Another year, another busted bracket. KANSAS! the experts screamed. Yeah, Kansas. Thanks for the crappy advice, experts. You owe me $5 for the office pool I never had a chance in.
How deflating it was to watch the prestigious Duke Blue Devils hack down the nets once again. Congratulations on ruining what could have been, you privileged punks. I’m sure all the Cameron Crazies will celebrate their latest championship in typical Duke fashion by burning their parents’ money in the streets, and if the Lacrosse team shows up, a little raping.
I’m already anticipating next year’s tournament: Filling out multiple brackets, being glued to the TV all day for first round games, shouting obscenities in victory celebration, shouting obscenities in bitter defeat, throwing objects across the room, having my loved ones depart to another area of the house and picking Xavier to exceed beyond their expectation. Don’t let me down, Chris Mack!
MAN’S DENIM DILEMA
Stephen is having a jean crisis. He thought buying a new pair would be simple, but the profuse amount of choices before him is overwhelming. Low rise? Bootcut? Carpenter? Relaxed? Slim? Straight? Loose? Comfort? Designer? Mom? Ahhhh!
Fearing he’ll make the wrong choice and look like a fool, Stephen turns to a couple of friends for advice. His emo friend, Wounded Ethan, is pretty fashionable, even though he sometimes wears makeup and dresses like an anorexic teenage girl.
“Get some super skinny jeans, Stephen. They come in rad colors like Reef, Fever and Love Torn, and are totally comfortable, unlike the depths of my soul.” Stephen thanked Wounded Ethan for his advice and politely turned down an afternoon of shopping at Hot Topic and sulking.
Super skinny jeans were a hard sell for Stephen. Wearing pants similar to the leggings his 3-year-old sister wears didn’t seem too hip to him. And what about his stick and sack? Instead of nestling in comfortably, they’ll be crammed in awkwardly, without protest, like a hostile takeover. Surely, that can’t be good for his sperm count, like the dreaded lore of Yellow 5. Super skinny jeans: Nicht nicht.
Stephen needed an anti-emo opinion. He turned to his ghetto dwelling friend, Big Mike. Big Mike wears a lot of oversized athletic jerseys that drape off his body like a barber’s cape and flashy hats and shoes that look kind of stupid, but certainly he could give Stephen some decent advice on jeans… hopefully.
“You finna buy them bee-ach-es big, and sag, ya know whut I mean? No belt, son. No belt. Go low; scrape tha ground.”
Stephen translated Big Mike’s advice and considered what he said. It seemed crude and odd to him that someone would willingly purchase pants in exaggerated sizes, forgo the use of a belt to let their pants fall, expose their ass and walk around in public for everyone to see. That is utterly retarded.
Stephen was making no headway in solving his jean crisis. The plethora of styles were baffling, intimidating even. His friends were no help. He began to think he would be forced to pick a pair at random and he would look like a fool. A total dweeb. People would point and laugh and say, “Look at that sped! Those jeans look terrible on him! Is there a flood coming, Huck Finn?” Yes, people could be harsh. Things were definitely looking bleak.
Stephen sunk into his couch, deflating in frustration. He grabbed the remote and started flipping channels. Oprah, paid programming, women’s softball… wait, what’s this? A Brett Favre commercial, endorsing Wranglers! Holy sh*t! This was the answer to Stephen’s prayers. In his final hour of desperation, the answer fell right into his lap. If Wranglers were good enough for an iron-willed hero like Brett Favre, then they would be more than adequate for a regular Joe like himself. Stephen weeped with joy, and proclaimed, “Get ready, you ass, we’re going to Wal-Mart and getting some Wranglers!”
Ed. note: Being tall and not fat, the author prefers bootcut, and has never owned a pair of Wranglers, even though Brett Favre, Dale Earnhardt Jr. and his grandpa tell him to.
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