I love MMA.  And not because I’m a badass.  Or because I train in muay-thai … or BJJ … or Ninjutsu.  I don’t invest even a second in combat training, yet I still love MMA.  In fact, I probably love it because of the exact opposite.  I’m kinda a wuss.  Maybe a little more than that even.  My few exploits as a pugilist are 1) beating up the smelly kid in 6th grade, 2) pulling off the cheapest soccer foul on Patrick Lisssinet when his back was turned, and 3) nearly getting choke out by my good friend, Mikey Mike, in a forward headlock while he was holding me underwater.

I’m still bitter.  I could have died.  Or worse.

I love MMA.  The great thing about mixed martial arts is that there are a lot of scary dudes.  They’re mean.  And they look mean, too. But one thing I’ve noticed though after 20 years of watching the sport:  a lot of times the guys that look the scariest … are often the biggest pussies.  Need proof?

Alrighty then … [Read Column]

The 2011 CONCACAF Gold Cup came to its inevitable conclusion last weekend.  It featured the traditional match-up of the two confederation super powers, United States (#22) vs. Mexico (#28), opponents that have played against each other in this final five times since 1991.  There were a lot of lessons throughout the tournament, particularly for Bob Bradley’s squad, but if it proved one thing, it’s this:
[Read Column]

I don’t normally use my website as a political forum, except to say that Sarah Palin should be cast in bronze.  I mean Right Now.  Throw her in a cauldron of boiling ore.  In fact, let’s do the Han Solo carbonite freeze, but instead of decorating Jabba the Hutt’s wall, let’s make her the dry hump toy for the Rancor Monster.

So hold your breath for a second.

I was born in the United States.  And I happily lived there for the first 28 years of my life.  Land of capitalism, assault rifles, apple pie, 3000 cable channels, and shitty beer.  Then I got married.  I now live in Australia and I have for the last 6 years.  Land of mates, every deadly creepy crawly thing that ever slithered out of Satan’s bunghole, boomerangs, and only slightly less shitty beer.

Australia has socialized medicine.

Wait … come back off the ledge … put down the staple gun … Everything.  Will.  Be.  Okay.

Due to my own amazing ability to find innovative ways to injure myself, I’ve been a patient in both an American hospital and an Aussie one.  So unlike a lot of the dickheads on TV ranting about the second coming of Herr Hitler, I’ve got first hand experience in both private and socialized medicine.

Sit back, sonny, and let Uncle Lucky tell you a Tale Of Two Hospitals. [Read Column]

There is a antiquated tradition involving sororities and fraternities.  One that always confounded me.  And it is the musical variety show.  Sorta like what you’d see during Mary Poppins with guys in straw hats, candy cane jackets, and white pants doing a line dance while twirling a chorus line of canes.  It never registered with my understanding of the Greek system.  Not at all.

Basic Premise: A fraternity partners with a sorority and they then put on a show of singing and dancing, focused on some terribly ambiguous and pointless show theme, such as “Keeping the Spirit Alive”.

Isn’t this bizarre to everyone else?  My understanding was that most frat boys were only concerned with getting stoned, playing X-Box, and chasing trim.  The thought that they embrace a revisionist retelling of Thoroughly Modern Milly baffles me to this day.

Long live Dorris Day, bitches.  Now pass the blunt.   [Read Column]

There was no better period for cartoons than the 1980s.   I know this because I’ve been an avid consumer of cartoons since I was conceived in 1976.  Yep, even before I jumped out of the womb, I had a black-n-white TV with rabbit ears in the uterus watching Hanna Barbera and Young Samson.   In the 80s, you had an explosion of consumerism … and not just in Colombian cocaine.  Mass marketing pushed toys like Slim Jims in Ethiopia.  Inevitably, cartoons became the battlefront for the hearts, minds, and dollars of every little child in the United States.

After school cartoons.  Saturday morning cartoons.  Cartoon movies.  The greats had their debut in my childhood – Robotech, Bionic Six, GI Joe, Transformers, Thundarr the Barbarian, the Centurions, Sectaurs, Spiderman & Hulk Action Hour, and motherfucking Voltron!  Can I get an AMEN?

And there were more.  Many more.

But almost in every great cartoon, there was a flaw.  A glaring, nauseating, kick-me-in-the-nuts flaw that seemed to be placed there purposefully just to reduce the greatness of the animated awesome on our TV screens.  And that flaw was a cute, annoying, little thing.  A little throw-in by some dumb ass marketing suit that thought it would open the appeal of the show to a younger (or female) demographic.  And that person, that business moron, deserves to have his junk run over by a ride-on lawn mower.

These dip shit sidekicks produced a full rugby team of dumb, but which ones were the worst?  That’s why I’m here. [Read Column]