Man in the mirror

Credit is given where credit is due. That’s the CCMP way, well, unless you are sure you can bluff everyone and get away with saying you did it. Then that’s the American way.

So, I’ll give credit here to Adam, the only person who has more time to sit around and do nothing productive than RJ and The Carlson combined. And he’ll still bitch that he’s always busy.

Anyway, I’m sure most of you have seen these on Facebook already, but for posterity sake, seeing as we’re an unorganized organization that will keep going into eternity, I thought we should have these here to always remember and cherish. I’ll just let the pics do the speaking on their own. You’re welcome.

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Gawd-damn Sam

I am 48 seconds into this episode of the CCMPodcast and I am at a crossroads.

All my adult life, I’ve had a big mouth and I just normally say whatever I think. I don’t really filter it, and I don’t always think before it comes out. A lot of the time, it comes out and then I realize what I said. I don’t regret it; I don’t regret anything. I may do things differently if I had the chance to do that again, but I figure, it’s my one-and-only life, so I might as well live it and not worry about regrets. I have enough other shit I worry about.

Anyway, I’m sitting here in my chair, the TV is on and has been for background noise for the past hour while I worked. It’s 11:58 p.m. and I just wrapped up our softball coverage a few minutes ago. The bowling championship ended a couple hours ago and I’ve got our interns set to finish that. So I thought I better get the next podcast up before The Carlson puts a hit out on me.

I fire up the volume and let it rip.

I’m aghast.

I’m horrified.

I’m curious.

I’m stupified.

I’m blessed.

I don’t know where I’m going with this, but within the first minute of this podcast, you’ll feel the same way. And that’s why I’m at a crossroads because I could say what has already come to mind, but it may be better for you to just listen for yourself.

If you don’t have a shit-ass grin glued to your face with a look of incredulity, then you’re not a man and you don’t belong in our pretend world.

What the fuck just happened? That’s all I can think after 48 seconds. How did the world come down to this point and, more importantly, why have I let myself fall apart this deep into the abyss?

Gawd-damn Sam. We ain’t in Kansas no mo’.

You’ll just have to find out the rest. I still haven’t pushed play. I will. I will slather through it but first I’m going to take my diet dew and put it in the fridge and trade it for a beer. Mainly because I don’t have Valium easily handy.

Best of luck to you friend. I’ll see you on the other side.

Oh, and yeah, listen to Year 6-ish CCMPodcast right here.

Grammar lessons

There are so many things that I learn every day. I’m not the brightest guy, nor am I Adam. So it’s nothing unique for me to pick up a few things new to my vocabulary or knowledge base almost every day.

These CCMPodcasts are information overload. Holy. Shit.

Did you know that reality equals royalty? Or that ‘evolutionize’ is a word?

I did not. But I know it now after listening to another round of Carlson. Yes, he’s now just a one-named man, completely forgoing any first name. So I’m assuming he’ll show up this year in a purple jumpsuit with sparkly pendants and such emblazoned in a big C on his chest.

God. Help. Us.

A couple other observations from the fourth installment of The Carlson:

• This series is not for kids. No really, while you might think The Carlson would be tame enough that maybe a teenage son or nephew could listen, it’s not for anyone young or squeamish.
• It seems that you can play the Land of the Lost theme and instantly anyone in our age group will know that means you’re transporting through a time warp back to a previous existence.
• I totally have to piss every time he plays that click effect intro to From the men’s room
• The Carlson obviously doesn’t have a kid. Yeah, I know I’m not one to talk on this, but, in four short episodes, he took us from “infancy” to “teenage years.” There was no terrible 2s or fearsome 4s. It was right outta the big V and straight into Driver’s Ed. Eh, then again, I guess that’s about right.

This podcast will also give you insight into Cliffy’s aversion for kids books and confirm that The Carlson will not give up his quest for everyone to drink butt rum.

Farmboy is introduced as well, and there’s other tidbits you’ll enjoy like hetero-life mates, Big Sexy’s adventure with the Golden Tee and The Adventures of Buttwoman and Wonder Wench.

I personally enjoyed hearing about this softball game of Tony’s that we apparently went to before the Symposium started this year. I find it comical that The Carlson would actually think we could talk about what was said and why we fought seeing as I was thinking to myself, “I wonder why I came down late because I didn’t go to this softball game he’s talking about” until minutes later when I heard that I was actually there and it’s the reason he brought it up.

Hmm, who knew?

Lastly, I’ll leave you with another reason the world will be coming to an end soon: The Carlson’s vocabulary has expanded so far that, seemingly off the cuff, The Carlson used the word ‘liaison’ in the proper context and with the correct pronunciation.

Amazingly, even with all this detail on what The Carlson has to say, I haven’t given away everything. So you’ll just have to listen for yourself to CCMPodcast Year 4 — 1998.

Year 2, or better known to all of us as ‘Aaron should be ashamed’

Yukon Pete, the Neckshot and the introduction of Bitch.

These topics are sacred ground for the Symposium and the full content of these events will never be revealed. But, like all state secrets, they’ll eventually end up on Wikileaks, so why not just get some of it out on our terms?

Well, I’m sure that’s Carlson’s reasoning, being the impressive PR genius that he is.

The bigger thing is this: Has he been keeping a journal this whole time? Where’s he coming up with all these things to talk about?

Like the King of the Schmack? I’d forgotten about that 12 years ago, but he pops it out like he just watched the video of the weekend last night. [Editor’s Note: If there is actual video of this event, I will offer you $1,000,000,000, 067 for it. If you won’t sell, I will hunt you down. It will be mine–and then burned.]

Anyway, he’s obviously been taking notes without telling anyone. Well, all except the ‘The Bluff’ which, obviously, there’s no way Carlson could ever forget it. Well played, sir, well played.

So, anyway, here you go. Year 2 of the Symposium, complete with new segments and sound effects. No seriously, Carlson is so technologically advanced he put in sound effects.

I’ll be honest here, I’m impressed. And scared. Very scared.

Listen here

the Carlson Project

I’m going to be honest here: I’m probably not the best person to call someone out about a drinking problem. Let’s rephrase that: I’m not the best best person to call someone out about a drinking problem.

But still, I think Carlson may have some self-control issues that need to be addressed.

He obviously drinks heavily, and I’m assuming it’s not just Crystal Lite and a splash of tonic. I’m thinking he’s drinking crude oil mixed with raw barley with buckshot and grenade fragments just sprinkled on top. All set aflame and followed with an 8 ounce shot of funny car fuel.

Let’s see, why would I expect this?

In the past five years, he’s gotten a girlfriend, lost a bunch of weight, learned math, started winning at cards and trained himself without outside assistance to fluently speak and write Russian. He reads some Sanscrit too.

Okay, I made one of those up.

But what I can’t make up — and the likely outtake that his heavy drinking has stemmed — is that he’s embracing technology. And that’s scary.

How frightening is it? Well, you’ll have to listen for yourself. Because out of the blue, just randomly on Friday night, I get an email from him saying that he made his own podcast and asked if it can be put on the CCMP site.

Well, first off, yes. Anything you guys want to send can be put here. Hell, if anyone had time and wanted to try to post here more regularly than me (meaning, any kind of regularly), I’d be glad to teach you how to use the site and post stuff.

So, now here it is. I really don’t know what it says because I’m not going to listen to it until after it’s posted. Seems more appropriate that way.

And without further adieu, here you go. The first — and hopefully not last? — Carlson Project: CCMPodcast. (Sorry Carlson, I couldn’t just put the audio file on here for some reason, so I had to improvise with a picture and make it into a video file. I think you’ll approve).

Whiskey and wine

As I sit here and type this, I have to admit something to you: I’m out of shape.

No, I’m not RJ or Rush out of shape — and yes, they are basically the same person now, just a foot apart. I’m out of shape in the sense of not drinking much — gasp — beer lately. See, since I’m doing the Tough Mudder next month down here in Georgia, I’ve been trying to run and work out. The running has been going good, the working out hasn’t worked out that well. But I decided when I started training that I was going to lay off the beer.

Notice, I did not say booze. Just beer.

Between Oct. 1 and Jan. 4, I had a total of four beers. Normal size, not gallons or kegs. Just four beers in little more than three months. Granted, that’s a total I normally consumed on a Tuesday while walking between the couch and the bathroom, but just like that I shut it down.

I’ve had a few more since, especially when I was on the road for the FCS and BCS championship games. Sitting in airports waiting for planes pretty much requires at least two beers just to feel alright — and I love flying and have no fears about it.  But that was mostly the first time for drinking in months.

Don’t think I completely gave up manliness altogether. Or at least as much as I ever had. I actually picked up a different habit. I’ve started drinking wine and whiskey. Not together, although, now that I think of it….

No, I started drinking wine since we grill out a couple times a week and I wanted something else to drink with my steak or chops or fish. So, I’ve been digging around and found a couple different brands and kinds (love pinot grigio, not so big on pinot noir, but can handle some merlot; pretty happy with Barefoot and Fish Eye, two relatively cheap kinds).

That’s left me with a few headaches after downing a bottle a night several times. Which led me to start drinking Crown Royal and Cokes. It’s smoother and, as I found out Thursday, it’s easier to pass out and not wake up with any after affects other than a crink in the neck from sleeping in my chair.

I just poured a Crown and Coke and it reminded me of this video, because I’m so out of shape this guy would kill me. I just saw it today and am thinking of inviting him to the Symposium.

What do you think? Can anyone top this?

Oh, Red

You should have known this is what it would take. Either tits or beer — preferably both — to get me back onto the CCMP blog trail.

Now, there’s little chance that I would have any interest in a ‘country’ singer that often, as it’s just not my cup of tea. But occasionally one comes along that I can tolerate. Johnny Cash circa the 1950s and ’60s? Yessir, that is one badass mofo who I’d listen to any day. And there are probably a couple more, but of the past 20 years, there’s only really two.

One is a pretty obvious choice as he kinda crosses over to mainstream from the country world and has some decent stuff. Although I will not pay the $500 a seat to see him in Vegas when I head there in January. No, Garth Brooks is not worth that to me. But he’s pretty damn good.

The other one who, for some reason I can’t quite pin down, that I can listen to almost any day is Toby Keith. I think maybe it’s because I feel like he’s pretty normal, a regular Joe (although I’m starting to wonder if guys named Joe really are that normal anymore) who I could have a beer or 14 with.

And there it is.

Beer. The heavenly sent liquid life breather that makes my world spin… and spin… and spin.

It’s been written about in songs for centuries, back to Phineas O’McDougd in Urpanshire, Ireland in about 1462. It was a little ditty that, supposedly, had to do with his mum, a lass named Tess and the brew he stole from his dad’s workshop. Hmmm. Sounds kinda like songs about beer today.

Anyway, our man Toby here has a great new video to go with his song about my friend and yours: the beer cup. And we all know which one we’re talking about. There are only two — red and clear, and we all know when you’re tailgating in a non-alcoholic parking lot, it’s easier to conceal with the Big Red.

So, here you go in case you haven’t seen the video. As he says, “You’re more than plastic. I think you’re amazing. I think you’re fantastic.” I can only assume he is actually still talking about the Red Solo Cup and not one of the blondes in the video.

Oh, and I was kidding about the O’McDougd reference. I made that up. I have no idea when the first song about beer was written, but that’s probably as good a guess as any.

Stadium swinging

Bad baseball is one thing, but this recovered video takes it to a whole new level.

The setup: Deadspin.com found old video footage from a Red Sox game in Fenway during the mid-1990s when they sucked. The only difference from a normal game was the amount of sucking going on in the stands.

Read and watch the full thing here (video is four minutes, but once you start, you won’t be able to stop. Strange.)

The concentration of the video man here is impressive. After the initial back-to-the-field shot, he goes in for the best action in the stadium and doesn’t let up until the ‘play’ is finished. This is Sports Emmy award-winning stuff, or at the very least, I hope it was awarded for live action threesome at the AVN Awards.

Perhaps Carlson** could use his AVN subscription to look through the archives and find out. What? You don’t believe Carlson**  has a subscription? Bullshit. He has a subscription to every major porn site there is, and is even a VIP premium sugar-daddy cardholder for a couple of the biggees.

** Note: This reference can be replaced with Dwin, Boo, Philly, Cliffy, well, pretty damn well any one of you fucks who reads this.

That poor 9 percent

Not much to write here. This is more a “lookey there” post.

Check out this pictorial of Alice Goodwin. Good god Goodwin.

Here’s the thing:

Who the fuck is in the 9 percent who gave the thumbs down? Unless you’re a blind retarded mute goat whore, there’s less than no chance that you wouldn’t at least be tempted by the curves and tan and curves and …. mmmmmmmm.

Anyway, give that link a look. It’s worth the time.

Where are our Superheros?

Well, there it is. It’s official.

Mark today, April 29, 2011, as the day the fucking world went to hell.

I remember back in the day–“the day” being in the 1970s when we grew up on Eight is Enough, Three’s Company and Monday Night Football–when being politically correct meant that you went to the polls on Voting Day and didn’t knock over the little booth.

Not any more.

Now, everything and everyone needs to be PC. It’s complete bullshit, and quite honestly, it doesn’t fit into the credo of the CCMP.

We don’t discriminate against anyone about anything, except chicks–they count just as much as they should… in the sack and in the kitchen–but we also don’t expect anything to be politically correct either. You’re fat, we’re going to make fat jokes. You’re bald, we’re going to make bald jokes. You’re a homo, well, we’ll make Adam jokes.

But there’s no room for political correctness in the Legion Hall. But apparently there’s plenty of room for it in the one last true and honest form of childhood expression… cartoons.

Way back when, you had ridiculous cartoons that took themselves just as seriously as they should… not at all. They could be completely sexist and ageist and no one cared. It wasn’t that people thought it was right to be sexist or ageist. It was that it was just a joke, back when a joke was a joke.

Today, that’s obviously out the window. And pretty close to off this planet.

In an Associated Press story yesterday, it seems that Superman is renouncing his U.S. Citizenship because there’s too much bellyaching around the world about how he’s pushing the American agenda.

Two things here:

1) really? This shit is worthy of a fucking AP story when this writer could have been covering some political coverup or a To Catch a Predator special?

And 2) when did Superman become a pussy?

I mean, the Superman I knew, the one who fought Brainiac, Mister Mxyzptlk and, obviously, Lex Luthor, never seemed to care what others thought. He didn’t care about public perception and definitely didn’t let people in foreign countries dictate his philosophy on saving the world.

Outside of four days at the end of June in a modern day form of the League of Justice in west central Illinois, where have our Supermen gone?