Tuesday, June 29, 2004
Sunday, June 27, 2004
Ode to Bill
At 8:04 PM, drich said... I would like for you to explain to the millions and millions of the fd's fans the true story behind the bill laimbeer photo that graces your home page. Hope all is well. The senoritas are awaiting you!
The year was 1989. Flip Diesel was just a young tyke, eating his wheaties with hopes of being a champion someday. Life was fantastic. Something was different on this day. The Detroit Pistons were on the Wheaties box this morning, but it wasn't Joe Dumars or Dennis Rodman that caught young Jeezy's eye. It was the big white guy with the cereal killer's glare that captured young flip's curiosity.
Bill Laimbeer never had it easy. He wasn't fast, he couldn't jump, and he wasn't very pretty either. Coming out of Notre Dame, he was forced to play in Europe before he would ever set foot in the NBA. Still, he had one undeniable quality: he was badass. He was the badest of the bad boys, and to get through the Detroit Pistons, you had to get through the elbow tornado named Bill Laimbeer. If you were soft, Laimbeer would straight punk you. If you were more athletic, Bill would outsmart you. Bill used every trick in the book, and frustrated a generation of NBA players. And yet he had the love and admiration of his teammates.
The year was 2004. Flip Diesel is sitting in the lockerroom listening to another Barry Sanderson speech. Barry is an assistant coach and probably the biggest overachieverr I have ever met. I find it unbelievable that this guy has a high paying division one coaching job, a beautiful wife, and even his own office which he has no use for. I love the guy, but surely there must be somebody better qualified to live his life. Actually Barry is a great guy who deserves everything he has. Anyways, I am sitting here when Barry says "Chap we need you to be an enforcer, Do you know who Bill Laimbeer is?" Suddenly, I flash back to that day i was eating wheaties and see that scary looking man on the box. I reply, "Yeah, I know Bill." And we engage in a discussion on what Bill Laimbeer did for his team, and even hough he was a prick and everybody else hated him, his teammates loved him. So a day later, we go to Clemson to play in our annual rivalry game. I once again get reminded again as my duty as an enforcer, only sit the entire first half on the bench. Still It gives me time to reflect on my past and think about those good days when I was still eating Wheaties. When The Pistons were champions and I was watching cartoons all day. I become inspired and when I get put in the second half, I play inspired basketball. I become one with the aura of Bill and only a minute into the game get warned to watch my dirty play. Still,I felt like Bill was with me that night, and after the game everybody was congratulating me on my successful job enforcing the game. They were all saying, great job Bill. And from that day forth Bill Laimbeer has become a part of me. Almost like an alter ego. So it seemed only appropriate that I pay tribute to him, by placing his picture on my website.
The year was 1989. Flip Diesel was just a young tyke, eating his wheaties with hopes of being a champion someday. Life was fantastic. Something was different on this day. The Detroit Pistons were on the Wheaties box this morning, but it wasn't Joe Dumars or Dennis Rodman that caught young Jeezy's eye. It was the big white guy with the cereal killer's glare that captured young flip's curiosity.
Bill Laimbeer never had it easy. He wasn't fast, he couldn't jump, and he wasn't very pretty either. Coming out of Notre Dame, he was forced to play in Europe before he would ever set foot in the NBA. Still, he had one undeniable quality: he was badass. He was the badest of the bad boys, and to get through the Detroit Pistons, you had to get through the elbow tornado named Bill Laimbeer. If you were soft, Laimbeer would straight punk you. If you were more athletic, Bill would outsmart you. Bill used every trick in the book, and frustrated a generation of NBA players. And yet he had the love and admiration of his teammates.
The year was 2004. Flip Diesel is sitting in the lockerroom listening to another Barry Sanderson speech. Barry is an assistant coach and probably the biggest overachieverr I have ever met. I find it unbelievable that this guy has a high paying division one coaching job, a beautiful wife, and even his own office which he has no use for. I love the guy, but surely there must be somebody better qualified to live his life. Actually Barry is a great guy who deserves everything he has. Anyways, I am sitting here when Barry says "Chap we need you to be an enforcer, Do you know who Bill Laimbeer is?" Suddenly, I flash back to that day i was eating wheaties and see that scary looking man on the box. I reply, "Yeah, I know Bill." And we engage in a discussion on what Bill Laimbeer did for his team, and even hough he was a prick and everybody else hated him, his teammates loved him. So a day later, we go to Clemson to play in our annual rivalry game. I once again get reminded again as my duty as an enforcer, only sit the entire first half on the bench. Still It gives me time to reflect on my past and think about those good days when I was still eating Wheaties. When The Pistons were champions and I was watching cartoons all day. I become inspired and when I get put in the second half, I play inspired basketball. I become one with the aura of Bill and only a minute into the game get warned to watch my dirty play. Still,I felt like Bill was with me that night, and after the game everybody was congratulating me on my successful job enforcing the game. They were all saying, great job Bill. And from that day forth Bill Laimbeer has become a part of me. Almost like an alter ego. So it seemed only appropriate that I pay tribute to him, by placing his picture on my website.
Saturday, June 26, 2004
Flip Diesel Presents...Great Moments in American Fatness
At 6:09, Kris DeBlasio said...
Jizzle,Have you eaten at that new burrito place called Moes? If you have you know how insanely large their Burrito's are, well try this on for a topic, I ate 2 of them in one sitting to win a bet with the brothers Shyatt!!! Talk about how fat & disgusting a feat that actually is. That would make for great reading!!!
Congratulations, Kris Deblasio, you are truly a warrior of rotundness, a prince of pudginess, the king of corpulence. Obese men across the nation salute you. America owes you a debt of gratitude for helping it maintain its position as the fattest nation in the world. But seriously, do you really need to eat two disgustingly large burritos to prove how fat you are. That would be like Donald Trump buying two yaughts to prove how loaded he is. Or Christina Aguilerra banging two of the Wayans brothers to prove how much of a whore she is. The level of your fatness is obvious to everyone and needs no proof. Even the brothers Shyatt have no doubt in their collective mind, that you are larger than the average bear. Still, your feat was impressive and remains a great moment in American fatness.
Jizzle,Have you eaten at that new burrito place called Moes? If you have you know how insanely large their Burrito's are, well try this on for a topic, I ate 2 of them in one sitting to win a bet with the brothers Shyatt!!! Talk about how fat & disgusting a feat that actually is. That would make for great reading!!!
Congratulations, Kris Deblasio, you are truly a warrior of rotundness, a prince of pudginess, the king of corpulence. Obese men across the nation salute you. America owes you a debt of gratitude for helping it maintain its position as the fattest nation in the world. But seriously, do you really need to eat two disgustingly large burritos to prove how fat you are. That would be like Donald Trump buying two yaughts to prove how loaded he is. Or Christina Aguilerra banging two of the Wayans brothers to prove how much of a whore she is. The level of your fatness is obvious to everyone and needs no proof. Even the brothers Shyatt have no doubt in their collective mind, that you are larger than the average bear. Still, your feat was impressive and remains a great moment in American fatness.
Thursday, June 03, 2004
My Nascar Experience
I am not a racing fan. I never understood the fascination with automobile racing, and I still really don't. However after attending two races last weekend, I have a new appreciation for these events. I didn't think i would ever go to a NASCAR race, but I found it hard to pass up an excuse to drink beer all day. So when my buddy told me he had free tickets, I found a replacement for work and found a drinking partner willing to make the drive to Charlotte with me. The plan was just to go to the race on Saturday, but after 300 miles of binge drinking we made a decision to go back the next day for 600 miles of drunkenness. I really wasn't all that impressed with the race on Saturday, but Sunday was a different experience. We got up at 12 pm, picked up the necessary supplies, and headed to the race track. What should have been a 15 minute drive became a 2 hour tour of camp redneck. If I had been a big breasted woman on this day I could have secured at least a case of beer. I have never seen so many show your tits signs in my life. I even saw a teenage girl holding up a show your cock sign. However, I did not partake because there was no exchange of beers for viewing of cockage. We finally get to the race track after circling around the white trash haven, and our VIP parking pass isn't good for anywhere. After passing the area we were supposed to park in, we decide to keep on driving. We come to a tunnel and security appears to be looking for a lost contact so we drive by.
We drive through this tunnel and find ourselves in the infield of the race track. We drive by security man after security man and they seem to barely pay any attention to us. So we find a place to park and begin the drinking festivities. We call my buddy's girlfriend who works at a radio station and she runs out to the infield and gives us passes to the pit and tickets to the race. My friends are wearing these ridiculous looking pants that they bought at Walmart earlier in the day, because supposedly you need to wear pants in the pit. So we take our coolers and start walking. We don't know where the fuck we are, but we keep walking until we basically reach the race track and there is no where else to go. This guy finally are told by some guy to get on the other side of the ropes and we are ushered to the pits never once showing our pass. So we fuck around in the pits for about a half an hour until some guy tells us we can't drink beer in the area. Dumbfounded by this discovery, we decide to go to the car to change back into our wifebeaters and replenish supplies. We decide that the best place to watch the race would be directly next to the track, so we head to the fence for the start. On the way we meet this nice lady that was giving free hotdogs away. SCORE! When the race starts I put my earplugs in and can still barely hear myself think. Yet, the ten fat assholes standing on oil drums behind me have no fear of busting their eardrums. After the first 250 miles we find our once bountiful beer supply dangerously low. We make a phone call and find a way to a radio station suite where it was all the food and adult beverages we want for free. When the race finally ended we stumbled back to our car. Unfortunately, because of traffic, our car wasn't going anywhere, but we did have some beverages left. In the distance we saw a stage set up on a pickup truck with girls dancing on it, so we decide to check it out. We go over there and there are two girls on this stage dancing and 50 guys yelling the phrase of the day. As my friend walks off, some guy talks to me and says, "I bet you 20 bucks, your ass wont git up on that der trailer and start dancen with them girls der" So Im like, "Thats a fucking bet buddy." So I go beer and hand and attempt to climb up on some barrels and onto the top of this truck. As I am reaching mount Everest's peak girl number 1 tels me its girls only while girl number 2 feels herself up. So I look to my left where I see some guy yelling at me to get down, and then I look to my right where I see my bet taker shaking his head at me. I tell the guy that they say i got to get down but he says something like "i don't give a fuck" This is where things start to get cloudy. I dont know if I was pulled off or I just fell down in my own drunkenness but the next thing I remember is me on the ground with a guy over me asking if Im alright. All I know is I must have fallen hard as hell, because my back still hurts. Well I get up, not really knowing why the hell I'm still at a Nascar race, and then you guessed it, another redneck comes and talks to me. HE says, "I don't care how tall you is, DON'TCLIMBONMATRUCK!" Im already in pain so I don't feel like fighting a whole trailer park solo, so I say something like "WHatever man, fuck this!" and walk off. And that ladies and gentleman is my NASCAR experience. Nascar isn't really my thing but I did enjoy myself and have newfound respect for it. Maybe the fans arent the most civilized people, but the organization is very professional and it is not out to rip off the fans like some other sports. And best of all, it's bring your own beer.
We drive through this tunnel and find ourselves in the infield of the race track. We drive by security man after security man and they seem to barely pay any attention to us. So we find a place to park and begin the drinking festivities. We call my buddy's girlfriend who works at a radio station and she runs out to the infield and gives us passes to the pit and tickets to the race. My friends are wearing these ridiculous looking pants that they bought at Walmart earlier in the day, because supposedly you need to wear pants in the pit. So we take our coolers and start walking. We don't know where the fuck we are, but we keep walking until we basically reach the race track and there is no where else to go. This guy finally are told by some guy to get on the other side of the ropes and we are ushered to the pits never once showing our pass. So we fuck around in the pits for about a half an hour until some guy tells us we can't drink beer in the area. Dumbfounded by this discovery, we decide to go to the car to change back into our wifebeaters and replenish supplies. We decide that the best place to watch the race would be directly next to the track, so we head to the fence for the start. On the way we meet this nice lady that was giving free hotdogs away. SCORE! When the race starts I put my earplugs in and can still barely hear myself think. Yet, the ten fat assholes standing on oil drums behind me have no fear of busting their eardrums. After the first 250 miles we find our once bountiful beer supply dangerously low. We make a phone call and find a way to a radio station suite where it was all the food and adult beverages we want for free. When the race finally ended we stumbled back to our car. Unfortunately, because of traffic, our car wasn't going anywhere, but we did have some beverages left. In the distance we saw a stage set up on a pickup truck with girls dancing on it, so we decide to check it out. We go over there and there are two girls on this stage dancing and 50 guys yelling the phrase of the day. As my friend walks off, some guy talks to me and says, "I bet you 20 bucks, your ass wont git up on that der trailer and start dancen with them girls der" So Im like, "Thats a fucking bet buddy." So I go beer and hand and attempt to climb up on some barrels and onto the top of this truck. As I am reaching mount Everest's peak girl number 1 tels me its girls only while girl number 2 feels herself up. So I look to my left where I see some guy yelling at me to get down, and then I look to my right where I see my bet taker shaking his head at me. I tell the guy that they say i got to get down but he says something like "i don't give a fuck" This is where things start to get cloudy. I dont know if I was pulled off or I just fell down in my own drunkenness but the next thing I remember is me on the ground with a guy over me asking if Im alright. All I know is I must have fallen hard as hell, because my back still hurts. Well I get up, not really knowing why the hell I'm still at a Nascar race, and then you guessed it, another redneck comes and talks to me. HE says, "I don't care how tall you is, DON'TCLIMBONMATRUCK!" Im already in pain so I don't feel like fighting a whole trailer park solo, so I say something like "WHatever man, fuck this!" and walk off. And that ladies and gentleman is my NASCAR experience. Nascar isn't really my thing but I did enjoy myself and have newfound respect for it. Maybe the fans arent the most civilized people, but the organization is very professional and it is not out to rip off the fans like some other sports. And best of all, it's bring your own beer.
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