Author Archives: Bearfighter

BachCap 1: Arie Is Still, Apparently, a Person That Exists

I can’t promise I’ll write about this season consistently. There’s not a ton of time being a human with a real job and having an infant daughter. Apparently kids require work.

That said, here’s a little kick off to a show I’ll be watching because after listening to six months of a baby talk, I think the level of conversation on this show is a really nice primer before returning full-time to talking to real adults. These contestants are really good intermediate speakers. They are ADULT-LITE™.

So, Arie. GTFO. Why?

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If you need to do fifteen minutes of backstory to remind me who the Bachelorette even was that turned him down before even reminding me who he was, you’re really digging at the bottom of the barrel.

If Sean Lowe is the only dude willing to come give advice and they aren’t even friends, it’s a bad call. Since Sean is for sure reading this, because, well what else would fucking Sean have to do but scour social media for himself, congratulations. You have a cute kid and you’ve stayed married.

I’m actually not being sarcastic. I didn’t see that coming. Good work. Being a Dad is hard. Keep up the good work. Keep off ABC, though.

Arie has been like a TOTALLY successful race car driver which sounds believable because no one watches minor league IndyCar racing. North Korea has nukes. I don’t have time for MAJOR LEAGUE IndyCar racing, let alone whatever this dude did that aired on ESPN The Ocho.

Also, he hasn’t raced since 2010. Before he was on the Bachelorette in 2012. So spare me the “I became a realtor to center myself” shit. He needed money. Dad cut him off.

Side note. Is becoming a realtor the new “entrepreneur” designation on this show? I have friends that are actual realtors. It’s 24/7. It’s hard work. It’s a grind. I don’t believe anyone who is “casually going into real estate” because I already had to listen to them tell me about their “start up” in 2008 (2 years before Arie stopped racing in races no one watches).

Let’s just keep it real. His father was a race car driver. In fact, a great one. A real IndyCar driver who looked like this:


Dude should be the mascot for a Dutch beer and give the former Dos Equis spokesman a run for his pesos. This man has probably killed a woman from heartache. Her father probably dropped the charges after being promised a throw blanket made from his luxurious locks of Dutch hair.

Bro, Arie Sr., the REAL Arie IndyCar driver won the Indy 500 THREE TIMES. Bruh. Bruh. Bruh.

That is badass and again, I think racing IndyCars is dumb. I like sports with balls. Literally, like baseball. Or football. Or futbol. Just an actual ball. I’m not making a point about manliness to a man who is holding a trophy bigger than him in a Good Year hat that would cost 1,000 bucks in a vintage boutique in Soho. But like, it’s cool when your teammates aren’t mechanics. They are other people who share the ball and attempt to score.

Of course, Arie Sr. scores plenty. Look at that hat. Look at that trophy!

But wow, Arie Jr. Doesn’t growing up the low-res, power-hairless facsimile of a man this good at something explain Arie and why he’s going on the Bachelor?

The Kardashians were there for his dad. Hell, this is so textbook daddy issue I don’t know what to say. That’s Arie IN THAT PICTURE and he’s rocking his dad’s haircut at maybe 33% of his father’s FOLICULAR POWER™.

I feel bad for the guy. His whole life knowing his father was at the top of a sport he only is involved in because his father was at the top of that sport. How many people get to race million dollar cars until they are in their mid thirties before having to become a realtor? Again, realtors are no fucking joke, but when your dad probably has a room filled with VHS tapes of himself drinking milk out of IndyCar trophies using Dutch models (male and female) as a bed, you’re for real stoked to show people track homes in Scottsdale, Arizona?

No. You aren’t. So you cut your hair, let it gray and then keep being on reality TV hoping that pain goes away one awkward “for the right reason” at a time.

GOOD MORNING AMERICA - Arie Luyendyk Jr. is announced as the new star of ABC’s "The Bachelor" on "Good Morning America," Thursday, September 7, 2017 on the ABC Television Network. (ABC/Lou Rocco) ARIE LUYENDYK JR.


But whatever. Arie is here.

He’s “nice-enough” and “has hair” that is “age-appropriately grey” and “wears 2010’s skinniest tie for no reason.” He talks like a therapist who can’t act interested in what you are saying, even though you pay them to listen and care.

But Arie is our Bachelor and we all have to watch and ask ourselves the big question – what the hell is wrong with him? I mean beyond whatever the effect of being the son of a Dutch lovemaking champion who only feels truly comfortable going 200 mph.

Readers. If you were put on TV in 2010, branded to the world as a good kisser, a race car driver and then painted in a sympathetic light because you got dumped on TV – you’d be meeting lots of people. Arie was sorta famous for almost a decade now and he’s still single with only three noticeable changes: he’s graying, he’s not racing in any form wikipedia mentions and he now sells houses for ReMax.

He’s single because he’s either broken, broken, broken, not into girls, broken, boring, broken or an asshole. Or just unlucky. How turned on are you, ladies?

Homie is bad news (even if he doesn’t mean to be).

He dated Courtney (Swimsuit Issues) after friend of the blog and world class lazer tag champ Ben Flajnik did. That’s one way to prove to dad you can finish first.


“Oh. That didn’t make you love me Dad? Fine. I’ll date another brunette. AN EVEN BETTER BRUNETTE.”





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(I just puked in my mouth a little. How bad was a photo op at this place. Did he have to go inside after and share “A Groupie” with his model date? FxxING help.)


“Wait. The first girl was a model. Sorry Dad, BRB.”

arie sydney

This girl was more about making Emily Maynard jealous than impressing his Dutch father, which is probably impossible. “Wait. I’M NOT DONE WITH YOU DAD!”




“Lol, JK, Dad. This was who she chose. FR FR. I’m not feeling good about myself. What should I do?”

Oh. What everyone who went on the Bachelor and didn’t find happiness does. Go back on the show and try and fail at fake love for a career.


See. You aren’t alone, Arie Jr. In fairness, Nick’s dad seems a lot more low key than your dragon-riding, lion-maned, probably has whatever Zodiac sign is the best at sex and has the most erogenous zones father.

Arie. When you close your eyes at the strip club, do you see him?


OK. Back to the show!

For Arie’s sake, stop trying to make Kissing Bandit happen. Stop trying to make the fact he “kissed a woman against a wall in 2010” something pop culture relevant in 2018. This wasn’t the second coming of the Spiderman kiss. This wasn’t winning the Indy 500 with the hair of Hercules, a Breck girl and an Icelandic pony all at once (Arie’s dad is rad).

This was a kiss from a man who almost always puts his hands around the woman’s neck when he kisses her like he’s the weakest strangler on earth or a pediatrician feeling a sick child’s lymph nodes. Either of those turn you on, ladies?

If no, read further.

If yes, OMFG you live in a rural area and your husband needs to get checked for diabetes right now. Like, go. If this baby-handed, salt and pepper shaker’s neck squeezes do it for you, your current man, possibly the father of your children, is in need of medical attention because he must look like a close up of Steve Bannon’s skin.

Arie is low-energy, pale from years of being in his dad’s shadow. His eyes are dead from all the flashbulbs going off in his face as his father, a man who once parallel parked a Land Rover in a bike rack without a scratch, takes photos and checkered flags.

Arie creepily stares at the sea of 23 year olds walking into the house like he’s an old person and they are prime rib buffets in Vegas. It’s bad. He’s 36 and drinks vodka sodas in front of women he’s trying to impress. It’s only week one. It’s only week one and I feel like it’s the scenes in the beginning of a horror film where I’m being dummied into liking Arie before finding out I’m not only going to dislike him, I will have to at some point run from him, probably in the dark, probably right as I’m about to hook up with a cute girl (who he also kills). And then run from him again when we think he’s dead.

Wait, I’m supposed to say what happened this episode. Fine.

Lauren shows up in a racecar. Then one Lauren who lifts weights a lot and donates food to the homeless shows up where she meets Lauren, who is a social media marketing manager. Two Lauren realtors arrive and neither discusses real estate with Arie or each other or Lauren, who doesn’t like them already. Lauren is impressed when Arie catches a ball she throws him. Lauren has a hand tattoo. So does Lauren. A Lauren wears a mask for a few minutes. I know, so lit FR. Lauren steals time from Lauren. Lauren is angry. So are Lauren and Lauren. One Lauren is from a town called Weiner. She gives Arie a toy weiner and he gets uncomfy when asked if he already has a small wiener. No Laurens drank too much.

See you next week for more IndyAmateur Jones.


Filed under Bachelor/Bachelorette

Arrogant Game Recap: Texas Longhorns

It wasn’t initially the way I wanted it to go. It was ugly and sloppy and at times, maybe even boring. But as the drama of the 4th quarter, OT and OT2 unfolded, I actually fell in love with the game.

Which by the way was a LOSS for Texas.


So, I am sure their oddly-focused-on-sex trolls will return after their now three-day absence from this blog, but I’m going to go over some thoughts I had. Have a laugh.

The game was only close in score. Texas turned it over 4 times. They gained under 400 yards. With no disrespect to our walk-on kicker who did it when he needed to, the situation with Matt Boermeester, our hero from the Rose Bowl and seasoned kicker, caused us to go for 3 fourth downs you figure we’d have tried kicks on. Maybe some points there.

Our wideouts had a rough day. Again. When they catch the ball, you get Stanford. When they don’t, Texas stays in the game all day. Jalen Greene looked a lot like a QB out there. Hoping for better?

Texas’ band still look like extras from the musical Oklahoma! and I enjoyed the pride they showed in the sheer amount of fringe they fit on them.

0917 usc

Vince Young was there and I want him to know that growing a beard doesn’t mean you aren’t growing a double-chin. Vince, you were arguably the best college football player I’ve ever seen in person (I may give that to Reggie, but Vince is the only other player in the discussion and if I’m being fair, he may win it). Your greatness is betrayed by your lack of a chin and the beard trying to cover it up. Just hang out with Leinart, get back in shape. Or do some cocaine with McConnaughy.

Also. McConnaughy. The Malibu-resident and 2nd tier luxury vehicle spokesperson looked like he went to central casting to be a fan. While I prefer him to Lance Armstrong, who complained all week that USC “vacated a cheater loss” (NCAA made us vacate all games, sorry dude, google it), McConnaughy was so sweaty from adrenaline and really good, Hollywood grade blow that he shimmered under the Coliseum lights. His perm dripped product that mixed with coke sweat and he looked like he was a BYOS&S – which is of course a Bring Your Own Slip & Slide. Dude could have slide 35 yards greased up like that.

Twitter was a sea of Texas fans arguing they got horrible calls, something hard for USC fans to take after that Rose Bowl. But in truth, it was 10-8 penalties against UT. There was a big yardage discrepancy, but in the end, pretty even. It wouldn’t have been if they called any holding penalties. On 50% of pass rushes, Texas were holding our D Line. I watched the game again, it was pretty ridiculous. But, I wasn’t complaining about it during the game.


Texas fans also do something no proud program does. When they lost, they demeaned the USC win by essentially saying “they aren’t even that good this year” and selling the idea of a moral victory. Don’t tell USC about moral victories. We didn’t say “at least we won so many games in a row” when we lost the Rose Bowl. We just drank and complained. The only moral victory I count was winning the Pac 12 South during sanctions and forcing a 6-6 UCLA team to lose to Oregon on national TV and be the first team to go to a bowl with a losing record. Moral victory.

USC racked up almost 500 yards. We were bad in the red zone, but we moved the ball at will. The Texas run D was great. The rest was drops. 24 first downs.

We did pretty well for being more banged up than we got credit for. Texas did pretty well for being a worse football team on the road.

But all that is prelude to the big point. Reflecting on the game, my favorite part was how it ended. Texas started to believe. Those fans who said they would lose and this game didn’t matter started to believe. Twitter was feeling Bevo pride.

And then a walk-on kicker ripped their heart out after a last minute drive to tie, a heroic Texas response to USC’s 1 play TD in OT1 and then Texas fumbles at the goal line.

I mean, does this make up for the Rose Bowl? Nope. And apparently that game didn’t happen, but I was there and this didn’t make up for it. But USC has won 13 in a row with a Rose Bowl over now #4 Penn State in the middle. But we’re 5-1* lifetime against them. If that’s a rivalry, it’s a rivalry between the bat and the baseball.

And it gave us more recent (now in HD because the Rose Bowl was a long time ago) images .

Southern California's Chase McGrath, lower right, celebrates with Wyatt Schmidt as Texas defensive back Brandon Jones, left, watches after McGrath kicked a field goal to win the NCAA college football game in overtime, Saturday, Sept. 16, 2017, in Los Angeles. USC won 27-24. (AP Photo/Mark J. Terrill)

And it’s a year of wondering what will be. But I’ll make Texas a promise. If Darnold goes pro and so does Ronald Johnson and a ton of players, I’m not going to Austin and telling people we suck or looking for a moral victory.

I’ll be looking to make it 6-1*.

See ya’ll next year and thx for the ribeyes.


Filed under USC Football

Hate Mail from ATX


I’m really out of retirement for the moment. I’ve been waiting for this for years. I’m bringing back hate mail. Here’s a Texas fan I won’t name’s troll from my post yesterday. Presented without edit.

There’s a reason why Austin is full of Angelinos and not vice versa.

There’s a reason why Texas is a one word school- and you are a football school with a well known film/arts program, or to most of the country as, that other LA university that’s more expensive but easier to get into than UCLA.

You are the Oklahoma, of California, who needs athletics and will do anything to win, rules be damned, to get there.

We are a flagship academic university known for its research and its graduates- we seek to emulate Stanford, whereas you seek to win a football game against Stanford.

There’s a reason why losing to us hurts much more than losing to an Alabama or Oregon- it’s because you lost to a school and a program whose athletics are the icing on our cake- and not just your ‘cake.’

It’s why, as another posted mentioned, we’ve been living rent free in your head for over a decade.

Enjoy your meaningless win as we rebuild, we’ll be back on track shortly. Try not to get caught cheating again so we can meet once again in a bowl game.

Now, as was the great tradition of the olden days. His response again, with my comments in Cardinal:

There’s a reason why Austin is full of Angelinos and not vice versa.
Not to bring facts to a bullshit storm, but if your made up stat is true, here’s why it would be.

Austin is just way cheaper than Los Angeles. And Texas doesn’t have state income tax. So, yeah. I’m guessing plenty of Angelenos come for tech jobs and barbeque and gladly drive your real estate prices up. Just like I did in Portland, which is Austin with pine trees and good beer. It’s not something to brag about. It’s how you will end up living in North Carolina and Texas becomes a blue state.

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Or, another thought: Los Angeles has 3.9 million people living in it. Austin has 950,000. I understand behavioral economics escapes you. We’re talking about probability via the represenativeness heuristic. There are way more Angelenos than Austinites. That means there are more likely to be more Angelenos living in ANY city than Austinites. Dallas. San Francisco. New York. Fargo. You try, pick a city. There’s tons of them to choose from.

So, you’re probably right. I just wish you knew why you were right. 

There’s a reason why Texas is a one word school (what word?) – and you are a football school with a well known film/arts program (2005 film school grad, thx for the love), or to most of the country as, that other LA university that’s more expensive but easier to get into than UCLA (UCLA acceptance rate is actually higher than USC, but whatever, fuck facts).

Putting the prestige of my personal degree out of the way, let’s just talk rankings. USC, Emory, Berkeley and UCLA are all tied at #21 in the 2018 US News and World Report rankings just below Georgetown and just above Carnegie Mellon. In other news, Texas is tied for #56 with Ohio State. Ooph.

You are the Oklahoma, of California, who needs athletics and will do anything to win, rules be damned, to get there.

I’ll skip explaining our sanctions to you. Todd McNair is about to be rich because the NCAA overstepped.

I’d rather point out that I don’t know what the Oklahoma of California is, but there are literally 10 California schools rated higher than Texas. You guys are more like the Oklahoma of UC Davis. And that’s being disrespectful to Davis who did a lot for craft beer.

We are a flagship academic university known for its research and its graduates – we seek to emulate Stanford (California school, so not Texas forever of you), whereas you seek to win a football game against Stanford (technically, we seek to win football games against whoever we play. Don’t you? Not lately, but in general, I mean?).

Look. Our endowment is literally 1 billion dollars ($1,000,000,000) more than yours (4.6 v 3.6).
Our acceptance rate is 16.5% v your 39%. More than 1 of every three people who fill out a Texas application get in.

To respect Stanford, their endowment is 22 billion. Their acceptance rate is less than 5%. If you are emulating Stanford, you’re doing a bad job of it. Texas is about as exclusive as a bar on 6th Street on a Tuesday night.

There’s a reason why losing to us hurts much more than losing to an Alabama or Oregon- it’s because you lost to a school and a program whose athletics are the icing on our cake- and not just your ‘cake.’

See above point. Your cake is stale. Your icing is runny. The only thing I envy about Texas is proximity to burnt ends, which are delicious.

It’s why, as another posted mentioned, we’ve been living rent free in your head for over a decade.

Yeah. You have been. We’re not used to tragic losses to teams that overachieved. That was sort of the point of the post. 

Enjoy your meaningless win as we rebuild, we’ll be back on track shortly. Try not to get caught cheating again so we can meet once again in a bowl game.

We’re competing for a national title this year so a win would be meaningful for us. And when you say get back on track, I’d focus that energy on “emulating Stanford” some more. With all these Californians moving to Austin, you’ll need a prestigious degree to find work.


Filed under USC Football

Arrogant Game Preview: Texas

Before I say regrettable things about the Lone Star State, there are things bigger than football. Please donate to the Red Cross to help those trying to deal with Hurricane Harvey. We want to beat Texas on the football field. We want them to raise healthy families. PLEASE DONATE.


Hamilton Richard Rodgers Theatre Cast Lin-Manuel Miranda Alexander Hamilton Javier Muñoz Alexander Hamilton Alternate Carleigh Bettiol Andrew Chappelle Ariana DeBose Alysha Deslorieux Daveed Diggs Marquis De Lafayette Thomas Jefferson Renee Elise Goldsberry Angelica Schuyler Jonathan Groff King George III Sydney James Harcourt Neil Haskell Sasha Hutchings Christopher Jackson George Washington Thayne Jasperson Jasmine Cephas Jones Peggy Schuyler Maria Reynolds Stephanie Klemons Emmy Raver-Lampman Morgan Marcell Leslie Odom, Jr. Aaron Burr Okieriete Onaodowan Hercules Mulligan James Madison Anthony Ramos John Laurens Phillip Hamilton Jon Rua Austin Smith Phillipa Soo Eliza Hamilton Seth Stewart Betsy Struxness Ephraim Sykes Voltaire Wade-Green Standby: Javier Muñoz (Alexander Hamilton) Production Credits: Thomas Kail (Director) Andy Blankenbuehler (Choreographer) David Korins (Scenic Design) Paul Tazewell (Costume Design) Howell Binkley (Lighting Design) Other Credits: Lyrics by: Lin-Manuel Miranda Music by: Lin-Manuel Miranda Book by Lin-Manuel Miranda

I feel like George Washington in Hamilton singing “One Last Time” right now. There’s a new generation of loudmouth, arrogant and attractive people writing what needs to be written for Arrogant Nation. We discussed it. I did my job. I went out on top.

So this isn’t a return of the Bearfighter (not that I’ve left). This is one night only. I need to have a talk with Bevo’s soon-to-be-tri-tip ass. I need to serenade their band who dresses like the cast of Oklahoma (Boomer! Sooner!).



Can’t make that shit up.

Look, I need to talk to them about Saturday because. Well. Freight train coming.

USC Trojans running back Ronald Jones II #25 runs the ball in the first half. USC defeated Western Michigan 49-31 at the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum in Los Angeles, CA 9/2/2017 (Photo by John McCoy, Los Angeles Daily News/SCNG)

There is just no way I wasn’t writing an AGP for Texas.

There is no way I’d stay content to play in the great woods of the Pacific Northwest with my new baby daughter — a future Senator, Trojan and USWNT midfielder who loves getting red cards as much as scoring goals. A girl who only will sleep to Creedence being blasted full volume (true story).

I can’t sit this one out because this is Texas.

When my mind goes blank before I fall asleep in my hyperbaric float pool filled with bourbon and a fiber optic ceiling that simulates the night sky, Texas pops in my mind.


Their burnt orange (which sounds more like a culinary fuck up than a color) cow helmets and their white uniforms that make them look like creamsicles. Vince Young and the confetti. The greatest college football game of all time we should have won, but didn’t.

Unlike the Longhorns, we weren’t named after steak. We were named after a famous army that lost but fought like hell. Our reaction to loss is in our DNA. We never want to do much of it. That’s why come hell or high water, we don’t stay down for long. There’s a lot of long stretches USC was on top. We’re there again.

But, credit to you Texas Fightin’ Ribeyes. You hurt us that night in Pasadena, in our home-away-from-home. We’ve been patient. We’ve had to live with this. It hurt big time and Trojans never forgot it.

Now, we’re gonna mess with Texas.

Oh my Lord’s name in vain, Texas. I have waited to play you since I walked through your caravan of RVs out of the Rose Bowl that horrible night. I wondered why Reggie tried to lateral and why the refs didn’t see it was a forward lateral. I wondered how no one saw Vince Young’s knee was down. I wondered how we blew a lead. I wondered why Lendale couldn’t pick up 2 yards (I love you, Lendale. Forever.)


Yeah. I remember that, Texas. I see it when I close my eyes. When I had cancer surgery I thought about it. When I go running and I’m dog tired and want to stop, I picture Vince Young in the confetti shitting on our three-peat and I run another mile and then another while blasting our fight song.




That’s Achilles celebrating on our dead city. Credit to him. To them. But it’s time to found Rome now and I’m suggesting we do it on top of a Bevo burial ground.

Let’s reset the table.

Back to that Rose Bowl night. I took the lumps the Longhorns fans dished out as I walked back to my car through their caravan of RVs and in my mind, at that moment, Texas was a powerhouse. It NEVER OCCURRED TO ME THEY NEVER WERE OR WERE AGAIN A POWERHOUSE.

They aren’t USC. They aren’t Bama. They’re not Notre Dame. Or Ohio State or Michigan.

They’re closest approximation is maybe, Miami? Except Miami made a cultural impact. Miami changed the game in the 80s and 90s and put 5 titles we all saw on TV.

Vince Young was so, so, so good in 2004 and 2005 that Texas was always a powerhouse in my mind.

They weren’t.

It never occurred to me in that time before iPhones existed that Texas basically has a .500 bowl record.

Texas had a dominant period. Just after we passed the Civil Rights Act. Yeah. It was a long time ago. The newspaper was like “Big win for people who hate racism and in other news Texas won a title.”

Like, the last time Texas was winning titles before Vince Young was when football teams were white dudes wearing the kind of helmets they serve ice cream out of at Dodger games.


Like, this is what a title team looked like in Texas’ golden era.


It never occurred to me that our loss was the best thing that ever happened to that program — and probably ever will. It never occurred to me the worst loss we’ve ever experienced came from the kid brother team in their rivalry. I always thought Texas was better that OU, but behavioral economics would call that confirmation bias.

I believed that because we kicked Oklahoma’s ass the year before and Texas beat us in a classic the following year. My mind constructed a story that Texas football was dominant. Oklahoma’s won more titles, had more Heismans. It’s like Texas is the UCLA in their rivalry with OU’s USC.




I honestly never did the math. I was a recent grad. MySpace still was a thing. Facebook didn’t have a feed. Research was limited. So, Texas, I gave you too much credit because you ripped my heart out.

I didn’t realize Texas will probably build a statue for everyone involved in that Rose Bowl. If we built statues for our Nat’l Title winners, we’d have to buy more land around the Coliseum. It’d look like the fucking terracotta army in China.

China's great terracotta army is seen from the side facing rising sun.

I shit you not, when you go to Austin Bergstrom airport on your way to drink Shiner and pretend you give a flying fuck about Franklin BBQ, the airport gift shop IS PLAYING THE GAME ON REPEAT – not in HD because the game happened when Keith Jackson still called games. Still only good Texas memory.

It is like having a picture of a hot ex girlfriend in your house and your whole family being OK with it because it’s the best achievement Dad managed. If I walked into LAX and saw them playing video from any of our championships, I’d smash the TV with an un-purchased Clippers pint glass or maybe a lonely UCLA replica football no one wants to be seen throwing.

You can only act like you’ve been there before if you have. And not your grandpappy in 1969. You.

I wanted a rematch in that game. I wanted one more shot at them.

I got excited when Nick Young and our largely faceless basketball team knocked the KEVIN DURANT-led Longhorns out of the NCAA tournament in the spring, but honestly, it wasn’t the same. Basketball is something we do when football ends. And there’s no good movies out.

Texas Kevin Durant against USC Southern California Gabe Pruitt (34) during the second round of the NCAA Tournament in Spokane, Wash., on March 18, 2007. Texas won 79-67. MANDATORY CREDIT: (Jay Drowns/Sporting News) DIGITAL PHOTOGRAPH

I don’t believe for a second that game mattered just like honest Longhorn fans don’t think their program is on par with USC’s. That’s why their crowning jewel win over us and the fact we all are still upset is such a treasure for them.

And we never got another shot.

Sanctions. Kiffin. This blog. Abandoning of blog. Sark. Sark drunk. Sark drunk more. Kiffin and Sark at Bama. Bama kills us. Darnold and Juju (on that beat) and Adoree and Cam. Winning of Rose Bowl. PSU covers up child abuse. We clock Stanford.

And I’m sitting here on a Tuesday going “are we really about to get on a field with these guys who are probably in McMansions watching replays of that Rose Bowl the way Ted Cruz is watching porn on Twitter?



My heart is torn. I wanted to play Mack Brown who whined his way into that Rose Bowl over the Aaron Rodgers’ led Cal team who had a better loss than they did. Mack Brown who is why American politics is the way it is right now. Mack Brown who caused global warning spitting so much hot air about a program that was garbage before and was garbage again.

The biggest compliment I can give Texas is that they are my only ghost. I don’t care that Bama smacked us last year. We’ll smack Bama back one day. Bama has famous losses to us too (Sam Bam Cunningham dismantling them was what it took for Bear Bryant to convince the racist ass Bama community to integrate their football team). Bama and USC will always be here.

Texas is playing a game from 2006 in gift shop at the airport on repeat because that was their high water mark.

And that same game is on our mind. Because even though we climbed the mountain again, I just want to cause that fan base some friendly pain. I want them to retreat to 6th Street or Red River or South Congress and drink their beers with shoulders slumped knowing that win was an anomaly. Something to be enjoyed. Something a Disney movie would be written about.

Not the norm.

For Trojans, they are the ghost of shitty hangovers on the 134 heading back to Toluca Lake for what became a night of Hunter S. Thompsonian binging in North Hollywood where I am pretty sure I ran out on the tab at Tokyo Delves and that was to START the binge. I may have killed a rat that night and threw it into a bowl of albondigas at Don Cuco. No one can be sure. I may have urinated on Bob’s Big Boy in front of a family.


Texas, you got my attention and every priority in my life has changed except waiting for the one day I could watch us kick your ass up and down the gridiron. My god. That is the highest praise I can give another team. So you have my respect. If we lose on Saturday, you don’t need to gloat.


I could talk about Texas’ Tom Herman or that I actually like Austin but I’m not going to.



If our millennial and Gen Z football team wins this one for us Xennials or Gen Y’s — you will wear millennial pink and take pictures against distressed brick walls in Brooklyn and praise them and give them raises. You will find the next 20-something eating avocado toast and buy it for them. You will go into Sun Life Organics and just be like “A ROUND OF WOLVERINES ON ME.”


If we win, find this girl who had to take a stock photo acting gig because Boomers fucked her economy and hire her, get her healthcare and give her career mentorship.

We need you guys. We love the selfies. We love the entitlement. We love you.

Only Millennials can rid us of the bad taste in our mouth from Texas.

South Bend Tribune/JAMES BROSHER USC cornerback Nickell Robey (21) gets his team pumped up in the tunnel before they take the field for an NCAA college football game on Saturday, Nov. 24, 2012, at the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum.

So, my plea to this year’s team that’s already brought us so much joy:

Trojan football players. You may not know me. But Matt Barkley did. The sanctions teams did. We kept the torch lit. We suffered and tried to keep it fun. And you have brought us back to Rose Bowl winners. This is our hug it out moment. Thank you. You guys are great.

We couldn’t stop Texas. If you can hang 75 on them on Saturday, it would mean a lot to me. It would mean a lot to everyone. Give them their worst loss in history. When you lay the wood in that game, you have a generation of fans behind you. There’s no playing it cool here. We’re thirsty when it comes to Texas. A loss is inconceivable.

It was cute we vacated our loss as a troll. But the way to troll Texas is beat them so hard they fire Tom Herman on the tarmac. Beat them so hard Sark starts drinking again. Beat them so hard Kiffin tweets about it. Beat them so hard Pete Carroll sheds a tear. Beat them so hard Jake Olson gets three long snaps.


You probably haven’t experienced a crowd like this one will be. You were kids when the wound was opened. Let’s open one back.


I’ll have a big angus, ribeye ready to drop on the grill. So will Arrogant Nation. Saturday can be a national holiday for alumni. It may not be our toughest test. It may not be a conference game.

It’s bigger. This is a culture game. Impose some of our on them Saturday and don’t let up. This is our personal Rose Bowl. If you need me, I’ll be drinking at breakfast until you make this right.


Filed under USC Football

BachCap VII: The Worst Turtleneck

I didn’t post last week. Here’s the thing. I got stomach flu. I had to fly to LA for surgery. I had work stuff. And on the happy front, we announced that we’re having a baby girl! So I was busy. I was busy writing down all the things I will strictly enforce on my future daughter.

I came to two things she can’t do: Take hard drugs or be a contestant on The Bachelor. Short of those two things, I promise to be reasonable. 38 year old prom date? Let’s discuss it. Parallel parked my future-Porsche over a fire hydrant. OK. Glad you weren’t hurt.

“I’m going on the Bachelor.” YOU ARE MOVING OUT I DON’T HAVE A DAUGHTER.

Same page?

Let’s BachCap.

So, the hometowns were weird mainly because we all know by now Rachel is the new Bachelorette. So, we’re going to go thru the whole charade knowing one person is definitely not winning which is unacceptable in the Post-Game-Of-Thrones era where we’re accustomed to any character dying at any moment. The people who are all “is Jon Snow really dead” and want spoilers are a bad influence on the Bachelor. I want the thrill of soul-crushing rejection still viable in the final episode. I already know too much.

So a few quick thoughts.

Raven is kind of the best? I mean, she for sure voted for Trump and loves just saying, “Benghazi, ya’ll” in drunk political talks, but it’s almost forgivable because she loves her dad and her town and frankly, she’s the least of any of our problems. This is a girl who took Nick on some four-wheeling in a swamp Trump didn’t drain yet that seems filled with bacteria that make you sterile (probably good in this case). The sport was called turdjumpin’ or something like that, I don’t know. The whole erotic make out in standing fecal water is probably to Arkansas what the pottery scene in Ghost was like to all my mother’s friends.

I mean honestly. We have to root for a girl from Hoxie. The town has negative population growth (truth) and literally looks like a staircase leading to a door to GTFU.

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Rachel’s date was a super fun quick visit to a “black church” that Nick was “totally comfortable” going to. Honestly, Nick is just as uncomfortable anywhere God is looking at him directly because at some point he has to ask God why it is that every woman he sleeps with turns to an ex-girlfriend. He’s always like WHY GOD WHY™. Mercifully, he didn’t do the “white-guy shuffle” to the beautiful church music going on in Dallas because I might have burned my eyes out with my wife’s curling iron.

The afternoon date was mainly about seeing how good looking Rachel’s family was, discussing how hard being an interracial couple is and Rachel’s white brother-in-law acting holier-than-thou like he invented marrying someone whose skin is a different color. If I am being honest, and my mom told me I should always be honest, this guy doesn’t care about anything beyond protecting his status as the white comic relief in the pretend Tyler Perry movie he thinks he’s living in. He doesn’t want Nick to show up and steal his white thunder. He’s found his niche, only it’s not a niche, it’s just being married to a human woman. It isn’t Tyler Perry’s I Can Be White All By Myself.

What struck me as interesting in this date, besides Nick’s “Dallas” outfit that’s best described as GUY WHO COLD CALLS YOUR AD AGENCY WITH A SOCIAL MEDIA PRODUCT WITH A DUMB NAME THAT YOU WON’T EVER BUY COUTURE™, was the constant debate over how Nick would handle an interracial relationship. While it’s a great point that even if the people in the relationship aren’t racist, the rest of the world can be.

There’s a really simple answer he could have dropped and shut the whole thing down. I’d have been, “My plan is to love your daughter and move her ass out of Dallas and immediately lower the racists-to-interracial-couple ratio. To quote Mayer Hawthorne, who is the Fernet of human beings in that he’s overly embraced in San Francisco, “Things ain’t gonna work out.”

Corinne’s date was weird. She just bought Nick a ton of clothes at one store that I’m pretty sure donated clothes for the cause. Then they went to her nice-view, but not-as-big-as-advertised condo where we got to watch them debate “how good this olive is” and also wonder what is going on with her mother’s face. She’s giving JoJo’s mother a run for her money as star of the next botched plastic surgery reality show. DON’T DO IT LADIES. AND IF YOU DO, FIND CHRISTIE BRINKLEY’S TEAM.

The truth is, I like Corinne now. She’s honest. She’s basic, she’s open about it, she doesn’t lie about who she is. Nick is the gay best friend she’s always wanted and he’s just not sure that’s who he is even if he really loved his 600 dollar sweatshirt. He looked amazing. Honestly, they could have a totally open relationship and probably function really well. I feel like they get each other. I feel like if Nick wants to take 20 topless Instagrams (we remember Nick) and make out with a girl and then a guy and then bring one of the two home, the worst Corinne says is “I’m tired, go play in the other room.” My wife just closed the browser. But she closed it knowing I’m right. 50 Shades of Nick.

Let’s see. The Canada date. There’s two things worth commenting on. The first is that even though the week before in Bimini Nick pretty much shut her down when she confessed her love, she woke up thinking, “this is fine.” Don’t do that.

The second is that her dad kept it super, super real. I respect when guys are like, “dude, I in no way respect this process that makes my human daughter a pawn.” I mean, I get not getting in the way or saying “if that’s what she wants I support it.” But Nick comes off like a two  year old and then gets rejected by dad in a feeling he experiences every time he has to watch football in a group of men. He’s just not believable.

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Anyway, they did the stupid “to be continued” thing again. Can we Make Bachelor Great Again? You can make America great again by checking out this app made by some awesome folks I’ve worked with.

Andi shows up because, frankly, she isn’t doing anything after she realized she has the worst taste in men and then America realized she’s about at interesting as waiting for your number to be called at the DMV. I don’t even know what they talked about. I don’t care. I don’t know why they are just drinking Bulleit Rye when there’s so many other options when you aren’t paying for booze yourself. I don’t know why they are staying in Brooklyn instead of downtown. I don’t know why we still have the electoral college. Honestly, Andi showing up just sent me off into a wistful state of reflecting on my past mistakes, how I might do better for my daughter, data science and automation and universal basic income. Hell, I even flossed to avoid listening to her talk about nothing while staring at her chicklet teeth.

We only got one fantasy suite. It was in Finland. Nick was wearing a turtleneck so audacious I didn’t know what to feel. And, he popped it. Like, he wore it not even turtle’d. I don’t know what was going on. I think it was his chastity turtle because pretty much he was covering as much of himself as possible to defend himself from Raven, who is the world’s most literal person. She was saying things like, “I am not sure how I feel about tonight because we are going to probably make sexual intercourse with his private parts and frankly I have not had an orgasm with my one previous sexual partner who I saw penetrating the vagina of a girl he cheated on me with and I should probably tell Nick all of this in extreme detail as if he was at a military briefing (unlike our President).”

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BTW. Raven’s sweater was falling off making the editing of this show impossible. She’d go from fully clothed to pre-shower and back between cuts.

Oh. And Nick throws darts like mothers give high fives. It’s like he is going to scream “Ya!” after each throw. Like, “Mom, I aced my spelling test!” and she’s like, “Ya!” He throws darts like he is expecting his mother to take him for ice cream.

In any event, I’m ready for the fallout from this date and for an episode longer than 37 minutes of content.


Filed under Bachelor/Bachelorette

BachCap VI: Bimini To Tell You Something

Happy Valentine’s Day. I hope you’re playing the so-titled track from Andre 3000’s side of the Outkast album. Actually, just play all of that. And play some Spottieottiedopalicious later to get in the mood. I know the song has some serious themes, but today I learned people have sex to some strange tunes.


Apparently in Australia, they listen to the song from the Cantina in Star Wars. Really.

This is a big week. We know Michael Flynn didn’t get the rose (unless Putin called Teleflora), but who else? With hometowns at stake, let’s BachCap.

This week was confusing because one of the best contestants was announced to be the next Bachelorette. I’m talking about Rachel. The lawyer. The role model. The person I’m not sure why she’s here.

I avoid spoilers for this show, but it was telling they just put this on blast. I couldn’t avoid it. It’s a triumph in three ways. First, she doesn’t have to attempt to marry Nick. Second, she is one of the smartest, most capable contestants ever to lead the show. Last and most importantly, she is the first black person to helm the show. She’s going to carry it. We’re going to watch. She’s going to be super fun.

But what does it say about Nick, how utterly boring this season is, how not into human women Nick acts if we are just going to announce one of the women getting hometowns is the next Bachelorette?

Chris Harrison switched off the hard drugs for this season because it’d be a bad trip. The only answer is hard liquor.

Nick left the room and hydrated from crying from all the shit going on INSIDE OF HIM™ because zero dramatic things are happening that we can see as audience members. On the surface, the water ripples, signaling deep distress below all the magical layers of this human onion. Nick. Be free.

He rolls back into the no-chill room of women strangling cheesy Caribean hotel pillows and then tells them that he feels like the “rug has been pulled out from under him” which is the biggest misuse of a turn-of-phrase since Ron Burgundy was trying to figure out when to say “when in Rome.”

Pulling the rug out from under yourself seems like an Aladdin-themed gif waiting to happen. It still doesn’t make sense. But let’s just agree Aladdin is pretty great. Sugar dates. Sugar dates and figs. Sugar dates and pistachios. My wife just closed the browser.

Nick explains why he sent Inner Side Boob and the other human home. It was cold because he basically just bashed them in his ten-year-old girl way. Like, “Our relationships are like, so-so-so much stronger and like who wanted these bitches at our sleepover anyway. We only have one bag of Twizzlers and you know how she gets when there’s candy involved.”

Nick, the sorority girl with a speech impediment, then is like, “Whaddya say we just get away from the big city in St. Thomas and go to Bimini where it’s like relaxed, like a more-mellowed-out-chill-kinda-vibe.” He talks like Rebecca Bunch on Crazy Ex-Girlfriend when she’s trying to not act crazy. Also, I love that show. Free plug.

Noticed that some of the girls were napping when Nick showed up. What’s wild about women is that they can nap next to someone even if they hate them. Like, I had a hard time on tour with my band sharing a bed with my best friends. Women can be like, “I hope you have a UTI and an overdraft charge for BofA at the same time, k, goodnight” and then just nap.

That’s so stone-cold killer. No wonder women are going to save the world. Nerves of steel. Love you, women!

And ladies, stop pretending you know what Bimini is. I mean, maybe Corinne does. Maybe she hooked up with someone on the Dolphins there or something. But like, you aren’t a thing Bimini. You sound like something that goes great with hummus or a country Trump is going to ban next because he is a racist who doesn’t like hummus.

Bimini is a little island near Miami that looks like a a man hiding from the cops inside an avocado.

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You don’t see it?

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Drawing this was more fun than I’ve had at any point during this season.

Bimini is famous for smuggling booze during prohibition. We didn’t cover any of that. We just did dumb ass shit the whole time. Ponce De Leon looked for the fountain of youth here. We didn’t cover any of that. Nick was all, “who cares, Kiehls and Aesop are my fountain of youth.”

I make such a mean girl face when I type things I picture Nick saying. You just have to picture me at my desk scrunching my face being like Nick said, “whatever, I Bimini to tell you girls that none of you win.”

So I Married An Axe Murderer gets the first date and they go snorkeling in Nick’s itsy-bitsy bathing suit. He isn’t into her, the ocean, being on TV or the cool Spanish galleon wreckage covered in graffiti.

She tells him she is falling in love with him after telling him it’s a day of firsts (all yacht related). He shuts that down like a web browser full of porn when your mom gets home. Hi Mom! My wife just closed the browser. Not for porn though. God. Sorry, wife.

The next date is the group date with Hoxie, Putin on the Ritz and Ivanka. They are going to see some sharks. Nick is like, “Guys, this will be a redonkulous story when we get back because so many people claim to like swim with sharks but they like went to SeaWorld and just want to sound impressive, who does that?”

Hoxie said she’s punch the shark in the nose if it messed with her and for sure I believe her after her describing seeing her fiancee having sex. I actually really like her, but there’s like a high likelihood you can’t say stuff like “Jesus effing Christ” in front of her, even if you for real cut your finger off or something where you didn’t even mean it, it slipped out. Like, all day you’re trying not to take the lord’s name in vain because you’re agnostic and she’s really fun and cute and punches sharks, but you spill a bowl of ciopinno on your penis and all your can think of screaming is something about Jesus. Does that end the relationship? Does one still get the rose on that date? Asking for a friend who loves ciopinno and has bad hand-eye coordination.

Hoxie gets the rose and they go to a concert by some band my wife described as “the Caribbean Train” which is better than anything I could have come up with by a mile. They have for sure covered Drops of Jupiter, right? All reggae style though.

Corrinne, for all her flaws, is kind of the GOAT. She’s the only person I have EVER seen consistently eat on the show. She talks comfortably about her body. She doesn’t deny being horrible. She goes for what she wants. In this day and age, she’s the least of our problems. I’m confident when she heard the president may have paid Russian prostitutes to piss on him – she was like, “grow up, whatever, everyone does stuff when they are rich.”

By the same morbid token, when Putin on the Ritz said she ate lipstick as a starving young girl, Corrinne FOR SURE pulled out her wet-mess make up bag and was like, “If you’re hungry, I have a bunch of last season’s MAC colors you can snack on.”

Oh Jesus, I am going to hell. Sorry Hoxie.

Nick takes Neonatal Narcoleptic Nurse on a date (for real, she’s asleep the whole time). They do the old Bachelor standby “indigenous sport date” and play basketball with the local youth. She tells him the truth about being afraid to fall in love because the last guy died, which makes sense. Nick responds by crying (because his diet is crying to lose water weight) and then sends her home.

Corrinne, sensing an opportunity, tries to go have sex with Nick who stops her being all, “I just showered and don’t want to get ready for bed again.”

Rachel’s date omitted because she clearly doesn’t win this show, she is the next Bachelorette and I am letting her be. Love you, girl. You go Glen Coco.


Finally, Nick gets rid of Putin on the Ritz, making him better at vetting Russians than our current administration. It sucks because she is lovely. I hope all this TV exposure hooks her up with the kind of man who likes amazing women who are smart, strong and pretty and have actual jobs. Keep being those girls, America. Or Corrinnes. At least she’s honest.



Filed under Bachelor/Bachelorette

BachCap V: The Saddest Kind of Volleyball

Sorry about last week. I was in Baltimore for work. Shout out to [protecting your name] at Woodberry Kitchen for recognizing me from this blog. I was never so upset my wife wasn’t with me because the street cred at home would have been tremendous. Thanks to the bartender as well. I remember at least ten minutes of being there.

What say we just dive in? What say we do.

This is not the most dramatic season of the Bachelor ever. In fact, it’s just the saddest. I am not even sure what’s going on. Nick honestly only seems happy wearing skimpy hot pants bathing suits and doing baby t-rex dances. Put him in front of a nice girl with weapons grade cleavage, it’s just mehhhhhhhh.

Not even drama. More like the friend who comes over and silently sits on your couch and at first you’re worried about them until you get a drink in you and stop caring all together. Only at least with this friend, eventually the existential dread kicks in and they tell you how they feel.

Still waiting on what’s up Nick. We can handle the truth. But please. Pick this up. Soon. I can’t keep living in a world where Betsy DeVos is in charge of our education system. I need good news. Under Betsy DeVos, our children will regress to the point that rose ceremonies in the future will simply be a pile of roses dropped into a pit filled with cheap prosecco and whoever gets a rose / lives gets to move on to next week – which is a trip to glamourous Topeka, Kansas, which Betsy DeVos considers the Caribbean because #alternativefacts.

We open in New Orleans, one of my favorite cities on the whole planet and somehow Nick ruined it. He found no joy in a city where I usually stay in firehouse curated by two fabulous gay men (for real, rent it). A city where you can listen to jazz and party with total strangers. A city where you can buy shots to go and bring your alcohol literally anywhere you feel like it. A city where you can’t tell if the marching band is for a funeral or a wedding and it doesn’t matter.


Side note. Bachelor weddings are funerals, right? Like – a guarantee your heart is murdered.

Look, in NOLA I once saw a man passed out getting pissed on by another dude (Trump) and a guy was taking a picture of the whole thing and then another guy was taking a picture of the guy taking a picture. It was so meta. It was so messed up. It was two feet off a main thoroughfare.


Corinne returns from her bayou battle. If the Patriots, Trump, the world haven’t taught you anything yet, let me help. She could win this. She could win the whole damn thing.
Taylor, the therapist you will never trust after this, commits the cardinal sin which is trying to tell the Bachelor someone is bad. It’s mutually assured destruction, much like our foreign policy with Russia right now. This is fine.

Corinne downs a bottle of champs. Probably grabs her boobs. I don’t know. I block her out like screaming kids on long flights. It’s best to just let it sort itself out.

The cocktail party is mainly notable because the cheerleader starts to go insane. Every year someone just created a pernicious loop in their head and their mind slowly eats them alive. I knew she was dead before Nick told them they were off to beautiful St. Thomas, which he thought was a nightclub in WeHo until this episode.

But hey, what better place to fall in love than in St. Thomas.

The girls pretend the sprawling 90s looking suite they are in is super nice and congregate on the balcony to watch Nick soar by in his…


Oh eff you Elan! I know you got love for me but our first flying magic love-inducing aircraft is a sea plane? If a helicopter is a labradoodle, a sea plane is like one of those cats with no hair. Like, it’s cool. It’s better than a frog. But we came for the doodles. Doodle us, Elan. Doodle us, Adam Mansfield. Doodle us, producers.

To be clear, getting doodled now means seeing a helicopter on a reality dating show. My wife just closed the browser.

First date is with Kristina who I am calling Putin On The Ritz, because she’s Russian. Or Second Lady. Because Trump will eventually release Melania (#freemelania) and he’ll need a new immigrant to love (while hating the other ones). Maybe Kristina. Please no.

Putin On The Ritz has a beautiful smile, a sad past and a great attitude. I hope she gets cut so quick because she deserves better. I have a hard time believing a dental hygienist so lovely can’t meet people. Is it maybe because she has to wear a medical mask and visor when she cleans teeth? Do people not know?

Anyway, Nick seems totally incapable of not smiling awkwardly at a story one wouldn’t smile too. I was sitting there listening to this really great person saying that she had to literally EAT LIPSTICK™ because they had no food. Also, is this the best new morbid way to tell someone to eff off? GO EAT LIPSTICK™.

Too far. Even for me. Two gold stars from my wife for knowing my limits. She gets the rose. Obviously. I’ll adopt her if she just leaves the show right now.

The group date is mainly about bad volleyball and the tightest bathing suit I’ve ever seen. Sure, Don Draper wore those back in the day. But now, these are reserved for my most in shape gay buddies who invite you to grab a drink and a swim at the rooftop pool at the SoHo House in the meatpacking district and then you get there and feel fat and find that you’ve somehow been emasculated by short shorts, which is even more emasculating until your gay buddies assure you that, yes, you are pretty too Zack. In your own way.

My wife just closed the browser. But she knows I’m pretty. She likes me for me.

Jasmine is just self-destructing and it kind of sucks because I am rooting for a human of color to make a top three for once and she’s a damn cheerleader for the most popular basketball team on earth. If this can’t work, I’m scared. She’s just confused Nick isn’t acting thirsty with her. He’s not acting thirsty with anyone. Chill.

This date is miserable. Jasmine ends up getting sent home because she tries to turn Nick on by choking him, offering to choke him, asking if he likes getting choked. Basically, she choked. Like Steph Curry did in game seven. Because she cheerleads for them. I’m sorry SF readers. You have to know we’re not same page here. Go Dodgers. Even Year is not a thing. XOXOXOXOX.

I guess Raven got the rose? Circle gets the square? I get to move on.

The 2-on-Juan is between Inner Side Boob and Whitney, who apparently is a person who exists and is still on this show. Hi. Nice to meet you…


Sweet, merciful helicopter. I don’t care what happens. My soul is full.

Whitney is not real and gets sent home. She’s left on some island and we get some more rockin’ HELICOPTER ACTION™.

The night date with Inner Side Boob is mad awkward. She’s falling for Nick, who is wearing a sweater with a HUGE NECK. This is a Matrix sweater. Are you in Zion, Nick? Are you going to a dance party in Zion with Neo? Is there a motivational speech by Morpheus? Is that sweater from the Matrix? Did you find it with Trinity on the Nebuchadnezzar? Did you wear it when they downloaded Kung Fu into your brain? Did you wear it when you jumped between two skyscrapers?


Get it? It’s a Matrix sweater.

Anyway. She loves him. He sends her home and then starts crying because he’s not sure he can find love and then he goes back to the house and starts crying and freaks all the girls out and they start crying. It was like the puking and ‘rea scene from Bridesmaids. Everyone just making each other do stuff.

So we started on a low note. Ended on one. Two sea planes. One life-giving helicopter.


Filed under Uncategorized

This Is A Post About Guacamole and California Secessionism.

In what is probably going to be a long term thing I do between Bachelor and USC blogs, I want to talk about something that is neither. Today, that’s guacamole. Well, avocados.


Whatever your views on “The Wall” are, and I mean the wall between America and Mexico that President Trump is proposing, it’s clear goods from Mexico are going to be more expensive. Look, if they won’t pay for a wall directly (which, regardless of your political views, they won’t because people don’t pay for other people’s things, this isn’t Kickstarter), they will get the money from taxing Mexican goods. Taxing them on shipping them in, taxing us for buying them. Even if you love the wall, realize we’re paying for it one way or another. Likely in the form of avocados.


Here’s what I’m saying.

This USA Today article cites that:

As recently as 2014, Mexico accounted for 60% of the avocados in the U.S., Avocados From Mexico, a trade and promotion association, reports.

The article goes on to say:

The Haas Avocado Board, which tracks shipments of one most popular varieties, expects to see imports of 400.9 million pounds of Mexican avocados this year, compared to 24.9 million from California, one of the largest producing states.

Without needing to do much math at all, it’s clear that if we increase the price of avocados from Mexico, a food need I remind you is the main ingredient in guacamole, which is so delicious that it’s plausible even your typical racist still likes it, avocado prices will soar.

This puts California, our leading producer of avocados in the GOOD OLE USA, in an incredible position of power. Even the most conservative American recognizes supply and demand’s value to free market capitalism. Many liberals in California are talking about wanting to leave the union. But as an American, I want to stay an American. I have a polite suggestion for California, controller of avocados that don’t need a visa to work here in tacos, guacamole and on multigrain toast for a sensible way to get fiber and protein at breakfast.


Instead of whining about leaving the union, California should just raise the price of avocados exported outside of the state. Look, our cabinet of Goldman Sachs economists would laud, cheer and appreciate the move. Nothing is more capitalist than capitalizing on a big short. California can short the avocado industry. They can treat it like oil and use the money to do whatever it wants. Fix LAUSD. Re-sign Clayton Kershaw for 200 years. Buy back the land UCLA is on and make a second USC. I don’t really care.

As a displaced Californian who roots for California, this isn’t political for me. I just see a real opportunity to non-violently exploit America’s love of a Mexican product in the way people love drugs and hate drug dealers. California, you could get rich. I see no reason post-wall that avocados couldn’t cost 20 dollars each. The fun part is, since so much of our produce comes from behind the wall, salsa will be more expensive too, and frankly if you are paying 10 dollars for salsa, you go for the up-sell to avocado. Anyone who has been to Islands knows you always accept an invitation to up-sell avocados.

The free market goes both ways and I think this is a wonderful opportunity to make some money supporting American farmers. California is a wealthy state. It’s time the rich get richer. Like rich, creamy guacamole on Super Bowl Sunday.

Raise the price of California Avocados right now. I just fixed the drought, betches. We can buy Evian for everyone with this extra money.

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Filed under Uncategorized

This Is Not A Political Post. This Is A Post About Gum Abuse.

I know you guys think this is a political post. It’s not. I will talk no politics in this entire post. I’m just going to talk about one person and their mental health.


This is about the fact Sean Spicer admits to chewing and swallowing 35 pieces of gum before noon every day. Let’s ignore his political affiliation. Let’s ignore anything that has anything to do with politics, because this is not a political blog. I usually just make fun of things. Or point out crazy things.

Guys. It’s not fake news. It’s his quote, not taken out of context in this Washington Post article.

Even when he is not speaking, it works on overdrive, churning through pieces of Orbit cinnamon gum, which he chews and swallows whole. Notwithstanding his line of work, the man just can’t stand a gross-feeling mouth.

“Two and a half packs by noon,” said Spicer. “I talked to my doctor about it, he said it’s no problem.”

Ignore any perceived liberal bias in the article. Don’t even read it. It’s irrelevant to the fact he is talking about eating whole 35 pieces of Cinnamon gum before morning. The article could be in Mother Jones and be titled, “Evil Devil Man Eats and Swallows 35 Pieces of Gum Before Noon” or it could be on Breitbart and be titled “American Servant and Hero Eats and Swallows 35 Pieces of Gum Before Noon” and my reaction is the same.

Holy shit.

Extrapolate that.

I don’t think even hearing it and going, “yeah, that’s bonkers” even comes close to making sure you get what we’re talking about. This is Anthony Wiener pathologically showing people his penis weird. This is bath-salts-face-eating strange.

Let’s really talk about it. Again, no politics. This is weird for a human and I need to talk about it.

Mr. Spicer has a high stress job. He has to explain what’s happening in the White House to a very divided country against a very inquisitive press. I say that to assume this is a man who wakes up early in the morning to be ready for the day. Let’s say he wakes up at 5am every morning. He is quoted as eating “two and a half packs” before noon. So 35 pieces of his favorite gum. Which is cinnamon, by the way. Even a gingerbread man can’t hang with that much cinnamon.

He’s opening, chewing and swallowing a piece of gum every 8.5 minutes. If I was wrong and he wakes at 6am, this falls to every 6.8 minutes. If I was challenged to eat a piece of gum every 8.5 minutes, I’d last 8.5 minutes. This seems like a very specific, strange eating disorder. He’s clearly worried about it enough that he’s asked his doctor.

I’m just so confused. If you went on a date and your date ate like 10 pieces of gum during dinner, would you trust that person? Would you worry for your safety? Would you want to get them help?


In Men In Black, a giant bug alien skins a human farmer, puts on his skin (played brilliantly by Vincent D’Onofrio) and stumbles around the house interacting with his dimwitted wife. His odd appearance, his herky-jerky walk, nothing makes her too suspicious of him.

Until he asks he to pour an entire bag of sugar into a glass of water. Then, she’s suspicious. Because as humans, there’s just some things we don’t do. Sure, we CAN drink a glass of sugar water. We CAN eat a pack and a half of gum by noon every day. But who do you know who actually does it?

Just like I have a hard time trusting a man showing his penis to people all the time (Mr. Wiener), I have a hard time trusting a chronic gum eater.

It is not fact that gum stays in your system for 7 years. Not even 7 days, usually. I checked with Yale’s Scientific Journal, who I trust because lots of presidents from both parties and scientists of all beliefs have gone there. Dr Milov quoted in the journal had this to say:

“Gum is pretty immune to the digestive process. It probably passes through slower than most foodstuffs, but eventually the normal housekeeping waves in the digestive tract will sort of push it through, and it will come out pretty unmolested.”

I want you to picture the size of 35 pieces of chewed bubble gum. I want you to picture Mr. Spicer having to pass that amount of undigested gum in his stool every day. I dare you to watch a White House presser without thinking about the fact his body pushing a fistful of undigested gum through his colon. Actually, seven days worth.

It’s an honest concern with no political motive. There are probably many, many people willing to take on a high stress position from President Trump who do not eat an egg-sized amount of gum before lunch every day.

Just something to consider. Or if you are friends with him, get him some help.

Excuse me while I chug a gallon of prune juice.



Filed under Uncategorized

BachCap IV: Alternative Facts


This week, we learned Alternative Facts are a thing. Not a thing we do, but like a thing-thing. Like if your boss tells you that you were late, you can just say “I was on-time, in fact, if anything, you were early and your family needs more attention.”

For readers of this blog and watchers of this show, you knew alternative facts existed forever. The Bachelor mansion is the home of the alternative fact and frankly, I’m surprised it took the government so long to catch up to the cutting edge of culture that’s been sweeping the nation ever since Chris Harrison first drank a martini with the adrenal glands of a rattlesnake instead of olives (#AF). If you’re curious, you order that martini like, “dry gin martini, three rattlesnake adrenal glands, it’s tongue as a twist.”

Do that, you get a show.

First random observation. Nick holds girls hands vertically. He holds hands like how Oprah holds hands when she’s saying, “girl, you are gonna beat this and I’m betting on you with A NEW CAR.” Supporting my theory Nick does something really, really wrong in bed, he holds your hand like Oprah holds another woman’s hand. (For the record, I support Oprah and her hand-holding.)

Chris Harrison arrives to let the ladies know they are going on a journey around the world. As they bubble with excitement, Chris lets them know that journey is to Wisconsin (which I don’t even allow as a connection flight). Nick is so a part of the Bachelor machine, he so has no idea who he is, they basically were like, “we’re saving money so when there’s 20 of these crazy humans chasing you, they get airfare to Milwaukee (which I didn’t even attempt to spell because I don’t care, I just literally wrote it phonetically and let the redline correct it because no one needs to know how to spell it.)

We get to see Nick’s parents again and his mother cannot stop crying. There is so much going on here. She definitely drove from WAUSUSHSAH to MULFEKFKEE to get a big city haircut and she’s been on the elliptical like the Target Lady since Nick went on Paradise. As nice as she seems and I’m not one to shame a mother ever, she very much seemed like a Kristen Wiig character we haven’t seen yet. A mother hoping her son will stop being on reality television while trying to mix a deadly combination of vodka to relax her and bulletproof coffee to jack her up (she read about it in a wellness email passed to her by another friend and the title of the email was in ALL CAPS™ because it’s BREAKING MEDICAL NEWS™.

Nick’s dad, by contrast, just wants his wife not to explode because he’s digging his big city sweater and glasses combo and feels like he’s definitely sitting in the Shamu “Splash Zone” with his wife’s persistent crying.

Do I remember what they talked about? Eagle Rare Bourbon. I just kept drinking it and thinking how much better it was than this conversation.

Inner Side Boob (the beauty salon mogul I’ve nicknamed because while she has a commitment to side boob, it’s the opposite side of most of what we encounter on the internet and bad night clubs). My wife just closed the browser despite probably agreeing. Gwyneth would never do anything but TASTEFUL SIDE BOOB™ – again, she would agree, but my wife is long since left her computer and thinking about what to do to take her mind of her decisions (specifically, marrying me).

But Goop doesn’t have an Inner Side Boob email. Just saying.

Oh yeah, they go on some date and Nick brings out an ex-girlfriend, presumably to prove he’s been with a human woman (our only evidence comes from this show). I was so sure it was one of his 20 siblings and this would be a funny joke. But no. It just made me sad. This was his ex-gf (now bff) who he put on TV. Because he loves women and this is one of them. Accept it. He’s tremendous at dates. He goes on the best dates.

Then, let’s keep it real. They went rollerskating. I like rollerskating dates. I like rollerskating alone. I mean, it’s pretty good. But Nick is a REALLY GOOD ROLLERSKATER. He was doing like step overs and going forwards and backwards and Oprah Hand Holding. How does one get good at this in 2017? If I wanted to, I feel like I’d end up on Craigslist and on some Amber Alert watch list. I mean, he was beautiful on the rink, don’t get me wrong. Nick was like a young Nancy Kerrigan out there, but how? Why? When?


The group date was on a dairy farm which Nick in no way has ever been to before, but in the effort to culturally box in every location, Wisconsin has cheese and cheese is cows, go to cheese cows. Then again, if the Packers aren’t playing, what else would one do?

Watching Nick milk a cow made me feel the same way I feel watching a sex scene in a movie theatre with my parents. Like, nothing is wrong, but something is wrong?

I did enjoy all the girls shoveling manure in white pants. That’s just great and big, steaming shovelfuls of cow shit is a great metaphor for this show in general.

Ivanka doesn’t want to do this. Any of it. She whines, says some epic stuff I don’t need to repeat and let’s just get to the point. At the night date, she gets in a million fights, gives a million great one liners in some language between baby talk, internet and trust fund and then grabs her boobs. Oh yeah, and she was mad racist about her nanny.

But, New America was on display when she gaslighted Nick and was like “dude, everything is amazing, the girls are great, these facts are alternative in nature.”

Epic. She may be the first contestant who gets executed by her co suitorettes – my money is on So I Married An Axe Murderer, who is still so normal and attractive that I don’t get why Nick. Why.

Raven had a one on one at some point as well, but all I remember was she had a really crazy accurate description of seeing her boyfriend cheating on her and then her beating everyone in the room up. It was like an X-rated Carrie Underwood song. Or a G rated Rihanna song. However you like to roll. Hillbilly song off Lemonade? I could do this all day.

One last point – can we not do the Rose Ceremony at the beginning of the next week? It’s a series. I get it will be continued. Unless Chad is about to slice someone’s head off, I prefer just to know who dies at the end of the show.

That’s all. Survive the week. Get out of Wisconsin.


Filed under Bachelor/Bachelorette