"Super Bowl Blues" Part III

Here is part III and the final snippet of this mini-series of blogs. You can read, yup you guessed it, part II and part I at: stevemcdevitt.blogspot.com

And now to the write up...

Feb 13^th- 27^th

Carnival of the Deer Man

Castelnuovo del Volturno, Isernia County, Italy

This epic saga between a grown man dressed up in a deer outfit and a holy man acting as a saint is probably more than enough to make Bambi’s ancestors shutter in their thickets. The regular man, morphed into an impervious, antlered brute, comes down from the hills to wreak havoc among herds of cattle until confronted by a saintly figure wearing a fairy hat. The holy man succeeds where the cattle could not, by summoning a nearby hunter who blows softly into the antlered beast’s ear that in turn destroys the sins and evils of the past year. It makes perfect sense. Check your TV guide for times and channel, but if anyone on the show asks you to drink the kool-aid, please refrain, at least until your neighbor Pablo blows softly in your ear while wearing only a sock over his privates.

By this point of the lackluster sports month, most of you will be having visions of bracketology dancing in your heads, but before you completely slip back into the normal sports routine, there is one more event that you should start thinking about. It requires preparation.

July 11th

Wife Carrying Championships

Sonkajärvi, Finland

With roots dating back to the early 1800’s, when men actually did sneak into neighboring towns and carry fellow mates’ wives off into the night, instead of present day when they just sneak into strip joints and hand over their debit cards, and pretend their cell phone lost reception, this humorous yet competitive event, which grossed 500 million viewers last year, is entering its 16th year in Finland. Men must carry their wives a tumultuous 253.5 meters over sand, grass, gravel and water hazards, stopping only to throw back the “wife carrying drink,” at special checkpoints. Before the barbarian in you tries to pull a fast one and buy that sixteen year old, sixty-five pound exchange student from down the street a one-way ticket to Finland to claim your victory, you should know these two simple rules.

1. “The wife to be carried may be your own, the neighbour’s or you may have found her farther afield; (no idea what this means, I’m guessing this just trumps the aforementioned rules, exchange student ahoy!) She must, however, be over 17 years of age (drats, there goes that idea). The minimum weight of the wife to be carried is 49 kilos.”

I will not pretend to know how skinny one’s wife would have to be to break the 49 kilo threshold, however according to Johnny Depp in the movie, “Blow,” 49 kilos would make for one hellavua good time, so I’m assuming it’s a lot…

2. “If a contestant drops his wife that couple will be fined 15 seconds per drop.” (After a swift kick in the groin from your angry wife, a 15 second penalty won’t seem so bad.)

If you follow this simple program I’ve created, the names Jordy Nelson, Hines Ward, and Aaron Rodgers will soon only be a figment of your imagination. On the other hand, you may wake up in a cold sweat after antlered deer men, fighting camels and bare-bottomed Japanese dudes visit you in your dreams…

Se e you on the other side…

Check out all my blogs at http://stevemcdevitt.blogspot.com/

"Super Bowl Blues" Part II

Welcome to Part II... if you'd like to read part I you can find it at: http://stevemcdevitt.blogspot.com/

And now to the write up...

Feb 19^th

Hog Calling Contest

Weatherford, Oklahoma

Hog calling, a true American pastime, combines excellent hog communication skills with a pureadoration for swine. You need to become one with the hog in order to succeed in the sport. "I do eat pork. But not if I know the hog,” said former champion Roxanne Ward in a 1996 interview with the Weatherford Daily News. “I will go to the store to buy pork chops. But I don't eat my friends.”

Hey Roxanne, it’s not that the Hogs can’t hear you; they just are sick of listening to your nagging, which is why they aren’t responding to your hog calls… Check your local listings

Feb 23^rd

Five Angry Gods and a Contest of Strength

County of Kyoto, Japan

This annual strongman competition combines steroids, bulging biceps and rice cakes. The cakes, weighing up to 150 kilo-grams for men and 90 kilo-grams for women are hardly the Quaker rice cakes packed with bursting flavors, most of us are accustomed to. Don’t forget to pre-program the TIVO.

Sometime in February

Camel Wrestling Festival

Seljuk, Turkey

This inhumane testosterone-releasing event pairing man versus camel gives the men as well as the camels a healthy outlet to alleviate stress and release tension in front of 17,000 screaming fans.

According to the website, “The referee and ropers watch carefully that the camel abides by the strictestof wrestling codes, and fans cheer the brave camel that is victorious.”

If the camel doesn’t abide by the codes, the camel still wins since, well, it is a wild camel that can probably maim any bystander or opponent it wishes. The last man or camel that remains standing or doesn’t get flagged for eye gauging is deemed the winner. Contact your satellite provider for dates and times.

Check back tomorrow for the final piece of this discombobulating puzzle of sportacular bliss.

You can read Part I of this saga and all blogs at http://stevemcdevitt.blogspot.com/

"Super Bowl Blues" Part I

The last remnants of hardened cheese and bean dip have been extracted from couch cushions and floorboards deposited there by drunken Super Bowl XLV guests.

The very last drop of beer has long been siphoned from the keg, and even the guy passed out in your urinal has gone home.

You’ve analyzed, re-created, spliced, diced and argued every aspect of the big game over and over, from blown calls to commercials at the office water cooler with everyone from Frank in accounting to Ingrid the cleaning lady.

“Did you see the one with the ape and the cornbread?” You ask.

“Yeah Steve. We saw that, we’ve already talked about it…””

“Back and to the front. Back and to the front,” you feverishly exclaim to Ingrid time and time again, in a flurry of Kevin Costner, JFK-like arguments regarding the hit on Ben Roethlisberger that caused the pick six at the hands of Green Bay’s Nick Collins.

There is no fighting the inevitable. The harsh reality has begun to set in.

Football is over.

Your addiction that has consumed you for the past five months each and every Sunday has vanished like a phantom in the night. You must quit cold turkey, and there is no football patch in sight.

To many wives and girlfriends, the end of the football season means the return of their loved ones on Sundays. Calls like “Wes Welker over the middle,” will now be drowned out and replaced by “Do these jeans make me look fat?”

Your Sundays are now filled with painful trips to Bed Bath & Beyond, Kohl’s and Express.

You find yourself wandering the streets with your lazy boy on rollers and bowl of pretzels in hand, looking for any football you can find, stopping in front of teenagers playing pick-up games in the street.

Your capricious moods are affecting everyone around you.

You have a problem.

There is no Major League Baseball, NBA Playoffs, or March Madness to catch you when you come spiraling down from your NFL high, jittery and feeling like a useless piece of jelly. If you think that you can simply coast until March 17th, the start of the NCAA tournament, you might as well apply for afrequent buyer card at Bed Bath & Beyond right now, because you are not going to make it.

Before you break out in ghastly hives due to withdrawals, I have conjured up just the right prescription for your ailment. This hodgepodge of sporting events is just the elixir you need to lead you up to Dick Vitale and friends.

These events are not embellished, for they need no embellishing. If you’re committed to the healingprocess, they should not be missed. (Unless of course Pottery Barn is running a sale on oven mitts).

Feb 14^th & 15^th

Westmininster Dog Show

New York City, New York

New York City, New York: Taking place at Madison Square Garden, the Westminster Dog Show is the Super Bowl of dog shows. (We’ve yet to find the NFC Championships of Dog Shows, because simply,I don’t think there are any). These stunning canine athletes will send chills down your spine with their determination and spirit. If you’re not able to sneak away from your Valentine’s Day dinner to catch these astounding pups then you’re truly missing pure sporting elegance and doggy debauchery.

Feb 15^th

Inazawa's Naked Festival

Inazawa City, Japan

Bare-bottomed men ages 23-43 crowd the streets of Inazawa City (pictured below), in hopes of touching another naked man to ensure good luck for the upcoming year.

A naked man is chosen before the event, and then besieged by 9000 men in loincloths all desperate to ensure their luck for the year. (Stop me if this sounds like your last keg party).

If touching a naked man brings good luck, then I think it is safe to say more men in San Francisco’s Castro District should be playing more lottery tickets… Search your On Demand for channel and time, but check to see if your roommate has any new lucky acquisition such as a genie or a pot of gold before placing clean hands on the remote control…

Check back tomorrow for part II of this blistering tale. Or you can always read and subscribe to all blogs (all the hip kids are doing it) at: http://stevemcdevitt.blogspot.com/

"Volume XVIII"

Welcome to another edition of the blog. I hope you enjoy the illogical, randomness, and if you don't, may you be awoken from your sleep by an un-showered, and naked Rosie O'Donnell doing bikram yoga in your bedroom.

Has anyone else been able to resist the larger beer at restaurant chains? I fall for the trick of choosing between the 16 ounce beer for $7 and the 24 ounce for $7.50 every time. This is alcoholic entrapment. Darn that Applebee’s.

How do these camera men get these crazy shots in pornography movies? Sure there are some great angles, but where the heck is the guy setting up, under the dude’s genitalia? Could there be a worse camera gig? How do you get started in this? Perhaps you get your start filming training videos for Proctology seminars?

Aren’t we going a little bit too far with our hamburger meat and treatment of these cows? Sure, I want every cow in the world to live a life of luxury just like the next farm animal-aficionado, but things are getting a bit out of hoof. The back of these meat packages now look more like Cow-Facebook profiles instead of showing nutritional facts.

“Bessie was fed the finest grass, and grazed only during the hours of 3 to 4pm after the sun had dipped magnificently beyond the hills. She spent her mornings relaxing in a hammock, listening to Yanni, and only rose to reapply her moisturizer, or take a dip in the cool, calm cow pool. She enjoyed playing backgammon, taking long walks on the farm, and was always a great listener…”

It might as well read, “If you’re reading this, you are a carnivorous a-hole.” I usually opt for chicken at that point. Foster Farms doesn’t make me feel as bad about myself…

And grass fed burgers? Haven’t these cows always been grass fed? I’ve seen about 10,000 cows in my lifetime and not a single one was eating Sour Patch Kids, or in line for the Seafood buffet. Cows eat grass, period. Is it necessary to advertise the obvious? Is there a world out there where cows are living as hobos in alleys, like maybe in Harlem, helping themselves to extra helpings of Chicken Parmesan? I do find some satisfaction knowing that the cow wasn’t ingesting motor oil or something, so a simple disclaimer, like “hey this cow did not eat radioactive plankton,” or something would suffice for me.

You can read that as well as all my blogs at http://stevemcdevitt.blogspot.com/ (all the hip kids are doing it)

"Volume XVII"

Today’s Blog takes us to the world of random, useless thoughts, which is probably just what you are looking for, but likely not.

I hope I never get to the point where I start tucking my collared shirt into my jeans, while sporting a phone belt clip topped off white running shoes. Have these guys just completely given up on life or do they just have no one at home to stop them? If they do have a lady at home, what delusional woman is letting them leave the house like this? These guys might as well grow themselves a Mom Butt while they’re at it because I feel that might be their next step.

How did it come to be that horses are the primary animal used for glue? Was some mad scientist at Elmers experimenting with different animals or did he nail horse on the first shot? I’m just imagining them sitting around their beakers and Petri dishes … Hey Jim - pretty sure we could make white out from a wildebeest¸ let me see just add the citric acid, carry the one, add the two…nope not it. Hmm… you know what, I have a hunch for the glue though; quick -hand me that vile with Seabiscuit’s spleen…

Men have walked on the moon, I have an Google Earth app on my phone that allows me to view every inch of our planet with a few clicks, and I can instantaneously have a text message conversation with a person in Madagascar, but yet for some preposterous reason, a Bar back working behind the bar, can’t figure out how to pour a pint of beer. I’m completely sold on the fact that this position at local watering holes was created solely to make us patrons feel like we are taking it in the rear. Sure I like clean glasses as much as the next guy, but I also like clean glasses full of beer.

It usually goes something like this:

Me: Hi, I’ll take a Stella please.

Bar back grunts, yawns, grabs his junk, and then motions in the direction of an overworked bartender on the other end of the bar. He then scrupulously wipes down the counter, like he is Michelangelo in the Sistine Chapel.

Me: Since you’re behind the bar, which means you work here, how about a Stella? It is right there in front of you.

Bar Back grunts again, then looks at me like he’s killed several before just for hinting at the idea. Then he proceeds to methodically wipe down the counter as slow as humanly possible.

Me: I can hold the glass, you can just pull that lever right there. It really will just take a second, I mean you have the beer and at least one good arm, and I have a glass awaiting a beverage.

The Bar Back becomes extremely agitated, offended that I’ve insulted what he’s perceived as an imperative role at the bar, while he feverishly wipes down the counter yet again.

Me: Alright well, how about I just stand here and look like an idiot, man that counter looks amazing.

You can read that as well as all my blogs at http://stevemcdevitt.blogspot.com/ (all the hip kids are doing it)

Who-Ville Medical Team Generates New Heart Tissue Using Stem Cells – Grows Grinch’s Heart Three Full Sizes

An Emotional Grinch claims he now loves Christmas

__________________________________________

Calvin Humpernickle, Town Drunk, Blacksmith and Science Correspondent

Published December 24, 2010

Who-Ville - Every Who down in Who-Ville likes Christmas a whole lot, and now after years of experimental treatments using donor stem cells we can also say that the lone resident of North Who-Ville likes Christmas a whole lot too.

A Who-Ville team led by the world’s leading yodeler, who works part time as a heart surgeon, were able to regenerate and grow heart tissue for the very first time. Known mostly for his sensational hits: Ain’t Nothing But a Yodel Thang, ”Yodel Style, ” and “Ain’t No Fun (If My Yodelers Can’t Have None), ” Hans Slaperdoodle has worked over twenty minutes per day for the past seven days attempting to tackle what medical journals, had they actually returned the stalker-esque number of phone calls, or opened the door to see some kook standing outside with a notepad and a pocket tape recorder, would have called a modern science miracle.

"Since we really didn’t know what species The Grinch is, it made it tough to know who or what to get the stem cells from," Slaperdoodle responded when asked where he found the donated cells. “"The Grinch is not human, nor is he animal. After asking him many times for his medical history and getting only incoherent gibberish about his head not screwed on right, or his shoes being too tight, we eventually agreed this is what we were to expect from someone who didn’t even realize he wasn’t wearing any pants.”

Growing replacement tissue from stem cells is one of the principal goals of biology. So far, scientists have grown tendons, cartilage and an ear coming off the head of a mouse which served no medical purpose whatsoever , but forced that mouse into a life of despair, ridicule, and solitude… until he was eventually seen suspiciously wandering near some local mouse traps, high on cat nip.

"First we tried using stem cells from a rooster, an ocelot and even a rubber chicken, but then Larry Shantzamuffin (fellow researcher and shower curtain ring salesman) accidentally dropped part of his turkey sandwich into the Petri dish, and then all this fizzing and such started happening," Slaperdoodle added, when describing how this miraculous discovery happened.

This is not the first time Grinch has been in the news. Born with a heart two sizes too small, and with a hatred for Christmas his entire life, The Grinch had finally had enough. In 1991, after gluing antlers onto his dog Max, ignoring threats from PETA advising against it, The Grinch made his way down the treacherous mountainside and ransacked the town of Who-Ville, stealing everything from pop guns, bicycles, checkerboards, and The Hills, Season 4”DVD’s.

"All I know is that morning I woke up, went downstairs; you know the usual routine, and that son of a bitch took all our gifts including my ‘89 swimsuit edition I keep hidden behind the cupboard," an obviously agitated Slaperdoodle exclaimed.

The Grinch was eventually cleared on all charges when he returned all the gifts he stole, carvedthe roast beast at Christmas dinner and agreed to watch three seasons of MTV’s “Jersey Shore, all in one sitting, as his punishment. Since then, despite beliefs that he would finally lead a jovial and compassionate life, he regressed and has spent the last several years brewing with hatred until his magical elixir was discovered; Stem cells donated from a turkey sandwich.

Word spread like wildfire all the way to the North Pole, and once the news hit, it was the gregarious Prancer that spilled the Christmas cookies regarding developments there. “We already have the science to give every Reindeer a red nose but selfishly Rudolph has fought us tooth and hoof,”” said Prancer. "In my opinion, if it wasn’t for that foggy Christmas Eve, that egocentric future wall mount still wouldn’t be playing any Reindeer games."

So what’s next for The Grinch and his new heart?

"I’m going to do a little traveling. Maybe West Who-Ville, Who-Ville Depot, Who-Ville & Beyond if there’s enough time, who knows?"” responded The Grinch, “"I’m starting to see life in a whole different way… seeing things I’ve never noticed be… Holy shit! I’m not wearing any freakin’’ pants!"

Email Calvin at nomoremrniceguy@whovillemedical.net

"Volume XVI"

Welcome to another long awaited, but not very anticipated version of the blog. For those who have forgotten what this blog is about, don’t fret. I have no clue either. If anyone out there reading can figure it out please email me and let me know. I have heard it is a better read right after something else incredibly boring like the back of the vomit bag on an airplane for example. In addition, if you just recently learned the English language and don’t realize that this is incongruous, drool-inducing, nonsense, then that is a good time as well.

On that note, on to the write up …

Are toilet technology experts (not a real profession, sorry aspiring youngsters) getting any closer to mastering these auto-flush toilets? They’re either auto flushing too much, or not at all. If Apple can come out with a music player the size of a stick of gum, can’t toilet makers come out with a toilet that doesn’t give me three surprise enemas every time I move a centimeter to the right or left on the seat?

It’s probably a bad sign that my bottle opener key chain has completely worn down to the point where it no longer functions properly. This thing is made from the strongest metal money can buy, impervious to a military tank driving over it, yet I’ve managed to open so many beers it has met its inauspicious demise.

Ever notice when you go to cook something, it always gives you two options for instructions: Oven and microwave? For a second you always think, wow, I should really cook this in the oven, I know that is how it is meant to be cooked, but then you read the different time estimations and it is something like this:

Oven: 45 -50 minutes
Microwave: 4 minutes

Even Rachel Ray, or the top cooking go-getters out there can’t be buying what this oven method is selling are they?

This is basically what should be written on my Pizza Rolls, because this is generally how it goes…

Oven Instructions:

1) Pre-heat oven to 425 (15 minutes)

2) Come back 15 minutes later to realize you only turned on the temperature knob and not set on “Bake” (15 more minutes)

3) Look for baking sheet (10 minutes)

4) Realize you don’t own a baking sheet, so you have to knock on your neighbor’s door who comes out wearing only a sock over his penis and smoking a cigar. (7 awkward minutes)

5) Take baking sheet back to your apartment (2 minutes)

6) Place call to your therapist to attempt to recover from what you’ve just seen (20 minutes)

7) Place on cooking sheet (1 min)

8) Cook for 16 minutes or until golden brown
Look, Sara Lee, this is your recipe, if you don’t have one-hundred percent confidence in your 16 minute estimate, then how should I? I live next to a guy wearing a penis sock. I’m looking to you for help here. Tell you what, how about you go back to your little lab and perfect this estimate until you are fully confident. I don’t want to be sticking my hand into a piping hot oven to see if these freakin’ Pizza rolls are brown. And golden brown? How do I tell if they’re golden brown as opposed to brown, considering they were brown when they went in, in the first place?

9) Take out of oven using oven mitt – look for oven mitt (5 minutes)

10) Realize you don’t own any oven mitts – 2 minutes

11) Go back to your neighbors and ask for oven mitt – 3 minutes

12) He doesn’t have any either, but he offers his sock – 3 minutes

13) Vomit profusely in his petunias – 13 minutes

14) He says he’s kidding and hands you an oven mitt

15) Go back and remove your pizza rolls

16) Let cool for 15 minutes (just so you can sit there and smell the pizza rolls as you keel over in hunger)

17) You are so hungry and delusional staring at the rolls, you start eating the oven mitt – 3 minutes

18) You realize where the oven mitt came from and come to the sobering conclusion that you have no idea what your neighbor has been doing with his oven mitts

19) Vomit in your own petunias – 6 minutes

20) Eat one of the pizza rolls unwilling to wait the entire 15 minute cooling process to end

21) Burn off a portion of your uvula

22) Scream like a little girl at a Jonas Brothers concert – 30 seconds

23) Use large spatula and loosen one by one – 10 minutes

24) Enjoy! (Go F yourself Betty Crocker)

Total cooking/preparation time: 2 hours 41 minutes

Microwave Instructions:

1) Place in Microwave (5 seconds)
2) Turn on Microwave (2 minutes)

3)Remove from Microwave (1 second)

Enjoy! (How do you like them apples Betty Crocker?)

Total cooking/preparation time: 3 minutes

Like what you’re reading? (you’re 1 of 3 worldwide)
Read all of my blogs or even subscribe at http://stevemcdevitt.blogspot.com/
(all the hip kids are doing it…)

Thanks for nothing Betty

Two Worlds, One Cup - Volume III

Thanks again for reading. Welcome to the final Volume of the World Cup writings. In case you missed Volume I & II, you can read that as well as all my blogs at http://stevemcdevitt.blogspot.com/ (all the hip kids are doing it)

-- (Continued from July 9th)--

Yellow Card # 6 – Strategy ?
I’ve heard several soccer experts talk about the strategy that played into a 1-1 tie. What strategy are we referring to here? Do your best to not kick the ball into the net? It’s like herding cats out there… you’re going to sit there and tell me there is one iota of strategy out on that field? I could put an Emu and an Ocelot out on the field and let them run wild and it would look more organized. Can’t we all get in agreement that strategy in soccer is a lot like a youngster at an Easter Egg hunt – a lot of running around and hoping for the best?

Yellow Card # 7 - Penalty Kicks
So I’ve already gone over the amazing difficulties when it comes to scoring goals, but then a penalty kick is rewarded to a Nancy Boy who gets lightly tapped and knocked down close to the goal, thus completely cheapening the goal. For those who haven’t witnessed this ridiculous freebie, the ball is placed mere yards away from the goalie who has a blink of an eyelash to determine which way the kicker is shooting. This is like starting Viking’s Running Back Adrian Petersen on the five yard line and asking him to get across the goal-line with Pete, the captain of his 3rd grade chess club in his way. I could make 99 out of a 100 penalty kicks and the last time I played soccer was 1986. You basically have a better chance of catching a bullet with your butt cheeks than to stop one of these penalty shots, yet somehow professional players still find a way to kick the ball over the goal and miss completely.

Yellow Card #8 – Injuries
If you wanted to see a comparison to the amount of whining that takes place during a soccer match, you could probably head down to your local daycare where about twenty youngsters are playing, tauntingly parade the largest lollipop you can find in front of their faces and, when they least expect it, turn and sprint out the door. This is what it’s like to watch a soccer match. Does the coach of the team go out and find as many sissies in the neighborhood as possible then teach them the sport? Be a grown man for Christ’s sake. I’m sorry did that bad man kick you? You’re wearing shin guards! Get over it. If, in the very rare circumstance, there is in fact a real injury (for these guys like a hangnail for example), what is the signal to the trainer that says, “hey bozo, I did actually split my ulna in two. Can someone get out here?” These guys cry wolf so frequently, how do they know when someone is actually hurt? Is it a hand signal or something to sidelines, or do they just look for a waterfall of blood, a dangling ligament or a decapitation so they know for sure? If we took the same approach as they do in horse racing we wouldn’t have that problem the next time a player goes down holding his ankle. “You think you’re leg is broke Pele? Off to the glue factory for you.” Trust me, he'd get up right away when the trainer rushes out with a semi-automatic weapon and a bottle of Elmers…

With all this said, believe it or not, I do really enjoy watching these World Cup games. There are some positives to the sport, like for example headers. It is unfathomable how these guys had head the ball accurately. Have you ever taken a soccer ball to the head? It is not comfortable to say the least. I think the last time I did, I saw stars for about five minutes and I'm pretty sure it rendered me unconscious. And the endurance of these players is really amazing too. Watching TV on the couch for 90 minutes can sometimes be exhausting, yet these guys are in full sprint for that time. Ok, so the game isn’t as bad as it seems. With that said…

Go Orange! Enjoy the finals, and thanks for reading…

Cheers.