Cody Parkey Shot Me In The Head With A Gun

OUR WORLD:

Remember when you were a little kid playing some dumb kid game, like soccer, and you’d get the wind knocked out of you? All the air in your body was just forced out and before you know it, every one of your friends is looking at you wondering why you can’t talk or move or breathe. Meanwhile, inside your head all you can think is “please don’t cry, please don’t cry, please don’t…am I going to die?!?!?!” The cool kids in your grade can’t believe that you’ve been paralyzed by a half-inflated, rubber soccer ball, and the dorky kids in your grade aren’t defending you because they’re scared of the cool kids. You’re fucked. You can’t breathe and you can’t admit that you can’t breathe because not being able to breathe is SO LAME! (Don’t forget to pack your inhaler in your work bag today Jimmy!) “Hey Jimmy, you okay?” was answered with the look you give yourself in the mirror right before you’re about to burst into tears. Unfortunately, when I’d try to respond with an “I’m cool dude,” it sounded more like “Ibba cu–” followed by a cut-off dry heave.

And that is how every rational adult Bears fan felt after Sunday night’s game. Laying on my back, after unsuccesfully trying to lean Parkey’s kick in, The VP asked if I was okay. I wasn’t and I felt so fucking dumb that I wasn’t. We’re talking your classic double not-okay here, folks. Kids are allowed to cry after tough sports losses and be consoled by their parents without being made to feel like a silly asshole for caring so much about something they stand to gain nothing tangible from. But rational adults with real relationships and bills and an ounce of self-awareness, know that crying on the ground and screaming at your spouse following a loss like that is socially frowned upon. Instead, the rational lunatics (definitely not an oxymoron) go quiet, hiding the fact that we can’t breathe by making a constipated facial expression when asked “are you okay?”

The thing that makes sports heartbreak worse is the feeling that comes when trying to explain said heartbreak to a non-sports fan. Even if you’re not a Bears fan, you could empathize with us on Sunday night because there has been a time in your life you remember some stranger ruining your day or night by not doing something you could never do (like kick a 43 yard field goal) But when you live with someone who doesn’t care about sports, like the friggin’ VP, you’re left to lay on your back while trying to explain how 33 years hasn’t given you enough perspective to not have Cody Parkey ruin, at minimum, your next 48 hours.

The VP said nice stuff like “oh, I’m so sorry,” and she probably meant it, but it just made me feel even dumber. Is she sorry that she married someone who wears sweatpants and asks their dog to sit near him during important plays because he thinks she is good luck? Probably, right? If a fellow true fan were in the apartment with me on Sunday night, there would have been no words for at least 4 minutes after that kick doinked. Then, the next 4 hours would have been filled with loud exhales, slow motion head shakes, and the occasional “I just…man…ugh.” What’s even better is the next day at work, when people YOU KNOW think sports are dumb (I call these people ‘dogs’) ask you how you’re doing.

“Hey Jimmy, the Bears, huh? How are you doing”-Gene

I want to drown myself in the lake but I see that little smirk peaking out of your mouth while asking that question so I’ll just hit you with a “tough game, Gene,” on my way to the bathroom stall where I can fill my mouth with toilet paper and scream without being heard.

I’m jealous of the fans I see who screamed and broke shit and were part any video that non-fans make fun of the day after. I wish I could be momentarily blinded by rage or disgust to get it all out of my system at once. Instead, I try to bottle most of it up, but there’s a leak and it slowly spreads to all of my organs the way a pinhole in a maple syrup bottle could ruin your entire refrigerator. For adult fans like me, yesterday felt like being covered in Aunt Jemima’s, when you’re a devoted bacon & eggs breakfast man.

I write this in the “Our World” section of today’s Chair because those five paragraphs should act as a test of true fandom. If you read laughed, EVEN ONCE!, during those paragraphs, you are not a true fan. If, however, you cringed and shook your head and related, then congratulations, happy to have you alongside me in this Uber to the island of caring too much about things that shouldn’t matter. (Wait…how can an Uber get to an island? GET OUT!!! YOU’RE ALL GONNA DROWN!!!)

The reason why fake fans piss me and the rest of my soon-to-drown brethren off so much is because WE KNOW that the fake fans never feel pain like this. To get to participate in the euphoria of your team actually winning big, you better have been brought to your knees by that same team before. It’s like being born rich versus being born poor and becoming rich. When a fake fan posts pics or videos of them celebrating “their team’s” win, it induces the same feelings as when a rich kid posts a picture of the new BMW their daddy just bought them. No struggle, no celebration. Remember all of those kids crowding the streets following the Cubs World Series win? Every single one of those snot-nosed pill poppers better have skinned their knees falling to the ground from Parkey’s double doink.

Thus, to avoid the wrath of REAL FANS LIKE US (adults with undiagnosed psychological problems), ask yourself the following questions before you post a celebratory pic or video following a big win:

Have I ever cried alone in the bathroom following a sports team I care about losing?
Have I ever called a radio station to advocate a coach with a family getting fired around Christmastime?
Have I ever called off of work the day following a tough loss not because I was hungover, but just too sad?

If you answer “no” to all of those questions, then you are, henceforth, not allowed to post any celebratory pics or videos following a sports win. As Judge for real sports fans everywhere, I declare this ruling final.

Oh, and finally, if you’re one of those softies who has said “I actually feel bad for Cody Parkey,” I would like you to know that, yesterday, he shot me in the head with a gun and it was totally unprovoked. He just came up to me on the street while I was with my wife and my mom and my doggy and he shot me in the head. Charges are pending. Feel bad for him now?

MY WORLD:

I’m not exactly proud to admit this, but I thought about my dog killing herself this morning it made me feel…relieved…and a little…oh boy…excited? (Whoa, Jimmy no. This is where the world turns against you!) LET ME EXPLAIN LET ME EXPLAIN!

I was taking my psychotic lab mix (it’s a labradoodle, Jimmy, just admit that) for a walk this morning when she went ABSOLUTELY BONKERS INSANE towards two nice dogs across the street. The two dogs were doing NOTHING, which Belle, evidently, took as an immediate threat to all of mankind so she acted accordingly: growling, barking and pulling on the leash like she was trying to escape an active volcano. Meanwhile, I’m in prime “it’s 7 in the morning, and I’m wearing sweatpants in public”-mode. Needless to say, I was not prepared to play tug of war with a crazed beast. And what can you do? I can’t hit her because people that hit dogs are all-time assholes. If I yank on her choke collar too hard, I’m reported to Animal Control. If I scream at her, people start wondering how I treat my wife because you know they see my shiny gold ring. BUT! BUT! If I’m completely unable to break my dog’s fury, then I get the “he obviously doesn’t know how to raise a dog”-looks from people with nicer cars than me. It’s an absolute no-win situation.

So when PsychoMurdererFurryDogGirl and I got back home, I texted The VP that I just had a front-row seat to Belle’s worst walk ever. I had slammed the door when we got back which caused Belle to run into our bedroom and under our bed. So she’s the victim now? JESUS CHRIST! The VP texted back imploring me to “love on her” so she didn’t kill herself when I left today. Which, got me to thinking…if I left for work and came back to find Belle had OD’d on the CBD that we got her last week, that has yet to change her behavior one iota, would I be sad or…not sad?

Honestly, I would be sad…and then a little happy that we’d be able to get a dog that wouldn’t send me into a near panic-attack anytime we have people over. I’m not saying I want Belle to kill herself. I am NOT saying that. BUT! If she happened to OD on a drug that made her feel maybe a little too amazing, I mean..there are worse ways to go. And also…like, think of all the dogs and people that would be saved from Belle’s wrath? I’m trying to think about this logically, is all.

Sure hope Belle doesn’t find that CBD…that I put right next to her food bowl…and wrapped in thick-cut, Boar’s Head bacon…

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Early favorite for “Best Commercial of 2019”

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Alshon Jeffery taunting Bears fans throughout that game the other night. I’m sorry Alshon, what the hell did we do besides root for you while you were here and then have NOTHING to do with you not being re-signed? I hope The Eagles cut you in the offseason and no other team signs you and you’re forced to become a dog walker to make ends meet and I hire you to walk Belle!!!

JIMMY GAMBLES:

I don’t want to talk about it right now.

(Account currently at: I said I don’t want to talk about it.)

K bye.

How I Actually Hurt My Ankle & “The Bachelorette” Finally Ended!

MY WORLD:

Do you remember when you were younger and the rough-housing you were doing with your siblings or friends came to an abrupt end when one of you got ACTUALLY hurt? No one questioned how you got hurt because you were always surrounded by people who saw you smash your face into a hammock pole while running a post route in your friend’s front yard. One second you’re all laughing, the next, you’re flat on your back with a panicked look, while saying “help, help, help, help.” Reminiscing about those “help, help, help, help” moments is hysterical, until you find yourself on your back again. Only this time, it’s in a Chicago alley at 11:30 PM and you’re saying those words to your dog; who’s more interested in that bag under the dumpster next to you. As I have come to find out since late Saturday night, when I took my numbah one pretty gurl for what should have been a nondescript walk, the difference between childhood and adulthood injuries is stark; childhood injuries are funny, adulthood injuries are suspicious.

I took Belle for a walk on Saturday night, stepped in a pothole in the middle of an alley we were walking down, and destroyed my ankle. That’s it! That’s the story! (I’ve never trusted these “pothole” stories). I crumpled to the ground, not knowing exactly what happened, aside from the fact that my right ankle felt like it exploded, and laid on my back trying not to cry. (If anyone has video of this, I’m sure it would go viral. “ManBaby almost cries alone on back in alley.”) Belle was sweet and kinda sniffed my face while also being like “dang that sucks ’bout yo leg, but lemme check out what’s under this dumpster!” I get it, dumpster searches and barking at minorities are Belle’s top priorities.

After hobbling up to my apartment, three flights of stairs that felt like ten billion flights of nail-crusted stairs, I told The VP that my ankle was dead. DEAD. DONEZO. FINISHED! She helped lay me down on our stupid, shitty couch that we took from our friend’s trash pile 2 years ago (not a joke) and got me long socks to wrap my grapefruit of an ankle with. Why socks? BECAUSE WE’RE THE ONLY ADULTS IN THE WORLD WHO DIDN’T HAVE A GODDAMN ACE BANDAGE IN THEIR HOUSE. Anyway, with my ankle wrapped in my V fashionable Nike knee socks, I started contemplating what the next few days were going to entail: constant leg pain, an obnoxious trip to a nearby x-ray room, and, most importantly, having to convince everyone that this wasn’t a “Jimmy was hammered drunk and did this”-incident. I could already hear the people in my head responding to the pothole story with “yeah, but what really happened?” I STEPPED IN A POTHOLE. THAT’S IT! (Pretty defensive IMVHO)

Now, I won’t lie, was I totally, completely sober? No, I was not. GOD FOR-FUCKING-BID I ENJOY AN OFF-DAY WITH A FEW ADULT BEVERAGES!!! I was a few beers deep when I took Belle on this fateful walk, but it’s not like I was challenging people to race me down a fire escape after my 14th shot of “whatever’s cheapest”-Tequila. First off, I don’t even really like tequila, so that’s hole number one in your “you had to be smashed argument”. (I do like margaritas, but we’re talking shot-wise here, folks. STAY FOCUSED!) Second! Wouldn’t you think I could come up with a cooler sounding story than “I stepped in a pothole” if I was actually trying to hide the fact that it was a drunken escapade gone wrong? I’m a writer (amateur) for chrissake! But still, the first two friends I texted about my injury replied with, essentially, the same responses: “how drunk were you?” There wasn’t a “oh, that sucks, I’m sorry,” or “ouch!” or “let me know if I can help while you’re UNABLE TO WALK AND PERFORM BASIC HUMAN FUNCTIONS.” NOPE! JUST BLATANT DISTRUST OF THE BACKGROUND SURROUNDING MY INJURY. BLATANT. DISTRUST.

Therfore, since it has become apparent that my “friends” will not believe the “ACTUAL STORY” regardless, I would like to put forth another scenario in which my ankle may have gotten injured…I will leave it up to the reader to decide how my ankle actually became the size of a grapefruit:

The Second Dunk Attempt Story:

So The VP and I were walking back home following a lovely meal we had just enjoyed at a local Italian eatery. Naturally, I had a salad and water because I don’t eat food for enjoyment, I simply eat for sustenance. You don’t put unleaded into a diesel engine, nah’mean? During our stroll, we encountered some local ruffians whistling and hooting and hollering at my lovely wife. Being the secure, masculine man that I am, I simply smiled and waved, as if to say “thank you, I agree.” Unfortunately, however, a member of said ruffian group, named Burt, misinterpreted my gratitude and decided to confront me.

“Think you’re better than me?” Asked the menacing Burt.

“Sir, what is your name? I would like to address you properly,” I responded as The VP attempted to pull me and my huge torso muscles in the opposite direction.

“My name is Burt,” he said–which is when I knew “this guy’s name is Burt.”

“Hi Burt, my name is Jimmy, I’m not sure if I’m better than you. However, I certainly was not meaning to imply that with my wave and toothy, picturesque smile. To be honest, I might be better than you at some things, but worse than you at others. If we spend the time tallying up everything, well, Burt, that would take days.”

“I’m talking about that,” Burt said as he pointed to the nearby basketball court.

Following some negotiation, Burt and I decided that we would decide who was better at dunking a basketball. The VP, never having seen me dunk before because I’m humble and don’t like to show off, pleaded with me to “just let it go.” But I couldn’t let it go; not with my wife’s honor at stake. So I tied my casual, yet fashionable Levi’s loafers extra tight and followed Burt to the basketball court.

Using the manners that my parents taught me when I was a young boy, I allowed Burt to go first. Burt grabbed the ball from one of his ruffian friends, pounded it twice on the ground to show that he was strong and ran towards to hoop. As he took off, he put the ball in his right hand and began a tomahawk-like motion as he neared the rim. His legs splaying through the air, he whipped the ball forward and…right into the front of the rim. Failure washed over Burt’s face as he landed. He missed his dunk and, even worse, pulled away from me when I tried to console him.

Now it was my turn. Unfortunately for you, the reader, I don’t want to get into too many details regarding my dunk because I’m so humble, but let’s just say it was a 360 windmill between the legs that left the ruffians stunned and my wife so proud that she immediately called her Mom to revel in what an amazing athlete she had married. But I don’t want to get into it further than that.

“Beginners luck!” Burt snarled as he whipped the basketball into my chest. “Do it again, or I won’t admit that you’re better than me at dunking!”

Not wanting to highlight Burt’s lack of intelligence by dispelling the faulty notion of “beginner’s luck,” I obliged his infantile request. However this time, while gliding through the air like a Peregrine Falcon approaching his unsuspecting prey, I noticed Burt sticking his leg under the basket, directly where my right foot would land post-awe-inspiring-dunk numero dos. Thankfully, my eye-body coordination is so stunningly fast, that I was able to adjust my landing immediately after throwing down yet another rim-rattling 360 windmill between the legs dunk.

Once landed, with my right foot narrowly missing Burt’s maliciously placed leg, I didn’t say anything to his now despondent-looking face. Instead, I simply winked at him and then blew a kiss to my adoring wife. That’s when Burt took the handgun out from his waistband and pistol-whipped my right ankle.

And that’s how my ankle got hurt.

OUR WORLD:

Last night, this season of “The Bachelorette” came to a merciful end after a 3 hour show that included about 6 minutes of interesting television: when Blake almost had a heat stroke while getting dumped, and when Garrett tried to explain that Instagram’s “Like” feature is too complicated for him to grasp. We can all agree that this season sucked because Becca has the personality of a plastic spork, and the only guy with charisma, Jordan, was probably a paid actor. So we move on and hope that next season they make Chad “The Bachelor”. But there is one thing that stuck with me throughout last night’s episode, that I just can’t shake…Chris Harrison SUCKS.

How is it that someone with no discernible talent becomes the face of the most popular television franchise on ABC? I understand the need to cast a “straight man” opposite some outlandish character in a buddy comedy, but why cast one to host an ultimately, mean-spirited reality dating show? When Blake came out last night and everyone was watching how sad he was about getting dumped in front of a gajillion people, Chris could’ve cut the tension with a little joke, or asked an insightful question about where he goes from here, or….ANYTHING OTHER THAN ASK “HOW DOES WATCHING THAT MAKE YOU FEEL?” That’s the question that people without functioning brains are wondering. “Hey Blake, when you watch that time you got kicked in the nuts while wearing a suit in 120 degree heat, does that make you feel good?”

Remember too, that this episode is Chris Harrison’s chance to shine. It’s the Super Bowl of his season where he is one of the main characters in the show and he comes to the table with the “how did that make you feel?”-question?!?! An ABC executive should have come out on stage at that very moment and stapled an oversized dunce cap to his dumb head while informing him that he has been sentenced to life in prison for “being a horribly stupid dating show host.” NO POSSIBILITY FOR PAROLE!

Quickly, here are my top 5 suggestions for people to replace Chris Harrison:

Dave Chappelle
Amy Schumer
Dr. Phil
O.J. Simpson
Barack Obama

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

My Mom posted a video about this dog on Facebook a few days ago and he’s now my second (maybe even first) favorite dog in the world.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Chris Harrison.

JIMMY GAMBLES…

I’M AT $0 AFTER THE CUBS WON BY 2 LAST NIGHT EVEN THOUGH I BET THEM TO WIN BY 3-4. COOL GUYS!

K bye.

Bachelorette Talk and Dog Baths (5/31/18)

OUR WORLD:

Yesterday’s blog was a little on the heavy side (oh my god, are you saying I’m fat?!) so today I decided to write about…CANCER AGAIN! Wait, no, I mean “The Bachelorette” season premiere. (Did he just joke about the Big C? NOT COOL BRO!) Yeah, let’s get a little light and loose and silly today, huh? LET’S GET BACK TO BEIN’ A BUNCHA GOOFS! (I think this blog sucks now…time to go back to scrolling Instagram and not getting caught by my boss.)

The VP and I were a little behind so we watched (initiating Chris Harrison fake excited voice…) THE SEASON PREMIERE OF “THE BACHELORETTE” on Tuesday night. Now that I’ve had a day to digest what was a relatively underwhelming opening episode, I am here for all my sweet baby readers (I’M NOT A BABY!) with initial, but definitely right-on-the-money, takes and predictions for ALL of the guys. Before I do that, however, (get ready for a lot of pictures!) let’s start with the bachelorette herself…

*REAL QUICK, I DO NOT LOOK UP SPOILERS AND I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR THEM.

Becca HerLastNameDoesntMatter:

She’s fine. (HOT TAKE JIMMY IS IN THE BUILDING Y’ALL!!!) There’s just nothing all that interesting about her. She got dumped by Arie, has a hand tattoo and is somehow from a family in Minnesota that is OBSCENELY less attractive than she is. Her sisters and Mother, like no offense, look ROUGH and you know they’ve got to want to blurt out “You know, Becca never looked like this before Hollywood got ahold of her.” I don’t remember how old that sister with the frizzy hair is, but if that’s an older sister, their relationship is about to go down the tubes and into the sewer because that older uggo CANNOT be seen in the same room as Becca EVER. AGAIN.

Becca has also, somehow, made “Let’s do the damn thing!” as her catchphrase. I have two thoughts on this: 1) If anyone I was around ever said “lets do the damn thing!” I would most definitely not do that damn thing because people that say that are LAME. 2) If you replaced “damn” with “fuckin”, I would immediately think that Becca was WAY cool and would probably develop a lil’ baby crush on her. Imagine if after she met the first guy out of a limo, she slapped him on the ass and yelled “Let’s do the fuckin’ thing!” How awesome would she come off? Nope, she stuck with ‘damn’ and outed herself as a LAME. Also…real quick, real quick, how much can you root for a girl who was “head over heels” in love with that Professional Douche, Arie? If I found out that The VP of Ops had been dumped by someone along those lines, let’s say Russell Brand, I would’ve judged her HARSHLY and probably gone back to living my CRAZY AWESOME SINGLE FUN-TIMES-ALWAYS!!!!LIFE (PARTY TIME USA 4EVA!)

With a certified “Meh” girl to go after, this show NEEDS some high-quality television characters in the guy pile. Let’s see if we have any…I like to call this Jimmy’s “Rapid Fire Judgment Zone” aka “NOT PLANET FITNESS!” (If Planet Fitness sees this, I’m worried they’ll revoke my membership and I’ll be forced back into a gym with…like, nice facilities and less nerd B.O.)

Alex (GA)

Alex “Construction Manager” (Georgia): The VP likes this guy because he’s southern and was wearing a pink shirt. He was only in the background the whole show so he’ll be gone in NO TIME.

OFFICIAL PREDICTION: Kicked off in the next 2 shows and you’ll never think of him again in your entire life.

Blake (CO)

Blake “Sales Rep” (Colorado): Bro, cool it with the smiling! This guy is good looking but I’m getting a real creepy vibe from him because he NEVER STOPS SMILING! I get it, all Colorado people are happy all the time cuz like “hang loose on the gnar pow!” but doesn’t your face hurt after holding a smile for 9 straight hours?! Also, a “Sales Rep” who never stops smiling has HE’S TRICKING YOU written all over him.

OFFICIAL PREDICTION: This guy will stick around for a while because he’ll talk about outdoor stuff with Becca. She won’t pick him, but I’ll say he’ll make it to the final 8.

Chase FL

Chase “Advertising VP” (Florida): Weird hair. Weirder collar. GET OUT!

OFFICIAL PREDICTION: He was already kicked off. He’ll go back to Florida and, for the next 4 months, will open every conversation with “Do you watch ‘The Bachelorette'”?

Chris (FL)

Chris “Sales Trainer” (Florida): First off, way too many Florida guys this year. That’s never a good sign. This dude is SLIME CITY and if you don’t see that you are one blind bitch. He trains people how to lie. He’s a Master Liar. (Wait…I work in sales too…but like it’s way different…completely different….)

OFFICIAL PREDICTION: We’ll all get to a point with him where we’ll be like “okay, this dude is full of shit, time to get rid of him!” Then Becca will annoy us by keeping him around for 2 more episodes.

Christian Banker.jpg

Christian “Banker” (California): Was this guy kicked off yet? I think so. If not, he will be. He’s short and not in Superman shape, which in “Bachelorette”-terms is a “GONER!”

OFFICIAL PREDICTION: This guy knew he was gone the second he was picked for the show. He should’ve just gotten bombed in the house tried to steal something.

Christian Globe.jpg

Christian “Former Harlem Globetrotter” (California): This dude literally dunked on Becca and it was AWESOME. He’s in my top 3 favorite guys so far. Can they just have a part of every episode where he dunks on someone who’s not expecting it? Like, out of nowhere, a hoop shows up and he’s posterizing one of the other guys.

OFFICIAL PREDICTION: At some point, being a FORMER Harlem Globetrotter is going to catch up with him. He’ll stick for like 3-4 more episodes and we’ll all be kinda’ sad when he leaves.

Clay

Clay “Football Player” (Illinois): I know I’m supposed to love this guy cuz I love football and I’m from Illinois. But…uhhhhhh….he’s a doof. Professional athletes needing to go on a dating show is a major red flag.

OFFICIAL PREDICTION: This is like the wrestler guy from the last “Bachelorette” who talked about his daughter way too much: he’s nice and he’ll stick around for a while, until Becca starts getting creeped out because he’s a little too nice. Nice guys don’t finish last. Nice guys who take it to the moon finish last because they have no personality aside from “just trying to make you happy.” BLUGH.

Colton “Former Pro Football Player” (Colorado): I’m going to be as honest with you all as I can be; I liked Colton until I found out he was a virgin. Is that wrong? He’s 26 and was in the NFL and said something like “it’s not about a religious thing, it’s about finding the right woman.” Jeez dude, relax and get laid FOR ONCE!

OFFICIAL PREDICTION: This guy will be in the final 3 and I’ll feel guilty all season for kinda not liking a guy who gets Cystic Fibrosis Vests for kids just because he’s a virgin. THANK YOU COLTON!

connor

Connor “Fitness Coach” (Florida): What the fuck is a “fitness coach”? A trainer? If he came up with that job title himself, RESPECK. Fitness coach sounds way cooler than trainer. This guy has good hair, but is it too high? IT’S PRETTY HIGH, GUYS!

OFFICIAL PREDICTION: He’ll hang until like final 8ish, then Becca will be like “yeah, his hair is too high.”

Darius “Pharmaceutical Sales Rep” (California): This guy is another one who had to have known he was gone once he took a look at the other dudes there. If you’re not stupid handsome OR funny, you’re in the deadzone. HE GOT DEAD.

OFFICIAL PREDICTION: He immediately regrets having been on this show when a Doctor makes fun of him for “being on that show my wife watches.”

Connor Venture

David “Venture Capitalist” (Colorado): This is the guy in the chicken suit. I know we’re supposed to think of him as “the funny guy” because he wore a chicken suit, but it wasn’t funny. If he would’ve just clucked the whole show and refused to actually speak like a human, that would’ve been funny. Instead, he just wore a chicken suit and didn’t do anything funny. Also, he’s 25 and a “venture capitalist”? Does that just mean he’s a rich kid looking for something to invest in? Not in on this dude.

OFFICIAL PREDICTION: He’s gone in the next 3 episodes. Once Becca is off-camera and realizes that she was just giving him courtesy laughs in the first episode, he’s doomed.

Garrett “Medical Sales Rep” (Nevada): Okay, I realize that I’m hating on most of these guys pretty hard and…it will continue with this guy. Don’t you hate people that LOVE telling you how they’re “all about living in the moment”? They can’t wait to talk about how FUN they are! That’s Garrett. Guess what, if you’re living in the moment you wouldn’t be telling people that you’re “living in the moment”…YOU’D JUST BE LIVING. Did that get too meta? Also, much like Chicken Guy above, Garret was trying WAY too hard to be funny. What’s funny about driving up in a van? He has soccer balls and a baby seat in the back because…he wants that one day…THAT’S WEIRD! Think of all of the guy friends you’ve EVER HAD IN YOUR ENTIRE LIFE. Now, would any of those guys do something like that? No, because you’ve never been friends with a certified weird WEIRDO. He won the first impression rose which I thought was strange until I remembered that Becca is the same girl who was in love with Arie.

OFFICIAL PREDICTION: He’ll make it to the Final 3 because Becca won’t want to admit how wrong she was. As the season goes on, his fake smiles and fake laughs will begin to grate on you.

Grant

Grant “Electrician” (California): I like this guy because he’s not OVERLY good looking and he’s an electrician. That’s a real man job and if Becca knows what’s good for her she’ll let him her check her outlets (all the electricians reading this LOVE that joke.)

OFFICAL PREDICTION: He didn’t get much screen time in the first episode so that probably means he’s gone in the next 2 weeks. If I were him, I’d cut the power to the house when no one is looking and then act like a hero when I was the only one able to get the power back. Real “look at me, I’m a blue collar hero”-move that he should DEFINITELY utilize.

Jake “Marketing Consultant” (Minnesota): This is the guy Becca kinda knew from home. She sent him packing because he didn’t make a move on her when they hung out or something? It was weird/vague reasoning from her, so I was starting to feel bad for this guy. Then, when the camera showed his face he looked like he was about to cry and I was out on him. You can’t cry in the first episode; everyone knows this.

OFFICIAL PREDICTION: Gonna be hard for this guy to overcome the “Cry Guy” label for the next few months. If I saw him in a bar, I would be very tempted to go up to him and ask if he was okay, then run back to my friends laughing like a REAL BULLY.

*Okay, wow, there are a lot of dudes here. I’ve gone through half. I’ll get through the next half next blog.

MY WORLD:

I wrote a lot about personal things yesterday, so today’s will be a little shorter (is it about cancer again? Dear God, please say no!) I gave Belle a shower last night because our apartment doesn’t have a bath (stand-up shower people!) AND IT WAS DIFFICULT.

Since I feel uncomfortable being naked around my dog, I did it wearing gym shorts and once we were done I had ZERO idea how to try her off. I really think it’s impossible to dry a hairy dog all the way off if you live in a smallish apartment. We went through like 3 towels and I shot my hair dryer at her for at least 18 minutes and she was still sopping wet. There needs to be a dog robe invention or…like some sort of bubble-boy contraption that I could wrap Belle in until she’s fully dry.

That’s it. That’s my million-dollar idea. “Bubble-Dog”: An inflatable suit to put your dog in when they’re out of the shower. You know that game where people get in those huge inflatable balls and roll down a hill or run into each other? It’s like that, but it closes around your dog’s entire body. GODDAMNIT, YOU’VE DONE IT AGAIN JIMMY!

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

I am V into the new CHVRCHES album. Also, I have developed a very very very serious crush on the lead singer. It’s serious guys, so like, please don’t show her my blog from yesterday. Here’s my fave song off the album AND you get to hear my sweet love crush talk a little with the audience first.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Getting a new driver license and totally botching the photo so you look like a psycho on your official ID for the next few years.

GAMBLING IS MAYBE MY FAVORITE THING TO TALK ABOUT BUT I THINK IT’S KINDA’ BORING TO WRITE ABOUT MOST OF THE TIME SO I’M GOING TO KEEP THESE SHORT:

I went on a tear. Took $200 out of my account and put it into Bitcoin. I honestly think I will someday get rich off of this. Now, to the picks. LeBron killed me in that Game 7. I bet against him even though EVERYONE told me not to. Now, I’m scared to bet against him. The Warriors are giving 13 points and I think they should blow them out, but the Warriors have been sleepwalking through these playoffs. I’m thinking the Cavs keep it somewhat close tonight, so lets roll with them.

(My account is currently at $20 ON THE NOSE!)

K bye.

Sleeping W/Out AC and Chicago Renters Pt. II (5/2/2018)

MY WORLD:

If you are looking for a way to guarantee waking up in an AWFUL mood, I would suggest breaking your air conditioning unit on the first hot day of the year and trying to sleep when it’s 80 degrees in your apartment. Thankfully, I, personally, don’t have to break my air conditioning unit because The VP and I are lucky enough to rent an apartment that SUPPLIES malfunctioning units without us even having to ask for it! It’s almost as if the landlord read our minds when we signed our lease “I bet these two LOVE when the AC doesn’t work and they get to break a sweat while lying in a bed…oh, have I got a surprise for them!” Well done on keeping that surprise a secret for 8 months!

Honestly, it’s hard to overcome a shitty night of tossing and turning in your own sweat. I got up at like 3AM just to stand in front of my open refrigerator. And you know what makes me feel even softer, is that it wasn’t THAT hot outside. Unfortunately, we cooked last night (resourceful adults, whatever) and used our oven. It was only after dinner when we realized that the AC wasn’t working. So we basically hotboxed ourselves/turned our apartment into a makeshift sauna (hotbox is a weed smoking term that I have never done but it sounds SCARY!) Let me be the first to warn you guys, cranking your oven up on a hot night and turning your 1 bedroom apartment into a homemade sauna is NOT going to relax your muscles.

Then, as if it wasn’t bad enough on us, our numba one pretty gurrrrllll was panting because she’s overdue for a summer cut because we’ve been lazy dog parents lately; so I felt hot AND guilty. If Belle could read this, I feel like she’d roll her eyes and say something along the lines of “YOU were hot? Try wearing a full-body fur suit and only getting to cool of with room temperature water in a dirty bowl. Pussy.” (She would be correct.) I will say that last night, I put some ice cubes in her water bowl and felt like the hero she deserved; she took sips and huffed out a very sarcastic sounding “woof.” So now my dog and I are in a fight.

Then comes the part where I let my building know (are you bored with this yet? Yeah? I don’t care, this is somewhat cathartic for me so just leave. You wanna leave?!?! WHO’S STOPPING YOU?!?!? GOD I’M IN A MOOD!) Where was I? (Thanks for interrupting!) Right, so then comes the part where I let my building know and I get to hear back from like 7 different guys who must ALL have degrees in “Trying To Hide The Fact That I Have No Idea When The HVAC Guy Is Coming.” Then. THEN! When they do actually get here, I have to lock Belle in our bedroom and convince the HVAC repair people that she’s not able to bulldoze through the door to maul them because she sounds like a PSYCHOKILLER LUNATIC! I’ll make some “doesn’t she sound sweet?” jokes, but they won’t really laugh because hearing what sounds like your maker on the other side of a thin bedroom door does not create a fun-loving atmosphere. And you know they’re not going to be able to fix it the first time they’re hear, so The VP and I are looking at 2 more nights MINIMUM of trying to sleep in our own sweat. Isn’t that just GREAT?!?!

Knowing me, I’m going to convince myself that this awful night sleep that I got is a valid excuse to eat something really shitty for lunch; an effort to make myself feel better in the short term. This will, undoubtedly, lead to me feeling extra tight in my new J.Crew jeans and hating myself for the rest of the afternoon. Optimism is at an all-time low in the Pomerantz household right now. (If you can’t tell, one of my strong suits is staying composed in adverse situations.)

OUR WORLD:

Today’s Part II of “The Life of a Chicago Renter” may have a slight edge to it based on my current mental state (re: My World). I just wanted to put that on the record because…nobody cares about the record and whenever anyone says that it’s basically an excuse to act however you want. Right? It’s the same as saying “That being said…” and along the same lines as “No offense, but…”

Wicker Park/Bucktown/Logan Square: (Age 28-32)

I like to refer to this as the “I’m not a hipster, but if I live near them I may get hit with some of their street-cred shrapnel”-phase. You start to become more interested in drinking things other than beer and vodka sodas, and you’re DONE living in places with window-units and no dishwasher. These west-side HOT SPOTS have exploded in popularity over the past decade, which means what? GRANITE COUNTERTOPS Y’ALL!!! And in-unit washer/dryers, dishwashers and fancy modern sinks. A big bowl sink feels like luxury when you’re used to decades worth of Heineken stains in your old-timey sink with the faucet that pops off.

There are more dog parks, so now is the PERFECT time to get a doogenstein and join the “I’m sorry, she was adopted”-crew. Side note: whether you actually adopted your dog or not, the perfect excuse for a poorly behaved dog is to drop a “yeah, she was adopted” in there. Immediately, you’re a selfless hero and your doogensteeglestein is a victim of a rough upbringing. Once in Wicker/Buck/Logan, you’re surrounded by young families, dogs and people that aren’t quite done partying, but do it in a way that it’s not SO obviously destructive. They’re professionals by this point, which is why brunch becomes SUCH deal. Nothing like hiding binge drinking with eggs and toast; it’s not destructive or a “problem” if it’s done in the light at a breakfast table. Remember that.

Then there’s the hipster versus bro civil war that has been simmering for the past 5 years as the bros have infiltrated hipster-land. What’ll probably happen with you, is what happened with me; you’ll claim allegiance to the bro side of the war when you’re around your bro-ier friends, and then you’ll claim allegiance to the hipster side of the war when you’re around your hipster-ier friends. No shame in playing both sides here because both sides kinda stink equally. It’s also fun to sit in restaurants and bars and see the two sides glaring at each other from across the bar. The hipsters say things like “wow, sweet khakis bro” and the bros say things like “wow, sweet fingerless gloves pal”. It’s a duel totally devoid of actual wit, that’s easy to identify and fun to watch.

Ukrainian Village/River West/West Town/West Loop: (Age 32-DEATH)

I’m 32 now and I live in Ukrainian Village. That’s really all the experience I have so…I assume I’ll just stay here till I die, right?

Good section, Jimmy!

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

I need some good-times music to help make me feel better about the whole AC sitch. SING TO ME STEVE!

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Being in a bad mood for a reason so slight that anyone going through anything that’s ACTUALLY difficult would hate you.

MY BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT I AM GENUINELY CONFIDENT IN BECAUSE I DESERVE GOOD THINGS TO HAPPEN TO ME AFTER GETTING REAR-ENDED BY A GUY WITHOUT A LICENSE:

I talked my gambling crew out of taking the Pelicans last night because I was POSITIVE the Warriors would blow them out with Steph Curry returning. It seems, in the face of all the evidence I had, I have yet to crack the NBA code. Back to the drawing board, but I’m like that little kid in the deep end who’s about to panic that they’re drowning. Give me some fucking waterwings or something here! The Jazz are 11 point underdogs tonight and, they have more pride than that. Right? So much pride to take them on the moneyline? YUP!

(My account currently at $88.07)

K bye.

Wednesday Work Robots and Missing Immaturity (4/25/18)

OUR WORLD:

Wednesday is such a day for adults. The midpoint of the weekday grind is the exact point where you don’t know where or who you really are anymore; you’re just the person who puts on the least wrinkled shirt in your closet and walks your dog before disappearing into a computer screen for 9 hours (9, not 8, because you’re a GOOD WORKER BEE!) Throughout the day, some people will make hump day jokes because of that talking-camel commercial and you’ll kinda chuckle because the word “hump” is funny. But, all you really want to do is not talk to ANYONE and just blackout until late Thursday afternoon when Friday’s rays of sunshine begin to poke through your office blinds.

This grind is such a mature mindset. I remember coming out of college and trying to treat every night like Friday because “I like to have fun!” The thought of basically transforming myself into a work-robot during the week was too sobering for Jimmy IT’S ALWAYS GOOD TIMES. And while this maturing is good for the health of my brain and body, I’ll have instances where I daydream about getting to be immature again. Don’t you? Like, don’t you just want to take your shirt off in the middle of your office sometimes and run out while screaming “I’M FREE!!!” You’re not gonna do it, but it’s funny to think about. Thinking about EXPLOSIONS of immaturity is what gets me through some of life’s most mundane and scary situations/settings; and I think if you’re not partaking in this exercise as of yet, it might help you as well. So today, I’d like to start a new Wednesday tradition on Jimmyschair and write about “places where you really want to act more immature than is socially acceptable”:

The Dentist Office:

You probably haven’t gone in over 3 years and it’s getting to the point where you’ve convinced yourself that “something real bad is happening.” I went for the first time in like 5 years a couple months ago (not to brag) and was POSITIVE the dentist was going to take one look at me before calling a Priest to read me my last rights. (Spoiler alert: I’m still alive and it wasn’t that bad). But your imagination runs WILD to the point where you start contemplating “what if I just never went to the dentist again? People in olden times didn’t go and they seem to be doing okay in most of the movies I’ve seen them in.” That is until you throw a pile of almonds in your stink-trap of a mouth, bite down and feel like an a-bomb went off inside your back molar. The “oh fuck, something’s really wrong in my mouth” is a top 1 worst feeling in life.

So you finally make an appointment, but you’re really hoping that an alien bomber plane will just blow up the world before you actually have to go. But that never happens because you have bad luck, so you go to the dentist and have to be MATURE and pretend like you’re not that scared. Wouldn’t it be great to be immature here? Like, just walk into the dentist office crying. Go up to the receptionist wildly shaking your head and weeping “I don’t wanna go! I don’t wanna go!” Then when the dentist emerges with his scary surgical mask, you literally SCREAM BLOODY MURDER “GET AWAY FROM ME! NO! NO! HELP! MOM HELP!!!!” The dentist would have to try to calm you down by speaking on a sweet voice and assuring you that “everything is gonna be okay.” But you still wouldn’t totally believe him as you sat down in that murder-chair.

Then they’d turn the lamp on and ask you to open your mouth, but since you’re still in immature-mode you just refuse to. The dentist’s assistant would kneel down next to you and maybe rub your shoulder a little to calm you down (wouldn’t that be nice as an adult? Guess what, kids aren’t the only ones scared of the dentist!) So then finally, after being talked to like a baby, you’d open your mouth a little and they could begin to clean your teeth. It’s not bad at first, but then they start scraping and you LOSE IT again. This time, it’s a full-on “get away from me!”-fit to the point that they have to konk you on the head with a mallet to continue the cleaning. I don’t know about you, but if my dentist appointment included being knocked out cold by a mallet-to-the-dome, I’d consider that a win for the mere fact that I wouldn’t have to hear all the drilling noises.

MY WORLD:

I’m not gonna lie guys, I am supes biz at work (cute way of saying I’ve thought about crying on a semi-regular basis over the past few weeks). So that’s my world right now: being super busy, feeling bad that my dog is alone for way too long during the day and trying to cool it with the “I worked hard today, so I deserve to binge on candy tonight.”

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Did you think I was kidding when I said I was about to go on a big Death Cab for Cutie kick?

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

When “Chicago Fire” is filming two blocks away from your apartment building and, therefore, blocking off 2 streets worth of parking. So when you get home at night, there is no parking left and you have to park like 9 blocks away on a street known for muggings. I’ve never watched this show and, if you do, I’d ask that you please stop. Thank you for your service.

MY BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT I AM GENUINELY CONFIDENT IN BECAUSE I DESERVE GOOD THINGS TO HAPPEN TO ME AFTER GETTING REAR-ENDED BY A GUY WITHOUT A LICENSE:

Cool thing happened to me last night, I forgot to bet on Milwaukee until midway through the first half. Which means that I got them at (+11.5) and they covered! San Antonio also covered, so I went 2 for 3 last night! This parlay kid could use one hitting, but at least I’m not on some big smelly losing streak or something. Got a bunch of games going tonight, and here’s what I’m thinking as of now: Jazz, Wizards, Rockets, and Bucks all against the spread. Will my thinking change between now and gametime? Quite possibly.

(My account currently at $182.80)

K bye.

Country Clubs Suck and Dog Nicknames (4/19/18)

OUR WORLD:

Ever walk into a place and IMMEDIATELY feel like everything there, from the people to the furniture to the paint on the walls, is eager for you to leave? If you’re having trouble coming up with the last place that made you feel this way, let me help you out: think of the last time you were in a country club. Now you get it. Studies show that readers of jimmyschair are 91% less likely to be a member in a country club than the rest of society (studies, guys, we’re talkin’ serious stuff that people wearing tiny glasses wrote about). But you have been to one before because everyone is due to experience an old lady with poofy white hair and an expensive pin (it’s called a “Brooche” you animal) giving you the “leave immediately, or I’ll put a murder-spell on your family”-glare. I got to experience this yesterday on a business (straight cash homie) call, and it reminded me how absolutely obnoxious country clubs are. Why does this appeal to people?

The appeal of being a part of an exclusive club can be attractive, but when entry into that club is determined not by merit, but by your bank account, how does the guilt not taint the membership at least a little bit? Obviously, most people who are well off have worked their asses off earning every nickel they have and there should be no guilt about that. But when those people inhabit the same club as Thomas TrustFund, they…kinda’ become the company they keep. Imagine a scenario where some shlubby dude, let’s call him Jimmy, wearing an old t-shirt and dirty hat gets lost. Jimmy is driving around the middle of suburbia for a while when it starts hailing golf balls as a dense fog rolls in. So pulls in the first driveway he sees and takes it up to a big, old-timey looking house place. He’ll walk in, not noticing the “Members Only” sign that’s small enough that you’d have to wonder if it’s a test. Once inside, soaking wet with bruises on his head from the hail, the 4 members wearing blazers with patches on the elbows, will immediately begin to grumble. The one whose family has been members the longest, Thomas TrustFund, will volunteer to be the enforcer because the mere whiff of danger is intoxicating for this neutered house cat.

“Excuse me sir, are you a member?”-Thomas huffed, knowing full well that members aren’t allowed to wear “Big Dog” t-shirts.

“Oh, shoot I’m sorry, I didn’t realize this was a club. It was just a nightmare outside, so I had to get off the roads.”-Jimmy responded.

Thomas asks Jimmy to “kindly leave”, (which is a thing that only true dickheads say; more offensive for it’s condescension than if someone said “you! yeah you, get da’ fuck outta here!) and will send Jimmy back into the hail tornado. Then Thomas will return to his midday bourbon circle-jerk to clink glasses celebrating exclusivity and how “tough” he just was. Now, if you’re the person who worked your ass off for every nickel you have, but you now own the same douchey blazer as Thomas and have clinked glasses with him, you are now Thomas. Seriously, just change your name.

I can hear my mom reminding me that all people that have money and belong to country clubs aren’t assholes, and that’s probably true. However, if they get to build a club and golf course and pool all with the sole intent of excluding other people, aren’t those excluded people then allowed to label this society as “the dickhead society”? It seems fair, no? You get a pool, we get to unite in calling you dicks.

Is a pool and access to a nice golf course and a private dining room worth being properly labeled as a dick, though? There are super nice public golf courses throughout the country (I know because sometimes I save up and play them and end up wanting to quit about 6 holes in). A pool? Well, that’s tougher, but we all have a friend who has a rich uncle who likes to throw parties. If not, just do what my parents did and get a room at the Glenview Embassy Suites for the night so you can swim in their pool. We’ve already gone over this; hotel pools are the best. A nice restaurant? Are you effing serious, bro? “Newks” is a sandwich chain-restaurant in the south that has better sandwiches than any goofy clubhouse “chef” could slap together. And steakhouses?!?! Every town in America now has that one nice steakhouse that you save up to go to once every 3 years and leave saying “that was SO worth it.”

So the appeal MUST be the status that’s associated with it, and that’s where I’m lost. Bragging about your bank account, however passive aggressive it may be, is something that should be pointed out and mocked every single time. This is why “Caddyshack” was such a great movie (related: I caddied at the club that “Caddyshack” was based on, and it was SPOT. ON. Seriously, it’s stunning how little in that movie was exaggerated.) This is why no matter how many times my Mom tells me to not sounds so judgmental about the people in these places, I can’t resist. This is why whenever I go to one of these places, ready to give them the benefit of the doubt and be surprised by their welcoming nature, I end up leaving disappointed.

Yesterday, while doing BUSINESS, I was asked to take my hat off before entering an empty dining area in a country club where my presence (because of my work) was requested. Not wanting to cause a scene by starting up an impromptu “Hat People Matter”-campaign, I removed my hat and continued our meeting; looking like an absolute asshole with my hat hair. And why did I have to take my hat off? So as not to offend the…oh, wait…NOBODY WAS IN THE DINING ROOM. No no, this is just “club policy”. Give me a fuckin’ break, pal. That’s like a movie usher yelling at someone for using their phone after the movie ended and everyone left and the theater was now empty and dark because that was the last showing of the day. It was almost like this guy thought “now, he must have noticed that his LEASED car stuck out in our parking lot, but let’s really drive the point home that he’s a slob by forcing him to show off his dirty, helmet-like hair in front of the four well-dressed club executives.”

I’m a middle-class white dude who was raised in a very nice suburb and these places make ME feel like sewer matter; I can’t even imagine how they make people less fortunate feel. I hope to make a buttload of money someday, go to a country club that’s struggling with membership and buy the land it’s on so I can tear it down and build my dream: a “Newks” in Illinois. What’s better than a “Newks” sandwich? A “Newks” sandwich that comes with a free round of golf and pool access.

MY WORLD:

With The VP of Ops out of town, I’ve been talking to my dog, Belle, quite a bit more than usual. Fellow dog owners? You feel me? Cha feel? Here are the nicknames that I have bestowed upon Belle:

-Pretty Girl

-Numba One Pretty Gurrrrrrl

-Sundog Millionaire! (said, with an exclamation point, in the villain’s accent from “Slumdog Millionaire”)

-Bubba

-Bubba Shlubba

-Dirty Dog

-Ro Ro

I will keep you all updated on the new ones that my dumb brain comes up with just about every day.

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

The old couches that are super not comfortable and in every stuffy country club you’ve ever been to.

MY BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT I AM GENUINELY CONFIDENT IN BECAUSE I DESERVE GOOD THINGS TO HAPPEN TO ME AFTER GETTING REAR-ENDED BY A GUY WITHOUT A LICENSE:

I can’t lie to you guys. I wasn’t able to gamble last night and I don’t even know what happened in those games because of work stuff. I apologize for letting you down. Gambler Jimmy will return soon…and with a vengeance.

(My account currently at $204.55)

K bye.

Life Predictions and Top Ten Chip List (3/14/2018)

MY WORLD:

Have you been noticing something about this blog? (This is a great lead in for a sick, deep burn at my expense. BRING IT ON!) Jimmy’s Chair is a stone-cold curse maker. If I write about rules for the gym, the next time I go to the gym there will be a guy shadowboxing on the treadmill next to me (this happened last night. I glared at him 3 times and then reminded myself that a guy who shadowboxes on a treadmill at Planet Fitness probably also carries a sharp knife in case he “gets stepped to.” I ain’t steppin!) If I pick a team to win, they will lose (UCLA lost to a made up school last night even though I used my lucky vape pen ON A SCHOOLNIGHT!) If I write about the impending arrival of spring, there will be a snowstorm (I had to pull over for 20 minutes yesterday because it was snowing so hard that I couldn’t see 50 feet in front of me.) With this in mind, I would like to make a few life predictions that I feel confident in and are in no way an attempt at a reverse jinx (everyone act normal. No sudden movements. Shut up shut up shut up shut up)

My dog Belle will never calm down and be nice to anyone aside from The VP of Ops and I. Great! Grand! Wonderful! The VP of Ops texted me about Belle’s latest psycho-freak-out while I was at the gym last night (working out, it’s a thing I do. Running mostly, but that’s because I have kind of a natural muscle tone. Thanks for asking.)

*Here’s the actual text exchange…I don’t know how to make the image smaller, back off.

I’ve come to peace with the fact that Belle will never get better. Dogs are supposed to be cuddly and nice especially when they look like a stuffed animal, but you know what? Even Jeffrey Dahmer’s parents loved him and I wuv my wittle cannibal doggy! I completely accept the fact that bringing her to my parents house is not in the cards. I look forward to the complications that will arise when The VP and I plan a vacation, only to realize that the ONE COUPLE that Belle actually gets along with, is out of town that week. Then, when we ask my brother to housesit, as a last resort, I understand and accept that he will make up an excuse because the one time he did watch her, she growl-barked at him into a corner for over 4 hours (this happened. He called me in Memphis and told me “she’s not calming down”. I responded “you’re breaking up! I can’t hear you!”) Guys, guess who is looking forward to the next time we have to bring Belle to a kennel only to have The VP cry the whole car ride after dropping her off? I AM, GUYS! ME! And when we have kids with psycho-killer-cannibal-dog? Let’s just say, SIGN ME UP! This is going to be great.

The VP of Ops and I will continue to rent one bedroom apartments in Chicago for the next 20 years minimum. Uhhhhhhh “yes, please!” Guys, when you get a chance to live on the third floor of a walk-up in a neighborhood known for carjackings and the occasional drive-by shooting, you find the nearest pen cuz that lease ain’t gonna sign itself! (If my parents or the VP’s parents are reading this, I would like to point out that I once got in a fight in Los Angeles and I didn’t even cry. So…yeah, you could say I’m pretty tough.) Maybe I want my money to go to the pockets of a landlord I’ve never met, who thinks fixing the heat in December is “optional”. Is that so bad? Last I checked, being different is what sets the great ones apart. I’m different, okay? I bet you REGULARS enjoy having bathrooms larger than an “Anorexic” port-a-potty too, huh? Yeah, that’s what I thought. Not me! I’m unique! And beautiful! Look, I can touch both walls in here! And no, I’m not at all bummed at the prospect of having to park at night on Carjack Boulevard for the rest of my adult life. EXCUUUUUUSE ME for marching to the beat of a different drummer!

A hiring person at a major online publication will never read this blog and offer me a well-paying writing job in a warm weather city. Getting up at 6AM to write hundreds of words is something I do because I love the act of writing and, hopefully, making someone having a rough day laugh a little bit. That’s what it’s all about, guys. I’m not here to somehow miraculously, against all odds, build a big audience that could gain the attention of someone at a website like The Ringer, who would then reach out to me with an e-mail with the subject line “Your writing has caught our attention and we have a ton of money to spend on new hires!” I’m not here for that. I’m here because this is a hobby that makes me feel good AND THAT’S IT! Money just doesn’t move my needle, if you catch my drift. Now, I don’t judge you if money is your primary motivation, but that’s just not me. I’m a “for-the-love-of-the-game”-guy. I’m the 38 year minor league catcher content with never making “the show” because I’m here for the guys, for the fans, for the love of the game. If you’re having a rough day at work, boss is really busting your hump, I hope this blog can maybe make you smile…even for just a second. If I can put one smile, on one strangers face, then I’ve done my job here.

Guys, you smell that? That’s the smell of STONE. COLD. LEAD. PIPE. LOCKS. Take these to your bookie and empty all of your accounts with money in them on these predictions. No way in God’s green, beautiful earth these don’t happen. (Don’t move…don’t! Shut up shut up shut up. Act normal!)

OUR WORLD:

WARNING: I’m about to delve into some pretty personal and, frankly, heavy issues. If you’re not okay with possibly crying at your desk, then you may want to re-think reading this section…

It’s National Chip Day. I know this because I love chips (and also because a friend of mine texted me “It’s National Chip Day”). In honor, of these salty, crispy, edible shapes, I would like to present you with my TOP TEN CHIP LIST. Now, I actually compiled a list like this a few weeks back when my friends and I got into a very heated, very prolonged argument about Flamin’ Hot Cheetos (some of these friends are raising kids. I’m excited about the next generation.) Unfortunately, my original TOP TEN CHIP LIST is lost in the sea of this group text, so I’m going to do my best to recreate it here. Oh, and Flamin’ Hot Cheeto-lovers need to get over themselves, you’re not impressing ANYBODY by pretending to like a mediocre/obscure chip. These are the same people that swear they love the taste of Malort. Get da fuck outta here!

JIMMYSCHAIR TOP TEN CHIPS

Kettle “Salt and Vinegar”: The undisputed king chip flavor and Kettle does it best.
Dorito “Nacho Cheese”: The “I haven’t had these in a while”-chip that ALWAYS blows you away.
Lays “Original Salted”: Classic and perfect. You don’t like these? Leave.
Cheddar & Sour Cream Ruffles: The VP intro’d me to these and OH MOMMA JOMMA deez iz good.
Frito Scoops: Yeah, I said it! Fritos are amazing, and guess what? Frito Scoops are just BIGGER Fritos. Bigger = better…everyone knows this.
BBQ Pringles: Pringles always sneak up on you and their BBQ flavor is ON POINT.
Jimmy John’s Jalapeno: They’re spicy, but not too spicy, and go great inside their sandy’s. Beach Club with these smashed in. Goodnight nurse.
Cool Ranch Doritos: Doritos know what they’re doing mmmmkay?
BBQ Lays: A close second to regular Lays. Guess what these go great with? A barbecue. Nailed it.
Cape Cod Salted: These will punish the roof of your mouth, but they’re totally worth it because CHIPS!

Feel free to debate me on these rankings, but know that I am positive that this is the definitive list. If yours is different IN ANY WAY, you obviously don’t know chips. Happy National Chip Day!

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

All Hail King Chip!

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Worst chip of all time.

Bugles

MY BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT I AM GENUINELY CONFIDENT IN BECAUSE I DESERVE GOOD THINGS TO HAPPEN TO ME AFTER GETTING REAR-ENDED BY A GUY WITHOUT A LICENSE:

UCLA losing to St. Bonaventure last night was completely ridiculous for so many reasons that I can’t believe Bovada is actually accepting that it happened. UCLA acting like they’ve never seen a zone defense before is something beyond anyone’s control (except our coach, Steve Alford, who should be FIRED IMMEDIATELY BECAUSE I’M MAD!) That one’s not my fault, plain and simple. Not my fault. Tonight? Listen, I don’t want to lie to you guys, here’s what’s going to happen: I’m going to wait until the last minute and then probably empty my Bovada account on Syracuse over Arizona State because Syracuse has a coach who people think is a good coach.

(My account currently at $34.11)

K bye.