Damn.

What do you do when a friend does something horribly wrong? I've had friends marry the wrong person, do stupid things with their lives...BUT PLAY FOR THE YANKEES?

I've been friends with former Astros 3B Morgan Ensberg for about six years now and have known him since he was at AA-ball in Round Rock. He was tremendous in 2005, got hurt early in 2006 and...well, he's sucked since. The Astros traded him to San Diego late last year, and they cut him.

He signed with the Yankees today. I hate the Yankees. A lot. Not quite like the sips and the Cowboys, but really damned close.

I know not what to do. This could be a dealbreaker, Mo.

Hear me roar, Houston

Baby C.J. (see below) should be a happy little guy today. After all, Aggie basketball broke out of its cold spell to kick the hell out of the hated Longhorns of Texas (filthy sips, as I prefer to call them) last night. The Ags whipped them the whole way, winning 80-63.

This made me feel good, because on the way home last night, a bunch of sips called into the sports radio station I listened to and started running smack. One guy was acting like he was emptying his daughter's college fund to bet on the sips, who he said could whip A&M (who he referred to as "Aggy") anytime, anywhere.

"Who have they beaten that's any good?" he asked.

After another call or two like that, I changed the channel. And I was livid.

Well, this morning I got in the car and was a little bit happier about things. Listening to the same radio station, the hosts said, "Come on, Aggies, here's your time to gloat!"

So I picked up my cell phone and called in. Much to my amazement, I got through. 30 seconds later, I was on the air. I first off expressed my insincere condolences to the t.u. faithful and said I felt REALLY bad about that guy losing his daughter's college fund last night.

Then I dropped the bomb.

"I guess he's right, though; A&M still hasn't beat anybody good because TEXAS SUCKS!"

Que the whining sips, who were reminded by the hosts that, well, they haven't beaten A&M in anything but competitive dance in two years.

I might call in on the drive home, too. Hook THAT, whorns.

Just the Two of Us

Hi, I'm Baby C.J. The Aggie is my uncle. I'm wearing this hat because my uncle bought it for me.

See, here's me and my uncle. He's wearing his Texas A&M shirt. I have a bunch of those too.



And here I'm wearing my uncles' Washington Redskins cap from when they were a baby like me. I was taking a nap on my Pop-pop's lap and my aunt, Momma Pug, slipped it on me.

And here I am, mad. I'm really ticked off. Why, you ask? Because all my uncle's teams suck!

Why can't we root for winners!

Stupid 'Skins.

And don't get me started on Aggie basketball.

Or the Astros, for the matter.

Its almost too much for a baby to take.

Two Olbermann award winners

This is to catch up for forgetting last week's and to make sure this week is covered. Anyway, without further adieu, our winners:

Dana Jacobson, anchor/horseface, ESPN: Ms. Jacobson is currently not ruining your television should you turn on ESPN2's "First Take" (nobody I know ever has) because she is suspended. She is suspended, ostensibly, because she got drunk at the Mike and Mike roast earlier this month and said a bunch of really crass stuff, including "F**K Jesus."
Ok, bad form. The almighty might hit the smite button on yo' ass for that, but that's neither here nor there. She gets Olbermanned not just because she was wasted and offensive at a roast, she did it while being unbearably ugly.
You can get wasted and be offensive at a roast, but if you take it to her level, you'd better be good looking. That's why Kathy Griffin is cruising for a lifetime achievement Olbermann, that ugly skank.

Wesley Snipes, actor/loon: The former Willie Mays Hayes/Blade is currently on trial for tax evasion. It's already come out that he threatened the investigators looking at his case and said taxes don't apply to him because he's an "alien."

Alien, as in foreign national or alien, as in from the planet Umfufu? Either way, it's total BS and he's a jerkoff. You can steal bases on the Yankees, Willie Mays Hayes, but the IRS will run you down.

Remember what your manager said: "Don't ever f**king do it again."

Waste redefined

Ok, this doesn't hold a candle to the government, but it's still pretty bad. The other day, I went to the mailbox and got the mail--bills, bills, crap, bills, please help us save the children in Burundi, bills...

And then there it was. A card from Time Warner Cable encouraging us to watch some of their special digital movies on demand this month.

Uh, no. For many reasons. But the primary ones include the following:

* We don't have Time Warner Cable. Haven't had it in two years.
* TIME WARNER CABLE NO LONGER HAS MARKET RIGHTS IN THE HOUSTON AREA! Comcast took it over last July in a deal which gave TWC the rights to Dallas. In other words, we couldn't watch them even if we wanted to.

Which we don't. Since we don't have their service, which isn't offered here anyway.

And they should know that.

Idiots.

Rocky vs. Walker vs. Angelina Jolie's dad vs...?

It appears that, in recent days, every actor too old to be drunk, stoned or illiterate (or all of the above) has endorsed a Republican (!) for president. This hasn't happened since Jimmy Stewart and Frank Sinatra went to the mat for their buddy Ron back in 1980 (I'm not counting Bruce Willis helping 41 in 1992; that was just embarrassing).

You've got Chuck Norris supporting Mike Huckabee, Jon Voight backing Rudy Guiliani and now, yo! You've got Sly Stallone backing John McCain. Three guys in their 60s, with their careers already pretty much toast and no longer giving a shit what the liberal morons in Hollywood think, coming out for GOPers.

But what about someone for Mitt Romney? Doesn't he deserve some Hollywood geezer love too? Well, here's the problem. I can't find any viable candidates.

Let's see here:
Harrison Ford, 65, has bullwhipped himself to a tree to he can hug it tighter. He's out.
Martin Sheen is still a F'ing liberal idiot. He's out.
Ahnold may be too young and hell, he's a governor now anyway.
Well, what about Sean Connery? He may not be an American, but he's a stud, right? So I called him. He gave me this response: "Screw you, Trebek, I'm too busy nailing your mom to support any of your bitches." I'm confused by this.
Mel Gibson's calling me back after he gets back from the bar.
He's still at the bar because Jack Nicholson's in the back nailing the waitress. I warned him.
Fred Thompson is...well, a former candidate.
So who's left?
MICKEY ROONEY! He's a tough ol' coot, knows a thing about medicare reform (you've seen those commercials), knows a thing about economic policy (made money during the Great Depression) and a thing about national defense (made more money during WWII). And you've got to love a guy who used to drink with Joe DiMaggio.

So there it is, Rooney for Romney. He'll crack all you whippersnapper bitches one real fast.

There, that oughtta be worth a few votes in Florida.

To the folks at TMZ:

First off, screw you. You're human garbage and I'll bet, considering your repeated (and annoying) shots at Republicans, that you're fabulous.

Now, having said that, I go to your site a couple of times every day. Why, I don't know. I hate Hollywood and the paparazzi culture. I really hate your obsession with certain people, though I understand why you'd want to sniff the farts of Britney Spears--apparently, describing them sells.

But what's up with Brady Anderson? Why the obsession with him?

For those of you who have no clue who Brady Anderson is, it's more like "was." He was a member of the Baltimore Orioles in the 1990s and a friend of the great Cal Ripken Jr. In 1996, he hit 50 home runs, a team record.

He never hit more than 28 before or after 1996. And, if you look at him, he seems to be mighty buff in '96, ifyouknowhatImean (hint: Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens know exactly what I mean).

Ok, so By. Anderson roided. And he still wasn't better than his buddy, who played it straight. But he was buff and had nice sideburns, if you look at it from a lady's perspective (NOTE: I ASKED).

But that was 12 years ago! So why the f**k has he shown up on the pages of TMZ twice in a week? Today, it was "Brady Anderson was spotted in line at Hyde." He was in the same paragraph as Maverick, the Savior of all mankind; Lindsay Lohan and M.C. Hammer (ok, two outta three aint bad).

WHO GIVES A F**K WHAT A GUY WITH A .256 LIFETIME AVERAGE IS DOING AT NIGHT?

We're not talking about the Bambino here, or Mickey Mantle, Ted Williams or even Cal. It's BRADY ANDERSON.

Is TMZ that hard up for gossip? Are they trying to appeal to guys or something? Today, they also had Ron Artest getting thrown out of a bar. SO? Are you a) slobbering on the knobs of the mediocre or b) stupid enough to think anyone cares about these guys?

What's next?

"Nomar spotted at Rouge"
"Manu Ginobili spotted at Mama Citas"
"Mark Brunell dominates bingo night"
"Julio Lugo seen beating his wife" (wait, that headline actually ran)
"Brady Quinn seen on Cleveland bench"
"David Carr seen at Chilis!"

Rock on, TMZ.

I want to be the government.

Today, it was announced that the federal government will run the trade deficit up to $250 billion after this year's spending is put into place--not counting, of course, the stimulus package being tossed around right now. That'll probably push it to about $400 billion.

I am hereby requesting that my credit limit be increased to a similar level, because I have dogs. And our dogs cost a whole shitload of money.

Last week, Ripken had surgery right next to his right eye to remove a potentially cancerous growth. They knocked him out, removed the thing, and stitched it back up. Net total: $525.73.

Well, Rippy didn't like the stitches. He disliked them enough, in fact, that he tore them all out, walking around with an open wound last night. So, back to the vet's office this morning. Rippy has had the entire surgical procedure redone, has new stitches and now has one of those satellite collars on so he can't rip the stitches out. I can only guess how much fun this bill will be.

Then there's the mortgage, the two cars, gas, and other stuff. Hell, it's getting to the point where I'm pondering setting up a new "revenue zone" in our subdivision to raise funds...for our bills!

Come on, W., raise my debt limit. I donated to your campaign!

Using a credit card.

How 'bout them Cowboys, Herr Hitler?

Take it to the limit...and go right past it

As most of you know, Momma Pug and I have three dogs. We have Ripken, the nicest and sweetest dog in the world (also a total wimp); we have Sonny the Pug, my constant companion/Daddy apologist, and we have Deuce, also known as the freaking devil himself.

Deuce, the silky, is usually enough to make things interesting--just as his predecessor, Martin, was. But this weekend, he has some help, as we're dogsitting. Not one dog, mind you: TWO MORE.

Five dogs, one cat, two humans.

Disaster.

One of the visiting dogs is a little girl, about 4 months old. She's not old enough for Deuce to nail yet, so he beats the shit out of her. Then she beats on him. Then they piss of Gert the cat, who beats the shit out of both of them. Then they annoy Rippy. Then they annoy Sonny, who runs over both of them.

Yay, Sonny.

I am annoyed by the little dogs. Why? Because they're worse than kids--they shriek and yell and keep you up all night, like babies, make messes like babies, but they poop and pee on the floor--and they eat on the floor.

To keep the girl dog away from Sonny last night when she ate (for fear Sonny would eat her food and, if she pissed him off, her), Momma Pug put her in the bedroom. She ate, left the room, loddy doddy.

Flash forward to four this morning. Momma Pug, whose back had been hurting, has gone to sleep on the couch and has decided to come back in the bed because the puppies are driving her batshit crazy. So I go to help her. Get her back in the bedroom and promptly ram my right knee into the corner of the cedar chest--yes, the same chest I cracked my head on in October. Or November. Whenever.

I howl in pain and grab my right leg and hop around. Two hops, to be precise, before my left foot catches the bowl, twists and the flies up in the air. 16 hours later, my right knee is fine. My left hasn't hurt this badly since I destroyed it in high school.

I'm thinking about having two little animal skins to use as washrags. But, knowing my luck, they wouldn't hold water either.

Moral of the story: remember that good deed you were going to do for someone? Screw it. Have a few drinks and forget it. Your knees will thank you.

Olbermann Award winner for the week of 1/13

The Olbermann Award will henceforth be awarded on a weekly basis to the biggest dumbass over the last 7 days. I have no doubt the competition will be intense.

This week's award goes to...THE UNITED NATIONS!

Are they recognized for their efforts in ending war in Darfur? Making sure the Middle East (minus Israel) remains nuke-free? For aiding those in need of help?

Nah.

It's for making George Clooney the Ambassador of Peace!

WTF?

Well, I should be less crass. I mean, Mr. Budweiser voice-over may be exactly what the world needs.

(cut scene to the Congo. Present day. Communist guerrilla leader with AK-47 scouts ahead of his posse)

"Hi there. You need to put down that weapon. War is like George Bush-it's bad."
"Who the fuck are you?"
"I'm George Clooney."
"Who?"
"George Clooney."
BLAM.

or, perhaps this:

(Cut to mountains of Pakistan. al Qaida leaders, with the help of the local populace, are preparing for an attack on the Pakistani Army. Tomorrow, they will cross the border into Afghanistan and attack NATO forces)

"Hi there. I know you hate George Bush. I do too. But this is just not a good idea."
"Who the fuck are you, infidel?"
"I'm George.."
BLAM.

Or maybe this:
(North Korea. Present day. Kim Jong Il, flouting the entire world, grins evilly at plans for another nuclear weapon)
"Hi there. Nukes are like Bush, evil. There's another way."
"I know who you are. I drink Schlitz and your movies suck."
BLAM.

Life imitates Team America.

Tom Cruise, messiah

I have just read something detailing some of Tom Cruise's insane/retarded/scary/hilarious rant at the Scientology cult mass-meeting...err, convention. After reading it, I am convinced Maverick's outta his fu...I mean, the savior of all mankind.

Notice the imagery here describe Mav's visit to ground zero after 9/11 to "help" the firemen taking part in the rescue efforts: "He first saw the dust and heard the cough when descending to the ruins, where he bolstered morale among firemen. The devastation had spread an unprecedented combination of toxins through the air - and it was lethal."

Descending to the ruins...like an Angel (or Goose, after Mav punched out because he got caught in Ice's backwash). He bolstered the moral of the firemen (let's forget that Bush guy who showed up, too, reminding everyone that "I CAN HEAR YOU!"). And he saved their lives because the air was lethal.

Of course, there were thousands of first responders Mav didn't see, and they didn't die. There's no doubt that the air at Ground Zero was pretty nasty and unhealthy, but it wasn't lethal--so the EPA was right when they said it was breathable. But let's not get in the way of a good story, right?

Anyway, Mav shows up and heals the firemen. At least, that's what the followers of Xenu or whoever the fuck they are think. What does everyone else think? He showed up, set up shop to "comfort" the workers and pushed bogus potions and Scientology on them. Ask the firefighters what they think about Mav..I mean, the savior of all mankind. Oddly, they spurn Mav as a fraud and a fake--much like those nasty Jews did with that guy from Nazareth!

Of course, we have to change the story to fit the new savior of all mankind. Maybe he'll have three flops at the boxoffice, then come back from the dead.

Oops, too late.

"Request permission for a coherent thought."
"Negative, Ghostrider, the pattern is full."

Cougar High (not U. of Houston)

So I was visiting Aggie Yell, a site I frequent, and one of the guys on there is being pursued by a Cougar and wanted to know what to do.

FYI: A "Cougar" is an older woman preying on a younger man. If you're in your twenties, and a single guy, this is known as AWESOME.

In this case, the guy is 24 and she's...well, 39. And, apparently, a mother of two (divorced) and smokin' hot.

So he knows not what to do. Of course, he gets a lot of sage advice from his fellow Ags, most of which goes in this direction: HIT IT!

It reminded me of the days of yore, long before I met Momma Pug. I will admit that I was prey for a few Cougars and, for the most part, it was AWESOME.

When you're 25 and she's 33, or 32, or even 36, it can be pretty cool. After all, most Cougars know what they want, how to get it without any bullshit beating around the bush and don't want anything longterm. If you're a younger guy not looking for attachment (or you know for sure they're not the one), this is AWESOME!

Of course, there are some Cougars you want no part of. Before I went to A&M, I met a Coog who was about 40 when I was 23. I went out and had drinks with her one night, then the next she tells me to come over because she's in the hot tub with some wine and a lot of aggression to work off.

AWESOME, right? Not so fast, my friend. Not when she's got a 4-year-old daughter in the other room, a lifestyle well beyond her means and a helter-skelter look in her eyes. Suffice it to say I did not stop by to visit. EVER.

The other was a girl in Huntsville. Went out with her once, and on the second date she's drawing up wedding plans. When I moved to Georgia, she came to visit--A WEEK AFTER I MOVED. Dumped her. Met Momma Pug. Moved back to Texas.

Psycho shows up at our apartment. Momma Pug tells her to get the hell away and never comes back. Psycho retaliates by later trying to kill Momma Pug, which earns her a restraining order in two counties and the eternal trailing of the Huntsville Police Department (note: NEVER SCREW WITH ME IN WALKER COUNTY. YOU CAN'T WIN).

So, back to our 24-year-old. After all this experience with Cougars, I felt compelled to give him some advice myself.

HIT IT!

Got a screw loose?

There are few things I hate more in life than hanging curtains. I've had do it twice in the last four years and that's two times too many.

The first time was back in Phil Heibler's little shithole in Navasota once Momma Pug moved to Texas. She brought her draconian red/gold/black curtains with her from Georgia and told me to put them up in the main bedroom (I can't remember what I had put up, if anything; they may have been Star Wars curtains for all I know). I remember that I did this on a Saturday during football season. I also remember that those windows were really Fing tall.

So here I am, trying to screw the nuts in for these ridiculously shaped curtain holders, balancing myself on a 4-inch ledge while biting on screws and sort of leaning backwards to get myself in the right position. Screw, screw, screw (not in the good way; Momma Pug was out of town)...nowhere. One more twist and boom goes the dynamite--screw drops off and falls to the ground.
Repeat process four times, same result.

In the background, I can hear Vince Young and t.u. tearing Missouri apart in a game the sips trailed at halftime. I am getting progessively more and more pissed off. Then I determine a solution; picture this: the Aggie storms out of the room. Comes back 15 seconds later--WITH HAMMER AND NAILS.

Yeah, that's right, that bitch went UP. I didn't even PLAY with the other set of curtains. They got nailed too.

Ok, so they were slightly skewed. So the wall was damaged. Ask me if I care.

Flash forward to this weekend. Momma Pug is going slightly insane, so yours truly excuses himself to clean out the garage. After throwing a bunch of shit to the curb (and still being at the curb), I hear a yell from inside the house. Damn, Momma Pug's trying to be constructive again.

Sho 'nuff, I walk in and Momma Pug is on a chair in the bathroom. Not sitting, standing. And has been for 20 minutes. She is not happy. Why was she up there to begin with?

HANGING CURTAINS.

Responsibility changes hands. Up I go.

Screw refuses to budge. Try it again. Nothing. Screw falls. Rage increases. Happens again.

CUE THE HAMMER AND NAILS.

This time it's worse; the nail bends! WTF? I keep hammering away in a rage, slowly wearing away the wall covering. I get one nail in, but the other one won't go. Then I see why: I've been hammering into a steel beam.

YEAH, BOY, I NAILED INTO SOLID FRIGGIN' STEEL! WHOOP!

Not that it did a whole lot of good, but I felt Ahnold-esque.

Moved the piece over three inches and tried again and viola! Success. Not that I bothered trying it with a screw.

Later in the evening, another curtain. Similar result, though I was able to screw a couple of the correct pieces in the top parts of the curtain holder. The bottom? Friggin' nails.

Anyway, the curtains are up. Momma Pug picked a nice color and they're even, so I'm happy.

AND I NAILED A NAIL INTO SOLID STEEL.

Greetings and welcome

Hi there. As you've guessed, I'm Mark and this is my blog. I live in Pearland, Texas with my wife, three dogs and a cat (and my dad, Sunday night to Thursday night. Long story). I am a graduate of Texas A&M and Lehigh Universities, but I am commonly known, especially on the missus' blog, as "The Aggie."

I'm a former journalist, have worked in the political arena and have lived overseas. I'm a huge sports fan (Ags, Astros, Orioles, Redskins and Rockets) and love history. I have a few opinions on a few matters.

This blog will be my jotting board for simple musings, hopefully drawing amusement from my certain to be non-existent reading audience. For those of you interested in some of my other thoughts political and sports-related (all zero of you), please check out my other blog, the Texas Overseer (txoverseer.blogspot.com). In any event, please check back early and often. I'd like to get some advertising for this damned thing and every hit counts.