14 Hours of White Hot Intensity

Dear Readers,
I feel like I am obligated to warn you that I am a little upset right now. In fact I'm more then upset...I am down right pissed. Pissed because greatness was robbed from be by a machine that is supposed to have such a high artificial intelligence Einstein himself was unable to invent it. To make a pretty short and simply story longer and more complicated, I will start by telling you I was sitting on my couch watching the 3rd quarter of the Cavs/Magic classic tonight when my brother asks me if I wanted to go see Angels and Demons. I was obviously skeptical due to the fact I was wearing my LeBron James shorts and therefore felt like I was obligated to witness King James in all of his greatness. However, I also felt obligated to spend time with my brother because we fought a lot when we were younger and one time I dented the side of his head with a frying pan. Also he is taking a 2 week trip to Mexico and I am fairly confident he will either end up being kidnapped by a Mexican drug cartel or become exposed to the Swine flu during his trip to a Mexico City pig farm. Remembering I had a DVR machine attached to my 48 inch plasma TV I was more then confident I could go see the movie and return to watch the 4th quarter in all of its recorded, high defintion glory. Plus I couldn't wait to see a Tom Hanks film which made the leaders of my Catholic church look like psychopathic serial killers bent on the destruction of the world. Anyways, I took every precaution to make sure I wouldn't find out the score of the game, including turning off my phone and sitting next to a group of high school girls who I was positive had no clue who Dwight Howard was (I call that pulling a Tex). I got home from the movie and turned on the game, incredibly focused and excited by the Cavs 4th quarter comeback. However, with three minutes left in the game the DVR decided it wanted to stop recording basketball and start recording a PBS special on the troubles facing Republican Party leadership. Way to go DVR, not only did you cause me to miss an overtime classic but you also proved you're not as smart as we all think you are. My DVR machine is nothing...nothing but a waste of God given talent. If I had the ability to record TV shows in my head there is no way I am missing the last three minutes and overtime of an Eastern Conference final game. However, I can't record TV because this isn't The Terminator and unlike Albert Pujols I am not a machine (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RF4dq2I76QY). At this point I am so pissed its unbelievable. I am pissed at my brother for wanting to spend time with me and paying for my movie ticket, I am pissed at the NBA for not postponing the game till I got back to watch it, I am pissed at Tom Hanks for having a successful film career, I am even pissed at Neil Everett for his overall good mood and for making jokes on the sportscenter episode I am currently watching. So if this blog posts seems angry and vindictive you know who to blame...technology.

14 Hours of White Hot Intensity
For those of you who do not know me very well, either through a lack of effort on your part to become my friend or due to my severe alcoholism causing me to lack memory or social skills, I love energy. I love any supplement that gives me energy. However, due to the NCAA's ban on energy supplements, and my status as a high profile collegiate athlete, I have been unable to use these energy supplements to make me feel good about my below average life. Instead I've had my good friend Jachary Noelker take energy supplements for me and tell me how it feels. Jack recently ran across a 14 hour energy shot (or about 2.8 times the energy Braylon Edwards ingests). Despite warnings saying to only drink half the bottle in a 5 hour period or risk severe heart failure, Jack drank the entire thing at once. Here were Jack's observations.

10:57 A.M.-Ingest 14 hour energy shot...my heart rate instantly triples which means my stroke volume is now 3 times smaller then what it was

11:11 A.M.-Almost 15 minutes in (or 1/56th of the way through my energy rush)...I have officially developed restless legs syndrome due to my uncontrollable jitters

11:46 A.M.-I am racing my dog around the house...after 46 laps (or 6.7 miles) I decide to take a break

12:07 P.M.-Attempt to do the stanky legg...not only does this make me a huge tool but I fall through my bedroom window and down 3 stories

12:39 P.M.-I start watching The Breakfast Club on the HBO Emilio Estevez channel and try to repeat every line from the movie in my best Boston accent

12:58 P.M.-I try to emulate Emilio Estevez's breakfast club dance but can't quite stick the landing on my backflip, which results in me suffering a severe concussion (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KhZU5G6qFqE)

1:01 P.M.-Pull another Emilio and rip my shirt off...doing so while my next door neighbor is having her high school graduation party in her backyard, and of course her and all her friends can see into my house where I am now shirtless. Let's just say I gave those underage high school girls a real treat (pulling another Tex)

1:29 P.M.-Meet Braylon Edwards at the park to catch passes from Derrick Anderson...to bad we are both so jittery from our extra energy doses Anderson's completion percentage was about 13%, with no defense

3:08 P.M.-I take my preworkout energy supplement (yeah I take steroids) and my heart is about 3 beats from exploding

4:29 P.M.-I yell at some 88 year old man in the gym for stealing the bench and for living the full and long life I will never get the chance to

4:58 P.M.-I am curled up in the corner of the gym crying like a baby because my friend Chris left and went home without me...I haven't cried since the 1998 North Carolina Tarheels were beaten by Utah in the final 4. When did I develop human emotions and feelings?

6:03 P.M.-Almost halfway through my 14 hour energy period I fall asleep...don't worry it's normal

7:09 P.M.-Wake up and get my second wind. Send 124 texts about important subjects such as whether Carmelo Anthony should endorse Carmelo candy and what's the most exotic type of pie.

7:48 P.M.-I can tell that the people I'm texting want to end the conversation and move on with their lives...but I am not falling for that trick. As long as you're polite and return my texts I will run this conversation into the ground and talk as long as I want

8:06-10:35 P.M.-Watching basketball and drinking beer.

11:45 P.M.-Go over to Crazy Eyez Killa's house to kick it and record our new hit single "stomp that trick" (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FCzdEAy8WOw)

12:58 A.M.-Driving home and my 14 hours of energy has run out...I don't want to instantly pass out so I park my car and sleep in a Park, huddling with 15 homeless guys for shelter

Text Update and Big Ups
Despite the hundreds of texts I sent during my 14 hour energy attack, I somehow only have a text messaging score of +74 (44 inbox, 30 sent, 16 from females). As I mentioned earlier, if you and me are in a text messaging conversation I am not letting go. Nothing is more important to me then the texts I craft, and like this blog they take time to think of and develop, and I am going to keep sending them as long as there is not an NBA playoff game or TV show I want to watch on. Also if you dare text me when you have yet to read my blog or even join my facebook group (despite my constant invitations), well that just hurts. I will still accept your texts to improve my score, but each one will chip away at my self-esteem little by little. Finally I have not perfected the facebook popularity game yet, but my score would suck due to the lack of comments on my status, or online friends who want to chat with me.

I am not going to name names in my Big Ups section, probably due to my new set of human emotions and concern for other people's feelings (the fan might be embarrassed and I am going so soft I actually care), but there is an incident I forgot to mention which is certainly big ups worthy. One Saturday night a fan of the blog cornered me and told me how funny he/she thought the Sack Artist was, especially Horton's and my trip to the Plasma Center. Evidently this fan was drunker then I was when that lesbian was pouring shots of Jamison down my throat, because a couple of nights later he/she told me how much he/she liked the blog again, with no memory of our previous conversation. So not only did this fan like the blog drunk, but he/she is actually a sober fan as well. When I read/write this thing sober I go to bed with a bad taste in my life because I know I have very little promise or ability. So for him/her to like it as much sober as she did with a slight buzz is a true testament to his/her character.

Free bud lights on Friday so a bar is providing me with blog material and losing a ton of money at the same time...God Bless America

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