AT&T's plot, Steven Jackson and 1 Dangerous Mind

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"

The Hangover and the Struggles of the Younger Generation

Dear Readers,
I am trying a new stratedgy towards blog writing that will hopefully revolutionize my writing, my social life and the entire internet. I am starting this blog at 12:19 P.M. on a Thursday afternoon, which is 12-14 hours earlier then usual. For those of you thinking "this won't change anything...you're still the same tool who sits alone in his parents basement and writes a blog that 9 people read," well I have news for you...this will change everything. The night is a very dark time for me, as it is for all bloggers (and everybody besides people in Alaska and guys with night vision goggles). We sit in the dark spending hours blogging our guts out about pretty meaningless and frivolous issues like the economic ramifications of GM's bankrupcy or the international fallout caused by North Korea's nuclear program. And these are the blogs that are well researched and thought out, while my blog is about shallow and fairly obvious observations about the people and world around me. How many bloggers are smooth with the chicks? How many bloggers have more then 2 friends? How many bloggers can sit in a crowded Buffalo Wild Wings and watch an NBA finals game without passing out because they have a more severe case of social anxiety then Zach Grienke? Besides myself, my hero Mark Titus, and former UNC legend Brendan Haywood (http://brendanhaywood.yardbarker.com/) there aren't too many bloggers out there who have those characteristics. That's why I am showing my fellow bloggers the light in this post...the light of day. I have become a dayblogger or the blogger version of Blade or a lesbian. I have all of a normal bloggers strengths (writing ability, incredible wit and an extremely large amount of free time I devote to writing words that may never be read) with none of their weaknesses (social anxiety...although I am pretty sure I am pretty anxious in most social situations). To my fellow internet writers here's a little tip...devote your afternoons to blogging and spend your nights on EHarmony trying to find a poor soul who can spend 10 minutes watching Battlestar Galatica with you...you'll be much happier, at least I am.

Kids These Days
I hate sounding like some sort of Walter Matheui esque grumpy old man, but kids these days just are not the same as they used to be. When I was a kid I was respectful and obedient to my elders. I never got in trouble (besides that time Wynton Witford punched me in the 6th grade and I somehow got suspended). I never talked back to my parents. I never lit off fireworks and TP'd anyones house. I never poked fun at the doofy kid who pissed his pants during our 4th grade science experiment. I never chastised a 6th grade social studies teacher for her incredible lack of knowledge on the Cold War. I never walked out of a St. Margaret of Scotland prayer service and yelled "this blows," to a group of nuns. I never stole my dad's cigars and smoked them every saturday night on the roof of my house. I never got caught by my grandmother explaining to my 8 year old cousin the scene in Road trip where Barry's grandfather has a boner and is showing the guys around his house. None of this ever happened because I was an honest and hardworking kid who was brought up the right way. I had a strong sense of right and wrong and wasn't afraid to let my conscience be my guide. I didn't have any of this high class technology like cellphones, the internet, or air conditioning because they weren't invented yet. Yeah I had basic cable, but there was no HBO and you can forget about Cinemax. I mean for a while I didn't even have ESPN 2. When I was bored my brother and I played basketball in the backyard for hours, until I realized I could never beat him and his endless taunting would end up in me getting the crap beat out of me everyday. This is the way kids were reared in the 1990's (and early 2000's) and it helped make me the man I am today, with his own internet web page.

But now a days everything is different. 4th graders are walking around school, talking on their Iphones like they're corporate executives. Middle schoolers devote their lives to myspace and facebook in a quest to become more popular. 6 year olds are becoming champions of games like Halo and Call of Duty, while at that age I was busy hitting bombs with Fred McGriff in MLB Baseball 1992 on my sega genises. Kids just don't have any respect for authority anymore. I was coaching football camp this week when a group of 5th graders wouldn't stop talking about farts as I was trying to teach them how to execute a perfect reach block. After a while I got so fed up with one young man I told him if he didn't shut up I was going to hold him down and fart in his face. How did this little 10 year old respond? By saying "I hope you didn't have beans for dinner....hahaha." I mean don't get me wrong, I was obsessed with farts as much as anyone at that young age, and I loved making jokes relating beans to human flatulence. But if a 300 pound, 21 year old told me he was going to fart in my face if I didn't shut up, I would be quiet as a mouse. I mean I would be like one of those Tibetan monks, I would never talk again. Kids these days also have no taste. Instead of watching classic Disney films like Aladdin, Beauty and the Beast and the Little Mermaid, they watch new fangled movies like Up while having no respect for their predecessors. That's just not right.

Hangover...The Greatest Ever?
Here is a quick warning before I get started, this next section contains spoilers and jokes from Hangover, so if you somehow haven't seen it I highly suggest you skip over this part and also reevaluate your priorities in life. Hangover is the story of 3 fellas (Phil, Stu and Allen) and their quest to discover their long lost friend Doug (the white one), and remember what happened to them the night of Doug's bachelor party. Forgetting what happens the night of a bachelor party and losing the groom? Simple enough. This is an event I hope has happened to every man over the age of 25, and hopefully I will be a part of this more then once. However, there are several elements in the film that make Hangover rise above the normal stripper laden bachelor party humor and push it into the elite of hilarity. First of all it takes place in my favorite place in the world...Las Vegas, Nevada. If you haven't been to Las Vegas you life has yet to become complete. It is the city where dreams come true, where blackjack and craps tables can rise you up to your highest level of elation. It is the place where Wayne Newton's voice gently serenades you as you wine and dine with the biggest closet coke heads the business world has to offer. It is the place where 62 year old men are seen with 22 year old women, and it is assumed they are husband and wife instead of father and daughter. It is the place where lights guide you through a 1 mile strip of road that includes such recognizable wonders of the world as Eiffel tower, the space needle and the pyramids of Egypt. Basically Las Vegas encompasses the best of the best you could discover while traveling throughout the entire world, and fits it into 12 casinos that are all within 2 miles of each other.

Another thing that pushes Hangover into the creme de la creme of modern comedy is the film's inclusion of every possible thing that interests me. Every regular reader knows the passion that I have for casinos, especially the ones in Vegas. The casinos in Vegas aren't the same as those run by Indian tribes in the boothills of Wisconsin, but instead shrines built for people with intense gambling problems that force them to lose massive quantities of their income (like me). Vegas casinos are the only places in the world where you can feel like a high roller whether you are gambling 25 cents a clip at the slot machines or dropping $500 bets with Marc Bulger at the blackjack table, probably because of the free drinks, cigarettes, ham sandwiches and ballpoint pens that are handed out like candy on halloween. Throw in a Rain Man/21 gambling montage, Mike Tyson and his tiger, Heather Graham breast feeding and Andy Bernard losing a tooth, and you have a classic comedy that I feel was written for the express purposes of satisfying my cinematic needs. Finally throw in comedy trio of Bradley Cooper (Sack Lodge/Phil), Ed Helms (Andy Bernard/Stu), and Zach Galifiankis and you have wittiest set of triplets in a movie since Vince Vaughn, Will Ferrell and Luke Wilson redefined comedy in Old School. However, The Hangover has a subtly that even a classic film like Old School lacks, which almost enhances every punchline. Despite the outlandish plot twists, the characters don't try as hard to be something they are not as their Old School counterparts, and play their respective roles to perfection. As crazy as Allen is, he has a genuine understanding of his respective shitstorm that Frank the Tank lacks. As sarcastic an asshole as Phil may play, he has a real concern for his situation that Beanie doesn't. As worried and bitchy as Stu becomes, he gladly pours over his savings to help get the group out of its troubles, a step you feel like Mitch would fight in Old School. I am not saying The Hangover surpasses arguably the defining comedy of my generation in Old School, but it seems more realistic and even understated, and that helps the film find its niche in the great comedies of the past decade.

Text Updates and Big Ups
I will keep this short and sweet due to the gigantic length of this post. My current text score is +83 (64-inbox, 46-sent, 1 from a female). For those of you who have sent me texts strictly to improve my score, you may be expecting me to tell you to stop because I hate pity texts and they are an insult to my dignity. However, that statement could not be more untrue. I want your pity...and more importantly I need it. If you want to send me a text for the sole reason of improving my text message score, please feel free. If you want to treat me like the smelly kid in 3rd grade and hang out with me simply because I have no friends and you'll feel better about yourself if befriend a complete loser...that would also be awesome.

I have a couple of special big ups to extend in this edition. First goes to my main man Paddy Cakes for telling me how the little girls in his soccer camp booed him for referencing the Disney classic The Little Mermaid, claiming that current animated films like Up are vastly superior. The second one goes to Laura Toth, a Beloit College student I have never met. Despite me never once speaking to her, or knowing her at all, she has become an avid follower of the blog and wrote some great encouraging words on my facebook wall. Congrats Laura, you are a true fan of this important form of media and have honored yourself, your family, the Beloit College community and technology as a whole by your acceptance of this internet phenom.

Finally I am starting two new contests. First, I am selecting administrators in the Sack Artist facebook group so, if you're interested, please submit your application via facebook, text or email. Secondly, if you have a question for the Sack Artist or a possible topic of discussion please email me at poelkerz@gmail.com or send me a facebook message. Hopefully I get at least one reply. Finally check out the website that has changed my life and my basketball abilities (http://www.getyourbasketballon.com/dvd/)

Back soon with all you can eat scrimps's's

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



Another

Drunk on Facebook and Locked in a Squash Court

Dear Readers,
sorry I have been away for so long, but I've been tied up in more then one way (you will read about them later). But first I have to admit something to all of you because you are my closest friends in the world and the only people who care about me. I am addicted...and not to one of the normal vices that consumed Robert Downey Jr. for the latter part of the 20th century. It's not heroin, cocaine, alcohol, gambling, sex or tobacco (hah told you guys I did not participate in any of these activities...wait why am I proud of that statement?). I have kicked my habit of smoking crack and staying up all night shaking and watching the Basketball Diaries so I could feel like less of a junkie. So what am I hooked on you ask? Facebook. That's right the cute little website that has gotten teenage girls obsessed with their ability to talk to each about Gossip Girl via the internet (wait I wrote on Tess Jacquez's facebook wall for the sole purpose of discussing the Gossip Girl season finale...god damn it). Due to my lack of job, money, activities, or social skills I have spent the better part of this summer stalking 484 people through Al Gore's internet machine. I have spent more time on facebook in the last week then I have in the rest of my college career combined. Don't get me wrong, I always checked my account and used facebook to grow my blog following past the double century mark (225 people...more then have watched PBS in the past decade), but I was more likely to eat a salad then write on some body's wall unprompted (I had a salad with my dinner tonight and I was underwhelmed...let's be honest it's just a bowl of leaves). However, lately my facebook usage has gotten completely out of control. I have written on Matt Davis wall 127 times simply quoting lyrics for the Diddy Bop (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6DyAG_8jFNI). I've communicated with Nicole Oddo's via facebook on at least 84 occasions. Michael Kovach's wall=2 posts. Don't get me wrong, these people are my friends (for the most part) but there have been more then one instance where I've walked past them at school without acknowledging their presence or lied to them about my plans so I could spend my night watching a Gangland marathon instead of hanging out with them. Reading my facebook wall posts is a lot like watching the Movie Borat. My first post (or the first viewing of Borat) leaves you falling on the floor laughing and wishing you were as creative as Sacha Baron Cohen. After the second post/viewing you are giggling thinking this guy is pretty funny and you wouldn't mind splitting a Starbucks coffee and a bag of sunflower seeds with him on a Sunday morning. By the 3rd or 4th post/viewing you are ready to drop a nuclear bomb on the country of Kazakhstan (or my house) to make the entire movie and character socially irrelevant so you don't have to listen to some douche say "I Like You" in a terrible impersonation 450 times an hour (that impersonation loser just happened to be me 2 years ago). Just be thankful Jeff McLaughlin doesn't have a facebook page so you don't have to see me quote Old Gregg on his wall every 15 minutes on your facebook feed (please tell me you've seen this video because it changed my life). Why did I do all this...because facebook is the only legitimate way to keep yourself socially relevant. Once you write on some one's wall they have to read it, acknowledge your existence, and read what's on your mind. Anyways, I've decided to chew some nicorette gum to see if it can help keep me off facebook for a while...so we'll see how that goes.

Trapped in a Squash court
For those of you who are wondering what squash is, it is some sort of game that you play with a tennis racket and a croquet ball, slightly different then Jai Lai which is played by the most interesting man in the world (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p2SSZA0CjdQ). Anyways I was chasing a bunny rabbit who happened to sneak into the St. Louis Priory gym the other day, and this Bugs Bunny wannabe happened to outsmart me getting me to chase him into the squash court before running out of the room, closing the door and locking me in. The ensuing post is an exact replica of the captain's log I recorded while leading the squash court through space like it was the US Enterprise.

6:03 P.M.-Jesus that bunny is fast and smart...he is the exact opposite of me

6:15 P.M.-The Bunny found a way to turn the lights on in the squash court, despite his lack of opposable thumbs, turning it into a wooden sweat box

6:23 P.M.-I am banging on the door screaming for help...at least 15 people walk by and decide they would be better people if they ignored me and left me stranded

6:38 P.M.-I try to punch a hole through the little plexi glass window on the door...somehow I completely miss and smash my hand against the stone door. My now fractured hand will limit my activity choices severely (oh get your head out of the gutter...my 9 year old cousin reads this thing)

6:47 P.M.-I decide to take my shirt off to wrap it around my other hand to attempt another ultimate punch through the plexi glass. I now have two broken hands, a bloody shirt and have lost a massive amount of weight due to this 82 degree heat.

6:59 P.M.-A group of super hot chicks walk by the court, and see me shirtless. Obviously they desperately want to come in there with me, but they can't figure out how to work the door. Is this a desert mirage type of effect in less then an hour of mild summer heat?

7:11 P.M.-We have a problem I need to use the bathroom...and the dumb ass architect of this squash court forgot to include one in his design. This guy is no Frank Lloyd Wright

7:19 P.M.-I haven't eaten in 4 hours and am very close to dying of starvation

7:26 P.M.-I see something 100 times better then a group of hot chicks...a 42 ounce porterhouse steak and a twice baked potato appear in the corner of the court. Another mirage, man this phenomenon happens quicker then I thought

7:38 P.M.-I find some athletic equipment in a closet. Included is a plyo box, which I quickly use to build a protective shelter. If I had a camera this would make an amazing episode of Survivor Man.

7:54 P.M.-I have started a whole new society in the squash court. A tennis racket will serve as my best friend and chief council. I name him Dunlap because I am as creative as Tom Hanks in Castaway.

7:59 P.M.-I hear a giant boom outside of the court. I am pretty sure it's a nuclear attack, but luckily I am hold up in this nuclear shelter. I will restart society with Dunlap and rebuild St. Louis from the ground up.

8:06 P.M.-The thermometer now reads 84.5 degrees...the heat is unbearable

8:08 P.M.-This heat has caused me to lose so much weight so I could now be a jockey in the Kentucky Derby

8:09 P.M.-I Pass out

11:58 P.M.-Wake up in Barnes-Jewish hospital badly sunburned and with 15 IV's of whiskey pumping through my veins (everyone knows whiskey is the best way to hydrate)

Big Ups and Text Update
My text messaging score is now at +52 (48-inbox, 44-sent, 0 texts from females...God I've got game). Why this update may leave you thinking my text life is dull and unsatisfying, I am pretty sure it's never been better. Me and my good friend Chris Beaty had the greatest text conversation of all time. We had a 30 text convo (between us) that was comprised strictly of quotes from Meet the Parents, including a complete line by line reenactment of the pool scene where Greg Focker spikes the volleyball directly into Deb's face (Jesus Christ Focker it's just a game). How do I know so many lines from meet the parents? Well let's just say I spent 3 days this winter locked in Rich Krajewski's room watching the HBO Ben Stiller/Owen Wilson underrated comedy channel. Included in my viewing pleasure (along with Meet the Parents) were film classics like You, Me and Dupree, Night at the Museum, Heartbreak Kid, Starsky and Hutch and Drillbit Taylor. These were arguably the greatest 3 days of my life (not only because of the films...I obviously took various naps in Rick's queen sized bed). My facebook popularity score is obviously hurting due to my 256 unreplied to wall posts. There are at least 9 people out there (don't want to name names), who would rather watch the movie College then speak/facebook me ever again. And I am pretty sure watching the movie College was a form of torture the Nazis used in World War II.

Big Ups has to go to Chris for his incredible knowledge of Ben Stiller movie quotes. Also, I got to give it to Richboy for moving in with Joe Davis' girlfriend Libby. I can't wait to leave college next year (notice I didn't say graduate because that will take at least another 4/5 years...insert appropriate Tommy Boy quote here), just so I can move in with Rich and Libby and we can replicate that TV show 2 guys and a girl...and I get to be Ryan Reynolds. Finally Conan O'Brien just told me that a company is coming out with a Bacon Flavored Vodka. I am not sure if it is a food or a drink...but either way I'm interested.

Back next week with my review of the most anticipated movie ever...Hangover

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

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"

A Change of Scenary Can Be Scary

Dear Readers,
I am sure you are wondering where I have been for the past week plus. After all it has been almost 2 weeks since my last original post and I am sure many of you have been more anxious for a new post then I have been for a Dude Where's My Car Sequel for the past 9 years. Anyways I am back, and let me explain my absence. First of all, I have recently returned to my summer home in St. Louis from my winter cottage in beautiful Beloit, Wisconsin. I've gotten into a blog writing routine in Beloit that has carried me through many a lonely night. I would sit on the front porch of the Sigma Chi house for the better part of 9 hours thinking about important world issues like LeBron James' player efficiency rating, the fat content of McDonald's french fries, and whether Hangover the movie is really just a prelude to my experiences during Joey Schalfly's bachelor party in Las Vegas. I would have Michael Kovach sit with me and share his emotional insecurities and educational deficiencies. Andrew Heer would share tales of JV baseball and show me the text messages he exchanges with his bff Michael Jordan. Jake Majeski would tell stories of his one legged dog Cosmo while injecting himself with HGH right in front of me. It was a laugh riot that inspired me to share my heart and soul with the blogging public.

Re released into the Wild
However, since my return to the world's greatest city I have been off my game...to say the least. My surroundings are unlike anything I have ever experienced. Yes, I have lived in the same house in St. Louis for the past 18 years and have pretty much done the exact same thing everyday during that time span (wake up, eat, watch TV, eat, nap, eat, watch TV, eat, sleep). However, notice in my daily pattern the lack of blog writing (or any other constructive activity for that matter). Also there is so much to do in St. Louis that I have been supplementing my daily pattern by listening to Nelly, visiting the Arch and going on frequent tours of the Anhesuer-Busch brewery. You might think these activities would give me sufficient material to blog about the city in the Midwest, best city in the whole wide wide world (and yes Lupe is talking about the Lou...http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qaPpu5vKsZo). However, all these activities have done is left me drunk and passed out under the world's most famous monument (http://www.orgsites.com/mo/stlchristianhomesports/StLouisArch.jpg) with a group of Chinese tourists trying to do scientific experiments on my unusually large body (I would be the second largest man in their country).

When I realized the St. Louis experience was not conducive to blog writing I tried to replicate my Beloit porch experience on my very own front porch. However, this experiment was ultimately not successful, and if any of you ever read my facebook status then you know I found it lonely and not at all soothing. I tried to replicate all of my Sigma Chi front porch activities, but they just weren't the same. First I tried playing cards by myself, a favorite past time of mine. However, I shuffled the Ocean's 11 collector deck too close to a lit candle and Frank Sinatara's head went up in flames on my 5 of clubs, eventually lighting all of my arm hair and the sleeve of my Master Bait & Tackle shirt on fire. I realized I needed a partner, so I found a homeless man and paid him $12 to spend a couple hours on the porch pretending to be Kovach. About 15 minutes in I asked the man if he wanted to smoke a cigar, and he of course responded with...stogies? why not? However after I handed the man a fine craft cigar rolled in the foothills of Costa Rica, he ripped it open and replaced the tobacco with crack. Even I've never seen Kovach do that, so I felt a little out of my element. After taking a hit of the hobo's crack pipe...which forced me to send texts to people who did not text me first (look what drugs can do to a person's principles), I came to and realized my blog writing might never be the same.

Battle of the Titans...Joliet Jackhammers vs. Schamburg Flyers
Saturday night I decided to leave Beloit a little early to spend the night with my favorite pair of non-related quarterbacks (well one ex-qb) who share the same last name...Joseph and Matthew Davis. Joe was announcing the Joliet/Schaumburg independent league baseball game Saturday night for ESPN 8 the Ocho, and Matt and I were anxious to go. Not only would we be at the game, therefore keeping us from hearing Joe call a first inning single a "dagger", we would also get to see the greatest assembly of baseball talent on a diamond since the 1999 Montreal Expos. Here were my observations from the game

7:01 P.M.-Matt and get off the highway in Joliet. I haven't seen this much economic growth and new construction in a community since I stopped at that all-black strip club in East St. Louis.

7:04 P.M.-Matt looks for a parking spot as I see Rudy and Kovach racing down the street in matching Joliet Catholic sweats

7:06 P.M.-Matt and I park in the season ticket lot (there are 15 spots and 4 cars...not a lot of support for Jackhammer baseball I guess)

7:08 P.M.-Matt and I search the radio dial for Joe's broadcast of the game. Instead we find the Joliet broadcast and learn that Flyer's outfielder Peanut Williams got his nickname (I thought his real name was Peanut...but you learn something new everyday) because everyone in America has a nickname.

7:12 P.M.-Matt and I go to buy our tickets. The sign clearly says lawn tickets for $5, but when I go to purchase mine the lady charges me $6. Why lie to me about one buck? You can't put $6 on the sign? Are people in Joliet so economically depressed that you have to lie to them about ticket prices because if you tell them it cost $6 instead of $5 they will not be able to afford it? Well probably to that last part, but still come on

7:16 P.M.-Matt and I find his friends Mike and Kelly inside and we all buy 124 ounce beers from the concession stand (for $4.75...not a bad deal here in Joliet)

7:18 P.M.-Some kid is racing up the stairs and spills some of Kelly's beer. She responds by dumping the rest of it on his head...every hobo in the stadium who couldn't afford a beer themselves licks the kids face in an attempt to down some alcohol. FML #1 (for the hobos or the kid? You be the judge)

7:22 P.M.-The Joliet PA announcer exclaims "when I say Jack...you say hammers" over the loud speaker. After yelling "Jack" the stadium is silent...a lot of team spirit in Joliet

7:30 P.M.-Felix Jose comes to bat for the Flyers. Not only does this fella have two first names, but it turns out he has won two world series titles (1985 KC Royals and 2000 Yankees). So after a 15 year professional career that led to 2 world series rings and millions of dollars in salary, you return to baseball as a 43 year old to make $12,000 a year for an independent league team? FML #2 (for Felix Jose)

7:45 P.M.-"JACK" over the PA...crickets

7:50 P.M.-In between innings we see an epic sack race contest as two father-son combos go at it. Little Eric and his father Timothy lose because Eric falls. After the race Timothy removes his belt and all we can hear is Eric cry "No daddy, NO"(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ihpe07LoOx0)

7:55-8:15 P.M.-The Jackhammers make 15 errors in the 6th inning...high quality baseball

8:20 P.M.-"JACK" over the speakers...no reply. The PA announcer leaves the mic on and I can clearly hear him say "I hate this job"...FML #3 (for the PA announcer)

8:25 P.M.-The Kid who spilled Kelly's beer is now doing the "Cha Cha Y'all" all by himself in the aisle...what a tool. FML #4 (for the little kid)

8:30-9:30 P.M.-Don't remember...wasn't paying attention

9:35 P.M.-Matt and I are walking through a dark Joliet alley (luckily I don't have to say that one) alone and a homeless guy is walking up to us...FML #5 (for me)

Texting Update and Big Ups
My text messaging score is not the best it has ever been right now. Right now I am only at +89 (58-inbox, 54-sent, 28 from females, 1 unreturned courtesy of...Rich Krajewski. Rich also didn't return a facebook chat I sent him today...maybe because I immedieatly signed off or maybe because of spite, either way devastating my facebook popularity score. Way to crush me again Rich Boy). Also I went through a 45 hour text drought from roughly 11 P.M. Monday to 8 P.M. Today. That dwarfs my previous high drought of 36 hours. Jessica Henges would have received roughly 312.5 texts during that time period. 312.5 to 0? The scrimmage between the JV and Varsity in Mighty Ducks 3 wasn't this lopsided. It looks like it will be a tough summer on my text messaging score.

Big Ups have to go to the Beloit College baseball team one final time...not only for their incredible run to the NCAA tournament but for the unbelievable amount of blogging material you have provided me with. Mad love has to go to Rich Krajewski who ended his college career by pitching an 8 1/3rd, Chris Carpenter esque gem and landing himself on the all tournament team. I would also like to personally thank anyone and everyone who accompanied me to the NCAA tournament games in beautiful Oshkosh BiGosh, Wisconsin. Finally Joseph Scherer and Paul Beauttenmueller for lifting my spirits tonight by drinking beers, eating salads, discussing our feelings and doing other manly stuff together. Finally to Brandon Strongman one more time for sending me that delightful guest blog and not complaining when I wrote my intro completely hammered and a little gay after my night at Club Impulse.

Back soon with 14 hours of white hot intensity

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

The Strong Man

Dear Readers,
maybe its 2:09 A.M. in the morning when I'm starting this post. Maybe I've been done with school for the past two days and been doing nothing but wasting my life drinking alone for the past 48 hours. Maybe I challenged a certain lesbian to a drinking contest tonight that ended with me passed out under a table while she was sober as a bird bragging about the fact that she has more game with women then I do (she's a daywalker...has all a male's strength with none of his weaknesses). Maybe I didn't write this next post you are about to read myself...in fact that rumor I can confirm because Brandon Strongman wrote a guest post for you in honor of my facebook group exceeding 200 members (it's been holding steady at 226...not crazy impressive, but pretty much everyone I know). Notice while reading that Brandon kept the family-friendly nature of this blog alive by refraining from using curse words and deragatory comments towards women. Brandon is a blog version of Will Smith as a rapper (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ul6IHXklym8). I hope you enjoy this next entry...and if you don't I am clearly not the one to blame.

MR. BELOIT GOES TO BLOGGINTON (by Brandon Jak Estraghn, aka "Mr. Beloit")

I always made fun of blogs, deeming them desperate, emotional vents reserved for pre-pubescent girls, self-absorbed midlife crisis victims, and Battlestar Galactica watching mouthbreathers, but I have found a seed of faith in this curious medium, thanks to the tongue-in-cheek satire and reflective lack of tact that sets the tone in this particular blog. After sharing my thoughts and compliments with Mr. Jack Of All Trades Esquire a few weeks ago, it would seem that my recent notoriety as Mr. Beloit 2009 was sufficient to grant me an audience with the audience of his modest yet honorable chunk of the Great American Blogosphere (i.e. Ye Olde Interwebness), which I saw as a perfect opportunity to articulate my current introspections and mind meanderings, and perhaps find a bit of receptive solace in the Sack Artist's inherently skeptical and sarcastic readership. After all, such a purpose seems to motivate Mr. Artist himself to blog his guts out each week. Though perhaps his efforts are, in fact, sincerely intended to simply make the world a better place. (Personally however, I would just hate to think of Sachary as such a genuine altruist.)

When I was four, I tried to make the world a better place by liberating a bottle of Flintstone Complete Chewable Vitamins® from the medicine cabinet while my mom was gone and sharing them with the neighborhood kids. We popped some popcorn to compliment the Freds and Wilmas, then played on the juggle gym until we got busted and dragged to the ER. I spent my two hour time-out in a straight jacket while they made me drink charcoal and pumped my stomach. I didn't give in without a fight though. I punched one physician's assistant and kicked two nurses in the face before they knocked me out and got that dang tube down my throat. Fricking jerks.

I digress. But who cares. Not to disrespect this forum, but isn't that what blogs are for? That and distracting both readers and writers from doing anything even remotely productive in the real world. Really, I should be studying for my Database Principles exam right now. But I don't want to. Not only are databases dumb and I will never be a database administrator, but I feel that spending an hour to write this guest blog will probably yield a more favorable effect than studying for that stupid test. Why am I a computer science major anyway, you might ask? Well, I wanted a job when I graduated. But wait. Didn't Ryan Ream get into computer science because he wanted a job too? Now look at him.

Yikes.

Let me tell you about being Mr. Beloit. I would like to say that the consequences of my victory struck me the next morning like sandbags to the billies, but I didn't actually realize my fate so soon, because I woke up at around 3:30am on the floor of Wal-Mart in the sock isle with a pair of men's 9-12 white cotton athletics serving as a makeshift pillow and a six pack of black, dress polyesters (with a subtle sailboat motif) over my eyes to block the blaring fluorescent lights above. So I was a little preoccupied with not getting run over by the industrial floor waxing Zamboni®, being driven by a deranged illegal immigrant, rather than worrying about my Mr. Beloitness. (Actually, while Zamboni does it fact warrant a registered trademark, the floor cleaning apparatus I am speaking of does not reserve such a right, seeing as it is not a product of the Zamboni® corporation, but merely reminiscent of there renowned machinery. The inventor of the waxing machine however is a holder of nine US patents. That's almost as cool as a registered trademark.)

Once I regained as much of my sanity as I could reasonably expect after that miserable weekend though, which ended up being somewhere around Tuesday afternoon, I finally started analyzing the blessings and burdens of my new position as Mr. Beloit. These amounted to a handful of new friends on Facebook that I did not know, scowls from guys that were apparently jealous of my recent win, smiles from girls that apparently wanted their boyfriends to be even more jealous of my recent win, some candy and tissue paper in my little awards bag, a Kappa Delta shirt that was too big for my scrawny frame, a free night at the Beloit Inn, and the pressing weight of that shiny, plastic tiara with the blinking LEDs that I had already lost to some drunk girl at the Michael Jackson party nine hours earlier. (Actually, she might have been a guy.)

How had I even got into this position? I couldn't just put it off on the fake Freddie Mercury mustache and chest hair that I wore during the formal wear portion (although Nadia did a remarkable job bringing my flat, pasty chest into a fresh form of manhood that will probably never be repeated by yours truly in this century) or the wicked Brett Hart fighting moves (done to me rather than by me, unfortunately) or my behemoth biceps that defeated Greg Buchanan in that spontaneous arm wrestling match during the Q&A session. (This was really more attributed to my familiarity with Sly Stallone's rad, father-son, trucker classic, Over The Top, in which he uses an arm wrestling tactic where he brings his fingers around – off the hand of his opponent – and over the top of his own thumb to get the extra leverage needed to beat the big, fat, sweaty trucker champion at the end of the movie. Not to say that Vegemite Buchanan is so fearsome a nemesis of course. I mean, it's not like I'm not still so sore about that B- in Intro to Psychology freshman year or anything. But seriously, it should've been at least a B+.)

This bring me to my next point. (No, not really, but if I had to actually tie all of this together, I wouldn't have started it. I would probably have better luck wrapping a fart in cheesecloth. Oh yeah, and don't get me started on the Food Network. I don't watch much TV, but man I would burn a hole in my own leg to spend the rest of my life watching cooking shows – and almost did freshman year, actually.) Right. So I have this hotel room at the Beloit Inn. This should not be a difficult issue to address. I'm Beloit's most eligible bachelor or something like that. Plus, everybody knows what you're supposed to do with a night with a king size bed and a jacuzzi. If only it was that simple.

It's like when I go to a restaurant though. I never know what to get, so I ask the waitress for whatever her favorite thing is. While doing this tends to either land me the soggy, chicken fried steak or a phone number from some toofless wonder with a lazy eye, it takes the pressure off of having to make my own decisions. But I can't just ask a receptionist at the hotel to tell me what to do with the room, unless I really want some rugged trouble. I thought about selling it on eBay®. But that's boring. I had a few other ideas too. I could invite all of Kappa Delta over in gratitude for aiding me in my Mr. Beloit achievement, but after all the nights that I ate their house food and trashed their living room, this could result in some unfavorable revenge against me. I thought about bringing Voodoo Barbie over for a slumber party, but Jon Verkler always steals the covers. I could invite Whispering Eyes, as a reward for them doing so well during the IM frisbee playoffs this year. But who in their right mind would put Odin, V, Tony, Julian, Vince, Roland, Jared, Kenney, and especially T-Towns© in the same room for a night? And what if Kenny and Coach Carl showed up with the girls? Nope. Definitely not an option.

Perhaps I could hire a prostitute and play Scrabble™ all night. But she would probably win every round and make me feel stupid. What about getting a bunch of winos from downtown and inviting them over to build a big fort with couch cushions and go skinny dipping in the tub. Er. Maybe next time. Along similar lines though, I thought about calling Dr. Sachary so we could spend the night going on missions and doing adventures around town, then use the Beloit Inn as home base to write an über awesome co-blog. But he would probably down a 5 hour energy and pass out or end up twittering the whole time and I would have to spell check all of his texts.

So if any of you have any other thoughts, let me know. I'm desperate.

Closing Thoughts
Brandon just did an incredible job in my opinion so I hope you all are giving him a big round of appaulse as you read this. Some of you might be saying...Sach this post is all inside jokes that I don't understand. Well if that's the case I have a suggestion for you...get on the inside. Become a part of my incredible and always entertaining life. Facebook friend me, enjoy a my great company and a delicious McDonald's breakfast, or UPS me some money...I don't care. Be proactive. You are a friend of this blog, but you have to make sure it is a friend of yours as well. Embrace it with open arms and your love and trust will be returned 10-fold. Anyways, I am probably not in the right state of mind to continue on...but if you didn't like the guest post I suggest you either A)grow up or B)acknolwedge my greatness and inability to be duplicated

Back soon with a fresh perspective and a mostly orignal post

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