Taco Tuesday - Special Commentary

Ah, writing contests.  Interested?  Of course not.  Just like those contests for eating, spelling, and rock/paper/scissors, it's basically only interesting if you're the one who entered.  And, yes, it is true that ESPN, the all *sports* network <coughexcepthockeycough>, has been known to broadcast "athletes" chewing, conjugating, and thrusting digits.  However, if you've ended up watching any of those competitions that neither you or your family were actually in, I dare to say your remote/television/life must be broken.  It is the only possible answer. 

And yet, failing to get praise of your story from some quiet corner of the internet is no less depressing then getting that twenty-first hot dog wedged in your windpipe in front of thousands.  They really are about the same thing, a confirmation of talent.  The lack of fame doesn't mitigate the bummer.  It just helps you avoid being mocked with wiener-in-the-throat jokes for the rest of your life.

Ok, losing in the dark is slightly better than failing on television.

Still, it can be embarrassing.  I once entered a contest that seemed like a fun challenge.  It was just about writing a very short story of 500 words or less, and I don't even think there was a prize.  I felt the need to push myself from a scribbling perspective, and wanted to try something new and different from my usual thing.  So, on a lark, I came up with an idea, put it together in one draft, and sent it in.  What was the worst that could happen?

I came in second.

Out of two entries.

Hmm, who's the wiener throat now?

Yeah, I'm the wiener throat.

To be honest, I didn't care too much, especially since I sort of purposefully tanked the contest.  Instead of a normal-ish story that I might otherwise put together, I decided to enter a sentence.  A sentence, as in one.  One 500 word, run-on, no punctuation, stream-of-consciousness, sentence.  Oh, I'm an edgy one.

The theme was to write something about a sibling's room, I think.  Or, um, something regarding childhood.  I can't really remember at this point.  I just know it was a crushing defeat, and that I'm sharing it with you now.  

It isn't taco related, and it barely scrapes the side of Halloween.  But, regardless, it is today's commentary.  Now give me praise.   GIMMEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

This pic sort of makes sense, but no it doesn't

Unless

by your TBW blogger

The door creaked and it doesn’t always creak and I don’t know why that is but it creaked this time and opened slowly to reveal not the typical scratched purple paint plastered with glossy black and white images of morose pop stars who really don’t make popular music but are still considered pop stars because otherwise you’d call them unpop stars which isn’t a thing but perhaps should be but anyway almost every other time those unpop stars look down on me when the door that occasionally creaks creaks open but in this case their sad eyes didn’t meet mine as instead mine were met by a pair of eyes that had looked down on me several times before and though these eyes usually shared a similar morose distinction with that of the plastered ones these eyes instead were in past instances somewhat livelier and occasionally angrier but in this moment right now contained mostly fear and confusion which also held some similarity to the unpop star pinned near the heating vent who appears quite upset at something despite being an unpop star which you’d think would make you happy unless you had your mind set on being a pop star which if that is the case maybe you should not be so morose all the time but anyway the normally morose yet lively and occasionally angry eyes before me now looked in my eyes and not anywhere else but my eyes and I felt uncomfortable as I don’t like so much eye-contact so I looked down which I often do when someone looks me in the eyes for too long as I find this intimidating and weird but when I looked down my eyes were met with the eyes of a glittery pony who had no fear or confusion in its eyes but instead had love and like in its eyes and this put fear and confusion in my eyes so I returned my eyes to look at the opposite pair of eyes whose frightened and confused distinction hadn’t changed during the time in which my eyes had met the glittering pony’s eyes but now as my eyes continued to stare at those same unchanged eyes rather than the eyes of the plastered morose unpop stars or the eyes of the upset unpop star near the heating vent nor the eyes of the loving and liking pony I heard with my ears the sound of a door creaking again.

The Monday Hat Trick of...Awful-dillas

If you hadn't heard, (and if you hadn't jeez what sort of chat rooms are you chattering about in?), there's a new Taco Bell atrocity in town.  Mocked/linked on this very blog last week, the Kit Kat Quesadilla has made landfall, foisting it's unholy presence on our great-ish nation.  Need more proof that this is a bad joke masquerading as food?  Check out this DIY version, provided by our friends over at Radio Blackout:

Its insides look like my insides!

Uh, yeah...thanks guys.  If that doesn't convince you to listen to their show, I'm not sure what else will.

To be honest, I don't think that the beef'n'sand-clogged hearts of Taco Bell executives are in the wrong place.  A dessert quesadilla can be a tasty treat.  I've made one with peanut butter, bananas, and chocolate chips that was pretty frickin' delicious.  And yes, I know that by telling you this, my taste buds have forfeited all rights to food mockery.

Nevertheless, let's take on this colossal drive-thru mistake and spin it into a slice of fried gold.  There is more than one way to build tortilla goodness out of Halloween candy.  In fact, you could say there are three ways. 

Today's hat trick takes a stab at building a better mouth-trap.  The fellars over at 538 have done an official Halloween candy ranking, and those guys usually do a fine and thorough job compiling data (president circus peanut, notwithstanding).  With that survey as the guide, we're creating something new and exciting and alarming.  These menu items are up for bid, fast food executroids!  Don't miss out and get stuck putting normal foods in your foods.  Nobody wants that.

• Sure, candy may be a Halloween thing, but there's no reason it can't be stretched out to the next pseudo-holiday.  Thanksgiving is less than a month away, so let's build something to celebrate!  I'm sure natives and immigrants can get along and support this dish.  They got together hundreds of years ago, and certainly nothing has happened in the interim to drive them apart.  Ahem.  Anyway, presenting the Cornucopidilla;
• Boston Baked Beans
• Candy Corn
• Tootsie Caramel Apple Pops
• 3 Musketeers (they have buckles on their hats too!)

• We've ignored the fat, intolerant elephant in the room long enough.  It's time to create a special meal just for those dispossessed souls who think the current commander-in-chief actually has a shred of humanity and/or intelligence.  After all, your racist uncle needs something to eat on his way back from the latest rally.  With a little luck, the sugar rush will force a few logic molecules to slam into each other.  Or, he'll crash and ask for Obamacare to cover his bill.  Fun times, either way.  Here's the Trumpledilla;
• Milk Duds
• Sour Patch Tricksters
• Air Heads
• Whoppers
• Dum Dums
• Lemonhead
• Warheads
• Sugar Daddy
• One 10-cent coin (to choke on)

• Finally, it's time to be a bit self-indulgent.  If you're going to get something made for you by the Taco Bell empire, it might as well be something that ticks all of your boxes.  Honestly, the only way this would be more on-the-nose was if someone converted beer, whiskey, MST3K, hockey, and Milana Vayntrub into sugar-based treats.  Of course, if they did, there would be lawsuits.  Delectable, sexy, lawsuits.  Bring on the Taco'BoutWhateverDilla!
• Reese's Peanut Butter Cups
• Reese's Pieces
• Reese's Stuffed with Pieces (have I mentioned that I like peanut butter?)
• M&M's
• Sour Patch Kids

Have a happy Halloween.  Or don't.  Just don't ring my doorbell, dammit, I'm busy Weird Science-ing over here.  

A Child's Folly & 5 Ridiculous Things for Tonight's Game

Nostalgia.  I'm done with it. 

No longer am I looking to relive moments of the past, regardless of the joy it might have brought in the first iteration.  We're moving forward here, and there's no room to just regurgitate experiences in order to simulate noteworthy occurrences.  It's time to explore new frontiers without being chained to the past.  There's no "I" in yesterday!  But, there is an "I" in tomorrow.  Er, wait, no, there's not.  But there is a...me...in...tomorrow...future.  Yes, tomorrow-future.  It's a thing.  It is.  You probably don't know because there isn't a "u" in the future. 

Wait. 

Dammit.

Fine, it's fine!  Regardless, I'm still not hoping to recapture my youth any time soon.  And, so you understand why, I'm going to now show a small corner of my childhood.  Indeed, I, nor anyone really, should ever strive to repeat any of the below. 

As I've mentioned previously, my football fandom was huge as a young boy.  Specifically, I was obsessed with one squad; the Miami Dolphins.  Despite my living on the opposite coast, I still consumed every bit of info I could about that team, which would often be a challenge in the pre-internet days.  But, I had clippings and posters on my walls, and even painted things in the abhorrent version of aqua and orange that adorned their jerseys.

Available at the Pro Shop

This evening, the Dolphins are playing against Baltimore to fulfill their contractual responsibilities. With such excitement to look forward to, I feel it only right that we also look back.  Ready for some football, 80's style?!?  I knew you were.

• It all starts with a time before teams felt that logos should be intimidating.  Now, everything is angry and all emo black and while.  But, a scant generation or two ago, you could show up to play a fierce game of football with an easy going mammal on your head.  

Hey, you wanna tackle me?  That's cool, maybe I'll tackle you too, right on!

• So, yeah, we didn't need to be show attitude on our helmets.  There were other ways to show it.  During that questionable decade, Miami had a couple of standout receivers.  They played a similar style, and both had the first name of Mark.  It was a glorious time to be a superstar.  Um, did I use the word style yet?

You'll see the white guy with the perm a bit later

• Obviously, I wanted to be just like a lot of the guys on the team.  At about the same time, for reasons only a bizarre child could conjure, I really didn't like my first name.  Nobody else had it, and I didn't believe it sounded cool enough.  I felt that I needed a name that sounded forceful and suave and intriguing.  My understanding of those words clearly lacking, I settled on the name I wish I had.  No, I never made anyone call me this, but I really wanted to.  Because, when you want to impress people, ESPECIALLY girls, you should only need to tell them your awesome name.  That name; Lyle.

Yes, Lyle.  

• The sickness raging, I pushed onward anyway.  It was a confusing time, obviously.  You see, Mr Blackwood of Lyle-dom was a part of a very strong, very stout Miami defense.  For a few years, they were a big part of the team's success.  And, as luck(?) would have it, the majority of guys on that team had a last name that began with the letter "B".  You see what's coming, don't you? 

The policy of "no intimidation" was clearly enforced

• Alas, among all the Lyles and non-Lyles, I always had one true favorite player.  One of the best quarterbacks of all time, and he wore the most righteous number, 13.  If you're going to root for one player, and needed someone to latch onto as you go through the rigors of youth, you need someone truly great.  How could I not look up to Dan Marino?

Oh yeah, that's how.

Zubaz and a corvette.  Finally, things are starting to make sense.

Taco Tuesday - Special Commentary

We return on this Tuesday for more commentary from our friend and occasional linemate, Dr Delirious (@deliriousdr).  He has opened up his doctor's notebook once more to share his words of wisdom with this synthetic universe.  His notebook, like a Taco Bell taco, is filled with all sorts of mysterious and curious things.  And, similarly, consumption of either is done totally at your own risk.

As with last time, the observations of the good doctor are his and his alone.  However, in the hopes of bringing light to the dark corners of his mind's eye, I have employed a dozen high-tech translator-bots.  Each is more powerful and sophisticated than the one next to it, which has unfortunately created quite a battle of egos.  Frustratingly, instead of helping me with this project, they have spent the last four hours techno-insulting each other.  Did you know robots tell "yo mamma" jokes?  I do, now.

Science proof!  Well, Mystery Science Theater proof, anyway

My Self is Always Someone Else, chapter two
by Delirious, Dr (additional content provided by an Ouija board hooked to my old Electronic Football game)

"You have to recognize life, or simply the creation of, being the nothing short of insanity.  When I was around four years old, I saw a werewolf.  I was looking out the front door of my grandma’s house because I heard something.  It was neither fast nor slow, it just was.  He was driving a Ford pickup truck, and he turned his head slowly at me and smiled.  And I thought to myself…that’s what a werewolf is."
---
If you understand the obligations and limitations of the undue responsibility we have as lifeforms, then you are undoubtedly nodding in agreement with our house doctor.  He, and we, is and are forced to assign titles and roles and rules to things, despite a fractional comprehension of the true nature of what we are observing.  The chaos puzzle that exists around us is filled with a maelstrom of illogical ideology.  It is a cornucopia of nonsense.

And yet, we must dig our hands into the metaphysical equivalent of a bathtub-sized jello shot and emerge with something firm and solid with which to hold up to society.  But we don’t want to hold something solid.  We just want the jello.  Why can’t that be enough?

If you look around, you can see the signs.

• The game of life
• A cereal named life
• An awful band from the 90’s named Live

Is this the world telling us to identify the werewolf as a werewolf?  Or, can we use our best judgement, which often only is enabled during our early childhood, to ascertain the reality of what we’re seeing. 

Perhaps it really was a werewolf driving a Ford truck.  And, perhaps life really is a game, or a breakfast food.  We can know things only if we accept it as knowledge.  If it is unaccepted, it is unknowable. 

Our path can logically move forward in three of four directions; if we are certain of certainty, certain of uncertainty, or uncertain of certainty. 

However, being uncertain of uncertainty is an illogical fourth option that will bring about an eon of existential flexibility.  You’re recognition of vehicles and beasts and grandmothers will forever be unfocused.  A fog will exist before your eyes that will not allow you to make out the shapes of absolute-ism.   And, as we know from drive-thru experience, that is a place to aspire to.  

You should be sure of nothing.  Except for how bad Live was.  We are all certain of that.

The Monday Hat Trick of...Baseball & Booze

The week has just started, and already we're looking back.  How far are we going?  Well, to the beginning of time itself of course!

"October 23, 4004 BC, Creation of the world begins, according to the calculations of Archbishop James Ussher."

Yup, that's right, six thousand and twenty-one years ago TODAY, it all started.  Humans, dinosaurs, tacos, proper nouns, juggling, crank-start cars, ambivalence, Chester Cheetah, my Uncle Ray, and hamdingers.  They all go back to that one, very specific, totally accurate day when everything got underway.  The 22nd?  Pfft, nothing.  And then, boom, the 23rd.  Egg-McMuffins and slow jazz suddenly fill our lives.  Remarkable.  

Did I mention sarcasm?  Yeah, we got that too.  

I do like to imagine, in this totally plausible world that Ol' Jimbo invented, what sort of conversations must have taken place.

"Hey Carl, what did you do last night?"

"Nothing.  You?"

"Nothing."

This amuses me to no end

Anyway, let's move a bit ahead of this quick-boot of the universe to explore some other important October 23rds.  With the World Series starting tomorrow, it would appear to be a good time to focus our hat trick on some moments from baseball's past. It is America's Pastime, after all!  And, as a chaser, I've included tangentially related connections to America's other favorite time passer, drinking.  I mean, baseball and alcohol!  It goes together like the beginning of existence and pumpkin spice.  It's science. 

• October 23, 1884, the start of the first "World Series."  It's commonly known among most baseball folks that 1903 is when the World Series really began.  However, some twenty years earlier, a world championship took place between the Providence Grays and the Metropolitans of New York.  The story of this matchup, located here, is an interesting and in-depth summary.  My favorite bits;
• At that time, fans were called "cranks."  So perfect.
• During the season, pitcher Charles Radbourn was suspended for "indifferent" play, and pitcher Charlie Sweeney was released for being an "incurable alcoholic."  I think that modern talk radio *might* spend a few hours discussing these infractions.
• Providence won the first two games of the best-of-three series, but they were contractually obligated to still play game three anyway.  Congrats on being champs guys, we'll see ya tomorrow! Summed up nicely in the story, "The game was nearly canceled as the Grays balked at playing a meaningless game before 500 freezing cranks."  Indeed.

• October 23, 1923, Babe Ruth hit a home run in an exhibition game being played to support destitute former New York Giant owner, John K Day.  As it turns out, John Day was an extremely important figure in the history of the game, as told here.  And, he was connected to not only the first World Series mentioned above, but also to my beloved favorite squadron.  He owned the Metropolitans, and then the same year, become owner of a new franchise in the national league, the New York Gothams.  This team eventually became the San Francisco Giants.  So, thanks Mr Day, for creating an entity that has absorbed more of my time and focus over the course of my life than everything except breathing, sleeping, and (perhaps) eating. 
• Oh, and of course, Babe Ruth and alcohol were pretty much BFF's for most of his playing days.  I mean;  

But the kids love him!

• October 23, 1979, I'll let the opening tell the story. 
• "Billy Martin floored marshmallow salesman Joseph Cooper during a barroom brawl.  Martin was promptly fired as manager of the New York Yankees." 

In the history of the world, counting every October 23rd that's occurred, I can honestly say that I've never, ever, EVER known such a person once existed as a marshmallow salesman.  Miracles do exist!!!  I believe, Jimmy, I believe!!!

Hello sir, I'd like to talk with you for a moment about marshmallows.  You see...

Friday Fantasy Forecast 2 - The Taco Strikes Back

Last week, in a bid to obtain a better result to my weekly fantasy football picks, I took a new approach.  Rather than blindfolding myself and throwing darts at my computer (hello HP customer service, yes it's me again), an actual strategy was implemented. That plan; using the power of tacos to form an unstoppable juggernaut.  I decided to only select players based on whether or not their names contained a sufficient combination of the letters T-A-C-O.  By doing so, I assumed they'd be infused with greatness and propel me to victory.  The result?

• Week 6 - Finished 94,757th out of 344,853 entries

Eh, the propulsion fizzled out a bit.  Don't get me wrong, it was an improvement over the prior week.  However, it seems that just having those four individual letters scattered all willy-nilly in a person's name didn't provide quite enough juice.  To use the pure essence of tacos, you need a true source.  You require, in fact, the chosen one.

Forgive me, sir, for my sins, it's been seven days since my last taco

That's right, we needed the real thing.  Previously anointed as this blog's spirit guide, I give you #97 (but #1 in our grease-clogged hearts), Taco Charlton.

That's right, T-A-C-O!

Yes, that's totally his actual, real name.  See?

"Vidauntae Charlton...his nickname "Taco" was given to him by his mother and grandmother."

Well, farts.  Still though, people refer to him as Taco, and that seems to be the moniker he goes by in every article I found.  So, I say, if it's good enough for Google search, it's good enough for me.  He's our leader!

However, there's an issue with converting our faith into fantasy gold.  You see, there's only one Taco (you can say that again!).  The problem with that is a fantasy lineup requires nine spots filled.  So, we'll need to expand our search to fill out our team, unless he wants to became a modern day cartoon character.

1st base, Bugs Bunny, 2nd base, Bugs Bunny...

Thus, we need a method to add players who, if not personally instilled with taco goodness, need to have been, at the very least, touched by taco goodness.  With that in mind, a way towards success reared its head.

This is Sir Charlton's first season as a defensive lineman in the NFL.  Since joining the league, his Dallas Cowboys have played games against the New York Giants, Denver, Arizona, the LA Rams, Green Bay, Indianapolis (Preseason), Oakland (Preseason).  So, from a certain (hopeful) perspective, you could say he has potentially tackled/pushed/slammed into the offensive players on each of those teams.  Therefore, in my eyes, they've all been touched by a taco.

Touched by a taco.  We should all be so lucky.

Based on this conclusion, I can select other players, but they will be limited to just those athletes available from that slate of teams (excluding Oakland, who unhelpfully played their game last night).  I'm also allowing myself to choose players from Dallas for this squad.  Certainly, he's touched all of his teammates by this point, right?  What else do you do in locker rooms, anyway?

I've made that face

So, without further ado (seriously, it's already been way too much ado), here is this weekend's squadron.  Now go out there and win one for the Taco!!!!

-Introducing, the TACO CHARLTON ALL-STARS-

- Quarterback - Brett Hundley / Green Bay (see this story for why)

- Running Back 1 - Todd Gurley / LA Rams

- Running Back 2 - Ezekiel Elliot / Dallas

- Wide Receiver 1 - Larry Fitzgerald / Arizona

- Wide Receiver 2 - T.Y. Hilton / Indy

- Wide Receiver 3 - Demaryius Thomas / Denver

- Tight End - Evan Ingram / NY Giants

- Extra RB or WR - Cole Beasley / Dallas

- Defense - Dallas, of course

I can smell victory already.  It has a scent of...cilantro?  Huh, it figures.

America's Pastime (Tacos) & 5 Ridiculous Things for Tonight's Game

Baseball.  I love it.  You love it.  Celebrities love it.  Portland may love it (though I doubt it).  Heck, even the Simpsons love it.  Next thing you know, even a major fast-food chain will want to show their love.

Nothing says taco promotion like spare black & white

That's right, fourth meal conglomerate and stomach cramp aficionado Taco Bell has a promotion all prepped and ready for the start of the World Series next week.  It seems like a really complex idea.  Let's see...

"Baseball fans can claim a free Doritos Locos Taco if a player steals a base."

Er, that's it?  One taco, and you don't even get to steal it?  Pretty lame guys.  I feel like you might need some advice on how to turn your idea from an error to a genuine hit!  Yes, those are baseball terms!  Yes, I can hold!

As a fan of the grand ol' game, I've got the experience to up the collective ante and make the promotion something that really brings in the patrons.  You want customers, don't you Taco Bell?

Huh, still on hold.  Oh well, guess they're busy.  But you're not, right?  No sirree, that's why you're reading this here blog.  So, for the benefit of us, and them eventually (if they ever pick up again), I'm providing some additional challenges for the upcoming series.  You want people excited, you need nine possible ways to win (There are nine innings in a game, and I didn't even need to look that up): 

• Blow a save, Blow your order - When the relief pitcher gives up the lead for his team, you give up your right to choose your food.  Taco Bell employees will get to decide what you eat and pay.  Enjoy that $20 Raw Naked Taco (the food is raw, the server is naked).
• Score!  - When the first player touches home plate, you get a free Crunchwrap Supreme.  These items are essentially the same in terms of size/consistency/health.  And, like the real thing, your crunchwrap will be covered in a thin layer of dirt and chalk. Wire cleaning brush not included.
• Double Switch - When two players swap spots, you get off the couch and replace a worker at the drive-thru.  That's right, you're an employee now!  Congratulations, this is your life until the series ends.
• Hit-By-Pitch, Hit-To-Win - A garbage pail full of Fire sauce packets await inside your local restaurant.  With the first HBP, you run inside and engage in a friendly game of sauce-based dodgeball with other customers.  Person who can still see at the end wins a free cup of ice.
• Intentional Walk, Intentional Win - When a pitcher decides to intentionally send a batter to first base, you go for a walk as well.  After midnight, put on your best umpire garb (mask, dark clothes) and take a quiet stroll through the nearest unlit neighborhood and into the busy Taco Bell drive-thru.  Make it alive, win free tortilla tourniquets!
• Hit and Run - Connected to the Intentional Walk promotion, but nobody wins.
• Passed Ball - You consume this.  Not a prize in any sense.
• Triple Play of Enjoyment - If a team manages to get three outs on one play, you get three items in one bite.  An employee will combine three different foods into one franken-thing.  Enjoy that Churrlupacho like it may be your last (it will be, of anything).
• NO HITTER! - NO SHI...well, you get it.  Really is the ultimate win for anyone eating at Taco Bell.

Fun, eh?  Those baseballers are crafty devils, what with their basic words to denote actions.  A walk is a statistic.  I feel that can't be overemphasized.  But what of football?  That's still a thing, I believe.  In fact, there's a game happening soon, certainly, in some district or another.  Shall you watch?  I dunno, I just spent an hour making up weird taco promotions.  Um, let's see if I can somehow make football about baseball.  That will help, somehow.

1. The Oakland Raiders are the home team tonight.  If you watch this (from a few years ago), you can see a two minute video of people flipping the stadium field from baseball to football in a mere 18 hours.  It's exciting if you like seeing people move really fast.  Like Benny Hill, but with worse music.
2. By the way, the name of said stadium where both teams play is currently the Oakland-Alameda County Coliseum.  Rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?  It's actually the name the place had when I was a kid.  Over the years, however, it cycled through a host of much more off putting names before returning to the original.  How bad?  Check out the corporate-sponsored list below, and pick the ones I made up.
1. Network Associates Coliseum
2. McAfee Coliseum
3. Overstock.com Coliseum
4. O.Co Coliseum
5. Actually, all of the above are real.  I couldn't even make up anything worse.
3. The Kansas City Chiefs are the road team tonight.  Know who else went on the road?  The Kansas City Athletics.  That's right, from 1955 through 1967, Kansas City was home to the A's baseball squad.  But they left the midwest and moved in 1968.  Where?  Yup, Oakland.  Man, these connections, it's just like Lost!
4. Kansas City's current ball team is the Royals.  There's an NFL player with the last name Royal.  He plays for the Chicago Bears.  The Chicago Cubs are playing a baseball game tonight!  Wow.  Does your head hurt to?  
5. Well, far be it for me to dispute George Carlin.  Football wins tonight.

Too late, friend, too late.

Taco Tuesday - Special Commentary

Here we are, another Taco Tuesday.  Today's essay is the result of a team-building exercise that took place here at TBW headquarters.  After sixteen hours and several hundred failed trust-falls, our group finally started to understand what being money-hungry corporate sharks really means.  

We all needed to pull on the same end of the rope.  Our cheese moving has to exist in synergistic perfection with every aspect of our mission statement.  There's no "I" in team.  There's no "you" in team.  There's only "us" in team.  Except, not literally.

Yes, our crew is ready to ATTACK the business world with reckless abandon, make big money at home, and live the life only true power brokers do.

His name is in ALL CAPS, so you know it's real

So, yeah, we came out chomping at the bit!  But then the new Black Panther trailer dropped, and we got a bit distracted.  So, there's that, and, well, right, um, what were we talking about?  

Chewy, is that you?

Taco 'bout Whatever staff column

It has been an exciting eight days for Star Wars nerds.  Today, in a reveal as epic as it was absurd, Ron Howard (yes, the narrator from Arrested Development) debuted to the world the name of the upcoming stand-alone Han Solo flick.  It is to be called…

Solo.

Thrilling, right?  This kind of creativity is why we go to the movies in the first place.  The announcement follows last week’s genius marketing move, which was embedding the trailer for the next installment of the Star Wars franchise during Monday Night Football.  The crossover exposure for both products was without a doubt a success well beyond all expectations.  

Sports bros learned of a place where a skinny, long-haired dork waving fluorescent tubing can be considered a bad ass.  And, self-proclaimed nerfherders became aware of a sporting event other than Quidditch.  Finally, the NFL and Star Wars franchises were attempting to market themselves to the masses.  It’s about time.

A byproduct of last Monday’s double exposure is that Star Wars fans are now aware of an ongoing silent protest professional athletes are taking part in to raise awareness of police brutality (boo), racial inequality (hiss), and the uninformed opinions of Donald J. Trump (throws souvenir cup onto field).  Since early 2016 they have been doing so by kneeling during the traditional singing of the Star Spangled Banner, a song written by America’s all-time best-selling one-hit-wonder, who also happened to be drunk at the time.

It would be apropos if this legion of Star Wars fans, now enlightened of the cause, are in full support of what these athletes are doing.  Or, at the very least, they understand and commend these actions.  After all, Lando Calrissian is the original trilogy’s only protagonist of color and he destroyed the second Death Star, thus ending an era of oppression and the tyrannical rule of a socialist class of space-jerks. 

This brings us back around to the man mentioned at the top of this screed, Han Solo.  And, specifically, a curious observation.

Why does Lando call him Han (rhymes with man) when everyone else calls him Hon (rhymes with lawn)?

Is this simply a dialect or an accent thing, or just laziness, like when someone pronounces Lara the same as Laura?  Maybe, maybe not.  Actually, definitely not.

Solo clearly introduces himself in the Mos Eisley cantina as Hon and everybody pronounces it the same way without question.  That is, until they land in Cloud City and Lando calls his old buddy Han repeatedly.  Even when Chewbacca is choking the shit out of him, his mispronunciation is obvious.

How do we know who is correct?  The answer is pretty simple.

Lando.

Lando Calrissian is the only character whose relationship with Solo predates the beginning of Episode IV. He has known Solo longer than anyone and certainly knows how to say his best friend’s first name.

The only possible explanation is that a young and insecure Han Solo wanted to be called Hon because he thought it cooler, more suave and dangerous sounding.  But the real truth is that his name is pronounced Han, and Lando knows that this gentle, more eloquent elocution drives Captain Solo absolutely crazy.  How many times do you think these two old pals have been at the intergalactic discotheque and ended up brawling because Han is like “Dude, call me Hon”, but Lando drunkenly keeps giggling and calling him Han out of spite?

Of course, after all these years, Han Solo is over it and no longer lets Lando’s verbal jabs get under his skin.  The truth is, Lando is his best friend and it signifies a lifelong bond.  They understand each other and respect their differences.  In a way, it’s not so different than the message being sent by the players you saw on Monday night. People need to stick together to defeat evil and summon positive changes. You can’t hear the national anthem when you’re alone in the vacuum of outer space. 

Well, Star Wars and football fans, I hope this nugget of truth helps you all realize that while we are all different, whether you are a Han, a Hon, a Solo or a Duo, there is a little Lando in all of us.

May we all live long and prosper.

The Monday Hat Trick of...Decision

Hey, it's never a bad time to start a new tradition!  So, beginning now, I'm introducing the Monday Hat Trick of... post.  Each week we'll have some sort of something written here that has to do with, um, threes. 

Yup.  That's it.  That's the concept.

Cough.

Sigh, you try coming up with new blog ideas!!! 

Anyway, today, it's the Hat Trick of...Decision.  Get your best think-face on.  Ready?

Yup, ready!

Tonight, there's a bit of a sports anomaly occurring (I say this based on no actual research).  Three of our country's major sports; baseball, football, and hockey, all have exactly one game being played.  Strange?  I think so. 

I also think that you might need a little bit of help in deciding which event you'll fall asleep in front of.  It's important to have the correct game on your television as you waste away on the couch, cheeto dust on your unwashed sweatpants, with empty cans of Old German stacked haphazardly on on the coffee table in front of you.  I know you. 

I'm not judging.

So, even though it's like comparing apples to oranges to, uh, orange apples, we'll put the three games in an octagon and see who wins.  Let's get it on!

• Which home team tonight plays in the best place?
• Baseball (Yankees) - New York, New York
• Football (Titans) - Nashville, Tennessee 
• Hockey (Red Wings) - Detroit, Michigan
• The Decision:  Well, I've heard great things about Nashville, and I've played hockey with someone who used to live there.  I've heard...things about Detroit, and I've played hockey with someone who used to live there.  New York?  They filmed Girls there.  That eliminates any good that might exist.
• The Winner- Football.  Hot chicken tops square pizza, by a nose.
• Which game has the most interesting star players?
• Baseball - Jose Altuve (Astros) and Aaron Judge (Yankees)
• Football - ? (Colts) and Marcus Mariota (Titans)
• Hockey - Steven Stamkos (Lightning) and Henrik Zetterberg (Wings)
• The Decision:  I have no idea who plays for the Colts.  I've seen Chris Pratt run some touchdown routes once or twice, but I'm pretty sure that was a television show.  That, coupled with the obsession the locals here have with the Titans QB (he played at Oregon they'll be sure to remind you), means dead last for them.  The hockey guys are pretty damn dynamic, especially Stamkos who is one of the best there is.  But, it's hard not to focus on baseball here.  Altuve may be the best hitter in the game, and he's just five-foot six.  Judge may be the biggest generator of wind energy on the planet, as he's six-foot seven (and prone to striking out constantly). 
• The Winner- Baseball.  I mean, look!

I put my money on the guy who shops in the boys dept

• Which mascots would win a three-way tag team battle?
• Baseball - Orbit (Astros) and Dandy (Yankees)
• Football - Blue (Colts) and T-Rac (Titans)
• Hockey - ThunderBug (Lightning) and Al (Red Wings)
• The Decision:  Baseball is throwing out a cuddly alien with a long dead bird.  Not optimal fighters, there.  With a horse, the NFL has a chance.  But, a raccoon?  Really Tennessee?  Despite their bandit-like appearance and ability to communicate with large tree-like creatures, I don't expect much teamwork to take place him and his many-handed partner.  And, of course, nobody fights like hockey players, or their mascots.  Sure, a bug sounds lame, but it has experience!  And, of course, an octopus.  
• The Winner- Hockey.  Silly string everywhere.

So, there you go, you should watch...all of them?  None of them?  Oof, that went poorly.  Well, just turn off the tv and talk to someone instead.  They won't mention the cheetos.  Maybe.

Friday Fantasy Forecast

Is today's blog entry about Aldo Nova?  What says you, Aldo:

"Life is just a fantasy, can you live this fantasy life?
Life is just a fantasy, can you live this fantasy life?
Life is just a fantasy, can you live this fantasy life?
Life is just a fantasy, can you live this fantasy life?
I know, I know."

Thanks my man, the end of your song really makes us think.  But, sadly, we're not talking about you today.  Well, beyond the obligatory photo, natch.

Nice salad dude!

Nope, we're talking fantasy football on this occasion.  Now, I realize this topic is of the utmost importance to a an extremely large chunk of the electorate.  Strangely, though, the bulk of my friends would probably prefer to rock out with their schlock out to talking/reading about fake teams filled with real players.  I understand their compulsion, and I don't disagree. 

Fantasy sports is fake fandom, period.  I think that the concept started in an authentic place, where the most obsessive wanted to find a way to feel even more involved.  Anyone who's played Madden or any other EA game has probably dabbled in the team building concept a few times.  It can be fun to create a squad consisting of your favorite players, or to create fake players to dominate the competition like no other (RIP to BEEFTANK, and the only blog ever that made me literally cry with tears of laughter). 

But now, fantasy is all about buying and selling players as commodities and treating the sport itself as almost a distraction.  I'm betting a bunch of folks don't care about wins or losses, just about getting the necessary points out of their chosen kicker.  Or kickers. 

Savvy as always, Taco.

So, yeah, I think fantasy is kind of the ugly, red-haired stepchild of sports.

And, yeah, once or twice, I have been known to play with that damn child.

I know, shut up, I know. 

If it makes you feel any better, I'm generally pretty awful at it.  That's especially true with football, which is not terribly surprising given my predilection for watching, on average, zero hours a week.  You'd think I'd be better at choosing the best players with no frame of reference!  Huh.  Well, my rankings in each of *the weekly contests so far is, well, somewhat far from shocking:

1. Missed this week
2. Finished 166,754th out of 301,281 entries
3. Finished 159,755th out of 318,347 entries
4. Finished 4,704th out of 328,387 (undoubtedly stoned) entries
5. Finished 139,591st out of $339,162 entries

(*I should note here that this contest is free to play.  I'm a little crazy, not stupid)

Bummer.  But, hey, still another dozen weeks or so to try to score some sweet, sweet dollars.  I only have to finish in the top...(looking)...two-tenths of one percent of entries.  Yikes.  I better come up with a plan.

I have a plan.

For this weekend, I'm picking players based on one very simple attribute.  Not pointless things like talent or team quality.  I'm selecting them based on something much more likely to foretell victory.  That is, if located somewhere within the letters of that player's name, is a T, an A, a C, and an O. 

That's right.

You see, I want my squad imbued with the power of tacos.  Winning comes from inside.  If a taco is in a person's name, I don't see how they could fail at anything, in life, ever.  So, this is my team this week.  If nobody at a certain position is fully taco-d, I've chosen the person with the highest percentage available.  It's a complex idea.  But, you can't spell success without, well, you get it. 

- Introducing, THE MIGHTY TACOS- 

- Quarterback - Joe Flacco / Baltimore (75% Taco, and his name sort of looks like taco!)

- Running Back 1 - Tarik Cohen / Chicago (100% Taco!!!!!)

- Running Back 2 - Tevin Coleman / Atlanta (100% Taco!!!!!)

- Wide Receiver 1 - Michael Thomas / New Orleans (100% Taco!!!!!)

- Wide Receiver 2 - Antonio Brown / Pittsburgh (75% taco)

- Wide Receiver 3 - Chris Hogan / New England (75% taco)

- Tight End - Cameron Brate / Tampa (100% Taco!!!!!)

- Extra RB or WR - DeMarco Murray / Tennessee (75% taco)

- Defense - Tampa Bay Buccaneers (75% taco)

This will not fail.  Now, back to the music.

Taco 'bout More Fashion & 5 Ridiculous Things for Tonight's Game

If you didn't know, (and why would you), this here blogger site has a nifty little feature that tells me how many views each post gets.  Now, I presume that most of the clicks that occur come either from A) spambots, or B) dyslexic cats who have never used Google before.  And that's fine.  This blog is for everyone, even those with a desire for the complete destruction of humankind (the cats).  Nevertheless, I still find it interesting to see what entries get the most attention.

Currently, there are two posts that are way out ahead in terms of numbers (of course every post is of the highest quality and due as much respect as the rest.  Go ahead, reread them all and see).  The highest grossing one thus far was pushed along by a podcast mention, so we won't dignify that.  Telling people about your post?  Pfft, what are you trying to do, try?  No thanks.

The second most popular is last week's Thursday entry, which consisted mainly of my mocking of some horrific abominations of taco-inspired clothing.  So, clearly, folks who read me are fashion mongers.  Sure, why not.  I buy new pants at least once a decade, thus I am right there with y'all.

In order to capitalize on this interest, and pull a few more tasty clicks out you smartly dressed folks at home, I've ducked back down into the clothing world.  In fact, I'm going really far down, as much as you can, all the way to the bottom.  That's right, it's the shooooooesszzzuh!

Jen is very excited about this

My prime source for ladies fashion here today is from this story written last year, which is both hilarious and remarkable.  For whatever reason, those in charge of sports gear for the female set seem to think that, sure, women may say they like sports, but they only want to display their fandom in completely un-sporty ways.  I mean, you may have been an Oakland Athletic's fan since you were a child, but do you really want a ball or bat ornament?  Lady, you do not.

Just like the pro's wear!  Or so I've heard.

But wait, you can't wear that!  Silly girl, that's only embarrassing at home.  Let's get you something that'll let the world around you know that you're serious about football.  And...glitter!

Fierce?  Uh, no, I've seen the Jaguars play, thank you.

Finally, hockey fans aren't left out.  And by fans, I mean women who certainly have no real knowledge of the game, nor any concern for foot comfort.

Nothing says you're a puckhead like tiny, embroidered beads.

So, yeah, if you need any gift ideas for a gal you're really not very fond of, there you go. 

But wait, there's a game tonight!  And you need something to turn heads during your shift at the Wingz 'n Boobz.  Which team do you like, Carolina or Philadelphia?  Not sure?  Well, it is confusing for anyone without a penis.  So, here' some quality footwear from both squads.  Thank goodness for NFL.com.  Who wins?

Made with real Eagle fur!

For those casual Carolina rallies

                                  OR










Anything else ridiculous tonight?  Is that possible?  Well, now that you ask.

• Oh, I'm supposed to treat a baptism in a hotel pool with hushed reverence and respect.  Yeah, you're at the wrong blog for religious acceptance, my friends.  Now go hit someone so hard they can't walk again!  And then you can pray for them.  Yeah, that's how that works, I think.
• Now this is the type of thing I can always get behind.  One chip to rule them all!
• Eagle vs Panther?  Nah, better to watch Eagle vs Shark.  Trust me.

The winner?  Sure as hell not self-respect.  But you're here, so you knew that already.

Taco Tuesday - Special Commentary

The past two weeks, our Taco Tuesday column has featured personal stories about what it means to have tacos in your life.  Yes, you should embrace tacos in your life as well!

The "T" stands for tacos

I've really enjoyed having a bit of story time mixed in with the random references and football allusions of other daily posts to the blog.  So, as much as is possible, I'm going to keep this Tuesday train a-going.  Not sure who will be contributing from week to week, nor what the topics will be, exactly.  But, hopefully, they'll be a fun exercise in literary diversions.  And, you know, chicks, man.  They love the words.

Unfortunately, my plans for writing today's entry never crawled out of the pupal (gross) stage.  I don't know if it was the hours of work time spent staring at contract language (grosser), our constantly inhumane president (grossest), or the universal letdown of the great Szechuan sauce-pocalypse (grossly incompetent), but I couldn't shave pencil-shaving one.  Bad writer!  BAD!!!

Thanks Calvin, you're onto something.

However, fear not, gentle readers!  I've reached back into the vaults to provide a personal fave for your Tuesday viewing pleasure. 

If you aren't aware, blog-plugger and all around taco talker Dillon Gentry and I used to fill the pages of the internet with our musings on Mexican food consumed.  It was sort of the Pre-TBW, which so you know, is likely the Pre-Something else (I dunno, TacoboutDevilWorship? TacoboutTortReform?).  No blog is forever, kids.  The world is not made for those cursed with self-awareness.

Man, somber.

Anywho, the story below is something Dillon contributed to our prior incarnation, and for whatever reason, it stuck in my head and makes me laugh whenever I remember it.  Enjoy the trip down memory lane.  I'll try to get back on the horse and get the train going again in a day or two.  And perhaps my metaphorical transports won't collide in a spectacularly horrific manner.  Fingers crossed!

Wow, table service!

Dillon Gentry
Contributor

Years ago I made my living slinging drinks at various bars, taverns and restaurants. During a brief stint at one such establishment I got stuck on the Tuesday morning shift, where my duties consisted of sweeping the floors, pouring Hamm's for 80 year old men, and preparing the taco meat for Taco Tuesday.

I was given no instructions or recipe to follow, and had no idea how to make taco meat without some kind of pre-packaged seasoning. There was a shelf in the kitchen with about ten giant bins of different of spices, and I was simply told to use whatever I wanted so long as it had some flavor.

Each week two chubs (that's a 5 pound log of cheap ground beef in shrink-wrapped plastic) were delivered. I would load them into a pot, fire up the burner and begin what I considered to be a weekly experiment. I threw in handfuls of cayenne pepper, granulated onion, and pepper one week. The next week it might be cumin, garlic powder, and oregano. It went on like this for over a month. The formula was never the same, and I rarely sampled my creation except to make sure it was still edible. I left it up to the world to decide for themselves how they felt about my weekly masterpieces.

What is art? What is tacos? Who can say?

Besides, I clocked out everyday before the first taco was served. What did I care?

Then something weird happened. I took a Tuesday off, and in my absence, all the regulars had complained about my substitute.

They loved my tacos.

I was flattered, and as you can imagine, completely surprised. This of course, took all the fun out of it; it was serious business and the pressure was on now. For my next batch of taco meat I gave it everything I had. The pot roared with bubbling grease and the spices rose in a fiery plume high into the air.  When I was finished I wiped my sweaty brow and presented the world's finest taco meat. Call it my magnum opus; yet sadly it would be my final work.

The following week I was fired with no explanation. I found out later the manager gave me the boot to re-hire one of her friends. I didn't really care. Overall, the job totally sucked.

Friday Footpuck Forecast

This week has been a bit of a whirlwind.  What with the colossal awfulness in Vegas and the sheer absurdity of National Taco Day, it has been difficult to keep focus and stay on target.  I know I've likely completely missed a few important things.  Like, uh, let's see.  What's that sport I really like to watch and play and generally obsess over?  It's on the tip of my (skate)tongue, um...

Wait...wait...almost...

That's it!!!

Hockey's back!!!!!!!

That's right everyone, the NHL season has started.  In fact, it started two whole days ago.  And I haven't mentioned it once.  So, so much failure.  Welp, I'm going to remedy this crime against (Canadian) nature right now.  We're talking hockey today.

But what about football?  It doesn't just cease to exist because our eyeballs are drawn back to the cold insides of our favorite sport.  And, I can't let down that tiny corner of the internet that depends on my astute analysis heading into a weekend of games.  Those poor people, they need my support.  They really probably need lots and LOTS of support.  So, I can't bail on them. 

Thus, we combining the two otherwise un-connectable things into one feature.  The critics say it can't be done.  Ha!  Slamming unrelated items together is as American as apple pie.  Or, taco guitars!

Andrew W.K. approved

Indeed!  Let's get a party going and, as Mr W.K. might agree to, party hard.  Party hard.  Party hard.

I think those are all the lyrics.

Anywho, let the ball and puck dance;

Carolina Panthers (or Hurricanes) versus the Detroit Lions (or Red Wings)

The bulk of the hockey world seems to believe the 'Canes are a borderline playoff team, while the Wings will be dredging the depths of their division.  Both are off to ignominious starts though.

• Carolina will have co-captains, which is a bit like having co-girlfriends, only they both have beards and weird accents.
• Detroit's new rink is named after the pizza place you eat at when there are absolutely no other choices. 

Thus, the Lions win on Sunday, but wake up at 2AM Monday, sweating out greasy, pseudo-meaty regret. 

Tennessee Titans (or Nashville Predators) versus Miami Dolphins (or Florida Panthers)

The Preds had a great run last season, making it to the cup final before being knocked out.  They should be strong again.  Meanwhile, those guys from south Florida have young talent without a lot of expectation, which can describe much of the youth in that area.

• PK Subban is pretty damn awesome on the ice and off.  Oh Montreal, will you ever learn? 
• Jaromir Jagr, gone.  If you can't make room for a mullet-ed 45-year old, I don't know what to say about you.  Good luck, losers!

Guessing the Titans do something Titan-ish to get the win.  What's a Titan?  Let's see, "Titans nickname...because one of Nashville's nicknames is the Athens of the south."  Forget it, fish win.

Arizona Cardinals (or Coyotes) versus Philadelphia Eagles (or Flyers)

Arizona's hockey team is annually bad, and constantly rumored to be moving to anywhere else.  The Flyers have some pretty good players, though haven't had a dependable goalie since well before "It's Always Sunny..." started its run.  Yeah, a long time.

• Losing less!  Ah yes, I'm excited.  Surely they will be staying put now.
• Uh, I just saw that Charlie Day's middle name is Peckham.  I feel this changes my opinion of him, though I'm not sure how.

The Flying Peckam's destroy the wandering birds this weekend, just like the gypsy woman told me.

Minnesota Vikings (or Wild) versus Chicago Bears (or Blackhawks)

Two of the better teams in the NHL for a couple years now.  Always a fun watch, and whichever arena you're in, I'm sure something with piles of cheese can be consumed. 

• Minnesota has some great players, but a pretty lame mascot.  Whoever wants a smiling mascot?  You're too happy Nordy!
• I feel this sort of headline is more than necessary.  Really, I'm quite bad at math.  How many games are left after the next one?!?!??!!?  No idea.

This one ends in a 0-0 tie.  Nobody scores, and even Nordy is sad.  Although you really can't tell.

That's it kids, hope you enjoyed the pairings!  It's no John Wick-MacGyver coupling, but still pretty good.  

Point Breakaway?  I don't think so.