Saturday, November 15, 2008
A few weeks ago I compared Mike McCarthy to Mike Tice. I was wrong. This douche is the worst ever. I am not even going to present as evidence the most unimaginative game plan in history. He sucks because of that, hard. No, I am talking about the challenge that was issued by him when AP scored on the game winning touchdown. First, why does it even matter if he scored or not? He had torched the Pack for almost 200 yards rushing already so why would McCarthy all of a sudden believe that the D could stop him? The Packers needed as much time as they could to drive within field goal range and the Vikes would have just wasted clock. Second, we only had two timeouts left before the challenge. I am unsure of the time left but there was not much. But Rodgers is fail anyway so it would not have mattered. The good thing is that this is only hastening the removal of the entire front office for their idiocy. The most surreal part? There are still people defending this and believing that the team is in good hands.
Posted by Jack Burton at 12:00 PM
(Above picture is approximate way Aaron Rodgers looked on Sunday, all game long. Ironic that Korver is now a Buck.)But it would have been so much sweeter if Favre was just destroying the Packer's last week (Odd writing that sentence). I am sure the Jet's first place standing in a tough division and the Packer's third in the worst division in the history of the NFL, other than the NFC West, is purely coincidental.
Posted by Jack Burton at 1:42 AM
Friday, November 14, 2008
Truly sorry for the layoff. I have been incapacitated for a bit as I am now in lovely Ames, Iowa, to put cabinets and trim in a Hilton Garden Inn in the employ of Strong Daddy Builders. Oh Sweet Heavens, if only that were the most pressing of my problems between now and next Friday. This may be one of the strangest times of my life , and I may not be the same when this fortnight is over......
I left last Thursday from Green Bay and my young bride to be, Gracie. The trip to Ames lasted almost eight hours. I hate leaving house and blushing betrothed, but working on projects that I have no aptitude for and being bored out of my mind as I am entrusted with virtually nothingof consequence is always a lot of fun. I left with "Ron", a person who I usually room and work with on the job sites. He is about 50, but looks not a day younger than 73, due to a lifetime of having a lit cigarette perpetually hanging on his fingertips. Slow smoker. Announces his arrival and every tenth step by coughing in what can only be described as a quick "bark". Doesn't like to wash his hands after using the toilet. Stands at about 5'6" and weighs in at a robust weight of 140. Usually enjoyable to me as he shares my joy in cannabis culture (if enjoyed responsibly). Oh, there are some unfortunate drawbacks such as "Ron", being an avid hunter, must watch every canned hunt show on the television in your room. He is also a big fan of television involving how shovels are made. Did you know that the only difference between a value shovel and an expensive one is whether a nail or a rivet is used to fasten the blade to the handle? Or the fact that there is always a low, phlegmy gurgle in his throat that makes you want, to simultaneously finish the job he is obviously out to do and wonder if that is your own future if you continue smoking. "Hey Burton!" you say, "why don't you get off your fat ass, stop bitching, and see the great city and campus that the ninth largest city in Iowa has to offer?" To that I say that I agree wholeheartedly, but the days are long, my friend, and the only QUANTUM OF SOLACE is your hotel room, after working all day in a hotel. There are two others as well. A tiny Puerto Rican guy from Milwaukee named "Johnny", who just got out of prison. Funny guy. Lastly the co-owner, or STRONG DADDY, "Neal". "Neal" has a ponytail the length of his back. With no hair on the sides. Those guys are cool.
There is an awful conclusion to this tale. As I stare at my haunted visage in the mirror and realize by my haggard look that I am only delaying the inevitable. I cannot defeat myself. I am writing this so long and so late because, I fear that I must not sleep tonight, or any other again until, or if, I return to my lovely lady in one week's time. Will she still recognize me or will I look entirely different from the happy, carefree man who was only gone for two weeks?
It all began last night. I watched television until midnight and then drifted off to sweet slumber for my sore body. I am positive with every small shred of sanity I have left that the T.V. was turned off. I have spent every night I have gone out on the road with "Ron" and there have never been any incidents of note that had happened previously. Last night, oh no. At about 2:30 I was awakened. As my head cleared I realized there was a figure on my bed. I lay there, dumfounded for what seemed forever. I screamed, then screamed out "Jesus!!!!" Then, the worst use of "Fantasy Finally Put in Action Against KILLER/THING/ALIEN While Just Roused From Sleep" defense ever employed occurred as I flailed my arms pathetically in it's general direction. It was "Ron". Wearing nothing but his underwear. On all fours right next to me. The scariest part. "Ron" just said, "Hey Jack" and kind of chuckled and grabbed the remote next to me as he slithered off my bed. Immediately after, as I lay in bed stockstill and speechless, I wondered if "Ron" wanted to just simply watch T.V. Rather than stand next to the bed, and then reach over me to grab the remote, he thought it best to just climb onto the bed and get it. Plausible. But then the television was never turned on. I know because I was up long afterwards hoping it would be. This morning, no T.V. either when he got up before me as I lay shivering with fear. In fact, the remote was on my side of the night table. This is crazy, this is crazy, this is crazy!