Dear Readers,
I know I ended my last post promised each and every one of you an update on the all you can eat scrimps's's (common name shrimps) night I was planning on having this week, but that didn't turn out to be the mega shell fish eat-a-thon I had in mind. It turns out hometown buffet only thought that it was appropriate to include one kind of scrimps in their "seafood night" buffet last Monday instead of all the varieties they promised me in this commercial (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iLkNPjbaPTk), leaving me a little pissed and completely unsatisfied with the pounds of fried chicken, meatloaf, mashed potatoes and steak I was forced to eat instead. So I'll punt on that idea and revisit it at a later date. However, while I have all 7 of my reader's attention, let me take this opportunity to preach about a little company that is trying hard to ruin my life and leave me face down in a ditch with nothing, as a meth head humps my dead corpse...AT&T. I used to consider AT&T to be a great friend of mine...a company of principles and convictions, that employed my father for over 20 years, paying him a high enough salary to buy me such luxuries as a sega genesis. But, as I have found out in the last few weeks, that was the old AT&T, a company that cared about its employees and their fairly obese children's ability to play Sonic the Hedgehog for 14 hours a day. They encouraged my shut in ways, enabling my family to afford things like TV's, video games, doritos and mountain dew, things that sealed my fate as a 220 pound 10 year old who developed a severe case of heliophobia (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4pTK3hp7yKU). I loved AT&T with all my heart, and they helped mold me into the lazy slob with an intense fear of the outside world that I am today...something I can never thank them enough for.
However, AT&T isn't the same compassionate corporate giant they were a decade ago. A lot has changed in the 10 years plus since the phone moguls and my father parted ways, and much of it has just become clear to me very recently. It all started when my family decided to switch from digital cable to AT&T U-Verse, leading to the now infamous installation of the DVR machine that ate the final 3 minutes and overtime of Game 4 of the Eastern Conferences Finals. If any of you have read my blog before you will know that that diabolical machine stole the stretch battle between the Cleveland LeBrons and the Orlando Magic from me, and also prevented me from seeing the unedited version of the Nike LeBron/Kobe puppet commercial that leaked during the game (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2HfXjAmeq40). However, as hurtful as this moment was, it was just the beginning of AT&T's assault on the Sack Artist. Last Saturday, as I awoke from a 5 hour nap, I opened my cellphone to see what was going on with the world. Instead of my phone flipping open normally and allowing me to use it, the phone decided it would be a better idea if the top portion just detached and fell to the ground, leaving my previously mint condition razor (the hottest phone on the streets baby) in 2 separate and inoperable halves. Who's my cell phone provider you ask...oh AT&T of course. This especially upset me because my phone had no excuse to break. At least when Eduardo's (my car) back door broke, it was a clear and justifiable sign of outrage at being covered in puke. However, I treated that phone like a king and unlike Eduardo it was not covered in any sort of bodily fluid...yet it betrayed me anyways. As if taking LeBron James and my cell phone away from me wasn't enough, AT&T has continued its assault on my way of life. There was a stretch today when I had about 6 hours to kill, so I plopped down in front of my 42" plasma envisioning a viewing feast of US Open Golf, Entourage and Home Improvement. Instead all I got was severe thunderstorms in Long Island, NY that not only delayed the first round of the US Open, but somehow also knocked my cable out some 900 miles away in St. Louis. What the hell am I supposed to do for 6 hours with no TV? Read a book? But there hasn't been a new Harry Potter out for like 3 years. Go outside? It's 105 degrees and that would involve me getting up off the couch. Sleep? I already do that 15 hours a day...how much more inactivity can my body take? Congrats AT&T you used to be my biggest supporter...and now you are ending my world as we know it.
Big Stevie Style
Last week was a pressure packed for me, so after I sowed up another classic piece of writing last Friday I decided it would be alright to go out with my friends and indulge in a couple of adult beverages. As many of you know, I was brought up never to drink alcohol (not even rum raisin ice cream), but since I am 21 now I figured a couple of St. Louis' finest couldn't really hurt. Besides, I know my limit, and as many of you can vouch for I never cross it and let the devil's liquor get the better of me. I have never blacked out. I have never sent drunk, demeaning texts to anyone. I have never attempted to make a 10 mile walk to taco bell because I was hungry and way too hammered to drive there. I have never taken a piss in a room full of people singing Good Night Saigon. I have never propositioned a gay man to return to my Panama City hotel room. I have never woken up on Jordan Ehlen's futon naked with no idea how I got there. These are the kinds of things that don't happen to me because I have a high sense of honor and a deep sense of personal responsibility. So anyways, me and 3 of my buddies snuggled up in a cozy booth of a Clayton bar, and within 6 Bud Selects me and Charlie Schlafly were in an intense argument about whether Kobe Doin' Work would have been better if Pau Gasol was recast for a more experience actor (I'm thinking Gheorghe Muresan...http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b1qEBvPmI1s). However, our conversation was soon interrupted by a startling revelation...Steven Jackson himself was mere blocks away partying at another Clayton establishment. Hearing this I immediately ran out of the bar and sprinted towards Steve in hopes of catching a mere glimpse of the man destined to return the St. Louis Rams to Super Bowl glory.
Steven was drinking at a high-end Clayton establishment known as Cafe Napoli. This is not my kind of bar. I like men's bars where the Budweiser flows like fine wine and the whiskey is only mixed with regular Coke (not that Diet stuff...I'm pretty sure that contains nuclear waste). I like bars that show NBA playoff games instead of The Secret Life of the American Teenager, where cigar smoke fills the air and I get to live my dream of the Ultimate Dude's Night Out (http://www.comedycentral.com/videos/index.jhtml?videoId=24434). Cafe Napoli is the exact opposite kind of place. It's the kind of place where 40 year old dudes with greasy hair hang around 22 year old new college graduates, hoping their money and flashy clothes will help them find an unemployed chick looking for a couple of free cranberry and vodkas. Why my hero Steve Jackson is out at a place like this is beyond me...but I don't judge the NFL's most complete running back. Anyways the place was buzzing about Steven's presences, as the massive black man strolled through the outdoor patio like he owned the place, and he might as well have as far as I'm concerned. Everyone was afraid to talk to the man as he walked towards his Cadillac Escalade hybrid (see the guy even cares about the environment...and US car makers) when I yelled out "Steven you're my hero...I have your poster in my room (true story)." What happened next was one of the defining moments of my life...Steve turned and gave me a wave and a head nod. If that isn't an acknowledgement of greatness, I don't know what is. You are a true class act Steven, and I would follow you to the ends of the Earth...and the rest of the Rams will soon be following you to a Super Bowl title.
Big Ups and Text Scores
My current text score is +59 (37-inbox, 23-sent, 8 texts from females), which brings me to an interesting issue. If you are getting texts from a dude, but he is using a chicks phone, does that count as a female text. In my case it certainly does, that's why I have 8 texts from a female instead of 2. Also I have a new phone, which has caused several problems for me. First the only phone # saved to my sim card was Andy Reich...if that isn't the ultimate slap in the face I don't know what is. I have about 10 people's #'s at this point, so if you ever want me to speak to you again (or for the first time) I suggest a call or text with an identification.
Big Ups has to go to Steven Jackson first of all. Predicted 2009 stat line, 1,500 yards rushing, 2,200 total yards, 22 TDs and a 11-5 record and NFC West title for the St. Louis Rams. Also big ups have to go to the hired employees of Sack Artist International/admins of the facebook group. Here is our employee list right now
Board of Directors
CEO/President/Chairman of the Board of Directors: Zachary L. Poelker
CFO: Richard Charles "Richboy" Krajewski
Editor-in-Chief/Director of Grammar and Punctuation: Charles Kimball Schlafly
Director of Creative Control: Joseph Seidel
Regional Managers
Regional Manager St. Louis Office (Corporate Headquarters): Paul Alyosius Beuttenmueller
Regional Manager Southwest US/Tijuana Office: Dillon "Podunk" Deckert
There are plenty of positions available...so please apply today. Also I have received a total of 0 emails on possible discussion topics...if you would like to rectify that and prove your self-worth and loyalties to the blog please email me at poelkerz@gmail.com
Finally I would like to take this opportunity to plug a fellow member of the blogging community who has caught my eye. Sven Lyndon's new creation the Ubersapien has earned rave reviews for the blogging media, and I have to join. I have a dialogue going with Sven about possible collaborations, and outside of Mark Titus (who hasn't written an entry since May 29?) Sven is the best thing going on blogspot. If you are over 18 and can handle mature content, check him out at (http://theubersapien.blogspot.com) or join the facebook group erected in his honor. This week Sven is totally revolutioning the game of football...Vince Lombardi style
In Hoc,
Sachary L. Poelker
"The Sack Artist: Jack of All Trades"
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