Thank God For Seattle Sports Fans

Readers, an interesting thought occurred to me over the Memorial Day Weekend. I was in Seattle on assignment to review a show at 5th Avenue Theater, and during my off-time I thought it be nice to do some shopping. Walking past the city's famous 2-story Niketown, I was horrified by the overwhelming amount of decoration outside the building commemorating the return of Ken Griffey Jr. to the Seattle Mariners. I mean, it was disgusting. Everything in the store had been replaced with something bearing likeness to Griffey's face. My point is, they were really, really excited.

Now this got me thinking, why? What's the big deal Mariners? In the current professional sports era, high profile players switch cities as often as The Real World. And then it hit me: Seattle sports fans are friggin' desperate.



Seattle Mariners- Consistently dissappoint. In 2008, the Mariners were the first team in Major League history to lose over 100 games with a $100 million dollar payroll. This year isn't looking much better. In their 32 years of existence, they have NEVER made it past the ALCS.

Seattle Seahawks- Consistently dissapoint. Fans rejoice in 2006 when the Gulls make their first Superbowl in franchise history, only to get played by Pittsburgh like some kind of schoolyard bitch. Things were so dismal after last season's 4-12 finish, Mike Holmgren jumped ship.

Seattle Supersonics- No longer exist. Franchise up and left for Oklahoma City after a 20-62 showing in 2008. No one seemed to notice.

What a sad, sad place to be. The town's only professional sports championship (unless you count the WNBA) was nabbed by the Sonics in 1979. That's thirty years of failure, US Men's Olympic Soccer can barely lay claim to that.

And the worst part about it? Things aren't looking like they're getting any better. In fact, morale is still dropping, and I don't think the rain has anything to do with it. The Mariners are 3rd in the AL West and Griffey is batting .218. My advice? Make friends with your kindered spirit Cleveland before LeBron finally brings them a trophy, ya sorry bastards.

Alright Free Pizza:
Considering that the Emerald City may be recieving a new basketball franchise sometime soon, what would your plans be for them? Give me names, colors, mascots, uniforms, anything you've got.

Marveling in the endurance of the human spirit,
Open Bar

Re: Thank God For Fat Italians

(Open Bar, while I am aware of your Italian heritage and the degree of your fatness, I want you to prove to TGFEB readers that you are indeed a Fat Italian. Tell us of your ultimate dream Italian meal.)














Sandwich!
Open Bar

Thank God For Fat Italians

There should be no question among TGFEB readers (lucky enough to have been graced with my presence) that I am a fat Italian. I have a Culinary Arts degree from Wassamatta U and my name is Free Pizza, for chrissakes.

That said, I am not here to write a self-congratulatory post. I don't feel worthy of this post because I can never hope to achieve the status of the fat Italians I mention today (and I'll let you in on a little secret: I'm only 1/4 Sicilian and I don't even like sausage all that much. I know!).

Before we begin, let's see at what our friend Webster has to say on the two necessary elements involved in being a fat Italian.

Italian (n):
1. a native or inhabitant of Italy, or a person of Italian descent.
2. awesome, has life's priorities straightened out.
3. likes a spicy meat-a-ball.

Fat (adj):
1. having too much flabby tissue; corpulent; obese.
2. awesome, has life's priorities straightened out.
3. likes a spicy meat-a-ball.

Let us take a look at important fat Italians in our culture.

Marlon Brando:


As this crude Google image search result shows us, as Brando got fatter, he got hotter. He left the critics of fat Italians on this mortal plane with a final "fongool" because he lived to be 80 freakin' years old.

Iron Chef Mario Batali:


Although the orange Crocs may be questionable, a sausage scarf offers absolute legitimacy in the world of Fat Italianism.

Chef Boyardee:


Let's be honest here, Boyardee could beat Iron Chef Mario Batali's ponytail off in Kitchen Stadium.

Mario:


Not only did Mario elevate the fat Italian to a heroic status, but he also nailed princesses, rode a pet dinosaur, did shrooms, and brought dignity back into the plumbing profession.

And finally, the inspiration for this post, the late Dom DeLuise:


In a way, Dom left with a "fongool," leaving this mortal coil at the age of 75. But he wouldn't have actually said it, because he was too damn pleasant.

Before I start to cry, I relate this question to my cohort, Open Bar...

Open Bar, while I am aware of your Italian heritage and the degree of your fatness, I want you to prove to TGFEB readers that you are indeed a Fat Italian. Tell us of your ultimate dream Italian meal.

When in Rome, eat more gelato,
Free Pizza

Re: Thank God For G.O.A.T.

(Let us imagine that you are the incredibly lucky recipient of one free afternoon with The God of All Texas. What's your itinerary?)

Dear Open Bar and faithful TGFEB readers,

I sincerely apologize for my two week absence. I know it's as hard to believe as my law degree, but the reason for my absence is due to The God of All Texas himself. That's right. Thankfully, I took my moleskine along with me to (drunkenly) jot down the week's itinerary as it progressed.

Monday, May 11
12:01 AM: I, Free Pizza, sit down to write an inspired TGFEB post.
12:02 AM: G.O.A.T. knocks on my front door with the front of his Harley. Uses colorful language to encourage me out of my home.
12:03 AM to 4:35 AM: Stop at WinCo, buy American flag bandanas, dishwashing detergent, and Hawaiian shirts.
5:13 AM: While embarking on our road trip, G.O.A.T. asks me to hide two kilograms of cocaine in separate bags inside my brassiere, in order to "Make those funbags a little more fun, am I right?"

Monday morning - Sunday afternoon: Mexico.

Sunday, May 17
7:00 PM: G.O.A.T. and I return to the States to watch Jon & Kate Plus 8.

8:00 PM Sunday - 12:42 Monday, May 19: Unconscious.

And that brings us to the present. Of course, I owe our readers another sincere apology, but I insist that my week with The God of All Texas left me with no regrets.

Tequila and Russian Roulette,
Free Pizza

Thank God For G.O.A.T.

Alright readers, remember this acronym:

G.O.A.T.

-The God of All Texas-

G.O.A.T. is a marvel. G.O.A.T. is a revolutionary. G.O.A.T. is love.

G.O.A.T. is an Austin based southern rock spectacular with some fresh and fantastic ideas for the future of music. He has been spotted getting kicked out of open mic nights around the Boise area in past months. After having heard about several G.O.A.T. sightings around town, usually being described as a "Tall guy with real nasty hair. He played bass and sang a seven minute song about anal sex. They kicked him out." I had to do some research.

Well, I found a picture:



I know, right?

Here's his myspace link: http://www.myspace.com/thegodofalltexas

Please, scope out the music. Subject matter ranges from large nipples, to intercourse with a friend's mother, to the aptly titled "Booger Stew". Believe me, G.O.A.T. is good for the soul.

Now that you've heard the majesty that is G.O.A.T., I know the question you're all dying to ask me.

Open Bar, your exploration into new and exciting musical acts is far ahead of its time. When you share your bounty with your leagues of TGFEB readers, you're sharing the food of love. Why you don't own a major record label is beyond me. I love you.

While that isn't a question, I really am flattered. Thank you. I do appreciate your devotion.

What's that? Oh, you do have a real question now? Alright, shoot.

How many times have you seen this titan of musical innovation live?

Oh, I haven't.


So there it is. If and when the international music community is in a frenzy over The God of All Texas, you can proudly state, "I loved G.O.A.T. before he was big. I read about him on this really cutting edge entertainment blog that I should show you." Just like the big music snob you know you are.

On the other hand, if the whole international frenzy thing doesn't pan out, and G.O.A.T. dies penniless and alone like Van Gogh, at least we all know that thanks to him, Jerry Falwell is somewhere out there turning in his grave.


So, Free Pizza:
Let us imagine that you are the incredibly lucky recipient of one free afternoon with The God of All Texas. What's your itinerary?


Feeding the masses,
Open Bar

Re: Thank God For Hot Old Ladies

(We're experienced in the art of "Marry One, Fornicate With One (what, should I have used the actual word when so many academic blogging circles are watching? I'd be crucified.), Kill One." It's time to pick from...let's say Cloris Leachman, Lee Meriweather, and Rue McClanahan. Shoot.)

Ohhhhh...you kidding? Really? Free Pizza, what the hell are you trying to do to me?

As easy and honest as it would be to say I'd roger 'em all roundly, I guess that ruins the game.

Here goes nothing:


First of all, I can't lose two Golden Girls in one week, so Rue stays alive, and I'm friggin' marrying her.

Cloris, you're eighty-two years old, and I still have to smoke a cigarette after every time I see you on TV. Please, please, please do me.

And Lee...oh Lee, look, I'm sorry. It's not that you don't give me a hard-on like Franco Columbu's forearm, it's more that I want to bang Blanche and Frau a smidgen more. I'm sorry.


Wondering why Free Pizza tortures me so,
Open Bar



Oh, and Bea...thank you for being a friend.

Thank God For Hot Old Ladies

Being the double X chromosomed member of the Free Pizza and Open Bar enterprise, one may think I am not as qualified as Open Bar to discuss this week's topic. However, I believe that all Internet journalists must occasionally broaden horizons. Also, can't a girl have some ladycrushes?

Before I begin, here are some topics I considered for this week:
-Thank God For Botox
-Thank God For Hair Dye/Hair Weaves
-Thank God For Push-Up Bras
-Thank God For Fabulous Shawls

These are all mere stray raindrops falling under the umbrella of Hot Old Ladies. Generally I'm all for allowing oneself to grow old, gracefully letting your youth and beauty slip away...

No-ho-ho...not these bitches.

Cloris Leachman

Hot.

Helen Mirren

Hot.

Lee Meriweather

Hot.

Rue McClanahan

Hot.

Joan Collins

...will throw a cocktail in your face if you even question her hotness.

However, the real reason for this post was to showcase the late and lovely Bea Arthur...

...who will continue to be just as hot and fabulous in the afterlife. We'll miss you, Bea.

You see, not only are hot old ladies here to remind us aging is a beautiful process, but to remind us that after 50, us mortals can never look as hot as these broads.

Listen up, Open Bar!
We're experienced in the art of "Marry One, Fornicate With One (what, should I have used the actual word when so many academic blogging circles are watching? I'd be crucified.), Kill One." It's time to pick from...let's say Cloris Leachman, Lee Meriweather, and Rue McClanahan. Shoot.

Cocktails and sunhats,
Free Pizza

Ps. Let the record show that Susan Lucci...

...does not count as a hot old lady. She's just as desperate to look perpetually 25 years old as she was for that Emmy.