War Criminal: Other People's Dogs

 

No one cares about your dog but you.

War Criminal: This God Damn Popup

No, I don't want to give feedback. No one ever wants to give you feedback. The fact that I have a popup blocker and ad blocker should have told you that. Go the fuck away already.

War Criminal Update: Shia LaBeouf Still At Large

Back in 2007, this guy named Shia LaBeouf came on my radar. As you can see, I instinctively knew he was a terrible human being, guilty of multiple war crimes.

Holy shit did I underestimate how bad he was.

When I wrote that 9 years ago, LaBeouf was a mere Idi Amin. Since then he's turned into a full blown Josef Stalin, brutalizing the world with his "art."

He came up again because he's decided to hitchhike across America as some sort of performance art/pogrom. It might be sort of clever I guess had John Waters not done the exact same thing just last year.

What else has he been up to since we last checked in? Here's a sampling:

Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull - I'm an apologist for this movie and will argue until the day I die it's better than the now virtually unwatchable Temple of Doom, but man, he makes that a tough sell. The low point of Indiana Jones is when he swings on vines with some monkeys. I don't even remember why. I just see owls now.

Whatever the fuck this is.

He wore a bag to the Berlin Film Festival. Seriously. Look at that fucking thing.

He sat in a theater for six days, for you know, art or something, and let people come see him. One lady molested him. Good for her.

He paid for #StopCreating and #StartCreating skywriting over LA - because if there's one thing LA needs it's more shit in the air. Maybe next time he can create a traffic jam.

BTW, those last three things may all have been plagiarized to some degree.

We need to stay vigilant people. How can a criminal like this walk free for years? Even Roman Polanski has to hide out in Europe and all he did was drug a teenage girl and...uh, well never mind that I guess. Anyway, we all need to do as the state security apparatus suggests and say something if we see something. Did you see Nymphomaniac? Call DHS. Immediately. If you're a spoiled Hollywood douche canoe, you can even call it art!

War Criminal: "Sportsball"

Image Yanked From: Whatever This Is

Hey, that Super Bowl sure was fun, wasn’t it? And I bet you’re looking forward to the fireworks-in-a-clothes-dryer insanity of March Madness. Unless you’re one of the people with the hilarious “Go Sportsball Team!” Tweets. You don’t see the point in blah blah fart fart yes I’ve heard this ten thousand times already.

Sports fan or not, you’ve seen and heard this line of thinking a lot more in recent years because:

a) everyone displays their opinions like a presenting baboon nowadays, myself included and:

b) we live in the Era of the Nerd

Comic book movies rule the box office. A fantasy swords-and-dragons epic and a zombie apocalypse serial are the two most popular shows on TV. People will giggle about the 11 hours of Attack on Titan they binged on Netflix right before they sigh that college football is such a waste of time.

So if it’s you LOUDSIGHING at the bar because the sound is on for the game, I do get where you’re coming from. And far be it from me to stoop to hyperbole … but you’re worse than Hitler.

As a kid, I used to take crap for even admitting my love of Marvel Comics. One particular booger-eating dipshit called me an “X-Men wannabe” once, which has always stuck with me. This kid’s particular power was brown teeth from fluorosis, so I didn’t get how he could throw stones at Colossus like that.

So you’d imagine that I’d love a world where you can get a soft cotton X-Men tee at Target with your Mountain Dew, Doreeta Chips, and paper shredder. But instead we’re just in a dark, horrible universe where the nerds wield a dickish middlebow swagger behind the rallying cry of Chris Hardwick. Sports are dumb, all books are part of romantic sci-fi/horror tetralogies, and jeans are skinny. The only conclusion to reach is that I must have somehow 12 Monkeys’d a lunatic version of myself back to 1997. Apologies for that.

Do you think that sports are incessantly shoved down your throat, even though you couldn’t care less? Star Wars. Athletes are terrible people and terrible citizens? Frank Miller created the version of Batman you love and he’s a walking racist email chain. The games themselves are ultimately meaningless? You posted a picture of a frittata on Instagram last week.

You aren’t a cultural elite because you watch Doctor Who. Every season of that show starts out fun and ends like a death march. If I wanted a life of breathless, joyous possibility followed by soul-crushing disappointment, I’d become a teacher.

No, newly confident nerd, you are not better than sports fans because your cultural tastes are shared by a different (likely overlapping) group of millions of Americans. Having read The Walking Dead comic doesn’t mean you’re improving the human condition. Choosing to pay for your favorite comedian’s pay-what-you-want album doesn't house war orphans. The cancellation of Firefly was not an actual injustice, and Joss Whedon only cares about your cult inasmuch as it keeps his kids from having to attend public school.

So embrace your ordinary-ness. Your selfishness. Your general lack of worth compared to the truly great humans of history (don't worry, they were probably awful too). You too are merely a distractible oinker rooting around in the same cultural mud pit as the rest of us. So let's share a bottle of whiskey and wish bad things on the St. Louis Cardinals and their fans. We're way better pigs than those pigs.

Go Sports Team!




*that said, public financing for stadiums is still a fucking scam

War Criminal: Commercials

Not many things annoy me. I can handle the screaming baby on the plane, the flat tire in the rain (in AZ, nonetheless), and even shopping on the day before Christmas. But commercials annoy the living b'Jesus out of me. Fortunately, thanks to modern technology like Tivo and DV-R most the shows I watch are recorded so I can triple-f (fast-fucking-forward) right over them. But once in a while I have to watch something live. Like sporting events. And Jersey Shore. Here are a couple that piss me off the most.

Subway, Michael Phelps and the Winter Olympics
So Michael Phelps just smoked the biggest bag of weed ever. So much that he is SO hungry that he just keeps swimming and swimming, all the way to Subway, which unlike where I live is not right around the corner. No, Mr. Bongwater wants Subway from Canada. Why? Because it's the Olympics, dumbass. The ad whiz's at Subway figured that America is so stupid that we can only equate the Olympics with Michael Phelps, even though his Olympics won't be around for another 2 and half years.

The Taco Bell Drive-Thru Diet
Taking directly from our previous brand, Taco Bell has launched it's all new diet menu. Yep, cause when I think healthy, I think Taco Bell. So they took off the cheese, big fucking deal. I still yo no quero Taco Bell. Unless it's 2 o'clock in the morning and I'm wasted, which is exactly the time that I am thinking about my girlish figure. How can the same restaurant offer a healthy menu and a fourth meal? Apparently eating only 3 times wasn't good enough for you fatty. Honestly though, four meals isn't enough for me. Brunch isn't only for Sundays anymore. But don't worry, one of those meals is off the Taco Bell Drive-Thru Diet Menu, so I'm eating healthy.

Ford F-150 and Reading
You know, I like Denis Leary (in spite of the fact that he spells his name like a douche). I like his stand-up. I like Rescue Me. But I can't stand his fucking commercial for the Ford F-150. A recent trend in commercials is to have a top named celebrity do the overdubbing. The theory is simple-you recognize the voice, but can't quite place it, so you think about more and more, thus making you so insane that you remember the product. Except you don't. I know J.D. from Scrubs is water, but I can't remember what fucking water to drink. DAMN IT! But I digress. The thing I hate most about the Ford F-150 commercials is that every time Denis Leary says something, the words he has just spoken fly onto the screen in some "hip and edgy" manner in a "grungy" and "manly" font. It's almost as cliche as a Michael Cerra movie title being in some hand drawn font. On the upside, if I was deaf I would still understand the commercial. If only there was some type of way they could get the words to what everyone was saying on the screen for all the other shows and commercials. Fuck, until then I guess I will just have to read the lips of everyone on TV. Was that, "I love you" or "elephant juice"?

Cialis
Even though I am on the fast track to needing this stuff, what with the heavy drinking, poor diet, chronic masturbation and all, I still hate thinking about old people boning down. It's gross. Unless you're talking about Kathy Bates in About Schmidt. HOT! But that's not what annoys me the most. How the fuck do these old people get those tubs everywhere? Oh, it's just a metaphor. I get it. Because when I think of sitting in a tepid pool of my own filth, I immediately get horny.

Southwest Airlines
Southwest loves my bags. You know how I know? Because they tell they do right in their commercials. Apparently the guys at my airport didn't get the memo though, as whenever I see my bags boarding the plane, they are being thrown about without a care in the world. And when I say my bags, I really mean your bags, because I'm a guy and even a 2 week vacation will not stop me from using only carry on luggage.

Well, I don't think I can take it anymore. Got any commercials you hate?

Person of Interest: Guy On a Bike at Night

Hey you. Yeah, jackass with the skinny jeans, unkempt beard and thrift store t-shirt. Yeah you, asshole. Riding your bike at night? Not cool. Riding without any sort of reflectors or lights? Well, all I can say is that you deserve whats coming to you, be it an accidental run in with a rogue car door or me purposely running you off the road into the storefront window of a record store that you probably work at part time.

Listen, I love a good bike ride, I really do. Get some fresh air, get the blood flowing, see the beautiful sights of Chicago. It's economical, it's good for your body and it helps clear the mind. But for the love of Lance Armstrong's one remaining testicle, just stop with the reckless night time bike riding. Given the fact that the majority of most roadways don't have dedicated bike lanes and the streets here are skinner than your emo-stunted cock make this practice even more absurd.

If you want to do some organized late ride, that's cool. But when I see you run a stop sign, hog the lane or flippantly dismiss the rules of the road, I can't help but want to see bodily harm come to you. At the very least, I'd like to go to your house, drink all of your PBR, switch all of your radio presets to HOT A/C, superglue the pages of your graphic novels and show your girlfriend how a real man makes love.

I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings (no I'm not). You can always take solace in the fact that Death Cab for Cutie are still releasing albums and no one has touched your soy milk that's been sitting in the work fridge for a solid 6 weeks. Better hop on the ole' 12 speed and head over to Jewel at midnight to replace that shit and buy a pack of Lucky Strikes. Just know that I'll be in my car....watching....waiting...

War Criminal: Ed Hardy/Christian Audigier

Christian Audigier with frail teenage boy recluse

If there exists another brand-whoring duo worse or more offensive than this pair, I might have to gouge out my eyes and brain and offer them as sacrifice to the Satanic Lords that will have surely overrun our planet and neutered anything good, pure, happy and decent, as is their wont.

Until that time, we must make do with Hardy and Audigier, champions of a hair-gelled, fake-tanned culture that I want no part of. Well, that's not entirely true; I want something to do with that culture if I have a giant douche-bag seeking missile that will kill every last one of those idiots with clothing that's covered in tattoo designs.

Hardy: the man responsible for this mess

But before I get too lost in my own gaudy rhetoric, let's review: Ed Hardy is a crusty tattoo artist somehow revered by the masses for tattooing the shit out of stuff better than anyone else (sorry, Kat Von Whatever). His designs are all full of flaming skulls, half-naked women, and other shit adored by sailors and Marines on shore leave.

That's not the horrendous part, per se: it's the French asshole who latched onto his aesthetic and through repeated yard rape, has made it as ubiquitous as God, and about as idolized and annoying.

Christian Audigier, some designer (well, a designer who bought up everyone else's designs to market them as his own) of minor fame, already angered the universe once with his Von Dutch garbage (yeah, the trucker caps and short shorts adored by Pamela Anderson/Tommy Lee types), and has since brought Ed Hardy's tattoos into just about every industry possible. (Mercifully, Von Dutch is already dead -- their website says it all -- so I hold out hope for this latest piece of evil)

You can buy:

- Ed Hardy clothes
- Ed Hardy hats
- Ed Hardy sunglasses
- Ed Hardy condoms (probably)
- Ed Hardy HAND SANITIZER WHAT THE FUCK
- Ed Hardy flavored Doritos
- Ed Hardy shoes
- Ed Hardy g-strings
- Ed Hardy Vodka
- Ed Hardy Beer
- Ed Hardy Mace (probably)
- Ed Hardy forest-clearing equipment that scorches the Rainforests and makes Mother Earth weep in her hemp undies
- Ed Hardy switchblades
- Ed Hardy Morning After Pills (now with 99.9% success rate! For the 0.01% that fail, you'll give birth to a beautiful baby flaming skull tattoo!)
- Ed Hardy beach towels
- Ed Hardy AIR FRESHENERS ARE YOU KIDDING ME JESUS FUCKING CHRIST
- Ed Hardy bail bonds
- Ed Hardy cocktail shakers
- Ed Hardy jeans
- Ed Hardy shotgun shells
- Ed Hardy iPhone covers
- Ed Hardy Pinot Grigio

In short, just about anything can now be purchased with Ed Hardy flaming bullshit all over it. For every possible facet of your life, there's an Ed Hardy product. You could go from birth to death using solely Ed Hardy-branded shit, filling every waking moment of your life with an Ed Hardy experience.

The duo are killing the world with their carefree licensing of the brand to just about every fly-by-night 99c store concept, and it has to stop. Audigier is a tireless self-promoter (subtext: he talks about himself to anyone and everyone around him) whose awfully-designed Ed Hardy product websites make me want to commit atrocities upon the weak, elderly and infirm.

Please, Stallone, dust off the fists and pummel this asshole Audigier (at left) to death

There's nothing this tanned asshole won't foist upon the world, and I am sick of it.

Of course, considering the brash, pseudo-edgy nature of the merchandise, every gym-bound jock moron sports at least three Ed Hardy t-shirts a day, each of them a crime against humanity. It gives me further reason to wish painful, prolonged death upon Jersey Shore-dwelling, knuckle-dragging Gotti types who revel in the Hardy/Audigier universe like it's some badge of honor. It's not. It's a fucking t-shirt with flaming skulls on it. My infant son could do better.

Maybe I'm biased, maybe I'm cranky, maybe I'm misguided and simply off-base with this offensive. I tire greatly when corporate synergy, pointless cross-promotion and branding is shoved down my throat, and lately, the collective gushing of chromosome-deficient halfwits over the Hardy/Audigier brand is the most nauseating of all. It makes me hate tattoos. It makes me hate self-expression. It makes me hate life.

This bronzed bastard must be stopped before he grabs an artist actually worth a fuck and proceeds to dilute and distill his life's work into a series of meaningless, disposable products normally sold out of the back of a van or at some store on a boardwalk somewhere.

My elevation of their sickening "craft" to War Criminal status is borne from all these straggling, incoherent feelings: the commodification of art, the French, rampant consumerism, Jersey guido nightclub types (the Bridge-and-Tunnel crowd), and most of all, cheapness. All of this stuff is so intrinsically cheap, it makes me sick.

So please, Mr. Hardy. Stop letting this garlic-scoffing c*nt from wrecking the world further with Hardy-branded tattoo-ridden products. They fucking suck. You fucking suck.

And Monsieur Audigier? Please take all your money and retire in peace. The world is done with you, though some new strain of ebola or swine flu will be arriving in 5-10 years to rob you of your dignity, your energy, and your life.

(Shit! Even the douche ex-husband/fetal alcohol syndrome candidate from Jon Plus Eight on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, Sundays and Kate Plus Eight on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays Except for Holiday Weekends wears this shit! Maybe there is hope for this to die out after all...)

War Criminal: Draft Bonuses

Like many baseball fans, I was curious to see how the whole Stephen Strasburg contract negotiations quagmire would play out. It ended yesterday with the Nationals forking over 15.1 million dollars plus a 7.5 million dollar signing bonus to sign the prized college pitcher to a four year deal. Even though the Nationals didn't end up paying the 50 million that Scott Boras believed his client was worth, I'm still a little unhappy about the current trend with the baseball draft.

Scott Boras is already notorious for delivering outrageous salaries to the major league players he represents, but the demands he has been issuing for the draft picks he represents are just retarded and in my opinion, bad for the game of baseball. First of all, to shell out anything more than league minimum for a player who's never even seen minor league competition is beyond ridiculous. I think it's criminal that some of these guys are getting better deals than some current guys on a major league roster. There's no guarantee that your overpaid prospect is even going to reach the majors, let alone be a superstar worthy of the money being paid to them. For all intents and purposes, baseball drafting still remains a crapshoot, more so than in any other sport. A prime example would be Mark Prior, whose bonus money was the highest until Strasburg came around. Prior had one good year with the Cubs and has been mediocre ever since. So Prior is 10.5 million richer, plus whatever the Cubs/Padres have paid him since he was drafted. That's bullshit. In my opinion, that's almost as bad as stealing 10 million bucks from a team. The Nats better hope Strasburg pays off, otherwise they just flushed 22.6 million down the toilet, 22.6 million they could have used to sign some better major league players in the next offseason. If Strasburg becomes their ace and pitches as such, that's great, but what kind of team will be playing the field behind him?

Second of all, these huge bonuses are establishing a dangerous precedent. Last year, the Nationals were unable to sign Aaron Crow. This year, the Rays failed to come to terms with LeVon Washington. It's difficult enough for small market teams to draw major league talent as they can't afford to pay for it. Teams like the Twins, the Rays, and the Blue Jays have built solid farm systems through smart drafting. If these draft bonuses continue to skyrocket, these smaller market teams are going to find it increasingly difficult to sign high draft picks, forcing them to go after lesser talent. These teams already can't afford major leaguers and now they find that they are being priced out of the draft market. This will definitely hurt parity as teams that have competed in the past by growing their own star players will have that avenue closed to them as well.

To Bud Selig's credit, he has tried to discourage teams from paying over a recommended bonus amount for draft slots. But many teams, including the Cubs, ignore the recommendations and do whatever it takes to sign these players. I think by doing so, you're doing disservice to the teams that don't have the payroll flexibility to do the same.

I guess basically I'm arguing for a salary cap and an end to the madness. I'm fortunate enough to be a fan of a big market team, but if I'm a fan of the Pirates or Royals, etc, I have no idea why I would even keep going out to see ballgames. I know that my team is never going to be able to sign a superstar player. I know that even if my team homegrows a superstar, that he will be gone as soon as he hits free agency or that the team will trade him to maximize his value before he becomes a free agent. If the draft situation continues to follow the path it's going down, my team won't even be able to sign their top draft picks, limiting the chance of even homegrowing good players. Soon small market teams will be settling for lower talent at all levels of the game. So much for parity.

War Criminal: 2009 Cubs Named Aaron

Ugh. I hate you, 2009 Cubs Named Aaron.

I hate you so much that it’s beginning to impair my judgment.

When I see one of your names in a lineup, or a box score, or on the back of a jersey in the bullpen, I seethe with a rage I used to reserve for Will Ohman. 2009 Cubs Named Aaron, you are worse than tuberculosis, kitten drowning, and a Sex and the City marathon combined. If you had a collective neck, and this neck was lying in front of me, I would step on it and twist. I hope to one day eat a delicious McRib while watching you choke on a tightly compacted ball of cilantro and my own bile.

Aaron Heilman, you aren’t even the closer and you have blown SIX saves. If you aren’t leading the league in that, you’re damn close. And I’m beginning to think that if we called Doug Dascenzo up, he could do better than a WHIP of 1.55. Before you start trying to defend yourself, remember that your league-slightly-below-average ERA+ of 98 certainly does not make up for the fact that your face reminds me of Todd Hollandsworth, whom I have no nostalgia for (though I bet HE wouldn’t shit the bed as badly in leverage situations).

Aaron Miles? I don’t give a crap what Arcturus says, because even he knows the truth. You are a War Criminal. You have never grown on me. Not even in the sense of a fungus. I know I should be all stats-nerdy, but the fact that you are about 2 more bad games away from hitting my weight says all I need to know, you sub-Mendoza water baby.

Is it entirely within the realm of reality for Jim Hendry to find a second baseman that doesn’t meet any of the following 3 criteria?

1. Is too short to ride the Cyclone on Coney Island.
2. Can grow a douchey beard between innings.
3. Sucks.

Because you meet all three, you slap-hitting Travelocity gnome.

Holy crap, I just checked your OPS. I think the damn gnome could have done better than .489. Hell, on further inspection, your career OPS makes me long for the heady days of Neifi Perez. I’m beginning to think Bobby Scales actually SHOULD be up in the Big Show instead of what I can only assume is a Cardinals sleeper agent.

Clearly, the “AA” in “2009 Cubs Named Aaron” is a hint. Ship these fools to the Smokies, and leave them there.

P.S. I’ve got my eye on you, “Aaron” Samardzija.

War Criminal: Specialty Reserved Parking Spots

GFY Specialty Reserved Parking Spots!

Remember when "Parking for Cub Fans Only" signs were just for your garage? Not today, in which Specialty Reserved Parking Spots are showing up in your grocery, electronic, and even pet store parking lots. Look, I can get on board with the handicapped spot. It makes sense. Maybe the driver has a burning case of hemorrhoids and shouldn't be walking across a crowded mall parking lot. Sure, put them next to the front door. But now I'm starting to see all new reserved spots popping up like like cougars backstage at a Ratt concert.

For Expecting and New Moms Only. For Multiple Children Families Only. For Commuters Only. For Hybrid Cars Only. For Pet Owners Only.

WTF?!? Seriously, why do these a-holes deserve premium parking any more than you or I? And who decided it was a good idea to start this? You know who it was? The guy whose job it is to engineer parking lots and had a real bitch of a wife. Everyday he would come home from his hard day of work plotting out lines, deciding where to put lights and security cameras, and then while he's relaxing in his La-Z Boy, watching the Cubs and drinking a Löwenbräu his wife steps in front of the TV and opens her pie-hole.

"You know what I had to do today?" she shrieks. "I had to walk 30 feet to get to Pier One with little Billy and Jan in my high heels. You make parking lots for a living, why don't you do something about this?"

Everyday he comes home from work, and everyday it's the same bitching and complaining. Until finally he snaps and decides, hey, if I make a spot specifically for my bitchy wife, I won't have to hear this shit anymore. So it was born out of sheer laziness and now like a cancer, everyone thinks they are special and needs their own spot right next to the store's front door too. I seriously cannot park anywhere near the front of the store I need to get into. Even when the first 14 spots are completely empty because apparently there are no pregnant women at the liquor store or hybrid owners at the auto parts dealer, I have to park a mile away just to run into the store for some chewing gum.

So I plead with you America, either we get rid of these worthless reserved parking spots, or we make it so every spot is reserved for something. Why not have a single's only parking spot? Even better, alternate between single guys and single women, that way when you park in your "Single's Only" spot, you know the hot girl parking next to you is available and you won't feel like a creep if you talk to her. Let's make spots for drunks as well? We don't want them driving all over the parking lot, shit faced and prone to hitting innocent bystanders. And don't forget about the bird lover's. They need their own spot too. You could even go as far as to segregate the parking lots. Make special spots for Blacks, Indians, Mexicans and White people. Why not religion while were at it? "Reserved For God's Chosen Only".

See how stupid it all is? So do what I do: when you pull up in your 1985 Chevy S10, park right in that "Hybrid Only" parking spot. What's the worse that could happen, the parking police come and give you a "citation"? And if anyone gives you shit, tell them to go fuck themselves!

Go Cubs!

War Criminal: Undersized Pints

Last week I went out with a few of my friends to a little pub called "Fox and Hound" that some of you may have heard of (actually its a chain that caters to people who think its actually an English style pub... aka Tools). Our group had won a party package where we got free pizza and wings as long as we had 10 people there, and it was $2.00 pint night to boot. So I joined in the celebration and ordered my first beer which came in a glass pint. After a few beers and several games of nine-ball I ordered another, yet this time it came in small plastic cup. I looked at it, then looked at the glass that my friend had, and my cup was both shorter and almost the same width of the glass...

Then I recalled a article from the Wall Street Journal from last year were many fine establishments started to short change consumers by "subtly" changing their pints from the 16oz (an American standard) to the smaller 14oz to cut down cost and increase profit per glass. It wasn't until I realized this that I looked at the glass and sure enough the beer was only 14oz.

What the hell... seriously?

So then I asked our waitress (who was a very nice girl, yet just got yelled at by another customer... I hate people that think they have a right to do that) and asked her why I had gotten the plastic cup instead of the glass. She informed me that they were the same size, but the big pints had a "foam" on top and the plastic cups didn't.

I was angry, all this time I thought I was ordering 16oz pints, because when I had gone in the past they were that size. But no, they were only 14oz. Now this goes past $2 Pint night (which is still a reasonable price for even that beer) but what about a regular night where they charge you 3.75 for the same beer. You're almost paying a quarter for a oz of beer. Thats ludicrous! Not to mention that they also "foam out" the top at some places.

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB121279252381153273.html

The article gives several tips to avoid getting shortchanged at bars. I call for a tribunal to convene and sentence those guilty.

War Criminal: Televised Poker

How in the name of all that is good and holy did poker get on TV? And it's not just on TV, it's all over TV, like a goddamn rash. ESPN really loves this shit, but I just don't get it. What's next, televising grass mowing competitions or a really wicked game of tiddlywinks? With all the different sports that are played across this country and the world, why do I have to settle for a bunch of sweaty douchebags grouped around a table listening as the announcers wait with bated breath for the metrosexual in the leather cowboy hat to decide whether he's "in or out"? Jesus Christ, I know there's got to be a real game of something going on somewhere. I'd rather watch cricket then this sorry nonsense. And as a baseball fan, I feel a sense of moral outage that they dare to refer to this farce as a "World Series" of anything.

Other sports I'd rather watch then poker:

1. Naked Sumo Wrestling
2. Canadian Football
3. Catfish Noodling (see right)
   
4. Golf
5. Tenpins

If I want to watch a bunch of losers sitting around playing cards, I'll go to the Arcturus family reunion. It's like you're in Vegas, only with racially insensitive jokes and alcohol.

War Hero/War Criminal: Anton Migursky

In case you were unaware, and shame on you if you are, today marks the 25th anniversary of the "Ryne Sandberg Game". Before this game, Ryno was a virtual unknown among most baseball fans. But the NBC Game of Week would change all that. Down by a run in the ninth inning and facing the Cardinal's ace closer, Bruce Sutter, Sandberg hit the game tying home run to put the game into extras. The Cardinals would come back in the top of the tenth, scoring 2 runs and seemingly putting the game out of reach.

But Ryno would have one more chance to beat Sutter, as he came to the plate in the bottom half of the inning with one runner on. What would happen next will be forever ingrained in the memory of Cub fans of my generation and baseball fans everywhere with Bob Costas' classic call, "Do you believe it?!"

Twenty-three years and two days later, Anton Migursky would get his own day. No, Anton did not play for the Cubs, and I highly doubt you have ever heard of him. You won't find his name in the record books or sports almanacs. But he did manage to make what Koyie Hill would call, "One of the best saves I've ever seen in my life."

Migursky's job was keeping Cubs players safe. He was a security guard at Wrigley Field, and just recently retired this past Sunday. Almost two years ago, though, he became known as the best tackler on Wrigley Field since Kyle Farnsworth.

The scene is Wrigley Field, Cubs vs. Rockies. The Cubs were in the lead starting the ninth inning, but Lou's relievers couldn't hold the game down. After giving up a three-run bomb that cost the Cubs the lead, a drunk fan ran onto the field towards the pitcher, yelling, "What are you doing?"


And just like that, Anton Migursky jumped into action, clothes-lining the fan just before he was able to physically assault the pitcher. Piniella was even quoted after the game saying, "Lovie Smith is looking for him."


Unfortunately for the Cubs, the man Migursky saved was "Brown Spot" Bob Howry. Howry began his career as one baseball's elite pitchers, garnering himself a lofty three-year, $12 million paycheck from the Cubs. But when Migursky saved Howry, he was already on the downward spiral of his career, one that cost the Cubs too many blown saves to count (or that I'm too lazy to look up). In 2008 Howry continued his suck-itude and finished the season with a 5.35 ERA. The Cubs were finally able to decline arbitration on Howry at the end of last season and he is currently "pitching" for the Giants.


So this Bud's for you, Anton Migursky. For doing your job above and beyond the call of duty, you are a War Hero. But you should have tackled Howry, or just not gotten there so fast. If you hadn't tackled that fan, it possibly would have ended the headache that was Brown Spot Bob for the next year and a half. And for that, you are a War Criminal.

Poor Man's War Criminal: Combos

A few weeks back I made what can only be described as one of the worst decisions of my entire life, and Lordy I've made a few. I purchased a bag of motherfucking Combos. What was I thinking? I was in a gas station, I was hungry and quite frankly, I panicked. For some reason I was under the assumption that I used to like them a long time ago.

It wasn't until I bit into the first one that I realized it was quite the opposite. I used to hate them, and like a 'Nam flashback, that first bite brought all the bad memories flushing back.

Oh sweet Jesus, come save me.

Combos have the appearance of a doggie treat and I have to imagine that 9/10 folks would prefer the doggie treat in a blind taste test. The pretzel ones are especially horrid and get the old gag reflex working like a shot of store brand tequila. I'm almost positive that what is on the inside doesn't qualify as anything even close to cheese and wouldn't pass FDA inspection.

After doing a little research on their official site, we learn that Combos is a longtime sponsor of NASCAR, their slogan is 'A Meal That's Not a Meal' (what the fuck does that even mean?) and that they're trying to market it as 'real man's snack'. Dammit Combos! They're clearly pandering to the uneducated and morbidly obese. This shall not stand.

So join me America, in saying No to Combos and Yes to Life!

War Criminal: Alex Rodriguez

I know, I know. everybody's talking about A-Rod these days. It's become trendy and hip to rip on him. You have to understand, Alex Rodriguez was supposed to be baseball's poster boy. He was the best player in the game (At least until the devil went down to St. Louis in 2001. Come on, no one can be that good. Albert had to have made some sort of unholy alliance to be that freaking good.) After the steroid era, A-Rod was going to be the white knight who rescued baseball from itself. He was supposed to take the records back from the undeserving, bring the pride back, restore honesty to the game, clothe the poor, feed the hungry, end the war, cure the sick, break Barry's record, balance the budget . . . wait, am I talking about A-Rod or Barack Obama?

There have been rumblings of A-Rod's War Criminal tendencies. Remember when he slapped the ball from Bronson Arroyo's mitt in 2004? How about how he screamed "Mine"at the Blue Jay's infield during a routine pop up? Both pretty bush league stunts, not exactly the plays you want baseball's biggest star performing. Then there was the Madonna thing. Alex, it might have been okay if you were hooking up with "Like a Virgin" era Madonna. Now, it's just kind of creepy. A-Rod also has always seemed more about the money than the game. when he signed his monster deal with Texas, he pretty much handcuffed that team for his tenure there and the Rangers are just now shaking off the financial effects of that contract. Not that that was entirely his fault, as Scott Boras deserves a good share of the blame on that deal. Selena Roberts has also alleged that A-Rod would tip pitches to opposing batters while on the Rangers.

When A-Rod admitted his steroid use, it was the biggest shockwave to hit the sport since Charlie Hustle got busted for gambling on his own team. If the so-called best player in the game needed 'roids to play, then it casts suspicion on everyone else. The sad thing is that A-Rod didn't need those drugs to be the best. Now instead of a legacy, he leaves a punchline. Instead of baseball's crown prince, he has become its jester, a symbol for how the game went wrong.

War Criminal: Getting Hit In The Nuts

I was going to come up with some witty opening for this piece, but I think it goes with the spirit of what I'm about to say if I'm blunt and to the point.

Getting hit in the nuts sucks. It's terrible. Outside of breaking a bone, being impaled or having a baby, it's gotta be the most painful thing that can happen to your body.

Getting hit in the nuts sucks. It's an unholy act from the depths of Hell that can strike at any moment, without warning, leaving you in a whimpering pile of broken dreams and shattered testicles.

Getting hit in the nuts sucks. It doesn't care what color you are, what kind of car you drive, who you voted for, whether you're a good person or who you voted for on American Idol (although if it was for Clay Aiken, you probably deserved it).

For our female readers, there's no way I can describe what taking a shot to the beanbag feels like, just as you wouldn't be able to convey to me what it would feel like to deliver a baby. It hurts, but in about 12 different ways, all of them worse than the last.

The most terrifying thing about the nutshot is that it can strike at any time from any place. You have just as much of a chance of getting hit in the sac jumping on a crowded trampoline as you do making yourself a sandwich at home. Out for a walk with your dog? He could easily go after a rabbit, pulling the leash in just the right way to make you go crotch-first into a mailbox pole. Driving your car? All it takes is one industrial-sized pothole to send you flying up out of your seat just high enough to arrange a brief meeting between your balls and the bottom of your steering wheel. Nutshots don't care if your mom is around or if you tipped well at dinner last night. It's coming for you, and you aren't going to realize it until it's too late.

But the unexpectedness of a knock to the cock is only the second most fearsome trait of the nutshot. The worst part is the delay, the false hope that, much like an episode of Full House, everything is going to turn out alright, right before everything in your life goes downhill. Fast.

See, for all of those who haven't taken a kick to the groin, there are a few seconds of shock right after contact but before 'Admiral Testes brings the pain'. Immediately after you get hit between the legs with a foot/broom handle/doorknob/whatever, you aren't in any discomfort for at least 3 seconds. This is more than enough time for you to allow yourself a fleeting moment of hope that you didn't take as bad a shot as you thought you did. For those seconds, you think to yourself, "Damn, I think I just got away with one" even though you know better. You've been down this road before, but you can't help feeling like no matter how many times you've faced this situation in the past, this time was going to be different.

It's not. It never is.

Slowly, things start to go black. Your testicles begin to throb with unbearable pain. And guess what? That's just the beginning, chief. Just like a school of salmon swimming upstream, this little situation is headed north. Slowly it feels like someone is squeezing all the air out of your stomach. Your abdominal walls cramp up and your body forgets how to do anything but curl up and die.

Your nuts are connected up through your midsection by a common nerve center. When you get hit in the nuts, this nerve center causes the abdominal muscles to lock up like a time vault at the bank. This causes your body to hunch forward, nature's way of protecting the family jewels. Another effect this has on you is the squeezing of the stomach, which can cause shortness of breath and nausea. The lack of oxygen to your system prolongs the pain between your legs. If hit hard enough, you can pass out. In very extreme cases, the shock to the system can potentially stop your heart from beating.

I'm going to say this again because of how scary it is: YOU CAN GET HIT IN THE NUTS SO HARD THAT YOU WILL DIE.

"Hey, how did Chaim die?"

"Someone at his league night knocked him in the junk with a bowling ball. He died just like he lived: hands down his pants, screaming and eating nachos."

I'd like to tell you not to let that be you, but I can't. Like I said, these things can strike from anywhere at any time. You can be as cautious as you want, but it's still gonna happen eventually. My only piece of advice is to stay away from children.

Yes, you heard me. It's my scientific belief that children cause more nutshots than all the skateboards and hyperactive canines and footballs in the world put together. I do note the irony that a child would cause so much damage to a place on the body directly responsible for its creation. Call it the Circle of Life. or Hakuna Matatta or something like that. For one thing, children are reckless, nothing but a moving mass of flying elbows and knees that would make Karl Malone jealous. Add to that the fact that most kids are just the right height to always have a groin shot, and you've got a recipe for disaster.

To a lesser extent, stay away from skateboards and camcorders. When the two of them come together, it's nutshot breeding ground. Take a look at the clip below. Skateboard + Camcorder = A kid hitting his nuts so hard his GODDAMN SHOES COME OFF!

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So female readers, if you've ever hit someone in the nuts accidentally, apologize to them. If you ever did it on purpose, and it wasn't in self defense, never cross my path because I have nothing to say to you.

Gentlemen, please use the comments section to vent about the most memorable shot to the pills that you've had in your life. By writing it out and sharing your pain, you'll feel a whole lot better. Unless said nutshot shattered one of your testicles beyond repair. Then you'll probably still feel bad.

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The most painful nutshot ever recorded.

War Criminal: The Visor

The visor is possibly the girliest fashion accessory I can think of. To me, it conjures up images of female athletes, tennis and volleyball being foremost in my mind. It used to be that you only would see men wear a visor on golf courses, in smoky poker games, and if they were weary newspaper copy editors. For some reason, the visor has entered a stage where it has become part of acceptable everyday attire. Personally, I blame Eminem and Jon Gruden for this travesty.

The visor is a bastardized version of that American classic: the ball cap. Why someone thought lopping off the top of said cap so one's messy hair can protrude through and be seen was a good idea is completely beyond me. No matter how cool you think you are, you look like an assbag in a visor unless you're holding a 3 iron, going for par. (And even Tiger wears a real ball cap). Trust me on this. What's sad and pathetic is that if you purchase a visor for your favorite sports team, you're gonna shell out as much as if you went the manly route and just bought the fucking ball cap. And I wouldn't have to look at your pouffy sheepdog hair, sweaty bristles, or gleaming dome. Be a man and buy a goddamn hat. Even a trucker hat is better than the abomination that is a man wearing a visor.

Even worse is that men no longer seem content to wear the visor as intended, with the bill facing forward. You know, so it shades your eyes from the sun. So you see hosers walking around with the visor backwards or sideways. And if you're a huge douchebag, there's no better way to advertise that fact than by wearing your visor backwards and upside-down. It's like a giant neon sign that says 'I'm a complete tool!'. Turning a ballcap around is a sign that you're rebellious and cool. You don't play by the rules. Fellas, it's impossible to look rebellious in a visor, no matter how you wear it. Look at the picture below if you don't believe me:

This picture says you're trying too hard. (Bonus points for the little hairstrip on the chin). Somebody please kick this guy's ass. I threw a chair through my office window when I found this picture, it made me so angry.

The last time I wore a visor, it had a little pizza logo on it and I was required to wear the goddamn thing. Anything that resembles clothing that you have to wear while working a crappy food service job should automatically be suspect. What's next, a really sporty apron? Guys, please, just buy a hat. You'll thank me later.

War Criminal: Contact Lenses

The minute I turned 18, my vision started to go down the toilet. At first, I only needed to wear glasses when I was driving at night or when I couldn't read the menu board at Baja Fresh. But slowly, my vision has gotten worse...Nowadays, I can't really see anything that's more than 2 feet away...And on top of that, I have astigmatism in one of my eyes, so when I don't have my glasses on, everything's blurry. So now that I have to wear my glasses all of the time, it was suggested that I might want to look into contacts. At first this seemed like a good idea...With glasses, I'm always worried that I'm going to take them off for a few minutes, and accidentally leave them somewhere. I also worry that they'll fall off my face and I'll accidentally step on them, like that scene in "A Christmas Story" (minus the bb gun)...Or that I'll trip and fall on the sidewalk and they'll end up in a sewer drain. You don't have to worry about these things with contacts. However, the minute I was handed my first pair of contacts...I began to realize that they completely and utterly blow.

First of all, I could write an entirely seperate War Criminal about the person who was in charge of my "contact lens training." Since I'd never worn contacts before, the doctor made me come in for an hour of "training" - where I learn how to put on my contacts, clean my contacts, etc. You wanna know what my "training" consisted of? Basically, a very busy receptionist sat me down, spent 10 seconds showing me how to put my contacts on, then left me alone while she answered the phone. Every once in a while, she'd come back over and say "No - you're doing it wrong! You have to put it on your eye!" No shit, Sherlock! I'm well aware I have to put the damn lens on my eye! Pardon me if I'm a little slow because I've never shoved a piece of flexible plastic in my eye! Fuck you!" It seriously took me an hour to figure out how to put these damn things on. There's none of this complicated training with glasses...The doctor says "Here are your new glasses," you put them on, and it's a done deal. Strike one against contact lenses...

Then, there's the actual method you have to use to put on the contacts. With glasses, you stick them on your face, and you're golden. With contacts, you basically have to beat the shit out of your eye in order to get the lens in there. You pull your upper eyelid back with one of your fingers, pull down your lower eyelid with another finger, and then stick the contact in your eye with a third finger. I think I pulled out half my eyelashes the first time I tried doing this. I also poked myself in the eye about half a dozen times. Why on God's green earth would I want to do this to myself every morning? And the removal process ain't pretty, either. Strike two against contact lenses.

Another reason I hate contact lenses? My eyes always get dry when I wear them, so I have to use eyedrops several times during the day. This makes me look like I just smoked a joint in the bathroom. Not really the impression I want to make in front of my boss or my in-laws. There are no red, itchy eyes with glasses. And you certainly don't look like a stoner wearing them. Glasses make you look sophisticated and smart...When I wear them, I feel like I could solve those complicated math problems that Matt Damon was always solving in "Good Will Hunting." I don't feel like this wearing my contacts. Strike three against contact lenses.

Then, you've got the process of cleaning your contact lenses. After you remove them every day, you have to squirt solution on them, rub the crap off of them, put more solution on them, then stick them in the case. Maybe I'm just slow, but I lose about 10 minutes of my life each day doing this...And that's time I could've spent hanging out with my loved ones...Or reading...Or exercising...Or watching "Fresh Prince of Bel-Air" re-runs. With glasses, you clean 'em with a cloth every once in a while and you're good. Strike four against contacts...

And here's the final reason I hate contacts: The cost. Yes, glasses can be expensive at first...But they last for years...And when you need a new prescription, most places will only charge you to replace the lenses if you keep your frames in good shape. Is this the case with contacts? No. You've gotta buy several pairs - the number depends on how often you throw yours away - and since I have astigmatism, I have to wear special contacts that cost about double what your basic pair of contacts costs. You've also gotta buy the cleaning solution and the stoner eyedrops. When all was said and done, a year's worth of contacts costs a pretty penny (at least it did in my case). Oh yeah, and at my optometrist, the eye exam for contacts was about double what the eye exam for glasses cost. Bullshit. Strike five against contacts...

So perhaps I just need to "get used to" having contacts, but for now, I really fucking hate them. The end.

War Criminal: San Diego Chargers, Their Fans, And Anything Related To Either

I just got done watching the Chargers upset the Colts in the NFL playoffs. As I sat here looking into the face of San Diego quarterback Philip Rivers' stupid face celebrating like he actually had anything to do with the win, I can no longer hide my rage.

I hate the Chargers.

I hate the majority of their fans.

I hate the following things by association: charge cards, electrical charges, the 'Charge' spell in World of Warcraft, finance charges, and that song played at every sporting event that goes "nah-nah-nah-NAH-nah-NAHHHHH! CHAAAARGE!!!".

First off, let's take a look at the players. Philip Rivers is an idiot. he seems like one of those guys that will never ever stop acting like the same douchebag he was in college. Normally players like this fade into nothingness (I'm looking at you, Leinart), but since Rivers has had some success this year, I think I'm going to have to put up with him for years. Someone please remove my head from the doorway as I'm sure by the time you've read this, I'll have smashed myself in it many many times.

And don't even get me started with Shawne Merriman. You take steroids and you can't even spell your name correctly. You should be banned from living. And if I have to hear any more about how there were Chargers left off the Pro Bowl roster and it's some kind of league wide conspiracy, I'm going to burn something down. When Pro Bowl voting ended, your team sucked and was 4-8. You deserve nothing.

The reason I can't stand most fans is that after the first game of the year, and even as close as 4 weeks ago, that bandwagon was E-M-P-T-Y. They couldn't give away seats. There was more room than in between Paris Hilton's legs. Now? EVERY SINGLE CHARGERS FAN claims that they've 'been there from the beginning'. After they snuck into the playoffs, sales on Chargers gear must have shot through the roof here in San Diego as everyone needed to show how hardcore they were by putting stupid flags in their car windows. Expect this trend to continue.

Norv Turner, you look like a frog. Tomlinson, you're not 'LT'. Lawrence Taylor is the only 'LT' in my book and you're lucky he's retired or he would have torn your leg off of your body the first time you played each other and tackled you with it.

Here's a picture of Philip Rivers on any given day of his life:

Here's a picture of Philip Rivers if you removed his brain and replaced it with Jello and bong resin:

Here's a picture I happened to find of the biggest douchebag on Earth:

Looks familiar...

In closing, I hate the Chargers. Go Raiders?

LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO!!!

(Passes out)

War Criminal: Thunder Matt's Saloon

All good things must come to an end. As of Tuesday morning, Thunder Matt's Saloon will, for all intents and purposes, cease to exist. Though it will still float in cyberspace, it will no longer be updated. Our efforts will be directed to the much-mentioned Pomp Culture.

How do we, as writers, feel about the Saloon? We feel it is deserving of nothing less than War Criminal status. Allow us to explain...

Obviously this site was designed in honor of Thunder Matt Murton. Through little fault of his own, Murton was never able to consistently break through Lou Piniella's crowded outfield and gain consistent playing time. Apparently raw sexuality and Christian values do not necessarily equate to increased at-bats. With so few box score stats, discussion of Murton waned, until he was finally set free by the organization. As always, we wish Matt the best of luck in Oakland or wherever he may end up, and we will continue to follow his career, and possibly provide occasional updates in the Sports section of Pomp Culture.

The Saloon was a Cubs blog by default. While it achieved a modicum of success in the Cubs blogosphere, we never intended to be a definitive source of all things Cubs. Our interests are diverse and will be serviced better at Pomp Culture.

That being said, we truly appreciate all of the Cubs fans that kept coming back to the site, even if they were only met with postings on condiments or celebrity deaths. In particular we would like to thank Cubs beat writer Paul Sullivan, who gave our site a nod on several occasions, and even was so kind as to agree to an interview. Paul, you're doing a bang-up job, and we hope you find something worth liking at Pomp Culture.

So with all this sentimental nonsense, why would the Saloon be deserving of War Criminal status? One word: Money. The site never brought in a damn dime. Why in the world would we go through all this trouble for no money? Though not all of the writers will admit it, we hope that Pomp Culture will be more marketable so we can all make our millions of dollars and have Barack Obama take them away. Just kidding Barack. I can still call you Barack, right? Thanks for being a loyal reader.

With that, we close our doors. Thanks to all of you kind readers. Thank you again to Matt Murton for not suing us or serving us with a cease and desist order.

Visit us at Pomp Culture on Tuesday. Good night!