Sporty Texts. The Only Way To Go These Days

Around the time I started this blog, my best friends and I were out three nights a week doing three things:

1. Boozing

2. Trying to meet women

3. Doing stupid stuff

Even if we usually only accomplished numbers one and three on the list, those were some of the best days of my life and they were the best friends I'll ever have.

Those particular friends have since: 

1. Got married

2. Had kids

3. Moved to the suburbs

I have done zero of those things, which has caused us to not see each other nearly as much, but we still talk just about every day through text messages, usually about sports.  Sometimes a Chicago Bears game will be going on and the four of us will exchange 50 texts, which is pretty much the text rate of most middle school girls in America.  

These conversations are important because with them having babies and being in the burbs and all, it's not like they're out at the bar with me every weekend - so this my only means of staying in touch and remembering how funny these guys are and why they're my best friends.

For example:

James Douglas Morrison knew I was watching the Bulls game on tape when I got home from work, so he said:

JDM: Watch out for a giant boob chick in a Bulls jersey in the crowd who is undoubtably a stripper.  She's right after the lady who looks like the Kool Aid Man and just before the creepy Robert Englund guy with his arm around a kid.  

Now, without JDM, I would have fast forwarded through those crowd shots.  With him, I laughed my ass off at his dead on descriptions of these weirdos, and it's like we were watching the game together.  

How the hell did people stay in touch before text?  Christmas cards?  Phone calls?  Yuck.  I don't want to even think about it.  This is the only way to be friends with anyone.  I'm convinced.

Anyone have people they text with more than anyone else and you make each other laugh out loud all the time?

This Post Has No Point . . .

. . . but whatever.

I went to the Bulls game tonight with some good buddies.  On my way home I had to stop at the grocery store to get some socks because I have been too lazy to do my laundry and need some for tomorrow.  I wanted to stop off and get something to eat too, but because I didn't want to make another stop, I got some jalapeno chips and a gatorade.  Socks, chips, gatorade, and this worthless update . . .

I decided I needed to research a few things I was thinking about tonight . . .

1. A guy named Malcolm Thomas checked in for the Bulls and did pretty well for the Bulls tonight, and despite all of us being Chicago sports fans, none of us had heard of him.  It turns out he played for the Bulls' summer league team but ended up playing in Israel before being signed.  Hard guy to figure out a nickname for . . .

2. I was telling my buddy James Douglas Morrison that I have been reading the Keith Richards biography, and he asked if he mentioned the rivalry between the Stones and the Doors.  No, was there one?  I'll look that up too . . . I could find nothing about that on the internet, but if there was one, based on what I have read, I would say it would be about Mick hating on Jim because he was a better-looking front man using his sexuality the way Mick did.  Keith is pretty open about how nutty Mick was about a lot of stuff, but I will say that at least Mick was never nearly as big a junkie as Keith, so there's that . . .

3. This has nothing to do with looking anything up, but I was thinking about it.  Yesterday I get a text from my father that read: "I was saddened to hear of the passing of Annette Funicello.  As a boy watching her in those sweaters on the "Mickey Mouse Club," she made me love boobs.

The Biz VS The Ken

Here's a text message conversation between myself and my good friend, Big Business, with topics ranging from the Chicago Bulls, cheerleaders, balls, and all kinds of other great stuff.

Dr. Ken: Watching the game online. Lovables r all grenades. They make up for their thunder thighs with their beat faces.

The Lovables are the Bulls cheerleaders.

Big Bizznazz: No. I like chunky chicks a lil' bit.

DK: I suppose I like them the way they r. That is just a little Midwest winter weight. I'd cuddle them all.

BB: Chubby ones tend to pay more attention to ball than skinny ones. Maybe the heavy ones feel like they have to?

BB: Like they sit and listen to their skinny friends say shit about not touching their boyfriend's nuts, and they figure if they do, they can get guys cuz skinny chicks aren't paying attention to the balls.



DK: Most attention to balls seems fleeting, just to say they did it, but I really like the ones out there who love a good bean bag.

BB: Oh yeah. The ones that treat it's a waffle cone and ice cream is dripping out of it.

BB: Like they move the wang out of the way just to get to the balls. Now, that's dedication to the balls.

DK: Haha! These girls got a lot of ass in those shorts. Like you can pull the shorts down slow and booty pops out of there like a magician's flowers.

BB: They're chunky, indeed. Like you can hear the shorts come off.

DK: Big Sexy used to pork 2 in the showers nightly. Both Bulls bigs had 15 or 16 boards.

Kurt "Big Sexy" Thomas played for the Bulls last season (seen below).

BB: Yeah. Double doubles are in recognition of the cheerleaders' behinds.

DK: Haha! In remembrance of Big Sexy's postgame shower ritual.

DK: He has Old Spice ejaculate.

BB: Big Sexy definitely ejaculates solid deodorant sticks.

This last part of the convo gets a little weird, but I know I laughed my ass off.

Cup Chaser

My beloved Chicago Blackhawks are playing for a Stanley Cup tonight, and we're headed over to one of our old watering holes where we used to watch Chicago Bears games back when we still could get away with drinking heavily on Sunday nights.

The thing is, this city has really gotten behind their Hawks, which you would think would be surprising, since hockey isn't as popular as some other sports. But this has more to do with a city that needs a winner. Let's look at the facts:

Chicago Blackhawks: Last Stanley Cup: 1961. They made it to the cup in 1992, and then they traded away the three or four best players, guys who are some of the all time greats, and they've sucked ever since.

Chicago Bears: Last Super Bowl: 1986. Yes, Dr. Ken was in the 3rd grade. We played in one a few years ago, but Indianapolis beat the crap out of us.

Chicago Bulls: Last NBA Title: 1998. Number of NBA titles during Jordans periods of retirement: That's a big zero. He won three, sat out for two to let the Rockets win 2, came back to win three more, and then retired again. He came back for the Wizards to play for a stint, but let's just not get into that.

Chicago Whitesox: Last World Series: 2005. Yes, that's only a few years ago, but nobody cares because they are evil.

Chicago Cubs: Last World Series: 1908. Yes, that's over 100 years ago. One hundred. Civil War veterans could very well have been at that game. The last time they even played in a World Series was 1945, the same year that WW2 ended and Dr. Ken's father was born.

Chicago Governors: We sent around 4 out of last 5 to jail.

Chicago Olympics: Our mayor pumped in a ton of money to try to get the 2016 Summer Olympics here, and we lost out to Rio. Some say that it's because of all of our murders, but it turns out they have a bunch of those too. If they wanted the place with the most murders, they might as well have the thing in Detroit.

Chicago Parking Ticket Amount Paid By Dr. Ken: $3,048. This is a rough estimate. I know it's not good. They make signs in this city that are intentionally B.S., and even these pictures that you get in the mail of the automated things from the stop lights are crappola because you'll get one showing you doing a right turn on a red, which is okay on that intersection.

Now I'm just bitching, but my point is that we are sick of losing, and we're sick of bullshit. It's time to win tonight. It's time to "commit to the Indian." It's time to get my ass to the bar and reserve a table before all the other Chicagoans tired of losing get in there and drink all the beer.