Fear the Tigerclaw

7:28 P.M.-I am awoken from my hour long nap on my couch by a text from my best friend. The text consists of pictures of cigarettes, guns, alcohol and naked girls with a simple one word question…”Vegas?”

7:28-8:12 P.M.-Facebook trolling, Pandora Radio is turned on. After three songs, an advertisement for Trader Joe’s interrupts the music. I’m fucking starving.

8:15 P.M.- Sifting through my fridge looking for something quick to eat, I realize that I spent close to $200 at the store earlier this week, only to have nothing but ingredients. I string together an impressive amount of swear words together without being redundant and settle on making a quesadilla.

8:18P.M.- While eating my nuked quesadilla dinner, an overwhelming desire for a margarita hits me.

8:20P.M.- I pour myself a glass of milk. This would taste way better if tequila is in it. Actually…I have had milk and tequila before and it was disgusting…I take it back.

8:25P.M.-10:00P.M. I stumble around the internet, mainly refreshing a Lakersground.net to see if that fucking twat David Stern has realized his mistake and possibly changed his mind on Chris Paul being traded to the Lakers. I come across an awesomely swell .gif file that someone more creative than I put together.

You can't stop him, you can only hope to contain him

Undisputed Champion of 4 A.M.

“You’ll find boredom where there is
the absence of a good idea.” – Earl Nightingale

Now, I have no clue just who in the hell Earl Nightingale is, or what
significance he brought to this world. For all I know, he could be a serial killer
who masturbated with a cheese grater. But self inflicted pervertry aside, his
quote about boredom is spot on. When a hobby, such as writing, starts to become
a task, it then becomes tedious. And tedium leads to boredom, apathy and flat
out resentment towards the hobby that was once so rewarding.

We are the people we are, not because of some sort of cosmic wizardry
that defines us. No, we are who we are because of the feedback we receive from
the people we interact with in life. Yes, there are some personality traits
that some people inherently have over others, but by and large, we mold our
behavior around the positive and negative reactions we get from others.

Think about it, if you constantly told jokes that others greeted with
confusion, disappointment and anything other than the appropriate reaction to a
joke, you would be labeled as unfunny, and eventually, you would probably stop

telling jokes (at least bad jokes that people don’t laugh at).

Of course, being labeled unfunny and written off as such is actually a
blessing in disguise. I don’t know of anything worse than someone introducing
you to someone else and saying, “this is Sam, he is HELL OF funny.” I
immediately wish to rip that persons nipples off and shove them up their own
asshole for putting me on stage like that. At that point, you now have to give,
whoever you are meeting, your best material in order to prove the claims of
your (former) friend.

The same theory applies to writing. I am only a “good writer,” because
everyone who reads my shit, tells me I am. And then constantly badgers me to
write more, which I try to do, which in turn, causes me to burn through
material, embellish stories for the sake of keeping up with my own Joneses, and
satisfying a small, but dedicated readership across multiple websites, all with
different genres and categories, which demand original content, separate from
my other interests.

Eventually, the whole process becomes boring, uninspired and pretty
fucking hard to do. I literally woke up one day, sat in front of the computer,
opened my word processor and thought to myself, “Well fuck me, I don’t know
what to write about.”

“Writer’s block is the greatest side
effect of boredom.” – Jason Zebehazy

And once I realized that I didn’t know what to write about, I also
realized that I didn’t care that I didn’t know. I had planned on writing a
long, multiple part story about my dead dog, Roxy.

But I didn’t.

And I had plenty of “Not my Proudest Moment,” Stories that I could have
written about.

But I didn’t.

Oh, and there was always sports. Sports is easy to write about,
expectations aren’t very high from the average sports column reader and I could
have dug into a nice little niche segment with a couple of sports related
sites, possibly even grab greater attention nationally if I decided to put any
sort of effort into it.

But I didn’t.

The mere thought of sitting down and writing about anything became
fucking sickening to me. The whole process was like a bad marriage that I was
willing to let dissolve in front of me, perfectly content to let the bitch suffer
while I ignored her, until she finally got fed up, packed her shit, and left
me.

Fuck her anyways, right? The whole writing process had vindictively taken
control of me, making me feel guilty as shit for not stroking her keys, making
her cum, over and over again as my fingers worked her buttons, causing her to
moan and scream, turning letters into words, and eventually into funny little
stories for people to enjoy, slap me on the back, and ask me when the next
article would be up.

This is my life. This was my life. This is no way to live.

“To do the same thing over and over
again is not only boredom: it is to be controlled by rather than to control
what you do.” – Heraclitus

I wake up early every morning. I stumble into the bathroom, take a piss,
wash my hands, brush my teeth, let out a fart, giggle, then take a shower.

After my shower, I make coffee, fire up my work laptop to look at
e-mails, listen to voicemails to see which customer has wadded up their panties
the most since last night, then jump in my work truck and talk to the very same
customers about the very same topics that I talked to them the day before.

Often times these same customers ask me the exact same questions that
they have asked for years. So much so, that I don’t even bother reminding them
that we had the EXACT SAME CONVERSATION 13 TIMES BEFORE. I simply endure it,
answer their questions, and then repeat the same process with my bosses,
co-workers and friends who, even after working for the same company for 10
years, still have no idea just what the hell it is I do, or who I work for.

I simply endure it all. And I do this because A: Work pays me to endure
it all and B: Okay, so I don’t really have a “B,” I simply endure it because I
get paid money to do so. And yes, that sounds somewhat hypocritical and like
someone that sells out their morals and principles for the sake of the almighty
dollar. And you would be right. But it is that carrot at the end of the stick,
the paycheck, commissions check and bonus dollars that I receive for my time
that keeps it interesting. It justifies the means for the ending. The human
soul can only take so much…until you pay it, then it asks for more with a grin
on its face. Sad reality, but reality, nonetheless.

“It is only a step from boredom to
disillusionment, which leads naturally to self-pity, which in turn ends in
chaos.” – Manly Hall

And its that prize at the end of the rat race we call work that keeps us all
from going bat shit and securing a reservation in hell by spraying bullets all
over the place. When it come to a hobby that transforms itself into,
essentially volunteer work, the reward just isn’t there. And eventually, you
start to question just why in the fuck you are sitting in front of a computer
screen at 12:30 at night, trying to figure out a 45^th synonym for
poop, so that someone somewhere can laugh at how you clogged a toilet.

And once that story is told, and you have no follow up to satiate the
readership, or even more importantly, yourself, you simply have to walk away.
Walk away from writing anything, walk away from interacting with those that
demand you write something (even if it means lowering your own standards as to
what is story worthy) and understanding that, at some point, the net results of
what you are typing up, simply don’t justify the gross amount of time it is
taking you to fight through the apathy, boredom and tediousness of
conceptualizing a story, formulating the structure of the story and ultimately
executing the message you intend to send out to the world, as opposed to
someone reading too much, or too little into what you wrote and taking it in a
completely different direction.

I hate those assholes. You always end up having to explain to them in
person what you actually meant, and then, once they “get it,” they give you the
same look that you get when someone introduces you as being “HELL OF funny,”
and then having your initial joke that you tried too hard in a short amount of
time to throw out there, fall short. The disappointment permeates throughout the
writer and the reader at that point. A symbiotic relationship of negativity.

“I’ve got a great ambition to die of
exhaustion rather than boredom.” – Thomas Carlyle

So ultimately, instead of melting into my couch, struggling to find a way
to make a story about a pygmy goat knocking me on my ass while on vacation,
trying to figure out how to make a funny picture of Reggie Bush playing for the
Dolphins, or whatever the fuck else project I happen to be working on at the
time, I decided to take Mr. Carlyle up on his quote. The irony of course, is that
my sabbatical from writing has given me the opportunity to do more things,
drink more booze, see new places, kiss new women and basically re-load my story
telling gun with brand new bullets, and an itchy trigger finger.

I guess it turns out that the bitch did pack her bags and leave, but she
is just sitting in the car with the engine running, waiting (and knowing) that
I am going to eventually come out of the house in my boxers, beg her to come
back inside and to endure through it all. Much like Earl Nightingale did when he
survived the attack on the USS Arizona on December 7^th, 1941.

/Tigerclaw

Not too long ago, a friend of mine asked me what I thought of when I heard the word “nerd,” in relation to girls. After fantasizing about hot, slutty girls in glasses and passing out, I realized that I didn’t have a clear cut definition of a girl nerd. You see, girls are allowed to get away with more nerdy type things like video games and sci-fi stuff on account of having boobs and a vagina. Those qualities become “cute” or “hot” and, we lesser evolved males end up slobbering all over them.

But in thinking about this, I realized that I didn’t have a good vision on what a nerd actually is I today’s society. It is easy to visualize a guy with tape on his glasses, shirt tucked into his underwear and rocking a pocket protector. But is that really a nerd? I ask because that guy I just described seems more “geeky” to me than “nerdy,” possibly even “dweeby.” And yes, there is certainly a difference between the three. And once you throw dorks into the mix, you have yourself a recipe for disaster when trying to insult or describe someone less fortunate than yourself. So much like Ari on Entourage, (quoting fictional TV characters is nerdy AND geeky; by the way), we are going to e-hug it out and squash this conundrum, once and for all.

If you are like me, that means you will need both visual AND literary explanation of the differences. And since I am the one dedicating countless years and resources to delve into, and complete this task, you will get exactly that. So without much more ado, let us start our defining journey by exploring the lesser known, and lesser seen dweeb, shall we? We shall.

DWEEB

Www.thefreedictionary.com defines dweeb as: A person regarded as socially inept or foolish, often on account of being overly studious.

But since I, nor any of you, know what studious means, we will have to check another source in order to better define what this truly means. Www.urbandictionary.com says the following:  “dick with eyebrows,” you dummies. You are calling someone a walking penis.

Huh.

Smoke dweeb everyday

As you can see, there seems to be some dividing ground, even amongst reputable sources like the preceding ones. The truth is that a dweeb is a person, often very skinny and malnourished in nature. Often speaking with a squeaky, high pitched voice that often cracks and can only is heard by dogs and bats. Their clothes are often frumpy and not coordinated. They pick their boogers, enjoy the smell of their own farts and haven’t yet discovered deodorant or shampoo. Basically, a dweeb is the human equivalent of a loose pubic hair. No real use to anyone, but you can’t help but notice it when it is around.

GEEK

This term is a muddled one, but typically has two accepted definitions.

1. a. A person regarded as foolish, inept, or clumsy.

b. A person who is single-minded or accomplished in scientific or technical pursuits but is felt to be socially inept.

2. A carnival performer whose show consists of bizarre acts, such as biting the head off a live chicken.

While I fail to see what is so bizarre about biting off the head of a live chicken, I do tend to agree with the first definition, specifically the second part. Geeks tend to take an overly aggressive interest in whatever activity tickles their untouched hairy beanbags. Computers, math, science, fantasy football and even music are just some of the topics that are subjected to geekdom. Even bodybuilders, when reaching their maximum muscle potential, are “geeked out.”

5 game winning geek

While having a passing or even healthy interest in any or all of the above activities is encouraged, putting too much time and/or energy into them makes them soul crushingly awful and makes you, a bonafide, 100% geek. You can typically spot these special sub-human types by their geek wear. You see, geeks tend to flaunt their activity killing enthusiasm by sporting their favorite activity’s brands, logos, and phrases on their shirts, jackets and hats. They kill any and all conversations by turning everything anyone is talking about; back to the subject they love. They often have more than one cell phone (one for phone calls, text messaging and internet browsing, and one for dedicated apps that support their unhealthy need to surround themselves with all things related to their interests).

Geeks are socially awkward but can, on occasion find the time to make fun of people (mainly dweebs) provided that the joke is about whatever the know way too much about.

DORK

1. Slang a stupid, inept, or foolish person

2. Vulgar Slang The whale penis.

The definitions above are only partially true. The true definition is a glorious combination of both. A stupid, inept or foolish whale penis. Most people that we call nerds, are actually, in fact, dorks. Dorks are very prevalent throughout America and the world as a whole. Most dorks are typically unaware or simply don’t care that they are dorks. They are easy to spot in public because they are usually running around, making an ass of themselves for the amusement of others. Most dorks, when called a dork, will gladly accept the label, even if it means their chances of garnering the sex from whoever they are trying to impress is jeopardized in doing so.

the biggest whale penis of them all

Dorks wear normal, everyday clothes. But often tend to fuck around with them in public in desperate physical acts to force a chuckle out of their audience. They may: shove their gym shorts up their ass to simulate a thong, wear socks with flip flops, put ridiculous amounts of sun block on their nose or pull their shirt over the top of itself to turn it into a belly shirt. Dorks are typically care free and whimsical on the outside while crying and miserable on the inside. They tend to go home and iron their good clothes, put them on and act very astute and serious in front of their mirrors. No one knows why, and even less care.

NERD

 The mother of all descriptive loser words. It is so iconic that they have made movies specifically about nerds and their revenge on us cool kids. The irony of course, is that all movies ever made were made by nerds, but I digress. Nerds are very hard to define, simply because, much like the flu, the properties of this disease change and morph and adapt. 

What was cool and hip yesterday, is a total nerd the next and vice versa. Being a nerd can be considered cool, as long as the nerd in question is in on the joke. It ceases to be cool, however, once the nerd that is self aware, does things specifically to be nerdier. At that point, they become geeks. Its science. And if you don’t believe me, perhaps you will believe the extremely reliable www.urbandictionary.com and their explanation of what exactly a nerd is and isn’t.

A person who gains pleasure from amassing large quantities of knowledge about subjects often too detailed or complicated for most other people to be bothered with.

Often mistaken for Geeks, who aspire to become nerds, yet lack the intelligence, and end up giving nerds a bad name due to their poor social skills.

Non-nerds are often scared of nerds, due to their detailed knowledge, and therefore seemingly high levels of intelligence – and subsequently denigrate them as much as possible as often as possible.

Nerds exist covertly within the fabric of society, often choosing to ‘nerd it up’ in private or in the company of fellow nerds. It is for this reason they are feared the most – unlike geeks, who are easily identified, nerds can only be found out when casual conversation reaches a subject that they like nerding. 

I R N3RD

/Tigerclaw

-I hate wanting to write and not having anything to write about. It typically leads to me writing something I am not really proud of, swearing for thirty minutes about how shitty it is and ultimately scrapping it to hastily write random bullet points of recent troubling thoughts and occurrences that have surfaced.

-The new Dodge Durango commercial makes me want a Dodge Durango. I suppose that means it is an effective campaign. Much more so than that dating website commercial where the guy launches a dart into a fellow bar patron’s chest. Although I love that commercial. ”MOUNTAIN TOP!”

-Has anyone ever seen the person that actually puts those fucking print advertisements on our cars in parking lots? I swear to Allah that those people are certified, trained ninjas. I went inside of a Starbucks for two minutes the other day, only to come out to a dent repair leaflet on my hood and no person in sight. Whoever teaches these sneaky shits how to spam like that should be arrested, then forced to repay society by training me to move in and out of lady locker rooms with ease.

-George Lopez’s show just isn’t funny. And I wonder how much bondo they have to apply to his face to make sure it doesn’t resemble the surface to the moon in HD. I like his standup but good God man, fire your fucking writers. He is in that weird spot where he isn’t old or white enough to appeal to people over 35, and not young or brown enough to appeal to people under the age of 32.

-On the other hand, if you aren’t watching Archer on FX, then we should probably stop being friends. That show is pretty much the definition of funny. Is it wrong that I want to dong the cartoon female lead? You know what? I don’t care if it is. That animated bitch is fine.

-Same goes for Shameless on Showtime. I wish to dong that lead girl on that show too. Mainly because the intro song/montage that plays each week, she pulls her panties down and pees in the toilet, then just pulls them up and walks out without wiping, washing or anything. That is a level of sophisitication that just drives me wild.

-Did they really make a full length feature film about Little Red Riding Hood? How does this get green lit? What’s next? 3 Little Pigs? The Berenstein Bears? Is Hollywood really that bare? It isn’t that hard people. Just strap a camera on Charlie Sheen’s baseball hat and another one near his crotch and hit record. Everyone will watch that train wreck.

-Someone asked me the other day what my opinion was on bottled water. That in itself is weird enough since, I didn’t realize I was supposed to have an opinion on bottled water. But when I looked up and saw the look of concern on their face, as if my answer would make or break our friendship, I started to panic. What could possibly have happened in this person;s life where a question like that is so dire? I mean, if someone crammed a water bottle up my ass against my will, I still don’t know that I would have that much of an impassioned opinion about them. So it really makes me wonder just what the fuck happened in their life.

-Can tv stop putting period commercials on during dinner time? I am a firm believer that most people who say they have lost their appetite when people talk about gross stuff while eating, are full of shit. But I totally lose interest in living, let alone food, when some commercial comes on talking about bleeding vaginas. It is gross and girls should be ashamed. So ashamed that they should make a law against all comercials for these products both print and televised, and they should be forced to order discretely online.

-Has anyone ever seen monkeys do it on a car? No? Well you are officially welcome.

Tigerclaw

But let’s face it, most of us bitch for the sake of bitching. And those ungrateful customers complain to us because, chances are, you screwed up at some point and gave them a reason. So, you got a five dollar tip on a $300 dollar tab. Maybe next time you will smile when bringing over the food, or better yet, bring the damn food over yourself instead of having a runner do it for you. Oh and three of those puppies you rescued were gassed at the end of the week, and it is your fault since you forgot to check their microchip which would have given you the owners information.

 The point is, most jobs suck, but mainly because we make them that way. Whether it is not having a true passion for the work, or just plain fucking shit up because you don’t know any better, most of us are to blame for our own, miserable employment options. Deep down, you know it is true.

Then again, there are a few professions that are just fucking terrible. No amount of positive spin, attention to detail, or goal oriented person can make it better. In order to enjoy working at any of the following jobs, you would have to be a minion of Satan himself. And even he might balk at doing some of this crap. So without further adieu, the worst jobs ever:

Plumber

Now, I know what you are thinking. Plumbers get paid decent money, it can’t be that bad. Even though plumbers, on average make about $50,000 annually, you have to remember that they exist to take care of other people’s shit. Literally. Their occupation is to reach down into toilets and unclog the tube that is crammed shut with your feces. And not even fresh turn either. Most of the time, the poop is fermented in day old urine and vomit particles that have made their way into the commode.

Yep, here is the problem...my job sucks

And they get to do all of this for an average weekly take home pay of less than $900. If someone were to offer you less than a thousand bucks to roll around and get splashed with human waste, you would tell that someone to go fuck themselves without ever thinking twice about it. But plumbers, these…modern day shit warriors, strap on a pair of gloves and crawl into the hole like Forrest Gump looking for “Charlie” in Vietnam.

Debt Collector

Money, so they say, is the root of all evil today. But if you ask for a rise, it’s no surprise that they’re giving none away.

Pink Floyd lyrics aside, no one likes to give up the money they have earned. Especially if they earned it by cleaning out someone else’s shit like the lowly plumber. But, we need money to pay for goods and services (is a hooker considered a good or a service? Or both?). And sometimes we spend too much or put it on credit cards with every intent of paying it back. And of course, when we can’t pay for the replica DeLorean that Michael J. Fox drove way back when with a retrofitted plasma TV in the back, we get the phone calls.

Annoying ass phone calls that come to you early and often throughout the day. Phone calls that never cease, are never friendly and never fun. So much so that all you want to do is answer the phone and scream, “Fuck you! Leave me alone and die you cocksucker!” before hanging up. Eventually you do exactly that and you feel better about yourself. Then a minute later the damn thing rings again.

As much as this drives us insane, think about the person making the call for a second. This poor person’s is dedicating a good portion of their lives calling up complete strangers and ruining their day, over and over and over again. They are typically asking for money that isn’t even theirs, for a company they don’t really even work for. They are essentially, legal muggers, without the ability to shoot the muggee when they get all uppity. That fucking sucks.

And with the kersplosion of cell phones over the past decade, it is virtually impossible to even get these people on the line. In the good old days of landlines, you could call and harass a family during dinner time. Bug the shit out of the dad long enough for him to throw a plate of spaghetti at his kid’s head and storm off into the bedroom while you listen on the other side of the line to the mayhem. Nowadays, you likely get sent directly to voicemail over and over and over again. As if you don’t even exist. And you get to do this for less than $40,000 a year. Which means your dumbass probably is in collections as well. Poor bastard.

Parking Enforcement Officer

This might be the worst job in the history of the universe next to Charlie Sheen’s sponsor. Think about this for a minute, have you ever been happy to see a meter maid? I didn’t think so. Shit, we call them maids for fuck’s sake. We, as a nation, have zero respect for meter maids and what they do for a living. Even their own employers hate these douche nozzles. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t give them those glorified mopeds to putt around in, while the rest of us mock them openly and throw things at them.

The task at hand for these people is to go around town and issue fines for people who parked illegally for whatever reason. They are put on this earth to take money from you and write it down to tell others. They are professional tattle tales. At least debt collectors are feared and respected enough to be avoided. NO ONE fears a meter maid. We openly cuss them out, crumple up the ticket they gave us, throw it in the gutter and go about our business. Even cops hate these pricks. And how much to you get paid for being hated by everyone, including yourself? A little over 40 grand annually. Yip-fucking-ee. Sign me up for this gig now.  

But hey, it could be worse right? You could be a plumber who is waist deep in crap, walking to his truck after a hard days work, only to see the parking citation flapping on his windshield like a fuck you flag flowing in the wind while your cell phone blows up again from that annoying 1-888 number that has been hounding you all damn day. Or even worse yet, you could be unemployed.

There was a time during the early and mid 1990’s, that ESPN’s Sportscenter was the only place you wanted to go to get your sports fix. Gone were the days of waiting for the local news to give the sports guy five minutes to plow through scores with minimal highlights. No more having to skim through the newspaper to read about what happened the day before and simply imagine it. Sportscenter took sports off the back page and made it the headline. The afterthought of news was now the news. Sports had arrived, and in big way.

The staple of ESPN’s lineup was unofficially dubbed, “The Big Show,” with Keith Olbermann and Dan Patrick.  Those two, along with pompous ass, Craig Kilborn, created a terrific blend of sports highlights and wit that rivaled any sitcom on the networks. They were so good that typically, the next day at school, I would literally talk to my friends at school about what they said the night before. It got to an unsustainable point where they WERE the highlights, and the sports became secondary.

And much like all good things, it ultimately had to come to an end. Kilborn left to pursue a career as a failed talk show, Olbermann  turned into a bitch who felt compelled to contest everything his employers asked hi m to do before ultimately quitting right before they fired him, and Dan Patrick never really seemed to give two shits about Sportscenter after that. Ultimately, he too left to focus on radio, the NFL on NBC and riding Adam Sandler’s dick into movie cameos.  The big three were no longer, and in their place, were generations upon generations of copies that were less crisp and brilliant than the next.

The first was the duo of Rich Eisen and Stuart Scott. While funny in their own right, they didn’t seem to let the funny flow naturally like their predecessors. What they lacked in overall substance, they made up for in style though. Stuart Scott yelled a bunch of one liners at your through the TV, and his googly-eyed appearance forced the viewing public to continue watching for the car wreck affect.  You know, sort of how you rubberneck the carnage on the freeway even though you know you don’t really want to see it. Even though their humor never surpassed the original sarcastic assholes they replaced, they became wildly popular and were successful in adding awful phrases into the American lexicon.

“As cool as the other side of the pillow,” and “booyow!”  became the catchphrases for sports fans everywhere who thought they were somehow being clever ( also, the original phrase was “as cool as the other side of the building,” but Scott couldn’t get that to stick, so he changed it). And Eisen’s, yin to Scott’s yang gave white kids everywhere hope that they could be as cool as their black counterparts when talking about sports (Eisen was the exception, not the rule, sorry white kids). But much like the last verse, the same rang true for this duo as Eisen left to launch the wildly popular NFL Network and Stu Scott moved on to yell at sports fans across multiple platforms on ESPN, abandoning the anchor spot of the flagship show of the mother ship.

ESPN's anchors are about as lazy as Stuart Scott's eye

It was around this time, that the empire of cards came tumbling down. Unfunny assholes like Kenny Mayne, John Buccigross, Mike Greenberg, and Scott Van Pelt were given the keys to the car, and swiftly stacked it into a tree. Shitty jokes, awful puns and a de-emphasis on actual sports for “entertainment,” helped turn Sportscenter into the next MTV. That is to say, there is no longer music on MTV and ESPN’s sports highlight show was quickly following suit. And to make things worse, they took over the hill female anchors like Linda Cohn and Chris McKendry, and slutted them up in an attempt to sell sex along with so called “humor.”

All of this was enough for a die-hard sports fan like me to finally change the channel and get his sports highlights elsewhere. Namely the internet. With the explosion of high speed connections and cultural paradigm shift where everyone demands their news before it even happens, sports fans were able to check blogs, websites, and social networks for highlights, lowlights and stats…all while having porn open in another window. My attention was completely away from Sportscenter for years, and I was fine with it.

Recently though, with my girlfriend away for the weekend, and me feeling very manly, having not showered or shaved and in complete control of my immediate domain, I turned the boob tube on to ESPN to check out what was doing. Within mere minutes, I was so angry that I wanted to kick puppies and drown kittens. Gone was any pretense of reporting. Horrid jokes and terrible, forced banter amongst hosts was enough for me to want to claw my eyes out and stick them in my ears. A scroll across the bottom of the screen was left on throughout commercials, combined with a vertical scroll that was only there to tell us what stories were coming up next. The whole screen looked like the ticker for a stock market combined with a news scroll form CNN. So much, yet so little was going on that I got dizzy just trying to keep up.

 And then it happened. The straw that broke this camel’s back. They actually went to highlights. Much to my surprise, they actually had some bonafide sports highlights. Fuck yes. I didn’t even care that they were golf highlights of Tiger Woods in Dubai. The mere fact that there was video evidence of a sport on my television was enough to calm the soul. Maybe there was hope for this shit show after all!

Wrong.

As the highlights started, I was mortified by what I heard. Music. Loud, obnoxious music beds underneath the highlights. This was nothing new for ESPN, but the music they chose was so epic and dramatic…and loud, that if you closed your eyes and just listened, you would think a battle for the universe was at stake. And the only thing louder than that was the sound of the two ass hats trying to out funny each other and failing miserably at it. And the worst part about it? I have no fucking clue what happened in the golf tournament! In fact, I feel like I know less about sports in general because of this. The whole highlight came off like some sort of weird music video with the anchors shouting over the top like a DJ on a mix tape.

So thank you ESPN, for making what was once the premier sports experience, and the epitome of cool, and turning it into a vortex of sucktitude, the likes that no one has seen since Snooki was introduced to the world. But hey, if I ever want to see music videos again, at least I know what channel to go to now.

/Tigerclaw