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.
JERK OF THE WEEK NO. 1: Jerks of the Bowling Alley
I had a pretty fun, interesting and jerk-laden weekend recently. It all started Friday night when I went midnight bowling with some friends.
Prior to Friday night, I hadn't bowled in four years. Four reasons for this:
1. I suck at bowling. I'm good if they have the bumpers up, but avoiding the gutters is way too difficult. I think it's stupid that there are gutters on both sides. My balls always curve left - insert sexual joke - so it would be better if they only made the gutter on the right side. I'll have to bring this up at the next bowling meeting.
2. I don't get the whole bowling shoes concept. Why can't we wear regular shoes whilst bowling? Are our shoes not good enough for the gutter-loving egomaniacs who run bowling alleys?
3. Bowling scoring is wrong. People say all the time how they average 150 or 180, or whatever. And somehow a perfect score is 300.
That's a load of crap. Using simple logic, I can prove that all bowlers who say this are liars and cheats:
So, there are 10 pins in bowling, right? And you get to go 10 times, correct? Are you following me so far? Good.
OK, now, what you do is multiply 10 times 10. Using my nifty Windows calculator, I was able to determine that the result is 100. One-freaking-hundred. That is the top score in bowling. Period. Anyone who says otherwise is a liar and a cheat.
I scored an 84 in my first try. Eighty-four out of 100 is like a B in school, so that was good. However, I somehow notched a 105 in the second game. I chalked it up to a computer malfunction, and announced that I would deduct 10 points off my score to make it legitimate. Everyone looked at me like I was an idiot, but hey, I'm honest. I'm no liar, and I'm no cheat.
4. There are lots of dumba**es at the bowling alley, which I guess is a good thing because it provides material for Jerks of the Week. For instance, there were two guys in their late teens using the lane to the left of us. They were dancing to Justin Bieber songs throughout the entire night.
Not that there's anything wrong with that, I guess, but the key thing is that there was a hot chick with them. She was kind of far away, but she definitely looked older than her two lackeys. She also had a terrific a**, from what I could tell.
My friend Jess and her hot lesbian girlfriend came to the bowling alley about 45 minutes after everyone else arrived. Jess immediately started talking to the aforementioned hot chick, which had me intrigued. Worst-case scenario, there'd be a lesbian threesome somewhere tonight, which means good luck for anyone who knows any of the women involved.
Best-case scenario? Jess could introduce me to the hot chick. Unfortunately, neither happened. The hot chick and her two cohorts left minutes later, and there were no other hot chicks remaining at the bowling alley to drunkenly leer at. FML.
At any rate, I was talking to my friend (and forum member) Body Burners about the prospect of finding Jerks of the Bowling Alley. I pointed out the dancing queens, but couldn't find anyone else. With no jerks to make fun of, I suddenly realized that I was hungry. It was a couple of hours since I ate dinner, so I needed more food. Perhaps five slices of pepperoni pizza would have sufficed NOM NOM NOM NOM.
Me: Where's the snack bar?
Body Burners: It's closed.
Me: Haha, yeah right.
Body Burners: No, it is. They just closed it.
How the hell does a bowling alley charge $15 for midnight bowling and not keep the snack bar open? How do they expect anyone to bowl without eating at least four slices of pepperoni pizza? And how do they think anyone can continue to generate great, legitimate bowling scores like 84 and 95 on an empty stomach?
These bowling alley owners are all liars and cheats. And pizza thieves. I hate bowling.
JERK OF THE WEEK NO. 2: Missing Tooth Man
Body Burners drove me and a few other people home. Because I was starving, I asked him to drop me off at Wawa. Wawa's about an 8-minute walk from my house, which is quite a trek, but I'd be able to eat on the way back to my house. Walking for eight minutes and eating at the same time is manageable, despite popular belief.
As I walked into Wawa, I noticed that this guy was behind me. I held the door for him, but as he was reaching for the door, he completely missed it. This caused him to fall back into the glass.
"Whooopss, I misss it hic!" he muttered.
This guy reeked of alcohol, so I assumed he was coming in from the bar across the street. He also had a missing tooth on the top-right side of his mouth.
Missing Tooth Man noticed Change Nazi, who was behind the counter, and he apparently wasn't the biggest fan of hers.
Missing Tooth Man: Aiinn't thatsss ladysss a sourr pussssss?
Missing Tooth Man: That ladysss hic souurr pusussss.
Me: She's cool to me, so I don't know.
To my pleasant surprise, the hot red-head was working behind the deli counter. After I ordered a sandwich and paid for it - Change Nazi was inexplicably subdued for a change and didn't try to shoot me with her laser beams - I walked back to the deli so I could try to game the hot red-head. Unfortunately, Missing Tooth Man walked up to me and tried to start a conversation.
Missing Tooth Man: I werrkk innnn hic South Jerzzzy hic!
Me: So what are you doing here?
Missing Tooth Man: Hic! I werrk thereesss durnnn the weeeeek hic and thennss I comessss here hic ferrr weekenn cuzzz ain't nothinn teewww dewww therrrr innnn wintturr hic!
Me: That sucks.
Missing Tooth Man: Sooo what weeeree yewww doinnn tonnnighhh hic!?
Me: I went bowling with some friends.
Missing Tooth Man: Hic! Bowwlluunnn? Hic!
Me: Yeah, I haven't bowled in four years before tonight.
Missing Tooth Man: Feeerrr yeaarrzzz? Hic!
I discussed my disdain for bowling to Missing Tooth Man, who was swaying back and forth, and hic-ing every five seconds. I'm not joking about this. He interrupted me and said that he needed to buy Tums. Unfortunately, my bowling rant didn't seem to register in his alcohol-drenched brain.
It was at this point that the hot red-head handed me my sandwich. I wanted to game her with cool pick-up lines like, "So, working here on another Friday?" but I didn't want to talk to Missing Tooth Man anymore. He still didn't order, so he wasn't going anywhere for a while. As hot as the red-headed chick is, I just couldn't take anymore pointless conversation with a drunken weirdo.
Unfortunately, the hot red-headed chick probably thinks I'm friends with him now, so I no longer have a shot. Perhaps I should befriend two gay guys who like dancing to Justin Bieber songs - since women apparently like that sort of thing.
JERK OF THE WEEK NO. 3: Indian Restaurant
I had my cousin's birthday dinner the following night. It was at some Indian restaurant down the road.
This may come as a surprise, but I'm very unfamiliar with Indian food. When I sat down and opened up the menu, I was shocked to see so many choices. I thought there would only be two foodstuffs listed:
I apologize if that's ignorant. Like I said, I don't know much about Indian food. If corn is more expensive than wheat, then I really am sorry. Wheat just sounds classier and more expensive to me, but what do I know?
I should also correct myself. I wrote that we went to an Indian restaurant. My bad. We went to a Native American restaurant - owned by people from the country of Native America (not this so-called "India," despite popular belief). I swear, I get so frustrated sometimes because most people refuse to be as politically correct as me.
But like I said, there were lots of things on the menu - most of which befuddled me. For example: "Achlar (pickle)......... $1.50."
How can a pickle cost a buck-fifty? They give pickles out for free at American restaurants as long as you order a cheeseburger, or something. Native Americans have not invented cheeseburgers yet, unfortunately, so I would not be getting a free Achlar with my meal.
Also, there was something called Chicken Tikki Mansala, or something. The description made it sound good, until the very end. The menu said that it was cooked in clay.
Clay? Like Play Dough? I loved eating Play Dough as a kid, but I've never seen it served at restaurants. I had no idea that Play Dough was a food of the Native American people. You learn something new about different cultures every day!
I want to be cultured, so I decided to order the Chicken Tikki Mansala thing. I couldn't pronounce it, so when our Native American waitress came over, we had the following exchange:
Native American Waitress: What would you like to order?
Me: I would like this thing.
Native American Waitress: Chicken Tikki Mansala?
Me: Yes. The thing with the clay.
My Mom: Why don't you order the tomato soup too? You like tomato soup.
Me: I didn't see it in this confusing menu.
My Sister: It's the first thing on the menu! Look! It's the first thing on the first page!
Me: Ohhh... see, I didn't look there because I was distracted by the clay.
I didn't like the tomato soup. It was just thick and too much. But the Chicken Tikki Mansala was awesome. It went really well with this cheesy bread we ordered. NOM NOM NOM NOM, I thought, Why did we steal lands from those poor Native Americans again? They made great food.
My mom interrupted my deep thoughts.
Mom: How's your food?
Me: Pretty-pretty-pretty good.
Suddenly, there was an awkward silence.
Cousin: Don't say that, Walt!
Me: What? I'm doing a Larry David impression. Pretty-pretty-pretty...
Cousin: Look around you!
I scanned the restaurant. All the patrons were Native American, and all of them were giving me the stink eye.
Were they mad at me because my ancestors bought New York from theirs for a mere $18? If so, I wanted to correct them. Everyone knows that the first Thanksgiving was a feast between pilgrims, Native Americans and aliens. I believe the aliens were responsible. As a fat, white, American male, I refuse to be held accountable for anything.
It took me a while, but I realized why all the Native Americans were mad at me. By saying "pretty" three times quickly, they may have assumed that I was making fun of their language. Since I'm an instigator and don't really care about other people's feelings, I continued with my Larry David impression.
Me: I'm pretty-pretty-pretty sorry.
Cousin: Do you want to get beat up!?
Me: That would be pretty-pretty-pretty crazy.
Cousin: Shut up!
It was fun while it lasted. About a half an hour later, we noticed that close to 50 Native American men walked into the back room of the restaurant.
"There are two possibilities," my cousin said. "Either this is a bachelor party, or they're going to have an all-male orgy."
Minutes later, we heard Lady Gaga music, and then...
"Ohhhhh!!!! Ohhhhhhhh!!!! Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!"
Fifty men screamed together as if they were pleasuring each other sexually. It was pretty disgusting.
I nearly puked at the sound of that. Damn it. I shouldn't have eaten so much clay.