Friday Afternoon Clairvoyance and a Look Back at '07

Another year has come and gone.  It's hard to believe that there are only a scant number of days between the end of 2007 and the dawning of 2008, the year that the world finally becomes into the orgiastic dystopia that I've been praying for.  Before looking ahead to the coming year, I think that it's fitting to take a look back at some of the more interesting chicks, beer, sports and video game stories from the past 12 months.

OMG WTF Brit Brit - Remember this:

Of course you do.  I remember being a sophomore in high school and having my dick in my hand for months on end, fantasizing about this tasty morsel of jailbait.  Oh, how the mighty have fallen.  

When I think of the most newsworthy events of the past year, the demise of Britney Spears is the first thing that comes into my mind.  Ahhh, the refreshing taste of schadenfreude.  It always goes down smooth.  While we are on the subject of demises, the following people, infinitely more talented and/or important than Brit Brit, died this year:

Benazir Bhutto, Kurt Vonnegut, Evel Knievel...Wait, this is getting pretty morbid.  Time to move on.

I Personally Believe You Should Die - For people who can't understand why other countries hate America, I offer you this:

Mountaineers Shit Bed, Return to Banging Cousins - With the BCS Championship on the line and only the lowly Pitt Panthers standing in their way, it seemed certain that the West Virginia Mountaineers would be playing for the title.  Oops!  Cleanup on aisle Morgantown.  

That one stung quite a bit.  West Virginia will now return to their previously scheduled notoriety: being the punch-line for various incest jokes.

Oh!  The Humanity - Ladies and gentlemen, your 2007 New York Mets:

Death toll: Hindenburg - 36 people, 2 dogs.  2007 New York Mets - 44 people, dreams of countless young children.*  (*may or may not be accurate)

Nando Torres Boner Counter Reaches 500 - "If you experience an erection lasting more than 4 hours, please contact your physician."  This can be either a warning from a Cialis commercial or what I say to myself after watching a goal of this caliber: 

I'm giddy right now, just like a little school girl who recently found out that the boy she was crushing on likes her.  I swoon at the sight of Nando.  One sec, let me check my cootie catcher to see if he might like me.
Making Guitar Hero My Bitch - 2007 was a year of turmoil for the Fletchinator.  There was a career change and a move.  There was also my tumultuous on-and-off again relationship with the vengeful cunt, Guitar Hero II.  It wasn't a healthy relationship.  This is how it worked: I would beat the shit out of her, then she would turn around, all bruised and battered, a cotton swab jutting out of her left nostril, blood caked around the corners of her mouth, and slug me with an uppercut.  We would eventually make up and forget about the past.  But, as with all unhealthy relationships, we would inevitably tread down that violent path again.  Until finally I made a stand.  I said to myself, "Fletchinator, you are not going to let this bitch run your life.  Take a stand, man."  And that's exactly what I did.  I strapped on my small plastic guitar and countered her bukkake of notes with fingering so fast that it made all women within 12 miles moist.  It was a victory that was long savored; one that I will tell my grandchildren.  Especially the parts about bukkake and making chicks moist.

Gone Fishin' - I caught a fish over the summer.  Rejoice.  I accomplished little else this year.  It was a good year.

-------

Let's take a look at the upcoming weekend/New Year's Eve celebration and check out the match-ups that matter most.

Patriots vs Giants - At this point, who the f cares?  The Pats are going undefeated.  Deal with it.  I don't like it, but I'm a realist.  The Giants aren't stopping them this weekend and unless the Colts can grow some balls and learn how to play outside in January, the Pats are running the table.  At least it will put an end to Mercury Morris and his madness.

No Country for Old Men vs There Will Be Blood - Both have had their taints tongued by critics far and wide.  I'm looking forward to seeing both this weekend, but am not excited about paying for either.  If I had any courage, I would try sneaking into one right after the other, but clearly that is not going to happen.  On a completely unrelated note, at what point does it become logical to combine movie theaters and strip clubs.  If you are going to play $10+ for a movie, why not go the distance, throw a little more cash down and get a lapper?  It seems like a perfect fit.  Movies mostly suck these days anyway.  I think introducing a little personal attention can only enhance the experience.

Roommates vs New Year's Eve - Big question marks heading into this match up.  Drinking starts at around 7pm.  Open bar commences exactly at 9.  Will my roommates be able to last until midnight?  The smart money is on yes, but I've witnessed both bow out before the witching hour on a couple of occasions.  They both have unlimited Red Bull/vodkas on their side, so I think that they will take the first few hours of 2008 by storm.  

That's about it for 2007.  Here's to more debauchery and more chicks, beer, sports and video games in the coming new year.

Happy Holidays from CBSVG

It's been a great month and a half over here at CBSVG.  I speak for everyone on the staff when I wish you, the loyal reader, a happy and healthy holiday season.  Seeing as how I am the only person on said staff, I suppose that doesn't mean that much.  But rest assured, I'm thankful for whatever readership I can get.  So in the spirit of the season, I offer the following as my way of giving back to the eight people (and that's being generous) who currently check out the site:

And for the ladies:

I'm on vacation for the rest of the week, so I don't know how many posts are going to be up between now and New Year's, but I will try to get one uber-post up before 2008.  You stay classy, eight loyal readers.

Season's Greetings,

The Fletchinator

Friday Evening Clairvoyance with Sagacious Fletchinator

Time for the third installment of the Clairvoyance and honestly, I'm finding out that maybe the whole prognostication business is a little more difficult than I expected.  Hat tips to all the pundits around the world.  It is really difficult to make predictions and then radically alter your position when the opposite outcome occurs.  Where is the g'd credibility these days?  I mean, I expect it from the politicians, but not from the sports analyst.  I'm looking at you Steve Phillips. I won't stand for waffling, but more importantly, I won't stand for absolute buffoonery.

It's about time that the fans demand more from their analysts.  It won't be easy, but someone needs to step up to the plate/table/whatever cliche you desire, and get the ball rolling.  Since I don't think any of the big wigs at ESPN are willing to jeopardize their perch atop the world of sports, I guess it's up to me to start this revolution.  The claim: if I don't go over .500 with this weekends picks, I will immolate myself.  On second thought, scratch that.  A wee bit too extreme.  Here are the new terms, if I suffer through a sub-.500 weekend, I will stick my hand in the ceiling fan.  That sounds reasonable.  Okay, let's check out the slate of games:

Liverpool vs Portsmouth - Fucking Liverpool.  2 weeks, 2 picks, 2 losses.  Fuck that.  I'm avoiding this like a bloody tampon infested with AIDS, syphilis, the ebola virus and pickles.  Let's move on before I punch myself in the thigh out of frustration.

NY Giants vs Dwindling Playoff Aspirations - How confident would you be if your playoff hopes rested on the shoulder of this individual?: 

That was a rhetorical question.  At best, the Giants are backing into the playoffs then losing on the road in the first round by two touchdowns.  At worst, New York is staring at another pathetic late season collapse.

Prediction: Dwindling Playoff Aspirations in an overwhelming victory over the G-Men.

Holiday Shopping vs Me - I'll admit it, I'm usually the underdog in this match-up.  The routine used to go like this: Wake up on December 23/24 with the sudden realization that Christmas was only a couple of days away.  Rush down to the local mall.  Wander aimlessly for six hours hoping that inspiration would strike.  When inspiration inevitably failed to arrive, hit up the same places I bought presents at last year and hope to not buy the same things.  Leave mall in a cold sweat, dreading the opening of presents.

Well this year I smartened up.  Amazon.com = my dojo.  So fuck you mall.  I don't need you anymore.  I'm done with your nonsense.

Prediction: I'm finished with my shopping.  I win!  Victory!  Huzzah!

Crocodile vs Catapult Boy - Who didn't see that coming?

Thursday Afternoon Video Cop Out

It's a Thursday afternoon. I'm sick. I have nothing to give to the blog today. My lifeforce has been drained by microscopic succubi that are slowly draining me of everything that makes me the Fletchinator. My rapier-like wit, gone. My boyish good looks, out the fucking window. My perspicacity...oh boy, you best believe that bitch left a long time ago. I had to look it up three times on dictionary.com just to make sure I was spelling it correctly. Before I pass out and smash my face against the keyboard, here are four videos that each capture the essence of what this site is about: chicks, beer, sports and video game. Enjoy. Perhaps someday the Fletchinator you love and know will return. That day had better be Saturday because I want to get fucked up.


Chicks:




Beer (possibly underage bonus awarded):


Sports:


Video Games:

Things I Should Have Said to the Bouncer at Bourbon Street After Being Denied Entry

As you can probably guess from this aptly named post, I was denied entrance into Bourbon Street on Friday Night. Needless to say, I was not pleased. Unfortunately, I had no witty retort, so I walked away with my tail between my legs. It's true, I have a tail. Here is a list of things I wish I had said to the bouncer instead of meekly walking away.
--"Rape is imminent."
--"Please sir, I need to get into the bar. My wife is going into labor and I'm a doctor. I need to deliver that fucking baby right now."
--"My name is Jake Jupiter. Now step aside and let me pass."
--"Dude, come on. What's the worst that can happen? "
--"Oh yeah, well, the jerk store just called and they're all out of you."
--"If I don't get a beer right now, my dick is about to fall off. You don't want that on your conscious."
--"There a hundred dollars in my pocket. You let me in, you might get to sniff a little bit of that cabbage."
--"I'm going to piss on you if you don't let me in. Seriously, there will be piss on or around your leg. Do you really want to be standing in piss, do you?"
--"Who would win in a fight between you and my bodyguard? Oh, he should be here any second. And he is one mean dude."
--"This is amateur hour. I'm the Fletchinator. Come on, let me in."
--"Look, these pastel pants are not going to grind up on a bitch on their own."
--"So what if I'm drunk as fuck. I guarantee you I won't throw up. I promise."
--"Time passes very slowly in the jaws of a submerged hippo. You are about to find that out for yourself."
--"You have brought disgrace upon my family. If you don't let me in, I will need to commit ritualistic suicide."
--"Fuck."
--"Shit."
--"Piss."
--"Well, who is coming to the ballet with me?"

Friday Afternoon Clairvoyance with Sagacious Fletchinator II

I'm going to have to keep this post pretty short because it's not yet noon and I have to get ready to drink my face off.  So, for one week only, I will skip the flowery intro and get right down to the nitty-gritty: the games that matter to me.  One quick note before I start, football is dead to me right now.  After the Broncos received an ass-kicking at the feet of the Houston Texans (writing that makes me want to break a glass window with my face), I have no football to look forward to.  I'm am really looking forward to the mid-first round draft pick the Broncos get that makes no impact whatsoever.  Somewhere, Willie Middlebrooks nods his head in agreement.  That intro was a little more flowery than I had anticipated, so let's get to the games.

Liverpool vs Manchester United - The game if you care about the Prem.  It's been a long time since the Pool have been close to ManUre (haha, poop jokes, I just wish I could take credit for that) in the league table and a win at Anfield will bring them within three points of the defending champs.  After an inspiring win vs Marseille midweek, Liverpool should head into this game fairly confident.  A side note, the Fernando Torres boner counter is now at 359 after another sublime performance.

I love that man.

Prediction - As much as I hate Man U, they are a solid team, and I can see them scraping an away draw.  Final score: Liverpool 1-Man U 1.

My Roommates vs GMATs - Both my roommates are taking the GMATs this weekend and from what I can gather from the advance scouts, both have the chance to do well.  They had better because I don't want to deal their depressed asses until they take the test again.  I'm a positive person, I can't have my sanctuary fouled with negative thoughts.

Prediction - A solid performance from both leads to a festive celebration (see below) and good times that carry well on into the next year.

Fletchinator vs Friday Day Drinking - I like a good drink as much as the next guy.  A well-aged scotch or a robust port, for example.  I also like a challenge.  So when my roommates suggested an all day binge drink to commemorate their completion of the GMATs, I readily agreed.  Hell, I even took a day off from work to make sure I could attend.  So, this afternoon I plan on drinking beer and not stopping until I'm either dead or lying in a pile of trash somewhere.  Should be a good time.  

Prediction - A wise man once told me "When beer is involved, there are no losers."  Keeping that mantra in mind, I'm feeling pretty good about my chances of surviving.

Mitchell Report Pontification

Baseball Town Crier Fletchinator will read from the sacred parchment of genetic misconduct: Hear ye, hear ye! Ye olde report of baseball transgressions is to be released on the morrow. Stand and hearken as the town crier will now identify those who have tarnished our fair ball and bat athletic contest.  Will the named please step forth and place their heads in the stockade! (okay, enough of the ye olde crap)

Barry Bonds - The king is dead, long live the king, even if his bones are brittle, his head the size of an armadillo and his testes nothing more than two grains of iodized salt.  The all-time leader in home runs and personal clubhouse La-Z-Boy recliners has had a tumultuous off-season.  First, Bonds suffered through the humiliation of being banished from the Giants- a last place team- then tried his best to downplay federal perjury charges.  Have fun in court, Barry.  He's going down faster than the plunger on the hypodermic needle he had Greg Anderson stick into his ass.  Good.  I hate this guy.  If anyone deserves to fry, it's this ass clown.  Just look at him:

This dude's body is so unnatural he no longer discharges human waste.  Seriously, someone who roots for Bonds is a retard.  Sirs and madams of San Francisco, you are retarded (and gay) if you openly support Barry Bonds.  

Juice Latham - The godfather of the juicers.  After scouring through the annals of baseball history, one thing is certain.  Something fishy went down around 1877 when Juice mysteriously vanished from baseball for half a decade.  Upon his arrival back into the bigs, he mustered a career high 38 RBIs (4th highest in the American Association behind Hick Carpenter, Pop Snyder and the Old Roman himself, Charlie Comiskey) for the Philadelphia Athletics.  As if that wasn't proof enough, he also managed the squad to a third place finish.  After being out of the game for five seasons, Latham suddenly reemerges and sets the league on fire.  Hmm.  Highly dubious.  No wonder why the legacy of Juice will always be his name and not his artificially enhanced game.

Satchel Paige - Take a look at one of Paige's baseball cards, then a shot of the mummified remains of King Tut: 

The resemblance is quite striking.  How is it that a virtual clone of a two millennia old mummy can make his major league debut at the ripe old age of 41?  And how can that same mummy/person pitch until the age of 58?  I think it's time to put Mr. Paige under the microscope and see if he comes up clean.

Mickey Mantle - Drunk half the time and getting blown under the Yankee Stadium bleachers the other half, who knows what Mantle was capable of putting into his bloodstream.  He was 90% alcohol.  The man pissed booze.  My grandfather used to tell me stories about how Billy Martin would drink out of the toilet after the Mick was done taking a leak.  My grandfather also used to not wear pants while talking to me, but that's neither here nor there.  He must have needed some uppers/downers/middlers/reversers to get him through the games.  Exhume the body immediately!  I demand answers.

Ken Caminiti - This jackoff thinks he can keep fooling the public with his lengthy denials and dismissal of steroid claims.  Little does he know that the Mitchell Report is about to blow the lid of this story.  It's going to be fucking huge.  Caminiti, you can run, but you can't hide forever.  The public is finally going to get some concrete answers about your 1996 NL MVP sesaon in which you batted 54 points higher than your career lifetime average, bested your previous high for RBIs by 36 and mashed 40 home runs, a staggering accomplishment after never hitting more than 29.  Wait one second, I'm receiving a breaking news flash...Oh.

Monday Evening Cop-Out

It is Monday (Note: it is actually Tuesday, but because Time Warner cable sucks my balls I was unable to post this last night. My rage knows no bounds.) and I'm tired already. Not a great sign for the upcoming week. There's only way solution for this problem: rollover any creativity I might have left tonight into tomorrow and post a couple funny/interesting videos instead. If anyone has a problem with that, there are plenty of other sites out there to look at while you should be working.

Zlat = mild man crush; C-Ron = giant douche

Indonesian Tree Man makes me feel kind of funny. Like when we used to climb the rope in gym class.

Petra Nemcova...good to quite good.

Friday Afternoon Clairvoyance with Sagacious Fletchinator

I'm a man who respects traditions.  A football game for a trophy?  Love that shit.  Walking around Dublin on Bloomsday?  Awesome.  Freshman hazing?  
God, I beat off to that at least twice a week.

But I digress.  CBSVG has been up for about two weeks and I think it's about time that we get the tradition ball rolling here.  And what better way to start than with a cliched look at the games this weekend that are most appealing to me (go start your own blog if you need Dolphins vs Bills coverage), peppered with some droll humor to ease it down your esophagus. 

Time to fire this bitch up.  

Here is is, the premiere of Friday Afternoon Clairvoyance:

Reading vs Liverpool: The Reds have been red-hot (that was an example of droll humor, laugh or die) of late and that streak looks to continue as they head into the Madejski stadium to play Reading.  Fernando Torres leads Liverpool in league goals (6) and Fletchinator boners induced (312).  Hold on.

Okay, up to 313 now.  

Prediction: Liverpool pick up another big win.  Final score: 3-0.

Broncos vs Chiefs: I haven't been this disinterested in a Broncos season in a long time.  The main reason being that they suck donkey balls.  Their defense is atrocious, Travis Henry has been a nightmare and Invesco Field is apparently more hospitable than Grandma's house on Thanksgiving.  Fuck.  It really chaps my ass to think about this season.  I really thought that the team was going places.  Maybe not Super Bowl contender just yet, but with the schedule they had this season, they should have won the AFC West.  This team has gone downhill faster than a Britney Spears/Lindsay Lohan/Tara Reid conglomerate uber-skank.  I don't even care that Gus Johnson is calling this game.  It's in Denver, but I have no confidence in Denver doing anything worthwhile.  

Prediction: Broncos somehow find a new way to lose (halftime vasectomies?) and the Chiefs leave Denver 24-20 victors.

UConn Men's BB vs Exams: Fuck Syracuse, Georgetown and Villanova.  This is the Huskies biggest challenge of the year.  For the love of Christ, can you imagine Hasheem Thabeet taking an econ exam?  How often do you think Doug "The Thug" Wiggins (nickname mine and should not be taken as any sort of derogatory comment, it just rhymes and sounds catchy) goes to his Art History class?  Do you think he could tell me the difference between dadaism and surrealism?  I'm nervous.

Prediction: Huskies, with some outside help, squeak out a close win.

'72 Dolphins Players vs Patriots Fans: The big debate going into this weekend's Steelers/Pats game is not whether or not the Patriots are going to lose- they're not- but who are the bigger douches: '72 Dolphins players or '07 Patriots fans.  Right now, I'm leaning towards '72 Dolphins, spearheaded by Mercury Morris.  Please someone put an end to this.  

Prediction: '72 Dolphins Players continue their douchebaggery as Pats fans play the "One game at a time card."

Cult of Personality (Expert) vs Me: Ahh, Guitar Hero 3.  You fickle bitch.  I know what you're trying to do.  You want me to smash my guitar again.  You offer me this song from one hit wonders, Living Colour, and make it fairly simple for the first three quarters.  Just as I start to feel confident that I can beat the song, you destroy my wrist and fingers with an insane solo.  I'm on to you.  I've been practicing.  I'm going to fuck you up big time this weekend.  Or smash my guitar.

That wraps up the first edition of the FAC.  Enjoy your weekend.

Drunk Blog #1

To all my adoring fans out there:

I got drunk tonight.  Sorry.  It was a Wednesday.  It happens.  Here is a video that makes me laugh: 

If you don't giggle once during the viewing of that video, please email me.  I will do my best to provide a funny video next time I'm drunk.

A Trip to the Glue Factory - A Play in One Act

Characters:

Pat Bowlen - Owner, Denver Broncos

Larry Stilson - VP of Public Relations and Marketing, Elmer's Products, INC.

John Elway - Hall of Fame Quarterback, Demigod

Laura Stilson - Wife of Larry Stilson

Act 1:

(Scene:

Bowlen and Stilson complete a tour of the Elmer's Glue factory.  Stilson opens the door to his office and the two men sit down for a brief conversation before parting.)

Stilson: So, Mr. Bowlen, that about wraps up the tour of the Elmer's glue factory.  I hope that the tour proved informative.  Let me just tell you that I am huge Broncos fan.  Karl Mecklenburg was my hero in high school.  I love John Elway.  I can't wait to go home and tell my kids about this, they are not going to believe it.

Bowlen: Well, I have always been fascinated with glue.  Some might call it a passion of mine.  I really want to thank you for taking the time out of you day to show me around this facility.

Stilson: No problem, sir.  Do you have any questions that I might be able to help you with?

Bowlen: Actually, there was something I was curious about.  I'm looking to unload some excess material and I was wondering if you would be willing to take it off my hands?

Stilson: I'm not sure I follow you, sir.  This is a glue factory, not the Salvation Army.  We don't really need any donations.

Bowlen: That's too bad.  You see, I've got some Broncos that need to be put down.  They've had a good run, but you don't get to be a success in this life by holding on to things past their expiration date, if you catch my drift.  Nope, these boys have served their purpose, now it's time to give them their final peace.

Stilson: Mr. Bowlen!  Are you suggesting that we euthanize your players and turn them into glue?  Because I believe that is what you are insinuating and I just can't accept that that is what I'm hearing right now.

Bowlen: Listen here, Stilson.  I've got to unload some materials and I will be goddamned if I leave today with anyone in that goddamn trailer I've got parked in your parking lot.  Let me grease you pockets a little bit.  Check out this briefcase I have handcuffed to my wrist.  Let me crack it open. (Bowlen opens up the briefcase.  It is stacked to the brim with $100 bills.)

Stilson: Sir, you're missing the point here.  We don't make glue out of organic materials, let along human beings.  Everything you saw done today was with chemicals and other synthetic products.  You can't be serious right now.  I'm asking you to kindly drop this matter.

Bowlen: Okay, okay.  You're going to play hardball.  I see how we are going to have to do this.  (Bowlen reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cell phone) 'Hey, John.  We're going to need you after all.  See you in a few.' (Bowlen puts the phone back into his pocket.)  Stilson, you are in for a treat.  Just sit back, relax and enjoy the show.

Stilson: Let me break it down for you as plainly as I can.  I am not turning your football players into glue.  Even if i wanted to, I don't have the authority to make that call. Now, please, I have a lot of work to do and this is starting to make me a little uncomfortable.  (As Stilson quiets, the door to his office opens and John Elway walks into the room, followed by Laura Stilson)  John Elway!  What's going on here, what is my wife doing here.  Honey, what are you doing here?  Mr. Bowlen, explain yourself!

Bowlen: Now, now Stilson.  Like I said, you are in for a treat.  (Both Elway and Laura begin undressing as Bowlen speaks) All I'm asking for is one favor.  One tiny little favor for an old, and powerful, friend.  I need to get rid of some guys.  And you need to make some glue.  This is a win-win situation for both of us.  Now if you aren't going to help, then you aren't going to be able to get involved with what is about to happen.

(As Bowlen finishes, both Elway and Laura are standing naked in the office.  Stilson is sitting at his desk, mouth agape, unable to comprehend what is going on)

Stilson: What the hell is happening here?  (Stilson watches as his wife passionately kisses Elway on the lips) Laura!  What are you doing?  Stop that.  Stop that immediately.

Bowlen: (in a loud voice, as the kissing next to him has raised in intensity and fervor) Stilson, let me lay it on the line right now.  Your wife is going to screw John Elway right in front of you.  And from what I can see, she likes how things are going so far.  Now you have two options.  You can do nothing about it, like the giant vag you are, or you can take my players off my hands, turn them to glue and get in on this action.  When are you every going to have a chance to have a threesome with John Elway again?  Seriously, when?  Let me tell you, it's not gonna happen.  This is a once in a lifetime opportunity.  I'm walking out of this room right now and not coming back.  And I'm either leaving with a trailer full of players or I'm not.  Your call, partner.  Your call.

(Stilson, visibly stunned by what has transpired in his office, can't take his eyes off of his wife and one of his childhood idols, locked together in sexual rapture.  He stammers, as words fail to come.  He swallows hard, wipes his brow and begins to unbuckle his belt)

Stilson: Mr. Bowlen, you drive a hard bargain, but I think we can work something out.  (Stilson and Bowlen shake hands and Bowlen turns to leave the office, a huge smile spread across his face)

Bowlen: (under his breath) Works every time.  (Reaches into his pocket as he shuts the office door behind him and pulls out his cell phone) Hey TD.  You can pack up your stuff, we're done here. 

FIN