HLA PRESENTS: An Official NFL Mock Draft from Special Guest Rick Santorum

(Fearless Leader's note: HLA has a long tradition of giving you, the readers that don't give a shit about the NFL, the highest-quality draft analysis from some of the Internet's most erudite football bloggers. Indeed, the tradition of guest posts goes beyond Mr. Miyagi's star turn here before the 2010 Draft; Lamar the Yak's movie reviews have driven thousands of young people looking for an image of a retarded yak to our post featuring one of the best synopses of Remember Me ever written. Though we were unable to welcome any guest contributors prior to last year's NFL Draft, this year we've snagged our biggest star yet: recent Republican presidential candidate Rick Santorum! In addition to his political bona fides, Mr. Santorum also coached his son's flag football team this one time. Don't believe me? Just google his last name. You won't be disappointed. This. Man. Knows. Football. So without further ado, I present to you: the future Leader of the Free World, Mr. Richard John Santorum, Esq.)

THANK YOU, THANK YOU, thank you. Please. You can stop clapping now. No, seriously, Angela Michael, it's OK. No need to cry. I'm not God. Really. Seriously. Promise? Good.

Thank you, so so much, for that warm welcome. It's so great to be back in the fine state of Highland. Last time I was here you were dealing with the firing of your football coach after he got caught screwing an underage girl in his car. Being from Pennsylvania, you may be aware of a similar situation we recently went through. The only football coach head I care about is the one on top of the neck, the one that makes playcalls, but I guess our society is obsessed with the penis head now. It is what it is. Regardless, that whole Penn State thing has really helped me appreciate the resilience you guys have shown in the wake of that scandal just a few years ago. 

Now, just indulge in this tangent for a few seconds, OK? Because man: I still can't believe Joe Paterno raped and murdered all those little boys. Mostly the raped part. I mean, dude was old as fuck. Born sometime during the early stages of the Jurassic Period. I'm only 53 and can just barely get wood. He was millions of years old and apparently could just get an erection anytime he wanted. Maybe Viagra was making some special shit for him. Maybe he was dead all along and evil zombies just have constant boners. Whatever the case, dude was amazing.

Anyway, you know, I just remembered, you guys didn't just have that debacle; your head coach for the four years after that was Ron Fucking Holt. Holy shit! Man, that's just...man. Wow. Y'all don't just have rainstorms here, you get torrential downpours of a frothy mixture of lube and fecal matter falling from the sky. Let me apologize, but reiterate that your current Fearless Leader, even though he's an Obama supporter, that guy knows what the fuck he's doing. Stay strong, Kalen. You got it.

Point is, high school and college football? That shit cray. The NFL is more like a fish filet. And shit, do I love the tartar sauce on Mickey D's Filet-O-Fishes. The flavor vaguely reminiscent of a frothy mixture of lube and fecal matter. Yeah. Let's talk bout the fish filet some more instead, shall we?

I've got a confession, you guys. I've always loved balls. Small balls, big balls, round balls, oblong balls, basketballs, bocce balls, Top Flite golf balls, descending balls, and especially testicles. But I love footballs the most out of any kind of balls. The feel of the smooth yet weathered leather on my cool caressing hand. The majestic spiral floating heavenward and back down into the grasp of a Greek god, the grasp my own balls so long to feel. The rich mahogany color reminiscent of a frothy mixture of lube and fecal matter. I fell in love with football because of the ball. I stayed in love because my affairs with Mike Tomlin and Bobby Petrino demanded it. Those guys have no emotions, and I had to have something to talk with them about before we made a sweet, frothy mixture of lube and fecal matter.

Now that I've studied enough footballs, I've moved on to learning the finer points of the game. I started studying the NFL Draft for the same reason as you all, I'm sure: young black guys in suits kinda turn me on. Over time, I've moved on from just constantly jerking off during the draft to really understanding its intricacies, making me uniquely qualified to present to you today this 100% guaranteed 2012 NFL Mock Draft.

* * *

RICK SANTORUM'S 2012 NFL MOCK DRAFT

1. Indianapolis Colts: Ryan Tannehill, QB/Texas A&M

• In case you guys haven't figured out yet, I'm a master at what the young folks call "trolling." I mean, I say I hate the gays, but there's nothing I love more than a frothy mixture of lube and fecal matter spewing from a man's anus, though I think the best trolling I ever did was telling the kids we'd be bringing home their new baby brother only to show up with a cuddly little corpse instead. Yeah, that was a good one. So I think the Colts need to be more like me and fuck with the rest of the NFL a little bit. The fact that they've announced Luck as their pick would just add to the stupendous trolliness of it all. Plus, Tannehill is a gym rat coach's son with moxie to burn, and that's all you need to make it in this league and this world.

2. Washington Redskins: Chief Joseph, DE/Nez Perce Tribe

• I think it's really admirable that this group of native Americans can still party like it's 1877 by getting together and plotting to destroy white folk. The whole red skin-only policy kinda limits the selection though, dooming this team to fruitless futility forever. That said, I think this Joseph character could be a special one. He tends to retreat when times get rough, not necessarily what you want in a pass rusher, but he's got all the burst and twitch to make blockers miss.

3. Minnesota Vikings: Andrew Luck, QB/Stanford

• These guys think Christian Ponder is a franchise quarterback? Yeah, and Ron Paul still thinks he's gonna be President! The Vikings need a signal caller to believe in so they can be good upon arrival in Los Angeles; however, it looks like Matt Kalil will be the pick instead.

4. Cleveland Browns: LeBron James, TE/Miami (FL)

• This guy hasn't played football in a while, but man, he has all the makings of the vertical threat that Pat Shurmur can misuse in five yard crossing routes. (Of course, the Browns need a guy to throw the dinks and dunks as well, which means Tannehill will probably come off the board here.)

5. Tampa Bay Buccaneers: Morris Claiborne, CB/LSU

• You mean...Ronde Barber...he's...still...alive??? Got DAMN, son, that guy's future in football is shorter than Newt Gingrich's in politics! Better get a sufficiently dyslexic replacement while the gettings there! Claiborne wholly fits the bill.

6. St. Louis Rams: Trent Richardson, RB/Alabama*

• Richardson may be the best college back since Adrian Peterson, but the Rams take him here for his grooming skills. His work with those immaculate dreadlocks leads me to believe he could work wonders grooming Jeff Fisher's mustache. (Also: ROLL TIDE!)

7. Jacksonville Jaguars: Robert Griffin III, QB/Baylor

• So I'm gonna tell y'all a little joke real quick, OK? Blaine Gabbert. Uhm...uh...why aren't you laughing, guys? BLAINE MOTHERFUCKING GABBERT! (crowd erupts in hysterical laughter) Now that's more like it. No guy from District 12, the land of meth and puppy mills formerly known as "Missouri,"will ever make it anywhere in life, no matter what they say about that journalism school there. I mean, they'll probably take Justin Blackmon, but what use will he be when the ball flies ten yards over his head every pass? They need to get a new QB instead.

8. Miami Dolphins: T-Pain, FB/Florida State

• The greatest football team selects the greatest blocking back available in this draft. While this fullback spends most of his time on boats and has this weird-ass voice, he packs a wallop coming out of the backfield. Though the front office may elect for Michael Floyd instead, I'd hesitate to pass up this once-in-a-generation artistic talent.

9. Carolina Panthers: Luke Kuechly, LB/Boston College

• What did I say earlier? Grit + moxie + gym rat = limitless potential. Having white skin guarantees all three, of course. That's why Carolina's gotta pick Kuechly.

10. Buffalo Bills: Riley Reiff, OT/Iowa

• With this pick, I pay homage to the state that made me famous. Iowa, I love you and your corn-fed, short-armed linemen. Since folks in the Hawkeye State are used to being underappreciated, good ol' Riley will fit right in with Chan Gailey in upstate New York.

11. Kansas City Chiefs: Dontari Poe, DT/Memphis

• This guy is 6'4", 350 pounds. He's gotta have some SERIOUS ass. And if there's one thing besides grit and moxie that guarantees success in life, it's great ass. Never mind that Poe sucked for a sucky team in college; the Law of Ass guarantees the fulfillment of his potential.

12. Seattle Seahawks: Quinton Coples, DE/North Carolina

• Same thing as Poe, just less stupendous ass, so his career will be less stupendous. But only slightly.

13. Arizona Cardinals: David DeCastro, G/Stanford

• What's a smart young man like this doing playing football? He should go design that moon colony Newt's been planning instead.

14. Dallas Cowboys: Mark Barron, S/Alabama*

• HEY! HOW 'BOUT THEM COWBOYS!! ROLL TIDE!!!

15. Philadelphia Eagles: Courtney Upshaw, OLB/Alabama*

• HEY, PAWWWWLLLL! ROLL TIDE AGAIN!!!

16. New York Jets: Melvin Ingram, DE/South Carolina

• You can't help but love this guy's feet, which makes him perfect for Rex Ryan. We've talked a little bit, and even though I still find that fetish a little weird, I can get behind other people doing it. It's why I love this pick so much. Get ready for more sexy, Rexy.

17. Cincinnati Bengals: Cordy Glenn, G/Georgia

• Mark Richt moulds 'em right down there. More tremendous, fat lineman ass.

18. San Diego Chargers: Michael Brockers, DT/LSU

• Yeah, whatevs. Norv Turner fucking sucks. Who cares? Next.

19. Chicago Bears: Coby Fleener, TE/Stanford

• You mean...his name...is...Coby...and he's not black? Got DAMN, son, his wigger parents should be ashamed of themselves and their baby naming abilities!

20. Tennessee Titans: Dre Kirkpatrick, CB/Alabama*

• WOOHOO ROLL MOTHERFUCKING TIDE BITCHES!!!

21. Cincinnati Bengals: Janoris Jenkins, CB/North Alabama

• Now this guy has baby naming ability! Having four kids by 22 is impressive enough, but bestowing beautiful monikers like Janoris Jenkins Jr., Janorian, Legend, and Paris upon them? That's special, man. Natural talent. (Also - does North Alabama qualify for a "Roll Tide?")

22. Cleveland Browns: Rueben Randle, WR/LSU

• Another vertical threat for Pat Shurmur to not use, Randle will excel at dropping every seven yard curl route thrown his way.

23. Detroit Lions: Stephon Gilmore, CB/South Carolina

• I'm suspicious of this young black man. That family portrait looks nice, but man, I'd be shooting every one of 'em if they came walking down my street. (But only if they had Skittles, of course. The taste of the rainbow is the only thing almost as intoxicating as the taste of a frothy mixture of lube and fecal matter.)

24. Pittsburgh Steelers: Donta Hightower, LB/Alabama*

• This is my last one for the day, so Ima make it count: RROOOOLLLLLLLL TTTTIIIIIIIIDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

25. Denver Broncos: Jerel Worthy, DT/Michigan State

• The Broncos have Peyton Manning now, so really they could just put nine stiffs out on defense and get to the AFC Championship. But if they wanna try on defense, that's cool too, I guess.

26. Houston Texans: Ron Paul, K/Gettysburg College

• The Texans are a solid team, but they lack two things: a consistent kicker and a gynecologist who can properly insert Wade Phillips' tampons. This 76-year-old does both extremely well, and though he may not have a long career, the Texans are looking to win now. This is definitely the pick. (Unless Kendall Wright is available, of course.)

27. New England Patriots: Whitney Mercilus, DE/Illinois**

• Dammit, those heathens at the University of Illinois. They rejected me, but in my mind I knew I was better than them all along. How can anyone named after a singing cocaine addict and coached by Ron Zook be an effective NFL lineman? Those Patriots always seem to draft good, but this pick...man, I dunno. Looks doomed if you ask me.

28. Green Bay Packers: Shea McClellin, OLB/Boise State

• White guy. Idaho. Grit. Moxie. Next Clay Matthews. Has to be.

29. Baltimore Ravens: Peter Konz, C/Wisconsin

• Though grit and moxie are the most important traits for most positions, offensive linemen succeed based on dairy consumption. It's why the guys that come from Wisconsin are the best.

30. San Francisco 49ers: Kevin Zeitler, G/Wisconsin

• Ditto.

31. New England Patriots: Mitt Romney, TE/BYU

• I can vouch for you: this Mormon truly does have a tight end. I loved slapping that ass in the green room during our debates. Man, I miss those times. Even though he's kind of a cuntface, he'll work well with noted asshat Bill Belichick. Redemption for New England here.

32. New York Giants: Amini Silatolu, OT/Midwestern State

• Apparently this Midwestern State is located in Texas? I'll have to take a note of that. Didn't know Texas was Midwestern. Will have Karen tell the kids after Dead Fetus Picturebook Time during homeschool.

* * *

MAN. Well, that was pretty exhausting, huh guys? But now you know everything you need to know about the Draft coming up tomorrow, and that knowledge is far more important than, say, a basic understanding of human decency or sensible tax policy. And with that I say: God Bless you all, God Bless the National Football League, God Bless Coach Jon Gruden, God Bless the United States of America, and, of course, God Bless the Highland St. Paul Angela Michael Anti-Dead Baby White Person Catholic Broken Condom Mistake Jamahiriyah!

*Final count: #RollTide - 5, #WarEagle - 0. Sadface.

**Final count: #Illini - 1, #Mizzou - 0. Fuck the world.

Tempus Fugit

Contrary to what you believe, this blog has readers. One in Champaign, one in St. Louis, and (according to Google Analytics) one in Omaha. So you, Omaha reader, just know: you are not alone! (Also: I'm stalking you! This is the chief purpose fulfilled by modern technology.)

You readers demand high quality content, which (of course) I always deliver. The problem, though, is the eternity between deliveries. Sixteen days is way too long to make my bros wait, but alas, 200-page cross-cultural journalism projects intervene sometimes.

This place serves no purpose. None of its content matters. It makes no immediate impact. Yet in this void of uselessness a purpose does appear. 

The more I read, the more I realize I can't write worth jack shit. Though writers may appear fully formed upon their emergence into public consciousness, they weren't born that way. They first have to read and write and read and write and maybe type out every word of The Great Gatsby and probably do some actual work for actual money on the side and come home every night and read and write some more. 

I try to remember this whenever I promise to blog more frequently but always end up forgetting. Doing that econ homework or researching for that project matters much more in the now than any silly post here. But you only learn how to write more good through a helluva lotta practice. That time you spend staying useless is what makes you the most useful writer you can be. And if you wanna make a hobby and, God forbid, a career out of filling blank computer screens with words, you sure as fuck better practice.

I don't. I need to. I will.

See y'all sooner than two weeks from now. (Maybe).

Fear and Loathing in Chambana: May the Odds Be Ever In Your Favor

Last weekend, yours truly fearlessly drove a 1998 Mercury Sable without a working gas gauge thousands of miles from Highland to The Eighth Wonder of the World, the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign (UIUC).

Needless to say, while there we killed people, burned shit, and fucked school.

There were a lot of things I wanted to do that I didn't. I wanted to pass a level 11 song on Dance Dance Revolution. I wanted to protest the introductory press conference of new basketball coach John Groce (more on him at a later date). I wanted to ask every Asian I passed "Hu's your professor?" because apparently that question can get quite complicated. I wanted to drink some wine and snort copious amounts of cocaine.

Sadly, none of these happened. I have not played DDR in years and thus miserably failed at even the easiest songs. My mother forced me to stay in Highland to support my badass little bro at his first track meet, so I could not infiltrate the press corps at Groce's introduction. I was too busy raffing at all the Asians studying on the weekend to ask them such politically incorrect questions. And as for the imbibing, we did that vicariously through The Boys and Girls Guide to Getting Down, my favorite independent film of 2006.

But the best part of this trip was obviously our time spent fapping to the love story of breadmaker Peeta Mellark and archeress Katniss Everdeen during The Hunger Games*. I would have preferred Kristen Stewart appeared somewhere in the movie (nothing sexier than a monotone voice and face made of stone), but drunk Woody Harrelson and creepy Lenny Kravitz more than made up for the story, you know, not being  nearly as enthralling and beautiful as Twilight.

UIUC is the weirdest place you could ever hope to be. You have about 20,000 forever-arone Asians**, another 20,000 whitebread fratstars and sorostitutes, and all ten people from Highland somewhere in between. That bizarre mix and the massssssssive campus (though the place has a real, functional bus system, something we at Mizzou are too good for) turned me off from going there, I do not mean to dismiss UIUC. 

No - the world needs UIUC. We need its thousands of engineering graduates to repair our nation's crumbling buildings during President McCubbins' Second New Deal. We need its weekend library dwellers to make us feel better about our own pathetic lives. We need its shitty TV channel to entertain us at 3 AM. We need the denizens of its Rec Room to film the next hit weight loss infomercial. We need its athletic programs to make the rest of the B1G look good, and we need the B1G to make the SEC look like the greatest collection of schools ever assembled in the history of mankind***. We need its women to wear yoga pants 24/7/365 and to remove them while in the close company of one Ricky Newcomb.

We need it to keep living up to that status - The Eighth Wonder of the World.

*Later, we found a group of Beanie Babies have already shot a far superior remake.

**Of course, many whites fit the forever-arone description, and a few Asians are in the Greek system. We just seek to reinforce racial stereotypes and make easy generalizations through our in-text depiction. This is all we're good at. Don't take it away from us.

***Which, of course, is totally true. #RollTide #WarEagle #WooPigSooey #GoStephenGarcia #GatorFansWearJortz

Life, The Living of

You always want to go home.

When home is Highland, Illinois, you just make sure not to stay too long.

I guess there are things to do. There are friends to see, the few I have still in the area. There are endless video games to play. There is Sports Center, and the repeat of Sports Center, and the repeat of the repeat. There are DVR-ed episodes of Dance Moms. There are blog posts to type out at 3 AM while watching P90 X infomercials. 

There is a Wal Mart. It is a SUPER Wal Mart. If you've lived here long enough, you've gone there needing to buy nothing. If you're under the age of 18, you've hung out there, because hell, there's nowhere else. You may have even practiced an interpretive dance to Total Eclipse of the Heart in the motor oil aisle. It's something to do.

So because there isn't much to be done, you consume yourself with the things that happen. They rarely matter, as you will see.

Neighbor's car has a new bumper sticker. Reads "my son fights for your honor student's freedom." Good they make that sticker, because the son in question sure as hell never made honor roll.

Same neighbor was out mowing the lawn today, shirtless per usual. He's about 5'10" and pushing three bills. And that large gut is covered in hair. Gray, curly, sweaty hair. There are kids in the neighborhood. Guess he doesn't realize. 

Found out my dad listens to conservative talk radio. Lost a little respect. Maybe a lot. He's looking forward to the repeal of Obamacare. I think he's a little racist, but he did vote for Alan Keyes over Barack Obama, and Keyes is black. Keyes is also certifiably insane, but never mind.

Dad works in the healthcare industry. They're doing pretty well, so why change it? He does bring home the bacon. Guess you can't blame him.

Driving around town, saw a lot of campaign signs. It is an election year. Every single one supported a Republican candidate. The county still occasionally elects Democrats, but that's only because of the liberal scum in Edwardsville.

Our Madison County treasurer is one of those Republicans. Apparently he's a sharp dude. Has a bachelors from Illinois and an MBA from Wharton. He also lost his kid while handing out flyers at the county fair. Shocking, considering the fluorescent orange color of the silly campaign polo he and his father wore. Hardly surprising when you consider the extent of his father's dipshittedness.

You feel so sorry for some of the people here. There are the ones who have lived here forever and will continue to live here forever. This place does that to people. It is Norman Rockwell's America, in demography if not in spirit. Other towns have tattoo parlors and black people. It's best to avoid them and stay here.

Then there are the outsiders. The racially diverse. The queers. The actors. The mathletes. The artists. The fake photographers. 

Some fake it well. Some, like this writer, get by. The writer is white and tall and masculine and succeeded in school and played a varsity sport. He has nothing offensive he has to say out loud. Those that don't look the part, that are different in more significant ways beyond some pithy mindset, aren't so lucky.

Oh well. At least there's Columbia to go back to. More things there, though fewer friends to do anything with. You feel awful when you're alone on a campus of 30,000 students supposedly so similar to yourself. Then you realize how many others feel that same way, even those that have the most friends and the best grades and the craziest weekends, and you wonder how to reach out to them, but communicating is really fucking hard so nothing changes.

It all looks so depressing on the page, but it isn't really. Though this place is an insular bubble, there's something to be said for the comfort that provides. Though you can't really relate to most people, at least they all look good and similar and won't steal anything from you, save your soul maybe. Though things could be better, they will never change, and humans, especially older ones, love knowing what to expect. 

The trick is to expect something more than what Highland gives.

It's a good thing I won't be here much longer.

The House That Heaven Built

A new Japandroids album you say? Ohhhhhhhh boy. Yes. Shit yes. Fuck yeah. If the rest is anything like this little teaser, I'll listen to nothing else this summer.

One spot on HLA's Top 12 Songs of 2012 has been taken, plus there's (hopefully) a new MGMT album out later this year. Gonna have to raise your game to get yer ass on this list, rest of the music industry.

Fear and Loathing in CoMo: Damn Africa, That's So Fetch!

Last weekend, the lovely lady known on the internets as "aRoseMcCubbins" visited yours truly in scenic Columbia, MO. We were the lamest people in town that Saturday; I mean, it was her spring break, St. Patrick's Day, and we only had enough alcohol to get Amanda's tiny little self "slightly tipsy" during a Mean Girls drinking game. (Yes . . . I celebrated my Irish heritage like a real man. DON'T HATE. TINA FEY IS A COMIC GENIUS AND PRE-CRACK LINDSAY LOHAN WAS OK I GUESS.)

BUDDHA BROS!
(and my awkward smile)

In spite of this, it was a lovely time. Yes, much of it was spent in an emergency room. Yes, we watched lots of Bridal Wars and Rob Dyrdek's Ridiculousness. Yes, the only souvenirs were fat Buddhas and finger puppets of historical figures. And yes, it was fucking awesome.

Saturday night we let the party get the best of us*. Due to the jacked sleep schedule we were on, there was no sleep to be had, so we just talked and talked and talked about the shit people who think too much think about. Politics, genius and the nature of success, the impossibility of maintaining mental health in our modern age, our love lives, the words of Truman Capote and the songs of R Kelly, the principles of misogynistic feminism, the possibility that the creationists are right, the massive right-wing conspiracies behind 9/11 and the moon landing . . . basically, all the normal shit people already address in everyday conversation.

We concluded that the world is fucked. It's the truth, and it's kinda ugly, but it's not bad. Life on Earth isn't easy. You gotta deal with a never-ending stream of assholes and bitches and dumbfucks and bullshit heading your way. So what? There are still laughs to be had and tears to be cried. There are awesome people to meet and talk to and possible fuck and marry and divorce. There are MGMT albums and Rams Super Bowl victories. It's OK to get down as long as you remember all the reasons there are to get back up again.

Here's to a future full of more great weekends with great people. Hopefully there's more booze and weed to accompany the journey next time.

*I claim to be cultured, yet I just linked to a Wiz Khalifa song. LOLOLOL. /hides in shame

Grief

The Missouri Tigers are a basketball team.

They won a lot of games this year.

Not this one though.

It made me feel sad.

At least there's a cure. A cheap, glorious, esophagus-burning cure.

Habits

I get into these moods, especially when writing, where I listen to just one song on repeat until I can't stand the thought of it anymore. Don't ask why, because I don't know. Get lost in music, get lost in words. It helps. You may understand. You probably don't.

It was easy getting lost in this tonight. A Bob Dylan soundalike that writes creepy love songs. Shit that's at once beautiful and dark and eery and romantic and ridiculously good. Got damn.

Only way The Tallest Man On Earth could be more impressive is if he were actually the tallest man on earth. 

Hello There

IT'S BEEN WAY TOO LONG, loyal readers, so here's some happy thoughts for your day.

• The Rams- they made a trade over the weekend! It was a great fucking trade! Rams GM Les Snead basically buttfucked the talentless corpse that is the Redskins roster before dousing it in gasoline and accidentally lighting a match nearby. Two additional first rounders and one additional second rounder just to move up four spots. Just to put the mind-boggling RGIII in Mike Shanahan's bland offense. Just to offset all the points opponents put up on Jim Haslett's sieve of a defense. Yeah, I think I'd take that deal- and the Rams' front office did brilliant work suckering the 'Skins into this haul. Maybe there's hope in St. Louis after all.
• Sleigh Bells- they're coming to the District of Chillumbia! The best metal/cheerleader duo of all time! My mom was like, you hate Christmas music, why are you going to see this? And why is this show in April? (And then I told her to listen to this, which horrified her, but finally made her understand.) It may be hard, but I will convince some sorry and hopeless hipster to go see this shit with me. Can't wait.
• The University of Illinois- as we predicted, they need a new basketball coach! Will it be Brad Stevens? Will it be Shaka Smart? Will it be the electric tandem of Todd Strong and Kalen Wagoner? We hope for any of the above, but believe in the end the man will be Wichita State coach Gregg Marshall. It's too bad, in my opinion, because there's nothing special about the guy. He has the sort of good-but-not-too-good-to-demand-an-actual-salary resume favored by the cash-strapped Illinois athletic department, in addition to the gruff-but-largely-inoffensive persona of most Big Ten coaches. Marshall is a safe choice; I don't think he's the best choice. (He also spells Gregg with two G's at the end, and those guys are usually assholes.)
• Saint Louis University- they made the NCAA Tournament! I would tell some "Rick Majerus is so fat..." jokes, but SLU will get drilled by Memphis anyway, so I will refrain from piling on. Maybe I will finish off this post with some Your Mom jokes for some LOLZ instead.
• In the meantime, I have other things I really should be doing. NEWS! CROSS-CULTURAL JOURNALISM! GLAMOROUS WORK! I shall return soon, and hopefully with more frequency.

UNTIL THEN, peace, love, and basketball, motherfuckers.

Should You ♥ You?

"The importance of Liking Yourself is a notion that fell heavily out of favor during the coptic, anti-ego frenzy of the Acid Era- but nobody guessed, back then, that the experiment might churn up this kind of hangover: a whole subculture of frightened illiterates with no faith in anything."

--Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail '72

We're a long way from the Acid Era, but that hangover hurts worse than ever. Except today the frightened illiterates aren't a subculture- they are the culture. They are all of us.

Not that Liking Yourself is bad or that self-loathing is somehow noble. Of course not. Of course not. But now it seems like everyone doesn't just suspect himself of the cardinal virtues; we're also sure that nobody else possesses them. The Self must always be Right and Righteous. The man that disagrees is a European socialist intent on destroying the meager scraps left of the American Dream. The haters just can't handle your phenomenal swag.

But this is total and utter horseshit. Sometimes we are Wrong about things. And sometimes we are also unhappy or unenthused or (gasp) alone. That's fine. If there's anything wrong with being Wrong or Sad or Alone, then a) there's something wrong with being Human; and b) there's something wrong with Truth. That's terrifying.

(And then there's the more complicated issue of wanting Other People to Like Us so we can confirm that we are worthy of being Liked by Ourselves. It's the goal of every advertiser pimping consumerism as the Way to Happiness, of every passive-aggressive bitch posting man-hating Facebook statuses in search of self-affirming comments, of every no-good two-bit snake-oil salesman that wants your son to play basketball at the University of Kentucky. It's very complicated, very paranoid, very Nixonian- and damn dangerous. Paradoxically, it also seems to make ourselves less likely to Like Ourselves.)

The takeaway- it's OK to be wrong. Being pissed-off, not knowing what to do or where to go or whether to laugh or cry or both, is totally natural. Liking Yourself is natural too. What isn't OK is cheating yourself. Don't dismiss other people and points of view just because they're different. Don't think your shit smells that much rosier than the other humans you share 99% of your genome with. Take others and their strengths and faults and quirks as they are and find ways to like them, and then do the same with yourself.

Have faith, not fear. And most of all, be real.

(I don't even fully get what I'm saying, so now I will shamelessly ask for y'all to comment and argue with me below. This would affirm that this post was Worth Something, and by extension that I, the writer of this post, am Worth Something, so that in turn I may Like Myself. Plus, I'm always up for a good circlejerk!)