Sounds Like a Creep

It is that time of year again where I have the ability for a few weeks to sit on my said hairy ass and watch a virtual Sporgy (sports orgy) on the tube. Baseball is in full swing, the NBA Playoffs are rolling and the Stanley Cup Finals are at their apex. I also enjoy watching college sports wind their seasons down as well. Hell, on occasion I have been known to even watch the Women's Softball College World Series.

It was that I was watching for a bit last night on ESPN.

I have to admit, in some ways those ladies out there playing softball I find entertaining. They bust their asses to get as far as they have, some of the players have mad skills, and lesbian jokes aside, some of them are pretty cute.

But the question I have for you is one that comes up every time I see this on the field of play.

I have nothing against the gender equity in coaching. Seriously. I feel that there are many women coaches in basketball or whatever that are highly qualified and better than many of their male counterparts as to the job of coaching Men's teams. (Pat Summit comes to mind).

So, why is it that I find that men coaching high school or college women's sports really high on the creepiness factor? It just bothers me and maybe that is my own issue I have to deal with. I just always imagine some middle aged dude with a porn 'stache, nut-hugger shorts and a dicky-doo uniform shirt on.

And they're out there to spend inordinate amounts of time with 15-22 year old females not to teach them the finer points of the sport they coach, but to find a way to get some seedy crotch and cameltoe photos to submit to voyeur porn sites.

Hence the question. Do you find that there is a certain level of creepiness in male coaches of H.S. and college female teams?

And why is it that half of the women on said teams have a larger cock than I do? And I ain't exactly swinging like a field mouse, if you know what I mean...

You didn't honestly think I wouldn't throw a gratuitous "softball player lesbian" crack in there, did you? Sheee-it!

Get with the program means so much more

A few of you youngsters out there are unfamiliar with the term "rabbit ears". A lot of you are clueless of the term "turn the dial".

Then again, a lot of you are clueless about life, you douchebags.

I digress.

You see, television technology has jumped leaps and bounds over the past 25+ years. I can rememeber when cable TV was a novelty, like when only the rich, fuckheaded, tool-boxy neighbors "The Johnson's" could afford that shit. I was stuck with five channels and an antenna, wondering what it would be like to see a movie un-cut and maybe even a bad word thrown in for good measure.

VCR's were a big deal too. Record television and movies? Fo' real? Watch movies, uncut over and over again until the machine ate the tape? That was awesome!

Over time, those things came and went, upgraded and improved. Obviously, as you can tell by my assholish behavior and seedy language, I did eventually get that cable, partaking in many nights of Skinemax After Dark and movies that an 11 year old has no business watching (Revenge of the Nerds, Deliverance, Anything with Eddie Murphy), but I did, and I am now an angel to prove it.

We've moved onto TiVo, Satellite Television, DVD players, Digital Recording devices, Digital Cable, Plasma Screen TV's, Flat Screens, YouTube, Webcasts, so on and so forth. And in reality I have tried to keep up with the technology as best I could, without being such a dick hole that I have to have the latest thing all the time, like you credit rich assholes that HAVE to have all the latest to show off to your buddies that hate you until football season, and compensate for that "Lack of Weiner Girth Syndrome" that you have.

With all of that palaver being said, I have seen, for the 1,902nd time, that commercial stating that after February 2009, if you still use an antenna to receive television, you'll need some kind of converter box to watch TV as everything is going digital.

Great advice.

I'll take it a step further.

If you still receive your TV solely by antenna, that means that you still have to turn the dial to change channels, in which my polite advice is to GET WITH THE 21ST CENTURY, YOU HORSE AND BUGGY DRIVING RETARDS! Good Lord! It's 2008! Buy a new television and get with the program called Cable TV or something! Now, I get that some people might be out in the "Boonies of North Dakota" and they don't get cable out there, yeah fine sure. But you aren't still farming with Oxen and Push Plows, are you? No. And do you know why? They are inefficient antiques that were state of the art at the turn of the last century, for God's sake. For the Love of all that is Holy, get a satellite dish, since, well, we do live in a country that has landed a man on the moon (allegedly), landed some piece of shit on Mars (allegedly), has a missile Defense System (allegedly) and put about 100 million floaty thingies in our Earth's atmosphere to keep us ahead of the times information-wise.

So, do it already, before you end up watching NBC and Kelly Ripa blatther on about nothing like the crack-headed wind-up doll she is while a tornado rips through your Wagon Train, which would not happen had you had the Weather Channel.

Get the picture?

Do any of you actually use an antenna for TV anymore? If you do, ever comsider stealing cable, because, well, you are a loser if you don't have at least that?

Cougars. The Voters of Today

Correct me of I am wrong, but back in 1992, (or was it 1996?), the Presidential General Election's focus was on the 'soccer moms', a group that irritates the living hell out of me so much so that I'd rather pack my asshole with a Roman Candle and squat over a lit Weber grill than spend five minutes observing them in their natural environment.

They bitched and moaned about everything and basically determined that a slick dude that can play the sax and shag strange pussy would get in the White House.

Well, here it is, 2008. And I believe that we are witnessing another group of voters join in en masse to not only voice their opinions on the Presidency, but voice them on just about anything. Starting with American Idol, I guess.

I am talking about Cougars. What is a Cougar? Well, a Cougar is:

"an older woman, usually 35+, who frequents clubs in order to score with a much younger man. The cougar can be anyone from an overly surgically altered wind tunnel victim, to an absolute sad and bloated old horn-meister, to a real hottie or MILF. Cougars are gaining in popularity as young men find not only a sexual high, but many times a chick with her shit together, aka Sugar Mama."

The proof that the Cougars of America are growling loudly is the recent conclusion to Idol, where David Cook won convincingly. Apparently, a large portion of the 12 million votes that crushed David "Mommy what are these little hairs on my change purse?" Archuleta came from said Cougars. Or as an apparent sign said, "Cougars 4 Cook".

Now, I can't think of anything more irrelevant in this world than voting even once for the American Idol. I mean, if you read the article, one particular cougar voted for Cook 473 times, which is amazing considering that her natural environment is in a bar scouting the 20 something males while opening a Miller High Life with her cameltoe bottle opener. That pay phone was worn out by nights end.

But, if the numbers are correct, then we can hopefully expect a similar number of voters out there come November, determining who the next person will be to sit in the Oval Office and become fodder for mediocre Saturday Night Live impersonations.

Come to think of it, the Cougars of today ARE the Soccer Moms of yester-year. I guess that bodes well for Barack Obama, because John McCain is way too old for the Cougar to sink her teeth into.

Cougars unite! And I am way too old for you cougar ladies, by the way.

Dear Old Lady Driver...

*An open letter to little old ladies everywhere...*

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Dear Blue Haired, Buick Regal driving, Geriatric Woman:

You are old.

I understand that.

I understand that your life has been decades of ups and downs, of trials and tribulations and of living life as a little girl all the way to the frail, hair net, orthopaedic shoe wearing woman you are today.

I also understand that those years were frought with oodles upon oodles of decisions that you had to make.

Sure, some decisions weren't that hard to make. Like, whether or not to switch from a regular broom to a Swiffer (gasp!) or whether or not only buying a microwave, but using it once every year really is easier to use than a stove top.

That decision about whether to send a check for $6, or should you make it $7, to your great-grandson for his birthday was kind of hard.

But then there are those difficult decisions, you know. Should you have gone down on your knees in the front seat of that '39 Studebaker Champion back in 1943 with your soon to be husband and potentially get the rap as a "trollop"? Or perhaps should you have allowed said alcoholic husband to use his belt buckle, or maybe the wrench, in the ritual beating of your oldest boy for clogging the toilet?

That last one is a toughie. That's for sure. So, never let it be said that I don't admire the challenges you've faced.

So, here you are today, you little minx, as I see you in that tank you call an "automobile", you are forced to make yet one more in a long list of decisions in your life.

Should you or should you not ease into the intersection at the county's busiest four way stop sign intersection?

I know, I know...it's difficult. Difficult to determine who actually goes first. Is it the truck on your left that got to the intersection a smidge after you did? Or is it the mini-van full of groceries turning left ahead of you? Dear Lord...what was that rule in drivers training again?

Oh, wait. Silly me. You didn't take drivers training. It was your drunk ex-husband that taught you to drive, so you could go and pick him up from his Poker games at Roy "Stinky Thumbs" Arbuckles farm back during the FDR Administration. You shouldn't have to remember such mundane details.

Duh.

In light of that, take your time. Nevermind the traffic jam behind you, roughly twenty vehicles deep. Nobody here is in a hurry. We've got all the time in the world. Most of the people behind you have bosses that could care less if we get to work on time.

In fact, it was your old granny said, "late is better than not at all, better safe than sorry", and all that old school "ain't got shit to do but wait here and die" palaver, right?

Quite frankly, watching you struggle to push that gas pedal is a reminder of the thoughful acts needed for the aging, and of the trail you have all blazed before an ever respectful me.

Have a great day!

With Love,

That guy behind you using raunchy expletives and vowing to push your wrinkled ass into that busy intersection in three seconds if you don't utilize that vertical gas pedal on the right.

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Can you guess what my morning drive time was like?

The Best Advice of the Week...I think

Well, well, well.

Much to nobody's surprise, gas prices have hit $4.00 a gallon here in the States. I don't know if it is more or less outside of this cesspool known as "Michigan", we seem to get the plunger handle to the proverbial poop chute before you all now, so, I'm guessing "no".

If not yet, it's coming. And not "coming" in a way we all like.

Anyway. As I was driving from locale to locale doing my sales schlep thang, I came across a sign here in West Michigan (Hubs Inn, for those that are local) that spoke volumes to me. After you see the research done, you'll understand it and appreciate it even more.



The perspective I gained when I saw this sign in person was mind boggling. I figured the scale had finally tipped. Kind of like another day in my life.

The day when the Canadian dollar, all Monopoly Money looking-like, was worth more than our dollar, and I marched right into that store that wouldn't ever accept Canadian coins because it was always worth less. Well lo and behold the day came and when I presented the quarter, that toothless wonder said to me, 'Sorry, no Canadian money...", I told her to shut that pie hole of hers and take it, because she was making more money now...or the financial equivalent of saying, "fuck off, hillbilly and get me some ripple."

Imagine my feeling then when I saw this beer sign. The day had finally arrived where it was now cheaper for me to stay at home and get plastered than drive anywhere, paving the way for me to get fired and join the thousands of other Michigan folks that are unemployed, because I am all about solidarity. Fight the Power, yo!

Think about this though. We Human Beings have become more efficient than machines officially. How you ask?

A study found that the average American drives roughly 12,000 miles per year. Americans use an average of 706 gallons of gas annually in those vehicles.

That means on average, Americans get 17 miles per gallon in our vehicles.

Another study by the American Beer Institute found that Americans walk 900 miles in a year. Americans drinks an average of 22 gallons (2,816 ounces) of beer a year.

That means, on average, Americans get approximately 41 miles per gallon.

Think about that. Pretty freaking efficient if you ask me.

My point?

Do what the sign says. Drink...don't drive, the way Mother Nature intended.

Have a cold one (or ten) and a great day!

Oh Lord. Say It Aint So...

I've seen and heard way too many hackneyed things and ideas before, but this one really just takes the cake.

I am pretty sure that we as an entertainment starved society has really hit bottom now. At first I thought it was the wild popularity of rip off music artists "sampling" tunes from the 70's-90's. Then I heard that New Kids On The Block are reuniting, giving their once pre-pubescent fan base wet spots in the panties, although that is probably from sneezing with weak bladders.

Now they are planning a 21st century version of Beverly Hills, 90210.

No joke.

Yes, before there was the O.C., Laguna Beach and Veronica Mars, there was the original bullshit called Beverly Hills, 90210.



It was a bad idea then, but we gave the show a pass because, well, we had outgrown the Cosby Show and Growing Pains, quite frankly. We (and I use 'we' because I am part of that weenie-ass generation) didn't mind Brenda Walsh's bitchiness, or Dylan McKay's male pattern baldness as a teen, or Gabrielle Carteris' "42 is the new 17" take on high school life. Tori Spelling's horse face looking ass? No problem.

In fact, I dare you to ask the woman next to you (assuming they aren't blue haired, Murder She Wrote watching old farts) what they were doing on Thursday nights in the early to mid-90's, and odds are, they were wondering if Dylan McKay really did have some smack, would he do it...like OMG!

Now the idea has come full circle. Tell me if you've heard this story line before:

"Daughter Annie and adopted son Dixon are part of a family that moves to Beverly Hills to take care of an ailing matricarch. Annie is an emo/theater dork that is desperately struggling to fit in with the cool crowd. Dixon is a supersmart, independent bad boy with lingering social and behavioral issues without an ounce of nerdiness in him...One character stars in her own YouTube series and, in stark contrast to the old show's all-white cast, the CW promises diversity this time around -- with geeky David Silver subbed out Navid Shirazi, "who produces the high school's student-run video newscast and is of Middle Eastern descent."

I love it. A student run Al Jazeera. Keepin' up with the times.

The good news to come out of a 90210 remake? Lori Loughlin has another job. As does Jennie Garth. Ian Ziering surely is pushing for some screen time, too.

So, kudos to those unoriginal bastards out in Hollywood for regurgitating a mediocre idea from the 1990's and spewing forth this bile. I can't wait to see what the next big thing to come out of there will be.

I propose a Little House on the Prairie remake. Only this time, Laura Ingalls' is now of Vietnamese descent, and her and her retarded adopted brother Albert's farm house is bought out by Wal-Mart, where Laura ends up working as a nail tech at 'Regal Nails'.

And I am not a Hollywood writer why?

What is your take on a new 90210?

Most men thought this, so why not

At the risk of coming across like a complete and utter sexist jerk, I have to comment on this one.

Most women know who Danica Patrick is.



She is a hero amongst women who reaches for the broken glass ceiling that Indy Car racing strives to provide.

And she is hot as hell.

Well, she did this weekend what most men with no brains and Hooter's jackets openly think, as well as those of us with brains keep our mouths shut about.

She ran over a dude in Pit Row at Indianapolis Motor Speedway.

Ran. Him. Over.

And it was bad.

My man had a concussion, facial abrasions and clean up smacked the back tire of Miss Patrick's rig the other day.

And why?

I was at a bar the other night, and the bartender was baffled as to how this could happen. In fact, he openly asked, "how the hell did she hit the guy?"

Is it any secret?



My answer, as quick as lightning, despite my intense inebriation was, "she was clearly putting on her makeup".

Further proving that I, Matty, the smartass of all smartasses, still has a penis, has some quick wit and can offend people, uh, women, like no other.

Guys...go ahead and laugh. You know you were thinking the same thing.

Ladies...send me hate mail. I expect nothing less.

It was just too good an opportunity to pass up.

And I hit it on the barrel of the bat.

Sorry ladies.

The Kardashians can go away now

The late Robert Kardashian was a prominent businessman and non-practicing attorney famous for being there for O.J. Simpson when he needed him the most, as a volunteer member of the legal "dream team" comprised to get The Juice off the hook for chopping Nicole and Ron's heads off.

Now, Kardashian's "pole dancing, lower-yourself-onto-a-cock on video" daughters, everyone's favorite (mostly Joel McHale's and E's "The Soup's) "dead from the neck up" sisters, are putting on their philanthropy jewels for the sake of Burma.

Yep. I mean, who knows third world plight better than these three? With their closets full of clothes, their expensive cars and the fact that nobody on the planet matters more to them, than them. Burma had better send these three a gold plated stripper pole (for the two skinny ones, the fat one can have a 2 lb. burrito), because I can see the money rolling in after viewing this farcical attempt at a Public Service Announcement.




It would be more from the heart if I knew what they were trying to accomplish here or if they weren't reading from a script, much like their show. Well, that and it would help if they knew where Burma was on a map.

Thesis my ass.

Look. I am all for celebrities trying to use their star power to help people in need. But, this just screams "bullshit".

What do you think?

If the funniest joke in this movie is...

I like all sorts of movies. I love funny ones, intellectual thrillers, sports movies...I run the gamut of them all. And I pay attention too, as a lot of you know. My head is filled with useless crappy quotes from movies that I drop into regular conversations. Yeah, I am a real fucking charmer.

This does not, however, make me a full fledged critic.

Even though I will say that the Sex and the City flick looks about as good and intriguing as my pooch taking a shit and spinning around to try and see it come out. Let me guess. Samantha whores her way around, Charlotte will be gullible and whiny, Miranda is neurotic and fugly and the one that looks like a foot will get the shivers and walk away from Big from at the altar.

There you go. I just saved all you "fans" that think that Sex and the City is your "Bible" about $15.00. You can thank me by sending me some Cubs tickets and a twelve banger of Old Style.



No, what I am writing about today is a movie, but not that one.

I saw the trailer for What Happens In Vegas... for the 104th time this week and I gots to admit...

It looks like a turd. A "big, fat, wrap-around the bowl, sunken Edmund Fitzgerald look-alike, leaving skiddies turd".

Really. The entire trailer is of them running around acting like fools because they happened to get hammered drunk and unknowingly got married and then follows the shenanigans after they figure it out, blah blah blah...it's crap. Besides, I am pretty sure that Friends played out this story line a decade ago. You know. Ross and Rachel get drunk in Vegas, end up eating Macadamia Nuts in the room and get hitched, with them looking like this:



"Hello, Missus Ross!"
"Hello, Mister Rachel!"

Ha Ha. Funny Funny...I am officially gay for even referencing this.

Anyway. This story line is about as fresh as a New Kids On The Block reunion tour...

And, if the funniest joke in the whole hour and a half movie is...

"Hi. My name is Richard Banger."
"Your name is Dick Banger? Well, you just supplied us with all the jokes for the night."...

...then this movie will stink. I mean, you can dress up a pig in a nice gown and put purfume on it, but at the end of the day, it is still...

...a pig.

Oink, oink.

Anyone seen this movie yet? Tell me I am wrong, if you please. Or concur.