The Truth Will Set You Free

As posted on Craig's List

Porn Has Completely Destroyed Me

There was a time - I'd say pre 1999 - when I would have tolerated a girl with an errant fat roll, a mildly problematic ass, or even non-porcelain veneered teeth. And come to think of it, I might have even green lighted a B cup chest.

But with the installation of the high speed cable modem, alas, I am sad to say that those times have now passed. I now only want - and will only solicit affection from - girls with killer porn star looks and behavior.

I am ashamed and I do not like what now stimulates me, but the Internet, with all of its quick fix, crack-like vices, has made me extraordinarily intolerant.

Are you a Tufts or Harvard grad and a great conversationalist?

Not important.

Do you have a quirky sense of humor and a knack for cooking Asian Fusion cuisine?

Don't care.

Would you like to discuss the sub-text meaning of the whip sawed brush strokes of that Kandinsky painting at the MFA?

Fuck off.

Be the source of a blood rush and make me throw a rod in my pants or kindly turn into anti-matter.

I am ruined. I am dead on the inside. I am ashamed and embarrassed of what now stimulates me and I know that I am irrevocably changed for the worse. For all practical purposes, Internet porn has destroyed me.

So who am I? Not who you'd think. Not the dandruff-haired blob of shit in the cube next to you. Not the UES Michigan frat boy. Not the faux disheveled Downtown hipster with the silly retro Puma sneakers.

Sadly, I am the "normal" one that you're actually interested in. Cultured, eloquent, well dressed. I am the one you discuss with your girlfriends over Sunday brunch. I am the one you hope to bump into at Karen's pajama themed apartment party. I am the one who takes the lead, holds doors, and hails cabs.

Shit.

Do you dream of a man who will "love you just for you?"

Do believe that you have peripheral, intangible qualities that men of substance will key upon and gravitate to?

Do you shun the gym in favor of The Apprentice and a pint of Ben & Jerry's Chunkey Monkey, thinking that your black cigarette pants will sufficiently mask any belly spillage or ass expansion?

Then forget it. It's game over. You're a walking, talking non-compete clause and you're going to end up alone with a slobbering oversized Rotweiller named Chuckles.

Pull your head out of your ass and be advised - porn viewing/obsession is spreading like the plague amongst my gender - upping the already unrealistic physical expectations, pushing boundaries in the bedroom (you're down with anal, right?), and providing instant, customize-able sexual highs with the push of a button.

If you're female and you don't posess prodigal, Einsteinian caliber intelligence that would propel the cause of humanity forward, and, if you don't relish the idea of being alone, then . . .

. . . throw every last dollar you have at your physical appearance.

I'm serious. Personal trainer. Porcelain veneers. High-end boob job. Get scared and get it done.

Do not extend my gender any credit. Do not hope that a guy will be in awe of your cello playing, your VP title, or your cute apartment.

I promise you he won't care. Don't kid yourself into thinking he will. Men are programmed to respond to the visual.

Look good or you're alone.

I can't comment any further, other than saying he's right.

You... You're... a Stu.

Adam: Just a passing thought, but I was wondering, is it ever OK to hit a girl?
Mole: I don't think I know you anymore.
Adam: Seriously, this item is on my mind for some reason, and it's been up for debate from time to time
Mole: Look fucktard, quit being a Stu, and be a Steve.
Adam: Wha?
Mole: Let me put it to you like this. Say for example you're Steve McQueen.
Adam: OK?
Mole: And you've just pistol-whipped a guy from behind that's trying to kill you.
Adam: Yeah?
Mole: And Sally Struthers is standing in front of you screaming....
Adam:............
Mole: Never mind douche bag.

Focus: can their be a more awesome "Steve" move than when he stares at Struthers and crushes her skull? Further, can any of you think of a better(or is it worse) example of a hot piece of Hollywood ass that turned into Jabba the Hut? I need answers.

Yes I Watch NASCAR, Go Fuck Yourself

So, today starts my coverage of all things Mullet in me, NASCAR. While I'm really the only one of my friends that follows this sport like most do those of the stick and ball ilk, I still have fun all by my lonesome. Yes I go to both races at Texas Motor Speedway (TMS), yes I drink red label Budweiser, yes, I own Caps, T-Shirts, beer coozies, seat cushions, stickers, lanyards, flags, banners, and bandanas, all emblazoned with the color, number, and sponsor of my favorite driver (#8 Dale Jr.). And yes, I even have a radio scanner and sound-proof headphones in which I listen to the communications of the drivers and their pit crew. You may say it's crazy, you may say it's not a sport, and you're probably right. What you can't say is that it not maybe the finest example of fandom on the American sports landscape. I've been to events of the big 3 (football, basketball, baseball/stand-around) and aside from the Yankees, Red Sox, and Eagles fans, you'll never find a more rabid group of supporters (though some show up actually exhibiting symptoms from being bit by their dog) than those of the NASCAR ranks.

Today's business, TOYOTA. Toyota entered one of the minor league series of NASCAR 3 years ago with the TUNDRA, in the Craftsman Truck Series. Today, it was anounced that not only would they enter the Camry for the 2007 Nextel Cup campaign, but that it would also place entries into the Busch series as well. What does this mean? Not much to my age group. Being that I'm just 28 I always grew up with more than just the American giants of Chevy, Ford, and Dodge (the current manufacture’s line up). What does it mean to the NASCAR landscape? Well, purists will claim it's an invasion of all things American and that foreign manufactures shouldn’t be allowed on to our 'merican' read: 'Southern tracks'. This argument is bullshit on two fronts because a)it's not the first time someone other than American manufactures have entered into the NASCAR elite series (formally known as Winston Cup), and b)these cars aren't foreign in their build. Both the Camry and the Tundra are built here in America by American hands giving Americans jobs.

If anything, I think competition will improve with the research of Toyota Racing Development (TRD) and we'll wind up having better racing as a result.

The next question to be answered is which of the "good 'ole boys" will move to the new Camry in '07. I feel without a doubt that Penske South (#2 Miller Lite, #12 Alltel) will change from Dodge seeing how his open wheel team is already TRD backed. Plan to see Bill Davis Racing (#23 Caterpillar, #55 Napa) switch from Dodge as well since he already runs the Tundra in the trucks series and consequently has raced the past two years without factory backing from Dodge in the Nextel ranks. The Waltrip boys of Michael and Darrell I can see combining camps and fielding Mikey's Napa ride under their own banner. Darrell already runs 2 Tundras in the truck series and has been their most visible supporter since they hit the circuit. Darrell gives them the "good 'ole boy" image with his championships of the 80’s, and Mikey gives them a built in fan base from his time spent with Dale Earnhardt Inc (DEI) and instant sponsor tie ins with NAPA, Domino's, etc.

All in all, I don’t really give a rats about the Toyota boys because no one is going to out win the Chevys, but more than that, I'm just excited about the up coming races. Daytona is in February, and you'll be able to find me on me on my couch for the next 10 months on Sundays.

Boogity, Boogity, Boogity, lets go racin' boys.

Today In Sports

The power of time spent in college.

Breaking News: Payton to Coach Saints, Cowboys Rumored to Play Offense Next Season

Let me be the first to thank the Saints for letting us unload Sean Payton. How did this guy get a head position? For that matter, how did he get an NFL OC job? You'd figure with Mel Kiper saying that the Saints are a lock to pick Matt Lienart or Vince Young they'd want to place some QB guru in there to help acclimate them to the NFL game. Leave it to the Saints to hire a guy that had his play calling duties pulled in NY with the Giants, not to mention having the Tuna always looking over his shoulder in Dallas. This is exciting news for me though because I'd love to see Dallas put someone in place that can be creative in their play calling, or at least aggressive.

Houston O-Line Coach Assigned to Indy Playoff Game?

First, kudos to T-Shaw, good call on the Broncos, they played well and deserved the win.

Second, BOO, to Peyton Manning for calling out his support staff for their blown blocking assignments. You think the whole freaking football world didn't know they couldn't adjust to the Pittsburg blitz deluge? In a post game press conference we want to hear analysis of things that aren't blaringly obvious. There's no way you're going to get that VISA contract from Brady now. In the annuls of football history, I hope that an asterisk is placed on the game's score to show that it wouldn't have had a chance to be that close if Cowher hadn't called the dogs off in the 3rd and half of the 4th quarter.

Also, apologies to the Panthers, sorry I ever doubted you guys.

Getting Your Hair Cut in Greenville, or Having a Horse Bang You....What's Worse?

I have a dilemma, I need a haircut. You see I call softball and the season is right around the corner. Just like any other job, you have to look the part, so for me that means putting on some of the most unflattering things alive. I'm talking smoke stack hats, and permanent crease pants. It's bad enough we have to listen to Daddy shout from the peanut gallery about how there is no need for me to be on my knees, but thanks to what I'm wearing I get to give him extra fodder to hound me with.

This brings me to the haircut. Right now I'm keeping it longer than usual but it looks shaggy and unprofessional when poofing out under my hat, so I need to get it cut. I'm scared though, because getting a hair cut in Greenville, Texas is like playing Russian roulette with a single shot .410, when it's over, your head is probably going to be fucked up.

It's like a time about 2 years ago when I went to see P's "stylist", if you want to call her that. It took some coaxing but she got me to agree to have her cut my hair. This woman is a piece of work, if she isn't on meth, well, she's moved on to Doctor prescribed happy pills, not to mention preaching about Jesus. She is flying a hundred miles an hour around my head, with a sharp object getting ever so close to my ears. I'm trying really hard not to think about Evander Holyfield right now, but the fact of the matter is, I'm expecting her to start calling me Tom Jones, cut off my ear, and start juggling it, a hair dryer, and a piece of bologna like the circus sideshow she is. The worst part of this whole thing is that while she's cutting, I have my glasses off. Now, I'm not totally blind. With my glasses off it's not like I'd be Stevie Wonder trying to drive a school bus, but images are fuzzy, and I can't monitor the progress. When she's done, I put my glasses on, and see that the instructions to "thin the sides", and "trim the top" probably weren't detailed enough for her. Now, I look like a Mexican being interviewed by Fox, after a drive-by shooting in South Oak Cliff. The only thing missing is that front isn't bleached and curled over like bangs. I hold my breath, calmly rise, exhale, and walk to the register, (it'll be ok Adam). I pay for it. As I drive home, I'm looking in the rear view mirror fuming at what I look like. Of course I calmly call P and tell her that I'm very disappointed with the out-come of my hair. (right)

I decided the only thing to do is to take matters into my own hands, so lucky for me I have my trusty "do-everything" cap so I go to Wal-Mart to buy some clippers. Ten dollars later I'm a man on a mission and on my way home. When I arrive I fail to back hand P when she laughs at my head and tells me "it'll grow out". Wonderful, all I have to wait is 4 to 6 weeks for it to be long enough to have the top cut back to match. Is it possible to hate and love someone at the same time? Next, I take out my trusty new clippers, and P freaks. "What are you doing with those"? You know, there is no such thing as a stupid question, only stupid people. She starts crying because she doesn't want me to shave my head, but since I don't have enough tear drops tattooed under my eye to "represent", I know what I have to do. I strip down and go sit in the bathtub and shave my head like a rape victim.....I'm not pretty anymore.

The last time I went to get my hair cut was at this fine Establishment called Carrie's Cuts. As I walked in Carrie was there and took me on. Since I had been growing my hair over the summer, I needed it cut because I was in the middle of football season. I told her to clean up the back, and leave a little over the ears. I mean I'm trying to look stylish and all, (yes I'm fucking vain) but I also want to be accepted on the sidelines in the flat-top world of coaching. So, I take off my glasses and she goes to work. When she's done I put my glasses on and see that she has not only seen a need to try and make me look like Lloyd Christmas, but is actually proud of what she has done. I hold my breath, calmly rise, exhale, and walk to the register, (it'll be ok Adam). I pay for it, but while I'm standing there I notice something.......tapered jeans......keds......nugget rings.......these were the things that she and her employees were wearing. Now I'm perplexed, I'm not sure what to feel, I'm horrified.

These people can't be more than five or so years older than me, why do they look like they hit the clearance pavilion in Canton? Don't they watch TV; do they see what's going on in the world of fashion? Why aren't they keeping up? Are they *gulp* old? They can't be, they're only five or so years older than me. Then I feel those cold fingers of death's grip crawling up my back as I leave. I go and sit in my car, in silence. I'm almost to their age, am I going to look like that? Is there a switch that pops on when you live in BFE and hit 30? When do you quit being cool? At this point my hair is meaningless, now my only thoughts are on self preservation.

Since this was in October of last year, I've had a lot of time to think about it, and I've come to the realization that they just don't care. These people will probably be seen being surgically removed from a couch on Montel Williams since their skin has grown into the fabric. That’s who these people are, they're not me, and I refuse to loose my "cool". It's not like I'm going to go out and dress like K-Fed, cause lets face it, he probably wanted to name his kid Newport, and that's not cool. However, it seems that it doesn't take a lot of work to look like you've bought a pair of jeans since 1991.

So here I sit, 3 months later, my hair is longer, and I need it cut in three weeks. Since I read a news paper article about a man in Washington who died from a perforated intestine after taking third input from a horse, looks like I need to find a good barber.

Question answered, Horse is definitely worse.