Although they didn’t lose, Syracuse falls to the number 4 spot and Ohio State jumps up to number 1 in this week’s edition of our polls. Baylor also makes a giant leap and currently are right behind Ohio State.
Remember that this poll also includes a combined ballot from the polls submitted by readers. If you would like to have your poll included in the combined ballot, post it on the Message Board in the appropriate thread. If you can’t find the thread, you probably shouldn’t be voting…
So… Without further ado… Here’s our poll.
1. Ohio State 12-1 (138)
2. Baylor 12-0 (127)
3. Louisville 12-0 (126)
4. Syracuse 13-0 (124 – 4)
5. Missouri 12-0 (120)
6. Kentucky 11-1 (114 – 1)
7. North Carolina 11-2 (109 – 1)
8. Florida 10-2 (100)
9. Wisconsin 12-2 (93)
10. Duke 10-1 (90)
11. UConn 10-1 (89)
12. Marquette 11-1 (88)
13. Indiana 12-0 (81)
14. Georgetown 10-1 (73)
14. Mississippi State 12-1 (73)
16. Kansas 8-3 (56)
17. Murray State 13-0 (55)
18. UNLV 13-2 (53)
19. Michigan State 11-2 (51)
20. Michigan 10-2 (49)
21. Creighton 10-1 (31)
22. Virginia 11-1 (24)
23. Vanderbilt 8-4 (20)
24. Pitt 11-3 (14)
25. Harvard 10-1 (13)
25. Xavier 9-3 (13)
Others receiving votes: Kansas State (8), San Diego State (8), Illinois (6), Ball St. (4)
To my fans: I apologize for my long absence. It appears that I might have contracted the swine flu, since I was properly vaccinated against the other flu more than a month ago. But I’m back now and as witty as ever.
Today, in my inbox, amidst the usual offers for a better sex life, $6 million from Ethiopian princes (who knew there were so many?), and a reduced rate on the H1N1 Swine Flu vaccine (it’s a little too late for that), I received the following important announcement:
Slap Your Co-Worker Day is coming October 23rd!!
October 23rd is the official Slap Your Irritating Co-workers Holiday: Do you have a co-worker who talks nonstop about nothing, working your last nerve with tedious and boring details that you don’t care about? Do you have a co-worker who ALWAYS screws up stuff creating MORE work for you? Do you have a co-worker who kisses so much booty; you can look in their mouth and see what your boss had for lunch? Do you have a co-worker who is SOOO obnoxious, when he/she enters a room, everyone else clears it? Well, on behalf of Ike Turner, I am so very very glad to officially announce SLAP YOUR IRRITATING CO-WORKER DAY! Here are the rules you must follow:
- You can only slap one person per hour – no more.
- You can slap the same person again if they irritate you again in the same day.
- You are allowed to hold someone down as other co-workers take their turns slapping the irritant.
- No weapons are allowed…other than going upside somebody’s head with a stapler or a hole-puncher.
- If questioned by a supervisor [or police, if the supervisor is the irritant], you are allowed to LIE, LIE, LIE!
Now, study the rules, break out your list of folks that you want to slap the living day lights out of and get to slapping on October 23rd….. and have a great slapping day!
Of course, the difficulty with this is that I’m a telecommuter who works from home and often, the people I want to slap, are hundreds of miles away. When I mentioned this to the guy who sent the e-mail, he responded with: “Take that, you swine.”
And life comes full circle.
I go on a fair number of dates. And when I go, I’m usually more crass than normal. I do this for a number of reasons, but mainly to let the girl know what she can expect if we date into the future. It’s not that I’ll always be an asshole, but that I might be and she shouldn’t be shocked if I’m nice for 2 weeks before she sees me being a jackass. So, that means I usually drink too much on first dates or I might tell outrageous stories. Not too different from those that you read here, though maybe more detailed depending on the reaction I get while telling them.
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Everyone seems to like a good story about poop. I think it has to do with the entertainment value. If someone is willing to tell a poop story, it’s not to just tell you that it was brown, sank, and flushed without a problem. No, there’s a reason the story needs to be relayed and this story is no different.
So, on one occasion, I had a very standard first date night. We went to dinner and then to the movies. Knowing the plans for the evening, I didn’t eat much at dinner because one of my all time favorite foods is movie theater popcorn. Anyway, we went to dinner at some local seafood place and it was really good. I forget what she got but it wasn’t expensive lobster or anything – like Mahi or tuna. I always appreciate when a girl doesn’t try to see how much money you have by trying to buy expensive stuff on a date. It’s not a good test because I might be cheap or I might live well beyond my means and be in great debt – either way, ordering steak or lobster won’t prove anything.
So dinner was nice and we leave there and head to the theater. There’s something about the butter they put on top of fish at restaurants that always upsets my stomach. Another interesting fact, there’s something about the butter they put on top of popcorn at movie theaters that can have me chipping paint from a toilet in a matter of minutes.
Why didn’t the boyfriend wait until AFTER the game to cheat? What a maroon…
‘Twas the night before Krzyzmas, (though we didn’t know that)
And not a creature was stirring, not even a rat.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that Saint Nicholas soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugarplums danced in their heads.
And Mama in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.
But with its little old driver so angry and gay,
I knew in a moment it must be Coach K.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he shouted and cursed them, and called them by name!
“Now Wojo! Now, Singler! now, Redick and Curry!
On, Paulus! On, Shavlik! Melchionni, please hurry!
To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!
Now flop away! Flop away! Flop away all!”
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of douchebags, and their Leader too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the ceiling
Their prancing and pawing and loud girlish squealing
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney Coach K came in with a bound.
He was dressed like a pallbearer, from his head to his feet,
And his haircut was tidy, his dark suit was neat
A sack full of cheese he had flung on his back,
Likely Gouda, Romano, and Monterey Jack
His eyes-how they twinkled! His dimples had merit!
His cheeks were like roses, His nose like a ferret!
His smug little mouth was drawn up and droll,
And the hair on his head was dyed blacker than coal.
He was sickly and gaunt, a right creepy old elf,
And I gasped when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A snarl of his lip and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to worry I had something to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And took all our presents, the rotten old jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
Blew out a big wad of snot on my clothes!
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, as they sang “Hark the Herald”,
“Remember the real victim in all this is Gerald!”
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Near Thanksgiving of my senior year of high school, I decided to head off for my first real foray into college life – to spend an entire weekend living the dream. Eating cafeteria food. Drinking 18 hours a day. Exposing myself to an older, more experienced class of women. My friend, with the artistic mother and the house made for an acid test, was a year older than me. We’ll call him “Captain Kung Fu.” So he was now living on his own, surrounded by unsupervised young adults.
Now, maybe I’m sheltered, but a lot of people in our high school weren’t really spending much time on college campuses during our senior year. My friend, we’ll call him “Tree” had a cousin going to college in our town. While I had nothing in common with Tree’s cousin, he could get us in to all kinds of parties we would otherwise have been thrown out of. The one fantastic legacy that Tree’s cousin left me was that he had a computer program that made California IDs. There are so many stories there. Just so many.
Anyway, I made the trip to Captain Kung Fu’s with Tree. It was only about an hour and a half away, so it went quickly and we got there plenty early to start drinking before going out. Captain Kung Fu had a terrible, slobbish roommate who we spent the weekend avoiding. The dude seriously sat in the room watching TV all day and all night. So, we went down the hall to this other guy’s room who was really cool.
He also happened to be the typical freshman, who couldn’t handle his beer. That didn’t even slow him down, though. For that, if you’re reading this, I respect you.
So, we start the night doing some shots and drinking beers in between. The guy whose room we were drinking in went to Taco Bell before going out for the night. When he got back, we were drunker than when he left and I had almost been raped!
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Having survived high school and, improbably, matriculated to college, I was prepared to take my game to a whole new level. My game wasn’t really about learning. It was more about drinking and picking up women. The second I set foot on South Carolina’s campus, it was beautifully clear that women wouldn’t be an issue. That left beer to worry about. I was pleased to learn about Five Points shortly after unpacking.
For those who haven’t been to Five Points before, it’s a collection of bars and restaurants in Columbia, SC. And it’s within easy walking distance of USC.
As I’ve pointed out, I was able to make myself appear to be any age on paper, but I still looked like a little kid to anyone with sense. Bartenders don’t get tips for being sensible, so, with my ID, I got in essentially everywhere. The bad news here is that the cops were also well aware of this and raided bars pretty frequently, especially the ones that were more popular with freshmen.
On this particular Thursday night, I had gone out with about 6 friends of mine from the dorms. We had hit a few dive bars and then settled on this one bar that was easy for everyone to get into. A lot of our decision was based on the clientele, which was made up primarily of young women between 17 and 19 years old.