I see you there,

Off to the right

A cotton swab

More brown than white

Uncommonly disgusting sight:

A Q-Tip on my floor

 

 

And as I see you,

See you lying,

Lying,

While my patience trying,

Trying the impossible:

Attempting to ignore

 

 

But like the ticking

Of the clock

Incessantly

You seem to mock,

Mock me with your arrogance

Oh Q-Tip on my floor

  

 

So boldly is thy crust displayed

In sticky layers

That I'm afraid

To touch you

 And dispose of you

Oh Q-Tip on my floor

  

 

 

Those ends encased in gooey wax!

I turn,

But to retrace my tracks

Escape is not a choice

Alas,

My guests arrive at four

 

 

Recalling wisdom from a friend

To summon courage from within

I hold my breath

And bend

To grab you,

Grab you off my floor

 

 

And as I feel

My fingers gripping,

 Gripping you

The hate is ripping,

Ripping through to banish you

Oh Q-Tip on my floor

 

 

And thus I cast you overhead

I've sent thy world a' reeling!

No longer shall you mark my floor...

Oh Q-Tip on my ceiling

 

D'OH!

 

Copyright 2007, Aidan Acuff

(and on my birthday, no less)

 

 

DAMN YOU, CHARLIE WEIS!!!

 

 

 

 

My intentions were honorable.

 

 

 

Is it not a noble soul who would extirpate his proclivity to mock? 

 

 

Are we not a more percipient collective when we desist from satirizing those whose burdens may be glandular?

 

 

 

 

A man in torment, I hemorrhaged from the very marrow as I vacillated on the knife-edge 'tween demons of monomania and familiar autumnal yen.

 

 

 

 

DAMN YOU!

 

 

 

I sought only the spiritual metamorphosis that accompanies a higher path:  To emerge from the proverbial coccoon as a beauteous, more tolerant butterfly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

But you have continued to suck!

 

 

 

 

 

And I am only human.

 

 

 

 

Let us mince words no longer, dear Charles:  Among the cognoscenti of sport, even the most pertinacious of mavens would be hard-pressed to unearth a more noisome devolution. 

 

Ambrosial to behold, it is, this monstrosity. 

 

By way of nugatory ostentation, you have come to acquire at last your beseeming locus in the annals of craposity.  One might even christen it your right of eminent domain.

 

The sewage-like vapor you now inhale must certainly rival that manufactured by your bowels upon the ingestion of your trademark footlong double-pastrami sub.

 

Rarified air, if ever there were.

 

 

Damn you for for compelling a nation to re-visit the perspicuous racism behind the dismissal of your predecessor! (as all the while, your penitent superiors clandestinely pine for his return)

 

And damn you for possessing such effrontery as to accede to this anomalous and farcical addendum to your monetary renumeration.  A man whose values were more evincive of the Catholicism you profess to represent would have considered it stealing from the hand of God.  Only when you collect your tie-severing ransom will your administrators find their money well-spent. 

 

 

Still, an action so curious by an establishment so revered begs the question:  What makes this apparent charlatan so exceptional? 

 

 

Is there unseen magic to which the public is not privvy, or is he the unproven swine we perceive him to be?

 

 

Predictably, my inquisitive disposition could not be eschewed. 

 

 

There was but one recourse for attaining the intelligence I sought, and it began with the commissioning of Dick Snoops, private eye extraordinaire. 

 

 

A Sports Intellectual special report was what followed, as we targeted one Charlie Weis, and, in the parlance of the gumshoe, "put a tail" on him.

 

 

The secrets we unearthed may be found hereinafter:

 

 

6:30 AM- Alarm goes off.  Subject hits snooze button.

6:45 AM- Alarm goes off.  Subject hits snooze button.

7:00 AM- Alarm goes off.  Subject hits snooze button.

7:15 AM- Alarm goes off.  Subject hits snooze button.

7:30 AM- Alarm goes off.  Subject gets out of bed and empties his bedpan.

7:31 AM- Subject proclaims he is hungry.

7:32-7:58 AM- Subject gets dressed with the aid of several family members.

8:00 AM- Unable to wait any longer for his breakfast to be cooked, subject consumes a package of uncooked sausage patties from his refrigerator.  (Note to self:  Subject is a Golden Domer who, for the moment, appears to be brimming with Tennessee Pride...) 

(Get it?)

8:11 AM- Subject's belt, stretched to its' mortal limit, finally gives out.

8:16 AM- Subject replaces broken belt with new one made from reinforced steel cable used for hauling limber.  

8:23 AM- Subject complains that McDonald's doesn't deliver.

8:37 AM- Subject leaves for work.

8:56 AM- Subject stops at McDonald's for a McGriddle.

9:07 AM- Subject stops at 7-11 for a danish.

9:23 AM- Subject arrives at work.

9:24 AM- Subject asks his secretary to hold all telephone calls.

9:26 AM- Subject eats Butterfinger bar from stockpile in desk drawer.

9:28 AM-11:15 AM- Subject takes catnap at desk.

11:16 AM- Subject awakens suddenly, as if startled by a noise.  Asks himself the following:  "Did I just fart or was that my pants ripping again?"

11:17 AM:  Lack of unusual smell causes subject to determine that it was, in fact, his pants ripping.

11:18 AM- Subject proclaims he is hungry.

11:25 AM- Subject arrives at an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet around the corner from his office and procedes to gorge.

12:14 PM- Arrives back at office.  Has the following conversation with his secretary: 

 

 

WEIS:  I need to eat something.  My blood sugar feels low. 

SECRETARY:  Didn't you just have lunch over at Chairman Mao's? 

WEIS:  Yeah, it's weird.  I think I'm hypoglycemic or something.

 

 

12:15 PM- Subject eats Twix bar from desk drawer stash.

12:16 PM- Subject asks secretary to hold all calls.

12:17-1:51 PM- Subject takes catnap.

1:52 PM- Subject awakens.

1:53 PM- Subject consumes Skor bar to gather strength for his 2:00 interview

2:00 PM- Beat reporter from Weis's days as a Patriots assistant arrives and conducts the following interview:

 

 

REPORTER:  So aside from the hollow feeling of cheating your way to the winning side of a football game, what do you miss most about New England? 

WEIS:  That's an easy one.  The thing I miss most would have to be the Boston cream pie... ooooh, and those Boston baked beans... and especially that New England clam chowder! 

REPORTER:  But you can get that stuff anywhere. 

WEIS:  This interview is over.

 

 

2:02 PM- Subject rushes from office in search of Boston cream pie, Boston baked beans, and New England clam chowder.

2:59 PM- Subject arrives back just in time for practice.

3:00-6:00 PM- Subject monopolizes sideline oxygen tank while assistant coaches run things.

6:00 PM- Subject concludes practice by asking Freshman QB Jimmy Clausen to address the team.

6:01 PM- Using a popular relaxation tip for public speaking, Clausen finds himself giggling uncontrollably at the thought of audience member Weis in his underwear.

6:12 PM- Clausen regains his composure and delivers his speech

6:17 PM- Speech over.  Practice over.

6:55 PM- Subject arrives home and has the following conversation with his wife:

 

 

WIFE:  Your new doctor called today.  He tried you at the office, but your secretary told him you weren't taking any calls. 

WEIS:  Hmm, that's odd.  I wonder why she would say that?

WIFE:  He said the test results show that instead of a gastric bypass, you were given a gastric implant.

WEIS:  Well, that certainly would explain a lot...

 

 

6:59 PM- Subject eats dinner, then "nibbles" until bedtime.

 

 

 

 

 

Unveiled, to say the least.

 

 

Yes, Charlton, I've got your number.  But despite your squad's graceless inefficacy, you may take solace, old foe, in the ensuing doublet of certainties:  

 

 

1.  Per the by-laws of the NCAA and Network Television, Notre Dame will still be given its customary opportunity to lose a BCS bowl game.

 

 

and

 

 

2.  The defensive unit you face Saturday is one against whom even you could line up at receiver and find yourself wide-open on a deep route.

(Only human, remember?)

Copyright 2007, Aidan Acuff, "The Sports Intellectual"

 

This...is... Anagram Sports Jeopardy, the show that's so similar to regular Jeopardy, you might even call it a blatant rip-off!  And now here's your host, Tacky Cheeseman!

 

Thanks, everybody!  I'm Tacky Cheeseman and welcome to Anagram Sports Jeopardy, where we scramble the names of your favorite sports figures within the answer, then challenge you, the contestant, to ask us who they are.  And heeeeeeere we go!

 

 

 

This sharpshooter, who credits his meteoric rise to a diet rich in baby food, always makes sure to get a last Gerber in at the end of each day. 

         

 

 

 

 

(Who is Gilbert Arenas?)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This coach is not known for his exciting personal life, although on Saturday night, he occasionally re-folds a vest.

 

 

 

(Who is Steve Alford?)

 

 

 

 

 

 When this figure skating princess feels endangered by a man, she pulls out her self-defense kit and threatens to spray him so thoroughly that he'll wink mace for days.

 

 

 

(Who is Michelle Kwan?)

 

 

 

 

 

This superstitious baseball gambler was known to store pee in jars on days when he hit well.

 

 

 

 

(Who is Pete Rose?)

 

 

 

 

 

 

When this broadcaster returned from a trip to the Middle East muttering the phrase "hail camels," his partner John Madden suspected he might have been brainwashed by Al Qaeda.

 

 

 

 

(Who is Al Michaels?)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Before he became an NBA star, this individual's crack addiction was so severe he developed a pipe ulcer on his lip.

 

 

 

 

(Who is Paul Pierce?)

 

 

 

 

 

This multi-sport athlete could have become a jock snob once accolades came his way, but fortunately for him, he also knows humility.

 

 

 

(Who is Bo Jackson?)

 

 

 

 

 

 

This basketball virtuoso-turned-managerial failure makes no secret about his lust for Japanese women.  In fact, there are few things he prefers more than the company of what he calls "a hot sashimi".

 

 

 

(Who is Isiah Thomas?)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Though he started out with dreams of becoming a wacky prop comic, this zany tyke grew into hockey's greatest player.

 

 

 

 

(Who is Wayne Gretzky?)

 

 

 

 

 

 

The final clue that this tennis star had a feminine hygiene problem was delivered via a sharp aroma.

 

 

 

 

 

(Who is Maria Sharapova?)

 

 

 

 

 

 

This high-flying NBA star despises cold weather because, like most black people, his body contains a hypersensitive arctic nerve.

 

 

 

(Who is Vince Carter?)

 

 

 

 

 

 

When this patient's first groggy words following gastric bypass surgery were "I wish cereal", doctors knew his prognosis for a full recovery was excellent.

         

 

 

 

(Who is Charlie Weis?)

 

 

 

 

 

Although this renowned choke artist is a perpetual bridesmaid on the golf course, his phonemic skills make him the envy of his PGA peers during their frequent clubhouse discussions of cultural linguistic tendencies.

 

 

 

(Who is Phil Mickelson?)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Incessantly annoying, yet secretly perverted, this announcer refers to the doctor who cares for his cat as "a vet I'd lick" (baby!).

 

 

 

 

(Who is Dick Vitale?)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It would have been a wiser call for this former sprinter to refrain from singing our national anthem.

 

 

 

 

 

(Who is Carl Lewis?)

 

Copyright 2007, Aidan Acuff, "The Sports Intellectual"  

Me Chinese, me play joke.  Me go pee-pee in your coke!

 

Confucius Say...

 

 

 

 

...Boxer who drink too much hairy buffalo become punch drunk.

 

 

 

...Only spike volleyball player who eat too many cheeseburgers will see is in his blood pressure.

 

 

 

...Siamese twin baseball player already have 4 balls before pitch is thrown.

 

 

 

...NBA referee situation smell worse than month-old sushi.

 

 

  

...Performance of Tampa Bay Devil Rays harder to endure than song by Fergie.

 

 

 

...Moves of Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders like beverages habitually consumed by Lindsay Lohan- intoxicating.

 

 

  

...Career of Michael Vick like Lindsay Lohan on a Monday afternoon- wasted.

 

 

 

...Apology from Michael Vick like fortune cookie- hollow, and possessing very little taste.

 

 

 

...Hype surrounding David Beckham like sexual performance of Asian man- premature and anticlimactic.

 

 

 

...Children seen, but not heard.  Feet of Charlie Weis heard, but not seen.

 

 

 

...Man who watch college football today watch NFL football tomorrow.

 

 

  

...Even one drop at a time, tears of Dick Vermeil will eventually wash away mountain.

 

 

 

...Home run record of Barry Bonds like Japanese in World War II- fueled by inferiority complex (and testosterone), but soon to be beaten down by competitor with superior skills.

 

 

 

...Underperforming coach like question from person speaking lazy English- axed.

 

 

 

...Posse of professional athlete like Rush Limbaugh- loud and misguided.

 

 

 

...Loser of mixed martial arts fight like product from Auntie Anne's- bent into pretzel and salty.

 

 

 

...Hung-over basketball player who smash alarm clock is buzzer-beater.

 

 

 

...Man who wear dress while running 5K is drag racer.

 

 

 

...Clone of NBA finals MVP is parallel Parker.

 

 

 

...Wedgie in buttcrack of Patriots quarterback is Brady bunch.

 

 

 

... Texas baseball player who enjoy ham is rump Ranger.

 

 

 

...Pittsburgh baseball player who make excuses is "but" Pirate.

 

Copyright 2007, Aidan Acuff, "The Sports Intellectual"

I'm black and curvaceous and smooth to the touch.  But then again, all the good ones are, aren't they?  I'll give you a wild ride if that's what you're looking for, but don't assume anything- my standards are high.  If you don't put the right moves on me, you'll be kicked to the curb.

 

 

 

I am a hairpin turn.

 

 

 

 

 

 

A lot of guys have a problem with commitment, but not you.  I hope you don't get cold feet, because we're going to be together for a long, long time.

 

 

I am a season ticket.

 

 

 

 

 

Well, this is an unexpected surprise!  I knew he wanted me, but you too?  Then it's settled.  Let's have a hot, sweaty threesome, right here, right now.

 

 

I am a basketball player being double-teamed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Please don't judge me.  I was young when I got into the industry and I really needed the money.  I never would have figured that someday I'd be filmed getting simultaneously nailed from the front and the rear in a massive gang bang.  I guess life's kind of funny that way.  At least my parents have come to terms with it.

 

 

 

I am a NASCAR driver in a multi-car collision.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Don't think I don't know what's going on here.  The roving eyes, the secret phone calls... You're dumping me for someone younger and more attractive, aren't you?

 

 

I am an aging veteran.

 

 

 

 

 

It's tough being me.  I try to fit in, but no one takes me seriously.  I mean, I may look the part because of the way they dress me up, but it's all a bluff.  I don't belong here.

 

 

I am televised poker on a sports channel.

 

 

 

 

 

How can you do this to me?  Don't you remember that day when we stood side-by-side before the eyes of the world and you said "I do?"  Didn't that mean anything to you?  Well, it did to me, and if you want to get rid of me now, it's going to cost you.

 

 

I am a 1st-round draft pick who turned out to be a bust.

 

 

 

 

 

Come over here and sit on the seat next to me.  Does it make you uncomfortable?  Is that a bead of sweat I see?  You might think I'm a little freaky, but what can I say?  I like it hot.

 

 

 

I am a coach whose job is in jeopardy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I'm really not upset, because this is just how relationships go in a community of men:  We hooked up, I gave him a reach-around, and he squirted his load.  Now he wants nothing to do with me.

 

 

I am a cornerback who just stripped the football from a receiver.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I have no shame.  I will expose myself right in front of you (and thousands of others).  And somehow you'll still miss me- which is quite odd considering the fact that I'm exceptionally well-hung.

 

 

 

I am a curve ball.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I know how attractive I must look to you right now, but do you have any idea how many guys have walked in here before and tried to pick me up?  What makes you think you're any different?

 

 

 

I am a 7-10 split.

 

 

 

 

 

 

You're grown men, for God's sake!  If you think this is making you more attractive to me, you're dead wrong.  I swear, I'll never understand why you think fighting is the way to solve everything.  One thing's for sure, though:  I'm not getting in the middle!

 

 

 

I am a referee at a Sumo wrestling match.

 

 

 

 

Copyright 2007, Aidan Acuff, "The Sports Intellectual"