Honest b.s. from a diehard fan

Lakers-Warriors Game 1 Recap

On a night where LeBron shot under 32% from the field, and D’Angelo Russell sank only a single three pointer, it was an Anthony Davis double-double that powered the Los Angeles Lakers past the Golden State Warriors in Game 1 of the Western Conference Semi Finals. With 30 points and an astounding 23 rebounds from AD, the Lakers were able to hold off Golden State despite an abysmal performance from behind the arc and three Warriors over 20 points.

Early in the first quarter the -4.5 point spread in favor of the Warriors appeared spot on as they took a quick 12-4 lead on their home court, but it would be a back and forth affair from then on. Per usual, The Splash Brothers did the heavy lifting for their side combining for 52, but it just wasn’t enough to overcome the plethora of weapons in purple and gold as they fell 112-117 in regulation. Poole had a chance to tie in the final 10 seconds of the fourth, but his three pointer from downtown Oakland bounced off the iron.

Big time buckets from up and down the Lakers roster is the reason they’re still hooping in May. A turbulent regular season and changing roster really came together in their series against Memphis and looked scary at times, but if there is one thing we know about Steph Curry, it’s that a 50-burger is always lurking around the corner. He’s as competitive as it gets and won’t take a loss to LeBron in the playoffs well. I expect fireworks from him in Game 2, and a bounce back from the Warriors. This series will not be won easily.

They’re back at it for Game 2 on May 5, and we will see if another 44 minute dose of nine eyebrows has the same effect, or if the Chef has something else cooking.

What’s the craziest thing you’ve seen at a Planet Fitness?

I’ll go first. It was a guy starting up a gas powered chain saw in the parking lot… How does that stack up with the craziest shit you’ve seen at a PF?

Let me elaborate. This wasn’t a Planet Fitness in Montana, or Wyoming, or out in Appalachia . This was in the middle of a city. You can’t even see a tree from this place. Infact, I don’t even think there is wood within a mile of this gym. There is literally nothing he should be cutting. And it’s not like he was in a uniform or driving a company truck, buddy wasn’t punching a time clock for whatever he was doing.

Also, we weren’t right across the street from Chainsaws R Us. He wasn’t just gassing one up and testing it out. I looked it up, it’s a thirty minute drive from the nearest chainsaw dealer. This was planned. He has to get his chainsaw, mix up a little 2 stroke oil and gas slushy, and travel to a Planet Fitness. And then he had to start it! You could accidentally start an electric chain saw in a parking lot, that happens all the time, but to be tugging on that cord for 5 minutes like it’s your dick after seeing some wale tail at the local pharmacy takes intent and motivation.

Now I was driving into the parking lot to get a sweat on when I saw this. Obviously I was pretty curious, but mostly extremely terrified. I’ve seen Texas Chainsaw Massacre, I know where this could be headed (no pun intended), but I wouldn’t be deterred from my favorite sixty minutes of the day, and I didn’t see a corpse, so I went inside and prayed I wouldn’t be cut down in the middle of a new PR. At least have the decency to wait until I rack them.

Sixty uneventful minutes later I stepped outside. No chainsaw noises, no chainsaw in sight, no police, no ambulance, nothing but the usual suspects at a PF, hefty cheap people who just walked on a 0.1 degree incline for 30 minutes and did 3 sets of wrist curls followed by 5 sets of calf raises, because everyone knows the key to lower blood pressure starts in your forearms and ankles.

Unfortunately the ending to this story will leave you a little unfulfilled because instead of staying outside and observing a potential dismemberment, I went inside and hit the weights. We’ll never know why this dude decided to operate a chainsaw in the middle of a Planet Fitness parking lot, but I can’t imagine he has a good reason for it.

P.s. this incident beat out a blind guy who tried to use a smith machine while another member was in the middle of squatting, and a guy who rolled into the gym in a wheelchair and then just got out of it and started working out like nothing in the world was wrong with him.

My Review of Jury Duty

It starts 30 minutes late, because why not, they work for the government. You need to be here 30 minutes before it starts, but we’ll show up 30 minutes after it starts and pretend like we’re not wasting your time. After a rousing speech from a lady I believe to be Rose, the Titanic survivor, we are now prepared to wait some more.

That’s how she looked, that’s how I felt.

Now Rose being 30 minutes late to the 8am meeting she’s had scheduled for a month (and likely has every day) isn’t entirely her fault. Some blame must go to her physician who clearly wasn’t on his “A” game when he put that titanium hip in; she walked like current day Tiger Woods after hole 17 (I fucking love you Tiger, I’m sorry).

Now anyone who knows me know that there ain’t much in this world that I love more than sitting in a quiet room full of strangers on an uncomfortable chair. You can only lean forward and backward and forward and backward so many times before you just pick a stance and come to grips with that fact that your body is going to hurt from sitting down. This last for about an hour before a buzz of energy hits the room. Time to sentence a serial killer to a firing squad!? Nope. Just an announcement that the courts aren’t ready and we will be waiting longer. Truly our governments finest at work. I was ready at 7:30am for something I’ve nevr done before, and you couldn’t be ready by 9:30 to do your job? Fucking unbelievable.

After the announcement someone tried to make small talk with me and I threw my breakfast at their face (okay that’s a lie). I think my demeanor did all the talking for me “don’t fucking talk to me.”

The guy behind me commented to someone that he’d still rather be here than be at his job…shut up dude there is no chance that’s true.

As it nears 10am I still haven’t moved from the chair I sat down in at 7:30. #efficiency. I could have gotten the Casey Anthony decision correct in this amount of time.

Shortly after 10am my number is called, maybe the only time I’ve ever won a lottery type deal in my life.

When I arrived at the courtroom with the other unluckies we were immediately lied to. The guy who greeted us said he would quickly get us organized and seated. If that’s his definition of quick, his wife is one lucky lady. After half an hour of cattle herding we were marched into an hour long civics lesson followed by a two hour lunch. Yes you read that correctly. They did one hour of work, and immediately took a two hour lunch. Bananas. Ever tried to kill two hours in a courthouse? Absolutely impossible. Give me a tv with some sports on, maybe some beer on tap, maybe air hockey, possibly a pool table, shit I’d settle for a playground but no, just an unimaginative, soul sucking building designed by someone who clearly hates the justice system and its employees.

So two hours of podcasts and a cold lunch in a lonesome hallway later I trudge back to the courtroom, on time, because I’m a god damn professional. Time for action right? Wrong! Dead wrong. Time for 45 minutes of waiting. 45 more minutes of waiting after a 2 hour lunch, what is wrong with these people? And what happens when the waiting is over? I’m dismissed like Taylor Swift’s stinky old cardigan she keeps under the bed.

So there it is, my review of jury duty. 7 hours of waiting quietly only to be dumped like someone who put on the freshman 15.

1/5 stars, would not recommend.

What A Gallon Of 2% Says About You.

I love the white stuff as much as anyone else. I refuse to eat an oreo without waterboarding it, Dick Cheney style, (sick reference) in the sweet nectar, and I prefer that nectar come from the breast of a thick heffer and not a busted nut (almond you perverts). But just know your hand on that familiar chilled jug screams altar boy virgin. Or checkers player. Or viola enthusiast. You get it.

Now this came about because of a recent air bnb stay I had. In the great north woods of an undisclosed state, nestled between enormous evergreens sat a cozy little lake house whose owner explicitly said, no less than 29 times, “no parties, no smoking, and no vaping” (RIP fat clouds). The front door had a sign that read “no parties, no smoking, no vaping,” the living room had a sign that read “no parties, no smoking, no vaping,” the patio had a sign that said “no parties, no smoking, no vaping” and the bathroom had a sign that said “please don’t flush condoms.” Clearly, people party and fuck here. They get drunk, smoke some wacky tobaccy, blow a few clouds, and shoot ropes into latex baby catchers that this sewer system was not built to handle. To make it even more clear that we were not supposed to host a drunken, smokey, fuck fest, the owner told us he was also our neighbor.

So during our first night here we went and got some groceries. Nothing wild, nothing you can smoke, and nothing you can cum in. As I carried a plastic bag full of cereal and yogurt in one hand, and a gallon of 2% fat fucking cows tit milk in the other, down the driveway and into the house, I knew that if the owner/neighbor was watching, he would sleep like a baby that night knowing a bunch of bird watching, WWJD bracelet wearing, milk drinking pussies were going to be occupying his air bnb. No one has ever walked into a house with a gallon of milk and proceeded to do anything but show the upmost respect for other people’s property. No adult, milk drinking, man would ever dare disobey a clearly visible sign. Milk has never started a fuck fest, it’s never started a party, and it’s definitely never gotten anyone laid. A gallon of Milk says, “I’ll have one hard rootbeer, but then I need to hit the hay.” This guy has never felt safer, I guarantee it. We play Creed a little louder than he likes, and he knows that our regular diet consisting of 2% milk means he could kill all of us with a lamp shade if he needed to.

Milk guys, aren’t fuck up my air bnb guys, they’re rubix cube guys, and World of Warcraft guys. Instead of treating the place like a rock band after a sold out show at Wembley, they’ll play rockband until their serving arm gets sore and their Ralph Lauren polo gets too itchy.

Hand up, I drink milk, I drink it pretty often actually, but I would die before I would be seen drinking a glass of that baby food. It’s just plain embarrassing to be drinking the same shit as every little baby everywhere ever.

Keep drinking that shit if you want to be a loser and die alone in a set of pj’s that your mom made for you.

Weep, Drew Lock stans

I can’t believe the Denver Broncos took this long to name Teddy Bridgewater their starting quarterback for the 21′-22′ season. It’s embarrassing that they even made him compete for starting job against a guy who’s definitely making a horrible mixtape as you read this.

Drew Lock is the perfect high school quarterback, and he’s a great college quarterback if your school is irrelevant, but you cannot honestly tell me you want him running out of the tunnel on a chilly Sunday afternoon as the starting quarterback of your favorite NFL franchise. Nothing puts a damper on a table full of chips, dips, and grilled (or fried) meats like knowing you’re about to put your happiness in the hands of Drew fucking Lock. Sure he might have the swag and appearance of that kid who was good at every sport in middle school, but he plays quarterback like that kid who was really good at magic in middle school.

Teddy is the right answer. He has always been, and always will be the right answer. He makes every team he’s on a contender. He throws dimes. He busts knees. He wears two gloves. He wins games. He fucks. What else could you want?

#Teddy2GlovesForever

Marjorie Taylor Greene challenged Dr. Fauci to a weight lifting competition.

If you didn’t see, Marjorie Taylor Greene flexed her below average muscles right in the face of Dr. Anthony Fauci the other day, posting a video of herself working out along with the hashtag “#FireFauci.”

In a “gym” fit for a maximum security prison, Greene showed off her raw strength while tossing around 25 pound plates like they were Faucis’ testicles. Greene then proceeded to practice the butterfly stroke on a pullup bar, a move that bewildered those of us not in an exercise cult.

Now I don’t know if this is how they typically handle beef down in Georgia’s 14th congressional district, but I would guess exercise challenges aren’t popping off too often. A grits eating challenge would seem more appropriate, but alas, MTG decided to settle her score in the iron paradise.

It’s a smart choice if we’re being honest with ourselves. While MTG might be impressing us even less with her brawn than she is with her brain, her competition is one 25 pound plate away from being crippled.

Not exactly the face of strength training, but Fauci has no choice but to answer the bell. Greene ghost fucked the air more aggressively than Tori Spelling in Scary Movie 2 and then casually tried to fire him all in the same tweet. You simply can’t let that slide without a response. In a normal world thoes are two separate tweets, but during a pandemic you can try to fire a doctor while humping the shit out of the air all at once.

Fauci needs to be living at GNC if he has any hope of coming out of this alive. Get a bone density scan, get some supplements to stave off osteoporosis, and start hitting the whey and creatine. He’s going to need calories too, a lot of them. He may not get yoked, but maybe he’ll look less like Ellen Degeneres when his response video drops.

May the least weak win.

Spencer Jones’ Rumble In A Toilet Filled Jungle

I didn’t know this man existed until I saw the video of him being used as human piss mop on a bar bathroom floor. I don’t know if he deserved that treatment or not, I saw the same video everyone else did. I don’t know any details. But what I do know is that if you’re going to get into a bar scrap, you need to come harder than that.

Spencer got absolutely molly whopped by one of the most unsuspecting gentlemen I’ve ever seen. He got dog walked in one of the worst places you could ever end up on on all fours with a leash around your neck.

Unfortunately, at one time or another, we’ve all had to take a leak in the bathroom of a crowded bar. On your way to a clogged and overflowing urinal, you have to wade through a musty sea of piss, vomit, spilled drinks, and bro’s.

Minutes before Spencer and his denim clad buddy would get a chance to taste this shining sea, they offended the absolute wrong bro. Rumor has it this guy trains in MMA. By the looks of things, I’d say he definitely trains in MMA. In the blink of an eye this dude unleashed a bitch slap, two quick jabs, and a suplex that landed Spencer face first on a floor that likely gets mopped with a bucket full of stale beer and rat shit. Not to be left out of the fun, captain jean jacket would soon find himself tongue polishing grout as well.

This was a tough showing for two dudes who appeared to be playing the tough guy role. You can’t shove someone and then proceed to put up less of a fight than France did in World War 2. The moment you push another man, you should be ready for combat, but nothing says “I’m going to get my ass kicked” like a jean jacket. I hope denim doesn’t absorb puke and tequila well, it would be awful if that jacket got ruined.

My advice to Spencer, aside from take literally any kind of fighting lessons, would be to stop playing sports. Quit the football team before next season because each and every one of your opponents are going to spend four full quarters lighting you up for that video. Nothing you do on the field can overcome what happened in that fight. No amount of stat sheet stuffing on the field can overcome being ridden across the floor and donkey punched in the same room where people poop by a short guy in cowboy boots.

I do honestly hope his eye is okay though.

Long Live Dusty Gooch

The NHL may not have been able to deliver us the best outdoor game today, but unbeknownst to them, they gave us something so much better. The National Hockey League introduced us to local front line worker Dusty Gooch.

Unfortunately, many people on the internet took this chance to taint their timelines with crude jokes, and wise cracks, something I’m not interested in doing here.

Dusty works as a local firefighter and paramedic in the Lake Tahoe area, jobs that were made especially tough by the Covid-19 pandemic, which I’m sure caused Gooch to be stretched thin between the two.

The NHL invited Gooch to the outdoor game at Lake Tahoe to celebrate him and other frontline workers for their selflessness and dedication during the pandemic. Unfortunately, warm air caused some soggy conditions and the game had to be postponed. Slushy ice is a groin injury waiting to happen after all. Naturally, fans were disappointed, some saying they felt let down, others comparing the experience to a real hard kick in the crotch. Despite the hiccups, the NHL did the best they could to turn that thin strip of land into a pleasurable experience, full of world class hockey.

No matter the outcome of the event, it must have been nice for Gooch to get some fresh air out on the Lake, during a beautiful day, instead of being cooped up in a hot, sticky ambulance. The NHL did right by honoring him and others who are constantly at risk of infection due to the hairy situations they often find themselves in.

Dusty is a hero, and the residents around Lake Tahoe should sleep tighter knowing he stands between them and danger. Gooch has chosen to be a guardian and has positioned himself firmly between the light and the dark.

Here’s to you Dusty R. Gooch 🍻 Keep doing what you’re doing, you got a dirty ass job and we know it ain’t easy.

A Drew Brees Return?

ICYMI, Twitter has been buzzing lately regarding a possible Drew Brees return to New Orleans to “run it back.”

Surprisingly, it was a rare topic that Twitter seemed to agree on because it would be such a disaster if old man Brees suited up for another season.

It’s hard to imagine what exactly Brees would want to run back. The 36 broken ribs? The torn up shoulder? The collapsed lung? The 3 interception playoff loss? Not a whole lot of bright spots, and at age 42 with a shoulder that seems to be held together about as well as two sausage links, not a lot of reason to abandon mornings with The Price Is Right and Deal Or No Deal for a day job where over grown men are paid to physically and emotionally abuse you.

Maybe he just wants to best Tom Brady.

I’m sure it’s hard to watch 43 year old Brady come into your division and win the Super Bowl after knocking you out of the playoffs, but Tom is a freak of nature despite being a middle aged, moderately athletic, white guy with a body like a bag of milk, and Drew needs to give up trying to compete with him. Tom would rather put his lips on his sons mouth than om a strawberry or a tomato, which is a level of psycho that simply can’t be beat.

When Famous Jameis is the better option for deep throws, you know it’s time to hang up the jock and prepare for the Depends. It’s not often a coach prefers a blind quarterback who once threw 30 interceptions, but apparently your vision being limited to 10 yards is better than your arm being limited to 10 yards.

What I’m trying to say here is that it’s time for Drew Brees to move on. His diminished abilities are holding the Saints back, and although there is not much in life that I love more than watching the Saints lose in the playoffs, it’s getting hard to watch Brees throw the ball like he’s a slow pitch softball pitcher whose had one too many PBR’s in a league meant for board Dads trying to reclaim their glory days.

He looks like 50 Cent throwing at the Mets game for christ’s sake.

It’s time to hang it up, you’ve had a fine career. Don’t try to run anything back, don’t even try to run anyone.

James Harden Is Leading The Charge For “Thiccck Boy Summer”

In case you haven’t seen our chonk king yet, take a look this big boy body.

During a month typically known for weight loss resolution’s that result in crowded gyms, record quinoa sales, and self hatred, James Harden is shaping his body a bit differently.

He’s traded in the leafy greens, dumbells, and diet pills for strip club ribs, full strength beer, and an exercise program created by Mike McCarthy. Somehow, in between slugging bud heavys with a fistful of wet naps, and performing 10 sets of laying down, he still finds time to play professional basketball. Luckily for us, all that work on the court hasn’t negatively affected his body.

Say what you will, but James Harden has created the ideal Male body, and just in time. We’ve still got a few months left to get into buffet shape before summer hits and it’s time for suns out flabby guns out, or blue skys and wide thighs.

Hot girl summer was great, but I don’t remember seeing any one of those ladies averaging 26 ppg with their size 0 waists. So if we’ve learned one thing, size matters, and from the looks of things a 42 inch waist should do it if you want to penetrate the lane deep enough.

I’ve already canceled my gym membership and downloaded the Domino’s app. So when you see me dominating pick up games in the gym and spike ball on the beach this summer with a body like a six lane backroad just know that I, like Harden, didn’t take any days off to achieve it.

It’s time to pick up the fork and get to work, Thiccck Boy Summer is approaching.