Nick Bennett - shortly before realizing that he is the only one out of his roommates who would buy Top Ramen.
“It’s a sport. It just happens to involve alcohol. People are not playing the game to get drunk but because they love the challenge of throwing a table-tennis ball into a cup with some type of liquid in it.”
This is what Billy Gaines, co-founder of the World Series of Bear Pong said in this weeks Time Magazine.
I feel the need to break this quote down here. First off, beer pong is not a sport. It’s a game. Sports involve sweating and actual achievements. Let’s be honest, the only time that you sweat while playing beer pong is when you’ve had too much to drink.
You know the feeling, where it feels like you might burp and at the same time might not, you’ve suddenly sobered up a little, your mouth keeps salivating, your hands get all clammy, you’ve heard three or four people ask if you’re all right while you’re forehead glistens in the dim bar bathroom lights with perspiration. This is shortly followed by vomiting, finding your face pressed up against a toilet and lengthy declarations about how your never going to drink again.
Second, people are playing this game to get drunk otherwise they wouldn’t be using booze. I’ve never seen anyone substitute beer with Dr. Pepper at a frat party and still decided to play. I have, however, seen someone substitute in Jack Daniels and later have his stomach pumped by paramedics.
Finally, the “challenge” of tossing a ping-pong ball into a plastic cup? Really? You’re going to call that a challenge? These are the future athletes of America here, representing our country in the 2012 Olympics in London, the US Jim Beam Team.
This is one example of a noticeable rise in the trend of people calling stupid things sports. For example:
Horse shoe tossing. This is really only the teenagers’ version of shuffleboard.
Poker. This is actually shown regularly on ESPN and has a considerable fan base.
Darts. If this is a sport then every drunk, fat barfly in the world is an athlete.
Cup Stacking. Do I even need to make an argument about this?
RC Racing. I just *sobbing* I can’t do it anymore.
Basketball, soccer, football, baseball, swimming, boxing, cycling. These are sports. I’ll even consider bowling and synchronized swimming a sport before I’d ever consider a pro-cup stacker an athlete.
People with nicknames like Goober and Chewy play these things in frat houses while they practice secret handshakes and give each other high fives.
Seriously, as far as comedy goes, the Marx Brothers are just swell. They take the cake. They put their best foot forward. They’re a motley crew. The elephant in the room, if you will.
Sorry, I just found out about phrases.org.
I came across an interesting press release yesterday while at the office of the Independent in East Hampton. Nothing earth shattering mind you, just something that I had a difficult time wrapping my brain around. One of our advertisers is hosting an Antique and Design Show in Bridgehampton this weekend. For those of you who are not versed in Hampton’s lingo, that roughly translates into “We’re throwing a better yard sale than you ever will.”
And that is exactly what this was going to be. A yard sale full of used trinkets and other peoples garbage all priced around my monthly income. But that’s normal. I am constantly overwhelmed by things that I need to have but need to wait a month or two before I can afford to buy it. I live in the Hampton’s. So an overpriced yard sale is pretty much commonplace.
What really twisted my titty was the promoters’ main selling point. This is going to be a “green” event. How is it “green”? No new products are being made for this. That translates into “I’m tired of owning this diamond broach”; or “I just bought a new Louis Vuitton travel set, I don’t need the set I used on my last vacation” in the East Hampton dialect.
Do you think that I can call my Yard Sale “green” too or do I have to carry used Louis Vuitton bags and half empty (full?) bottles of Chanel perfume to do it?
The only reason this is considered “green” is because no one bought anything new to sell. Everything is used.
And that’s what really twists my titty.
Brett Favre is coming to New York. Late this Wednesday night Green Bay announced that their star quarterback will not be playing with them this upcoming season. There was talk that he might go to Tampa Bay but that fell through also.
No. The good news, reported today on ESPN, is that Favre will be coming to New York to play with the Jets. The 38-year-old Favre holds most major NFL passing records and led the Packers to the NFC Championship last season. Let’s hope that he can perform some of his magic here, at home, in New York.
Everything written in this blog is true. NO story has been fabricated and all facts have been checked and double-checked. Teams of interns scour the Internet fact checking content to ensure that all material is unquestionably accurate.
The writer of this blog however is an uncaring liar. While you can be sure that everything that you read here at nickbennettusa.tumblr.com is true you must always be weary of anything that Nick Bennett says or does or writes because it could be false and meant to lead you to a grizzly doom because he is a jerk.
You hear that? I’m a jerk and I don’t care. I vomit marshmallows and sunshine while poking people hard in the chest with my finger. I steal candy from babies and pudding from grandparents while wearing assless chaps and doing the dance from the torture scene in Reservoir Dogs.
I want to repeat that everything you read in this blog is true but everything I write might not be.
Have a nice day.
National Geographic reported several years ago that redheads would be extinct in 2100. This claim wasn’t heard to believe. Redheads only make up one to two percent of the world population.
Thankfully the claim has since been disproved. We dodged a bullet there, gingers. That was too close.
I am starting a movement, which will ensure the survival of the redhead. I’m calling it “Gingers Get Some”. I am going to mate with every female redhead and produce enough redheaded offspring to invade Australia.
While there we will buy the worlds supply of sun block, secretly making all sun block SPF 45 or above, thus making every one as white as I am.
Learn what it’s like to not tan. Jerks.
I’m sorry, my sunburn is making me bitter.
One thing my dad always used to say about building is that by working on one thing you find three more things to fix. Anyone who knows my dad knows that he probably didn’t say it exactly like that. I don’t remember exactly how he said it but it went like that and probably had a bit more colorful language.
Curses aside, I never knew my dad was such a prophet until last week when I started working on the tiny 12’ by 8’ room that I call home in Williamsburg.
It really only started with the need to finish painting my room, a job I started over a year ago. Like that model airplane or that calendar of photos of me wearing different flavors of pudding I started something and never finished it. I put one coat on the walls and was about to start on the trim but something came up; my roommate Mark had bought a bottle of good scotch and I had to drink some.
So here I am, finally making an attempt at finishing something I started over a year ago.
My first trip to Home Depot was supposed to be uneventful. I needed to buy paint, brushes and blue tape, but once I got there I had absolutely no idea what color I wanted to paint my room.
Picking out a color is hard. Things you need to ask yourself are “Will I be OK waking up to this color every morning?” or “Do I want a color that is meant to convey energy or relaxation?” or “Am I man enough to explain to someone that my room is painted Pumpkin Spice?”
What does feng shui say about this bright purple color by Disney? Do I want to pay an extra $40 to say that my room was painted in a nursing home green by Ralph Lauren?
It took me a week but I decided on a Wilmington Tan and, because I am a man, Celery Ice for the trim around the floor and the door. It took me almost two hours of searching for said colors before I was approached by Home Depot employee Todd Gilford who explained to me that they had to make the colors and that none of the other employees had helped me because there was a bet on whether or not I was retarded and they weren’t sure how to approach the subject.
Pleased by his honesty, and a little upset that he had lost the bet, I ordered my paint and went on my way.
Back home I started painting. Instead of my typical one layer paint job I went for a drastic two-layer theme this time around. What this does is give the paint an even color and remind you that you are not entirely lazy every time you wake up in the morning.
It does, however, take up a lot of your day waiting for the paint to dry and does give you a lot of time to think about everything else that you would rather be doing. Also, in order to paint in my room, everything must be taken out. So I spent that night sleeping just outside my room next to all the rest of my stuff, right by the breakfast table.
It’s a good thing I sleep like a rock otherwise my roommates eating breakfast might have been a problem for me.
Did I mention that I sleep in the nude? No? I probably should have mentioned it to my roommates.
In the morning I could see the room in its new majestic, tan splendor and I was upset. The color was fine and the trim looked totally masculine basking in the sunlight. I was upset because with all my crap out of the room I could see that there was a lot more work to be done.
I needed shelving, lighting, the door needed to be fixed, what was I going to do with all my clothes and what exactly was I going to do about my windows. It made me wonder what would best describe my living situation over the past two years.
Best I could come up with: I was living in a cave. Totally unoriginal, I know, but my arms were tired from painting all day and I couldn’t think of anything better. Besides, I needed to plan more trips to Home Depot.
Dear girl whose chest is not as nice as some others I’ve seen,
It is clear to me now that you are deliberately not responding to my letters. I know this because by asking about your summer I was attempting to start a dialogue and prompt you to respond. By not responding you are telling me that you don’t want me to know how your summer is going and that you don’t accept my apology.
Which is fine by me. Your rack isn’t even that good. I’m not positive but I think the left one was bigger than the other. I’m not sure because all I did was glance at them.
You can be assured that the next time I see you I will give a good long stare at them to find out.
Your friend,
Nick Bennett
Dear Miss I’m Too Good To Have My Chest Looked At But Not Polite Enough To Write Back,
I admitted that looking at your rack might have been inappropriate and I apologized for that in my last letter. I took the time to think about my actions and how they might affect someone of your boob size.
But as large as they are, that still does not release you of your duty show some common courtesy by replying to my letter.
Did I offend you with my comment about your fashion choice? If that’s the case, then please accept this new apology. I did not intend for that to be offensive. I only meant to express how lewd your outfit was and how it draws the attention of deviants like me.
Are you enjoying your summer?
Best wishes,
Nick Bennett