Friday, January 31, 2014


what we know:

* (i'm scared of Roman numerals. i bow to their majesty. i love them, but i fear misusing them, so i don't touch them, i admire them from afar.)

* Richard Sherman Tank is one of those cool cats who is annoying if you're playing against him but you'd love to have him as a teammate. "Crabtree" is NOT a synonym for "mediocrity", it was one play, people, jeez. for instance, the following is NOT correct:

Steven Universe has been criticized for promoting Crabtree.

* at the line of scrimmage, Peyton is actually calling out OMG! in true internets lolz fashion.

* winter will always be cold, and The Weather Channel's Maria LaRosa will always be hot.

what you may not have known:

* Richard Sherman and Michael Crabtree are secret BFFs, they instagram and favorite each others' instapics and everything, they even video-chat at night when their parents fall asleep.

* Peyton actually doesn't like Omaha Steaks.

* it's not gonna be as cold as everyone says. the Frozen Tundra is not just a Packers thing, the entire Earth is really one big snowball. thank goddess for the sun and our planet's molten core and the hardworking underground mole people who keep us from becoming an icy, barren wasteland. of course there's always still the possibility of our world becoming one big ocean one day, a giant ocean with no more land............Atlantis 2.0.

you all know the deal by now, right? "What's Your Deal?!"<===infamous Harbaugh/Carroll exchange. predict the score of the Super Bowl this Sunday, the Seattle Seahawks vs. the Denver Broncos. the winner of this blog game is the one who chooses the actual winning team and is closest to the actual final score. use my entry in the comments as a guide. the prize for all your trouble is 3 clever comments from me to your blog. i wanted 4 but Legal said that wasn't feasible. enjoy, have fun, and let's all meet up back here on Monday for the results!........that is if i haven't overdosed on Doritos (commercials).

don't let the two logos up above fool you, these teams aren't on anything other than pure adrenaline and excitement for the Big Game.


Wednesday, January 29, 2014


i went to the kitchen like any other morning. i took out the plastic egg container. i had prepared for this, i wouldn't make the same mistake again, last time i had pushed against the end edges too hard, those eggs in there are fragile beings, didn't notice the cracks i dented in them, when i took them out the next time, i had both eggs at either end of the container broken and useless. this time, i arranged the leftover eggs into the center of the container, leaving none to hang out to dry at the ends so that i could close the thing with force and an easy mind. i opened the container and saw the remaining two eggs smack dab in the center in their cute holders. i went to reach for the first egg, i cupped my fingers to take ahold of the top of it...stuck, it was stuck...i didn't expect that, not at all, thus i couldn't control myself, i was expecting the egg to come off freely into my grasp so i picked it up with my patented force...but because the damn egg was stuck at the bottom from some unknown glue, i instead flung the entire plastic container upwards...well, the other egg wasn't stuck, it was just fine and unglued, so it came flying out of the container from my force and landed splat on the kitchen floor. the stuck egg's top shell was crushed from my force, so it just stewed there half-open with its yellow guts spilling out into the other container holders, useless.

are you kidding me? are you fucking kidding me? how could this have happened? i planned for every contingency, i made sure not to repeat my mistakes of last time, only to have a new set of variables i could never see coming. all the studying and learning from mistakes in the world still couldn't prevent a repeat of the same horrible outcome: yolky mess, empty useless eggs, an empty stomach, and a shell of a man.

i fell to my knees. suddenly a wave of depression not like the others hit me, hit my mind hard, this was different, this was bigger. i looked at my hand...and i started to tear up, my eyes got hazy, my sight got gauzy. i quickly fell back on my training, drilled into me by the doctors. i got up and continued with breakfast as if nothing had happened. i reached for the coffee milk out of habit, the milk in a special cylindrical container with the pop cap. but that fucking pop cap is tricky, it has a secondary level of cap you must pop for it to be truly closed tight. the big overarching red cap is pushed down to close, but it's not airtight-sealed until you push it down once more. i didn't know this, or i knew this but forgot. i checked to see that the cap was closed, it appeared to be, so i went to shake the container up and down to mix the ingredients up, you should always shake things thoroughly before consuming them, right? that's the general rule. it wasn't closed twice-over, so all of the fucking milk came streaming out like a nervous fountain all onto the floor next to the spilled runny egg...and slowly, quickly, the two mixed into a yellow-white-brown stream

the water of this stream entered my head through a small hole i leave open for introspection, the water gushed out drip by drip in my head, filling the bowl of my head, slowly, rapidly reaching the red line, the top, where they warn you not to fill it over the red line with any more water or the dam will break, the water rushes rushes rushes desperate to turn into a new image, i for the last time look at the egg on the floor as it's constituted now, still recognizable as an egg but hurriedly mixing with the water as i mix with the water this water that now has free reign as it collapses into a huge waterfall the water falls falls falls and crashes into the stream below racing and racing with majesty over all the land, the slanted land downward until it reaches its final resting place: a moat of a magic castle, the miniature-golf place with the batting cages in the front, the moat fills up fills up fills up nicely

one last look at the egg yolk, the yellow circle not a circle anymore, a misshapen circle, then an oval, then a square, mixing into the stream, like those giant yellow balls they use in the batting cages, those ridiculous oversize balls they use that are even bigger than softballs, it's so that everyone can participate from beginner to expert, not regulation-sized plain white baseballs at all, that was funny.

Dad was showing Mom and i how it was done. we sat on a yellow bench by the first of the twenty cages lined up in a row there, i had my arm around her.

Dad was being embarrassing again, wearing his Kurt Cobain sweater, sticking out his tongue, and shaking his torso like some gangly scene kid at a club for the first time, having no idea what to do, what the hell he was supposed to do, what the decorum for this place was, and not caring an inch. see, at this first cage, it's super-super-super beginner, the ball that comes at the batter from the automatic metallic pitcher all those feet away down there is the most ridiculous moonball you'll ever see: that ball is shot up into the air so high it's a miracle the upper netting of the cage reaches that high, it careens up there taking its sweet time to form its arch path and then comes down right at the sweet-spot strikezone of the batter, i swear the whole process takes five minutes. the last cage at the very end pitches the ball to the participant at the appropriate MLB-standard 100-mph line-drive, only jocks who actually play minor-league baseball or drunkards trying to impress fancy ladies dare to step into that cage. although, ironically, you'd have an easier time of trying to strike that ball than you would this interminable moonball because you could align your body more easily, you could calculate the 1 second or so it takes the ball to fly from the machine to your bat. with the moonball, your body isn't used to waiting a day and a half and then getting ready to hit it, the timing is just all off.

Dad had enough time waiting for the moonball to land to make weird faces at the two of us, all involving his tongue. he swayed his body back and forth like a crumbled gingerbread man. when the yellow thing finally decided to land, Dad took the biggest motherfucking swing with his bat that a human could, it was all power, he was trying to kill the air around him with that

SWIIIIIIIIIIINGGG...and a miss, what a miss!

Dad fuffed it up so badly the rotation of the spin he caused missing the moonball pitch flung him to the ground jerkily as his body did an awkward half-circle.

"that whole thing was hilarious," he summed up afterwards.

"i agree, from the moonball itself to your whiffing of said moonball in such a spectacular way, " i replied.

Dad had a knack for turning on a dime from silly to deadly serious. no surprise, he did have on some Kurt Cobain after all.

"Creature," he circled his arm around my furthest arm and held me tight, "Creach, do you know what i could have done to ensure that i would have hit that moonball?"

"well, firstly, taken the thing seriously..."

"okay, and"

"i dunno, i'm sure there's some sort of mathematical calculation you could use, a rubric of physics and air flow and other calculations that you could use to position your body in such a way and prepare for the right moment when you are to swing your bat."

"sure, sure, math is fine, but do you know what the real force is that would actually have had me hit the ball?"


Dad continued after my pause, getting his message out in one breath as if he desperately needed to impart this wisdom before it was too late: "it's will. will. will. you actually have to move your body and do it, do it, hit it, do it. math only takes you so far, calculations are good the first time around but never the second, you can prepare for a set of circumstances to happen to you all you want, life will never grant you what you think is going to happen, it never rewards you for the long studying you did beforehand. something always happens that you never prepare for, and it will knock you down to the ground. you get up because you will yourself up, you, you, not me, not Mom helping you up, you. Mom and i are your family, it was fated in the stars that we would be your family, that you would exist, and that this family would exist, it shines as long as those stars which created the three of us shine. we are the only ones who truly care about you, we'll pick you up everytime, even your greatest friends are not your family, friends will let you down because they must travel their own star path, you will use friends and they will use you along the way, TO GET BY, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK on the path to fame and sex. they will eventually be too busy to care about you, we are the only ones who are permanent members of your star path, we booked two seats two lifetimes ago as the stardust was being formulated. but stars die.

stars die.

one day, you will be alone, with nobody to pick you up, and you simply have to muster the will within you to pick yourself up. if you don't, no one will, you will lie on the ground forever, your friends are gone."

i look at the yellow bench Dad is walking with me towards

toward Mom on the bench, her soft face

my eyes dart right to the brown barbed-wire stand where they keep all the oversize yellow balls, and i look back at the bench, yellow, Mom's favorite color, and my everything centers back around and through and into and up and down and back again into the white hole of thought

until my teary eyes focus once again on the egg yolk that is now not yellow. i never left this place, i was on my knees the entire time, my hands are wet from being planted on the kitchen floor that is one inch covered in river, i stare at my hand through my watery gaze, i study it intently, all five fingers, this hand of mine was molded from the clay of my father's hand, with stardust mixed in as glue, i look out the kitchen, i call to him, i shout to him for help

my father does not heed his son. my father does not hear me. Dad is gone.



Monday, January 27, 2014


to all the youtube dreamers, to those who don a Wario cap and turn on the camera to greet each morning, to those who cosplay despite everything---because of everything---to those who like us, like all of us, try every day to wake up and find ourselves.........................


i'm not into this stuff, but i'll play along:

1. at the cbt station, are you more likely to bust balls or have your balls busted? life busts my balls each morning i open my eyes, but i cherish each morning i open my eyes, Mom taught me that. then we have cereal together, Froot Loops with marshmallows.

2. at the dungeon bedroom window, you have the opportunity to be the voyeur or the exhibitionist. which and why? i've always been the voyeur, i study people when i sit down for a coffee at the klatch, my exhibitionist side is very small and only comes out at my youtube channel. this side of me is now microscopic since nobody visits my youtube channel. actually, though, i'd be more interested in the window itself, i'm fascinated by windows, the mystery of how the light from the outside sun filters through the grand front window which activates the switch which opens the dungeon door so i can get the next piece of Triforce.

3. dress yourself: spiked collar/leather chest harness/assless chaps/leather thong? the leather stuff is somewhat goth. only David Lee Roth can pull off assless chaps...

4. time for some impact play: choose either flogger or whip/paddle or bare-handed spanking/cane or crop: for me, impact play means getting the high score at the arcade and a free ice cream. oh...loud, musty arcades...*tear*, the '80s nostalgia. whips are cool, i use them as Simon Belmont. paddles remind me of those insanely-quick Olympic ping pong tournaments, the back-and-forth between these highly-trained athletes is mesmerizing. who knew games you find broken in your attic can be so gnarly? i want Nok Hockey in the Olympics next, i'd fucking go for the gold in that discipline. canes remind me of that guy, remember that guy who got caned, was in the news for a long time? revert to happy place: after sex, i like to lick---among other things---oversize candy canes, off-season or not, Christmastime or not, i keep a stash where i keep my Stash and my 'stache (my mustache).

5. bondage: you can either be used by a fucking machine while watched or tickled 'n' tingled on a St. Andrews Cross. so? the term "fucking machine" immediately reminds me of Trent Reznor. also, wait, that's not the Howard Stern machine, is it? monks use the St. Andrews Cross within the secret confines of their monastery to get on their knees...and pray...okay, maybe not.

bonus: at work, whom do you most resemble? a) dominant/mistress/top b) submissive/bottom c) switch d) naughty girl/boy/brat: i don't work, i'm just waiting for the afterlife. people tell me all the time i resemble Joseph Gordon-Levitt. i don't see it. when they add, "with a little Lindsay Lohan mixed in for good wild-child party-girl measure," THAT's when i start to see it.

i don't do this stuff, but i do know myself: i've been weak my whole life, i'm submissive to the world's nasty whims. i committed the unforgivable sin of switching from Nintendo to Sega one Christmas just to see what all of the Sonic speed furor was all about, and for that i should be spanked forever, i'm a brat, i was naughty, i got coal in my stocking, but i want YOU in my stocking...the stocking that's 2 feet long...that i use to warm my 2-foot penis.



Wednesday, January 22, 2014


Nasira, now here was a babe through and through, so old, so sophisticated, she had her own car, folks, she could literally drive herself anywhere she wanted, the world was at her disposal, she could go anywhere she desired at any time, that is power. she was in college, actual university. back then, college was a mystery to me, it was an ivory tower where only 4 of a million were admitted in, those that entered owned the keys to life, the secrets to a happy life, they knew but could never tell, they were gods. it was so foreign, the thought of having to leave my parents---the only people i'd ever known warmly, the rest of the humans were cold strangers---was frightening to me, i didn't cherish the thought of that major life-altering decision i'd have to make in four years, i wanted to remain a kid even in high school. Nasira was hot in so many ways, i had a crush on her,, it was more, i wanted her, i wanted to fuck her, and i wanted her to be my new mommy. i wanted to be in her life, wrapped in a blanket in her life.

i'll never forget the first time i met her. our family and Dabo's family had the carpool arrangement, remember? to save money on gas? so, Nasira for the first time was on duty when Dabo's mom and dad were at work and my parents were, i dunno, working i guess, Dad had agreed to pick us all up after school. she rides into our modest unpaved driveway in her car---for the life of me i don't remember her car, i hate cars, i'm more of an artist-type---and steps out in ragged jeans, white t-shirt and...she was short! i remember that, ha! yeah, short but full-bodied and with a babyface smile. she perked up to me waiting and declared,

"hello there. i will be your driver today," and another smirk.

in love right then and there. raven-haired beauty, old, i mean we're talking 18 fucking years old, old, a woman, a woman in the springtime of her prime, smart and sure and in college, the land of the Masters. she could teach me things no one else could, she could be my temptress, my Medusa, my siren, leading me to the dangerous spots, the places over the chain-link fence with the KEEP OUT sign, where men really become men for the first time, i could....experience. fuck these carpools, i was thinking longview, post-carpool, i mean i wanted to just be with her forever, i would glide wherever she would guide.

sleepovers at Dabo's house were momentous occasions seeing as i rarely left my four walls after school leading the exciting life of a studious loner only-child. tonight, the parents were conveniently gone---so sitcom---and it was just me, Dabo, and Dabo's feisty cousin. the cousin was watching a news report on tv about Armenia and the continuing war going on there which seemed to be eternally ongoing and never reaching a resolution despite the tragic loss of blood each day. reports of radioactive FALLOUT, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK. the cousin was getting all riled up:

"dammit, Dabo, fuck high school, we need to be out there on the front lines right now. this is bigger than our measly lives, this is for Homeland! come on, i'll go get my guns and we'll be off..."

Dabo answered silently with his trademark half-laugh. Dabo was so cool i could see him both ways: finishing school as the valedictorian and opening up a private practice, or dying a hero, he was just cool like that, he was down for whatever.

oh, someone else was with us. the three of us were huddled on the couch in a dark room, but i saw with the corner of my eye the sliding door of the kitchen slightly cracked...Nasira was here, got home late last night, was just waking up to her breakfast cereal at noon. her hair was still bed-head, and she spied me spying her. she quickly closed the door adding quietly, "i don't want anyone seeing me eating," but she definitely flashed her trademark smirk at me before the door closed.

ten or so more minutes of bad news.

Dabo and cous' were riveted to the broadcast, didn't notice anything else. i turned my head to the closed door...Nasira smiled at me and motioned with her finger that she wanted me to come in. i turned to the boys, then back at her. i quickly left the sofa and glided to the kitchen.

Nasira never broke her smile. "take a load off."

"so," she said, "wanna know what i did last night?"


"two words is all i'm gonna give sex." the smile got bigger as she shot another spoonful of bran into her mouth.

my imagination started racing. lucky lucky guy...or girl. there was something higher, better, grander about college sex than ordinary high-school sex, it was college sex, it was sex in dorms, it was the first sex you have where you're actually a free adult, it's your frat initiation into being a real person finally, separate from your folks.

and then, of course, Nasira changed gears and got awesomer, as she is wont to do:

she touched my head...yeah, just touched my head hair, i prayed to god that she wouldn't notice the lice flakes or get slimed by my shampoo.

"any bugs in your hair? oh, i think i found one." before my face had a chance to turn red, she picked up and landed on her thumb a...bug? or something, don't know if it even came from my hair, she might have had it all along like a magician, a piece of black...something...lint, small ball of wool, dirt, was there so she could make her point:

"have you ever thought about the life of the bug you squash? you just nonchalantly kill bugs everyday that get in your way, they're on the same table where you're eating, in the kitchen sink harming no one, you kill it like a spree murderer just 'cause it's an inconvenience. think about that bug's noble life that you snuffed out, his wife and kids that lose a daddy, all 'cause you happen to be the bigger species. life isn't fair, especially out there for a bug. the next time you kill one, the least you can do is look at a clock and acknowledge time of death, really look at the time on your oversize digital clock on the wall and feel the silence of the moment...11:57




that's when it happened...11:57...he'll never see 11:58...won't see anything anymore...nothing...ever...time stops for him...forever."

she was absolutely correct, i had never thought of that. i would be more vigilant with these types of things in the future, definitely.

the next time we were alone together next to one another at the kitchen table, Nasira continued her time kick.

"Phoenix, i have something to say to you."

"yes, my sweet,"...i only thought "sweet"...please say you are in love with me, i wanted that so badly from her, i was ready to commit at my young age.

she slowly (and sexily) took her hand and grabbed the crotch area of my jeans. she was going for my junk...i couldn' this happening? my first handjob! oh glorious! maybe i could remain silent and it would turn into a blowjob! this is the greatest day of my life!...wait, no, she never actually touched me, her used that motioning finger of hers to point at my penis, i mean, my fly.

"your fly's don't want to be another Cristian the Creep, right?"

she continued on with her soliloquy, or her lecture, whatever it was, she was obviously excited about whatever nugget of wisdom she gleaned from college that day and was eager to share the wealth. i wondered if i'd be that eager for college some day.

"people don't notice time anymore, they don't count out the beats of their lives anymore, everyone is so busy they don't smell the proverbial daisies, they just rush from place to place and never look at their watches, except to prove that they're late." so prophetic, remember this was before the internet. "they don't look at their watch, see that it's 11:57, and just relish in the eternal moment of




no, it isn't that it's time for lunch, it's that you are here, here right now at 11:57, you are alive, you are human, this is now, this is breath, this is life, notice it, breathe it, live the 11:57."

again, i stored this nugget away in my memory banks. i loved whenever she was finished, she would smile that smile as she thought about what she had just said, she was happy and contented, she was learning things we mere mortals would never understand. i didn't understand, at least not back then, was way too green, but i did understand, i understood that this was important, not fucking high school, college.

it was the third time at the kitchen table that really stuck with me. Nasira was being hot and adorable as usual, and i couldn't take it anymore. i leaned in to kiss her, i moved in, my face to her face. i closed my eyes both because i saw that in films but because i kinda didn't want to see how it turned out, if it turned into an embarrassing whiff or yelling from her or a slap or something, i wanted to keep my eyes closed so i couldn't witness the carnage. i kept going, kept going...opened my eyes...Nasira smiling, holding my head at a slightly askew angle to her face with her hands, and she gives me a loving long warm smooch in the middle of my right cheek.

stunned into silence, but i continue listening to her, i dart my eyes toward her talking though my face is frozen:

"you see this, Phoenix?" she pulled out her college textbook on...Walt Disney films! wait, what? not insanely-difficult chemical biology or a thick book on the intricate angles of architecture? Disney? well, shit, Disney was my idol, but that's, like, cartoons and stuff. she was studying film, specifically for this course animation cels used in Disney's animated movies. seriously? that's what college is all about? i had heard stories about taking underwater basket-weaving for college credit, but i thought those were underwater sailors' tales. college: not the strict regimen of high-school geology and geometry, also not harder geology or geometry, but rather anything you fucking wanted, majoring in watching cartoons!

"Disney was a genius, we all know that. i'm attempting to write a paper that will explain why, that's the harder part." she explained it in such a way as to make it necessary. "in your life, maybe not now, but soon, you must find something that you wake up for in the morning, a true passion. mine is Disney." shit, mine was, too, even now. "it won't be your parents' dream for you, it must be your dream. it's not hot sex. believe me, hot sex fades away, your passion never will, never can if it is to sustain you 'til death. find that. find that one thing you can't live without, and then go about trying to find a way to get paid to do that thing."

well, shit, i heard the same thing from Suze Orman decades decades later...

again, Nasira had such a way with words. her voice was soft but powerful. she didn't use many words, she never droned on, just enough words to deliver the message strongly, and you could always tell it in her beautiful blue eyes, she had lived what she was saying, it wasn't fake, she was teaching from experience.

"time waits for no man...," she left me with as she hurriedly finished her bran and exited the kitchen to go to school. i was captivated by her. she was the very Disney Princess she was studying, she was Snow White in her Snow White princess dress, with her raven hair all up in a bun, gliding away to go to that special club to get the key of all knowledge, flying atop a wave of pixie dust, Disney fairies lifting her arms away.

i looked out the window as she entered her car. from the corner of my eye i spotted seven mushrooms lining either side of the cobblestone pathway from the house entrance to the driveway. i looked back at Nasira and i swear i saw her differently. the rays of the outside sun had settled, clearing my eyes to truly see the scene before me. i swear i saw Nasira walking, not flying, to her car. she had on ragged jeans, a white t shirt, nice butt, nice breasts, i spied her from behind, but she was doing a weird thing with her thumbs, circling her keychain around that finger of hers like a hula hoop. she had an expression laughing to herself that she was one of the guys, down for whatever. she had on a baseball cup turned backwards---never noticed the baseball cap all this time---hiding her raven hair in a bun. her babyface was decidely more babyface now, not made-up princess-style.

she was a tomboy! she was more like Dabo's younger sister Amira than the out-of-my-league beauty that toyed with me with her every word. we could be buddies or something, play on the same baseball team, everything had changed, was she even into me? or was she humoring me?

Nasira looked at me looking at her through the car windshield as she always had done. she smiled. she was hot. i loved her. she pushed her right fingers to her lips and blew me a kiss. pixie dust fell out of her mouth.


Monday, January 20, 2014


1. which is better to jump in, a leaf pile or a puddle? omigod, there is nothing more fun than gathering leaves into a big-ass pile and jumping into it headfirst with abandon. not a care in the world. it's the most fun you can have on Earth without a paid ticket. also, i have been accused in the past of being a puddle-jumper...

2. Pictionary or Taboo? taboo, baby, ya feel me?...i'm all about the taboo...i even have my hand over my mouth like the logo for the Taboo game does...that's how much i love you.

3. potato chips or pretzels? i've never gotten the appeal of the ordinary ol' salted potato chip. it's supposed to bring back nostalgia and the American Dream, the American Spirit, homeland, farmland, but everytime i have one, i just crave a nacho-cheese Dorito. i dig pretzels, they're strange and unusual, they're twisted like me, they only live in bars, they're the cool cats you can't find on the streets 'cause they're in da club playing that jazz, or maybe they're playing that street which case, then, yeah, they're on the street.

4. Gatorade or water? Gatorade was developed by scientists in Florida to try to figure out why all the strange happenings and cases-of-the-century and bath salts and stuff, why all that stuff happens only in Florida.

5. popcorn or nachos? i fell in love with popcorn in college, a certain kind of popcorn, when i got a holiday canister of the stuff while at college, it was so tasty because it was sent with love to a me who was struggling with a broken heart and fucking Final essays. it was very specific in its dividing of the three flavors, 3 in all, a half of the regular buttered, a quarter of cheese, and a quarter for caramel. to this day, i can only eat popcorn that's arranged in such a three-part way, a threeway i call it, even in public. fuck Orville microwave popcorn. didn't that guy die in a jacuzzi or something? i like making homemade nachos, get yourself some plain tortilla chips, slide one of those orange-cheese squares over the top of it, and nuke it to hell. yeah, that's how you fuck the system, you don't need movie theaters for your nachos anymore. sorry, i love film, and i realize netflix has killed the movie-theater experience, i was just venting 'cause Tammy fired me from behind the counter at the multiplex 'cause i made a controversial statement that she thought i said i hated all microwaves. clearly not, i only hate microwave popcorn, i use the microwave gladly to nuke the hell outta ma 'chos.

6. Fruit Loops or Captain Crunch? you didn't hear this from me, but do you know how the Captain ascended to the rank of Captain so quickly? he's not qualified at all, he murdered his commanding officer when the two of them were alone on the boat during a night raid. the Captain made it look like an accident...

besides, you know me, i'm a hardcore animal-lover, so i have to side with the Toucan over the crazy human in this instance. whoa, TIL doing research that Fruit Loops now comes with marshmallows! i learn more about this world of ours doing TMIT than i ever did at college.

7. Cheerios or Grape Nuts? three words: hot grape nuts. no, that isn't a sex thing, here's my story: knew a dude named Tab, yes his name was actually Tab and he had golden flowing hair, i guess we became friends, whatever. Tab introduced me to hot grape nuts, he said eating healthy never tasted so good, just drizzle some honey over those grape nuts after you nuke the hell outta them in the microwave. they were good, but one day, i left out the hot grape nuts to cool 'cause i had to buy another microwave. i got back, and the grape nuts in the bowl had congealed into one mound of cold sick mess-ball that looked like expired dog food. the honey on top of it didn't help. i broke up with Tab. later, Tab became my brother-in-law.

8. Hummer or Range Rover? i don't need to click to take the quiz, i got this, i know what having a Hummer says about me: it says i'm a motherfucking pimp. and that time i got a hummer in a Hummer? i went so meta that day my brain well as my penis.

9. rain or snow? why? CLICK HERE FOR MY ANSWER. why? it reminds me of the TMIT snow during the month of December. i always mistake it for asbestos, but by Christmas Day i have fully embraced blog asbestos.

10. wrench or screwdriver? torqued and turned or screwed and fastened together? omigod, that dude in those commercials screws me over, y'know the ones that you can't escape from, they play them 20 times a day, the dude selling you that tool set from Sears? dude, enough, enough, enough with tools from Sears. i dunno, when i think "tools", the first thought that comes to my head is never "Sears." when i think of tools, i think

bonus: if you had to eat one condiment as food, which would it be and why? this is serious. seriously hott. i love my tabasco, can't get enough of it, i spill it over my eggs, french fries, and daily lunchtime soups. people say men use tabasco sauce on everything to prove that they're manly and can take the heat. okay, i'll go with that. i mean, i guess my tongue is just bulletproof or something, i can take the hottest of the hot, i love hot stuff...which is why i love you. whoa, TIL (Today I Learned) that they make a sweet and spicy one, that should be interesting to taste a tabasco that's sweet, hmmm, i dunno about that one, put it on the list, Jeeves, along with the marshmallow Fruit Loops. have you met Jeeves? he's the butler of my McMansion, the same McMansion where i stage all my Tuesday-night orgies that start at 6PM sharp.



Friday, January 17, 2014


imagine: the rumbling of the patrons gets lower and lower as the critics' wails get louder and louder, *tick tick tick*, the outer lights dim, then the inner, a bright white spot centers the stage for us all, lasers in our focus, and the dusty ol' curtains rise forcefully. after a brief introductory dedication to The Professor from Gilligan's Island, we open on a golf pro shop, an ordinary conversation guides us into my strange new world...


this is my best work, this will rival Beckett's Waiting for Godot when all is said and done ages from now.


Wednesday, January 15, 2014


pic courtesy of my beautiful friend Juli's masterly instagram portfolio, CHECK HER OUT HERE.

ugh. i didn't have time to masturbate this morning, this is why i hate school the most, it's those early mornings where you barely have time to chew on a corner of toast, forget a shower, finish up those last two math problems, and you speed out of your house like the thing was on fire. the quickie choking of the chicken right after waking up calmed my nerves and let me take on the day better than orange juice ever could.

my dad was the best. he was the best, he was cool, cool to me and that is all that mattered. his intellignce was on such an otherworldly scale he would have kicked Ken Jennings's ass in Jeopardy if he had been on, would have permanently disabled Watson the Computer. people said he twitched, he was quick not to anger but to justice, he would often launch into spasms when thinking about the world's problems and how they were ultimately unsolvable and his brilliant mind couldn't do anything to solve them. they said i had inherited his traits, i was heading down a not-normal path with my obsessive thinking and panic attacks and general gloominess. i didn't care, i was my father's son, i was proud. what can i say? fuck the world, i loved my dad, always will, nervous genius and all.

Dabo's sister, named Amira, was two years or so younger than me, bespectacled, large frizzy hair in various two or sometimes three ponytails, a face like a cute pony, with average build. two things prevented things: first, obviously she was my best friend's sister, and secondly, she was more of a tomboy to me, though she was terrible at sports, i just saw her more as a buddy. she did, too, i think, or maybe she was tolerating me for her brother's sake. besides, there was college-student-sister Nasira, hot Nasira with the flowing raven hair, too hot to contain this week, she needs a Wednesday piece all her own next week.

Dad was very keen when it came to meeting new people, new friends of mine, he would zero in on someone's last name and could tell instantly the country of origin. he knew right away from their last name that Dabo and Amira were Armenian but he didn't tell us or anyone that, he wanted to surprise us one morning. Dad would take me in his beautiful artist's never-washed, falling-apart jalopy and drive to Dabo's house to pick up both Dabo and his sister and we would all go to dreaded high school. at 3, Dabo's mom or dad or even Nasira herself would pick the three of us up and drive me back home, depending on everyone's work and college schedules. this was the golden way we all saved money on gas. this morning, Dad wanted to "surprise" all of us by waiting for Dabo and Amira to get in the car before turning on the radio to a specific station he had discovered. usually, the radio is already on when those two get in, it's me fiddling around with something to break the awkward silence of an intellectual father and his intellectual son both with no social skills whatsoever. i'm usually listening to one of my FAVS, LIKE THIS ONE, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK.

this morning, no, radio silence, Dad had his hand on the knob blocking my meddling with a sly smirk on his face.

when the two got in, well, first, schematic here: Dad of course from now on has to move equipment, so there will always be a fucking huge tired box computer in a box in the back seat. he suggests that i will now have to get in the back with Dabo and Amira and move the inevitable box to the front seat every morning, so i am literally and figuratively trapped in between Dabo on one side of me and Amira on the other in the middle of the back. store that for later.

"hi, guys, top of the chilly morning to ya," Dad chimed gleefully, so full of his plan.

Dabo and Amira as every other day were weary of being woken up so rudely to have to go to a place no one wanted to but had to. i shared in their stoic acceptance each day. they nodded, or maybe they didn't do anything to acknowledge.

"ready for some Meryl and Carol In The Morning?"

Meryl and Carol? i never heard of them. neither had Dabo and his sister. apparently, they were two Armenian gals who had a gabfest radio show in the morning from 6AM to whenever. okay, so since they were Armenians, Dad figured Dabo and Amira, being Armenians, would instantly gravitate to these two ladies, agree with everything they had to say, feel them, unite with them in morning triumph, feel better about themselves, and be ultimately refreshed to attack the school day.

so from then on, whether we wanted it or not, it was Meryl and Carol nonstop from the beginning of the morning ride to when we got to school, every commercial, no stopping, it was never OFF, always ON, every morning, every single morning. every. Dad just assumed that Dabo and Amira were enjoying this---never mind my opinion---because there were never any complaints. what could we do? Dad wasn't an idiot we could push around, and all of us three were way too polite ever to complain. it was uncomfortable because we were being forced to listen to something we really didn't want to, when we had to concentrate on the impending test or the impending beatdown from the bully we would experience that day. it's like being forced to watch The View...if you hate The View, having to sit through that hour every weekday, all the long 60 minutes of it from start to finish.

so, that was bad, but generally, actually, in a vacuum, now that i look back at this with a clear eye not weighed down by embarrassment, the two women weren't that bad. they would often drone on about very innocuous, vapid things going on in Hollywood, though some days they'd surprise us by delving deep into the political landscape in Armenia. they were clearly pro-this-one-side, i always wondered whether Dabo and Amira were pro-that-same-side or pro-the-other-side-of-the-conflict and thought these two yammering hens were idiots for spewing their propaganda. or perhaps they just didn't care at all and were two normal teenagers.

then, for one week straight, my face really had a reason to turn red, for the two distinguished ladies of radio started to talk about a movie Jane Fonda was in or something, and the conversation turned quickly to making love, and the best sex scenes in movies, and then the two recounted their lurid sex lives, no censors, they were being revolutionaries before Howard Stern or something 'cause they were allowed to use curse and naughty words on the radio air, they spoke of blowjob/masturbate/fuck/butterfly/lotus position/farmer's daughter/porn/'80s slow dial-up porn/'90s modem porn/ bestiality/ golden shower/cum shower and other words i can't even remember or i can but won't mention because---wait, why weren't they fired on the spot? why didn't the production manager step in or something?---anyway, the whole thing's a blur because as this is going on with Dad apparently oblivious to the sex talk---just laser-focused on his driving and he fact that it's an Armenian thing that i guess he and i could never understand for we weren't Armenian---i'm trapped inbetween my buddy and her sis, my face is as red as a heart of love i needed right then, i was too embarrassed to even look to see how red the faces of Dabo and Amira surely must have been.

on Friday after that long, strenuous week, i couldn't take it anymore, i farted in the car from embarrassment, it was a big, long, thankfully silent but deadly, fart which filled the car quickly with noxious fumes, it had taken a week to build up and it finally all came out, all came tumbling down into gas. the three of us in the back were so shell-shocked from the sex radio that we didn't even crack a window, we just grinned (i think) and bore it, it even might have served as a distraction from the radio chatter, it was a smell that alerted our noses to perform more as we wanted our ears to perform less.

Dad, my gorgeous father, forever oblivious because he was working on seventeen things in his head at the same time, eventually...huh, i don't remember, i'm not sure how the radio thing stopped, maybe it was the spell-breaking fart after all that finally did it. i never asked those two what they actually thought of Meryl and Carol, if there was a strong Armenian connection there, or if they didn't give a fuck like normal teenagers and just wanted it all to stop. i imagine they would have been all,

"nope. never heard of them. Armenians, huh? cool." from Dabo and

"i'm just gonna say it once, so yeah, i can't stand you, your crazy father, and your overall family, Phoenix...nah, just playin', i got a schoolgirl crush on i don't, i really don't, we cool?" from Amira.

a week or a semester later, i was waiting for Nasira to pick me up from school. 3PM, i'm at the curb, waiting to get the fuck home, bad day, screwed up my chem final, just wanted to disappear, rehydrate, and destress. no Dabo and Amira today, both were sick at home, just some alone time with Nasira to do the trick, wink wink. Cristian the Creep was waiting next to me. before we talked, i alerted him that his fly was open.

"oh yeah, bud, i know, i like it that way," said Cristian through his biting of his tongue.

"sure, sure," and i proceeded to tell him about my fart incident.

"yeah, bud, i know all about that, oh yeah, last night i had a whole bunch of garbanzo beans in my caesar salad, hadn't had those little peach buddies in my food for the longest, and my body just reacted, as i was about to fall asleep, my bed rose up two inches and i farted straight for, like, two minutes nonstop, the loudest stream of bean-emanating smell shoot you ever did witness, just FRTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!"

and then he closed with biting his tongue, he always closed his loud monologues with the biting of the tongue.

so, yeah, that's how conversations with Cristian would go, he would talk for awhile, and it would just sort of end on a, one of those. i imagined how i would tell Nasira this when she came.

"who the hell is that?" she would say.

"creepy Cristians," i'd try to be clever with.

she'd smile sexily, toss her hair back, and we'd quickly reach 100 as she'd race her ride to my house in two minutes flat, avoiding all traffic rules and regulations like a badass babe...

oh, what? no, Nasira didn't saunter up to the curb with a car next to me, it wasn't her to pick me up, it was Dad. Dad? Dad. in his green, tattered, fringed Kurt Cobain sweater a year before anyone knew who Kurt Cobain was, in his tight-fitting jeans with the knees torn out not for style but from wear.

"i was granted a long lunch break after lugging around those boxes all morning," Dad told me gently over the cracked window. he smiled. he was calm, he seemed free. "come on, Creature, get in, how about some 7-Eleven on the way home? coke smoothie and fries?"



fuck it, y'know? fuck school. fuck this world. i loved my dad, y'know? fuck friends, fuck phantom crushes, fuck everyone, fuck the creeps and the would-be creeps and those labeled as creeps when they weren't, i loved my awkward father, he was... Dad.


Monday, January 13, 2014


1. right now i'm_____________: just glad all of these Phoenix pics pulled through and made it to post, my old old box computer was acting wonky, didn't want to take orders from anyone, and was speaking in tongues. it really is on its last legs. sad, very sad. as a Phoenix myself, i take this stuff seriously.

2. tonight i'd like to ________ in the ________: watch the Australian Open in the nude. play in the Australian Open in the nude, but that's not allowed in today's polite society...yet.

3. ______ can do _______ to me anytime: my blogger babies can do anything their imaginations can conceive of to me anytime. no, seriously, i want to get to know all of yous better, really intimate-like, there's a planned 6PM orgy at my McMansion tonight, be fashionably late, but if you come in after 7, the giant mansion doors with the vanilla shake emblem on the right and the order of fries on the left will be heavily closed permanently the rest of the evening :(

or just Angry Birds Her edition to start off, we can take it slow, too.

4. the best thing to happen to me in 2014 has been _________: it's 2014? i thought it was Year Zero, i got Year Zero off those lyrics that are graffitied on that grey wall, you know the one between the liquor store and the church? i'm still alive? oh joy.....................oh wait, i'm still....yeah, so........yeah......nothing's changed.......i'm my poor desktop computer.

5. _________ is one of the best feelings in the world: that is depressing.

6. _______ really ________ me: cumming in her mouth really completes the fantasy...of me. here, i'm not talking about my ipad mini.

bonus: post a photo that really turns you on and tell us why it does: i would, but my computer just died, it can't function at a high-enough level to perform the extraordinary task of posting a pic from the web to this blog. suffice to say it was a picture of you and me on the beach fucking, sucking, cumming, and juicing, and then i drink some apple juice, you drink some apple juice---one of those mini glass containers that are whimsically shaped like an apple---and the waves gently commingle with our bodily fluids to form the perfect triumvirate of nature. later, i get jealous of your good-looking, newer, airier, fluffier ipad mini...



Wednesday, January 8, 2014


i had a lot to learn.

my head ached terribly, on the right upper portion, quick pulses of hurt disrupting

Dabo was the coolest person i knew in my first two years of high school. he was Armenian. he was beautiful. he was my friend. friend is the most beautiful word in the English language. he was stocky, hefty, muscular, with a square head and square jaw, buzzcut---oh those buzzcuts were still big in the '90s---and perfectly symmetrical glasses on his big nose. full lips, nice smile, awesome laugh, i especially loved his laugh when he laughed at my jokes. he effortlessly swayed between both social circles, the nerds and the jocks, he was smart, not just smart, he was like me, smart and determined to get straight As. he could also play a mean basketball, he was built for it anyway, never saw him actually play before. i was not attracted to him. i didn't even know what gay truly meant until i got to college. i was attracted to him, because he liked me and i liked him, we protected each other, which at the end of the day meant survival. we were friends, real friends, and friends are the most beautiful things in the world.

it was getting to be Christmas vacation time. Dabo and i strolled the halls early like two pimps on their morning jog. i'm describing this now in 2014 using "pimp" since i didn't know what a pimp was back then. as we discussed the answers to the math final, Cristian the Creep bumped into us and gave us a creepy grin, or rather his usual grin. he didn't bother us, or he didn't bother me, he knew better, he'd crush me but would have no chance against one punch from Dabo. instead, he made a presentation with his hands and announced loudly for all the rest of the students milling out of their classrooms to hear:

"hehe, typical Phoenix, a typical Phoenix morning. one thing in life is for certain. good grades will last? no. that i'll work at a gas station? no, my dad's garage. no, only one thing's for sure in life: wherever you find Phoenix, you'll find Dabo. wherever Dabo is, Phoenix is parallel to him."

the rest of the students glazed over this monumental speech, too busy trying to get their virtual pets out of their bags or get in line for cheese fries. it wasn't anything new he was saying, nothing they hadn't heard before, it was true, simple as that. i took that as a badge of honor that the students all inherently knew this about me, i was proud of that, i was proud that Dabo was my best friend, that i was associated with him, that i was in his posse. Dabo was cool.

"Dabo, doin' anything special for Christmas break?," i offered to break the silence after the Creep's words floated away.

"we don't celebrate Christmas. we celebrate Epiphany on January 6."

huh. interesting. fascinating. Epiphany, huh?

"wait, but January 6 is the Monday we come back to school. it's the first day of the second term. it's gonna be madness, and this is supposed to be your holiday day?"

"yep, it's always the same for me, we've never gotten that respect, we simply have to celebrate on our own time. i'm gonna have to go to school that day as usual and celebrate that night, but not too much, for there's school the next day."

"that sucks." i imagined if i had to celebrate Christmas that way, going to school on December 25 and only having the couple of hours after 3PM or so to open the gifts, drink the nog, and take down the lights before bedtime at 9 for school the next morning.

"so, like, how do you celebrate? is it like Christmas? do you have an Epiphany Party?"

"Epiphany party, i like that. yeah, in a way. well, yes and no. i dunno, there's food, playing the piano, candles, and a crown."

i tried to envision all this, but i didn't have the supreme imaginative powers i have now in 2014, so i could only muster up me in a crown playing the latest piece i had dutifully learned on organ. i played the organ, not the piano. well, my parents made me play the organ. there i was in a crown, but really it was just me in a Burger King crown...

Dabo and i had our secret spot at the school during lunchtime, way way away from the bustle of all the other kids trampling each other to get in line for fries, a vantage point which made everyone else down there TINY ANTS, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK. we were at the way other end of the school, in a section of abandoned bleachers. every lunch break, after that bell rung, we'd both walk up each and every step of those bleachers 'til we reached the absolute top, the highest summit, the last possible rectangular seat which stretched the length of a big half-circle overlooking the track and field area. i swore we were so high the air was thin up there, we were right next to clouds, it was so quiet we could each hear the other crunching down on our sandwiches, we heard every single bite clearly, there was no noise except for our scintillating conversations about nothing.

our topics of conversation ranged from six-overtime hockey games---Dabo introduced me to the fury and pace of ice hockey---to cool skateboard stickers to the latest 16-bit video games and that secret move that would defeat the final boss. we were right on the cusp, we were still innocent, the internet wasn't the force that it is today in 2014, and sex hadn't entered the picture and ruined life forever yet. it was a beautifully simple time full of crunchy peanut butter and crispy chicken salad.

today i decided to change things up a bit and talk about an article i was allowed to read on the school's computers about a famous man who had worked on a famous television show we both watched and loved who died suddenly at age 40 while jogging. no murder, no bad reaction to medication, no long-term brain illness or anything, the cops determined that the relatively-still-young man simply died of natural causes. it was so weird, and it was so telling about life, it struck me even at that early age that we are never in control of our lives, some other force decides it all, some other force is pulling the strings of destiny, we are merely puppets along the way, along for the ride, unaware that the end is always nigh. tomorrow is never guaranteed, no matter if you're taking care of yourself jogging, one day a celestial button is pushed and it's all over, "natural causes" do you in at age 40! wow.

well, it didn't go over too well with Dabo. he understood it, he may have even heard about it before me, but it seemed like we wanted to get to the next topic. that was a difference between us, he was always full of life and competitive zest and ready for the next challenge, he breathed life, i was more interested in death, of the end, i dwelled in death, i was fascinated and thought a lot about the afterlife and other planes of existence...and aliens and stuff, i'd spend hours in my head ruminating on distant ideas. i was goth years before i had heard the term "goth" for the first time.

i'll never forget Dabo's face right then. he was normally always smiling, but he had a stern face for the first time, first time i had ever noticed. his lips were straight. his normally pink skin was sallow. i wouldn't call him sullen, but it's like he had something on his mind weighing him down. i quickly transitioned to hockey and shortly after, the bell rang for classes.

oh, shit, it was Gym.

at the basketball court, the stupid coach picked the teams for us quickly, and i was on a team against Dabo's team. i was actually okay at basketball, i could dribble, i could shoot, i made baskets, it helped that i was tall even then. i got a little full of myself as i dribbled the ball down the court like a pimp point guard. pimp as the 2014 term again. i juked one defender, half-circled my way past another one, and i had a clear lane to the hoop. fuck, i was thinking i had enough juice in me to dunk the damn ball. i was getting ready for my shot, but a huge center blocked my chance at a poster dunk, i lamented that, backed up, and went for the midrange jumper instead. out of nowhere, Dabo comes barreling right towards me like a bull on coke, i mean he was at the other side of the court just a second ago,

Dabo steamrolls me, lifts his giant hand up like a bear paw, and blocks the fuck out of my shooting attempt, knocking me back hard, and i hit my head against the floor messily, bang on the right upper portion. i think i blacked out or i dreamed for a moment or ten minutes

"get that junk out of here!"

i'm not sure that's what Dabo said as he did this, i'm sure this is what he wanted to say. maybe he still respected me enough not to say it out loud in front of everyone, just keep it in his head. i looked up at his face from the floor, he wore that stern look again. i was stern, too, but it was more from being disoriented. did he help me up? did he extend his bear-paw hand to actually physically lift me up from the floor, put my arm around his shoulder and walk with me to the nurse's like we always had walked together down the halls? i think so, i hope so, but i wasn't sure, would never be sure.

one thing i do remember was the cool kids all lined up behind the basket where the epic block had taken place.

Dabo was cool. i liked him. a lot. i loved him. he was my best friend.

i still had a lot to learn. about other customs. about heartbreaking social norms and ladders. about high-school friends.

i lost my train of thought there for a moment, excuse me, my train of time, the '90s were the best, innocent still, in 2014 my head is throbbing right now, upper right portion, right quadrant.


Monday, January 6, 2014


1. what was the last fantasy you thought about while masturbating? forgot the chili-cheese corn dogs...

2. do you think about fantasies while playing with your partner? my sports psychologist orders me all the time to envision winning the championship, the roar of the crowd and the fantasy of the heavy gold medal around my neck, slightly choking me. my imaginary partner and i PLAY THIS, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK. we're good sports about it. we're not good yet, but we did make regionals last year.

3. if the sex isn't that great, does your mind wander? to what?

1. better sex where she lets me cum in her mouth
2. better sex where i happily stick out my tongue for her juice
3. chili-cheese corn dogs

4. have you ever thought about a previous partner while with another? no, my previous partner bilked me and the company out of its entire life savings and disappeared into Mexico. no trace of him ever since. we were in antiquing. i don't mind him absconding with the rest of that junk, but that genie lamp is mine, damnit, i had my three wishes all lined up!

5. what is the biggest turn-off thought that has barged into your head at the wrong moment? that, while presently having sex, i'd rather be blogging about this sex than experiencing this sex right now happening with me and her. computer life has destroyed me completely. i want to live again. let's just fast-forward to my reincarnation now so i can push the RESET button on my Nintendo Entertainment System gray box.

bonus: if you were to think about another blogger during sexual play (intercourse, masturbating, and the like) to spice things up, who would it be? (put a link to their blog so we can all think of them): do you see that? do you see my face bright red right now? i just got back from an audition...played a giant strawberry...



Friday, January 3, 2014



Anybody But Alabama...

...wait...oh yeah...forgot about that...Auburn, i think i love you:

that's why in true Pokemon fashion, I choose you!

hey, do you think i'll ever get to see this again in my lifetime?:


just a pipe dream i suppose

pass the pipe

so it's Undefeated vs Destiny this Monday night, the undefeated team of Florida State against the Team of Destiny. how did Auburn get so much destiny down itself? if you don't already know, youtube the highlights of Auburn's two games against Georgia and Alabama, i won't say any more than that, i'll let you experience the magic firsthand for yourself, spoilers and all that, River Song would be on my ass, which would be quite pleasurable actually.

Vegas has Florida State in this game big, but Destiny always trumps Vegas, unless we're talkin' 'bout Donald Trump's hair flapping in the wind.

this is for all the marbles/footballs/bubblegum balls. this is the only game which matters, all of the other Bowl Games are for show, though they have been quite entertaining. next year we finally get that playoff. hopefully it's expanded in the coming years. baby steps as they say. hopefully i'll still be alive to experience a proper 8-team playoff. maybe by then i'll have my own baby. i already have all of you blog babies.

if you want to play this blog game, it's so simple a phoenix can do it. simply choose either Florida State or Auburn to win the big game Monday night and predict what the final score will be. follow my lead, my entry in the comments. the winner of this blog game is the one who firstly correctly predicts the winning team and then is closest to the actual score. the prize is 3 comments from yours truly at your blog place. lucky you. hell, lucky me.

let us all convene back here Tuesday morn for the results. thanks for playing, everyone! btw, i'm predicting before the prediction that only one other person besides me will play this, let's see if i at least get that prediction's gonna be zero, huh? blogs are dead, FML.

don't feel too bad for Bama, there's still AJ McCarron's girlfriend and Nick Saban is still Nick Satan, all of his evil powers remain intact, making him still more powerful than Ganon.