over his dog or something? Nope. He was at a Kenny Chesney concert. I'm pretty sure that any brother present was very, very lost. Nevertheless, Cooper felt compelled to boast that he would "fight every n-----" at the July concert.

Brave, brave words at a Kenny Chesney concert.

The NFL and Eagles have disciplined him, and he's having to do the usual round of groveling apologies. I popped some popcorn and settled in front of the TV to enjoy the show when something unexpected happened. Michael Vick saved him.

Riley's my friend. Our relationship is mutual respect. He looked me in the eyes and apologized. I believe in forgiveness and I believe in him.
I hope that Riley never forgets how much Vick bailed his sorry ass out.

• • •

Asked how he would react if he read that I'd said the same thing, Reluctant Black Friend® d'Andre says "You mean after I got over the shock that anyone cared what you had to say? I'd take you up on the fight."

why i love pittsburgh

The morning that Steelers training camp opened this weekend, I tuned into a Pittsburgh sports station. I was greeted with this:

nurse button

Thanks to recent trips to various doctors, I'm happy to report that nurses today are uniformly young and smoking hot. They are also, unfortunately, predisposed to saying the five words every fat guy most loathes to hear around beautiful women.

"Get on the scale, please."

Ow. Ow. That was humiliating. Before you write that number down, did you notice that I was wearing my shoes? And I had eighty-two cents in change in my pocket. And—

"Now take off your shirt."

I stand corrected. There are worse words.

awakened by a well-regulated militia

Running on less than an hour's sleep and happily napping in my car in the ferry line, I hear a rap on my window. It was a guy with a petition. I'd only known him for two seconds and I already could not hate him more.


He mumbled something about me signing a petition to protect gun rights.

"Yeah, I've noticed you guys are totally victimized."

"Mmm hmm. Huh?"

I thought about how to best dismiss this troglodyte. Tell him that I myself own a gun only because people like him make sure that every whackjob can buy them like candy bars? Ask him "when you masturbate, do you tug on your wang or on the barrel?" I settled on the high road.

"I'll sign it if you can recite the second amendment."

"Okay! The right to bear—"

"BZZZZZZZZ! Thanks for playing!"

He was utterly baffled as I raised my window. I'd like to think he went home and looked it up, but his ilk doesn't strike me as the look-anything-up sort.


986.jpgMy childhood best friend Steve credits me with being the first person to know he was gay. After he eventually came out, well into adulthood, he asked me how I knew. How did I know? How did I know?!


Already long appalled that Steve watched the Hardy Boys TV show and endlessly played Shaun Cassidy's abortion of a song "Da Doo Run Run," I stood in his bedroom doorway and regarded the poster on the wall. Staring back at me was a gauzy, backlit, curiously-lacking-in-secondary-male-sex-characterics Shaun Cassidy. I said the only words that came to mind.

"That is so...gay."

And this, dear reader, was a revelation to young Steve. He gives me credit for possessing some sort of insight. Yeah, pal. And the sun is kinda bright, too.


My favorite joke about Zimmerman: "I just flew in from Florida, and boy are my arms tired from shooting all the people I didn't like."

• • •

The reader mail of the week comes from Tessa, who thinks I should apologize for seeming to call for reprisals against Zimmerman. Very well. I apologize. I didn't mean for there to be any ambiguity about it.

dear george zimmerman

If you are still within the technological reach of this website, you haven't gone underground far enough.

• • •

You fucking punks. You always get away.

May you spend the rest of your days fearing the sort of self-aggrandizing vigilante justice that you yourself dispensed.


I was sitting on the examining room table in my new doctor's office, playing with the ice cold stirrup things and silently thanking fate for my being a man. That's when I felt it. A booger was at risk of protruding. No matter. I was alone. In I went for a little pre-exam grooming.

Out came what can best be described as an enormous, sinewy chandelier. Its roots had roots. I was still marveling at this natural wonder when I heard footsteps outside the door. Panicked, I flicked the thing toward the trash. It veered off 45 degrees and plunked right dead-center on the doctor's stool. That's when she opened the door.

She stopped cold. She stared at it. She regarded it a good, long while, then me, then it again. Meanwhile, I stared at the window, wishing the blinds weren't closed so that this were a more plausible distraction. Finally, she conducted our interview while standing up.

And I wonder why my last doctor ditched me?

these are my people

Two Ohio sports fans made the news this week, and it's hard to say who's more cool.

Scott Entsminger, who died at 55, requested in his obituary that six players of his beloved Cleveland Browns serve as his pallbearers, so that "the Browns can let him down one last time." Kudos to his family for actually running that.

Meanwhile, 12 year old Buckeye fan Grant Reed named his brain tumor "Michigan." Now that he's in remission, he proudly says he "beat Michigan." His family donated a pair of wagons to the hospital's future patients, with the stipulation that they had to be labeled "Beat Michigan."

it's not about the nail

Bloody brilliant. I've been in this conversation unremittingly since childhood.

chink in the cracker

A white guy and an Asian guy, friends, paused to discuss the former's use of the phrase "chink in the armor." They agreed that the phrase is racist in neither origin nor intent, yet the Asian guy suggested that it be avoided anyway. The white guy said sure, so long as you avoid all uses of the word cracker. "Use unleavened bread instead."

They laughed and moved on, leaving me to wonder whether an Asian has ever used the epithet cracker in all history. I think I might pay to see this happen.


I called my doctor for the first time in a while. "She no longer practices here," said the receptionist. "She sent out an announcement to her patients." she added.

"I assure you, I got no such announ—"


Yeah, I wouldn't want to see me naked if I had a choice, either.

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