Monday, April 28, 2008

Draft Pug on Tap

Hi everybody,

Sorry for the delay, but Yours Truly was on a secret assignment - which only now can be declassified, as the mission is now complete.

No, it wasn't a covert op* (* operation) to Iraq. That was aborted, due to my turban being detected as a towel from Holiday Inn (damn you, corporate branding and defense budget cuts! damn you to hell!).

So instead I served as "Commander-in-Chief" of my own "fantasy" football team.

It was a chilly weekend on the frozen tundra of Lambo field ... wait, actually it was Ed's Sports Bar, and besides, Lamby hates that nickname. Anyway, it was just the boys, as much to our surprise and chagrin there were few obvious females present. Maybe it was all for the best. A drinking establishment is no place for a woman. Still there remains almost three quarters* (* note the football tie-in) of action remaining in that new bottle of Old Spice, so there will be other opportunities to score.

Before I begin, allow me to bring those of you who may be somewhat unfamiliar* (* ladies, Canadians, folks from Detroit) with football, up to speed. In the interest of brevity, I will only seek to explain principles of the draft itself (as those are the only principles I feel comfortable with).

The NFL Draft is an annual event that occurs every April. It consists of 7-rounds, where each team, in order from worst (by record) to best (Superbowl champ) within each round, selects an eligible college player. Once chosen, that team owns the rights to a player (similar in concept to the first blogger kidnapping Yours Truly and possessing exclusive conjugal privileges). The players have no say over which team picks them. It could be the New England Patriots (Pinks), or the Detroit Lions (Crash Test Comic). That is part of the fun and intrigue.

Packaged in with the draft is this unusual and shadowy fellow by name of Mel Kiper Jr., who - not unlike the groundhog - appears above ground once once per year to prognosticate. Here is where I would poke fun at Mel's distinctive hairstyle and flamboyant manner, but I prefer to not wind up in an oil drum or landfill somewhere. This young don suspects Mel doesn't innocently hang-out at the Elks Lodge with his approximately 51-weeks of free time. Unless of course there are Teamsters present.

And I certainly don't want to wind up like this guy (below), with Jack Nicholson camping it up on the big screen as The Pug. Who needs that? Still, I have been discretely informed that Yours Truly(!) will have the inside track for next year's draft if I show up at the Machus Red Fox Restaurant in Bloomfield Township, Michigan, early. And alone. I can't wait!

So now that I have briefed you* (* this time only / from here on out, your panties come OFF during our more common "de-briefing" sessions) with the pre-draft analysis, let's recap how I did:

Round 1: Worried that the Detroit Lions would once again this year snap up all of the good Wide Receivers, I had to strike quickly. In a nod to the immortal Billy "White Shoes" Johnson, I used my first pick on Billy "White Sheets" Johnson. To the casual observer, these two are "night and day" different. "Shoes" is an African-American Houston Oiler from the 1970's; known for his trademark white shoes, flashy persona and blazing speed. "Sheets" white-shirted for the Klansman of the Mississippi Valley conclave, has a knack for finding the seams in coverage, and runs a blazingly crisp cross(ing) pattern. No one is faster at eluding black defensive players as if his very life depended on it; the sheet serves to conceal the sudden zags after zigs, and is there anything more aerodynamic than a pointy hat? Meet the "White Missile*" (* not to be confused with my own "Mr. Happy").

Round 2: Attempted to stay closer to team "needs" with this pick. Deficiencies in several key areas required immediate attention: 1) low percentage of illegitimate children in the red zone; 2) outmuscled by opponents in tittie bar fights; 3) inadequate completion ratio at Playstation; and, 4) uneventful drives. Unfortunately no prospects appeared to meet any of these criteria. So I selected Maurice Clarett as a rehabilitation project instead out of the supplemental (penal) "system".

Round 3: Decided to think "outside of the box" with this pick, trading up to select a NON-promiscuous cheerleader. I'll take the heat for going with "less experience" at a skill position, but hey, that's what practice is for. And it never hurts to have a Tight End who can block against opposing penetration.

Round 4: At this point, it seemed wise to go with the "best athlete available". Which is why I didn't. Instead, I decided to "fill another gap" with this pick. No, I did not choose another cheerleader. There will always be Free Agents for those positions still available up until "last call". Instead, I wanted someone with flair, in order to run the audio in our stadium.

It takes a rare bath-house, er, club-house leader to effectively convert androgynous glam-rock into testosterone-laden anthem as an essential addition to the sporting homophobe's playbook. And per my scouts, there was one clear choice in this area: an aural thoroughbred who seemed to effortlessly hit on exotically eclectic cylinders through "We Will Rock You", "We Are The Champions", and "Rock and Roll, Part 2" twenty-a-day drills. Since Freddy Mercury is no longer on the board, my choice is Gary Glitter and his right-angle penis (see photo below).

Stay tuned for the follow-through on Pug's Picks 5 through 7 !


Sunday, April 06, 2008

I ALSO Have a Dream

( This weekend, many of us mourned the passing of the late, great, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., 40-years previous, on April 4th, 1968. Below is my twisted homage to MLK and a liberal retooling of one of the greatest speeches of all time. Forgive me. )

Thank you everyone for attending today. I am happy to join with you in what will go down in history as perhaps one of the top 200 posts that The Pug has ever crafted.

Five scores ago, a great American known simply as "The Pug", in whose furry and hunched shadow you now stand, ended a long night of captivity and emerged from Lamby's crawlspace to start a blog.

But many posts later, The Pug still is not free. You see, the manacles of earning a paycheck and the chains of ever increasing expectation continue to harsh his buzz. So I stand here before you, rear leg lifted in outrage, to once again remind you of a shameful condition.

It is obvious that America has defaulted on a promissory note where blogging was supposed to make this particular canine rich and famous beyond even his wildest imaginings. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given him a bad check (endorsed and post-dated by none other than Leelee), a check which has come back marked "Store Credit Only." The folly of not using PayPal has now become self-evident, as not all schemes were created equal.

Now is the time to lift the skirt of Lady Justice in my search for both vengeance and a path to the promised land.

The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges from beneath the G-String of patchy oppression.

But there is something that I must say to my people who stand in the warm, urine-imbued shallow end of "Why Oh Why Must It Be This Way?", wondering why it must be this way.

We must forever conduct our struggle against the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow creativity to bitterly and covertly infiltrate our postings and our comments.

As we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead because it is extremely awkward to march in any other fashion. We cannot turn back until it becomes time to depart. We cannot be satisfied as long as a single female blogger or Women Seeking Men poster on Craigs List remains unsatisfied.

I am not unmindful that some of you depart my blog with greater trials and tribulations than previous. I suspect that some of you may have come fresh from incarceration. You have been the veterans of creative suffering, and as such are naturally drawn to my musings. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.

I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. This is one of a type that is not all wet. Nor does it this time involve any of my female bloggers in revealing or compromising poses.

I have a dream that Lamby one day will not be judged by the color of her rope-skipping lambs, but by the content of her blog.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that Party Girl will forgo her partying ways to - a la Shania Twain - have a "Party for Two" with Yours Truly.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that instead of Enronesque "massaging the numbers", Pud massages my numbers.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that somehow Cathy is related to the Onassis family, and is due to inherit an island upon which we can roam sans-clothing and consummate our passion for each other on a pre-arranged, annual basis a la Jackie and Aristotle.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day, Limpy will get laid in all states, both geographically and perhaps in a few altered ones as well.

I have a dream.

I have a dream where Sassy Blondie and I continuously switch roles as teacher and student, and extra credit is a given.

I have a dream.

I have a dream that Pinks and I stay at a motel where - for safety - we spend the entire time in the room with the curtains drawn.

I have a dream.

I have a dream where Serena's answers to one of her posted quizzes proclaim that The Pug is her ideal match.

I have a dream.

I have a dream where She forgoes her art to tattoo her own body with images of The Pug, which she then posts on her blog.

I have a dream.

( Oops, was that the Alarm Clock? Already? On a Sunday? WTF? Okay, I'll have more dreams in the ensuing comments. )

This is my hope. And when all of this happens, especially when The Pug is FINALLY able to realize the substantial return from his blogging that he deserves, we can then shout from the pierced, jewelry-capped mountains, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"