E-mail Chain I

Chris is back in the office now, so I'm just going to post our back-and-forth e-mails for the world to enjoy:

Dave:

I’m seeing all of these articles recently talking about how Fitzgerald is going to be the youngest player to 700 receptions, and how he’s doing it with shitty quarterbacks, etc. Yeah, that’s great, and I feel for him, but he did play with Kurt Warner for a couple years.

Multiple articles have laid the disclaimer on Calvin that he plays with a franchise quarterback. YEAH, FOR ONE YEAR. How about the laundry list of Orlovsky, Kitna, Culpepper, Hill, Stanton, McCown and others I’m probably forgetting.

Chris:

That’s so annoying that they lay that disclaimer on for Calvin. I’m guessing these are the same people that put an asterisk on Stafford because all he has to do is throw to Megatron.

Don’t forget about his one career reception from DREW HENSON.

Did you know Nate Burleson had 73 receptions last year? (He also had his lowest YPC, but still: 73 catches!)

Dave:

I don’t remember where I read this, but I’m sure you’ve seen it before, too.

Stafford’s numbers (excluding all of Calvin’s touches):

325 completions (11^th)

3357 yards (17^th)

25 TDs (10^th)

Chris:

They brought that up in Stafford’s Top 100 segment. Even without Calvin, his numbers still compare to the likes of E. Manning and Flacco. Good thing Eli and Cam Newton made the Pro Bowl, though.

It's Your Birthday.

In both our parts of the world, actually. So, I considered writing a nice, elegant post about how much your birthday means to impoverished Southeast Asians who have only heard about you in skin-whitening ads and movie previews, but then I realized that I spent two hours writing that last post, and couldn't get one single goddamn comment.

Shit, the only person who acknowledged it existed was our mother, who isn't even supposed to be reading this website in the first place (Big ups though, Mom!).

So, you're not getting shit for your birthday. Fucking write something.

Fridays With Doggins

In arguably the most surprising turn of events in Detroit media history, Mitch Albom's article on the Lions' first-round draft pick actually seems more negative than Drew Sharp's. (Granted, Drew Sharp once again waves his "character concerns" flag, but he does it by hoping to avoid any "'Reiff-er Madness' headlines." And, since that is a play on words, topical, and a decent [if antiquated] pop culture reference, I'll accept it.) So, because I'm bored, and love the Lions, I've decided to do an FJM-style take on Mitch Albom's piece.

Lions' picking Reilly Reiff not flashy, but sensible

I can agree with that. Offensive line picks are probably the least sexy of any position outside of punter. But, Reiff is a tackle, at least. Sexier than a center. So far, off to a solid start, Mitch!

They stayed put. They didn't move. While it seemed like every team in the NFL was making draft-night trades, the Lions remained in the sandbox, watching the other kids jump on the swings and the monkey bars.

Patented Mitch Albom weird metaphor. Because, football is a game, so teams are like children, I guess? And doesn't it seem as though Albom is implying that the monkey bars and swings are somehow cooler? I enjoyed playing in the sandbox as a child. Dick.


This either makes them very slow, very smart or very satisfied.

Not specific to the Lions' draft pick. Not specific to any of the trades that occurred in the first round. Not specific to any team's pick, in any draft, ever.

They would have you believe it was "satisfied."

Again, something that could be said for any team. Even Oakland, who didn't have a first-round pick because they traded for Carson Palmer (whoops!).

[T]he part of me that agrees with that is the part that sees quarterback Matthew Stafford as the most valuable piece of this franchise -- and protecting him the most important thing the franchise can do.

The franchise quarterback is the most valuable piece of the franchise? That seems crazy, Mitch, but I'll play along. Curious, though: who does the other part of you see as the most valuable piece of the franchise? Nate Hughes? Ashlee Palmer? Don Muhlbach? I bet it's Don Muhlbach.

The part of me that is less than thrilled remembers Gosder Cherilus, the Lions' first-round pick just four years ago. Because Reiff, to win a starting job, is most likely going to compete with Cherilus for right tackle, which means one of those first two picks is going to end up behind the other.

Well, yes, Reiff can play four different positions on the offensive line. And it is possible that Reiff will challenge Cherilus for the starting RT spot. Given Cherilus' inconsistencies, some competition is probably a good thing, no? Also, by "one of those first two picks," I assume you meant "one of those two first-round picks," right? Check with your editor on that one.

Oh, and there is this line by Jim Schwartz: "Reilly is a left tackle." I think that should be taken under advisement.

And that's not a productive way to draft.

First-round picks not living up to their draft status is not "productive." I agree, Mitch. That isn't a productive way to draft. I'm not sure who you're criticizing here, though. Martin Mayhew is the Lions' GM. Gosder Cherilus was a Matt Millen draft pick. Matt Millen's drafts were generally regarded as "not productive." Almost all of Matt Millen's decisions were regarded as "not productive." Matt Millen has become a case study in ways to be "not productive." Matt Millen was fired over three years ago. I would argue that selecting talented players, regardless of position, is a "productive" way to draft. (I'm still not sure whether you think Mayhew's pick was "sensible" or somehow "not productive.")

And here's where the wheels come off...

[B]y the time the Lions got around to sending Calvin Johnson to the podium to announce their pick -- after he plugged his Madden football cover (and by the way, can we stop acting like being chosen to grace a video game is somehow the equivalent of making the Hall of Fame?)--there was little else for Detroit to do but pick an offensive lineman.

Calvin Johnson. What a corporate lackey! What a vapid yes-man! That stooge! He should've refused to plug Madden '13, which would probably be a breach of contract, and thus result in the Calvin Johnson, Jr. Foundation not receiving all that money to help at-risk youth. But at least he would have stood up to the Man! Those kids could have learned something about a little thing called ethics! Way to "drop the ball," Calvin!

No one equates Madden covers with HOF status, Mitch. Madden NFL is a popular video game. The cover vote is a fun way to get the fans involved. Unlike with HOF status (which should not be voted on by the fans, by the way), people get to participate in deciding who will grace the cover of Madden. They get excited about that sort of thing. Should they not?

You're criticizing Calvin Johnson. Calvin Johnson, who is universally revered as a genuinely good person and positive example of how to conduct oneself as a professional athlete. (He is also pretty good at football.) I assume your follow-up article will be "Too low-key: How Lidstrom's lack of fire doomed the Red Wings."

What they really needed was secondary help, and the best players in those positions were gone by the 10th pick...That essentially cleared the decks. Dre Kirkpatrick from Alabama (nickname "Swag") was still there at 17, but the Lions made no move to jump up, perhaps believing that their defense was already swaggering enough.

On one hand, we have you: "The Lions made no move to jump up." On the other hand, we have Lions GM Martin Mayhew: "As usual, we looked at all of our options. We looked at moving up. At one point, we talked about moving back." You do realize that draft-day trades don't just spontaneously happen, right? Could it be possible that the Lions just couldn't find an acceptable trade partner? It takes two to tango. Even Drew Sharp recognizes this fact, and he believes the Detroit Lions are some sort of biblical plague unleashed upon the state of Michigan.

His fans say he's solid. His critics say he's not the strongest or fastest guy. And Mel Kiper is worried he has short arms. Honestly. Short arms. If I have to listen to Kiper five more minutes, I'll blow up the TV set.

Making fun of Mel Kiper's catchphrases (or hair) is like complaining that professional wrestling seems fake. It's hacky and obvious.

But such is the NFL draft, the most overblown non-event in the current rack of overblown non-events. After all, no games are won or lost on draft night. The only sweating comes from hot lights or chili dogs.

In the literal sense, this is correct. No professional football games are played in Radio City Music Hall. (Although Ray Lewis running onstage, drilling Andrew Luck in the chest, and standing over his comatose body, screaming "WELCOME TO THE NFL, YOU PUNK BITCH!" would make for some must-see TV.) But, as the Detroit Free Press' presiding master of metaphor, aren't you aware of the fallacy of that statement? Where would the Lions be if Mayhew had taken Aaron Curry instead of Matthew Stafford in 2009? What if Oakland had taken Calvin Johnson, and Matt Millen had drafted JaMarcus Russell? I believe those decisions might have affected the Lions' win-loss record.

I mean, really, all the time, effort, analysis and double-analysis, and the Lions end up with a guy who, once he pulls on his helmet, will disappear from most people's view for the length of his career? Was that really the party you were counting on?

If Reilly Reiff ends up being a high-caliber offensive tackle for the next decade, then yes. It was exactly the party I was counting on. And, how can you argue that a possible left tackle of the future will "disappear from most people's view for the length of his career?" No one on the Lions takes more grief than Jeff Backus (an offensive tackle himself, you know).

Here is all you need to know about the NFL draft. The man who helped make it a three-day event with a prime-time telecast, commissioner Roger Goodell, got booed every time he stepped to the podium Thursday night. And he's the guy who gave the fans what they wanted!

Well, he also presided over last offseason's NFL lockout, and many felt he catered exclusively to the whims of the owners. The lockout shortened training camps and threatened the NFL season. Football fans like watching football. They don't react kindly when it's threatened. Also, the Draft is in New York. There are a lot of Jets fans in the crowd. They boo, chant offensively, and are generally obnoxious. It's fucking New York.

Some might ask why Detroit didn't trade up for secondary help. It's a fair question.

Martin Mayhew: "As usual, we looked at all of our options. We looked at moving up. At one point, we talked about moving back."

But then, there's always Rounds 2, 3, 4, etc.

Oh, yeah. But no one ever gets starters out of those rounds.

Maybe Mel Kiper can suggest someone whose arms are long enough. Which begs the question: How long should a man's arms be? Long enough to hit the mute button.

So, like six inches?

Go to the NFL Network, dude. You get Michael Irvin. You never know what kind of nonsense he's going to say at excessive volume.

And, on a related note, John Niyo (who I guarantee makes significantly less than Albom or Sharp) writes a level-headed, non-inflammatory, logical analysis of the pick for the Detroit News.

Way better than "Live Strong."

While drinking and playing Songkran (the nationwide water fight in celebration of the Thai New Year), Squeaks and I were approached by a Thai woman selling a variety of bracelets. Boring, you say? Absolutely, were it not for the spectacular catchphrases adorning them! For example:

-Cunt Hater
-Suck My Cock
-I <3 Rape
-Fuck Your Ass
-Rape Me
-Big Hard Cock
-Chest Cunt

And, of course, my personal favorite, "Black Dick." The woman didn't seem to understand exactly what she was selling. Pretty fucked up. But, then again, Thailand is kind of a fucked up place sometimes.

Etymology

Random friend: Why is it called a "pick six"?
Zach (Matt's friend): Well, the term actually originated in the Crusades. You see, when the Muslims would come across a group of Jewish soldiers, they would massacre all of them, except for six that they picked, who were then sent to return and tell the tale of the butchery.
Random friend:...That's the most intelligent thing I've ever heard.

In Case You Forgot

Bill Barnwell is here to remind you about the Florida Panthers' magical run to the Stanley Cup in 2006:

Also, Cam Ward played for them.

Childhood Lessons

So Lynchy is working with a customer who has the phone number (area code retracted) 659-3954. And he mentions to me how 659 is how Munger phone numbers start and that he thinks he knows someone with that area code.

Lynch: "I think it's Brian Durussell's."
Me: "No, his is 659-deuce deuce dime."
Lynch: "How do you know that?"

NEVER FORGET.

An Open Letter to Drew Sharp

Hello, Mr. Sharp,

I'd just like to introduce myself. I've been a Detroit Lions fan for as long as I can remember. I still recall watching Barry and the Leos fall to Paul Edinger's last-minute field goal (in all honesty, this is one of my first Lions memories). I've called Chicago my home since 2005, but I've never called the Bears my home team. In fact, I hate the Bears. I bleed Honolulu Blue.

We tend to take different points of view when it comes to the Lions: I like to believe that the team will improve from year to year, with a (arguably) realistic outlook on their division finish. You, on the other hand, make a living by casting a negative light on pretty much anything the Lions do. And, in your negativity, you refuse to be bothered by things like journalistic integrity, or even facts!

Remember when you wrote this article? http://www.freep.com/article/20091030/COL08/910300318/No-sure-win-Rams-superior-personnel

I'm sure you do. It was during Matthew Stafford's rookie season, right after that dreadful 0-16 campaign. And, I mean, that must have been heaven for you. Tell me, how erect were you when you turned in your articles to the Free Press? I'm guessing you ruined at least five pairs of pants that season? No? Too few? Fair enough.

But, let's talk about that article: Remember how Calvin Johnson didn't play that game? Remember how you took Alex Barron over Jeff Backus at left tackle? My oh my, what a comic you are, my friend! Oh, no, wait! "Brandon Pettigrew or Randy McMichael: Where's the dartboard?" Oh, Drew, you've done it again! I'm pretty sure Richie Incognito had already been suspended by that point, but you've never been one to let the facts get in the way of your reporting, my man. But, enough with your award-winning articles from the past. (I do assume they won awards, right?)

Oh, and here was another good one from just last year! (http://profootballtalk.nbcsports.com/2011/12/02/sharp-lions-players-ticked-off-at-selfish-suh/)

My personal favorite part of this interview is how you claim the Lions are, as the URL says, "ticked off at [Suh for being selfish]." (Sorry, buddy, I have a penchant for correcting grammar--talk to your editor about that!) One thing that may slightly affect your argument is literally the very first thing shown on the video, in which Kyle VandenBosch says "I don't think selfish is the word." Look, I obviously don't have the keen insight and access to the Lions locker room that you do, but might this possibly be contradictory to your point?

Oh, wait, but there's more! Remember when you talked about Matthew Stafford's broken finger as having no effect on his play, and instead asserted that it was merely "experience"? Oh, man, you really pulled one over on us there! You know, because once the glove came off, Matthew Stafford pretty much pulled out his penis on the rest of the NFL? (And so did Calvin Johnson, who the NFL had "figured out" by then--Drew, you soothsayer!)

Most recently, a number of players from the Lions' 2011 draft class have been picked up for marijuana possession. And, in your seat as the judge of all things Detroit Sports (We wouldn't want Mitch Albom there, right? That softy would just acquit everyone!), you have declared that the Lions should "kick Leshoure and Fairley off the team."

Well, fair enough. That is one opinion. But, Drew, if you don't mind, I'd like to take a separate stand on the issue.

First of all, let's get it out of the way by saying I agree that the players' citations for marijuana possession are rather silly. You would call them "numbskulls", but I was born after 1935, so I'll avoid that term. Look, Drew, I know you've never smoked weed (as evidenced by your truly brave admission in the Free Press--that must have taken some real intestinal fortitude!), but I have, and I happen to know how that whole process works. So, I feel a little more justified in declaring the Lions' players' actions stupid. Honestly, Leshoure/Fairley. You can't have a boy of yours go and pick up a bag? You can't afford some sort of delivery service? I mean, good lord, I managed that as a broke college freshman in Chicago! Seriously, delivery right to my dorm room! The service was amazing! So, please try to hurt my team a little less in the future. (Particularly you, Mikel, as you've done literally nothing to help the Lions at this point in your career.)

But, back to your claim, Drew. I'm sorry. I tend to get off topic sometimes. I'm sure you can sympathize. (Oh, speaking of getting off topic, you actually imply that Tom Izzo's player getting picked up affects Jim Schwartz. So, I guess Derrick Nix will never play in the NFL again?) But, you advocate for Leshoure and Fairley's dismissal based on the following logic:

"They can't chance Fairley and Leshoure becoming Charles Rogers 2.0, unquestioned talent tilting toward self-destruction. And as we learned from the former wide receiver's implosion into a haze of abusive, reckless behavior, you can't stop somebody hell-bent on ruining his life."

Now, I'm no Jack McCoy, but I'm pretty sure that Roger Goodell and the NFL treat marijuana with more severity than the U.S. legal system. Thus, as has already been noted, Leshoure may actually face a penalty as severe as a four-game suspension (something I don't think is deserved, and hope doesn't happen). Fairley, with this being his first offense, faces very little disciplinary action. That is, he faces very little disciplinary action from the NFL, who is more severe than the U.S. legal system. But, in the court of Drew Sharp's opinion, he should be removed from the team's roster. Because of, and I paraphrase here, what he might become.

Apparently, the Drew Sharp NFL is based on Minority Report. Get Tom Cruise on the case.

For a guy that recommended Martin Mayhew for NFL executive of the year (http://www.freep.com/article/20120112/COL08/201120628/Drew-Sharp-Drew-Sharp-Lions-Martin-Mayhew-should-be-NFL-executive-of-the-year), you clearly don't understand how he runs a football team.

Anyway, all the best, Drew. Tell Rosenberg I said hey. He does some solid Lions coverage.

Sincerely,

Christopher R. Tomke

You're Going to Love This

It's your favorite writer!

http://www.freep.com/article/20120404/COL08/204040440/1049/rss14

Enjoy yourself.

The Spirit of the South!

Matt's friend Cole tends to talk very seriously about things. When he speaks, he gives off the impression that he's being entirely earnest, all the time. If you're looking to have a serious, "deep" conversation, this is a good thing. If you're talking to, say, someone like Matt Kelly, this can go horribly wrong.

We were out at the bar last night (surprise!), and somehow, the topic of the Southern U.S. came up. Cole proceeded to wax poetic about how there's something about the South that he truly admires, something you can't find in the North. You know, the "Spirit of the South--I don't mean racism, but, you know, just the...Spirit of the South. I don't know how else to describe it." Matt responded, "Most people would 'describe' that as slavery."

Matt and I then accused Cole of reminiscing about the good ol' slavery days of yore, which he adamantly denied, before continuing to romanticize the American South and its certain je ne sais quoi (continually using this term). "You know, I think I could really do well living there."

This has led to Matt's and my favorite joke of the day: The Spirit of the South! Here's the rules of our new meme: You just have to speak wistfully, and use the key phrase in the body. That's it! Here are some samples:


-"You know, the clear signage leaves no room for guesswork. You really know what types of people should be where. The Spirit of the South!"

-"You know, the way they dress their wait staff in those sharp pink tuxedos, and that white glove treatment. You don't get that in the North, boy. The Spirit of the South!"

-"Oh, and the way they have separate restaurants to cater to different culinary tastes. My, oh my, the Spirit of the South!"

-"Assigned seating on buses. It really takes out the hustle and bustle of public transit and makes it relaxing. The Spirit of the South!"

-"Just the way the Spirit of the South has always been ahead of the curve when it comes to education. They recognized different learning styles and required different schools!"

-"The hands-on vocational training for the young. Only with the Spirit of the South do you get that passion for a hard day's work!"

-"You know, just the way people from so many cultures can come together for the benefit of one man. So selfless. All for one! The Spirit of the South!"

-"They're so much more respectful of animals down there. They always used all parts of the animal: the pigs' snouts, feet, intestines. The Spirit of the South is never wasteful!"

-"You know, it's just the respect for people in positions of authority. People truly respect upper management there. The Spirit of the South!"

-"It's not like the busybody industrial world in the North. It's about a cold glass of lemonade on a hot day, looking out over your land. It's such an agrarian utopia! The Spirit of the South!"

-"They may seem laid back and relaxed, but it's so efficient there. Just, the low cost of production for their cotton output is staggering. My, my, my, the Spirit of the South!"

-"The Spirit of the South is about brotherhood. It burns bright, like the light of 20 torches and white hoods against the moonlit sky."

-"You know, just the way people understand that there's a problem with certain types of co-mingling. It's an unspoken agreement. What else can you call it? The Spirit of the South!"

-"Just the spiritual satisfaction of walking around your land, and seeing the fruit of hard labor. Mmm, truly the Spirit of the South values work!"

-"It's when you walk down the sidewalk, and people move out of the way, because they know you have important business to attend to. That is the Spirit of the South."

-"Just, you know, the way their blacks are so submissive. The Spirit of the South!"


Try and make your own!

Matt Kelly: "Man, Cole is going to be crushed when he finds out we have a black mayor."

Quick Quotes on Your Birthday

Yen: "I assume your plan to celebrate CT's birthday involves getting very drunk today?"
Dave: "It's the only way to make the hurt go away, Yen."

Vince: "Other people get drunk because it's the weekend, or because someone's in from out of town, or something like that. You drink like it's a personal challenge to see how drunk you can get. And I love that about you."

Happy birthday!

St. Patrick's Day: Hour ?

I'm with Pat, Rodney, and Napp. Get fucked!

What?

Too late. Pat and Napp are here.

St. Patrick's Day: Hour 7

Sorry, bud. I love you, but I'm drunk.

St. Patrick's Day: Hour 6

Fuck Pat Lynch.

St. Patrick's Day: Hour 5

Count: (7) Guinness, (3) Shots, (3) Irish Carbombs, (1) Irish Coffee.

Pat Lynch is here!!!!!!!!

St. Patrick's Day: Hour 4

Count: (6) Guinness, (2) Shots, (2) Irish Carbombs, (1) Irish Coffee

Johnson and I have money on Eastern Michigan/South Carolina. Mor important: women's basketball or cricket?

St. Patrick's Day: Hour 3

Count: (5) Guinness, (2) Shots, (1) Irish Carbomb, (1) Irish Coffee

I feel a little better about being drunk now that the sun is out. Johnson and I are yelling across the bar about how excited we are for the women's basketball tournament that starts in an hour.

St. Patrick's Day: Hour 2

Count: (4) Guinness, (1) Shot, (1) Irish Coffee, (1) Irish Carbomb

The good thing about sitting next to Jack's girlfriend is thatshe immediately gets Jack's attention. The bad thing about sitting next to Jak's girlfriend is that she immediately gets Jack's attention.

St. Patrick's Day: Hour 1

Count: (2) Guinness, (1) Shot

I walked in at 6:55 a.m. and Adam Johnson was here. Success. I'm already sans sleeves. Let's do this, bud.

Her name was Monica. She was Chilean. She had a fantastic rack.

I'd been drinking aggressively for 13 hours. I gave that girl the worst sex of her life.

You're welcome, South America!

We've really been sucking penis on the blog front.

I'm not sure if it's a Communist thing, or maybe a third-world thing, or just an Asian thing, but Laotians love burning shit. Like, all the time. Drive down any Laotian highway (and let's be honest, there are maybe like six of them), and within every two kilometers, boom, fire. Trash fire. This country burns all of its trash, man! It's completely green!

I honestly have no idea if they just love bonfires, or what. "Hey, man. I see you've got a nice pile of trash there. ...So, you going to do anything with it? No!? Well, shit, let's get the boys over and have ourselves some Beerlao and a good ole' fashioned trash fire! Comeon!"

(Editor's note: The previous quotations are approximations of Laos speech, which would have consisted solely of monosyllabic words, and repetitions of "Uh" [Laos for "yes"].)

Honestly, though. Trash fires and smog, baby! Welcome to Laos!

(Side note: Laos is actually awesome. But honestly, a country of fucking pyros, man. I swear to Christ.)

Why.

I spent hours on GChat for a fucking 'ranga?!

(Granted, I would've been on GChat anyway, but a fucking 'ranga?!)

Cabrera is going to Drop Dick this Season

Just to keep you up-to-date on sweet Tigers news, here is an excerpt from a Buster Olney article about literally the first week of Tigers' camp:

"When Cabrera took his turns in the box, he carved long liners to right field, over and over, shouting to the others to guess whether they would clear the fence.'SI OR NO?' Cabrera yelled. 'SI OR NO? SI OR NO?'

When the ball would land on the other side of the chain-link fence, Cabrera punctuated the drive this way: “SI, M———–.”

Tigers Baseball: Si, motherfucker!

I can't help but think that if Sam Petrey was in this part of the world, he would speak only in fake Chinese. These Laotian girls be triflin', son. They're always laughing, which means I assume they're laughing at me/other foreigners. What do they have to be so happy about?! Just because you live in a goddamn island paradise doesn't mean you can poke fun at my delicious cream-colored skin and golden, wheat-colored hair.

So, last night, I went onto my porch around 4:00 a.m. to sleep on the hammock (the bed in my room is the most uncomfortable thing I've ever slept on). Within minutes, a couple wandered up to go into the adjoining bungalow. About 15 minutes later, they started going at it. Under normal circumstances, such an event wouldn't really merit observation. But, there's a noise ordinance on Don Det (effective at 11:00 p.m.), and it's not exactly party central to begin with. On top of that, most people sleep outside, or in poorly-insulated bungalows. So, when some random British girl screams "Fuck!" in the middle of a peaceful, quiet Laotian morning, people tend to take notice. She woke up the whole goddamn neighborhood.

Fun fact

On the island of Donedet, a bottle of whiskey costs $1.25. A bottle of coke costs $1.50.

To make matters worse/better, the whiskey comes in a Honolulu blue bottle. It's name is Lion Whiskey.

Chris Tomke: Friend of the Common Man.

So, on my last trip out to Angkor Wat (actually, a different temple built to watch the sunset), a different driver shows up to take me. My boy Apeu, he tells me, is busy, so he’s my guy. So be it. (This is a fairly common occurrence, I’ve gathered from eavesdropping on other conversations.) Anyway, after all is said and done, my new driver, Samo (sp.), asks what I’m doing that night. Since my bus leaves at 6:30 the next morning, I tell him I plan on laying around, maybe drinking a beer or two, and then going to sleep. He then proceeds to invite me out to drink beers with him and his fellow Tuk Tuk drivers. I am unable to refuse. I mean, I’ve been to tourist bars in tourist cities, but a chance to get real down and dirty with my new Cambodian friends? Done. (And before you accuse me of being that guy yelling about “Blah blah tourists!” and “Blah blah authentic!”, let me just say that I know exactly what the tourist bars hold in store for me. I have no idea where Samo and his friends go.
At 8:00, I’m finishing up negotiating and paying Apeu, when another, different dude rolls up and tells me Samo is busy, so he’s here to take me to the bar. I’m a bit skeptical (I mean, twice in one day, guys?), but Apeu vouches for him, so I figure he’s cool. My new friend’s name is Amon (sp.).

We hop on his bike and high-tail it away from my guesthouse to a random bar that kind of looks like a warehouse inside. Immediately upon walking up to the door, like six good-looking Cambodian women sitting at the front jump up to vie for my attention. I wave them off, as I’m not entirely sure how that whole thing works. Amon asks me if I want a girl, so I ask him. “It is nothing, man,” he says. “They sit next to you, laugh at your jokes, and drink with you.” Well, I’m not about to start buying some random Cambodian girl drinks, so once again, I wave off the signal.

We sit at a table in the bar and order our first round. At the front is a giant stage, with a revolving cast of three or four singers and two different keyboard players. They all sing different Cambodian love songs, but for all I know, it could’ve been just one long gigantic song. Did you ever see that South Park episode with Wing, the “Shitty Wok” owner’s wife? It’s pretty much like that, only with overbearing, synth-heavy keyboards. So, pretty much right up your alley, brother.
Eventually, we’re joined by So and Samo, and we proceed to knock back another seven or eight beers apiece. At one point, Amon asks me if I’d like “tootoo.” I assume he’s asking me if I want a tattoo, so naturally I decline. He shakes his head and begins making weird hand signals around his head. I still can’t follow him, so he beckons over the manager. A minute later, the same guy shows up with a huge-ass turtle in his hands. “Normally, you cannot cook tootoos in Cambodia,” Amon says. “You get in trouble with the police. But, the owner, he is good friends with the police, so we can eat tootoo, if you would like.” Flattered, but still poor, I decline.
Eventually, we ditch the first bar to hit a late-night karaoke spot. I’m not sure how familiar you are with Asian karaoke, but the party sits in a private room while drinking and singing. I assume this is because Asian cultures are always concerned with losing face, and thus don’t want to stumble onstage to belt out an awful rendition of Shania Twain or something. Pfft. Whatever, Asians.

As we enter, Amon says, “Chris, my friend. This is the freedom room. You can do whatever you want!” And immediately, four girls join the four of us in the room. I am mildly uncomfortable with the situation. To make matters worse, my girl is a cute, busty Cambodian girl. I sit and survey the situation. Are these guys about to come out with both guns blazing at the Fingerblast Corral?! If so, what the shit am I going to do?! Thankfully (or, I guess, sadly), none of the other guys are getting blown, giving/receiving rimjobs, or using inserting foreign objects into random orifices. So, I play it cool and just try to get my girl laughing and singing. Eventually, it works, but she seems genuinely confused by my behavior, as I have not spanked or fondled her in any way up to this point. However, after So and I perform a stunning rendition of Lionel Richie’s “Hello,” my girl (I still don’t know her name) develops a new strategy to win my affection: she begins hand-feeding me beef jerky (they called it something like “Creole beef,” but I fucking know beef jerky when I taste it, all right?). So, there I sit, with a busty Cambodian refilling my beer, making me drink, and shoving delicious bits of dried cow flesh into my mouth. IS THIS LOVE?!

No, it isn’t, because 2 a.m. comes around, and I’m forced to tip my girl (only fair, I suppose). Then, I jump onto the back of a motorbike with my inebriated friend to get a ride back to my guesthouse, because I am fucking responsible.

Beast Warrior Appeals to Children

Rodney just called me to have me relay the following story to you:

So, I was dropping Brendan off at school today and Beast Warrior came up on my iPod, leading to the following exchange.

Brendan: "I like this band. They're good. Who is this?"
Rodney: "This is Beast Warrior. It's Uncle Chris's band."
Brendan: "Really? I like them, they're good. I really like the guy that sounds like a monster."
Rodney: "That's Uncle Chris!"
Brendan: "Really? He's good. I like the other guy, too. He sounds funny."

Suck it, Sam.

The Matthew Kelly Teaching Experience

I sat in on some of Matt's classes today. The final class of the day was his M1s (6th graders, essentially). So, 12-year-old Thai kids who don't speak much English. They've been studying animals, so we decide to play Pictionary with the class, ANIMAL STYLE! Here's the blow-by-blow:

-Matt tells the students to get into groups of five. The class stares blankly at him. No one moves. Matt is forced to number the class by fives. At the end, the groups still don't end up with even numbers.

-The first couple rounds go by like a hurricane. The class doesn't seem to comprehend how to raise their hands without shouting. So, every time a student begins to draw on the white board, a wave of 12-year-old Thai screaming hits us like a goddamn Tsunami. At one point, a girl who is actually polite displays some artistic ability when she conjures up a good-looking pig. Matt and I make note of her for later.

-There's really no rhyme or reason to the point distribution system we use. When someone draws an animal, the entire class starts shouting, so Matt randomly chooses a group to give a point to. A couple students loudly yell that, "Teacher! That is not fair!" Matt responds, "No, it isn't, is it?" During the next round, when everyone screams, Matt chalks up points to all five groups, then turns around and tells the class, "Hey! Everyone gets a point. Is that fair?! No. That's Socialism. And that's what Obama wants." The class has no idea what he's talking about.

-Three students in a row shake off our signal of "lizard." Matt and I call up the talented girl. She nails it. Three turns later, we specifically call on her to come up and draw a dragon. Matt: "All right, girl, let's make this one metal."

-Matt begins referring to every boy at the board as "bro." For instance, before drawing, Matt will say "You ready to drop that beat, bro?! Let's hit it. GO!"

-As we run out of animal ideas, the two of us debate making the Thai students attempt to draw abstract concepts like "dreams," "the universe," or "immortality."

-Time runs out. We call the talented girl back to the board to close out Animal Pictionary with "unicorn." The students nail it pretty quickly. We demand she finish the drawing.

-Class dismissed. We leave with the picture of the unicorn still on the board.

Part II

Hey bud,

So I just got home with a 12-pack of Budweiser. Moser and Brandon are picking me up at 9:30 p.m. for that Career Builder party. Keehner and Hoelscher are here, and Keehner said I should time stamp my beers. Let's do this (note: I drank two beers at work before this).

Beer No. 1 (5:53 p.m.): I'm listening to Red Wings over Baron. Keehner and E-Hoel do not know it.

Beer No. 2 (6:00 p.m.): I'm doing a lot less writing since I have Keehner and E-Hoel to talk to. I still love you though, bud. Fuck everyone who says differently, because Michael Bolton is the greatest god damned singer of all-time.

Beer No. 3 (6:13 p.m.): I'm disappointed with myself. I'm talking with Hutch a lot, though. I cannot wait for her wedding on Labor Day. I'm pretty much guaranteeing that I am going to have the best time of my life. Elizabeth just asked me to play something upbeat. 3 Inches of Blood it is.

Beer No. 4 (6:30 p.m.): We're listening to songs from The Little Mermaid. I would have finished my beer sooner, but Keehner and I had to set up a basketball shooting arcade game in our apartment. Hutch and I have concluded that if we had been raised in the same city, we would have been BEST BUDS. Sebastien was a real grouch, but he had Ariel's best interests at heart.

Beer No. 5 (6:45 p.m.): Get some? I need to watch Cool Runnings right now.

Beer No. 6 (7:07 p.m.): Disney Scene It has stolen the show. Also, Keehner might be a savant.

I can't focus on this anymore. I love you.

Secret Recipe

Brother:

I need your Honolulu Blue Kool-Aid recipe for the Superbowl party this weekend. Give it to me.

Sincerely,
Dave

The "Butt Gun" and other Thai advancements

A wiseman once said "Hot dog technology in Thailand is light years ahead of other countries."

That man was correct. But, he neglected to mention that the Thais also cook fried chicken and donuts better than we do. They're beating us at our own game, America!

If you walk down any street in Bangkok, you can purchase any variety of foods. Fried chicken, hot dogs, rotis (delicious crepe-style dishes), various soups and rice dishes, pizza, or whatever your heart desires. While the selections vary, all food is accompanied by some sort of delicious chili sauce, which unites this cornucopia of flavor in one regard: All of it will make you shit.

Living in Bangkok, especially as I do, is an invitation for a Texas Hat Trick on a daily basis. Shitting becomes like brushing your teeth (for responsible people): you do it after every meal, in addition to after waking up and before going to bed. With all this time spent in the bathroom, you'd think my anus would just be a devastated crimson wasteland, right? WRONG. Thankfully, my bathroom comes equipped with the Butt Gun, the most miraculous invention since the Slap Chop.

The Butt Gun is a spray hose, exactly like one you'd find on your average kitchen sink. However, this hose is located directly next to the toilet. Once you've released a stream of piping hot liquid death from your nether regions (for the third time that day), do you really want to scrape open your fun-hole with fistfuls of white cotton sandpaper? Of course you don't. Enter the Butt Gun. Now, instead of taking a scorched-earth policy with your puckered dumper, you can spray a refreshing jet of cool water all over your still-burning hindparts. Remember that commercial where the people get hit with things, only those things turn to water upon hitting the peoples' faces? It's a lot like that, only instead of a refreshing shave, it's an ocean of calm for your tortured shitter. You can leave the bathroom without worrying whether your bloody butthole is staining your freshly laundered underwear. In fact, you can leave the bathroom without worrying about anything! With the Butt Gun, there's a spring in your step and peace in your pants.

Where does Eckstein Rank?

Setting aside the fact that this paragraph is attempting to quantify intangibles, this is still the biggest piece of garbage I've read in a while.

Earlier in the article, he ranks the starters and Verlander is the top No. 1 (big surprise!), Fister is the top No. 2, and Scherzer is the top No. 3. Porcello and Turner are both ranked second in their slots. And yet the Tigers apparently "lack depth in the pitching staff."

And don't get me started on the Royals' "youthful exuberance." Two months into the season, they will have dropped from first to fourth and the same writer will be blaming their youth and inexperience. Garbage.

Link: http://espn.go.com/blog/sweetspot/post/_/id/20267/al-central-showdown-position-rankings

What's Sadder

The fact that someone put this on his memorial or the fact that ESPN decided to use it on the front page?

There are differences between "your" and "you're," people, and your mistakes are ruining JoePa's already tarnished legacy.

Hey Bud

So I just got home from the gym and I don't really want to go out tonight (SNOWED IN!), so I'm sitting at my computer listening to music and drinking a 12-pack of Pacifico. Naturally, this made me think of you. Let's rock this shit.

Beer 1 (8 p.m.): Already finished, so let's just move on.

Beer 2 (8:07 p.m.): I'm listening to Van Halen. No surprise. I'm also talking to Joe Lomba on Facebook chat. I'm guessing that I'm going to go outward in concentric circles among the groups of friends as these beers progress. I mean, by the end of the case (or past that, we'll see), I'm thinking that I'll be talking to some person that I met once in a bar. Buckle up!

Beer 3 (8:13 p.m.): Unintended Consequence #1: Time-stamping these beers is really going to make me prove myself. You know that I need constant reassurance from my adoring public. Keehner and Ted just called me; they're all out at Louie's and they wanted me to join them. I said, "Listen, bud. I am live-blogging a case of beer to my sweet Chris Tomke. I have started down this road, and I cannot retreat from it. I love him." They understood. And as a bonus, we're going to make a fort in the living room when they get back and play Nightcrawlers all night long (by Lionel Richie). Also, I'm still listening to Van Halen.

Beer 4 (8:22 p.m.): I Can't Stop Loving You is a very underrated song by Van Halen. I just played it back-to-back. I'm now talking to Pat Lynch ("Computers." [?]) and my co-worker Amanda ("Chris, keep being awesome. Dave clearly misses you."), who I think you've met. Yeah, you definitely met her. Remember when we went to her birthday party and knew each other so well that we ruined games? That was god damned awesome. I love you, brother.

Beer 5 (8:34 p.m.): Talking to people on Facebook is really hindering my drinking ability. Still Van Halen, although I've moved on from Can't Stop Loving You. "Drinking for Chris Tomke's sake...Is there a better cause in the world?" I've messaged Thomas (Brandon's co-worker who loves the Blue Jackets) and Alisha (who worked for me in Burton), but neither one has responded. Don't they know how important this is?!

Beer 6 (8:47 p.m.): Thomas signed off without responding (fuck you, RJ Umberger), but my co-worker from Burton is involved in a conversation now. I can't stop listening to Right Now. I don't know if we told you this, but it's the official song of 2012. Is it odd that the two people I'm conversing with on Facebook are the top two on my feed (due to alphabetical order)? Probably not.

Beer 7 (9:05 p.m.): I'm really starting to feel it, bud. Although, I did just drink six beers in an hour. While not crazy, it's definitely respectable. My chat buddies are back to Amanda (co-worker) and Joe (huge balls). The music has switched to Michael Bolton. Why didn't I have him downloaded before?! He's the greatest! For some reason, you always appear on my Facebook chat list, despite the fact that you're not online. QUIT TEASING ME. I also just posted a picture of seven beers on my friend Amanda's wall.

Beer 8 (9:26 p.m.) : Oh doctor. I'm listening to New Found Glory. Now I'm listening to Orleans (Still the One) and sending people on Facebook the following message: "I'm drunk and unfriending people. How do we know each other?" I'm not really sure what's happening, but you can bet your ass I'm downloading Huey Lewis & the News.

Beer 9 (9:48 p.m.): Oh shit. Shit is really slowing down. The Power of Love is blaring. I love you, Huey. I hid it from you, but I've peed like four times. I'm sorry! What beer is this? Kate Adams is talking to me on Facebook chat now and she wants me to say some shit, but where are we? (Insert Cucumber Dance.) Everything is great(cue Irish music)!

Beer 10 (10:13 p.m.): Where am I? All I know is that Dream Theater's Scenes from a Memory: Part II is playing.More shit happens.

My arrival in Thailand has proven one irrefutable truth: I am way, way out of drinking shape. I spent most of the day being sweaty and hung over (including throwing up in a mall bathroom this morning), and this was after a pretty tame night, all things considered. I'm now posted up in Bangkok for the next few weeks (I live in the same building as Matt--it's like a dorm, only we're adults and living in Thailand!), so it's time to really start getting my form back. There are so many good-looking Thai women here, but I am terrified of having sex with a man, so I'm wary of everyone. Frankly, it's a very confusing state of affairs.

Matt, as you can imagine, is essentially the same. We are about to get wild, brother. So wild. I'm going to his school on Wednesday to be the noted lecturer/mid-term exam. I think he just wants me to talk to them and let him know if I can understand them. To ensure this happens, Matt told his class "You BETTER have questions prepared. Don't you embarrass me!" This was one of many hilarious job-related quotes from Matt, along with "I can't understand why they didn't renew my contract at my last job, I mean, after 'Matthew Kelly presents MOVIE WEEK.'"

My trip is about to take a turn for the ridiculous.

Keeping the faith

Dear brother,

I have now attended mass at both the site of Jesus' birth (midnight mass at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher) and Jesus' baptism (morning mass at the Jordan River Baptism Site). I have left early from both of them. I don't know if Randall would be ashamed for my dismissal of church, or proud of me sticking it to the Catholics. Either way, boom. Big-timed, Catholic Church. Chris Tomke in this bitch.

On another note, after two-plus weeks of diarrhea, I have finally gotten back to solid BMs, something I'd been desperately waiting for (which will quickly leave once I reach SE Asia, I imagine). Today, my steady diet of falafel, pita, hummus, and various rice-based dishes allowed me to achieve that rarest of fecal feats. The Holy Grail of the porcelain throne: The Double Iceberg. That's right. Two of them, side by side, both breaching the surface. It was an infinitely more moving (pun!) experience than the morning mass, which was (as any Catholic service), pretty much inaccessible to an outsider.

This game is about to start. If the Leos start rolling, the entire staff of this hotel will know about it, and then be confused about what exactly is going on.

So, the Jordanian Board of Tourism is really giving us the VIP treatment. I have no idea why, frankly (PR goes a long way, I suppose), but as I am indebted for the two weeks of insanely nice treatment, I agreed not to post/blog anything that could be construed as negative.

So, on Facebook, I was going to write something about how much people love King Hussein here. It's awesome. I mean, he navigated them through some pretty difficult shit, so hats off to the man. (I've always liked Jordan for the fact that it's a stable, well-educated country despite its borders with Israel and some of the crazier Arab states.)

Anyway, out of respect to the late King Hussein (and his son Abdullah and beautiful daughter-in-law Queen Rania [heyo!]), I was going to write "I dare you to find a more beloved and honored political figure in the world than the late King Hussein bin Talal." But, then I thought about some of the names that you, and particularly Brandon and Matt Kelly, would start dropping. And then I became terrified.

My conclusion from this experience is that I am essentially unable to post anything about Jordan whatsoever. Huh. I love my friends!