Monday Morning Brain Fart - 12/14: Introducing the Fapster

Hola chicos y chicas. Again I apologize for the delay, but the Brain Fart is here. At least in the meantime you got to watch some dude chug what looks like pig lard. Also, you may notice that I will now be naming my Monday Morning Brain Farts, so as you can see, this entry will introduce you to the Fapster. More on that in a bit.

We'll get the sports talk out of the way quickly, since everything has gone to shit for me lately. On Saturday night I went to the Rangers game at The Garden, which was only made tolerable by the fact that we were in a suite, enjoying beer and wings in comfort while watching the Blueshirts eat dog doo. They actually held a 2-1 lead in the first period, but of course they ended up blowing it and losing the game 3-2. A team that started the year 7-1 is now under .500. Pathetic! Marian Gaborik is the only player on the team who can score, the defense is mostly crap and King Henrik has been playing more like a pauper these days. Glen Sather needs to be fired. He must have nudies of James Dolan or something, because his absurd level of job security is ridiculous.

And then of course there are the Giants, a team that continues to prove to me that they are not a winning football team. They are absolutely incapable of making the plays that need to be made in order to win the game. In a game where Eli Manning played as good as you'll ever see, throwing for 391 yards and 3 touchdowns while leading the Giants to 38 points, they STILL lost. This defense cannot stop anyone, and it's never more apparent then when we play the Eagles, who own us the way we own the Cowgirls these days. We can't stop Donovan McNabb. We can't stop DeSean Jackson. We can't stop shit. Despite being down 30-17 because of a Brandon Jacobs fumble that Sheldon Brown returned for a touchdown and a Jackson punt return for a touchdown, the offense fought back to actually take a 31-30 lead... that we had for 15 seconds. It took ONE PLAY for the Eagles to score on a bomb to Jackson. ONE PLAY. This defense is embarrassing. It's appalling. It's just completely unbelievable that a team with the defensive history and tradition that the Giants have can be this bad. Bill Sheridan needs to go. Chris Canty and Rocky Bernard are absolute busts. We have no pass rush. We need more athletic linebackers. We need a cornerback that can hang with DeSean Jackson. We need better safeties. And this is just on the defensive side of the ball. Don't get me started on Kevin Gilbride's play-calling, the offensive-line, Mario Manningham, and the dropped passes. This team makes me want to jump off my balcony. And if the fall doesn't kill me, jump into the Hudson River so my skin melts off.

Among other things, NBC needs to stop doing those stupid little puff-pieces called, "Great Moments in Tailgate History." Basically, what happens is that a couple of time-travelers driving a Toyota pickup drive up to a football tailgate and see when the chicken wing was invented, of the foam finger, or whatever. The people who invent the particular item that the piece is about make a bad joke, then the assholes in the Toyota make a joke, then you cut your wrist because it is one of the least funny things you have ever seen. Stop it, NBC. Please.

While watching TV on Saturday, we came across a commercial for a thing called a Pajama-gram, which is basically giving your wife and/or girlfriend ("and" if you're Tiger Woods) pajamas that come in the mail with a little note. The whole commercial has these women trying on their comfy pajamas, and modeling them for their husbands/boyfriends who have these shit-eating grins on their faces. The narrator keeps saying how much your woman will love it, how comfortable they are, how sexy they are, blah blah blah. I didn't find anything too much sexy about it though, so I decided I would come up with some more appropriate slogans for the company:

"Pajama-Grams! So comfortable, your wife will go to sleep before she even thinks about giving you sex!"

"Pajama-Grams! Buy your wife something that leaves absolutely everything to the imagination!"

"Pajama-Grams! Hopefully your woman isn't superficial and doesn't mind that you're cheap!"

"Pajama-Grams! So comfortable, they make your wife dance awkwardly for you in the bedroom while you smile and cop wood! Don't count on her doing anything about it though. She's too comfortable!"

Got any other catchy slogans for the Pajama-Gram? Comment, or email them to me at jerseyisbest@gmail.com and I'll post them.

I was at a party on Saturday that was filled with many a New York City hipster. If you're unfamiliar with who exactly a hipster is, let me lay out for you the criteria a person needs to meet to become one:

1) You absolutely must listen to very obscure indie music. If your entire iTunes library contains any artist someone has heard of, you're not a true hipster.

2) You're pants have to be ridiculously tight. If your nuts are not showing through your jeans, you're not a hipster.

3) You own over 20 different beanies, and always have one of them on at any given time, regardless of current setting and/or dress code.

4) Your hair must be long and stringy. No hipster can be clean cut or have a thick, full-bodied coif.

5) Vintage clothing shops are your wet dream. You own a lot of cardigans, sweater vests, and regular tuxedo vests that you purchased from them.

6) You may work for a major corporation, but that's just a stop-gap to your dream of working for a non-profit and changing the world.

7) And last but not least, and I cannot stress this enough - you must, must, must be entirely too skinny. I'm talking heroine chic here. If you are above 3% body fat, you cannot be a hipster, no questions asked. Or at least I thought...

...until Saturday night, when I encountered the Fapster. The Fapster, or Fat Hipster, is a mythical creature, not unlike the unicorn. He is truly unique in his environment, and stands out from his hipster friends. I was truly amazed at what I saw. A hipster... that was obese! WHAT?!?!? This particular Fapster was of course wearing too-tight pants, which were quite unflattering, a striped shirt with a tuxedo vest, a beanie, and Chuck Taylor's. Classic hipster, nay... classic Fapster. And to put the icing on the cake, the Fapster I happened upon was absurdly annoying, to the point where I wanted to rip out his gross, stringy hair, light it on fire, and shove it straight up his ass. Avoid the Fapster at all costs. You've been warned.

Ugh. Another week of work. But at least it's already Tuesday!