Bralon Addison might not come out this year but he is still an underrated WR, probably some of the strongest hands i've seen since Odell. And no i'm not talking style, i'm talking the ball does not hit him in the gut, it lands in his hands and doesn't move at all. Strong hands this kid has.
My friend Michelle posted the following on my Facebook wall on Wednesday night: "I've got a hunch who your main jerk of the week will be this week, and I'm excited to see it."
I wasn't sure whom she was talking about. Did she spot some fat lady trying to eat me at the pool? If so, I didn't notice - and that would be terrible news because that would mean that the fat ladies are getting sneakier and much more cunning.
Fortunately, that was not the case. Michelle was referring to Casey Anthony, a woman accused of killing her toddler. Anthony was recently found not guilty to the chagrin of everyone on Twitter and Facebook. Seriously, every other tweet I saw on my timeline (@walterfootball) Tuesday afternoon looked like, "OMG OMG OMGZ I CANT BELIEVE #CASEYANTHONY WASNT GUILTY OMG OMG OMG OMG OGM."
I honestly hadn't even heard about Casey Anthony until about a week ago. I forget whom I was talking to, but I had the following exchange with a friend when I saw her on TV:
Me: Wow, she's pretty hot.
Friend: Dude, you know she killed her toddler, right?
Me: Meh... she's still hot.
My friend Ryan was even more apathetic. When my friend Ces posted "You're one lucky POS, Casey Anthony" on Facebook, Ryan responded:
Who cares? Hopefully this stupid case won't be on TV all the time anymore. This has been four years of useless. I mean that the prosecution's case had pretty poor physical evidence, so they had to rely on a good story. And if it wasn't for Nancy Grace and the other media coverage, none of us would know or care about this. Basically the defense just had to attack with a story the prosecution could not refute.
I know absolutely nothing about this case, and since she was found not guilty, there's nothing we can do about it. There was even more outrage when O.J. Simpson was declared innocent despite the fact that he obviously murdered his wife. I mean, he even tried writing a book about it (Ten Easy Steps to Kill Your Wife - a great read according to Jeffrey Dahmer and Ted Bundy) but he ultimately got his just desserts when he was arrested for a billion other things recently. If this Anthony chick is truly guilty of killing her toddler, then she'll eventually get what's coming to her. It's only a matter of time.
I'm not as angry as everyone else though. In fact, quite the opposite. I might feel differently about this if I wasn't so ignorant, but since I know nothing about the Anthony case, I'm pretty relieved that she's not going to prison. I mean, isn't sending a hot chick to jail a horrible crime in itself?
Look, I live in Philadelphia, which is renowned as the "fattest city in America," according to some study. And it's true. Fat women try to eat me at the pool every day. It's a miracle I've survived this long. And even worse, there are no attractive chicks at the gym whatsoever. They've either all moved out of the city or have been completely devoured.
I hope Casey Anthony moves to Philly because we need more hot chicks here. Hell, I'll even date her. We can have a sexy time, and maybe she'll give me a bastard son or daughter. And if she kills that child? Meh... she's still hot.
JERK OF THE WEEK NO. 2: Saturday at the Pool
Speaking of my gym pool, I've started going on Saturdays recently. I've always played basketball on Saturday, but that's not possible anymore because I've injured my right knee. I can't even plant my foot when going in for a layup. How in the world am I going to run from those fat women, you ask? I don't know. I figure I'm a goner.
I still can swim, however, and because of my knee injury, I've discovered that there are plenty of new jerks at my gym pool on Saturdays. Here are three:
1. Lane Line Humper:
Something that really pisses me off is when I'm swimming and people decide to cross my lane right in front of me. Waiting five seconds for me to pass by is too much to ask, apparently.
I was in the middle of my mile when this fat Russian walrus of a woman did this, and I had to hit the brakes quickly to avoid being sucked into her gravity well. I was pretty mad.
Me: WHAT THE HELL!?!?!
Fat Walrus: I sorry, I sorry. Excuse. Excuse.
You know, I could have accepted that apology if she had just moved on. Instead, she remained in my lane and plopped on top of the lane line. The fact that the lane line didn't snap in half defied the laws of physics.
This woman just remained on the lane line for a few minutes. Eventually I noticed that she was moving her body up and down, and it seemed like she was actually humping the lane line.
Was this extremely weird, even for my gym? Absolutely. But you can't blame Lane Line Humper. I mean, the lane line is the only thing willing to have sex with her, so it's not like she has any other options.
Of course, if the lane line could talk, it would probably scream, "Get off me you fat piece of s***!" And if that were to happen, I wonder if Lane Line Humper would respond, "I sorry, I sorry. Excuse. Excuse."
2. Shamed Asian:
There was an Asian family at the gym pool two Saturdays ago. There were two parents and what seemed to be their three children. The two older kids, one male and one female, were anywhere between 17 and 24. The dude was pretty fat, while the girl had a nice body but a hideous face. Meh... she's still hot.
The third kid was a boy of about 8. When I finished my mile and showered off - in my swim trunks, of course - I walked into the locker area and saw the little Asian kid running around. He walked up to every single person and counted them. For instance, he sprinted up to an old man and yelled "one!" then ran over to a dude in his 20s and shouted "two!" and then went to me and screamed "three!" and so on. It was rather annoying and seemingly pointless.
Unfortunately for this little Asian kid, his dad stepped out of the shower area and saw what he was doing. He grabbed his son and began shouting something in some oriental language. He seriously yelled for a good five minutes. I'm not sure what he said, but this is my best guess:
"I ask youuuuuu to count to a mirrion, but you count srowry and do not even get to a twerve! Youuuuuu bring a shame to famiry!"
Poor kid. His future grandchildren will be made fun of in school because of the disgrace he brought to his family two Saturdays ago.
3. Russian JoePa:
Joe Paterno is one of the greatest people ever to live. He's going to be 85 this December, yet he's still coaching Penn State football. In fact, I was told that he still does crunches in the locker room to get his team motivated. That's awesome.
I found JoePa's doppelganger. This old Russian man at my gym looks EXACTLY like him. They have the same facial features and expressions, the same semi-dyed black hair, the same thick glasses. It's really uncanny. The only difference is that Russian JoePa is fat, but as a I pointed out before, Philadelphia is the fattest city in the world, so it's not Russian JoePa's fault that he's about 180 pounds overweight.
The real JoePa is cool because he doesn't take s*** from anyone. A few years ago, he was in a car accident. I forget some of the details, but he was scolding the woman in the other vehicle for driving poorly. Her husband shouted, "Hey, that's my wife you're talking to!" and JoePa responded, "Well that's your problem!"
Russian JoePa doesn't take s*** from anyone either. I was at the quarter-mile mark this past Saturday when Russian JoePa decided to join me in my lane. Instead of swimming, however, Russian JoePa just floated in the middle of my lane. He didn't move anywhere; he just remained in one spot, so I had to swim around him. I would have asked him to move, but Russian JoePa would have kicked my a**.
I saw him in the locker room afterward, and we had the following exchange:
Russian JoePa: You svim good!
Me: Thank you, JoeP... I mean sir.
Russian JoePa: You svim very good!
Russian JoePa: But you vill never be as fast as Michael Velps!
Me: Umm... what?
Russian JoePa: Michael Velps svim in Olympic.
Me: Yeah, I know who Michael Phelps is.
Russian JoePa: You svim good but you vill never be like Michael Velps! Never!
I have no desire to swim as fast as Michael "Velps" because I don't want to put in the work. It's not worth it. What do you get out of it? Some gold medal that you can unwrap and eat? No thanks. I can buy some chocolate at CVS.
If I did aspire to be like "Velps," however, I would have really appreciated the motivation, and I wouldn't have expected anything less from Russian JoePa. I do wonder if Russian JoePa does this more often. Does he go to North Philly and say "You vill never be like Michael Jordans!" to young black kids?
You may wonder, "Walt, are you on crack? They'd kill him if he went down there and did that." No way. If they tried anything, Russian JoePa would kick their a** - just like the real JoePa.
JERK OF THE WEEK NO. 3: The Spelling Bee
I got sucked into watching the Spelling Bee on ESPN a few weeks ago. I just returned from my dad's birthday dinner, so I was in a food coma on the couch. The remote control was too far away from me, so I had no choice but to watch this abomination.
I've never discussed the Spelling Bee before. I think it's a joke. It's so pointless. Who cares if you know how to spell something? As long as you know the difference between "here" and "hear," and "it's" and "its," and "there" and "they're" and "their" and "thurrr," you're good. See? "You're" good.
The words these kids had to spell weren't even real. I jotted three of them down: samiel, caciocavallo and zortisco. All three of these words have squiggly red lines under them in my Microsoft Word doc. You try it if you don't believe me. If Microsoft doesn't recognize these things as words, then they aren't real.
And that brings me to my next point. Microsoft Word has a built-in spell checker. If you can't afford Word, then you can just copy everything into a Gmail e-mail and spell check that way. Knowing how to spell complex words is pretty useless in our day and age.
I think these kids should have to memorize something more useful. I'd recommend women's bra sizes, but that might make me sexist. Instead, these kids should be forced to memorize women's phone numbers instead. Think about it - they'd be the perfect wingmen. If you're at a bar trying to get a chick's number and your phone dies, all you have to do is ask one of these nerds to remember her digits.
At any rate, there were five kids remaining when I tuned in. Three were girls. One was this tall Indian chick who looked like a serial killer. Whenever she spelled something, she'd write it out on her hand. Well, she was either spelling the words out or calculating how to kill the judges without anyone noticing.
Girl No. 2 was a 14-year-old Asian chick who couldn't keep her legs closed. I'm not saying she's a slut; she literally refused to close her legs while sitting down despite wearing a dress. Everyone in America would have seen her no-no special place if, you know, anyone were watching this garbage.
The third girl was the most likeable of all the remaining contestants. I think she was half-Asian, half-white. She kept bobbing her head slightly as if she were listening to music. What made her cool was that she candidly corrected the lead judge whenever he pronounced the word incorrectly. Unfortunately, she was beaten out in the finals by the Indian serial killer. I'm ashamed to admit that her half-white part was clearly the catalyst of her demise.
The two males, as you can imagine, were dweebs. One was Indian. He was so scrawny that he looked like he would shatter into a million pieces if someone accidentally bumped into him. The other boy was white, so he naturally was the first to be eliminated. He was the most peculiar out of all of them, however. When he was given a word, he would constantly repeat it. For example, when he was asked to spell samiel, he said, "Samiel... samiel... samiel... samiel... samiel... samiel... samiel... samiel... samiel... samiel..." He literally said it 10 times. Although I was in a food coma, I was able to count up to 10.
While these kids were very strange, what they were able to accomplish was impressive. I think they went 20 or so words without misspelling anything, despite vague hints from the judge. Seriously, when they asked for a word in a sentence, it was the most ambiguous sentence ever.
For example, one of the kids asked for caciocavallo to be used in a sentence. The judge said, "The grandfather enjoys the caciocavallo."
Wow, how helpful! Why not just say "The grandfather thinks about the caciocavallo when he's taking a s***," or "The grandfather whacks off with the caciocavallo every night?"
The definitions were even worse. For example, zortsico was defined as a "basque song." I remember thinking, "What the f*** is a basque?"
At that point, I realize why I hate these people. Despite the fact that I graduated from Penn State with a journalism degree and currently write for a living, I scored a 460 on the English portion of the SAT. Why? Because I didn't know what the f*** dumb words like zortsico and caciocavallo and basque meant in the analogy section. A**holes like the people in charge of the Spelling Bee fabricate these words and then penalize fat slobs like me for getting them wrong on the SAT.
F*** you, Spelling Bee. F*** you and your dumb, made-up gay words. And no, I'm not being a damn homophobe by calling them gay words. The Spelling Bee was actually held at some place called the Gaylord Center. So they were actually gay words. Not that there's anything wrong with that.