E-mail Time!!

It is ridiculously hot today. I mean, my God. I can handle heat fairly well, but this…this is just not right. It has to be around 237 degrees or so. If I wanted to burn to death, I would pour gasoline on a slip-n’-slide, and play for a while, then proceed to light myself on fire. I don’t need to look like a creepy, sweaty guy, everywhere I go. I thought I got my sweating problem under control. Nope, I still sweat like an Arabian bartender. I have to lean forward when I drive so that my back makes no contact with the seat. This is to prevent the unmistakable, “ sweat mark,” on the back of the shirt. Okay, ladies, you are not going to like this. If you do indeed like this, you are either a hardcore lesbian, or the coolest girl of all time. My important fantasy football draft is this evening, and I have spent all week prepping. It is very hard for a woman to understand how important fantasy sports are to men. I would easily stab someone for making an illegal waiver move. That’s just how it is. I have been a perennial powerhouse in most of my leagues. The only league I have not won is the one I HAVE to win. This league is comprised of the best of the best. Essentially, it’s the Top Gun of fantasy football, and I’m Merlin. Good, but not good enough. Ladies, luck is on your side today. I was just about to start listing my sleeper players, and draft projections, when I received about thirty e-mails that have to be responded to. I will give you a recap of tonight’s draft tomorrow (Best Bet: Friday).

Pat,

Who wins in a fight, Mike Ditka, or Dustin Diamond?

Steve- Manhattan, Kansas


Um, I’m going to go with Ditka on that one. It may be close, but Ditka will ultimately prevail. Dustin Diamond…why am I even acknowledging this question? I love you guys. Not one of you is sober.


Yo,

You rule.

Anonymous (Luke Dennison)


Dude, don’t send an anonymous e-mail if your name comes up when you send it. How are you going to sign it anonymous when it says Luke Dennison as the sender? Seriously, what kind of illegal substances are you people on? I may drink like a Pirate with Black plague, but this is unacceptable. I like insightful, thought provoking e-mails. I like comments on current events, and funny things. You rule just won’t cut it with me. Step it up, or face the penalty of three straight weeks of copied and pasted articled from Good Housekeeping. Don’t think for a second that I’m kidding.


Pat,

What’s happening to your Stros man? They are going to choke, and you will be subject to lots of ridicule. Your guys can’t score any runs for Rocket, and are just a bad team. Stop pumping up the Astros, and admit they are not good.


Rex – Milwaukee, WS


WHAT? Number one, your name is Rex. That alone discredits anything you say, whether it is true or not. Secondly, you are from fucking MILWAUKEE. Aside from Kansas City, you could’ve been from any city in the country, and I would not have worried about it, but no. You live in the worst baseball city in the United States, and you have the audacity to take a shot at a team that is half a game out of a playoff spot? Did you people take your crazy pills today? I should’ve just written the fantasy football piece. This is a joke. I have tons of readers, and only the crazies take the time to e-mail me. I am very close to quitting. One more bad question, and I might actually stab someone with a stick of White Out. I am through with the fun and games. Hold on, I need a shot of rubbing alcohol…okay, let’s move along.


Pat,

Your website is amazing. I wish you wrote more, because I laugh out loud all the time. My question is; what did the homeless do to cause you to turn against them?


Kimberly-San Marcos, TX


Ahhhhh, sweet Kimberly, you have no idea what a relief it is to see a regular e-mail, and not something drug induced. I’ve explained this before, but since I am in no mood for buffoonery, I will gladly answer your inquiry. The homeless are filthy, and lazy carnies as far as I’m concerned. There are shelters, and homes where they can be cleaned, and get a decent meal, yet some choose to stand in their filth, and solicit people like me for alcohol, and drug money. This has always bothered me. Instead of accidentally pissing on my front tire, and getting drool on my windshield, I’d be happier if they left me alone, and got help at a shelter. I can’t drive anywhere in this city without having to roll up my window, or throw a sharp object at someone at a stoplight, and I am sick and tired of it. I have nothing but respect for the ones who try to get their lives back together, but the ones who sit around in dirt, and ask me for money will ALWAYS get a grapefruit thrown at their facial region. Thanks for the kind words Kimberly, I will do my best to try to write more (Big lie).


Pat,

Who are your picks to win each division in the NFL? Also, who do you pick to win the Super Bowl so I can bet my entire savings account on them?

Roger-Venice Beach, CA


Rodge, can I call you Rodge? You are jumping the gun on my predictions. I NEVER release them before my NFL preview column, but this time, I will make an exception. Let’s see here, I’ll start with the NFC.
East- Philadelphia
North- Minnesota
South- Carolina
West- Seattle

AFC
East- New England
North- Baltimore
South- Houston (go ahead, laugh it up)
West- Kansas City

As for a Super Bowl pick, I’m going to go with New England. I don’t see any reason not to pick the defending champs, except for the fact that the odds are against them. I will continue to bet on New England until they give me a reason not to. If I had picked Seattle to win it all, would you have put all your money on them? If so, that would’ve been really funny. Please don’t kill me. That is enough for now. Maybe I will answer a few more tomorrow (Seriously, who am I kidding).

Who knows...

Do you know who I really don’t like? Chat room hardasses. That’s right. The guy’s who pick fights ONLINE. I’ve mentioned before that I am a seasoned pro at Yahoo pool, and I will pretty much destroy everyone at Literati. To play any of those games, you have to be in a chat room, and if that isn’t a circus, then I don’t know what is. There are the 40-year old men masquerading as, “ hot 22/f,” in order to get their willy off during cyber sex. There are people like me, that just say things like, “ I am a few seconds away from kicking a rabbit.” THEN, there is the chat room hardass. Are these guys serious? It’s so maddening, because I know that this guy just finished masturbating to the female elf character on a Pokemon trading card, and he has the nerve to call me a pussy for no reason? I will literally beat him into a bloody pulp with the game board to Risk. Then I will cut him with a broken cd-rom of Sim City. I apologize for that. I got very little sleep last night, so I am not in the greatest of moods. I know I have been slacking this week. I am preparing for not only my many Fantasy Football drafts, but also a massive NFL preview column, that will surely rid this site of all female readers. Then, most likely, I will feel real bad about it, and write about fashion, or something extremely gay, and I will then lose every one of my male readers, which would mean I’d have no more readers. Then, I will get very depressed, and take a whole bottle of Midol, and cry myself to sleep, watching You’ve Got Mail. I love life.

There is something that has always bothered me. Why do we call Jim Beam and Coke, Beam and Coke, and Jack Daniels and Coke, Jack and Coke? Are we closer to Jim Beam? Why are we on a last name basis with him, and not Jack? I mean, Jack is just as cool, if not cooler. It’s just something to think about. I’m going to go have a Daniels and Coke.

I Want to Die

DUDE, I am NEVER drinking again. I know, I know, you hear it all the time, but this time I’m serious. I know, I know. I always say that too. Cut me some slack here, I drank like an East German glass blower last night. I always tell myself that I’m going to just go to happy hour, and catch the game with the boys, and then it ends up being 3:45 a.m. and I am on top of a car 40 miles outside the city throwing racquetballs at farm animals. I’d like to take some time out to thank my friends for covering my tab last night. I lost all of my money in a brutal game of Stratego the night before, and they sympathized and picked me up. Thanks guys. Thank you for this ungodly headache, and a stomach like the kids in The Sandlot at the carnival. How in the name of Billy Ripken am I supposed to work today? I mean, my God. If one person says ANYTHING about going to a happy hour, I will literally slap somebody with a raw fish. In fact, writing this is making feel even shoddier. Alcohol is poison I tell you. Please do not call me a hypocrite at 7:30pm when I am about to take a jager bomb. It’s a vicious cycle, this life of booze. I still haven’t removed my sunglasses, and I believe it’s almost noon. If you think you’re getting a long post today, you are sadly mistaken. I have no idea why I am doing this. Ah, that’s right, to become rich and famous doing the minimal amount of work. Good news, if you Google Pat McLellan flaming homosexual, my site pops up number one. That explains everything. That’s why I received an e-mail from some dude named Eric saying he wanted to kiss my ear at 5:00 a.m. I of course immediately sent a virus to his e-mail, and told him I would step on his foot with a pogo stick. Listen, I DON’T like gay people, homeless, or rabbits. Everybody knows this. Stop hitting on me in e-mails! I really don’t want to have to resort to hate crimes, but if I have to I will. It IS Friday, so there is a ray of hope in this otherwise hellish day. I should be carrying around a scythe, because I totally look like the grim reaper today. I think I saw the Reaper out on my way home last night. I was THAT trashed, so I guess he figured the odds were I would crash into something and kill myself. Better luck next time Reap. Fuck, I’ve had enough. Have a glorious weekend.

My New Career

I feel like I keep having to apologize for not writing more often. The truth is, I have all but given up on writing, and now plan on focusing on my career as a professional poker player. Instead of writing entertaining tales involving Horse pulled buggies, and lots of malt liquor, I am playing countless games of online poker. I may not be Chris “Jesus” Ferguson quite yet, but I am well on my way. I soon will be the greatest that ever lived. A real nice guy named bigjugsarecool765 is currently mentoring me. I figured we would most likely see eye to eye on most things. However, we do disagree on the level of deliciousness of Crown Royal. That is beside the point. I am now sweeping the tables of Yahoo Texas Hold Em’, and BoDog, preying on every victim I see fit. Plus, you have no idea how much poker I watch on television. I am soaking it all in. I am a sponge for poker knowledge. I just know this hard work and dedication will pay off, much like this website has. I have pretty much labeled myself a marketing genius. For once, I may be right. This site went live in February of 2004. I basically told my friends, in which half thought it was really cool. The others beat me like a gay at a hoedown. I decided I needed some sort of marketing strategy. What’s the point of writing if nobody reads it? I went to every sports message board, and chat room, then I whored myself like a 17 year old Taiwanese girl. The number of readers grew, and now I am REALLY awesome. So, I know this hurts my loyal fans that I will be taking up professional poker. I’m good. I mean REAL good. (Ron Burgundy voice). I can still find time to write in between eight month drinking binges, and no limit tourneys. I plan on buying some sort of traveling apparatus that will not only feed my craving for fine liquor, but will also get me from point A to B without me losing feeling in any of my extremities. This is very important to me. I cannot play poker without limbs. This I’m sure of.

I just wrapped up another tournament victory. This is getting out of hand. I am just plain incredible. I defeated this sixteen-year-old girl from New Jersey, who was in her computer class. She was tough, but I came out with the win. The bell ringing for fifth period had no outcome whatsoever on my win, believe me. I was a couple hands away from putting her to shame. Okay, I am going to be honest here. I am NOT really going to become a professional poker player. I just said that to impress you. Poker was actually invented by Satanists in the depths of hell thousands of years ago. The Poker name really refers to the constant sodomizing that takes place in Hades. Okay, I made that up too. I just don’t have it today, folks. Have a good one.

Bad Writing, Dating, and My Book

This is going to be the worst thing I have ever written. I just want to make sure you know this before you carry on reading. I am actually sleeping as I type, which happens to be a talent I picked up my freshmen year of college. I am having one of those days where I can’t think, which ultimately translates to horrific and unentertaining writing. I’ve tried everything; I mean EVERYTHING to get it together this morning, but no luck so far. I’m currently downing my second twenty-ounce Mountain Dew, which usually acts like cocaine to me, but it too has failed. I have received numerous e-mails asking me to write something productive, like a dating column. I mean, me writing a dating column? That’s like Brittany Spears writing a book on manners. Although, I do have extensive experience in the dating world, and happen to be the greatest lover known to man, I do not wish to reveal my secrets. Besides, it would be pretty impossible for the average man to keep up with my complicated approach to women. This is nothing new. Women are fucking confusing. They make mindless simplistic actions extremely complicated, and I don’t know why. Every guy says they just want a dumb blonde with nice cans, and everything would perfect. That is the most moronic thing I have ever heard. There is nothing sexier than intelligence, and wit. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying that a dumb blonde with nice cans is bad. I’m just saying that life would be far from perfect. If I can’t hold a decent conversation with someone, then regardless of how they look, I am slapping them in the face and calling a cab. I can hear the e-mails coming in as we speak, “dude, why aren’t you writing about drinking 7 liters of vodka, and lighting a chicken coop on fire?” The answer is quite simple. I have somehow ended up with way more female readers than male. Do not ask me how this happened. I would’ve thought my misogynist viewpoints, and tales of prostitution rings would’ve caused me to have no female readers, and really I thought I would have at least a restraining order or two. So basically, what’s happening here is I am trying to please the majority of my readers. Trust me when I tell you men, that this will NEVER become some Carrie Bradshaw-esque advice column. I will mention the three most important things as often as possible. These three things are sports, alcohol, and overall debauchery.

A female cohort of mine brought up a very interesting unfortunate occurrence in today’s dating world. She called it,” getting trumped.” This is when you are about to dump someone, but they end up beating you to it, and dump you first. First of all, this is very important. The person who initiates the break up automatically has the upper hand in the future. For example, when someone asks them what happened to (Enter Name Here), they can answer with comments like, “I threw that filthy skank to the curb, or I told him he had a package the size of a kittens then dumped him.” Losing the upper hand can hurt your reputation tremendously. Regardless if you had already made the decision to get out of the relationship, the fact that they said it first gives them the right to refer to you slanderously in the future. My advice is to not let the relationship linger at all. Waiting a few days to break the news will possibly get you,”trumped.” For those of you wondering if this will be in my upcoming book that I have yet to start writing, the answer is yes. My initial plan was to just copy and paste from all my posts, and turn it into the best book ever written, but it turns out that probably won’t work out too well. I really want to write a book, but I have a problem with staying on topic, and also eating way too many homemade nachos. As you can see, my expertise in dating should not go to waste. Would you guys buy my book? If everyone that reads this site bought a book, I would be on the bestseller’s list. I’m fairly sure I could swindle thousands more on my promotional radio tour with my unmatched wit and boyish good looks. At the same time, I don’t even have a concept for a book, so a promotional radio tour is out of the question. I have an excellent plan to trick the American public. I will entitle my book, “How to Lose Weight, and Get Filthy Rich All While Watching Reality Television.” Then, when they buy the book, it’s all stories of me drinking too much Wild Turkey, and subsequently throwing inanimate objects off my roof at joggers, or are they called yoggers?

For the record, it is 3:53 and I have yet to eat anything. I haven’t been this hungry since I starved myself for a week before auditioning to be on Survivor. I really just wanted to get one of those cool bandana things, then I found out I could order them online, and quit my audition. I wore it around for a day, then I got hit in the face with a broom for looking, “gay,” and that was the end of it. I told you this was going to be a terrible post. If I wasn’t already a popular Internet writer, this would single handedly crash my website. I apologize for the terrible writing. I promise I’ll step my game up next time. I’m actually lying. The next one will most likely be as crappy if not crappier than this one. Have a great day.

Sorry, for the long delay

I want everyone to know up front that you are very lucky I am writing today. I have an excruciating pain in my lower left testicle. I either involuntarily hit it, or that weekend in Lake Charles when I drank 73 consecutive scotches, and punched the Black Jack dealer in the sternum has finally caught up with me. Regardless of the source, it is getting increasingly more difficult to walk, and I’m sweating like Tim Robbins at a rodeo. This just shows my dedication to my faithful readers. I would much rather be sitting on a bag of frozen peas with a big gulp full of malt liquor, but I’m not. I don’t really have any funny stories to share. How about the Houston Astros? I can just hear the thousands of clicks of female readers closing the web page. LOOK, I’m a male. I am going to talk about sports every now and then. If I’m not mistaken, this site was originally named Sports Rants, and was a safe haven for the avid sports fan, and degenerate gamblers. Only a few months ago did it morph into incoherent ramblings, and tales of drunken escapades in the cornfields of Iowa. I’ll make it up to you ladies. Tomorrow, I will write about something REALLY gay, and then maybe we can have a pillow fight in our pj’s. Feel free to e-mail me with suggestions for tomorrow’s REALLY GAY piece. But for now, it’s all sports you filthy hookers. So go back to your knitting, and Good Morning America.

If someone would’ve bet me three scotches, and a blueberry snow cone that the Astros would be 59-48 after 107 games, I would’ve gladly accepted. Well, maybe if it was bubble gum. I’m not too fond of blueberry. So to backtrack, I would not have accepted the bet. I would’ve made a counter offer for three scotches and a bubble gum snow cone. The point is the Astros are simply on fire, and I happen to like it. Coming off a very impressive July, the team has picked up where they left off, winning the first two out of three games of August from Arizona. That brings me to my next point. Who in the name of Debbie Allen designed their uniforms? They seriously look like something you could buy in a gift shop on an Indian reservation. I’m here to tell you that teal, purple, and black never work together. They aren’t the greatest of teams either. You would think with the addition of guys like Troy Glaus, and Shawn Green, the team would be somewhat competitive. The funny thing is, they are just one game out of their respective race in the National League West. Arizona is 52-57, and one game out of the division lead. If Arizona makes it to the National League Championship Series, I will shave my armpits, and go by Melissa for a month. It’s time I congratulated Andy Pettitte on his insane month of July. Andy went 5-0 with a .90 era. That is pretty ridiculous. Almost as ridiculous as the time I sold a kangaroo to a 7-year old for a couple of bucks, and a David Cone rookie card. I don’t even know what I ‘m talking about. I have alienated my female readers, and I have a rash on my back that I’m 64% is fatal, and most likely is a rare form of West Nile. You know what? To be fair, I am going to start segregating my posts into male and female portions. That way, everybody is happy.

Females, and flaming males.

Hey sweeties. Doesn’t your hair look soooo good? We have to go shopping together! Sorry about that, and I wonder why I’m so popular with the gay population. I would’ve thought when I said that I wanted to throw a live grenade in a gay bar, that the gays would not like me very much. I was wrong. Here is an e-mail I received from a Darren in the Big Apple.

Pat,

I know you’ve pretty much based all your columns on making fun of homosexuals, and the homeless, but I’m here to tell you that me and my friends think you are so cute. I bet you’d have a great time out with us, and we can probably drink you under the table. Anyways, the gay men of New York LOVE you!!! Have a great day!

Love Always,

Darren
New York City, New York.


First of all, I’d like to have a moment of silence for Darren. Although, he was a nice man, I had to hit him a few times with a lead pipe for that,”drink you under the table,” comment. I mean, my God, was that just a screaming sexual innuendo or what? I will NOT stand for any e-mail like that. You make out with a couple of dudes one drunken weekend, and all of a sudden you’re gay? I just don’t know anymore. In fact, I am so angry by that e-mail, that I might kick a small furry creature. Nevermind, I am going directly to a local speakeasy to spit off Saved by the Bell trivia to some unsuspecting female.

Long Time, No See

I AM BACK! It was looking very grim for awhile, but once again I am victorious. I was receiving daily e-mails threatening to kill me if I didn't get the site back up. Some of my faithful readers found my secret underground blog. You have to be extremely sneaky to know about my blog. It's really nothing special. It's basically the same stuff, with a few extra posts. Maybe I'll link you guys to it some day, but for now it will remain a secret. It feels good to be back. I was going through serious withdrawals. I was drinking excessively, and eating way too many hotwings. Wait, that's what I normally do anyway. Nevermind, everything is fine. Carry on.

Seeing somebody get excessively booed at a baseball game is a wonderful occurrence. I've been feuding on and off with Carlos Beltran ever since he used the Astros to get more money elsewhere, and signed with the Mets for $117,000,000. He is definitely on my people I REALLY want to karate chop in the face list. It goes something like this.

1. Osama bin Laden
2. Carlos Beltran
3. Dakota Fanning

Every single time Beltran touched the ball, he was booed by 43,000 people. That must have made him feel pretty shitty. I remember one time I pegged this kid with a rotten apple in the cafeteria, and he dropped his tray thus sending the lunchroom into a unparalleled laughter. I honestly felt really bad about it. Really, it's more about me not getting killed by him than it is my conscious weighing down on me, but still I felt really bad. That really had nothing to do with Beltran, I just like to sneak in stories about me throwing rotten fruit at people. I've gotten pretty good at it. I once pegged a bum three consecutive times with grapefruit. I know you're thinking that I'm a heartless bastard, a good looking heartless bastard at that, but it was actually a philanthropic donation. He DID get three grapefruit to eat. I mean, what's better? Me zinging delicious fruit at his face, or me giving him a couple of bucks for a quick crack fix? Don't answer that. We've been over this. Most drugs are horrifying destructive things. Ever since that time in Guadalajara, Mexico in 1994 when I did way too much cocaine, and ended up betting my left leg on a dog fight, and then spent $250,000 on a large shipment of Chiclets, I have been against drugs. Needless to say I lost, and now have a bionic left leg, which is actually pretty awesome. I'm basically a cyborg, but a REALLY cool one. That's why I am a heavy advocate of the Just Say No to everything but pot foundation. We mainly teach kids that all drugs are terrible except of course pot. We're HUGE in Canada.

Don't you just love the ballpark? The crack of the bat, the smell of sweet nacho cheese, and the unmistakable stomach ache you get when you eat 4 hot dogs, and drink 17 beers. It's one of my favorite places. It's the only place you can verbally attack millionaires in public. I tried heckling people in River Oaks, but that just landed me a weekend stay in jail, and a badly bruised sternum. Do NOT mess with Miss McWilliams, who lives right off Kirby! She is a wizard with a broomstick, and does not take kindly to 20 something year old men calling her a scallywag. Such is life. I am very glad I have season tickets for the Astros. I am also responsible for their amazing turn around. They are 37-1 at games I attend. This means I should just go to all the important games, and they will ultimately win the World Series. They will appreciate me greatly, and give me my own uniform. Then they will realize that I am a great player, and sign me to a multi-year deal. I will then become the greatest player that ever lived, and maybe even win an ESPY. Sorry, I momentarily blacked out. What was I talking about? I've been getting these blackouts everyday since the Metro Rail ran over my foot a few weeks ago. I'm pretty sure I am in the last stages of death. What are you gonna do? Anyway, it's great to be back rambling about nothing. Thanks to all that stuck around. To the ones that left, I wish ill will upon you.

My Debut Album

I’ve decided I want to put out an album. Granted I haven’t written many songs yet, but I think my cd would be nothing short of absolutely kick ass. I don’t know if you have heard, but I am possibly the greatest rapper that ever lived. Trust me, it’s documented. I wanted to put out a rap album and title it, “I’m Urban like Keith,” but that never materialized. Since I am such an exquisite rap artist, I figured I would combine that with my uncanny ability to deliver entertainment through words, thus making the best album of all time. This is only preliminary, but here is a rough estimate of the track list on my debut album.

I Found a Dead Rabbit in My Trunk (A song for Kristin Graves.)
Honey, Make Me a Sandwich
The Count of Monte Cristo Sucks
Love Is Pretty Sweet (No album will sell without love in it)
I Kissed The Milkman
Beautiful Soul (Jesse McCartney cover)
Dude, You Seriously Owe Me Money
Sunshine and Hand Grenades
Your Body is a Candyland
Joey Gladstone Touched Me

I will definitely keep you abreast on the release date and what not. I am planning on doing some collaborating with some other artists. I think Kanye would do wonders for Sunshine and Hand Grenades. Being a recording artist is awesome. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this sooner. I need all of you to call up TRL when my single is released. Regardless of what’s cool, I AM selling out and going pop as soon as humanly possible. I’d much rather have a bunch of slutty high school chicks screaming at me, than to be a cool cult phenomenon. I can deal with the douche bags on message boards posting how,” gay,” my music is. Let me know which song it is, you would like a sneak peak at the lyrics. The highest vote getter will be posted, and possibly the lead candidate for a Lil’ Jon remix.

My website is down, but at least I have you guys...

I have once and for all broken up with technology. I have been one of technology’s number one supporters over the years. Heck, I bought an Ipod, and even have high definition television. I had no idea technology would punch me in the ear and pour Theraflu on my exposed genitals like it has. My infamous website, http://patmclellan.com/ is down for the fifth consecutive day, and nobody has an answer for me. Sure, I hardly ever write, and when I do, it’s about drinking too much bourbon, and dancing nude at Chevron, but my livelihood is at stake here. People look to me during their tough work schedules to relieve some stress, and hear my tales of nine-day cocaine binges in Peru, and how one time I got kidnapped by pirates, and then sold to Russian gypsies for Campbell’s Chunky Soup, and a couple sticks of Bubble Yum. My site has grown substantially during the past few months, and I feel this downtime is severely hurting my fan base. I was number one on a Yahoo Search Engine for a while, and now people have stopped Googling me, and have started to search for German drive-thru sex huts. I’m begging you. Don’t let this inconsiderate bastard, technology, ruin this thing we have going. Think of all the laughs we shared. Remember the time I got drunk at Chuck E. Cheese and punched Munch the Monster in the stomach, and he malfunctioned during the Monster Mash, and a whole lot of crying ensued, and I was beat profusely with one of those mallets from that game where you hit the moles? What about when Ron from Canada yelled at me for making fun of their national anthem? I just want to make sure we’re on the same page here. I put a lot of my workday into your entertainment. I could easily be doing something productive, but I choose to write and share laughs about the homeless and such. I assure you the website has done more good for me than wrong. It has unfairly put me atop the lists of ongoing investigations regarding South American prostitution rings, and one isolated incident involving three pigeons and a can of Pepsi on the outskirts of Reno, Nevada circa 1988, but that hasn’t stopped me. I refuse to let a couple of IT nerds keep me from doing what my heart tells me, (Read: Elongated masturbatory session) write. I truly care about what my readers think (Very big lie). I want to make sure you guys are entertained (Even bigger lie). I desperately need my site back up. Only a few of you will even get to read this. I’ll post it on the home site of my official fan club, which is pathetic considering all of the people that read my literary works of genius (Biggest lie of them all). I know some of you are reading this and thinking to yourself, “is it really all that smart to talk about prostitution, and excessive drug use when you are the father of two daughters under three?” I will gladly respond to that. I am a damn good father. I never mix my rock star lifestyle of nose candy, and strippers named Mercedes with my family life. My house is a peaceful place. I would gladly get kicked in the nuts 7 consecutive times by David Beckham for my girls. That is dedication if I’ve ever seen it. The truth is, if it came down to it, I would give up my vodka and cough syrup cocktails, and I would immediately stop filling up my friends’ pepto bismal containers with my daughters’ amoxicillin prescriptions. That’s only if it came down to it though.

I have to so much more insight to bring to you. This will not be the end of my website, I can promise you that. I’m good at three things, Madden 2005, drinking on one leg, and avenging website downtime. So, rest assure http://patmclellan.com/ will be back up and running in no time. If I have to spill revitalizing conditioner on the faces of my enemies, I will. I am filled with so much anger. I called my web hosting company, and the exchange went something like this.

ME: What in the hell is going on here? I pay good money to have a website, and I expect it to be up and running. I am very close to drinking an entire case of beer by myself, then coming to your office to beat you with a rolled up calendar
Web Guy: Sir, this is Circuit City, I have no idea what you are talking about.
ME: Oh yeah? Keep getting smart asshole; you have no idea what kind of wrath I can impose.
Web Guy: No seriously, this IS Circuit City. Contrary to popular belief, we are not responsible for all technology. I suggest you call your server company, and find out the problem.
ME: You have a little mouth on you don’t you? If I weren’t ovulating, I would come down there and throw digital cameras at your face until you begged for mercy.
Web Guy: Um okay, I will be calling the police now…
ME: Screw you. One more thing, do you guys have any copies of Johnson Family Vacation on VHS? I fucking love that Bow Wow kid.
Web Guy: Click.

So maybe I never got in touch with the right people. I tried didn’t I? Was it so far fetched to assume that Circuit City is responsible for my website downtime? I mean, my God, it’s filled with wires and techno crap. Somebody is at fault for this, and it sure as hell isn’t me!
Real Web Guy: Actually, yes it is your fault. You haven’t paid your bill in over 7 months. We were given instructions to pull the plug on your pathetic excuse of a website. Pay your bills asswad.
ME: Shit.

Well, that totally backfired. I write an entire post on blaming the downtime on everyone but myself, and it turns out it IS my fault. That’s what I get for taking seven prenatal vitamins and passing out on the battery aisle at Super Target. My own worthlessness has caused my precious career budding website to fall to pieces, and for what? The time I got REALLY high, and slept in the dryer? What about when my wife threw Gatorade all over me for saying something offensive and out of line? To be honest, I had always hoped I would get Gatorade dumped on me after winning the big game, and these circumstances are less than ideal, but I’ll take it. It was about as sticky as it was exhilarating, but a dream come true nonetheless. Due to the fact I spent my savings account on illegal drugs and a box of Topps Flight baseball cards, I’m going to need some supplemental income to get the site back up and running. I have provided you cretins with almost two years of entertainment, the least you could do is send me a couple of bucks, or even a box of Oreos. I realize calling my precious readers cretins is not exactly the best route to take when asking for money, I digress.

The Sexual Predator Game

Given the fact that it’s Wednesday, and nothing cool ever really happens on Wednesday, I have come up with a game that is fun for everyone. Every few months or so, I get on the National Sex Offenders Registry, and enter my zip code in. I just want to make sure that guys like Old Man Jenkins down the street aren’t exposing themselves to passing children. I also enter all of my friend’s names, you know, just to make sure. They are around my kids every once in awhile. I have to make sure nobody is going to perv out, and cause me to beat them with a garden tool. I was going through, and looking at the perv’s photos, and once I stopped laughing uncontrollably, I came up with the greatest game of all time. It’s called,” Guess What Sex Offence This Perv Did!” All you have to do is look at their picture, and guess what they did. I promise you; 9 out of 10 times you can guess what they did. You should see some of these characters. I couldn’t make up some of these guys. They must make them look extra pervy for the picture just to add a little something extra. “ Um could you please put these oversized Harry Carey glasses on, and do you mind if we cut your hair into a skullet? You look a little too normal for us, and we can’t have that. What about if we change your smile to be a bit more creepy?”

I’ve come up with a formula that is pretty close to full proof. The bigger the glasses, the younger the victim is. These people should be beaten with a bedpost. Anyway, it’s a great game to play with family and friends, or just to pass time at work. Granted, you might creep out your co-workers because they are wondering why you are on the sex offender registry, but it’s worth it. You get 1 point for each correct charge, and 10 bonus points if you know someone on the list. I’m willing to bet that the creepy guy who gives you bad vibes down the street is most likely on the list. My all-time record is 12 out of 14. Try and beat that!

Rain

It’s official, it’s another shitty day. It’s raining like that tampon commercial. The rain basically makes me crazy. I’m not talking about wearing Indian feathers on my head and dancing in the street with my bird hanging out crazy, just out of sorts. I can never get it together on rainy days. As soon as I see it’s raining, I go into unproductive mode, and subsequently do nothing but check my fantasy teams, and surf websites that would surely get me fired. That’s just the way it is. To be honest, it’s miraculous that I’m even taking the time to write. I seriously do NOTHING on rainy days. I don’t even think I take the time to play with my balls. Okay, that’s a blatant lie. I just wanted to stress how unproductive I am. Really, it’s not the fact that it’s raining. I actually don’t do anything ever. I get paid to surf the web, and leave obnoxious posts on http://www.myspace.com/. If not that, I just sit around and make fun of the homeless with my friends on instant messenger. I’m glad nobody ever asks me what I’m laughing at.

Inquisitive co-worker: “What are you laughing at?”
Me: Oh nothing
Inquisitive co-worker: “Seriously, I want to know.”
Me: You really don’t, trust me.
Inquisitive co-worker: “I really do, just tell me, I like to laugh.”
Me: My God, fine. My friend was just saying that he’d like to get a beejer from the bum on Hilcroft. Are you happy? I’m laughing at references to homosexual encounters with homeless men. (Very long awkward silence.)
Grossed out co-worker: Okay, well, I guess I’ll see you at the work party later?
Me: Um, yeah, I’ll see you there…

The exchange would go something like that. Does everybody not do anything at work, or am I just the only lazy bastard around? I mean, I really do nothing. Unless, any of my co-workers are reading this, in that case I really have a passion for my job, and I bust my ass to make sure I get the job done. Who’s up for a mid-day drinking binge? There’s really nothing else to do. I’m sure it would make the day a lot more entertaining if I had entirely too much to drink, and actually did end up dancing in the street with Indian feathers on my head, showing my bird to passer-bys. It’s actually a sad feeling when you realize that your work would not skip a beat if you no longer worked there. Most people are working to get their stuff finished before the weekend. I am worrying about what dressing I want with my chargrilled cool wrap from Chik-fil-a. Someday, this might all catch up to me, but probably not. I always get by. I mean ALWAYS. Even when I was in high school, I did absolutely nothing. Needless to say, I have the work ethic of a bed ridden obese person from Cleveland. I have nothing against the fine city of Cleveland. I just assume that would be the kind of work ethic, an obese person from there would have. I came to a realization very early in my high school career, only geeks and Asians study. I mastered the art of doing just enough to get by. It has actually put in a better situation then most people my age. I have a beautiful family that I have yet to corrupt and send through life gigantic disappointments. I own a home in a good neighborhood, and I just bought a car. So, take THAT logic, and responsibility! I still haven’t figured out a way to parlay this website into financial gain for myself, but I figure it’ll work out…it always does. I’d much rather sit around watching Cold Pizza, eating half burnt waffles in my underwear, all while thinking of,”funny,” stuff to write about. How sweet would that be? Hey Pat, what are you doing today?
Me: Well, I’ve got a lot of work to do. I’ll probably roll out of bed around 10, watch Sportscenter three consecutive times, and maybe check my e-mail. After that, I’ll eat the rest of the ranch dip, and maybe take a nap. Only after a nap will I be fully prepared, and inspired to bring the quality entertainment you are used to. Maybe I’ll take an extra day to think of something real good to write about. This process will cycle over and over until I never write again, and I end up being the guy giving beejers out for turkey sandwiches under the overpass at Fondren. I think I’ll just keep my job for now. I mean, it’s not like I’m doing anything anyway. God, I’m pathetic. I may write some more later on. Then again, I’m lazy and very unpredictable, so who knows. Ideally, by 4 pm, I’ll be hammered singing Clay Aiken at a karaoke bar.

The longest hang-over known to man

I’d like to say I’m sorry for not writing sooner, I drank like an Egyptian gypsy on Saturday, and have been hung-over ever since. In fact, I think I might still be hung-over. I have no recollection of my journey home Saturday, and frankly, I consider myself lucky to be alive. The only thing I remember is somehow ending up on MLK, after midnight. That’s like wondering into an al-Qaeda training camp with an American flag bandana on. The worst part about it was I didn’t care at all. It is heavily documented that MLK should not be traveled if you don’t have either big rims, or some form of a firearm by your side. I acted like I didn’t care, but inside I was terrified. Needless to say I made a quick u-turn, and booked it like O.J. Simpson. (Writers note: R.I.P. Wesley Willis.) After the brief stint on MLK, my memory cells failed, and I have no idea what happened. What I do know is that my house is a good 35 minutes away from there, and I must have driven like a champ to have successfully survived the trip. Normally, I’m a fan for blacking out. It saves me from any and all embarrassment from the things that I shamefully did the night before. Things I allegedly did of course. Seriously, if someone told you that you pissed on some guys shoe for no reason, but you had no memory of doing so. It’s like you never did it. Which is awesome. It allows you to feel no shame for doing just about anything. “Dude, I can’t believe you made out with that bum, and then kicked his dog, you were really wasted.” I did? Sweet. I woke up on Sunday with a top 5 hang over. I’m talking wmd’s exploding on my head bad. I actually think I contemplated suicide at one point when I found out that my hang over was immuned to any and all painkillers. I drank like three bottles of pepto, I mean, my God. I swore to myself I would never again take part in the debauchery that is alcohol consumption. I also swore I would never step foot in a Chuck E. Cheese, and we all know who won that battle. Flash forward to me getting punched in the junk by some renegade 7 year old that is desperately trying to get to his seat to see the infamous Mr. Munch play his set on the drums, while Chuck sings a great rendition of some mind numbingly dumb children’s song. If I were a terrorist, my Jihad would totally be against that establishment, and all that it stands for.

As I sit here about to consume alcohol that will surely put me over the
legal limit, I can't help but wonder two things. Why did I bet my life
savings on the all-star game, and why on earth would I ever bet on the
all-star game? I guess they are the same thing, but still. Wish me luck,
I will need it...
Pat McLellan

Sports, STD's, and Hi Def Television

It has been awhile since I have touched on a sports related topic, and I feel it is my duty to change that. There hadn’t really been any significant occurrences other than Kenny Rogers slapping around the camera guy like a pimp does when one of his tricks makes eye contact. A lot of the media has stretched it into an ongoing saga, but I think what’s done is done. How many times have we seen a professional athlete go crazy and assault somebody? Maybe it’s just the Texas Rangers. Remember the infamous chair-throwing incident? I kept waiting for a cage to drop, and have the mascot take off his mask, and it’s really the Ultimate Warrior, and then have a huge melee ensue. I hate to go off topic, (no I don’t, I’m never on topic) but what happened to the Ultimate Warrior? That guy was my hero. Sure he wore extremely gay outfits, and had tight armbands to make his muscles look cut, which was clearly obvious to everyone watching, but the guy was a warrior of ultimate stature. Hence the name, Ultimate Warrior. I just googled him, and it turns out he is alive and well and making workout tapes or something called the warrior workout. At least he’s not doing a reality show, right?

It’s kind of nice to see some competitive baseball in the city again. The Astros have definitely turn things around from a nothing short of dismal start to the 2005 season. Baseball is a game of ups and downs. It doesn’t matter who the better team is, it matters who is playing the best at that particular moment. Maybe the worst has passed, and the Astros can make another spectacular run at the postseason. Going into today, they are 43-43, with a chance to go above .500 for the first time since April 21. If somebody told me when they were 15-30 with 5 road wins that they would have a chance to be over .500 at the all-star break, I would’ve made an ass out of myself by ridiculing and torturing the guy who said it. There is nothing worse than laying your rep on the line over a sports team. I am the master of this. After about 5 pitchers, and a few bull blasters, I decided to guarantee that the University of Houston basketball team will make the NCAA Tournament next March. This is documented in all of our cell phones. Needless to say I’ve been calling up Tom Penders to go over some changes in the offense. I also threatened his life, so I have to say I like my chances. Anyway, I was frustrated with the team, but I never packed it in. Fill in your own, “packed it in,” joke here. They have turned out to be a pretty exciting team to watch. It’s a different brand of baseball than what we are accustomed to here in the hottest city on earth. Manager Phil Garner is getting more and more aggressive on the bases, and is starting to see that small ball does win games. Take the Washington Nationals for example. They have actually been outscored by their opponents this year, and are near in the bottom in almost every major offensive category. The Nats are a league leading 24-8 in one run games. Even though the Astros’ offense has picked it up a little bit as of late; continuing to play small ball is going to pick up those wins that the team let slip away in the beginning of the year in all those close 12-5 games (yes, you did sense sarcasm). More important than all the uninteresting numbers of the game, I have started to get the Astro games in high definition. The clarity is amazing if you haven’t yet joined the 21st century, and purchased a high def television. You can see the crevasses on Ezekiel Astascio’s face a lot clearer now. Has anyone figured out what the hell that is? My guess is it’s an undiscovered STD that he picked up from some Central American prostitute while playing in the Guatemalan leagues. That’s just my guess though. We might see good ol’ Zeek sailing on a yacht for a Valtrex commercial in the near future. Don’t those commercials make Herpes seem so fun and enjoyable? I don’t get off my ass to ride my bike or go mountain climbing as it is. Having disgusting sores on my Johnson is supposed to make get out and have, “fun?” I guess you don’t know until you have herpes. I might need to add that to my to do list.

1. Have a threesome, check
2. Punch an American Gladiator in the face, check
3. Mow the lawn, check
4. Contract herpes and go sailing, complete by August!


I highly recommend getting high definition as soon as humanly possible. It makes the worst shows seem awesome. Just wait until you check out Hell’s Kitchen or Nanny 911 in high def, it’s amazing. I’m extremely hung over; I’ve lost the will to write. Good day.
‘

Jacked Jacket

I'm writing from a very angry state. I have a wedding I'm supposed to attend tonight, and night weddings are supposedly a formal event. This isn't that big of a deal, I have a suit...or so I thought. I went by the cleaners to pick up my jacket, and the bastard tells me he doesn't have it. Not only does he not have it, but he gave it to charity. I'm not making this up, the filthy man gave my suit coat to freakin charity. Don't get me wrong. I'm all for giving clothes to charity, and I do give, but this is asinine. There's some homeless man with no shoes on, and a dirty electrical workers union t-shirt on with a very nice suit jacket. The guy at the cleaners should have just given me the finger and sprayed me in the face with mace, I would've left a little bit happier. My ticket was sitting in the slot, with my name and number. Was it too hard to pick up the phone and give me a shout before the Goodwill truck pulled up? All they had to say was," hey asshole, come get your coat before we give it to charity." I would have jumped in my car and booked it over to the cleaners. Now, instead of looking incredibly attractive, I'm going to look like a freshmen at homecoming. Somebody get me a giant mum. Luckily, there's going to be an open bar, so I can drink like Kirsten Cohen. This is unbelievable. Why can't something go right just once? I'm in shock that they would give away my coat like that. I'm not shocked, I'm pissed. I'm not going to let some al-qaeda operative give away my clothes as he sees fit. Okay, that was racial profiling, and completely out of line. I'm sorry, I'm at a level of anger that is entirely undiscovered to mankind. I'll update you later as the day progresses

Although it's not Cristal, chardonnay is really what tru gangstas sip
on...trust me. This blog on the go shit is pretty awesome. It's more of
a true reflection of life. I will now proceed to drink more than Billy
Joel at a frat party. Peace.
Pat McLellan

Cut it out Terrorists

Today IS Friday isn't it? I don't even know anymore. You know what? I've had about enough of these damn terrorists. Look fellas, enough with the Jihad bullshit, you guys just want to blow shit up. Everyone knows it.Don't give me the, "in the name of Allah," crap. I'm going to let you in on a little secret. You aren't getting seven virgins when you die. The only virgin is going to be you getting sodemized in the depths of hell. Seriously. Blowing yourselves up in markets, and on buses? You're not getting anything accomplished, you're just pissing a lot of people off. I understand you aren't happy with your living conditions. I'd be ridiculously angry if I lived in an adobe hut without a/c in the middle of the desert, but guys, let's be honest here. If you didn't spend every waking moment plotting destruction then maybe you would have time to reform your country, and raise the standard of living a little bit. If you are even half as dedicated at helping your country as you are planning, and implementing attacks on helpless people, then you'd be a lot better off. So, when you are strapping up all your dynamite, and other countless explosives, take a second to think that you will soon be spending the rest of eternity playing with Satan's balls, and that's the fun part. Everybody take a second to say a prayer for the victims in London, and all the victims of these hate crimes all over the world....Amen.

I promote underaged drinking. I think it builds character.
Pat McLellan

I just saw bin laden driving. I'm not kidding. I'm 95% sure that bin
laden is crusing the streets of Houston,Tx in a souped up Honda Civic
with a spoiler that is anything but aerodynamic. He was rocking some Ray
Ban aviators, but still has the Tom Hanks Castaway beard. Should I cut
him off, and beat his ass or something? I mean, it's him. I'm sure of
it. Do I call the police? I don't want to sound like some guy on meth
that's just calling to fuck with the police. I take that back, no guy on
meth is going to call the police. Fuck, he's turning. If bin laden
attacks in the near future, it is going to be this asshole's fault who
won't let me over to change lanes. Yes, I'm blogging in traffic. I have
a sidekick, its easy. I'm going to continue my acts of counter
terrorism, Ill do a quick blog before I get beheaded...that's if he
catches me.
Pat McLellan

Dear Patty

I am here to make a huge announcement about the website. Okay, so it’s really not that big of a deal, but I sure as hell got your attention. I am starting an advice section on the site. I think I can really help some people out with their life problems. Seriously, I am a self-proclaimed master of everything. I think I could cover a wide array of subject matter, and maybe even change someone’s life. It could also backfire on me, and I could end up driving hordes of people to suicide, but let’s hope that doesn’t happen. I don’t want to have to deal with the backlash from people’s family. “Why on earth would you tell my son that his life is over and that he’s better off hanging himself with bed linens because he lost thousands of dollars from gambling?” So one kid took my advice and attempted suicide with bed linens. Big deal. What about the rest of the fortunate souls that I’ve guided to success? I received this e-mail recently from Dan in Springfield, Illinois. Here is his e-mail.


Pat,

I’ve been reading your website for quite sometime now. I have a theory that I’ve been pondering, and I wanted to see what you thought about it. Do you think you could apply the same kind of odds to women that Vegas uses for sports gambling? I think this could be a breakthrough in the dating world.


Dan Springfield, IL


I think you have brought up an interesting point. There are a lot of factors that go into devising the odds of a game. There would have to be generalized characteristics that go into each possible candidate. We would also have to have some sort of general traits for the male as well, because the fatter and geekier you get, the more the odds are going to increase. To make this simpler, let’s base all odds on the average guy. He’s not devastatingly handsome like myself, but he’s decent looking. If all odds are based on the average guy, then we can fluctuate the odds higher to fit the less fortunate, or lower for the blessed like myself.


Now, we must come up with traits that factor into the odds making. We will come up with five different scores that add up to the overall availability factor. This is going to be very difficult to do since there are so many other things that play a role in a women’s thought process. Men are from Mars; women are from Hades, right? I mean Venus. For example, you must take in consideration alcohol intake, overall drunkenness, and how often she goes out and parties. High numbers on these factors could definitely raise the slut factor, which is a very important number in the overall availability of a woman. Obviously, the sluttier, the better the chances are of hooking up. That of course is assuming that you want somebody slutty. This is way too damn difficult. It is impossible to come up with generalizations. There are way too many factors that would change the odds.


Let’s take a 23-year-old model looking girl for example. The five most important factors are age, overall looks, slut factor, level of intoxication, and how cool the guy is. Each trait gets a score of 1 to 10, except for age. That number is added to the rest of the scores. For overall looks, 10 would be the hottest woman in the world, and 1 of course would be Marla Hooch from A League of Their Own. The slut factor would have ten being Paris Hiltonesque, and one would be the non- slutty preachers daughter. I had to specify non-slutty because we all know that every preacher with girls has one daughter who epitomizes filthy slut, and then one daughter who can do no wrong. The level of intoxication goes from one being the soberest of sober to ten being Nick Nolte’s mug shot. The cool factor plays a very important role in the odds making. This number could potentially swing the odds into your favor, or it can leave you alone with a half eaten bag of gummy worms, masturbating to old episodes of La Femme Nikita.


Let’s take you Dan since you opened this discussion. Since you thought to come up with the odds, I can only assume that you hardly ever get laid. Also, since you took the time to e-mail some hand job with a website like myself; I have to say you’re definitely not very cool. You’re from Springfield, Illinois, so you are most likely very pasty and talk like the guys from Super Fans. Now that I’ve belittled what confidence you may or may not have had before writing me, we must look at the potential hook up. Or in your case, the girl you have no chance with.

Age: 23

Overall Looks: 8, she is not the hottest girl ever, but she is definitely popular at the bar.

Slut Factor: 7, she is dressed very provocatively, and has more cleavage than a sedimentary rock. There is no real evidence that she is in fact a slut. I always say if they dress like a slut, then more often then not they are probably a little whorish. Very rarely do you get maced, or kicked in the groin because you made sexual advances to an unwilling female.

Level of Intoxication: 8, she hasn’t paid for a drink all night because assholes like Dan keep trying to pick her up, and buy her drinks. So by now, she is extremely trashed. This could go one of two ways. It could either improve Dan’s chances because she is now trashed and that always makes them a little bit hornier than usual. Or, it could backfire and she could call Dan out, and then Dan gets his ass beat by a big blonde guy named Stew that desperately wants to be the hot drunk chick’s knight in shining armor.

Dan’s cool factor: 6, he is not so nerdy that he can perfectly impersonate that little green creature from Lord of The Rings, but he’s definitely no Dylan McKay. Let’s be nice, and say Dan has a little game, and can talk a little bit. That would leave him slightly above average. Plus, the bar is dark, so his pasty skin doesn’t play an important role.It is now time to come up with the overall score.


The total score for this potential hookup is 51. Do you know what that means? Me neither, I was hoping I would get an e-mail from some math whiz to help me out. Okay, I’ll be honest here, I was kind of winging this one, and really I had no idea where this was going. I like the scores though. Like I said before, there is no way to come up with a set formula. There are just too many underlying factors. I secretly hoped that my system would just magically work, and then I would go on Oprah and sell millions of copies of my book like that knob job that wrote, He’s Just Not That In To You. I see my ideal plan won’t exactly materialize the way I had hoped, but that’s okay. I feel like I’m on to something. Sorry Dan, I’m going to take your idea, and make millions off it. If only I had the math skills of a young Will Hunting. I would come up with the most innovative dating formula known to man.

Dear Pat,

I see you have not been enlightening us with your wonderful handicapping picks. What gives? You all of a sudden get a lot of readers and think you’re too good to do what got your site off the ground? If it weren’t for us gamblers, your site would’ve crumbled. Now you’re a “celebrity,” and you won’t even give us degenerate gamblers the light of day. You know what I think? Screw you, and your crappy site. I’m going to start my own site, and it’s going to be so much better than yours. My site is going to be updated on time, and actually have some content. I won’t put lyrics to some Latin love song just because I don’t feel like writing. I even emailed you one time, and you never responded. I hope you fail miserably at whatever it is you’re trying to do. Go to hell.

Your Number 1 Enemy,

Sam


That is freaking sweet! I have dreamed of the day my arch nemesis would emerge. I have tried and tried to provoke people into becoming my arch nemesis. Until now, all of those efforts had fallen short. Also, are you sure your name isn’t Stan? You sound a lot like that guy from the Eminem song. I love people who take the time to write hate mail. You have to really hate somebody to make the extra effort to write and let them know your feelings. I feel very fortunate to have such a thoughtful arch nemesis. When you get your super site up Sam, would you please e-mail me the link? I would love to chronicle the path to failure that your site will surely take. If you would’ve waited one day, you impatient son of a bitch, you would have learned that I will be bringing back the Picks section for the upcoming football season, but now I’m just going to e-mail everybody but you my picks. It’s going to be a lot like that episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm, where everyone knew the golf tip from the weatherman, except for Larry, and nobody would tell him. You will never get a pick from me. Did you see my records? I’m sure I have won you money sometime or another. The least you can do is show me some damn respect. Since you’re my arch nemesis, I will stop at nothing to bring you down. That includes putting pictures of you tugging at your tiny kitten-penis in the ladies locker room at the local municipal golf course. Didn’t think anybody knew about that did you Sammy? Let me give you some advice, since this is an advice column. Go to your garage, get a hose and connect it from the exhaust pipe to the inside of your driver side window. Get in the car, and start it. Make sure your garage door is shut. Sit in your car until you pass out, and by pass out I actually mean pass away.


I have already helped two people realize their hopes and dreams. How many more could be in my future? I’m like Dr. Phil, except that I have hair, I don’t have a mustache, and I’m nothing at all like Dr. Phil. One thing that I find kind of strange is that people actually e-mail me asking for my advice on stuff. Why in the hell would you e-mail some random guy with a website, and ask important questions? If I e-mailed all the websites I read for advice, I would probably end up with mutilated genitals, and a coupon to Marble Slab. Maybe I’m not the best guy to ask for advice. So far, I’ve destroyed a guy’s self esteem. He will probably end up giving blowjobs at rest stops for the rest of his life just to hear some form of flattery. I don’t want to even touch on the people I’ve nudged towards suicide. When I said touch on people, that was in no way a reference to necrophilia, and the actions that accompany it. I’ve written 2,000 words too many. Good day.