Lost Angeles

I learned some new things about reality television last night.  Instead of share them, I am going to use them as poison tipped arrows to Katniss all over this episode because in the parlance of our times… WTF.

Think about Ben’s season.  He was eating in fancy restaurants.  By this time his season, he had rented out a theater and ate at a bistro in Sonoma, climbed up the Bay Bridge with a chick he had no intention of marrying while a helicopter flew around them, turned a street into a ski slope and had women in bikinis skiing down and gone to like Montana or some shit.

Bargain Bach has gone to Malibu (where the house is), Ojai (an hour and half drive from where the house is), Sunset Blvd (40 minutes from where the house is), and like Malibu Wines (next to the mansion).  Oh yeah, and the cowboy shit seemed like it was at Malibu State Creek Park (next to the mansion).

Fucking Emily Maynard, Lady Veneers herself, was taking private jets all over the swamp.  Des, for all her being a sweet person, is getting the raw end of the deal.  The Bargain Bach indeed.

 

BTW, you are only getting shots of Team Smedium oiled up standing on stage.  That’s all.  Sorry.  You need to feel the pain I feel and this is how I achieve that.

But, let’s fucking BachCap.

Des’ journey to find love for all the right reasons heads to dilapidated and depression inducing Atlantic City, home of saltwater taffy, prostitution and a certain emptiness only felt when you are eating a burrito at 3am after vomiting and can’t remember what dive bars you went to and your groin itches.  That’s Atlantic City, but hey, the saltwater taffy is super good.  Even if there is no way they use the poison saltwater under that boardwalk.  Unless hobo urine is a flavor now.

Back to the Future (Get your damn hands off her Biff!) was excited to travel with someone he loves, which narrowed it down to any of the guys getting on that plane.  I mean, this show has turned into America’s Next Top Gay Best Friend.  I am all for it, but I feel like Bargain Bach doesn’t realize she is floating the bill for a bunch of dudes that were immediately Google Mapping how far Atlantic City was from Fire Island.

Team Smedium was staying at a hotel with a weird glowing ball at the top that stood atop a frozen springtime Atlantic Shitty.  City.  Who cares, at least they have each other.

 

holding hands this time

First date was with underbite champion Cable Guy, who when he cries looks like a bulldog being forced to sniff pepper.  They went to a saltwater taffy plant, so they were one hand of blackjack away from covering everything there is to do in Atlantic Shitty.

They went down to the pretzel room which I mistakingly thought was a fake dog poo plant.  They proceeded to just have at it, grabbing the food, pouring shit all over it and covering their faces in pretzel feces.  This was such a food safety issue.  Fuck anyone who wasn’t outraged, especially if you care how your meat is killed.  Me, fucking shoot a cow in the face and let’s charcuterie.  But I would much rather eat a tortured animal than a chocolate pretzel that was mouth raped by a couple reality television stars.

Priorities.

They ate dinner in a light house, which was depressing.  I knew this date was going poorly because Cable Guy actually ate.  When they show you eating, you soon be leaving.  I guess the random, unexplained sandcastle they sat by earlier, probably commissioned to a creepy artist living under the boardwalk didn’t get their juices flowing.

Cable Guy literally talks in sounds.  She asked what he likes to do.  I had to rewind six times.  “I like to chill and sometimes just bongongongongong”.

Is that jerking off?  He talks like Matthew McConnaughy acts.  In noises and gestures.  Oh well.   Bargain Bach is just like, “hey let’s climb a million stairs, I want to be out of breath when I dump you” and then she cut him loose citing he could spend more time with Maddux, his son, who I am sure the producers hand to remind her his name 100 times, if not write it on her hand.

He was nice about it, but I was expecting the full Jim Carrey “soooo, what are you trying to say?” after she cut him.  Instead, he got in the car and cried like a bulldog blowing pepper lines.

This must have been a relief for Secretly 50 who did the obligatory Bachelor staring at someone else’s date and get emo vignette.

Bargain Bach said something about love should be a shining light, cuz, you know, they were in a fucking light house.  I AM TIRED OF THEMES.  MOAR HELICOPTERS.

Group date was perfect.  Mister America Pageant, which literally for Team Smedium would have been like telling my advertising friend group that we were trapped in a room of bourbon and steak and would have to eat and drink our way out with only a couple swimsuit models to cheer us on and maybe light some fireworks here and there.  That’s where my mind goes.

This officially became the Search for Des’ New Gay Best Friend.  We had Juan Pablo oiling up Gabagool.  That happened.  That’s like taking advantage of a foreigner.  Everyone made me want to kill myself.  I really don’t want to talk about this date any more.  I wanted the Muppets to fucking show up.  I wanted Hey Bear to show up.  Hell, I would have been down for a fire at the theater.  Anything to stop Hashtag: Weird Ass Story About Tap Dancing from performing or Gabagool getting naked and doing roid push-ups.  Smedium loves each other more than I’ve loved anything in my life.  They should cut the season short and let them be together.

They aren’t on a date.  They are on a helicopter tour of the ruin porn from Hurricane Sandy.  Everyone watching in New Orleans was like “fuuuuck this.”  Shit, there are parts of New Orleans that still look worse than this all these years later.

Des took it well and let him live another episode.  Frankly, if there was a reason to lose interest in Little Big Head based on this admission of guilt, it was that he decided to do it on national television.  I am sure his clients in advertising love that.  He’s definitely who you want protecting the weird shit your parents did to you.  Yikes.

This episode played like a bad mission in Grand Theft Auto.  The good news?  They are going to Munchen next week.  Beer, pretzels, football and, knowing this show, a couple tours of Nazi death camps.

Fuuuuuck.

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Old fans of the blog remember a time when I would post hate mail and my reactions to it.  I don’t think I can consider this last bit of user comment to be hateful, my BachCap fans are some of the nicest ever (for people who like sick beatdowns of strangers on their TVs), but I felt like this was a great opportunity to have some fun.

“Jess” had this to say to me:

I am such a big fan on this blog and tell all my friends to read any chance I get. However, I can’t help but be disappointed in the first two posts of the season. I’m not laughing nearly enough and you’re all over the place not remembering what order the dates are in! I’m excited to read the upcoming weeks and hopefully be more entertained.

I want to make an official statement back to Jess and quell some of her fears, if possible.

Jess,

Thank you for calling me out.  Like any three Michelin star restaurant, I only grow with user feedback.  I wanted to assure you that I want to make the situation right and do anything I can to help you reach the appropriate laugh levels you expect from a blog so incredible, it isn’t even a blog, rather me acting as the conduit between some celestial laugh deity and the audience.

First, thank you for telling you friends to read the blog even though it’s been letting you down lately.  That said, if it’s been really bad, please refer them to my earlier work.  I think we can all agree my work on the subject of Brad and Chantal’s outdoor African Safari Sex Party was a shoe in for a Pulitzer.  When I was not nominated, I cried because I knew my opus was played for the deaf.  How can the literary world not celebrate the incredible travel writing I did when the show went to Belize?  I can’t Belize Anthony Bourdain has a travel writing job and I don’t!  F. Scott Fitzgerald succeeded because people referred their friends to read The Great Gatsby and not lesser known works like Captain Tangerine and the Georgia Dumpling Contest.  Had people sent their friends to that story, perhaps Baz Luhrmann would be ruining someone else’s great American novel and what a tragedy that might be (especially for you Catcher in the Rye!)

To address the part of your comment where you can’t help but be disappointed in the first two posts of the season… I swear as they trim the fat I will make sure to up my game to midseason form.  I feel like these are like August baseball, the dog days of summer, after a great ending to Bachelor and before we reach full steam on Bachelorette.  What concerned me was when you said you can’t help but be disappointed.

I have to ask, does this extend beyond the blog?  I just watched the movie Side Effects with The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo and The Talented Mr. Ripley and what I learned is that saying that kind of thing out loud can lead to people making you take pills and then you kill people for money so you can hook up with your lady psychiatrist.

All I am saying is if you can’t help how you are disappointed with my blog and only my blog, that’s cool.  I promise, I’m going to hit a home run tomorrow.  A moon shot.  But if you can’t help feeling disappointed with everything, you need to see someone.

You aren’t laughing nearly enough.  This is on me.  That’s why I want to offer you a special service.  I will jump on the phone with you any time you need a laugh and I will do whatever I have to in order to make it happen.  Think I’m above farting directly into the handset?  I’m not.  Whatever it takes.

Starting with tomorrow.  I am going to crush my post in your honor.  My humble plea to keep you as a fan (and I mean this part sincerely, not the whole part about Side Effects other than that you should watch it because it’s pretty entertaining and Catherine Zeta Jones and Rooney Mara make out, which they should have put in the preview, because money.

Thanks to Jess, it’s going to be Game of Thrones Tuesday for Zoolanderella.  Pew pew.

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It’s another week and we’re able to discern some critical new data about the rampart group of menstruating  women in the house.  I am happy to see this show is getting back to the idiotic, corn syrupy roots that grew it into the fucked up tree it is.  I have high hopes that we’ll have some helicopters and extreme dates in no time at all.

Real quick, one of my pasttimes, in the way old men skip rocks on ponds, is to dog contestants on instagram (not ultimate homies Spivey, Swartz and Flajnik of course).  Last night, Kacie B. (or Beyan if you read this blog) threw me a fastball and I had to do what you do with fastballs.  You go yard.

Please.  Stop putting inspirational quotes on instagram.  I’ve ranted on here before about it but if I wanted to be inspired I’d go to the ATM, take out all my money and maybe roll around naked on my bed like Demi Moore in Indecent Proposal.  No, I haven’t thought about that before or anything.  Cough.  Next.

Let’s BachCap?

Our first date was with (drum roll)…  Lady Tom Brady who did his very best “I like girls” impression all night.  Just as I was drunkenly screaming this guy looks like Tom Brady if he was, in fact, a lady someone randomly throws him a football into the Bentley and he throws it two handed back… Like a lady would.

Let’s take a quick step back and talk about the blue Bentley.  This is like marrying a super model and forcing her to get fat and have shitty plastic surgery.  What are we doing here?  The only thing that could crap out that car was dipping it in liquid sour belt candy and congrats ABC, you did it.

Heart Sock or Zoolanderella, whichever you prefer drove her ladyfriend on a road trip around SoCal.  I was super pissed because, while I live in Portland, I still have a house in California and I don’t want the property value to go down just because Chris Harrison is too lazy to leave Malibu until they trim the dbags off the show.  They went to El Matador, one of three beaches you can often find Lost Angeles at eating a sandwich from the Trancas Market and drinking rum.  So much for that fucking beach…

Then they went to Neptune’s Net, which has been a classic Ponzi tourist trap (albeit a fun one) for years.  I was scared they went to my favorite place and ruined that too, but they did not.  No you don’t get to know it or it will not be my favorite anymore.  I’ll tell you off line.

Then they went to Ojai.  And then downtown.  Wait.  NO CHANCE this was filmed in sequence.  And there was some Hollywood sign in there too.  On the Hollywood sign, Lady Tom Brady told Heart Sock a bunch of stuff my buddy’s sister would tell him around a campfire and then he said some shit about how the Hollywood sign represented her fucking dreams or sailboats or something.  This dude needs to be more penis forward.  I know ABC deemed this the “for the right reasons” episode, but if you believe in evolution, Darwinism and the continuance of the human race, the right reason is to eventually have sex.  Lady Tom Brady has that thing where he stands like a virgin.  You know what I mean.  There’s a certain slouch that comes from knowing you have at one point successfully hunted a deer.  This guy is like “do they make gluten free deer snacks I could buy at Whole Foods?”  By the way, they do.  I can confirm, I live in Portland.

The thing I learned is that Heart Sock wants to get her face on just about anything.  Watching her kiss Lady Tom Brady made me think about that night she got hammered and made out with her best girl friend at a local bar and her brother thought it was funny until his buddies got turned on and made some jokes and then he smashed a bottle of Bud and cut some throats *GAME OF THRONES SPOILER.

Later, Lady Tom Brady got super scared driving around downtown LA even approaching a glowing pink bridge with ten TV cameras chasing him.  I don’t know if all the PBR bars in the area or art galleries or fine bedding (Matteo) stores around there freaked him out.  He should have been at the Grove.

Then they had dinner and he got the rose.  It’s just to damn early to cut a nice guy without Heart Sock looking like a dickhead.  If you cut the fat early, this show would be Fantasy Suites week three.

At home the group date was announced and it became clear that all these guys (minus Ben) are in love with each other.  I mean, normally this show teaches you that a group of women hate each other and a group of dudes are a fraternity.  In this season, this group of dudes cuddle.  It’s fun to picture Gabagool (the Italian meathead) being like, “yo, bitches, Mean Girls is on, make some fuckin’ popcorn and stop playin’ grab ass, show LiLo some friggin’ respect.”

The group date was one of the worst in Bachelorette history.  We got to see the death of Soulja Boy who at one point actually had a record people listened to, but not can be bought for 10k to do a song called “For The Right Reasons” on ABC (hit the fucking nail on the head some more, guys).

Heart Sock came out dressed as Alexander the Grape, the purple Otter Pop at the Malibu Winery which also doubled for the house robbed in Hangover Part III.  This is in Kanan Canyon and five minutes from the Bach Mansion showing again that it’s only the finest for Des.  They’ll do it if it’s cheap and within ten miles.

The dudes all had zero timing, rhythm or street cred and whoever wrote the rap, which was so inside it was outside, needs to drink drain-o.  In the direct sunlight, the naked guy from week one finally earned a nickname.  I dub him Secretly Fifty because in direct sunlight you can tell he’s old as balls.

This dude has all the baby fat loss that actors experience, possibly fake teeth, but definitely whitened.  He came off less douchey, but that must have been because he was stoked AARP accepted him for life insurance.

Everything about this sucked.  I’m done.  If you want someone to talk more about white dudes who can’t rap, read one of the other Bach blogs out there.  But you won’t.  Yes, I’ll accept this rose.

The night date was comedy because Ben (who I am calling Sunstroke in reference to his son) was ready to talk about his kid some more.  I think child services needs to step in.  It’s funny in movies when dudes use their kids to fish for women.  When you see it in real(ish) life, it makes you feel like an old guy is watching you shower.  Not that I know what that’s like…

We also saw no one could master the tie clip, which depressed me.  If you can’t use one, you don’t need one.  It’s like the new sorbet flavored vodka.  If you need your booze to taste like sorbet, maybe you should go right to pills.  Just a tip.

Sunstroke stole Heart Sock away from a guy who doesn’t like girls deep in a story about having Diabetes.  When did this become a competition of ailments?  Such a bad strategy to lead with that. It’s not opening up.  It’s saying “don’t send me home week one”.  Being that this dude is probably not into girls, he is a genius because he was trying to ensure he got to make the travel team and go to wherever Chris Harrison is meeting his drug mule, somewhere in the Antilles or South America, usually.  I’m retiring when they go to Medellin.

Anyway, Sunstroke pulls what is a normal group date move and Diabutthurt gets Gabagool to lead a Juicehead Rebellion.  After Sunstoke does some weird “IMMA LEAN RIGHT IN AND KISS YOU” shit and then talks about his son, Gabagool corners him.

Sunstroke talks his way out of it by comparing shoes and making friends, confirming again this is the least straight set of suitors ever to grace the mansion, a fact I am super stoked about.  Diabutthurt called out Sunstroke for wanting to “guard and protect the heart” of his son, so I kind of love him.

Wait, this took place at the final cocktail party.  I’m out of order.  DON’T FUCKING CARE.

Final date is with Zero Dork Thirty, who says like no words at all.  Wait, was THIS the road trip date?  I am so confused.  Oh yeah, maybe because all they did this episode is fucking drive places and have awkward dinners while the dudes at the house tried not to paint each others’ nails.

The gist of this date was that Zero Dork Thirty brought graphic images of a terrible car wreck to dinner, which is fine cuz no one eats at these things, and after Game of Thrones, we’ve seen enough violence for the week.  The guy is nice, boring, possibly a 95 IQ and potentially a killing machine.

Des tries really hard to make out with him and eventually just does it herself.  I’d compliment his slow roll, but I think he’s just like, slow-slow.

Rose Ceremony, she sends home the sign guy, she sends home a dude I didn’t know was there, and then Bikram Yoga who was so fucking hammered he got blinded by his green shirt and almost walked into the bushes.

Promises of drama next week and no sign of helicopters, but I think this season is working out.  I didn’t even have to get the people lined up with their dates correctly.  Bless you Chris Harrison.

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Get excited.  I finally titled the header “BachCap” to trust my own style book and keep my branding air-fucking-tight, ladies and gentlemen.

It’s been a long offseason, I have some updates to give you at the end of the post that you need to get down with.  I hope you all have stocked up on bad chardonnay and have dry cleaned your “feeling superior” hats to pop on.  We’re about to watch a bunch of d-bags compete for the “prize” of a woman that America gives an inflated sense of self-importance only to get abused into a public tabloid break up when she finds out the asshole that liked her because she had inflated-self-importance turns out to be a regular human girl when the cameras turn off complete with “getting mad you came home drunk” and “makeup-less yoga pant mornings…”

Hunger Games, bitch.

You know I hate the first episode(s).  Nicknames are not set yet because people haven’t had their truly great fuck up yet.  I can’t be bothered getting to know people who aren’t even good enough to get a full fifteen minutes of fame.  No, I don’t care if they went to your high school.  I didn’t go to your high school, how on earth could I care and why should you.

Still with me?  Want to send some people to therapy?  Let’s do it!  It’s a new season!  Time to BachCap.

Full disclosure, I didn’t watch the beginning.  I am sure I missed a great montage of her walking through inland San Diego or worse, some shit about her being Cinderella again, because god knows the second ten minutes were only about that.  Look, I don’t care.  What I did dig was the new title screen.  All white, fresh like spring-time new beginnings.  But, I guess what was the background going to be?  Ben was in a vineyard.  Sean was like a shadow of Tin Tin in a nuclear orange holocaust with no discernable theme because he’s so boring I hope he gets kidnapped by Sand People in the new Star Wars film.  Emily Maynard had silhouettes of her and her child Ricky Bobby to show “she’s a mother”.

Desiree had nothing but her helping rich chicks try on wedding dresses or having her live in tents (remember her story last year about when her parents were hard up and they just camped to survive like some sort of inland San Diego Bear Grylls?)

That’d be weird.  So they went with white.

Chris Harrison looked more mature this episode in that he finally looked so bored he forewent the hard drugs and just got religiously stoned.  He was wearing what had to be a shirt from his own t-shirt line because what the hell was that?  It was fine on the outside, but it appeared to have four buttons where a normal shirt would have two and the inside of it looked like the inside of Liberace’s comforter.

He looked like he almost fell asleep during Des’ explanations of her being so ready to take a journey and feeling like Cinderella taking a Cinderella journey that she never could imagine happening just to make a name for herself as an investigatory journalist, no matter how many people you step on, just to make a name for herself as an investigatory journalist…

Listen Zoolanderella.  Take it easy.  We get it.  You feel like Cinderella.  You lived in tents.  Huckleberry Finnderella?  I am not sure yet.  Hopefully she just milks a goat and chugs it again so we can talk about that and get a nickname from it.  For now, Zoolanderella.

Real quick, WHAT’S UP SUPER FAN MEGAN AND COMPANY???

So, a stoned and bored Harrison got dressed up with a fancy oceanic wave-like pocket square that I’m not down with and got Des in position to see about four legitimate guys, 11 people ABC let in because they seem fun to watch get their head cut off on TV and then like five actors who agreed to do this just so they could get a walk-on role on like, Mistresses or something (sorry Alyssa Milano, you are going to be unemployed again in a few weeks).

They had the Bikram yoga guy who I never intended even to give a name because if this guy was not an actual human.  He’s a sitcom neighbor.  I am getting sick of this show pretending to be diverse by having one African-American who is either shy, uninteresting or a Bikram yoga junkie who gives strangers high-fives.  How about an African-American bachelor?  Think Kerrie Washington would have gotten cut in the first round?  Exactly.  She wouldn’t.  Roberto doesn’t count as diversity and neither does the soccer player who talks like a perve in skinny jeans or the guy who shows up dressed as a night with a name that sounds like Brazilian churriascaria Fogo De Chao.

On the other hand, you can tell Desiree had some weird upbringing by looking at her dating preferences.  Sean asked for breast size.  Pavelka asked for “girls that would make it seem like he liked girls”.

Des asked for several types.  Her suitors must have one of a few things

1. Look like someone who got shot on the Sopranos
2. Potentially gay.
3. Japanese anime stock broker hairstyle.

If you go back and look at this list, you see how true it is.  Since it was a shit show, a few observations.

The tailor/magician who looked like a Chicago Deep Dish episode of Man vs Food seemed like a cool guy, but let’s be real.  Just because your store carries royal purple socks and a 1993 fat tie doesn’t mean you need to wear it.  Especially week one.  I mean, Blakeley was a stripper but she waited at least a week before she proved she was down to show her boobs to America.  Or just follow her on instagram for AMAZING shots of food she cooks for a rotating group of people she refers to as “her man”, work out motivational quotes and pictures of her boobs.  It’s a great read if you are a 13  year old boy interested in salmon preparation and boobs.

There was the army guy, let’s call him Zero Dork Thirty, who we HAVE TO LIKE because he served our country.  FALSE.  We have to like that he served our country.  We don’t have to like him or his pumpkin pie haircut or his ridiculous non-linear story of how he helped an Iraqi kid by doing… what?  Watching him clean the barracks?  What the fuck are you talking about.  He got the “support our troops” rose and Desiree is from inland San Diego (at least emotionally) and San Diego is a military town.  He might be breakfast for dinner.  Only makes sense in certain situations, might be good for a night, not gonna become a habit.

The was the dude who brought his kid and it seemed like an amazing idea until it started to sound like he wanted to have sex with his kid.  Sorry, I know that’s gross, but let’s keep it real.  After he got the rose, he was just like “OMG MY KID IS SO DOPE” over and over to the point where when I have a kid, I am going to shit talk him every now and then.  Maybe this is why he’s divorced.  ”Honey, come to bed” and he’s like “NO I’M WRITING POEMZ ABOUT OUR KID RIDING A HORSE AND KILLING DRAGONS (under his breath, you’re the dragon, bitch)”.

He’s going to a bad place fast.  Imma call him Fishing With Kids.

Shirtless guy, just stop.  I don’t give a fuck.  I just hope he got a waterborn disease.

Cheers to USC grad guy who had Chuck Taylors on.  Proof that a comfy shoe selection can win it for you.

ER Doctor.  What the fuck buddles?  I get that you had trouble dipping her.  I am scared you practiced with 50 partners and still fucked up.  Do me a favor, tell me where you are in the ER and remind me never to injury myself near there.  If 50 times still isn’t enough, you can’t fix my internal organs.

Also, when you are an ER doctor, don’t spend an hour apologizing for the dip while taking on and taking off your weird square glasses.  Just be like “BITCH I AM A SURGEON”.  Do you know how funny and popular amongst male peers I have had to become to compete with people who are surgeons?  It’s like letting a guy rob you with a feather when you are wearing the Iron Man suit.  What a fucking moron.

Then there was the Fantasy Suite Rapist.  ABC, try harder.  You are the mask guy.  It was obvious Desiree was in on this or she wouldn’t have taken it so seriously.  This was to prove she’s not a slut, which I didn’t need proven until she clearly made that a part of this show.  I’M NOT THAT KIND OF GIRL.  What kind?  I Bachelor Pad contestant?  How was it even a debate that she wasn’t going in a fantasy suite to have sex an hour into night one?  This was like if Maynard changed Ricki Bobby’s pre-teen diaper in the middle of the Highland Games.  We get it, you’re a mom.  We get it, you don’t have sex with pervy strangers.  Neither does Cinderella.  JESUS.  Neil Lane’s diamond is safe.

There was Marty McFly’s Butteryflies Dad who, well, got butterflies all the time.  I kept waiting for him to be like “Biff, keep your damn hands off her!”  Didn’t happen.

Truthfully though, I had high hopes when I saw the preview.  The combo of Sopranos extras, Japanese stock broker anime haircuts and possibly gay dudes looks like it makes for a turbulent cocktail.  There was fighting, helicopters, mountain and beach locals and a few extreme looking dates.  I’m riding high.

Next week, we trim the fat and this gets concentrated.  It’s good to have you back.

Oh yeah, and HASHTAG #GOFUCKYOURSELF.

_____________________

Now, a little personal business.  There’s 2 things.  The first is that I have finally started my novel and by starting I mean I finished a chapter, have an outline.  I have hopes it will be ready to get you through the offseason.  It’s pretty snarky and also going to make you feel like you are drinking in Lost in Translation with Bill Murray.

TWO.  For my college football fans or people that just like to support me, I am producing a film with former USC football player Bob DeMars about the NCAA and it’s lack of giving a shit about athletes.

I’d be honored if you watched the video and kicked it a few dollars.  CLICK HERE to check it out.  We need to make a change and I am going to destroy it.  If you enjoy what I do here, help me do it elsewhere.  It’s an odd request and a rarely beg for myself (usually I am helping charities, student projects, etc), but this time, it’s a passion project.  Anything helps.  I want to make a positive change for college athlete.

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