Virginia beats the shit out of New England.

Listen here Chowdaheads.


Sad story for you snow-weary Plymouth rock monkeys. Virginia totally started America. 1607, Jamestown, Va. Birthplace of America. Look it up bitches.

Virginia is prettier, with 34 highly regarded state parks. Love the smell of America? I do. Where do I get my fix? Virginia's state parks!

New England isn't even a state. It's a stupid region with stupid regional parks. Plus, when is anything named after England good? (England, not an English person. Too easy, Doug)

Virgina gave birth to eight presidents.

Virginia grows tobacco, everyone looks cool when they smoke, even Richie Cunningham.

Our State capital was also the capital of a country. (One that was not recognized by the US, but who cares! Fuck em.)

We have the Pentagon, the CIA, and the NRA. Also, we have 7 dead presidents and Arlington National cemetery on our hallowed grounds.

Virginia was once so big and bad that it consisted of Virgina, West Virginia, Kentucky, Tennessee, North and South Carolina and DC. Beat that fuck stain.

Our accents sound better.

The Redskins are better (over time) than the patriots.

The Red Sox are better than anyone so fuck you Doug, I'm taking that one away.

America was born in Virginia.

Virginia is for lovers. We like to bump nasties.

p.s. Doug likes dudes.

It's the simple things in life...

There is nothing funnier than a forgiener being kicked in the face by a bovine. Unless said bovine is also a master of the ninja arts. God I love ninja cows.

There's always next year...

and there's always go F yourself.
Last night the Capitals weren't able to get past the Flyers. Which reminds me of something. Philadelphia sucks. I hate Philly fans, teams and people alike. Maybe I'm overreacting due to the emotional stress of watching those dirty rat bastards crush the hopes and dreams of a young team of excellent hockey players. Maybe my anger comes from the fact that Philly made me throw a chair across the bar and get thrown out of said bar. Maybe I've finally come to the realization that no matter what I do, Philly will always be there. Looking at me, staring at me, taunting me. Getting in the background of my photos and making a silly face, getting drunk at a Christmas party and grabbing my brothers wife. Or maybe, just maybe, it's because Philly sucks.
Philly strikes me as the kind of city that beats his wife, and his dog, but is really a closet homosexual or pederast.

The more I think about it, the more I dislike it. OK, Cheesesteak is good, but everything else sucks. Plus, the stupid Flyer's have no shot at the cup, seeing as no Philly team has brought anything home since I was born. (76ers in 83) Listen good, you cheesesteakmongering, has been capital of the US, you suck for raining on my parade.

Also, there has been some buzz about town regarding our fans throwing trash onto the ice and booing. The initial reaction last night was that people were upset that we lost, and felt that they were let down by their team. So in response to this anger and resentment, they threw things at the Caps and booed them. On the contrary, I believe that it was simply a knee jerk reaction to the Flyers. Remember, they are from Philly. I think the Caps were simply booing the Flyers and throwing trash at them, which probably made the Flyers feel right at home, so it turns out that we are classier than I thought. Philly, boo's, trash? Sounds like a good time.

Cheeseburger in the Distance

I don’t know of any way of describing it other than “it’s just there.” It just sits there, two-dimensional and seventy-five feet up in the air. I’ve seen it everyday for the past nine months and I can’t get it out of my head. It taunts me in a way that I can’t really describe; its like something that you know is supposed to be a part of you but you’re not ready to have it, hold it, enjoy it.

Of course, I’m talking about the giant cheeseburger on the Friendly’s billboard near my office. You can see it out of any of the five windows that face the east but looking out just any window isn’t fair to it. The one true and unobstructed view of it can only be obtained while standing at the urinal. So if you find yourself there, at the urinal in my office, turn your head to the right and you’ll see it. Out past the hotel’s small lawn and gazebo, past South Main Street, past the high school, then over highway 84. It’s there. A two-story tall piece of heaven on a bun, the writing on the sign obscured by one of the countless, dreary, brick office buildings that circle this downtrodden city like giants without a home. But at least the burger is there and it always will be, I think.

I sorely want that burger, I do. I don’t know why I don’t just go over and get it, or at least touch it. The walk over wouldn’t be tough, just a couple hundred yards, still that distance on a dreary day may as well be a couple hundred miles; I can’t commit to that. Even if I got there it would be a long, long climb up a cold ladder to reach my prize. Then what? Could I even take it? Would it be real or would I have to bring my own burger, would that be blasphemous? See, why would I even try. I kind of like it there in the distance, brightening my day whenever I take a piss. Maybe taking it would be a piece of Icarian buffoonery; another piece of humiliation to put with the others. Still would that be much worse than pissing in the same damned urinal, looking out the same damned window forever? Probably not, but I guess I’m not ready to go after the cheeseburger in the distance. Not yet anyway.