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Where tall tales, real and imagined, absurd and compelling, are served with a smile
It is common for people to question the point in first desiring to do so and then accomplishing such a feat. To them I say that if life loses its mountains, it loses its pulse. Whatever the mountain in your existence may be, run up it like every step can take you backwards in time.
Thanks to my buddy Ernie for re-introducing me to this video.
We’re coming into the week’s homestretch. Sometimes that is when we most need a boost. Take a look at this video short for Corona. I don’t surf, but this had me dreaming of destinations I covet and the stories that would see me there.
I discovered this in the lifestyle section of DigitalTrends.com and find myself conflicted with regards to my feelings about the concept. On the one hand, any and all efforts to bring one of the most enduring pillars of guzzle games into the living room should be lauded. On the other, Beer Pong is a highly sloppy sport (that’s right, sport) and the finely-tuned athletes (that’s right, athletes) that partake in it must not be shackled by the strictures of indoor (non-basement, non-garage) decorum. Furthermore, the width of this fashionable facsimile of the repurposed pong-pitch is a concern. Would it hinder or accentuate top-level defense? I do not know. I do know, however, that the ball-retrieval scoops cut down to the center bay are a win because Beer Pong players are generally amongst the laziest of the lazy.
We are well deep into the throes of the football doldroms. Soon things may become desperate enough that we resort to donning the shoulder pads and tackling strangers out on the street. But be warned: “It was a clean hit, Your Honor!” is a tenuous defense at best – except maybe in places like Green Bay and Pittsburg. With the 2010 Super Bowl a seemingly distant memory and the very existence of the 2011 season in question, some simple inquiries to whet your pigskin whistle.
I would have chosen Phillip Rivers for both. My wife is a rabid Chargers fan and she wears the shoulder pads in our house.
Ahhh, the prank. In advance of April Fool’s Day, it would appear some determined hoax-sters have thrown down the gauntlet with a harmless practical joke of the roadside variety. The mock warning was displayed along the road leading from Boulder down to Denver. Predictably, nobody bought it (at least I hope so). But the guffaws were many. In total, zero actual zombies were reported though I am quite certain that I spotted a few doing the painfully slow, zero gravity of the moon, ten minute teen-strut through a ten foot crosswalk over by CU. I had to read lips but I am pretty sure they were muttering, “Brains,” over and over again as they slow-walked themselves backwards in time. Read more of this post
I discovered this while perusing AdWeek the other morning. A.K.A., the bro hug, the man hug is incontrovertible proof of the inherent ridiculousness of the male gender. Either go in for the attaboy grapple like there isn’t an invisible crotch-height table between the two of you or don’t hug it out at all. Of course, in true hypocritical form I have been guilty of the man hug from time to time as well as the sidewinder variation where you slide your lower body to one side or the other while engaging in torso embrace. Kind of like the hug limbo – your lower body goes one way while the upper goes another. Often leads to a need for chiropractics.