IN THE YEAR 2010......

In the year 2010, no one will care anymore that the band Steely Dan was named after a vibrator.

Instead, all women of all nationalites and faiths will simply name their vibrators "Mike Guerdon".

Thus leading to the invariable saying:

"Who needs a man, when I can have Mike Guerdon?"

The boldest Super Bowl Prediction EVER.

Well, not so much.

Here we are, at the end of the worst football season I have ever experienced. If you need clarification, know this: I’m a Miami Dolphins fan.

So not only have I had the pleasure of watching Cam Cameron reduce my team to a 1-15 steaming turd (we were lucky to win one game), I’ve had to watch the freaking Patriots match the Dolphins 1972 undefeated record.

The freakin' Patriots. Yeesh.

I guess it could be worse. It could have been the Bills or the Jets.

It has been a miserable season for The Leeman. But we have a Tuna in Miami now, and we will be competitive soon, of that, I am quite sure. How 'bout those Miami Cowboys?

And now, this monsterous abortion of a season, it all gets wrapped up on Sunday.

I have no reason to believe that the Pats will come this close and not make it all the way. I will be rooting for the G-Men, but I don’t think a G-Men win is gonna happen.

The one way it can happen is…. PUNCH TOM BRADY IN THE MOUTH. If the Giants sackmeisters can get to him, rattle him, and get in his face…. The G-Men have a chance.

That having been said, I don’t think the G-Men have a chance. Pats 35 Giants 23. It should be over by the third quarter.

We’ll take that order of perfect season with a side dish of asterisk, please.

And we’ll see you next year.

Back from vaycay - or... how NOT to start and end your vacation

Well, I'm back from vaycay. And I can honestly say I know how NOT to begin and end a vacation.

It started last Friday after work, when after being stuck behind an accident for an hour, I got re-routed to the Polk County Parkway and immediately got a ticket for going 72 MPH in a 60 MPH zone. In speaking with the fine patrolman, it was apparent that a.) I don't have boobs and b.) it probably wouldn't have helped as he was the stiffest sunuvabitch ever. I got a $156 dollar ticket. That's $13 dollars a mile over the speed limit. Folks, this wasn't about speeding, this was about an asshole filling a quota. FHP.... No sir, I don't like you.

I ended vacation with a terrific head cold the likes of which haven't been seen since my last terrific head cold.

So, in between, I had a great time. The beginning and end, not so much.

Adolf Hitler was a Dallas Cowboys fan.

I knew it. Most Nazis are.

This is the funniest thing ever, cheers to Grudly Mandinko for passing it along.

Click below for linkage and be ready to laugh.

http://www.dscshow.com/cc-common/mainheadlines2.html?feed=150910&article=3173961

A shout-out to my favorite barkeep, or how I long for Michelle's rich, creamy goodness.

I wanna to shout out to ,my bartender, and therefore by default, my dear, dear friend. This is Michelle.

Michelle is the object of my desire, in addition to many of my uncountable obsessions.

I just love everything about Michelle. Everything she lets me see, anyway. And she is so the best. At everything, I assume.

So, cheers to you, Michelle. You are of a singular beauty and you take my breath away. Usually because you're feeding me Crown Royal while I'm trying to breathe.

I ask you... is that not the face of an angel? Yes. Yes, it is.

And her face aint bad either.

I hate you, Joey Sunshine!!!

I’ve always hated Joe Theisman, and now its time to tell all of cyberspace why.

See, every once and a while, I dream Joe Theisman and some other guy I don’t know, but can’t stand, come into my house and bully me around. They trash the place, talk smack, and everytime I try to take a swing at them, I move in slow motion and they smack me around. I’m usually helpless, and they know it, and exploit it.

I usually wake up while they’re kicking my ass. This dream recurs every couple of years or so, yet, I thought I kicked it the last time I was in North Carolina.

See that night, I dreamed The Leeman’s PT Cruiser broke down in the middle of a farm I spend some time at Ivanhoe, (also known as Nowhereland) North Carolina.

So, in the dream, I decided to call my buddy The Jimmer to come help me out (Now, the Jimmer is in Florida, I know, it’s a dream, reasoning is abstract, work with me here.).

The PT is making God-awful noises as I try to start it, engine crunching noises, and I am very upset. So I come back to the little bungalow I’m staying in at the time, and there’s Joe Theisman and the other guy, uninvited, in my pad.

See, every once and a while, I dream Joe Theisman and some other guy I don’t know, but can’t stand, come into my house and bully me around. They trash the place, talk smack, and everytime I try to take a swing at them, I move in slow motion and they smack me around. I’m usually helpless, and they know it, and exploit it. Have I mentioned that?

And this proceeds to happen. And I’m sick of it.

So I imagine I have the gun. I reach into the drawer and miraculously, there it is! This has never happened in this dream before. I finally have an equalizer. Time to layeth the smacketh down.

So, I walk into the bedroom that the two of them are just trashing it. There’s stuff everywhere and they are laughing and my blood is boiling.

“Hey Joe”, I ask “Which leg was it that you broke in that nationally televised game?” He points at his right leg, and I say “good” and proceed to shoot the left one.

Then I shoot the other guy in the shoulder. This makes me very happy. I’ve always hated that guy, whoever he is.

Then I tell them to get the hell out of my bungalow, get the hell out of my head and get the hell out of my life. They stagger out sobbing and much less obnoxious than they were before.

And I walk outside, watch them stagger through the fields, I look up at the sky and it begins to rain. I’m laughing.

Now that’s just a weird dream. And I haven’t seen Joe Theisman since.

Until last night.

Last night I dreamed I was at my standard locale, much like Grimjack at Munden’s, I was at the bar at Applebee’s. And as usual, I was ogling Michelle. (I mentioned her creamy goodness in a previous post. I love Michelle).

And I look up across the bar…. And there’s Joe Theisman.

The other guy wasn’t around. After all these years, I still don’t know who that guy is.

And we bore holes into each other with our stares and that son of a bitch Joe Theisman just kinda nods at me.

And then I woke up. Pissed.

So, Joe Theisman, you rat bastard, I get it.

It aint over.

That’s fine. That’s fine by me.

You want some. Come get some. Game on, bitch.

And that… is why I hate Joe Theisman.

Go be funny on your own.

I'm on vaycay for the next week. Go be funny on your own.

Not that I beleive anyone's reading this anyway.

I find this blogoshpere sparse and devoid of life forms...

Tagged - 7 Deadly Things About Leebo

Cheryl tagged me. I don't really know what that means...something about me telling 7 deadly things about me. OK, I'll try to count that high.

Seven deadly things about Leebo:

7.) I think pie tastes good.

6.) I can read at a 5th grade level.

5.) I once requested 15 pillows from the front desk at a Marriot hotel. When they asked me what I wanted them for, I told them I was building a fort.

4.) My lazy eye is by no means the laziest part of me.

3.) I still have one of my babyteeth in Cheryl’s mouth.

2.) I wish I was Steve McQueen.

1.) I love Cheryl’s dog more than I love some people. That’s just the way it is.

Arena Baseball

If I said I took performance enhancing drugs to make funnier posts, would baseball players care?

Of course they wouldn’t.

So, why should I give a fat fart whether they used steroids or not?

Now, before you get all hot and bothered, know this: I hate baseball.

Not the game. I enjoy the game itself. I like to play it. I just don’t like to watch it. It bores me.

The only thing more boring than a baseball game to me is watching my toenails grow. (By the way, they grow faster in colder climates, but that’s another post down the line, I guess.)

And their season literally goes on FOREVER. I remember once taking a leak after the World Series ended, and by the time the sound of the flush faded, it was baseball season again.

I once went to a Devil Rays game. I don’t like baseball, but I thought I would go to the Devil Rays game on the off chance that it might piss off some Christians who still haven’t gotten over the word “Devil” in their title. Plus, I hadn’t seen Tropicana Field since it was the old Thunderdome, and I wanted to check it out.

Mid-way through the first inning, I was bored. I asked my friend if that was a bad sign and he said “yes”, so I went to the bar inside the building and watched NFL Europe. The NFL Europe game had more people in the stands than the Rays game.

I was once coming back from a Dolphins game in Miami and WIOD reported that a whopping 350 people showed up for the Florida Marlins game.

350 people.

Now, I’m no sports executive, but even I know that 350 people showing up to watch my professional sports franchise aint enough. If it were moonshine, it wouldn’t be enough to get a fly high.

America’s game, my ass. The only markets who care anymore are the old markets, Detroit, New York, Boston…. They get more than 350 people at the games, to be sure.

However, The Leebinator has a plan that, if baseball was willing to listen, would make it a National Pastime again and allow it to compete with the sport that really is the National Pastime, FOOTBALL.

I can make baseball infinitely more watchable and exciting. How, you ask, dear reader?

Simple.

Give every player a bat.

Seriously.

When the batter hits the ball, he keeps the bat and runs to first base. There, he meets the first baseman who wields a bat of equal size and power. There, these two titans can put their ‘roid rage to good use by physically assaulting each other until one wins. This battle resumes on second base, third base and home plate, respectively.

But they aren’t the only ones. Give the outfielders bats too. When the ball gets hit to them, they hit it right back. Infielders go for the ball and the out. Basemen don’t. They’re busy fighting.

Now I know this concept sounds far out… kind of like Highlander with bats. But I prefer to think of it more as Arena Baseball. And really…. who wouldn’t watch Arena Baseball?

The ratings would go through the roof. Why, on the ten o’clock news, when they show a home run hit into the stands… well, you might actually see people. In the stands.

And as these idiot baseball players beat the hell out of each other, maybe they can knock each other off one by one until, in the end, there can be only one. And then we’d shoot him.

Man.

I guess I really don’t like baseball.

This man can only be photographed from the waist up...

One day I shall tell you a tale of this man.

My brother from another mother, Mike Guerdon, a.k.a. The Grud, a.k.a. Grudly Mandinko.

For now, just know that Mike Guerdon really satisfies.

A Scientific Examination of the Effects Of Beer and Bordom on Primitive Man

08:16 – I crack beer #1. There’s a Tony Bennett special on. I'm watching Tony Bennett and K.D. Lang and I wonder...she may be attracted to chicks, but... how can they be attracted to her?

08:24 - Still on beer one - It's gonna take me a while to get scathing. Just wait for it.

08:32 - I was actually enjoying this Tony Bennett special until Elton John showed up. I'm tired of seeing Tony sing with girls. I'm feeling surlier already. I stomp off in anger for beer #2.

08:45 - I got distracted by a moth.

08:48 – More Tony – Him and Stevie Wonder are singing together. You have to give it to Tony Bennett. He's 104 years old and he looks and sings great. And him and Stevie Wonder look and sound great together. For the record, Stevie Wonder has no idea how Tony Bennett looks.

09:00 - This is the hour when usually, if I'm bored, I start thinking about going to Applebees and seeing Michelle. Michelle is the object of my desire. One of them, anyway. She's got great legs, my Michelle. I love Michelle.

09:05 - I'm wrestling with this, I really want to go out. But I go out too much. But I wanna leer at Michelle. But I don’t need to spend the money. But I wanna leer at Michelle. If there's any reason why God put me here, that has to be it. That and paying Michelle's electric bill. I love Michelle.

09:06 - See the problem here is that 1.) I have no scratch and 2.) I have, uh, 16 beers in my fridge. Better make 15. Be right back.

09:12 - I'm fighting it. I really don't have the scratch. Did I mention I usually tip her well? I tip her well. Damn it. I really shouldn’t go.

09:20 - I'm wrestling with this. I wish there was some wrestling on. Wait, ECW is on Sci-Fi at 10pm. Michelle or wrestling? Wresting's cheaper. Damn.

09:22 - Chappelle's show just had a gag, one playa says to another playa, "Buck Nasty, you so nasty that when you touch yourself it's black on black crime". That's just good comedy.

09:41 - I'm on beer #4, boy, I've had four beers in about an hour. I can see how that whole "logging your drinking" thing recovering alcoholics do would be educational. But then getting kicked in the nuts can be educational too, but I bet you'd want a drink right afterwards.

09:55 - Beer #5. Hee.

09:58 - I check my Myspace page. Nothing new. Myspace has become somewhat dissapointing lately. I'm thinking of shit-canning that whole gig.

10:15 – I wish I was at Applebee’s with Michelle. I wish Michelle was here. The Full Blooded Italians are on ECW. I'm pathetic.

10:19 - I'm going to drink the last brew of the night and eat some soup my Mom made me. This just gets better and better. Is this all there is?

10:20 - Screw the soup. No soup for me. I'm going to A-bee's. Game on.

10:22 - Hi, Michelle. How are ya? What, did I notice the rate hike the electric company had in the last bill? Uh, no... no, I didn't... doesn't matter, baby, we're still livin' and havin' fun.

By the way... nice legs. :)

My Greatest Piece of Comedic Jackass

Sometimes in comedy, as in life, one finds inspiration. Inspiration that can inspire some real comedic jackass.

Many people consider this one of my finer comedic ballbustings. Others yell at clouds.

A while back, a friend of mine (his name really isn't Jerry Jabroni, so let's use his real name, Reid Ratajeski) "had" to take his girlfriend to a Bon Jovi concert instead of going out and slamming brews with the boys.

And though there's nothing wrong taking your girlfriend somewhere, taking anyone you claim to love to a Bon Jovi concert universally proves you truly love no one, including yourself. Jeez, have some standards.

So of course, in mock drunken rage (the rage part was mock, not the drunk part) I sent an e-mail to him and all of our friends, and it has become a bit of legend amongst us. I submit it for your entertainment, or at the very least, I'm greatful for the opportunity to kill one minute of your life. Oh, and you'll never get that back, by the way.

The contents of said famed e-mail is as follows. Enjoy.

REID'S LIVING ON A PRAYER

Lord, I apologize,

For staying up half the night,

And busting Reid Ratjeski's balls,

For going the Jon Bon Jovi concert.

Lord, I apologize,

That Bon Jovi has an Arena Football Team.

They got beat last week, By the Orlando Predators,

Final score Orlando 47, Bon Jovi 33

God's will, I guess.

Good for Him.

Lord, I apologize,

For that guy who said,

"We have met the enemy and he is us."

What he should have said was:

"We have met the enemy and he is Jon Bon Jovi".

Lord, I apologize,

When every girl in the Bon Jovi audience,

will either make Reid's date,

look really, really young,

or really, really old.

Lord, I apologize,

For when Bon Jovi hits that easy riff,

On "Living on a prayer",

Possibly the lamest rock song ever made,

And Reid Ratajeski's toe, will tap, just little,

And his soul will die,

Just a little.

Lord, I apologize,

When Reid wishes he had "washboard abs",

Like Jon Bon Jovi,

Instead of "cardboard abs",

Like Reid Ratajeski.

Lord, I apologize,

For that sensation Reid will get...

It will feel like, a mouth full of bubble gum,

And he will realize,

He is chewing

On Jon Bon Jovi.

Lord, I apologize,

That this will be the best concert That Reid has ever seen,

Next to Village People reunion In Tampa, in 1994

He was a younger man then

He made bad choices

He just wanted to be "The Indian".

Lord, I truly do apologize,

That men have do stupid things

like take their dates

To Jon Bon Jovi

Because there is only one way

To make Jon Bon Jovi suck worse

And that way

Is to clone him.

Lord, I apologize,

When Reid will see Bon Jovi's crotch,

And inadvertently wonder,

If his package is bigger

Than Kip Winger's.

Lord, I apologize,

That I have nothing better to do,

Than this.

Sad.

But it could be worse.

I could be seeing,

Jon Bon Jovi.

Lord, I apologize.

Reid, I apologize.

I've just had way too much fun with this. :)
--- Leeboski

MY FIRST RANDOM QUOTE IN THE BLOGSPHERE AND I'M THRILLED IT'S THIS ONE

"Finally, let me just say this."---- Peter Sellers

Barack Obama

In seeing the title of this particular post, you might think this is a serious political forum examining the issues that affect the Presidential race and, in turn, affect our lives. I assure you, nothing could be further from the truth.

I have commented about Barack Obama on my Myspace Page in this capacity, but I thought I would go a little further, as I am a new blogger and wish to offend everyone with any social sensibilities right from the get-go.

I’m going to vote for Barack Obama.

Now, I’m hearing that his is a fine vision, I’m hearing that he’s history-making and relevant in regards to change for our country. And I’ll be the first to admit, our country needs change. (When Canadians hate you, you’re doing something wrong. Unless they’re French-Canadians, and then who gives a fat fart what they think anyway?)

But, there’s an aspect to Barack Obama that is indeed history making that no one has dared talk about. It has nothing to do with his color, or his policies, or, well, anything really. But it is the single, most important reason I am voting for him.

And the reason is this: I have taken it as a personal challenge to belch his entire name.

No, I'm serious. It's tough. Try it.

Once you get past that "Barack" part... well it just kinda craps out.

The key to the whole thing is to try to get the “Barrack” part out as softly as possible. Therefore, you can hit the complete home run with the “Obama” part. But it’s difficult, mainly because “Barack” is sooooooooo such a belchable name.

You know I’m right. “Barack” is a noise I’ve made many times before I even knew who the F Barack Obama was. I suspect some of you have too.

So I say to you all, rise up as good, oblivious Americans… and take the Barack Obama challenge. Try to belch his entire name. It’s fun, and socially relevant, in the parlance of out times.

Use beer if you have to. A lot of beer. Practice, practice, practice.

And then vote for him based on the sheer belchability of his name alone.

(For the record, Giuliani also has a very belchable name, but it has to be just the right kind of belch, so he’s no BARRRR-RRACK. Barack’s name works in just about any and all belching situations. Now that’s a candidate for the future.)

You stick with me and you too can become the type of uninformed voter that politicos fear and despise.

And you too will be as American as the NFL, Hulk Hogan and the notion of placing your penis in a warm apple pie.

Welcome to the show

Good morning from the blogosphere.

Well, I have bowed to the pressure. I now have a blog. I am a blogger. Yeesh.

I assure you I have nothing of depth to say, nor do I intend to provide any meaning on this blog page. If you find life-affirming meaning here, I assure you it is completely by accident.

I do intend to provide much comedic jackass, for if the Internet has taught us only one thing, it's that no matter what practical uses it may have, most people usually use it for news and porn, and not necessarily in that particular order.

I have been told that I would enjoy this blogging adventure, so game on.

Kudos to my dear friend Cheryl. Any and all hurt fellings and potential litigation pending due to this blog is completely her fault.

Let the games begin. No power in the 'verse can stop me.