To Play Us Out

I need to start off this tale with a confession: I used to be a Michigan fan.  It’s highly embarrassing, I know, but I have valid reasons.  Both my parents attended the University of Michigan, I was born in Michigan, and I was basically raised a Wolverine.  I used to always play as the maize and blue on NCAA Football, and I also regularly attended Michigan games.  Did I once even stoop so low as to rush the field at the Big House after the Wolverines (I almost wrote “we”) beat the Buckeyes?  I’m ashamed to admit it, but yes, I did.  But I’ll have you know this — the day I made my fateful decision to attend Ohio State, I sold all my Michigan-themed possessions, and donated the proceeds to the Woody Hayes Foundation.  Okay, that’s not true, but I did denounce any and all Wolverine allegiances.  I guess I can quote the esteemed Terrelle Pryor in saying, “I’m glad I’m on this side.” 

So, for that reason, I still have somewhat of an inferiorty complex about my Ohio State fandom.  Hence, I try to fully invest myself in school spirit-building events — the primary one, of course, being the Mirror Lake Jump.  I’m sure most of you are aware of this tradition, but for those of you that aren’t (fuck you), basically all of us Buckeyes jump into a lake (really more of a pond) on the Thursday before the Michigan game.  And by all of us I mean everyone except Mr. P90ForLife.

I am still surprised and somewhat disheartened by Mr. P90ForLife’s decision not to jump in the lake.  He certainly does not contain the amount of school spirit that I deem acceptable, and his decision to go to Mirror Lake just to watch the rest of us came off as a slap to the face.  “Oh, look at me, I’m P90ForLife, and I’ll just sit here in my hoody while all of you honor the outstanding institution that is The Ohio State University.”  Fuck.  That.  (And I’m not saying P90ForLife did this, but to all those fags who don’t jump in and would rather stand there awkwardly and watch, and then complain about getting wet: Fuck you.) 

My anger towards him increased multi-fold when, while in the lake, I came upon perhaps the nerdiest kid I have ever seen.  Wearing glasses and a shirt that displayed math algorithms, he appeared to be the white Steve Urkel.  He probably weighed somewhere in the neighborhood of ninety pounds, looking as though he had been surviving on a diet of nothing but bread, water, and vertical asymptotes for the past eighteen years.  When I saw him, he had his arms crossed in such a way that I could tell he was seriously reconsidering his decision to jump in the first place.  Seeing this, I immediately splashed with water, attempting to buoy (water pun!) his spirits.  He looked at me, and in one of the highest-pitched male voices I’ve ever heard, exclaimed, “Hey man!  Not cool!”  My point with this kid is that even he was in the lake.  And P90ForLife was not.  Unreal. 

Anyway, back to the story.  Once we all got sufficiently drunk enough, we headed towards the lake.  I made sure to wear my favorite Ohio State shirt (it says “Michigan Blows” and depicts a Wolverine cheerleader blowing Brutus — God, I fucking love that shirt.)  I thought that we would all line up on the bank, join hands, maybe sing “Kumbaya,” and then jump together.  Instead, 3/5’s quickly ran past me and cannonballed in, with little regard for life or limb.  Seeing this, I thought “Fuck it,” and followed him in.  The water was so cold that my breath was quickly taken from me — I felt like a Titanic survivor waiting for the Carpathia.  Of course, as when in any body of water, this feeling quickly subsided and I was ready to go.  (I literally just explained how water works.  Fuck.  Me.)

I was in the lake for almost an hour and a half, and I have to say it might have been the most fun ninety minutes of my life.  Even coming from a person who hates sentimentality, camaraderie, and all that bullshit, I will admit — there was a lot of unity in that pool.  Whether we were chanting “Fuck Michigan!” or singing the bass-line to “Seven Nation Army,”  it felt like a family.  And I know this all sounds like one of those gay college ads on TV, but it’s true.  I did hear one kid try to start a “Fuck TP!” chant.  I’m not saying he’s a great quarterback, but that is completely unacceptable, not to mention asinine.  The kid was quickly splashed.  Also, I started to get pissed because I thought someone was waving the Confederate flag.  But then I realized that I was merely drunkenly looking at the flag for the state of Ohio.

So after awhile, I had finally had enough, and decided to get out and head back to my house.  (Trashpockets says that he was in the lake for almost as long as me.  He also says that OSU safety Kurt Coleman videotaped him yelling “Go Bucks!” or something.  I find both claims suspect, but I digest.)  I should pause here and mention that before the jump, we had stashed some towels and a change of clothes in a dorm next to the lake (Mack Hall), where some of Fucktard’s friends still live.  So I got out of the lake, completely soaked in water, mud, and, somehow, Styrofoam packing peanuts, and went back to get my shit.  I entered the dorm room, and was quickly greeted by a horribly stunning revelation — Fucktard had already been by, and had taken my stuff back to our house.

So now I have to walk  like seven or eight blocks, in thirty degree weather mind you, while wearing my wet clothes.  Needless to say, I was fucking pissed.  Not that I was all that surprised, though, because this was just another attempt by Fucktard to act as something of a mother figure.  He claims he didn’t think I would be able to get back to Mack Hall, and he didn’t want my stuff to get lost.  What am I, a goddamned retard?  I can’t back into a building?  Anyway, I exited Mack through a back door and started to make my trek home.

That turned out to be a mistake.  See, behind Mack Hall there is a large courtyard, from which there are only two exits.  One is the aforementioned back door of Mack, and the back doors of the several other buildings that flow into the courtyard.  Unfortunately, I could not use those doors.  Living off campus means that my BuckID does not allow me to swipe and enter dorm buildings.  The second available exit is a series of interlocking metal doors.  Sadly, all those doors were locked, given that it was approaching two o’clock in the morning.  I had no phone and no way out.  Like Fortunato in “The Cask of Amontillado,” I was completely and utterly trapped, with death surely only moments away.  I sat down on a bench, shivering, and began to weigh my options — of which there were really only two.  One was suicide.  The second was to hope and pray that someone would come out of one of the back doors and let me in.  I chose the latter option, and eventually, after sitting in the cold for about twenty minutes, I was assisted by some F.O.B. Asian girl who looked terrified at the sight of me.

I finally made it home, and when I did, the rest of my house was gathered around the TV, ready to watch a DVR-ed episode of The League.  Now, here I am having just suffered through an ordeal that I would put on par with Paul Sheldon’s in Misery, and these assholes say they won’t even wait for me to shower — they were watching the episode now, with or without me.  I was cold, freezing even, but this is the fucking League we’re talking about — you think I’m going to miss that shit?  So I wrapped myself in a towel, sat down, and watched what I would deem the best episode this season.  (Seriously, if you’re not watching this show, you should be.  You don’t even have to like fantasy football.  It’s fucking hilarious.)  I finally got around to taking a shower, but since everyone else had gotten back before me and bathed already, there was barely any hot water left.  That night, I ended up sleeping in a sweatshirt, sweatpants, two pairs of socks, a robe, and three blankets.  But at least I felt like I did my part in beating Michigan.  Let’s just end with this for good measure:

I’d love to sell out completely.  It’s just that nobody has been willing to buy.  – John Waters

I constantly make fun of the Black Eyed Peas for selling out and being featured in basically every advertisement known to man.  (Also their music really blows).  But I guess I’m going to have to stop doing that because I too am selling out.  That’s right — I’ve decided to start being a corporate whore.  I’m bending over, grabbing my ankles, and letting big business have their way with me.

You’ll remember in my last post I mentioned I got an email from the people behind the T-Mobile/Weezer campaign, and that I refused to help them out.  I’ve reversed my decision, partly because I’ve been promised free t-shirts, but partly because I just really like Weezer (“Buddy Holly” is definitely one of the best songs of all time).  So click on the link below if you want to get them to come to your college.  Additionally, you’ll see I put another ad on the side, which will remain there as long as I continue to receive free shit.

Additionally, I am now getting two complimentary CDs, so I’ll definitely be giving one away.  The marketing rep I talked to had a pretty good idea: since I absolutely love horrible YouTube videos like that Hot Pocket one, I want you all to send me the worst vids you can find.  Whichever one I deem the most atrocious wins the CD.

Finally, this is directed at the YouCast Corporation whom I’ve been communicating with.  I might change my major from Finance to Marketing sometime so if you could give me an extremely high-paying job when I graduate I would appreciate it.  Preferably said job would have little to no responsibility so I can continue to write this blog.  I also hate both dealing with others and getting anything done, so if I could just sit in an office from nine to five and read baseball stats or something, that’d be great.  Again, I would expect a very high salary for doing this.  And benefits.  And a hot secretary.  Thank you.

…it makes we wanna wag my tail, when it comes I wanna wail…MAIL!!  (Sorry that was gay, let’s just act like it never happened and move on with the post).

I’ll be honest: I rarely check my Atlas Jobinson email account.  So if any of our countless female fans have been sending nude pics or something, I apologize for never responding.  Anyway, I finally checked it, and over the past couple of weeks, I have received some very strange emails.  I’ll highlight three now.

First, I got an email from someone named Michael Bérubé, who apparently is a professor at Penn State (and named one of the “101 Most Dangerous Academics in America” by conservative author David Horowitz).  I guess he reads the blog, and he sent me a link that he thought I would like.  It’s from a website called ChristWire, which is either the most brilliant satire I have ever read, or the craziest shit I have ever read.

Anyway, at this point I think I would have to agree with Berkowitz in that this Bérubé character is a pretty dangerous academic.  This guy is a professor who is supposed to be teaching kids or doing research or whatever it is that professors do, and he’s wasting his time reading the piece of shit we call To Play Us Out?  Get a life.  Then again, I’m not really surprised, because after that debacle on Saturday, it’s pretty clear no one from Penn State is good at anything.

The second and third emails that I would like to discuss were both of the same ilk.  Each was from a marketing representative wanting this blog to advertise their products.  One was from Hot Pockets, and they wanted me to post a video which would “get [my] readers to laugh and get excited about Hot Pockets.”  Now, I like Hot Pockets/Lean Pockets/whatever they’re called now, but I can’t really take them seriously.  Their commercials are always a bunch of depressed looking pre-teens who can’t for life of them find anything to eat.  And then suddenly a mom character appears out of nowhere to make Hot Pockets, and the kids go fucking crazy.  Also Jim Gaffigan rips on them, and I blindly follow whatever he says.

Anyhoo, I had two more serious problems with the email.  One, I’m pretty sure it was a form letter, and a horribly written one at that.  Two, the video that was attached was the biggest piece of shit I have ever seen.  And the guy lead into it by writing, “since this video is similar to the humor in your posts…”  I swear to God, if anyone thinks my writing is anything like this video, I’ll just go ahead and kill myself right now:

Fuck, I just watched it again and almost threw up at how bad it is.  Anyway, since I acted as a corporate whore and posted it, I’m asking the guy for some free Hot Pockets.

The second ad email I got was from whatever company is representing Weezer.  I’m sure you’ve all seen the “Vote to Bring Weezer to [Insert University]” groups on Facebook, and this was much in the same vein.  They want me to post a link so you can all go vote, but I will not be doing that because I am not a complete fag.  They did promise me a free copy of Weezer’s new CD if I “discussed” this whole thing on my blog.  Just by writing these very words, I think I’m “discussing” it, so I’ll be expecting that complimentary album.  They really should’ve used a less vague word than “discuss.”  Also, they told me I could keep the CD for myself, or organize some sort of giveaway for my readers.  I am a pretty selfish person, but if any of you can think of some sort of creative way that I can decide who gets this, it could be possible.  Otherwise it’s mine.

On a completely (and I mean completely) unrelated note, I had to write a huge paper the other day on the philosophical and moral questions surrounding torture.  One example I used had me comparing the United States to Batman.  Batman never kills anyone because he sees himself as morally superior to his villains, and I argued that as Americans we should do the same and not lower ourselves to the type of behavior that our enemies perpetrate.  My teacher is a pot-smoking, lip-ring-wearing 24-year-old, so I think he will appreciate the brilliance of that analogy.

P.S. Nice job, Fucktard, on doing a link dump immediately after I did one.  Get a clue.

Oh, Link Dump.  It’s been so long.  How I have missed you.  But it’s like they say: it’s better to have link dumped and lost than never to have link dumped at all.  Or something like that.

• This is the coolest thing I have ever seen: classic NFL moments re-lived in Tecmo Bowl.  I love the first one, obviously, except for that faggot announcer Gus Johnson calling my beloved Bengals the “Cardiac Cats.”  That is the gayest fucking nickname I have ever heard.
• Guess who’s coming out with a rap album?  J.J. Fucking Redick.  Listen, douchebag: just because you’re in the NBA does not mean you’re an honorary black person.
• This guy wants his daughter to be a porno actress. Father of the year candidate?  Seriously, though, I know a lot of girls who are going nowhere in life.  If I was their dads, I would probably encourage this career move as well.
• I play Madden a lot.  Like on-the-verge-of-obsession a lot.  I used to be amazing, and I was the undisputed champion of the house.  P90ForLife went as far as to research play-calling tips on the Internet just so he could beat me.  It must have worked, because now I hardly ever win.  I am constantly screaming after every interception or missed tackle, and I end up looking a lot like one of these guys.
• I take all my cues on how to woo women based on things I learn from romantic comedies.  Apparently that’s a mistake.
• When I inevitably quit whatever job I somehow manage to procure in the future, this will be the resignation letter I can only hope to emulate.
• Here’s a collection of some Halloween nerds.  Spoiler: every other picture is actually the not unattractive Olivia Nunn in a costume.  In one of the pics, she’s dressed as Princess Leia in the famous bikini.  I have said it many times: when I’m like 5-10 years into my marriage, and the sex life needs to be spiced up, I am making my wife dress up as Princess Leia.  I maintain that her in that bikini is the hottest thing ever to be put on film.

P.S. I found another nerd picture.  You all know him as Jeff George:

• To Play Us Out-approved music of the week: DJ Steve Porter’s “Press Hop.”  Without question, the greatest sports mash-up of all time.  I downloaded this and I play it at parties.  That is not a joke.

A final note on what everyone here is being for Halloween:

• Trashpockets and I are the Blues Brothers.  And we are on a mission from God.
• Fucktard is a gynecologist.
• Jeff George was going to be Peter Pan (the kid is addicted to that theme song), but now he’s being a mummy.  Horrible decision, sir.
• Mr. 3/5’s costume is the most clever, but I don’t think he wants me to reveal it just yet.  I’ll have to get clearance.
• P90ForLife claims he’s going to be either Lt. Dangle from Reno 911 or a Hasidic Jew, but as of yet he has done absolutely zero preparation.  My prediction is that he does not assemble a costume, and hence does not go out this weekend.

Yes, I sent it.

Dear Ms. Vogel,

I am writing in regards to a very offensive scene that I was forced to witness at Eddie George’s Grille on October 25.  But before I get to the matter at hand, I would first like to address two complementary topics.

First, please take note that I am contacting you only because I have no other option.  Ideally, I would like go straight to the top and speak with Mr. George himself.  Unfortunately, his contact information is not readily available.  Additionally, I’m sure he is far too busy making cameos in Steven Seagal movies and starring in his hilarious reality show, I Married A Baller, to talk to a patron like myself.

Second, when I went to your establishment’s website, some new-age R&B music suddenly began playing.  I finally managed to make it cease, but it was an annoying incident to say the least.  I know you want to seem hip and attract a certain type of demographic, but here’s a hint: get rid of the music.  It’s a nuisance, and it completely turns me off as a consumer.  Just a tip.

Now, on to the primary purpose of this communiqué.  My friend and I were walking past the Grille, having just picked up some Five Guys.  (This is not meant to be a slight to your restaurant, because I certainly don’t hate your fare.  But I think we can both agree it’s not in the same league as Five Guys.)  A crowd had gathered in the bar area to watch the conclusion of the Steelers-Vikings game, so my friend and I stopped to view it as well.

I’m sure we all know what happened next.  Brett Favre went all Brett Favre and tried to do too much, throwing an interception when his team was already in range for a game-tying field goal.  For all intents and purposes, that miscue sealed the Steelers victory.  Now, given that we are in Columbus, which I thought was Bengals and Browns town, I expected to hear a lot of dejected remarks, perhaps even some vulgarity.  Au contraire, Ms. Vogel.  Au contraire.  In fact, ninety percent of the room started rejoicing.  I mean, sure, I hate Brett Favre as much as anyone and I would usually root against him.  The guy should decide on a retirement timetable and maybe start spelling his last name correctly.  But against the Steelers, I wish him nothing but success.

Now, none of what I have mentioned is your fault.  I know you can’t control the fact that Steelers fans frequent your place of business. I’m not proposing that you pull a George Wallace and determine who can and who cannot enter.  However, I think you can control what happened subsequently.  After the interception, the “Here We Go, Steelers” theme was played over the Grille’s loudspeakers.  Excuse my language, but fuck that, ma’am.  That song should never be played in Ohio.  Never.

I’m sure you think that I have some sort of vendetta against the Steelers.  Well, as a matter of fact, I do.  Remember the 2006 playoff game between them and the Bengals?  I do, because I was there.  My dad pulled me out of church once he managed to secure an extra ticket.  That was most likely a mistake, and we probably angered God or something and turned him into a Steelers fan.  Anyway, there we were, unbelievably excited for the first Cincinnati playoff game in fifteen years, and on the second play, that asshole Kimo van Oelhoffen destroyed not only Carson Palmer’s knee, but any chance the Bengals ever had.  And then I had to watch while that smiling piece of shit Hines Ward, that douchebag Ben Roethlisberger, and that little fuck Antwan Randle El unfairly won the game en route to a Super Bowl championship.

So, yes, I do hate the Steelers.  But that’s not the point here.  The point is that “Here We Go, Steelers” should never be played again at the Grille.  It’s a slap in the face to those of us who are loyal and support our Ohio teams regardless of atrocious they are.  I mean, how can anyone even watch a Browns game, let alone be a fan?  Seriously, Browns fans have to be somewhat mentally disturbed.  Nevertheless, they support their local team, and should be rewarded for that, not subjected to the enemy’s fight song.

I’ll close with this:  If I ever hear that god-forsaken song at your restaurant again, I will cease being a customer.  Also, I will start an all-out smear campaign against the Grille.  I will stand outside your establishment every Sunday and drive all the customers to a different restaurant.  I don’t really care for McFadden’s, and I much prefer the Grille, but I’m sure they would never stoop so low as to actively support the Steelers.  Don’t make it come to this.

On an unrelated note, a complimentary gift certificate would probably make me forget about all this.

Thank you,

Atlas Jobinson

We’re having a case race.  Trashpockets and I vs. 3/5’s and Jeff George vs. The Foster Child and Another Kid.  Each team gets one puke.  There are no bongs, cozies, or any other devices.  This is the live blog.  Go to it.

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