Miss Mandrell If You're Nasty

Apparently, me + a curling iron = Barbara Mandrell. At least according to some of my whiskey-soaked friends last night. I am totally okay with this though I was actually going more for something like this:



Britney is really going to extreme lengths to prove how much of a die-hard Van Halen fan she is!

Dear Britney, I will see your laxative and Adderall and no panties and being a bad Mom and raise you by kicking an old man in the shins and claiming there is a Nazi conspiracy to hurt Randy Quaid. - Sincerely, Randy Quaid's wife.

Hey Jessica Simpson, what team and all of its' fans hate you? Yep, that one.

Speaking of football, apparently some people can't tell the difference between Jeremy Shockey and Richard Branson. Here's a hint: I am disturbingly hot and bothered by one of these guys:



One time, the semi-known comic Brian Posehn suggested that were the two of us to transport back in time we would go to prom together. But we would get bored and bail early and go drink Mickey's in a graveyard together. Let me take this chance to publicly proclaim that Joe Butcher is the only person in the world I would want to drink Mickey's in a graveyard with:



Sorry Brian.

The 101th YOU Go Live in Utah Post

Things that brighten my day....

The Seattle Supersonics pistol-whipped the San Antonio Spurs. Well, won by three but still it's SEATTLE. And Tony Parker is out "indefinitively" with a heel bone SPUR. Oh irony, you are a cruel mistress. I mean, besides Tony Parker's actual mistress(es).


I have fantastic news! It's not too late to waste your time and money in a feeble attempt to wedge yourself permanently into Soulja Boy's Top 8 friends on Myspace. At least, I assume that's what this grammatical train wreck of a message from Soulja himself is saying.

This is why the internet is my boyfriend: In 1986, Disney TV aired the Disney Valentine's Special which I taped and subsequently watched one billion times until the tape broke. As a 5 year old, it was pretty much my Citizen Kane. Mostly because it featured vignettes of all my favorite Disney characters in romantic situations set to the pop hits of the day. It was where I discovered my love for The Stray Cats and Madonna since Garland only got MTV added to its' cable channel selection post-House of Style.






The "Dress You Up" clip was especially heartwarming for me to find as I have a scar on my pinkie from a tragic dance-ident (dance-related accident) that was a direct result of that clip. Having a single Mom who was earning her Masters at night while teaching school during the day means you get plenty of time to dance around the house in your Mom's clothes to the pop hits of the day. Or, say, put on satin robes and lots of necklaces and dance to your Disney tape. Unfortunately, it's also possible to get so into the moment that your pinkie gets tangled in one of those necklaces and you end up slicing your finger open. Thanks Michael Eisner, you ass.

I bring all this up because one of my other favorite moments was the Mickey and Minnie courtship set to "Tell it to My Heart" by Taylor Dayne. Another dance floor favorite of 5 year old Me. Which is why this pains me so.


Also, if Disney's Valentines Special was my Citizen Kane, surely Mr. Boogedy was my Third Man:



I guess what I am trying to say is that as a 27 year old, the things that make me happy are knowing that Bush is almost gone, that Tony Parker and the San Antonio Spurs are third in the Western Conference and the mere thought of Disney made-for-TV movies.

HOLY SHIT!

OH MY GOD! CAN IT REALLY BE TRUE? PLEASE DON'T TEASE ME WITH SOMETHING LIKE THIS!

So most people would read that article and thing "Hmmmm, interesting. Jason Kidd back in Dallas? That could be good depending on what the cost is."

And yeah, whatever, you can think like that. Let me say that I don't like Jason Kidd and I don't think he's worth much to us. And he's no spring chicken. However, there are supposedly two potential scenarios in which Jason Kidd would end up back in Dallas. One involves trading Devean George, DeSagana Diop, Jerry Stackhouse and a draft pick for him. That's stupid. Let's not even dignify that idea with a response.

Scenario two is:

Trade Jason Terry and Devin Harris in return for Jason Kidd and......get ready.......seriously, sit the fuck down.......are you sure you are ready?........

THE RIGHTS TO KEITH VAN HORN!!!!

Let me stress that I think losing George, Diop, Stackhouse, Jet OR Devin Harris is a terrible idea. Especially for an aging asswipe. That being said, this blog was established for one reason and one reason only. To talk about Keith Van Horn. Mostly about how badly he played. Also, I think I frequently brought up the following quote from an article about him:

"His voice is that of a boy turned rapidly into a man, simultaneously soft and deep in the manner of an acoustic bass. He enjoys the music of tranquil crooners Toni Braxton and Baby Face."

I am proud to discover today that if you google "Keith Van Horn" and "Babyface", this very blog is your third result below the two archived copies of the original article.

I started this blog to express my love for a basketball team that, ironically, I came to love after seeing a 1994 Mavs game featuring hot rookie Jason Kidd. But I'm not 13 anymore and Jason Kidd hasn't been a hot anything in about five years.

How about New Jersey keeps Jason Kidd and we bring Keith Van Horn back to Dallas to replace Mavs Man? Or maybe he can go to massage therapy school and get his massage degree or whatever the fuck they call it and he can become the official team massage therapist. With his soft, deep acoustic bass voice. And his Tony Braxton mix tape.


Dear God,

I miss Keith Van Horn. Not his basketball skills or lack thereof. I just miss him.

Sincerely,

Your Tow-Headed Creation

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Ok, so that picture has absolutely nothing to do with Devin Harris' ankle or the Mavs or anything I plan on writing about in this blog entry. But it's pretty fucking rad.

Devin Harris has a bone bruise in his left ankle. The word "bruise" means, to me at least, an ouchie that heals quickly. Apparently, I am wrong. Devin Harris will be out for two to three weeks. Which is very bad news if you have been watching the past three or four Mavs games. There was even a highly scientific "text your answer to" poll during the Lakers v. Mavs game asking who fans thought was the Mavs MVP of January. Josh Howard and Dirk Nowitzki came in second and third, respectively, to Devin Harris. Did I mention that Jerry Stackhouse is out with a hamstring injury?

If you're a fan of scrappy Puerto Ricans who at one point were banished to the Developmental Ft. Worth team, have I got great news for you. JJ Barea (along with Jason Terry) will be seeing much more action in the following few weeks. Barea was pretty hot for the short time he was in the game on Friday.

Thanks to Wikipedia, I have just learned that Devin Harris was brought to Dallas to train as a junior point guard under the tutelage of Steve Nash. How rad would that have been? They could have become a Point Guard Dream Team and there would be a made-for-ESPN movie about their professional relationship. There would be a montage of shots of Steve Nash standing behind Devin Harris helping him on his swing and follow through on the driving range. There would be footage of Devin Harris catching flies with chopsticks while a wise Steve Nash sits cross-legged in the corner on a straw mat. There might even be an emotional scene towards the end where Steve Nash is traded and Devin Harris stands outside Steve Nash's house in the rain with a boombox blasting Chicago's "You're the Inspiration" and crying.

It's just a thought.

My Best Friend Chad's Thoughts on the Mavs v. Lakers Game

This is my best friend Chad. He is probably the funniest person I know. He is a retardedly talented musician who twinkles the ivories for such bands as Budapest One, The Drams and The King Bucks. He never can decide if his favorite nickname for his dearest friends is "you old salty bastard" or "you old cooch" (yeah, we've brought that up but he's sticking with it). If you're ever having a bad day, you can call Chad's phone and listen to his outgoing voicemail message and suddenly your frown has been turned upside down.

I like watching sports with Chad because the opinions he expresses during games are 10000000x more interesting than anything Dale Hansen has said mid-bender. Chad hates the Fox Football robot guy who points and struts in the lower left corner of the screen during NFL games. Chad LOVES Patrick Crayton.

So I asked Chad to watch the Mavs v. Lakers game last night with me so that I could take notes and finally document his hot Mavs opinions. He doesn't know I have done this and I hope he's not mad.

Chad's Thoughts:

on Kobe: "Kobe is ok. He's got some little moves."

on Avery Johnson: "Cool. Sharp dresser."

on the Mavs getting in a rut and missing 6 shots in a row: "Come on someone. Do something."

on Jet's subsequent long 3 that went in: "HA HA! YES! SUCCESS!"

on Barea (who is now his favorite Mav player): "Barea is young and spunky and has things to prove."

on Mavs Man:



"I don't know if I can get behind that dude."

on Trenton Hassell's name: "It's like a bad cop show. 'DAMMIT, HASSELL!'"

on Devin Harris: "Smooth and graceful"

on a Lakers miss: "Nice try there, wise guys!"

on the hard foul that Dampier delivered to Mbenga (or as Chad pronounces it, "Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmbenga!") in the 3rd quarter: "A sandwich is a sandwich but a Manwich is a meal. That was a Manwich foul."

on Dirk's flailing third attempt for a rebound in the 4th quarter: "He's like a bear in the woods."

Some other miscellaneous Chad quotes from the game:

"I think razzle dazzle begat razzmatazz."

"Everyone is turning into rodeo clowns"

"Dirk. The german pattycake."

Also, after the game Chad issues a Big Buck Hunter challenge. The challenge was met and during a particularly intense round of Big Buck Hunter, Chad screamed "Fuck you, you little cunt. I want to eat your meat" at the animated whitetail deer running across the video game screen.

Yeah, my friend Chad is pretty rad.

The Charlotte Bobcats......Come on.....You Can Do This...Baby Steps....

Alright, I know Adam Morrison is out all season with a knee injury that makes me vomit to even think about. But I will use any excuse to post pictures of everyone's favorite Rage Against the Machine fan.

As you may have heard, the Dallas Mavericks got spanked by the Gilbert Arenas-less Washington Wizards. And you can't blame Dirk Nowitzki or Josh Howard, both of whom actually pulled their weight.

So let's go back to things like eeking out wins against the Charlotte Bobcats. Is that easy enough for you? Would you like for them to move the basket down a little? Maybe ask really nicely if the Bobcats would mind playing with three or four players on the court for like, maybe one quarter?

In other news, this is actually the definition of schadenfreude.

If you work somewhere in Victory Park and hear a loud cackling sound, that's me.

Old Crazy Eyes Shall Inherit the Cowboys

First off, I cannot get enough of that picture. We all have a bad drivers license photo. A passport picture where (in my case) you look like a drunken forest sprite. But to have that be your official photo? Wow. I guess the lesson learned here is that there are no second chances in NFL staff pictures.

But more importantly, I do believe we've confirmed what I have suspected for a long time. Peepaw Phillips will probably only be around another year or two but essentially the Cowboys coach is, for all intents and purposes, Jason Garrett. He's turning down head coaching offers from Baltimore and Atlanta to stay on with Dallas. Jerry Jones' sphincter is probably tightening as we speak while he mumbles "two million a year, that's my offer" under his breath through pursed lips. Now don't get me wrong, I love Peepaw more than most people (and though I am not inclined that way, I will even admit that his daughter is ridiculously hot) and was genuinely upset to see his playoff collapse record go unblemished. But he frustrates me sometimes. If I was choosing which NFL coach I would most like to eat s'mores and wear matching footie pajamas with, Wade Phillips is number one with a bullet. With maybe Lovie Smith coming in a distant second. However, a Wade Phillips press conference is quite possibly the most disheartening, disinterested, vaguely depressing and completely apathetic event a human can witness outside watching REM record a new album.

I must admit that I don't remember being particularly blown away by anything I have ever heard Jason Garrett say on camera or into a microphone. But whether it's his youth or his head of flaming red hair, I have to believe that he will be a slightly more enthusiastic cheerleader (not literally although if you've seen how much makeup Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders wear in person, it's not outside the realm of possibilities) than Wade "just give me a biscuit and a cup of buttermilk and let me watch this Perry Mason" Phillips.

I'd also like to bid adieu to Tony Sparano who is leaving his post for the sunny and slightly gay climes of Miami. I don't know what they offered him but I have sat here trolling my mind for what kind of compensation I could be offered to be around Bill Parcells for any extended amount of time. A new car? A house? A guaranteed seat at the right hand side of God's throne for a clear line of sight during the Rapture? Nope, I can't think of anything that could make the Tuna tolerable. I don't mean to be body fascist but Bill Parcells' figure disturbs me deeply.



Bill Parcells shown offering Terrell Owens a sip of his imaginary custom-mixed Route 44 Mr. Pibb/Countrytime Lemonade/red eye gravy drink.

I would also like to bid a premature farewell to Julius Jones. Sorry you can't run the ball well. Take it sleazy wherever you end up, dude.

Now might I suggest that Flozell Adams spend his off-season playing Whack-a-Mole until his reaction time becomes more fine tuned than ohhhhhhh say, Liza Minelli's as she falls from a bar stool? Mmmmmmkay thanks!

And finally, I sure am happy that somewhere out there in the world tonight Tony Romo is teaching Jessica Simpson new and exciting words and numbers and stuff. You kids have fun! Who needs a championship ring when you've got a hot blonde d-list actress to bang while her father whittles a crucifix in the corner? You are truly the Bogart and Bacall of this crazy Who Wants to Skate With Dead Celebrities on an Island of Love? post-apocalyptic world.

The Tears of Terrell Owens

Well, I am proud of my Dallas Cowboys. Let me explain. They got the season they deserved and the playoff outcome they deserved. A team that gets cocky two-thirds of the way into the season and decides to phone in games whilst dreaming of banging hotties in Cabo is a one-and-done playoff team. So I am proud of the Cowboys. They played exactly as they were expected to play based upon the final four or five games of the regular season.

The unfathomable part of all of this is that they have somehow made me feel empathy for Terrell Owens. Not because of his teary defense of Tony Romo and seemingly heartfelt disappointment over the outcome of the season. Mostly because the guy who was once the protype which other sports jackasses were based upon apparently took something seriously for once. He was training and working on Christmas morning, New Years Eve and New Years Day.

I pray that for the Tony Romos, Jason Wittens and Jerry Jones of the world lucrative endorsement deals for everything from pizza to satellite bundles to corrective eye surgery are enough to dull the pain of being outed as a franchise who doesn't have what it takes to make it past the first round of the playoffs.

The only dangerous part now is the temptation to placate myself by remembering that the Mavs are really starting to pick up some steam. Yeah, there's a great idea: transfer your sports loyalty from the Cowboys to the only other franchise that can give them a run for their money in the ChokeMaster competition.

I'm going to go play Golden Tee until the pain subsides. Maybe then a little Big Buck Hunter. Shooting things seems cathartic.

If this Cowboys season were a Celtic Frost song, which one would it be?

New York Giants v. Dallas Cowboys at Texas Stadium. I like it. Washington scared me more than the Giants do. We beat them both times in the regular season. We had the bye. We are playing at home. Terrell Owens should be able to play. Jeremy Shockey is out. These are all very good things.

Do I like that Tony Romo has spent the bye in Mexico with Jessica Simpson and the entire creepy Simpson clan? No, not really. Do I wish that instead of doing that he was preparing for the first round of the playoffs? Yes. Do I like that Roy Williams can't understand simple things such as "No horse collar - makes legs go break-y"? No, not really. Do I like having scored 1 rushing yard against the Redskins in the final regular season game? Nope, I don't think scoring 1 yard on the ground is very cool. Do I wish that I could have faith in the belief that Terry Glenn has healed enough to play well? Yes, but I kind of don't.

But still for some reason I know that if we win against the Giants, I will not care about any of those things. Jessica Simpson can sing the national anthem with a headset mic on whilst doing topless kartwheels across midfield at halftime for all I care. I just want a Super Bowl party, a Super Bowl tshirt, a Super Bowl parade, a Super Bowl half-day of work to attend said parade and perhaps a Super Bowl car tipping.

Speaking of tipping over a car, I apologize to whomever owns the Hummer I flipped over last week when the Dallas Mavericks sodomized the Golden State Warriors. What can I say? I was excited.

If Dallas goes to the Super Bowl, you may want to just drop me a brief line with your car make, model, color and plate number to avoid finding your car overturned and smoldering. I can't promise anything though.


PS - Jason Witten, please stop vacaying with Tony Romo during the season. You guys can't wait a month to take a fucking trip to Cabo? Is Senor Frog's closing soon? I don't feel good about the Giants game. I take it all back.