Editor’s
retroactive notes:
2004…and
we’re still dealing with the LSU Computer Lab. Unbelievably more anachronistic,
the remainder of this vintage tome was typed up on a….wait for it….secondhand
Gateway 2000 running Windows ‘95! Around my third semester in college, it was
aggressively conveyed to me that I couldn’t actually LIVE in the computer lab.
In spite of my efforts to unassumingly wedge a cot underneath the particleboard
desks, the unceremonious Middleton staff happened to notice that a red-eyed scruffy
gentlemen emerged from the jungle of wires like clockwork every morning at
around 6:45. Shit. Perhaps the toothbrush, cardboard blanket, and portable
urinal/milk jug gave it away. Once my efforts to revive the “Antwon” character
from “In Living Color” met with stiff opposition, I wondered how I might
possibly afford a word-processing machine to accommodate my eccentric writing
habits. Enter my friend Michael Thyre, who generously donated his unwanted
garbage to me for a six-pack of beer and two measly hours of conversation about
the Franco Dictatorship. For this paltry fee I received a beige computer. Drink
that chromatic adjective in. A BEIGE computer. Yes, children. Once upon a time
your elders worked with machines that were neither slick nor black. The mouse
was a SEPARATE accessory. We had geometric screensavers. There was no such
thing as texting…..or sexting for that matter. The $1.00 that you refer to was
actually worth $0.98!! We walked to school! Fuck, we WALKED! We had to deal
without 500 Channels, the iPhone 4G, the iPad 2, Playstation 3, X-Box 360, and
HD-Radio! Damn you kids!
Thinking
back on this bizarre summer, the antiquated computer dominates the mind. Beige?
Beige? BEIGE?!?! For nearly a decade, Jobs decreed that the Macintosh be quirkily
white. In due course everyone came to their senses and realized that a black
computer would symbolize a bigger hard drive. When it comes to products, the
only secret to marketing revolves around the male crusade for a better-endowed
schlong. Anyone who has ever downloaded Internet porn must fight through a
veritable forest of “Are you satisfied with the size of your dick?” spam
emails. Although my words fall on deaf cookie-hacker ears, I’M QUITE SATISFIED!
LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE! What sort of dud combats writer’s block by looking up
porn and then decides on a whim, “You know what, I need some of those Cock
Steroids!” How many suckers are truly born every minute??!?!?
Whew!
Where were we? Oh right. T’was the Summer of 2004. America cared about all
sorts of useless shit. More importantly, I quit smoking for an entire three
weeks! Yeah! Once again your friendly bookie found himself alone and depressed.
His girlfriend ran away. His cat ran away. His cigarettes were unavailable. His
best friends were busy. His mother lost her mind. His father was in an aloof
mood. His “random hook ups” turned out to be cold fishes. His plants died
unexpectedly. Had he developed an affection for a misshapen fungus on a piece
of bread, it would have surely spontaneously combusted for no adequately
explored reason. Whisky and C-Span. C-Span and Whisky. Without warning, a
notion surfaces…….
Introduction
Hey mates,
They say that the years between 19 and 21 are the most
formative years in human development. The crystallization of the plastic mind
finally takes place, the chemistry finally settles down, and we Homo sapiens
determinately end our exotic “Particle Zoo” in favor of a patterned structure.
The W-Map data recently confirmed that the universe consolidated itself around
180.000 years after the Big Bang. Cosmically speaking, 21 years corresponds to
moment of human solidification. I wish to celebrate this anniversary with you,
every single one of you.
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
Beyond Michael Thyre, more international friends are need
of recognition. Thank you, Meera and Ashira, my two Indian beauties. Thanks to
Stephen, Katherine, Jenny and Teresa. You we’re my respective Chinese, Omani,
Irish, and Brazilian liaisons. Thanks to Jane, Jared, Kevin, Margaret, and Dr.
Lucas. Furthermore, Amy, Billy, Said, Farouq, Debroah, Jackson, Harold,
Loveness, Jimmy, Ebony, Mikael, Alan, Amanda, Tilo, Xiao, Patrick, Edward,
Frank, Judy, Jennifer, Fatouma, Sondra, Yvonne, Barbara, Thomas, Job, John. B,
John C., John H., Uwe, Alice, Natalie, Brandy, Kurt, Charlie, Fred, Don, DeRay,
Phil, Larry, Chris, and Brick deserve some gratitude. Thanks to all those in
the LSU Department of International Studies, whether you employed me or I
advised you. Might of forgotten a name or two hundred, but I still love you.
Onwards with the footballing…
An amazing tournament stands before us. The Portuguese have
pulled out all the stops to ensure that our entertainment experience is nothing
short of orgasmic. Sixteen European nations have been winnowed from a field of
fifty antiquated territories, principalities, and medieval realms that for some
reason still exist. Shall we survey the field?
Greece
It’s a blast from the past! Thought these antediluvian
ancients were finished? Au contraire, knaves! In addition to hosting the Summer
Olympics, the Hellenic Hell raisers shocked everyone on the football radar by
outperforming the Spanish in the Qualification Rounds with a diverse motley mix
of international stars. Coached by German legend Otto Rehhagel, this crew is
comprised of Benfica stalwart Takis Fyssas, Fiorentina anchor Zisis Vryzas,
Bolton midfielder Stelios Giannakopoulos, and Athletico Madrid’s superstar
forward Denis Nikolaidas. Not to self: Disable Spell Check for this section.
The usual smattering of Olympicacos and Panathanikos stars fill out a strong
roster. The Greeks look to turn a few heads…in the right direction…so as to
engage in some symptomatic ass fucking. Expect nothing less from a country that
once produced coins with holes in them. I’ll admit to being skeptical at first,
but researching this team was akin to walking by a Greek Restaurant. After
being aggressively approached by a uni-browed gentleman brandishing a menu in
my face….I decided that I was perhaps in the mood for some hummus after
all.
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
The yearning for a simpler time materializes; a time when
a return to the drachma wasn’t being debated; a time when I didn’t have to read
about write-down negotiations in the paper every day; a time when all one was
expected to write about Greece was a few gastrointestinal related jokes and
maybe an ∑ if inclination struck. If everyone could cease the fashionable
Greek-bashing I would be more than appreciative. Ponder this “knaves”: Were
Greece such an undesirable mess, why do the still need a protection barrier to
ward off desperate Turks? Let it go people. 150,000 Public Sector Jobs will be
lost, the private investors will take a 70 percent haircut, and the Euro Zone
will endure. Let’s all move on with our lives.
Portugal
Hosts with the most? Undeniably. Luis Figo and Rui Costa
return to carve up opposing defenses and define the midfield flow. Cuoto and
Rui Jorges are fortress defenders that will form a stronghold not easily
toppled. The attack consists of players at the unquestioned peak of their
ability: Simao and Nuno Gomez. Should they fail to produce, a wild card sits on
Luis Felipe Scolari’s bench: Young prodigy Christiano Ronaldo. Did I mention
that former Brazil manager Luis Felipe Scolari? How can one bet against last
tournament’s Maestro? He literally speaks their language! Should you wish to
elicit my pick to win it all, look no further than the Navigators. They shall
rock the coast, all the way from Porto to Faro. The hosts with the most coasts
shall roast and boast all over the……fuck. Ever hate it when you come up with
one rhyme too few?
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
Despite a breakout performance from Christiano Ronaldo,
my pick for the overall winner fell flat for a second consecutive Sportsbook.
At least this time we got out of the group stage. J
Russia
The pesky little scrappers are back. Following a spurious
victory over the Welsh during the qualifying playoffs stage, this ragtag group
of CSKA Moscow mediocrity graces us with their presence. Personally, I believe
that any elimination of U.K. Country using apocryphal methods constitutes
karmic suicide. I anticipate very little out of this squad other than a
potato-flavored belch.
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
The Karmic Curse of Unsubstantiated U.K. elimination
during the qualifying playoff stages continues to hold. Just look at the French
in 2010. Eh? We have a complimentary concept to keep the “EU-Wing Theory”
company J
Merely have to conjure up a name that academia will find more suitable. Ah
hell. “The Karmic Curse of Unsubstantiated U.K. Elimination” sounds nebulous
enough.
Spain
La Roja are stacked…again. What a pity that they find themselves inauspiciously stuck in this particular tournament’s “Group of Death”. Whether or not they can best the Greeks hinges on Barca’s Xavi and Madrid’s Raul. Like the Portuguese, the Spanish possess a young phenom who might prove the Wild Card. Athletico’s Fernando Torres must conclusively prove his preparedness for prime time. The simple thought of the pressure on the shoulders of these young strikers makes me want to curl up in the fetal position and silently weep for the parents who long ago left me. It’s shit or get off the pot time for one these greenhorns. Man am I glad I’m only taking one class this summer. I can comfortably overachieve. One of these two will have to do so in the most agonizing of fashions.
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
History records that Ronaldo won the day, leading his
team all the way to the finals. Torres ended up being a player with startlingly
poor endurance skills. Spare your sympathy for his shortcomings, however, as he
has banked quite a bit of cash from Liverpool and Chelsea along with a
continental and world championship for his country. Role players occasionally
prove more crucial than Wunderkinds. How I neglected to mention Puyol, Albeda,
Morientes, and Casillas…shows you how much I knew.
Croatia
The Blazers are back! They batted the Slovenes away with all
the ease that you smash a housefly. Since their inception in 1990, this former
Yugoslav republic has only missed one major international football tournament.
After slashing their former compatriots to collect their spot, forecasts for
this vapid assemblage of older German Bundesliga players are tempered and dim.
After parading their tablecloth kits around for three matches, it’ll be back to
the Zagreb airport.
England
My right honorable friends have pieced together the strongest squad since 1996. As inconvenient as it may be to fathom, the kingdom where the sport was invented has NEVER won a European Championship. Infinitely more embarrassing, the “Heroes in Grey Shirts” haven’t shaken a cup of any sort since their World Championship in 1966. U.S. Readers will comprehend this more readily should I dub England “The Cleveland of Europe”. The weather, the food, the culture, and the sports scene all make you want to down a bottle of Oxycontin and embrace the end. Were Harvey Pekar a Brit, he would undoubtedly be English.
Can this team reverse the jinx? To begin with, don’t let
mere international name recognition fool you. Beckham is past his prime, offloaded
to Real Madrid like a used car whose Blue Book Value is depreciating so
precipitously that the countdown to cash-in ticks more rapidly than a
middle-aged woman’s biological clock. Ditto goes for his former Manchester
United teammate Paul Scholes. Both are withering on the vine and can only hope
for set-piece contributions. The requisite dynamism needed to advance deep into
this tournament rests on the younger legs of the Liverpool tandem Steven
Gerrard and Michael Owen. Birmingham City Striker Emile Heskey will find
himself on the end of their frozen ropes and must finish with flair. Should
everyone pitch in, everything may well fall into place for the “Three Lions”.
Don’t bet on it, through. Better to settle down with a pint and prepare
yourself mentally to watch England get the piss knocked out of it in another
game it invented: Cricket. Bloody hell. The sun sets on us yet a’gain!
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
Yawn. This kid could stand to write with more intrigue.
Nearly fell asleep skimming through that last section. Unmentioned for the
perfectly acceptable reason that no one saw him coming was a fresh, ebullient,
and already balding eighteen-year-old firecracker by the name of Wayne Rooney.
He exploded onto the scene in this tournament, securing himself a £ 90,000 per
week paycheck from Manchester United based on his performance. Once one factors
in advertising and bonuses, he now pulls in about £ 250,000 per week
(approximately $397,000) or enough to have Enzo ship you a different colored
Ferrari every seven days and still have enough left over to double your money
in interest. Tired of racing red? There’s a muscatel-ish hue that might placate
your tired eyes for a little while. Diamond-encrusted hair plugs, Mr. Rooney?
Right away!
France
Following the 2002 debacle, the revamped Froggies sport a new vibe and a new coach. Quite a bit of elation surrounds former Olympic Lyon front man Jacques Santini, who built a perennial Ligue 2 straddler into the modern Leviathan that it is today. Nevertheless, after a robust qualifying campaign Santini appears to be flaking out. Suffering from undisclosed “personal problems” he has delegated much of the managerial responsibilities to an unknown Pollack. Rumor has it he is a darkly disturbed Frenchmen who suffers from virulent mood swings and bouts of extreme depression. His main surrogate is a Pole. Imagine that. Placing a football organization in the hands of someone from Poland appears as deft as appointing a cross-eyed lemming to run a Fortune 500 company. Trust in the defending European and Confed Cup Champions eludes me, especially considering the bang-up job they did defending their last crown.
One French manager who will never descend into a dark mood
and meekly surrender is Arsenal’s Arsene Wegner. He grooms French talent better
than a muff comber in a Parisian brothel. He sends four starters to this
national squad, including both center-forward strikers Thierry Henry and
Sylvain Wiltord. Midfielder Patrick Viera plays in as good a form as any possession
general in Europe. Sydney Govou and David Trezuguet give the French more depth
at striker than any other team while fullbacks William Gallas and Mikaël
Silvestre are solid defenders with frightening offensive potential.
One could back such a plethora of talent without the
slightest hesitation were it not for the brooding, unstable, and highly
unpredictable attitude that once again pervades this team’s scaffolding. Two
years ago we were bombarded with stories of internal strife among the players,
the dismissive bias of the French political class, and endless drama among the
management tiers of the FFF. Now the trainer appears to be in the midst of some
sort of manic breakdown and the team is suddenly stuck in neutral, being pushed
into a ditch by a bumbling Pollack. Yikes! One can always rely on ze French to
make matters entirely too complicated. Much like me when I sit down to write an
academic paper, neither of us can seem to see the forest for the trees. Looks
to be another cruel summer for all us. We’ve got “Les Bleus”…bom….bom…bom….bom.
LLL
Editor’s retroactive notes:
(!!) I gleefully retract the statement from my previous
notes. This kid obviously had some insight. “Forest for the trees” Welcome to
my world. Eight years on, ze French still haven’t gotten their act together and
I am earnestly contemplating getting the “Keep it simple, Stupid” mantra
tattooed in all caps across my forehead. Oh yes. As Talleyrand would say, “Plus
ça change, plus c'est la même chose.”. Maybe it was Karr who said it first. Oh
fuck it. Who cares?
Switzerland
Question: And where are the Irish this go-around?
Answer: They got shoved down a snow-capped mountain by a
bunch of Lederhosen-clad, goat tending, cheese-fermenting, dirty-money-hoarding
goofballs.
We-go-blah. (Alpenhorn blows) WE-GO-BLAH! Fuck. I hate these
alpine assholes, speakers of a German dialect so diabolically maligned that I
wish to reach inside their foul smelling mouths, grab their imbecilic tongues,
and screech lessons in vowel pronunciation before knocking every last one of
their teeth out. The Swiss arrive for just their second European Championship
appearance ever. Insofar as I’m concerned they can’t depart soon enough. My
personal experiences wasting exorbitant amounts of money traveling in Switzerland
certainly play a role in my intractable hatred of this useless microstate.
More broadly, who the hell wants to watch a patchwork group
of extra-mechanical Germans, extra-Lazy French, and
extra-incompetent-aggravating-dumb-painfully ugly Italians scamper around the
pitch? For Chrissake, how do you take the rural hillbillies of three separate
ethnicities and call it a country? That’s not fucked up enough for you? How
about we throw in some small communities of inbred ogres who have been speaking
Vulgar Latin and fucking their cousins since the first century BCE? Yes, we’ll
call it Switzerland! A nation of outcasts living on unconquerable terrain where
every nation can stash their bloody spoils of war! Have I mentioned that these
trolls purport to claim racial superiority as well? Piss on these revoltingly
arrogant puffs of cow flatulence!
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
And a young writer finds his voice…through a hate-laced
diatribe punctuated by a bovine fart joke. This will be immortally etched in
stone at Oxford someday.
Bulgaria
“Balkan Buddies” is not only the name of a short-lived laugh-track sitcom; it is also the moniker I choose to ascribe to my new NATO mates and soon to be EU Brethren. The Bulgarians out muscled both the Croats and the Belgiums during the qualifying stage, in large part due to the stunning play of Bayer Leverkusen striker Dimitar Berbatov. Occupying the pitch alongside him is an intriguing mix of professionals from the domestic, German, Russian, Ukrainian, Greek, Turkish, Scottish, and even Chinese league. Diversity doesn’t always equal success on the pitch as these players may exhibit some awkwardness as they try to mesh.
Hard to know what to expect from anything emanating from
Sofia. The country itself has only qualified for the tournament once before,
exiting in the group stage with scarcely a whimper. On the other hand, true
aficionados may recall that the Bulgarians placed FOURTH at the 1994 World Cup
Finals in the States. Whatever these Slavic-Greek hybrids may produce, I’m
eager to dissect it.
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
We’ve not seen them since, nor are we likely to anytime
soon. They get trounced every qualifying round and cycle through coaches the
way Japan swaps Prime Ministers. Bolton’s Martin Petrov has replaced Berbatov
as the one superstar surrounded by a bunch of who-the-fuck-ever-a-kovs. Such a
shame to witness the newest EU Member routinely serve as the doormat to
countries that aren’t even in Europe. Hmmm…
Denmark
The newly re-christened “Olsen’s Eleven” return, younger and faster than last time. Old man Morton now has three top-flight strikers and two lighting quick midfielders known for their flank prowess at his disposal. All indications are that he’ll play a 4-3-3, with Thomason as the center forward, with Jorgensen and Gronkar backing up Rommedahl and Madsen on the respective wings. The Danes won this tournament back in 1992 and will surely emerge from a weak group with all the confidence that comes from being shot out of a cannon. While their World Cup Qualification has been spotty, this year they mark their sixth consecutive Euro Appearance. Don’t underestimate the “flaccid peninsulars”. Even a limp Johnson can get the job done when it finds itself in familiar territory.
Italy
Forza Italia! Maestro Giovanni Trapatonni (German name Graf -- Spumonti von Flasche Leer) has assembled another homogeneous squad consisting entirely of top wops from the Top Wop League. Alessandro del Piero returns after a spectacular season for Juventus. Roma’s Francesco Totti underwent quite a bit of maturing in the two-year interval and now finds himself at the top of his game. Ever the opportunists, the deviant little Dagoes have even plied a dual Argentine-Italian citizen named Mauro Cameronesi away from the legendary blue and white stripes to play for the Azzurri. As a dual citizen myself, I empathize with Cameronesi. Germany and the United States continue to wage a rather brutal bidding war for the privilege of being the country to reject my services.
Other new faces include the promising young forward Antonio
Cassano, the former U-21 Andrea Pirlo and the aptly named all purpose man
Matteo Ferrari. With a full two-thirds of the pitch run by rolling Lamborghini
players in the “sweet spot” of 23-29 age range, what weaknesses do we identify?
The ancient Fiats in charge of the rear. Fabio Cannavaro and Christian Pannucci
have has sluggish seasons and were mostly retained for legacy’s sake. Same
applies to Alessandro Nesta, likely to lose his place to the upstart Gianluca
Zambrotta.
As much I love to lampoon the Wops, they host the second
best league in Europe and a Marianas Depth Talent Pool from which to draw
from. They’ve won three World
Championships and were runners up in this tournament back in 2000. Three world
championships and they never even managed to keep a functional democratic
coalition government in place for over three years! The dichotomy of these
people revolves around their proclivity to take leisure seriously and
everything else leisurely. I’ll pick them to grease their way to the
semi-finals.
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
Take a moment to reflect how obscure a Fiat reference was
back in 2004. Back then the only ones referencing Fiats were the Car Talk
brothers. After Daimler filed for divorce from Chrysler in 2007, the broken and
dejected U.S. Car Firm went to the online dating service known as the United
States Taxpayer and re-married a fat gnome named Fiat. The Italian equivalent
of Peugeot made its triumphant return the U.S. Market in 2011 via the gyrating
ministrations of an aging J-Lo. So nice to observe when two useless flabby
dwarfs find one another and put on a ridiculously ostentatious display. I
haven’t been this moved since the little people hug at the end of “Willow”.
This
individual write-up counts as the least acerbic and spiteful piece of venom
I’ve ever composed on the Italians. As I recall it was late one Thursday
afternoon and I was sitting at my desk in my apartment trying to bang out some
content after a long day at work. The Hate Circuits simply wouldn’t light up. I
stared at my dead plants for a spell. Nothing. Tried looking out the window,
toward the edge of the parking lot where my cat used to play. No dice, Vice. I
took a long pull off my flask. Surely the bite of cheap Whisky pummeling down
my esophagus would trigger some meanness. I remained serenely calm and relaxed.
I toyed with the idea of calling up my mother and instigating a fight. It
seemed like an awfully uncalled-for means of generating some inspiration. In the
final analysis I settled for a weak play on words so banally prosaic that only
a 21-year-old could have written it and judged it acceptable Blah.
Sweden
The Swedes qualified out of the Creampuff division and now must pay the price. After beating down Latvia, Hungary, Poland and San Marino, the Swedes must fend off both Danes and the Wops in order to advance. No one of note on this squad other than Arsenal’s Freddie Ljunberg. The Swedes continue to experiment with a wildly kinky head coaching arrangement. Two men, Tommy Söderberg and Lars Lägerbeck, direct the team via consensus. They can be seen on the sidelines whispering and conferring. Presumably they also shower together and ride a two-seated bicycle. Admittedly, two men should be capable of getting more done than a mixed pair, but how can one have two leaders? Such a setup seems as redundantly pointless as a hand job. Why have someone else assist you with something that can easily and probably superiorly be done solo?
Czech Republic
Don’t laugh. The Prague Princes have qualified for their third straight European Championship. All the football talent was obviously on the eastern half of this fractured country, together with the most modern Ice Hockey rinks. They outclassed the mighty Dutch in the qualifying stage. Czech talent includes Liverpool’s’ Boy Wonder Milan Barros, Borussia Dortmund’s Thomas Roscicky, Udinese’s Marek Jankulovski, and Kaiserslauten’s Vlatislav Lokvenc. No, I did not just decide to get drunk and play with random consonants. Bettors consider this team the Dark House. I’m personally shaking in my cropped leather boots. Pavel Nedved seems to be as ageless as the cougar you wake up beside and only looks less hot by a factor of two. The Germans will not be able to steamroll through this group.
So every U.S. Slacker has his Prague Story. Here’s mine.
After I was exceedingly rude to my girlfriend, she stomped off and I had to
spend an entire sultry night fending off prostitutes to find her. I eventually
gave up around 3:30 a.m. and then had two spend another four hours getting
directions from desperate prostitutes who spoke broken German to find my way
back to the Hostel at Nadrazi Holzschwite. Here were some of the highlights of
a hellish night’s dialogue:
Prostitute #43: Sex?
Peter: No.
Prostitute #43: Sex?
Peter: No.
Prostitute #43: SEX?
Peter: NOOOO.
Prostitute #43: SEX?
Peter: NOOOO.
Prostitute #43: SEXY TIME?
Peter: NEIN!
Prostitute #43: SEX YES?
Peter: NYET!!
Prostitute #43: SEXY SEXY GOOD TIME?
Peter: Look, I’ve no desire to have exchange fluids with a
disease-ridden bag of bones! I’m looking for my girlfriend. Get you’re filthy
hands off of me. I don’t want to fucking touch you!
Prostitute #43: (makes sad face) (pauses) ….Blow Job?
Peter: Können Sie Deutsch?
Prostitute #52: No.
Peter: Ahh.Do you speak English?
Prostitute #52: A little.
Peter: Good. I’m looking for my girlfriend. Chubby chick.
Candy Apple Red Hair. Have you seen her?
Prostitute #52: I understand. You want sex?
Peter: No…no…no. Look. Let me explain in simpler language.
Big girl (hands extended). Red Hair (pointing to head). Walk by here?
(pantomime walking gesture)
Prostitute #52: I understand. Discothèque and then sex?
Peter: No. No. NO! Have you (pointing at prostitute) seen
(pointing at eyes) fat girl (flexing)?
Prostitute #52: (quizzical expression) Sex then Discothèque?
Peter: Look, I’m sorry I bothered you. Have a nice night.
(walking away)
Prostitute #52: NO SEX?
Peter: No Sex! Thank you!
Prostitute #52: WHY NO SEX?
Peter: No Sex! Thank you!
Prostitute #52: I think sex.
Peter: Sorry!
Prostitute #126: (grabs Peter’s hand, proceeds to start
prancing around, giving him the most flirtatious eyes he’s ever seen, and
coquettishly murmuring something in Czech into his right ear.)
Peter: Look, I’m flattered and everything, but I don’t have
any money or condoms.
Prostitute #126: (grabs Peter’s torso, rearranges Peter’s
right hands so that it’s wrapped around her backside, arcs he back so that the
two are intertwined like the cover of a Wal-Mart Romance novel, places her head
in Peter’s left hand and gazes upon him with the full brunt of her gorgeous
emerald green eyes and obsequiously curls her lips.) “Please…..fuck me.”
Peter: Er…wow. Stunning technique there my love. You seem to
know precisely what men want. I’m sure you’ll find another customer in no time.
Prostitute #126: (draws her face nearer to Peter’s. Turns on
the obsequiousness to insane levels) “Please…fuck…me”
Peter: (coughs) Er…the socioeconomic situation here must be
pretty despondent. I mean.... McDonald’s isn't hiring? I saw one down the
street there. Free Happy Meals!
Prostitute
#126: (gives Peter the sloppiest most intimate kiss you can imagine)
“Please…fuck…me”.
Peter: (waits a full three seconds before forcibly
disengaging). The thing is I really need to go. (walks away)
Prostitute #126: YOU STUPID!
Peter: (stops dead in his tracks, pauses) Yes…I know. (walks
away)
What’s your Prague Story? Submit away and I’ll give my
favorite a $15 betting credit!
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
Care to know what I regret? The whole notion of a betting
credit never really caught on. I thought it would be a fantastic way to
encourage syndicate members to flex a bit of creative muscle at my expense. For
reasons I still cannot grasp, people would rather give me their money outright
than spend fifteen minutes exercising their wit get paid at a rate of a dollar
a minute. I continued to implore members to take advantage of the betting
credit challenge throughout this tournament and the next two. Finally, due to
general lack of interest, it had to be scrapped. Damn you, you apathetic
fuckers! Now I know how Prostitute #126 felt. I’m throwing myself at you,
offering you a chance to fuck me for practically nothing! YOU STUPID!
Deutschland
Dark days in the Vaterland, where Agenda 2010 has everyone including my elderly father on edge. Higher retirement ages, reduced pensions, slashed unemployment benefits, and the introduction of university fees means the rather unfortunate end of a generous welfare state with a level playing field. Schröder’s on his last legs and I can’t blame the whole nation for sinking into a forlorn sense of frustration.
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
Holy fucking shit! Sorry, Vice of 2004, for rather
discourteously intruding upon my own section, but I can hardly believe what I
just read. We’ve all just witnesses a German bitching about long-term austerity
measures BACK IN 2004! Schröder suddenly looks like a genius. The German
Welfare State, long a source of civic pride among all citizens, was rather
controversially scaled back some eight years ago in anticipation of the
sustainability issues raised by EU Integration and the increasingly competitive
global marketplace. EIGHT FUCKING YEARS AGO BY A LEFTIST COALITION DURING TIMES
OF ECONOMIC PROSPERITY!! Prior to the Rot-Grün reforms, unemployment benefits
always matched previous wages, one could go to school indefinitely on the State
Dime, and the Labor Union Corporate/State Divide was unbreachable. Sure the
Krauts got wistfully melancholic and hung their heads low for an extended
period of time. We do that quite well.
Eventually, however, we got back to work. The reduced
pensions and unemployment benefits did not produce the economic malaise
predicted by the Cassandras. An increase in the retirement age from 65 to 67
bred teeth gnashing all around, but why not? What else can a German do except
work? Eat and watch “Tatort”? Hell with that! Other nations may allow
retirement at 50, but then you’ll likely be dead of Type 2 Diabetes-induced
stroke within five years. The University reforms provided an apt opportunity to
experiment with different alterations to the higher education structure.
In most cases, the tuition fees were ultimately scrapped.
True, the prevailing solution was to place a greater workload on the students,
in many cases an unfair and unmanageable one that dilutes the overall quality
of the education and value of the degree….but that’s simply what overrated
graduate programs do in the States..and they charge you $20,000 a semester for
it. Unions, States, and Corporation worked together in the spirit of so-called
“Mitbestimmung” and devised many creative ways to reduce employer burden while
not adversely affecting employee’s standard of living. Furloughs, Alternative
Benefit Packages, and Needs Allowances were all fruits of this partnership
Now fully imbued with unbridled patriotism, I’ve one or
two things to say. Austerity can be successfully implemented provided one does
so with foresight, flexibility, and compromise. Naturally, it also helps to
pick a moment when the entire world economy isn’t a bad quarter away from
capsizing again. To my Feta-munching friends, sorry life sucks but you didn’t
have to wait until well after the absolute last moment to get your shit in
order. Next time you burn my flag at my embassy, we’ve serious problems. That
being said, enough from the Right in this country about the perils of European
Socialism as evidenced by Greece.
Try looking at Europe’s more robust economies for tips on
how to craft a better society. The ones that have lower unemployment rates,
healthier manufacturing sectors, more efficient public services, and happier
citizens. They happen to be capitalists too, more effective capitalists. No, I
don’t give a shit what your parents told you or what you managed to learn the
three times you actually attended your “Introduction to Political Science”
lecture at Arizona State. If you’re one of those who use the rhetorical device
“The Slippery Slope to European Socialism” you deserve to know point blank that
you’re a goddamn idiot.
Oh well. Football’s here now. We shall cease immersing
ourselves in sorrow and proceed to immerse ourselves in the new-look
Mannschaft. Germans managers feel the heat. Make the semi-finals or you’re
toast. A tremendous amount of attention is paid to the latest form of players
and every tournament yields plenty of fresh faces. We’ve got an entire new
defensive corps. Linke and Rehmer have been dropped and Ziege has lost his
starting place. Youngsters Hinkel, Friedrich, and Lahm are ready to step up.
Some veterans left off the 2002 team include Jens Nowotny and Christian Wörns,
who forced themselves back onto the squad after strong seasons for their
respective German clubs.
The two standout players from the World Cup are back and in
great form: Werder Bremen’s Miroslav Klose and Bayern’s big contract boy
Michael Ballack. Fabian Ernst, Berndt Schneider, Dieter Haman, Jens Jeremies
and sweeper substitute Sebastian Kehl are back to run the Midfield, now joined
by some promising young talent from the U-21 team. Bayern’s own little prodigy,
nineteen-year-old Bastian Schweinsteiger not only bears one of the coolest
stereotypical German names ever, he’s tapped to be the biggest stereotypically
named German talent since Franz Beckenbauer.
Twenty-two year old German-Hungarian-Panamanian-Brazilian
striker Kevin Kuranyi plays with all the reckless abandon you’d expect from
someone with four listed ethnicities. Nineteen-year-old Lucas Podolski crossed
over from Poland to Köln and we’re grateful to have his powerful boot on our
side. The Mannschaft retains the greatest keeper in the world between the
pipes. Bring it on, Europa!
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
Christ this team turned out to be a disaster. At that time
I thought the Bundesliga was the third best league in Europe. It may very well
have been, but time has gradually forced me to accept that our domestic league
is certainly no higher than fourth. An appallingly poor selection of players
from Rudi Voeller. He was even worse in selecting his lineups. Wörns and
Nowotny challenged as if they were French. Lehman should have started in place
of the flailing Kahn. No noise from the youngsters in this tournament.
Schweinsteiger and Podolski would eventually realize their promise. Kuranyi was
dropped and called back up to the squad somewhere in the neighborhood of 4,723
times over the next four years. Never seen a player exhibit erratic shifts in
form like him.
Netherlands
“Clockwork Orange” returns! Grab some milk and crank up the Ludwig Van! Their qualification was in doubt right up until they clobbered the Scottish, sparking the latest Glasgow riots. If you like the Aristocratic Flemish nobility designation “van”, you’re in for a treat. There are six of them! The most noteworthy is Manchester United Striker Rud van Nistelroy, sure to rack up at least a goal or two. How about some triple-vowled names? Van Nistelroy’s forward partner is Bayern Munich’s Roy Makaay. Craving something more colonial? Legendary Glasgow Rangers defender Frank de Boer was coaxed out of retirement to remind everyone of Apartheid’s long dark shadow.
Welcome back my beloved “goofy” Germans. Oh how I’ve missed
you so.
Latvia
Let’s see……Latvia…. So much I want to tell you about Latvia. So many interesting facts about Latvia…..which I will now tell you….because I’m sure you want to know all about Latvia…and the Latvian football team….which also comes with facts attached…which you also want to know..zzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Alright. I harbor no illusions about people actually reading this portion of the e-mail. I know that all of you are scrolling down waiting for me to get to the lines. I’ve absolutely nothing to say about Latvia because I don’t know anything about Latvia. I know the team will lose three straight games and go home. The end.
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
Bwahahahahahaha. That sounded suspiciously like Herman
Cain on Libya. Let’s see if I’ve accrued any knowledge about Latvia over the
past eight years. Ahem. Freestyle time: The former SSR Latvia was admitted to
the EU in 2004 along with Estonia and Lithuania. The country was given Schengen
status in 2007…or was it 2008? Latvia weathered the contagion of the Great
Recession reasonably well and will soon join the common currency..assuming the
Euro is still around by the time I’m finished writing this sentence. What
fascinates me most about Latvian politics is……..zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…
