The Crack Head Life

Hello good ladies and gentleman, and welcome back to another edition of the blog that was recently described by the Des Monies Monthly Blog Report Updater as "smart, Witty, and full of compassion for its fellow man." I know what you are all thinking...that's some pretty high praise for the Sack Artist from a pretty prestigious monthly periodical. But I deserve it. As a high-minded man and a gentleman, I have been able to incorporate my ironic dissertations into a caring and compassionate package unlike any source since John Cena's heart retching turn in the Marine (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=co2VdBP6r6g). Me and my blog stand for things like integrity, compassion, honesty, and humaneness. We are against hatred, the Chicago Cubs and most of all...apathy (and that's no joke Kovach). We believe in people helping people, but I don't want to generalize...keep in mind people should probably help dogs, horses, bears, salamanders and any other animal in need as well.

A Day in the Life of a Crackhead
If you walk through the Sigma Chi fraternity house on the Beloit College Campus at 4 A.M. on a random weeknight, there's one thing you will probably notice. It's not the drunken cries of another rowdy Tuesday night party, the quiet shuffle of a female sneaking her way out of the house, or Joe Davis practicing his play-by-play announcing to the Pac-10 women's volleyball game of the week (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W45DRy7M1no). You'll notice two of Beloit's finest, Andrew Horton and Zakk (not a misspelling, kid had learning issues) Tapp, doing what they do best...watching pirated copies of Harry Potter, playing endless amounts of Tetrus on the PlayStation 3, and eating massive portions of deep fried food. After hanging out with these two I have sneaking suspician that both were bitten by the vampire bat I released in the house last semester (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=posQZEVxDkQ). Anyways, I decided to spend a night in the life of these two crack addicted Beloit College students, and here is what happened.

7:30-11:30 P.M.-Horton actually sleeps for 4 straight hours, which may have never have happened before. Horton getting 4 hours of sleep is like a starving, homeless man finding a ham sandwich wrapped in a 100 dollar bill. At the same time I am asleep on our front porch, and I am pretty sure I was taken advantage of...I've felt sheepish ever since.

11:30 P.M.: Horton wakes up and we put in the fifth Harry Potter movie...in the past 3 nights Tapp has managed to watch all 15 hours of Harry, Ron and Hermoine's heroics. I recommended the books to Horton and Tapp 2 weeks ago, and they opened them up the wrong way, reading from right to left like they were written in Hebrew...so movies are a safer bet.

2 A.M.: The HP movie ends and we are ready for a new diversion. Horton goes to the bathroom, obviously to take a hit of his crack pipe to keep his adrenaline going

2:05 A.M.: Tapp starts the second movie on our conquest list, Milk. If you thought me and Jimmy Holmes playing the nervous game in the bathroom of St. Louis Priory High School was homo-erotic...wait till you see this film. These guys are naked more then Eric Ritts after he gets 3 beers in him. It really is an incredibly film and the performance of Ryan Evans, who I guessed moved to San Francisco after his graduation in High School Musical 3, is incredible.

2:45 A.M.: I am pretty sure I am going to die...and this feeling will be with me plenty throughout the course of the night. My eyelids feel like they weigh more then Roseanne Barr, and they are impossible to keep open. However, like the champ that I am, I refuse to fall asleep and push on.

3:15 A.M.: Thanks to 14 mellow yellows and a wink from Tapp's big, beautiful eye I reach my second wind. I'm back like Mase after he quit the church.

3:40 A.M.: Clinically dead, again. How can anyone stay up past 3:30 A.M.? That's nuts.

4 A.M.: Tapp puts in the third season of Family Guy. If there is one thing that will put a little pep in my step it is Peter Griffin and the gang. Despite the random hilarity I was witnessing, I was now unable to laugh or show any facial expression of any kind.

5:30 A.M.: Somehow I'm still awake. Tapp goes to bed (lucky son of a bitch), while Horton and I prepare to leave to go donate plasma.

5:45 A.M.: Horton and I arrive at the Plasma Center. I have no idea what Plasma is, but evidently someplace pays you like $30 for it. This sounds like a better deal then a sperm bank.

5:50 A.M.: I crack my "BFC" 32 oz monster, and start to feel the sweet caffeine, guarana mix lifting my mind, body and soul.

6 A.M.: The Plasma Center is completely full of patrons...and they are not from the upper echelon of society. Out of the 25 people in the center, I counted a total of 8 teeth, 19 mullets, 22 wife beaters, and 24 people literally smoking crack in front of everyone in the waiting room.

6:15 A.M.: Some guy walks up to the vending machines and pays $1 for a 12 oz. can of Diet Pepsi. If you are in such desperate need for money that you are literally selling your own blood for three Alexander Hamiltons like it is your little sister's bike, why would you spend almost 10 cents per ounce of soda? And you get a diet? Come on dude, by a man and spring for the regular pepsi. They are about to stick a giant needle into your veins and collect half the blood that's running through your body, and you are worried about the amount of calories in your soda? Grow a pair.

6:28 A.M.: Horton gets called to the back and I have an hour to kill. I decide to take full advantage of it and hit up McDonald's breakfast. After ordering my meal I discover that I only have about $4, which is about a buck short. Maybe I should have sold my blood so I could actually afford to buy some breakfast burritos and a hash brown. I drive away in shame, and go to the house to collect some money. I then drive to the McDonald's on the other side of Beloit, to avoid the humiliation of facing the same worker who berated me because my father didn't get into medical school, therefore keeping my family from being able to afford luxeries like McDonald's coffee.

7 A.M.: I pass out in my McDonald's orange juice while reading about CSI: Miami in the USA Today.

7:15 A.M.: I wake up with hash brown pieces stuck in my beard, and head back to the Plasma Center to pick Horton up

7:30 A.M.: I arrive at the Center, but the place is packed. It's impossible to even enter the building. I am forced to stand outside staring at the people in the waiting room through the giant, glass windows. I feel like the crazy stalker who has a 100 foot restraining order against Andre 3000, so he always stays exactly 101 feet away in clear view. You want to suffer the most embarrassing moment of your life?...try stalking the people in the Plasma Center's waiting room. And this wasn't the cool kind of stalking like Mitch did in Old School, where you watch a girl from a far and eventually she sees through all your lies and loves you anyways. This is the weird kind of stalking where you are staring at 14 meth addicts who would gladly go down on you for $9, a ride to the bus stop, and 2 teaspoons of nyquil.

7:50 A.M.: I am still standing outside the Plasma Center waiting. There are at least 30 people inside who would gladly rob me for $5 and my monster, and they are all staring at through the center's windows debating who should be the first person to stab me and steal my stylish pair of Nike basketball shorts. Finally Horton walks out, and I hurry to my car.

8:25 A.M.: Horton buys me commons breakfast with his earnings. Somehow commons now charges $22 per person for their burnt eggs and hash browns, so Horton is actually down $14.50 (tax).

9:15 A.M.: I chugged 9 monsters to make sure I wouldn't fall asleep at class. After I give my compelling and well researched presentation, which had something to do with weight lifting or something...I don't remember, I pass out in my desk only to awake naked and unloved.

9:45 A.M.: I walk back to the house...where I slip into a coma

So, as I always ask, what's the lesson in all this? Smoking crack gets you high, makes you feel loved and accepted, and can improve your life in unexplainable ways. But if you smoke crack, or even spend one night living a crack head's style of life, you will end up in a coma. And that's the best case scenario, I am one of the lucky ones. I'm still here writing, thinking, sharing, eating, discussing, and most of all...caring.

In hoc,
Sachary L. Poelker
"The Sack Artist: Jack of All Trades"

The Sack Artist and the Order of the Phoenix (and the Windsor Knot)

Well ladies and gents, I'm back for blog edition #5...otherwise known as the Sack Artist and the Order of the Phoenix (if you don't get the Harry Potter reference, you neither read books or watch movies...so either you're blind or you live in an underground cave with Ceej Chokum). I know what most of you are thinking right now...Sack, how come you never talk about the endless chicks who you are constantly wooing 24/7? All you do is joke about your lack of game around females (and those jokes are about as true as a paternity test on Maury http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SIeU4m0jUac)? Well there are a few reasons...first of all I don't pursue the biddies. I'm the Sack, they'll come to me (Oh My God your f'in right they will http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SIp3kuEoJ4M). Also, I don't want any girlies getting inside the fort knox like safe which is my brain...that's why a lot of times I don't even talk to my dates (wait...when did I go on a date? I did put on my best suit and treat myself to a dinner at Applebees, so I guess that counts). Finally, I was looking in the mirror the other day when I found a hole in my otherwise perfectly symetrical beard. It is like two inches of my right cheek has been receiving chemotherapy (there I spelled it right Joe Davis...you f'in tool) treatments during its 6 month battle with cancer (which somehow hasn't spread) and hair refuses to grow there. This needs to be rectified, so what are my ideas? #1 rogaine...stuff works, you can't deny it. #2 chia pet growth spread...that stuff looks like my beard anyways.

The Internet Told Me How to Get Dressed
You ever roll out of bed in the morning, half asleep, maybe still a little disoriented from the 45 root beers you drank the night before, and need to get dressed in your best formal attire ASAP? Well relax my friends I have the perfect solution for you. One day I was sitting in my best, good friend Matt Kees' room when he made a startling revelation to me...he was unable to tie a tie. Despite my clear attempts to teach Matthew how to tie the perfect windsor knot, he was unable to learn. Maybe it was because he is the only 12 year old college junior in the United States, or because when I stood behind him attempting to teach he had a growing supiscious that I was trying to slip one past the goalie (I may have gotten to half staff...but nothing to worry about right? Well let's just say Kees went to Catholic school, so he's very paranoid). Either way, we needed a solution, because if you can't tie a tie you certainly can't poop with the door open, talk about a certain part of the female anatomy, go on riverboat gambling trips, make your own beef jerky or do any of the other things men do (uncensored version at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dFSdjPt5p7M). Needless to say I wanted my best, good friend Matt Kees to experience a complete life of manhood with all of these elements, so we went to work.

We went to our most trusted source for information in the entire world...google. There we found an extremely well written and incredibly lit documentary on how to tie a tie, narrated of course by Morgan Freeman's half brother, former Green Bay Packers wideout Antonio Freeman (http://www.tie-a-tie.net/windsor.html). After throwing a pack of popcorn in the microwave Kees and I enjoyed this flick while spooning on Kees' futon. Ever since that fateful day when Kees learned how to tie a tie, this video has become a sensational teaching tool. Joe Seidel had to go to court, not for his involvement in T.I.'s gun charge (who do you think sold him that stuff), but for some fairly tale class project moderated by Johnny Cochran (too soon?). Anyways, Joe was in a bind when he came to ask me "what tie knot is appropriate for court apperances?" Of course I remember the film I had just enjoyed and showed Joseph the documentary...and he was instantly tying a windsor knot more perfectly then Donald Trump. That's just one instance of this windsor knot documentary changing the life of a lucky individual...but there are plenty more out there.

This got me thinking...what if this tie knot video could revolutionize the entire putting clothes on industry. Could instructional documentaries really help people who struggle with buttoning their buttons, finding the head holes in their T-shirts, or tying their shoes? Could we sit children down at a young age and teach them via video to put their pants on one leg at a time, saving them the embarrasment of using a pogo stick to jump into their sweatpants in a crowded 7th grade geography class? Could we cure herpes by using an instructional video to explain that if you don't unzip your pants, your package can't get out? When you think about it an inability to put on/take off clothing has really hampered our society's chance to advance and caused many of our world's problems. Humiliation, embarrasment, and STDs could all be eradicated, if only one industrious fellow would take advantage of a video camera and an ability to instruct others on how clothing works. Let's learn from our failures, and our successes (tie tying video being the greatest thing to happen to humanity since the creation of the boombox), and put humanity in a position to succeed.

Jesus vs. LeBron: Let's Be Real
After watching LeBron himself outscore the Detroit Pistons 110-27 in the first quarter of their playoff game, I thought of an interesting question. If Jesus Christ were to come back tomorrow, spend a year at UNC leading the Tar Heels to a national title, and then enter the NBA draft (going to the Knicks...who win the riged lottery like they did in 1985 for Patrick Chewing)...would he be better then LeBron? Me and a national panel of sportswriters discussed this at the Beloit College Baseball game last Thursday, and here were some of our findings. First, Christ would certainly be a point guard due to his unselfish nature and desire to save (give the ball to) the people around him. I also think Jesus would certainly have a better perimeter jumper then LeBron, after all Ray Allen did play Jesus Schuttlesworth in He Got Game. However, LeBron's defensive improvement gives him a clear edge in that area. No NBA rookie, not even the savior himself, walks into the front door and immedietly adjusts to the defensive effort it takes to be a lock down defender. Also, look for LeBron to have the rebounding advantage. He is certainly much bigger then Jesus, and has superior jumping ability (when did you ever hear about Jesus' vertical leap in the bible?). Add in LeBron's driving ability, and incredible court vision and I think you have a winner. While Jesus would defintly average 22 points, 15 assists, and 5 rebounds a game (a slightly better version of Chris Paul), it will take him at least 3 years of NBA seasoning to make a legitmate threat to King James...just the way the league works for all men, whether they're the world's savior or not. Plus, the bible says Jesus made all men in his own image, and he made LeBron in the image of the greatest basketball player since Michael Jordan...and Jesus would never do anything to risk that.

However, the real question here is who would have the greater marketing potential. Jesus, with his billions of followers has an inherent advantage. Plus, in this scenario, Jesus is playing in the world's largest media market in New York, while LeBron stays home with the Cavaliers. So despite LeBron's huge popularity, Christ would certainly sell more of his shoes at the downtown Portland Nike town then LeBron. But this brings up another interesting question...how would Christ handle the transition to NBA superstar? We've seen some of the game's greatest talents succomb to the temptations found with being an international icon. Plus, Christ has his own list of temptations he would have to deal with. Every time Jesus saw a sick fan in the stands he would obviously help, taking away from his playing time. Every time Jesus saw a money counter (cash register) or a beer vendor he would erupt in rage. Every time the Knicks were scheduled to play a Sunday afternoon game, Christ would be busy with a 17 hour Sunday church service. Would Christ be able to focus on the game with all of his other responsibilities? It takes a late of focus to become the GOAT and Jesus would certainly have a lot of other things on his plate...just some food for thought.

Finally, here is a video my boy Hawaii 52 posted on my facebook wall (http://www.theclawproductions.com/Kanye/Kanye.html). This is an offer for a peace treaty...offically ending the war between me and that giant Hawaiin, and thus between the United States and Hawaii themselves

In Hoc,
Sachary L. Poelker
The Sack Artist: Jack of All Trades

One Shining Moment, Richie K and Ya Boy

Well it's time for the 4th installment of the blog that's sweeping the nation. What you say I only have about 3.14 readers in the United States, and you're calling me out for my blatant lie? Well I wasn't talking about the US, which is obviously where my loyalty lies, but has failed to accept my blog due to the crisis in the automotive industry. I was speaking of the island nation of Nauru, with its 13,770 citizens, parlimentary republic system of government, and one 2 star hotel which supports the islands' entire economy (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nauru). Nauru, which gained it's independence from Australia in 1968 and is the world's smallest island covering just 8.1 sq miles, has provided us with 1 reader. Congrats Nauru, 0.0072% of your population is a fan of my blog, and my rising popularity will surely increase the number of hotels in your quaint island from 1 to 2...pretty much doubling your economy. That's the sack artist helping out the hard working citizens of the world...and I couldn't be more proud.

Player Profiles: Rich Boy and D-Love
If you guys checked out my last post then you saw my reference to Rich Krajewski and Derrick Lovgren, the text messaging phenomens who made me feel like a complete tool for sending/receiving 1/69th of the texts they did. Well, I want my readers to know the people I subtly mock in my blog...so I sat down with Rich and D-Love to give you guys some background info.

Name: Richard Charles Krajewski XIV...and the rightful king of Poland
Height: 6'2"?
Weight: 180 lbs?
Hometown: Grayslake, IL
Educational: Beloit College MBA
Favorite Animal: Bulldog (If you beat the Georgia Bulldog...the Georgia Bulldog gonna bite)
Nicknames: Rich, Rich Boy, Juice, Juicebox, Dick Juice, Juiceman, Freshly squeezed orange juice without pulp
Brand Loyalties: Nike, Anheuser-Busch, Gatorade
Sworn Enemy: Salvatore Crivello
Favorite Historical Figure: Whitey Gilbertson and Whitey Durham (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WW531PKt674) future love child
World's Biggest problem: People trying to imitate Mark Titus (http://clubtrillion.blogspot.com/)
Greatest Accomplishment: Supporting Nike and the free market principle of cheap Indonesian labor. Also losing 250 lbs. since 6th grade.

Name: Derrick Lovegren
Height: 6'3"
Weight: 198 lbs.?
Hometown: Amboy, IL
Educational: 7th in his kindergarten class (out of 8...the kid behind him missed almost the entire school year while he was in rehab for his addiction to huffing glue)
Favorite animal: Chicago Bear and his child the Chicago Cub (I like the goat that has prevented the cubs from winning a world series in the past century)
Nicknames: This Ya Boy D-Love, Brickhead, Dumptruck
Brand Loyalties: Anheuser-Busch
Sworn Enemy: Books and Jay Bilas
Favorite Historical Figure: Coach Herman Boone (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E_HFCYz4x6o)
World's Biggest problem: The Infusion of dog piss...I mean Miller beer products into the beer market
Greatest Accomplishment: Reading Good Night Moon with no help last night/watching his created player get promoted to the AAA affilate of the Pittsburgh Pirates in MLB The Show

One Shining Moment
The highlight of the Beloit College athletic season took place last night, as the The Clash of the Titans...aka the Intramural basketball championship took place. Walking into the gym I was expecting to hear the roars of thousands of screaming fans chanting my name as Dick Vitale called me a PT-Per in front of millions watching at home on ESPN. Instead I found 4 fans sitting under the basket, berating me for my lack of foot speed and coordination. Despite my squads undefeated, untied, and unscored upon season we were the heavy underdogs. The club we were playing was led by two former D-III All-Americans, and for those of you who don't know Division 3 basketball is at least equivalent to the level of play found in a New Mexico state title game (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nmJl1HqSAJ8) so these guys could flat out play. Down 29-24 at halftime I realized that our team was in desperate need of some help if we were going to be wearing those stylish championship T-shirts and hats I had just printed in the back of my Ford Exporler.

That's when it hit me...if we were going to pull this game out we had to do something drastic, and I had a plan. Our team had one major defficency that had caused thousand of teams to lose sporting events throughout the course of history...talent. But that can easily be overcome with a little ingenuity, creativity and work ethic. I did what every great leader would do in this situation...take a cue from the Oscar Award winning film, Space Jam. We had to steal talent from 5 of the NBA's greatest players during the 1998 season, which somehow included Shawn Bradley and his 0.8 points, 0.2 rebounds, and 6 fouls per game. So during our shockingly prolonged halftime I was able to drive to the airport, board a plane, and criss cross the country in search of the greatest group of NBA talent ever assembled on a court (Mugsey Bouges, Larry Johnson, Bradley, Charles Barkely, and Patrick Ewing). To make a fairly long and boring story of how we used our NBA all-star talent to wear down our opponent and capture the title short...we won the game thanks to my Partick Ewing esque 17 foot jumper that turned our 10 point lead into an insurmountable 12 point advantage (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kBF1lsZUlUI).

Big Ups
Lot of people to thank for the early success of the sack artist...including all my followers (you think Jesus ever said thank you to the masses watching him walk on water...well I guarentee he did because Christ was the most polite person you will ever meet). Anyone who has commented, joined the facebook group, or finally made eye contact with me since the blog's creation, go a head and give yourself a pat on the back and a rub on the bottom. Got to give props to Tyler Isham, Ben Chrysielles, Jimbo Weber, Kellen Winslow, Big G and Lipps for the IM title victory. Congrats to Ceej Chokum for driving me home on Friday, despite his lack of a valid Illinois driver's liscense and his uncontrable shakes. Finally big ups to the nation of Nauru, your national pride and acceptance of my grametically flawed blog has made me proud to share the World Community with you.

My debbie downer award has to go to myself. Obviously I was celebrating our undefeated IM basketball season last night with a large bottle of a very dark blend of Apple Cider. I happened to drop the bottle on the front porch, watching it shatter into millions of pieces and gash Jordan Yanni's foot. After trying to suck up the remaining liquid with a straw, I fled the scene in shame and self loathing. I then rode out to a wooden glenn, where I punched dance out my rage and worked on my pommel horse routine for the 2012 Olympics (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YVB-bBKKPak). Finally to anyone who doesn't take the time and effort to click on the youtube links I post...what the hell are you thinking. To experience the sack artist as its truly intended you have to understand my shallow and fairly obvious pop culture references, which you can't do with a simple click on a god damn link. Have a little pride in the blog you are reading, and give them a shot.

My final link is a video of what I experienced last night/this morning (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zF4lipKBDls). Back next week with some more wit, charm and good looks.

In Hoc,
Sachary L. Poelker
The Sack Artist: Jack of All Trades

Texting Determines Your Self Worth and How to Dress

Well after a long 72 hour vacation I'm back on the blogging scence and ready to get loose. My drive back to Betriot was far more calm then the trek into St. Louis, maybe because I had just watched Tiger Woods crumble on the 17th hole of Augusta or maybe because I had slipped Ceej Chokum a low grade beaver tranquilizer which helped reign him in a little. Anyways for those thinking my last post was too long, think about this...Earnest Hemmingway wrote 400 page novels that are considered classics. Hemmingway got drunk everday, was good personal friends with a Mr. Fidel Castro, hated capitalism and the American way of life, and shot himself with a gun made by Abercrombie and Fitch (concidenly he was also wearing a strapping pair of Abercrombie cargo shots and a delicious Abercrombie polo). Yet this man and his thousands of pages of novels are read by all and considered genius...but I write 6 paragraphs that take 5 minutes to read, while loving America and wearing Nike sweatpants, and I'm the bad guy? Come on America.

How Cool are You? Only one way to find out
As I was sitting in Rich Krajewski's room one fine spring afternoon (the temperature got up into the mid-40's...that's what I call paradise) and I noticed one sound ringing in my ears every 2 seconds...beeping. This beeping was the news of Rich or the room's other occupant, Derrick Lovgren, receiving a text message. These guys phones were going off like Red Foreman's heart monitor when he's around Bob Pinciotti. Don't get me wrong, these are two of America's finest young men, but the amount of texts they were getting were absolutely ridiculous. Rich is the ace of the Beloit College pitching staff, a left-handed junkballer whose insane movement on his curve reminds you of a young Eddie Harris (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EBFUxhcbSMU), and might only be popular because his off-speed nature lulls hits into a false sense of security. Then sense of security is then smashed in the next game by Jordan DeGeorge, whose scruff exterior, 101 mph and world leading strike outs per inning make comparasions between him and Rick Vaughn (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OZLGjPnhsLY) very valid.

My main priorty in text messages had always been to have a favorable balance between my inbox and sent messages (meaning I have significantly received messages then sent), but this incident made my reconsider. I was sitting there, textless, when we decided to compare text messages numbers. Up to that point both Rick and D-Love had over 5,000 sent/received messages, while I was sitting below 900. I don't think I need to tell you how that made me feel, but I will anyway...I felt like the biggest loser of all time, or at least since Thomas Dewey in the 1948 presidential election (Dewey happened to lose to future GC, Harry S. Truman). Anyways this made it very clear to me, I needed a new texting stratedgy. I mean I can't be sitting in a room full of people texting their girlfriends, family, buddies, teammates, fraternity brothers, hook-ups or even Tyler Isham, while I'm just sitting there re-watching season 1 of the OC crying as Seth Cohen sails away from Summer, Ryan and everything he's ever known (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yMGyl-l3qqc).

Rich suggested I starting texting people more, so they would in turn respond, and me and my new texting partners could start a text message correspondence as real and full of love as Tom Hanks' and Meg Ryan's emails in You've Got Mail. However, this strategic manuever did not have the desired effect. People used a couple of strategies to wiggle their ways out of a text message relationship with me. First they tried to avoiding me like the plague, but they should have known that wouldn't have worked. In 5th grade Adam Long tried avoiding me for 2 weeks so he wouldn't be forced to invite me to his birthday party at the Swing Around Fun Town. However, I camped outside his house 24/7 so he would be have to run into me and offer me an awkward invitation to a Saturday afternoon filled with go-carts, mini golf and endless amounts of corn dogs. What I didn't realize was Adam had a firescape on his house, which he climbed 6 stories everytime he left just to keep me away from those delicious breaded hot dogs on a stick. Finally I hid in my backpack in the coat closet of our 5th grade class room and caught Adam alone. While the rest of our classmates thought we were playing a very homo-erotic game of 7 minutes in heaven, all I was doing was ensuring my trip to the party of the century. What's the lesson in this? You can't avoid me...I'll find you, and enjoy a delicious corn dog while I force you to interact with me in a social situation.


Next people tried to bore me to death with their text messages. As you can probably tell with this blog, I tend to be very sarcastic and fairly long winded, and that does not change when I text. My texts tend to be 2-3 pages in length (footnoted of course), and they are filled with witty banter, run on sentences, and sarcastic put downs. When people found out they couldn't avoid me, they tried to break my spirit instead. They would reply to my long and extremely well thought out texts with 1 line of a crappy texting expression like k (is it really so hard to type the "O" in there, I mean OK is so much more uplifting then k, which is just lazy). This was literally like texting a brick wall...actually it was worse then texting a brick wall. A brick wall has feelings and emotions, not to mention a sense of humor, even if it can't be expressed. A brick wall would love my texts and its chance to respond with a little personality. My texting partners on the other hand have the ability to use their emotions and sense of humor, but chose not to, which is just a waste of God given ability. Anyways, this strategy had no effect, I have been ignored my entire life. There was a period in my life when I would follow people around, asking them important questions about the life and the way the world works. People got so pissed at my non-stop questioning that all the would respond with is "I Don't Know" then mutter something about me being dropped on my head as an infant under my breath. I'm pretty sure "I Don't Know" were the only words I heard between the ages of 7-10, so if you thing a text response of k is going to stop me, you are out of your mind.

So finally I created a game to gauge your text popularity, and decide if you truly are the most popular m'fer who can afford a cell phone with an unlimited text messaging plan. It's simple, everytime you receive a text you add a point to your score. If you send a text that isn't responded to, subtract a point. If you receive a text from a female, add 2 points. If you receive a "textual" (a "textual" is a text message with a sexual connotation...nice) add 3 points. Texts from girlfriends obviously don't count...come on man, you need to branch out. Finally, you must delete your inbox and sent box at the same time, and when you do you add a point for every additional message in the inbox (for example 5 in inbox, 4 in sent, add a point).

I decided to play this game starting Thursday, ending when I recieved a message from a female. Between Thursday and Monday afternoon I received 29 text messages, all from dudes. Some highlights included Matt Davis confessing to me he can neither read nor write while writing a paper on the American Civil War, and Matthew Kees lying to me about the possibility of a scantly clothed co-ed in my room. I was so sick of not getting any texts from a chick that I almost texted a girl from my phonebook, knowing that she would of course reply and I would achieve victory. However, after looking through my contact list I realized that out of my 73 contacts, a mere 7 were of the female variety...that's right, instead of 50% I was sitting at about 10%. While that made my self-esteem skyrocket to near record levels (it's a newer phone...so lay off me). Finally on Monday afternoon my good friend Nicole Oddo, whose cousin is Lamar Odom (she changed her name from Odom to Oddo for fear of living in Lamar's shadow) texted me, although it was to berate me for my choice of seating in the college's cafeteria. Game over. Final score...+48 (final ratio, 99 inbox, 81 sent...way to go Joey Schlafly for not responding to a text, making me look like a serious douche). I am officially the GOAT (Greatest of All Time).

Back soon with the Profiles and Big Ups I Promised

In Hoc,
Sachary L. Poelker
"Jack of All Trades"

Friday Night Lights, Chokum to St. Louis and the Airing of Grievances

Ok so I thought that I wouldn't be posting until early next week, but I've witnessed some things that have forced me to air my grievances via the internet. Around 2 P.M. on Friday I started what would turn out to be a dangerous trip to St. Louis, to celebrate Jesus' resurrection from the dead in my hometown. Because I had stayed up the entire night before writing a paper on Cuba's World Baseball Classic loss (that caused the revolution right?) and then blogging about it, my fraternal brother Clayton "Chokum" Yoakum had to take over the driving responsibilities. After having him chug a monster, spit it in my face while turning into the incredible hulk, and then ruining my month plus love affair with "I'm on a Boat" by singing every word in a terrible impersonation of T-Pain and his voice synthesizer, I was happy to drive past East St. Louis and make it home.

Friday Night Lights, TV Show (which has no connection with the Movie or Book)
As I arrived home and enjoyed a delicous yet somehow meatless meal my mother had prepared, I turned on the TV to watch my beloved St. Louis Blues clinch a NHL playoff birth. The problem was I thought the Blues still had Chris Pronger, Al McCinnis and Brett Hull and was puzzled when I heard about a strike in the National Hockey League some 4 or 5 years ago...somehow I missed the whole thing and I watch ESPN at least 10 hours a day. Anyways I noticed Friday Night Lights the TV show was on, and remembered the crush I had on Matt Saracen, Tim Riggins and the rest of the Dillon Panthers some 2 years ago. After falling asleep for a couple hours, and totally missing my chance to show my lack of confidence around women at the local bar scene, I turned on the DVR and saw the past 4 weeks of Friday Nights Lights recorded and waiting to be watched.

Obvously I needed food for this 4 hour adventure through Dillon, Texas so I microwaved up a delicious Chicken Panini and was ready to go, Gob bless Lean Cuisine. The first three episodes showcased the rise of freshman sensation JD McCoy at quarterback, who somehow replaced star senior Matt Saracen, despite Matthew's state title and 117-2 record in his 2 years as the starter. To make a long story short Mr. Joe McCoy, JD's father, beat the hell out of JD like he was Mike Tyson fighting in 1989 (if you're thinking about a Chris Brown reference right here, think again)? Coach Taylor saw the episode and of course informed the authorities, like any responsible citizen would. Taylor then benched the younger McCoy down 27-0 at half of the state title game, while Matty Saracen almost led the Panthers to a come from behind victory, but instead they suffered a crushing defeat, a la the 1992 Kentucky Wildacts thanks to Christian Laetnerr (sorry Lit Man).

Now here's the kicker, months after the state title game Coach Eric Taylor was fired in favor of Wade Aikman. Rumors are Wade Aikman is the illegitimate half-brother of former Cowboys star QB Troy Aikman, who was first offered the job but turned it down recommending his brother Wade, who to my knowledge has never touched a football in his life. However, the chance to have an Aikman as head coach was too much to pass up for the Dillon school board, and they eagerly hired Wade for the position. That seems perfectly reasonable too me. The first rule in coaching is "it's not what you know, it's who you know," and Wade knows Troy Aikman who, too my knowledge, only has had a few brief conversations with Coach Eric Taylor. Coach Taylor obviously knows the principal of Dillon High School, his wife Tammy Taylor, but Troy Aikman trumps a high school principal any day of the week. What I don't get is the school board president of Dillon, Texas, Hugo Broderman, is a 1989 graduate of the University of Southern California (USC). Who is USC's most hated rival? No, not Notre Dame (sorry Joe Davis but when you lose 15 years in a row by an average score of 66-2, there's no rivalary), but UCLA which is Troy Aikman's alma mater. So obviously the school board president hates Troy, and would never hire his brother. So despite Coach Taylor's 98% winning percentage, two trips to the state title game and the obvious hate for Troy Aikman on the Dillon school board, Wade Aikman was still hired? Perposterous.

Anyways, none of this may have been true, but it is the way I would have written the show if I had the job. In fact I was offered the job, but turned it down because I had just heard Asher Roth's song "I love College" and was thinking about my own strong feelings for higher education. Too bad I didn't realize Asher Roth actually dropped out of college to pursue his music career and is a complete hypocrit. I feel cheated by your lies Roth, and so should every fan of Friday Night Lights for the shows obvious misunderstanding of Troy Aikman's influence on the town of Dillon.

Airing of Grievances: Nike Cares
So I'm at the gym today doing work when I approach the only pull-bar in the room. I was doing my usually routine of 8 sets of a 2-3 attempted, but failed, pull-ups. If you are making fun of me for not being able to do pull-ups think about this...I'm 300 f'in pounds. Try doing pull-ups with a small child holding onto your legs and you will see what I go through. Anyways, I take a break from my riduculously tiring workout to read about Kim Kardashian and Reggie Bush's easter plans in US Weekly, when some goober comes and takes the pull-up bar without saying a word. I spent the next 10 minutes watching this guy get himself pyshced up to do 1.27 pull-ups, vomit, and fall on his face in that very pool of his own puke. While this bro was stealing my equipment, I was staring straight through his soul. I had a severe dislike for this fellow, and I realized why about 6 minutes into my Siberian death stare...he is covered head to toe in Adidas. I mean Adidas shirt (long sleeved too, what a tool), Adidas shorts, Adidas socks and the most hideous Adidas shoes I've ever seen. I want to pull down this dude's pants to see if his stomach is covered with a giant Adidas tattoo, but I pass becasue if I touch this Kevin Garnett want to be I might burst into flames (read my first post and you will see my loyalty to Nike is very real).

For those of you wondering why I prefer Nike to Adidas, I thought I would give you a few reasons. First of all the World Headquarters for Nike is Beaverton, Oregon. Where is the world headquarters for Adidas you ask? Herzogenaurach Germany. I don't know about you, but I'm an American through and through, and there is no town that embodies the American dream of large corporations dominating a town's fragile economy like Beaverton, Oregon. As for Herzogenaurach, Germany well I thought we won WWII for the express purpose of stopping inferorior German footwear from entering our market. I can't even spell Herzogenaurach (well I can thanks to google), but I sure as hell can't pronounce it. I will never support the home of my ancestors in Germany over the great US of A. I mean that's why my great-great grandparents got the hell out of there right.

Finally let's consider the priorities of the two athletic apparell giants. Nike cares about real issues that effect real people. Nike cares about putting Oregon football players (see Joey Harrington above) on enormous billboards in Time Square to further their careers. Nike cares about the University of Oregon having the best facilities money can buy to help young men further their education. Nike cares about giving the University of Oregon Ducks football team 115 uniform options, so the players never have to suffer the humiliation of wearing the same jersey/pant combo in a game. Nike endorses titans of the athletic world like Michael Jordan, Tiger Woods, and Andre Agassi (before Adidas stole him...in another act of German aggression). Whose endorsement money was Michael Jordan spending at $100,000 clips at the MGM Grand? Sure as hell wasn't Adidas'...they pay in Euros, and we all know that monopoly money is worthless at any legit Vegas casino. Nike CEO Phil Knight is a man's man, who cares about people. He's the kind of man who will walk into your neighborhood bar & grill, order a prime cut 32 oz. Texas Steer and drink 6 budweisers while unbuckling his pants and watching Monday Night Football. Adidas CEO Herbert Hainer is the kind of guy who will drink expensive German wine with a sweet raspberry finish, while eating expenisve french cheese and watching BBC News. What's my point in all this? Nike cares about people, and I want shoes on my feet and apparell on my body that cares...and so should you.

I'll have more Monday or Tuesday with player profiles, big ups and my first contest.

In Hoc,
Sachary L. Poelker
The Sack Artist: Jack of All Trades

My Real Profile

I'm Sach Poelker, the stylish one in the group (see picture above). In filling out the blog's profile I realized it doesn't give you enough of an insight into the kind of man I truly am. If we are going to share the internet experience together fully, we need to become better friends then Starsky and Hutch (the two old guys who were the originals S & H, not Ben Stiller and Owen Wilson...they hated each other for a while in Zoolander, and there will be no hate on this blog...not for one second). All the basics are covered in my true profile below.

Name: Zachary Leonard Poelker I or Lenny Ally Schmidt III depending on who you ask
Height: 6'5"...thats 6 feet 5 inches to clear things up
Weight: 296 lbs.
Hometown: St. Louis, MO
Educational: Beloit College PhD
Favorite Color: Carolina Blue
Favorite Animal: Grizzly Bear/The golden retriever in homeward bound
Nicknames: Sack, Sachary, Sack Artist, Jack of All Trades
Heroes: Dean Smith, Bejamin Piatt Runkle, Forrest Gump
People Cooler Than: Reicham, Rick Ross, Shooter McGavin
People Cooler then Me: Zac Efron, Bill Bellamy, John McClane
age: 147 baxter years
Brand Loyalities: Anheuser-Busch, Nike, Sperry Topsiders, Lasko box fans
Golf Handicap: 52
Celebrity Look A Like: Butterbean
Sworn Enemy: Richard Nixon (watergate still hurts, let's be honest)
Most Memorable Moment: I never really personally accomplished anything of value...so watching other people accomplish great things. Like those East Germans who tore down the Berlin Wall, Bob Knight throwing chairs, and Paul Walker acting
Body Hair: Yes please...only way to fly

That's me in a nutshell. The blogs profile didn't delve deep enough into me as a person, but this one cuts right to the core of me. Now that I have a blog the internet is now complete. My buddy Ryan showed me how to set this thing up (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z9dqckcQQZw), so hopefully it works. Anyways, I gotta go write a paper on the Cuban Revolution/Fidel Castro's beard...so if you like what you see tell your sister I'm single and watch out.

p.s. I'm sure you are all wondering how I got my nicknames. If you can read my name, then Sack (we sail without him) should be fairly obvious. If you don't get it I suggest you get into a time machine, go back to 2005, go to a movie theater and join society. As for the Jack of All Trades...we all know that trade is a classical latin term for male genatalia. Now before you go and put your head in the gutter, consider this. What is the world's oldest profession? You and I both know the answer to that question, but I won't say it because this is a family blog. So what did most people use for their jobs in ancient times? Their trades. So the word trade also meant job in classical times, according to most translations. So Jack of All Trades basically means I can do any job at least as well as the best Jack in that profession. You say you're father, Jack, is the best mechanic with that name...well I'm at least as good. Who's the best actor named Jack? Well Jack Nicholson of course...and I'm as good as he is. If you want to argue with me, you'll be wrong. I take logic, so logically I'm right...fact.

Now back to Castro lighting his beard on fire with a cigar

In Hoc,
Sachary L. Poelker
The Sack Artist: Jack of All Trades