” it’s not my fault that I ordered the second pitcher”- Charlsie “Chuck” Niemiec
Best slice of pizza ever eaten. Soul food pizza. Mashed potatoes, fried chicken, collard greens, and gravy. Courtesy of Jacks Pizza
Ohio State safety Jack Tatum (32) and defensive end Jim Stillwagon tackle a Michigan running back during a 1970 game between the two rivals. (Walter Iooss Jr./SI)
If you haven’t seen this yet, you’ll be spellbound like everyone else. Old and new never looked so amazing.
via @Jose3030
Dream
2 nights in a row I have dreamt about a street with restaurants, an ice skating rink, and good music. It is decked out with Christmas lights and decorations. As I’m walking down the street I think to myself, “I can’t wait to bring Kelley here.” I eventually wake up sad realizing it’s a dream and I can’t. Sad
gq:
What Would Jean-Ralphio Do? (WWJ-RD?)
Parks and Recreation’s Snake Juice entrepreneur offers love advice and more.
GQ: Best way to pop the more important question, i.e. “Will you have sex with me?”
Jean-Ralphio: Text; tweet; Friendster post; fortune in a fortune cookie; during a screening of Stuart Little; sign language; Legos; make an adorable 2-year-old hand over a note asking the question for you; as a follow-up question, after she says “no” to “will you marry me.”
GQ: What’s the ideal date?
Jean-Ralphio: Me, Snake Juice, anything by Tyrese or Sisqó playing in the background, waterbed.
GQ: You’re in fifth grade. It’s math class. Julie sends you a note: I think you’re kinda cute.” What’s your next move?
Jean-Ralphio: I pass her a scientific calculator with pre-typed numbers that, when held upside down, spells BOOBIES.
GQ: You’re 83 years old. It’s bingo night. Ethel makes eye contact. What’s your next move?
Jean-Ralphio: I pass her a scientific calculator with pre-typed numbers that, when held upside down, spells BOOBIES.
Well….
at least I can cross “Perform on stage at the Fox Theatre in front of a sold out crowd” off my bucket list.
Highlights from Dwight Howard’s All-Star Game
This was pretty fun to watch if only for Courtney Lee, Brandon Bass, and Matt Barnes actually playing like the NBA was back. It also makes me sad that Courtney Lee sort of faded into obscurity when he could have been huge if Orlando chose to keep him.
Other notable highlights: Gina Marie singing the national anthem, awesome fan who yelled out “WE LOVE YOU PENNY!” during Gina Marie’s singing of the national anthem, Gortat’s Jumpman dunk, Courtney Lee windmill dunk, Penny in those all white Foamposites, and Gilbert Arenas doing a through-the-legs dunk off the trampoline.
What bummed me out a bit though is that if the current NBA season does get cancelled in its entirety, that means Orlando will lose its stake in holding the All-Star game this year and will have to take the next available slot in 2015. A cancelled season also means Dwight Howard is free from his contract and this charity game could possibly be the last game he’s played in Orlando. And if that were the case, Dwight would have ended his career at least on somewhat of a high note: playing alongside his former teammates and friends in front of the city’s most die-hard fans as if he was creating an Orlando Magic Greatest Hits mixtape for himself to look back on one day.
Or it could just be Dwight hosting a fun game for charity with a bunch of players who are equally bored and ready to play any semblance of basketball in front of an audience since there isn’t very much progress on if or when the next NBA season will start.
Just some thoughts to mull over if you are a Magic fan.
(mark)
gq:
Shalom Auslander’s Hard-Core Obsession
The novelist / memoirist / GQ contributor has written one of the darker, more provocative pieces we’ve published in a while: an exploration of why he (and we) get off on the kinky, fucked-up things that he (and we) get off on, and the psychological price we all pay for it. Note: we strongly recommend that you do not—as we did—read this story on the subway. Or anywhere in public. Proceed with caution. Click here for the full piece. Below: a, uh, taste.
A while back, I read that a pornographer named Max Hardcore, having been convicted of obscenity charges two years earlier, was serving time in a federal prison in Texas. A few Googles later, I learned that over the course of his career, Max had made hundreds of films, ranging from the mildly rough in his early years to the truly disturbing before his conviction. A few more Googles later and I was watching one of his scenes.
Ext.—Somewhere in California—Day. Open on wooden deck. A bright yellow couch. Max and his co-star appear. Max wears his trademark cowboy hat, white tube socks, and nothing else. The woman wears a ponytail and pink high heels. She lies supine on the couch, legs spread, her head tilted back over the armrest, mouth open. This video seemed to be about a 5 on the Max Hardcore 1-to-10 Scale of Fucked-Upitude. Still, it was shocking. It was outrageous.
I didn’t want it to work.
It worked.
Fuck.
It wasn’t any one thing they did, not one specific act or position, and I suppose with fantasy it never is; it’s a triggering thought, a concept that runs through the mind at just that apical moment, and for me that triggering thought was this: I can’t believe she’s letting him do that.
I hoped the woman was okay. I hoped she was acting. I hoped she hadn’t been forced. I wondered if the founders of Google knew they were contributing to an exploitative, misogynistic industry that lets strange men watch this woman do these strange things. I wondered if I could find her and apologize.
And I wondered, most of all, what the hell was wrong with me.
Bahaha
