The Importance of Grammar

Today I observed the following bumper sticker on a car window:

"Bad-ass boys ride bad ass toys!"

At first glance, this may seem like a perfectly innocuous attempt at male bravado. However, upon closer inspection, a serious flaw becomes apparent.

Now, by no means am I a grammar Nazi. Being part-black myself, I understand the occasional need to completely eviscerate the English language. Still, I have to take issue with this particular statement. Let me break it down for you:

"Bad-ass" is an excellent word, by all accounts. Often used to describe the kung fu stylings of Chuck Norris, the latest Vin Diesel movie, and Acts of Favre. However, to be used as intended in the above bumper sticker, it NEEDS a hyphen. When the hyphen is omitted, the original intent of the sentence can be completely subverted.

For example, let's examine the phrase "bad ass toys." In this context, "bad" acts as an adjective. Without the hyphen, the word "ass" is not connected to "bad;" instead, it becomes part of the object of the sentence - "ass toys."

For a man, association in any way with "ass toys" is generally not helpful when attempting to construct a macho image. Even worse, the adjective "bad" implies that not only is an ass toy in use, but the toy itself is of poor quality or craftsmanship.

And use of the verb "ride" indicates that not only does the man possess a shoddy butt plug, but confirms that he rides it.

Proper pronunciation of the phrase thus changes from what the man intended:

"Bad-ass boys ride bad-ass toys!"
to
"Bad-ass boys ride bad ass toys!"


This, my friends, is the importance of grammar.



Also, the car was a piece of shit.

Let Them Watch Horrifically Boring Crap

Let's get right to this bitch, shall we? Movie review the whateverth:

Marie Antoinette

First of all, yes, I did watch Marie Antoinette. Yes, I still have a penis. And no, it hasn't withered and died as a result of watching this movie. It did, however, give me some funny looks during the show, as if to say, "Dude, really?" I just kinda shrugged, and that was that.

Second of all, there will be no spoilers in this review. Not because I want to spare those of you who wish to see it from discovering what happens, but because nothing actually happens. I mean, I'd love to give away all the plot twists, except there is no plot. Not even one straight line of plot. Not even the slightest hint of a plot.

Now, for those of you who might someday have even the slightest desire to watch this movie, here's what I suggest you do instead. Take your average piece of toilet paper. One-ply, two-ply, quilted, doesn't matter, just rip off a square. Now, take a piece of tape, and tape that sucker to your wall. Get a nice, comfy chair, and pull it about five feet from that square of toilet paper. Now, settle in for the next two hours, and stare at that piece of toilet paper. If you happen to notice anything about it, anything at all, you will have far surpassed the viewing experience of watching Marie Antoinette.

You think I'm kidding? Right then. I will now describe for you the entire movie, frame by frame:

- Girl in dress
- Girl in carriage
- Girl meets Patches O'Houlihan (aka Louix XIV). For some reason, Patches doesn't throw any wrenches at her. He mostly stands there, terribly miscast
- Girl meets Molly Fucking Shannon in a powdered wig
- Girl goes to France
- Girl meets her husband, Max Fischer (aka Louis XVI). Max makes no attempt at acting
- Girl marries Max Fischer, becomes princess
- Girl dances
- Girl gets new dresses
- ....nothing
- Girl eats dinner
- Girl looks forlorn
- Max is terribly awkward
- Patches gets it on with Yelena from XXX
- Idle gossip
- Max is too lame to have sex with Girl
- Patches croaks
- Girl looks forlorn
- Girl gets new dresses
- Girl eats many pastries
- Idle gossip
- Girl builds peasant village
- France has an army?
- Girl contemplates buying oak trees
- Girl does it with soldier
- Girl looks forlorn
- Soldier has completely non sequitur scene atop a hill with explosions in background
- Max Fischer mumbles a bit
- Peasants surround Versailles
- Empty room
Fin.

I kept watching, waiting for something to happen. Occasionally there would be some bizarre and terribly stupid line that would hook my interest again. My girl hit it right on the head - a kind of morbid curiousity kept us both watching. Normally I'm not one to slow down for car wrecks, but with this I kind of felt like I needed the full experience to properly appreciate it. So I watched it all, in all its car wreck glory. Kind of a slow-motion, 122 minute car wreck where none of the cars actually collide with anything, and in fact there are not even any cars present.

And that about covers it.

My Score: D
Recommendation: Only if you like pretty dresses and hate the needless distractions of plotting, characterization, drama, humor, themes, events, and things that happen

Trifecta, Part II

That sound you hear is the crowd, still cheering. In my head, of course, because no one actually comes to watch my soccer games. But whatever. Point is, Monday night I got my second straight hat trick. We played a pretty decent team, who scored the first goal. We didn't have any of our usual scorers (except me, apparently). I proceeded to score the next THREE goals of the game. It was fucking ridiculous. Not to mention our goalie, "Spiderman," who was blocking goals Matrix-style at the back. Absolutely monstrous.

We ended up winning 6-1, but I prefer this statistic: I outscored the other team 3-1.

Sometimes pimpin' is easy.

For Realz

Walking down King Street today, saw an object lying on the sidewalk. Red, cylindrical, maybe 8 inches long by one inch wide. Got a little closer. Took another look.

It was a fucking vibrator.

Swear to God.

Trifecta

I'm not what one would call a "talented" soccer player. Simply put, I don't have skillz. I never have. Soccer has been my main sport for awhile now, since sophomore year of high school, when I first started playing. Prior to that I had tried just about every sport, with varying degrees of success. Basically, I was pretty athletic, though not particularly skilled at anything. Soccer ended up being a good fit, because I could run fast and wasn't afraid to be aggressive. So I became a defensive specialist, where my job was mostly to stop the other team's offense. And I was good at it. I became team captain, and even went all-conference my senior year.

After high school, I played on some summer recreational leagues, and tried indoor soccer a couple times. Indoor wasn't my thing, because there were fewer players on the field at a time, which meant everyone had to play offense and defense. So I played, and even scored a couple times from sheer luck. But sooner or later I lost interest.

However, I started playing again this past year in an effort to get in better shape (and as an outlet for aggression/competitiveness). As I said, I still wasn't very 'skilled,' which limited my effectiveness. But I've gotten better with each game, and more comfortable trying to play offense. My teams often struggled due to a lack of players, making us play 5-on-6 (or worse) a lot of the time. We had some pretty good players, but having to play all 50 minutes with no substitutes really wears on you, no matter how good you are. For this session, however, our team suddenly has more people. We also imported one player who appears to be the equivalent of Superman, who can score from anywhere on anyone. So things have really picked up. We won our first two games against pretty good teams.

Last night we had our third game. It started out horribly. The other team had a guy (#13, for future reference) that was like the Anti-Superman, with all the powers of Superman, only using his powers for evil, since he played for the other team. For the first half, none of us played all that well, and #13 led them to a 4-1 lead. In particular, I blew some serious goats, including shanking a wide open shot from a couple feet away on a beautiful pass from Superman. That was a great feeling. Again, I felt like my complete lack of technical proficiency had come back to haunt me.

But the second half was another story. When I entered the game, we were down 4-2. Our goalie, hereafter known as Spiderman (due to his quickness, sticky fingers, and general spider-like mutations) was keeping us in the game with some pretty ridiculous saves. He had directed us to gang up on #13, which I made a point to do in the second half. But first, I got down toward the goal, and Superman set me up for another shot. This time I blasted it right into the goalie's face. Frankly, I was surprised they didn't call me for a dangerous ball, because it really was. But the shot, which careened off the goalie's face and into the goal, counted, bringing us to within one goal. Then, about a minute later, I stole the ball from someone, dribbled it the length of the field (pitch, if you're a purist), beat their last defender and drilled another goal to tie the game.

Let me tell you, scoring is an awesome feeling. The whole game stops, the defeated goalie has to retrieve the ball, and you get to do a victory trot back to your half of the pitch. I don't often get to enjoy that feeling, but getting it twice in a minute was amazing. Not to mention shocking.

I left the game shortly afterward, and soon we were losing again. We had one player who, through seeming frustration, would not leave the game, no matter how tired he became. #13 went on a spree, and soon they were up 7-4. Then Superman returned to the game and got us another goal to bring it to 7-5. I returned to the game, and once again made it my mission to shut down #13. I got my chance pretty quickly, when he got the ball at mid-field, one-on-one against me. If he beat me, then he would have had an open run against Spiderman, who, though awesome, would have been hard-pressed to stop #13 without any assistance. Fortunately, I ate that fucker up. I stole the ball, passed it off, and someone else passed to another person who scored.

Not long after, I had another opportunity. Someone kicked it toward #13, but a little past him, so he would have to run to it. I beat him there, drilled the ball away, and once again someone dished it off to someone else who scored. And just like that, we were tied again, and we had all the momentum.

If I remember correctly, the next thing to happen was our tiebreaker. We had a bunch of people on offense trying to make something happen, and I was one of them. Someone passed me the ball, and I had a fairly decent opening, so I fired another shot. The goalie charged at it, but the ball ricocheted off one of the other opponents' shoulder, dropped over the goalie's head, and into the goal.

That's right -- three goals for the Viceman. I don't know how to explain that. But it happened, I swear to God.

We had the lead until somebody slipped past and hit a really tricky shot to tie it up again. But our defense held them, and I'm pretty sure Superman hit the next goal, making it 9-8. I came out soon after that, and in the final minutes someone got another goal to ice the game. We won 10-8. It was fucking fantastic. To know that we beat a good team by coming from three goals down - not once, but twice - and to know that I helped lead the charge each time (despite my staggering incompetence in the first half) was an amazing feeling.

Really, who needs actual skills when you've got luck?