Dear Readers,

As all of you almost certainly know—because, due to the current state of our Economy, all of you are living under the exact same conditions I am unless you are just some sort of show off who thinks that renting a 2-room condominium in some shitty suburban development will make the ladies respect him in spite of the fact that you own a grand total of 1 plate and 3 KFC sporks, because stuff like multiple plates and sparkling metal sporks cost money and the minimum wage salary you are taking home in washing sheets in that Albuquerque laundry mat (wait…is that a meth lab?) is all going to rent, and heating your wooden stove, and like, the consumption of crystal meth—being a grown man (or woman probably) who lives with his (or her) parents is a state of existence that comes with numerous challenges and grating moments embedded directly into its essence.

Dear Readers,
As I am sure almost all of you know, both because you love my incoherent ramblings on inconsequential non-sense and because you almost murdered yourself after discovering that my my previous post centered around community colleges, the Sack has been gone from the Internet limelight for a while.  Now I know y'all are curious as to where I've been because, like I already said, you were all well aware that I was gone.  So since I can feel that you guys are asking me a straight and direct question by staring straight through your computer screens and into my heart, I guess I should give you all a straight and direct and heartfelt answer: I was ballin' outta control (R.I.P. Nate Dogg) and mastering shiznit.

Now let's focus on that second part--mastering shiznit.  As we all have learned through various forms of pop culture and by reaching down under our tight whities to rub our man (or woman) parts (get used to this theme suckas), becoming a master is pretty much the coolest thing ever.  Just look at Russel Crow in MASTER and Commander, or Tiger Woods when he's running through Waffle House waitress after winning the MASTERs, or every dude at the strip club who pays for his stay in the Champagne room that will lead to his eventual divorce with his MASTERcard, or every teenager 12 and up whose parentals have internet access (bate ref #2. Yeah...I'm counting).  The point of all these puns and awkward adolescent themed jokes is pretty easy to figure out. Masters have all the fun.  Masters rule the world.

And now I am one of them.  That's right ladies and gents this past Saturday, at a ceremony I did not attend (so these are events I cannot verify), I was officially named a Master of Writing, Reading, and not being stupid. This was the cherry on top of a life spent mastering things like art, drinking alcohol, eating pizza rolls, laughing at Rob Schneider's performance in You Don't Mess With the Zohan, not hating black people because I voted for some other dude from some other race in a national election, not being phased by people walking in on me while I was dumping in a porter potty at the Kentucky Derby, smanging the ladies and mostly...being alone in rooms with an ample supply of hand lotion (ref #3 FYI). 

Basically what this past Saturday proved is that I really am a Master of All Trades. So, on that note...I will sit by my phone silently, refusing to move until the congratulatory texts, emails, tweets and instagram pictures of the handwritten notes you have crafted for me come in.  I thank all of you for your support in advance. 

In the inexact words of Kenny Powers standing by a master, like myself, through good times and bad is not easy.  I mean it's not as hard as all the actual work I've done, but's still something.  Something all 4.3 of you are proud of I'm sure.

The Things Sack Has Mastered...A Tradition Like No Other
So now that I've regaled (I have no idea if this is a real word) all of you with my pronouncement that I am now the Master of All Trades, let me go into more detail to prove it to all of you out there who are somehow incredilous about this, Barrack Obama being born in America, and Prometheus not being a realistic prophecy of the death of Charlize Theron.  Guys and gals, let me tell you about all the things that I have mastered, and then show you that I am who we all thought I was--the biggest baller this side of Paul Walker.

Sack Master #1: Master of Arts-This is how (I expect) the diploma conferred to me on Saturday to read: "Sachary L. Poelker, Master of Arts (Include nude sculptures of dudes with relatively average-sized dicks)." Do I know that my diploma says that? No.  I've never seen it, or even been told by anyone that it is in fact a real and tangible object.  This is pure conjecture on my part.

But that's besides the point.  The point is that I have an MA, which guarantees me free entrance into art museums for life, a reduced rate on any prostitute that poses nude for a fellow artist, and a place in the history books alongside Picasso, DaVinci, that Dutch dude who cut off his ear, and James Franco.  I am now a Master of Art.  That, and any other declaration I have ever made on the Internet, can never be argued.  Hey, did you hear that David Stern and Jim Rome had a lover's quarrel on the radio (Not that there's anything wrong with that)? Boom...toast.

Sack Master #2: Master of Boozin-The MB is arguably the most prestigious graduate degree given out by internationally renowned institutions of higher learning such as Harvard, Oxford, The Rancho Cucamonga male cheerleader academy, and The University of Bud Light.  And I have had one for a long, long time.

In fact I earned my MB the first time I drank, when I got slammed on warm Natty Lights and was hung upside down from the rafters of the gym at CBC high school and beaten senseless by 14-year-old girls who shockingly knew how to use wiffle ball bats (you can read about it here).  Apparently getting caught sneaking into their bathroom to gain some more "masterly" material (ref #4...I'm actually way behind where I thought I'd be at this point) is not as cute and adorable as Quagmire made it seem.  OK that reference had less in common with my joke than I thought it would.  I'm pretty drunk so...

Sack Master #3: Master of Pizza Roll Eating-Everyone knows that, in the world of competitive eating, pizza rolls are at the top of the heap.  That's why my MPRE, and I am the only one in the world who has earned it by the way, means so God Damn much to me. It is so far ahead some Japanese dude eating a million hot dogs in 9 minutes, or some chunky loser traveling the country and failing to eat anything that makes him cool, or Tyrone Biggums scarfing down seconds of Buffalo testicles that it almost hilarious.  That is if anything I have ever achieved could be called "hilarious"

How do I earn this MPRE you may be asking? Well, as if you didn't already know, at some point in high school I ate 100 pizza rolls in one sitting, then vomited on the stares of the dining hall (which I didn't clean up, or notify anybody about of course), then wrote a terribly awesome story about it 4 years later in college that I have since unsuccessfully submitted to approximately 6-49,000 literary journals (which represent a total of approximately 4-37 readers).  To this day it is the greatest achievement of my entire life (slightly ahead of dressing up like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man for Halloween and becoming the 19th person I knew to attend multiple Rascal Flatts concerts).  It will always be the most glorious day of my existence.

Barrack became president.  Ronald Reagan literally tore down that East German wall thing by himself and forever ended Communist hockey.  I reached the pizza roll century mark.  I will always be a legend in the annals (hahahahaha) of human kind. Boom.

Sack Master #4: Master of Only Liking the Best Movies-Dude Where's My Car.  You Don't Mess With the Zohan.  Strange Wilderness.  Over the Top.  You, Me and Dupree.  Jingle all the Way.  High School Musicals 1-3. All 19 Die Hards. Everything Paul Walker has ever appeared in.

What do these films all have in common?  They are all among the 50 greatest pieces of cinema in modern history.  If you disagree with any of these statements then you are not on my level.  If you are not on my level, then you need to get on my level.  If you need to get on my level, then you are not a respected member of society.  If you are not a respected member of society then you will never be able to afford the 2005 Ford Explorer that is owned by my parents, but driven by me.  Y'all get what I'm saying yet home slices?

F*$k You logic.

Sack Master #5: Not Being a Racist-Look every one out there knows I am against racism in every way, shape or form.  That is the way I live my life.  That is the way I earned my MNBR.  That is the way that I became the unanimous choice as 2009-2012 Sack Man of the Year. 

Here is the criteria for earning your MNBR, and becoming a certified non-racist. 1-If any black or other minority politician is on the ballot, you vote for them no questions asked, 2-You completely forgive Tiger Woods for all his sins and root for him in his upcoming, post apocalyptic match for human survival against Jesus Christ and the four horses of the apocalypse (Not idea who represents what here, just know I have a hell of an idea for a screenplay), 3-You can say at least 4 words in any foreign language (bano, soy, nino y caca (which is poop). Boom), 4-You love rap music, 5-You make fun of Tyler Perry, yet secretly harbor confusing sexual feelings about him, 6-You have never, and will never, work on Martin Luther King Day, and 7-You respect everyone, besides Hipsters and communists...and the Dutch.

Disclaimer: What I just wrote is not racist.  It is over-simplistic and unskilled satire (well besides #7...I hope).  If you can't understand the difference than you really think that I harbor confusing sexual feelings for Tyler Perry.  Wait...

Sack Master #6: Master of Old Dudes Walkin Into Your Porter Potty at the Kentucky Derby-Ah, the good ole' MODWPPKD.  Want the back story to this one? Well one time, when I was about 12 maybe, I was at the Kentucky Derby with my uncles and my cousin when I went to the porter potty to uh--release some build up. 

Anyways I was sitting there, doing my business like a champ, when some old dude opened the door, took one look at the now public scene of me sitting on PP pot, loudly exclaimed "Uhhhhh" and then shut the door and disappeared from my life forever.  You think I am embarrassed about this seminal moment in my adolescent development? Think again.  I've rarely been prouder of my pubescent self.

I mean I touched a old man's life that day. Why do you think I left the door open? So no one could enjoy the free show?

Sack Master #7: Master of the Ladies-I've talked to 6 girls in my life. I've texted 4 of them.  2 of whom returned said text.  1 of them said that they'd bake me cookies sometime. 0 of them have actually baked me cookies in real life. If that doesn't say that I've earned my ML...then I don't know what does.

F*$k you Logic #2.

Sack Master #8: Master of My Domain-I am confident that all of you have seen each and every episode of Seinfeld.  If you haven't seen each and every episode of Seinfeld than quit your job, disown your family, and move to North Korea where no one will have any idea that things like TV, and culture and not-sucking exist so you can fit in.  Or just watch TBS between 6 and 7 P.M. Central Standard time.  Your choice.

Either way there was this episode of Seinfeld called The Contest, where the four main characters bet on who could go the longest without doing this.  Anyways, to make a long story short, either George or Jerry won (we later find out near the finale that it was Jerry).  Of course I was in on the bet too...and I lost.

Because I'm a man.  A man with needs and urges.  A man who has only spoken to 6 girls and eaten 0 freshly baked cookies from them in his entire life.  A man who is unafraid to admit who he is and what he has done.  And that ladies and germs makes me a man who has truly Mastered his Domain.  Nuff said.

Sack Master #9: Master of Being a Jack of All Trades-You know that old saying "Jack of All Trades, Master of None"?  Well I've kind of turned that one its head here haven't I?

Look the truth is that I have Mastered being a Jack of All Trades, which logically makes me a Master of every trade in the world, which logically makes me a Master of All Trades.  Sky Ball.  Bocci Ball.  Every kind of ball.  If the trade exists, than I can do it at least as well as anyone else who has ever won the Masters.  That's what I am telling you all here. 

Because that's the truth.  Being awesome is my thing...and everybody knows it. 

F*$k you logic #3. 

Text Updates and Big Ups
Now that I am a legitimate Master, I have a serious big ups/thing to get off my chest here.  Really I just want to take the time to activate my unmanly feelings so I could thank each and every one of you, my hopefully 4+ readers, for helping me get here, for helping me become an almost 25-year-old man who has an advanced degree (and therefore looks down on everyone who doesn't) yet no job, no chicks, no money, and little to no future.  I really do enjoy getting drunk and living it up. I really do enjoy my life. No sarcasm.

You know another thing I enjoy is writing this blog, but only because you guys read it and hopefully are a little entertained by it too.  Trying to become a writer can be a lonely thing, sitting at your desk all day looking at a blank screen and fighting off subjective judgements from a lot of people in the world who don't understand that I ultimately want to do something with my life that is very hard and full of rejection and self-doubt and means that I may seem like some sort of "failure" because I cannot answer the question "what are you doing now?" honestly and fully even once I find a full-time job to help me make some money and become independent and be able to pursue my true dream on my terms.  Now, I don't want this to seem like I am bitching and moaning because this is the path I want in my life.  I understand and accept everything that comes with it.

I also don't want this to seem like I think I am better than anyone else, or that I have some sort of "higher calling"; to the contrary.  We all face struggles in life professionally, personally and emotionally, most far greater than anything I can imagine.  If the worse thing that happens to me today is some old guy walking in on me while I'm in the pooper...then I really have nothing to complain about. In the end I am no different than someone who is a real estate agent or a lawyer or a mechanic or anything else.  Maybe they have a shitty or ill-suited job and want to do something else (like I may soon).  Maybe they love what they do, and are happy with that.  I hope that you all are.

In addition, I know that I often push the limits with this blog, that it is long and blunt and even vulgar (to my mom at least); that I may have to explain this to a potential employer one day, and that nothing I say may be enough to erase or rationalize the jokes I am attempting, and often poorly executing, here.  But my goal is not to offend anyone (besides hipsters, communists and the Dutch).  I just don't want to live in a world where I am censoring myself, where I am scared to write about what it is important or real or funny to me.  That's why I am still here doing this after more than 3 years, still writing a blog that might get 15 or 20 real hits a day if I'm lucky.  I love to write this POS because 1-it is fun and 2-it says exactly what I want it to say, and if even 1 or 2 of you out there at least like to read it for the either of those reasons--that's more than enough for me.

Sorry for the rant, and for sharing emotions for the first and only time in my life, I just wanted to thank my readers for being here and not calling me out unless I deserve it, which I almost always do. 

Anyways I am sure you all tired of reading, and likely crying like you've just watched a Marley and Me marathon, so I will give ya an updated text and Twitter popularity score when I come back next week when I will be, as always, bringing you more about less that may having something to do with the world around us.

In Hoc,
Sachary L. Poelker
"The Sack Artist: Master Jack of All Trades"

p.s. Please enjoy the boxing tutorial below courtesy of our guy Eric Kelly (and given to us by our other guy Donnie Measles). I hope you Wall Street nerds all learn something about yourselves. Your styles are so corny...and your mouth is where all the balls meet.

Dear Readers,
As I am sure all of you know, either through your own experiences or because you are one of the 7 people left who still watch NBC, Community Colleges are a weird place--like a public high school that charges tuition and can't decide if the AP credits they offer will ever be accepted at a real 4-year University. There are sports/athletes, but no one is sure if the games are really played. There are hot girls, but no one is sure that they are not holograms because there attractiveness has somehow not put them on a more successful life path. There are dorms, but if no one lives in them...then are there dorms? Seriously, I am unsure if there are dorms at Community Colleges or not. Little help? Anybody?

And there are professors that no one calls "Doctor," like a high school teacher who works at a college so it's OK that he's pretty creepy because all of his students are of age despite the fact that he doesn't have a PhD.  Basically, community colleges are strange places, unlike anywhere else; filled with boys who are still trying to become men, girls who are still trying to become women, and intellectuals who are not smart enough to have a job that requires them to be called "intellectuals" by anyone who has at least obtained their associates degree.  In the end Community Colleges are filled with people unsure of their place in the world. Filled with people like me.

But how did I get here? How did I end up lying about my ability to use adverbs in the correct places on my Curriculum Vitae in order to get a job that pays $449/year with no health insurance? Why aren't I bright enough to truly enter academia, to truly prove to the world that I am smart and successful and one day will be able to afford a Volkswagen?

Well because shit happens. In a few short weeks I will have a Masters Degree that will ensure that I am qualified to either 1-Teach Community College Writing or 2-Move to Canada and start illegally killing Black Bears and selling their pelts on Craig's List.  Those are my only two options, and as usual...I am pretty non-committal here.

But I don't have a passport so...looks like I am f'ed. Good bye sweet Black Bears. Sorry I was planning on killing you by the way. My bad. I'll choose to blame higher education.

How to Become a CC Prof/Stupid "Intellectual"
So, now that I've given you all a little background on my Community College knowledge based almost exclusively on a fictional sitcom featuring the old loser from Vegas Vacation--who sucks at rock, paper, scissors--let's more fully investigate how I got here. What happened in my life to lead me to this point?  Were there exterior factors that pushed me here? Why can't I just sell used cars and wear plaid blazers like I always dreamed about as a child?  I had a dream. I can't reach it. Someone else is gonna have to move those Chrysler conversion vans now.

Step 1: Learn How to Read-We all know that I hate reading as much, if not more, than the next guy (more on this shortly), but there is still no question that when one is attempting to become a true intellectual, knowing your ABCs is important. Just look at past intellectual geniuses. Albert Einstein could almost certainly read. Mozart could Dan Marino could read--defenses. One cannot argue that the ability to read is a significant skill in our quest to become intellectually enlightened.

Significant even for those without the power of sight. Stevie Wonder and Ray Charles and Cyclopse from the X-Men comics may not be able to see/open their eyes, but they has mastered the skill of reading.  After all, when reading is done right, we are not doing it with our eyes...we are doing it with our hearts. By the way, write that down. That was pure poetry right there.

Step 2: Hate Reading-This is where true intellectuals start to separate themselves from the stupid ones. True intellectuals bury themselves in books, learning everything that they can and misguidedly thinking that being things like "smart" or "well read" will lead to success in life.  Stupid intellectuals realize (as I wrote a few weeks ago) that the world is full of cool things like guns and needles and non-lethal hepatitis. We realize that life is for living, not reading.

Which is why we ban Catcher in the Rye because of its graphic language, or Harry Potter because we know that Jesus would never allow the world's most famous wizard to become best friends with a ginger, or War and Peace because it's set in the most villainous place on Earth--Russia. Us stupid intellectuals really just hate to read. Just because you can do something, doesn't mean you should. Wasn't that the lesson we all learned from that painful Seinfeld finale in the first place?

Step 3: Look Like You Understand Things-This is perhaps the best advice one can receive while being bred for stupid intellecutality. The one rule of being smart is understanding everything, at least in your own mind, so no one  that you are never confused, befuddled, or down right dumber than a dummy/Kathy Bates' character on The Office. The one rule of faking to be smart is acting like you understand everything so even though you are always confused, befuddled, or Kathy Bates style dumb, everyone thinks you know what is going on.

How do you do this? Nod your head a lot. Say profound things like "good point Chet," or "I agree with Donovan" or "I think Nickelodeon is using SpongeBob as a symbol to teach children that Jesus may have been a homosexual (not that there's anything wrong with that. Me, Barrack Obama, and Jay-Z can all apparently agree on that. No sarcasm)" Raise your hand right after someone else is called on, then when they are done talking say "that's exactly what I was thinking" (or if the person is a notorious moron say "I strongly disagree with every single thing Skip Bayless just said"). Do whatever it takes. Just never admit that you don't know what the hell "Taiwan" or "Economics" is. People will crucify you for that.

Step 4: Act Like You Are Mad About Stuff-If there is one defining trait that starts to manifest itself in each and every true intellectual around the time they begin college, it's they are never happy about anything. Who cares if a capitalist society allowed my parents to join a country club and buy me all these fancy sweater vests, Communism is a more equitable and fair political/economic system that better serves all of its citizens (see Europe, Eastern). Who cares if football is the coolest thing in the world and 80,000 people are willing to attend games every weekend and pump millions of dollars into my University, sending the message that competition and being social is more important than studying the history of Portugese paintings is not what higher education is about. Who cares if McDonald's is delicious, cows have feelings too.

Intellectuals are so smart, their minds are so filled with knowledge, that they will never accept the status quo. So stupid intellectuals need to act like we won't either. We need to act like we know how to fix the world, even if we can't figure out how not to overcook or chicken breasts on our George Foreman grill. Oh by the way...stupid intellectuals use double negatives too. Boo-Yah.

Step 5: Treat Graduate School Like a 2-6 Year Caribbean Cruise-The only thing easier than college is graduate school. It does not matter if one attends a superior institution of learning such as Harvard, Oxford, or DePaul University--this remains an essential truth in academic life.  Everyone gets A's. Professors know that most the work they assign will not be completed. Being a 25-year-old who still thinks he is 16 goes unnoticed.  It's awesome.

Or at least it can be. Like with your undergraduate education, in graduate school you get out of it what you put into it. So, while true intellectuals might be reading, studying, learning, writing thesis/dissertations, setting themselves up for lucrative jobs/sweet teaching gigs, traveling the world, and meeting their future overweight wives that show that they really aren't "shallow," us fake intellectuals do nothing. And why should we? We're in graduate school, so everyone already thinks we know what's up.  So keep the whiskey flowing, hit the bars, and treat your student loans like it is free money from the government that you will never have to pay back. And when people tell you they don't own a TV because they spend all their time reading about something happening to someone somewhere in Honduras, tell them you pay $9.99 a month for HBO. Be confident that you are the one who has your priorities straight.

Step 6: Hope Your Future Employer Never Reads This-Most intellectuals (and people in general) don't get sarcasm. Most people in general (and intellectuals) are insulted when you gone on a 2,000+ word rant mocking the institution that they work for. Most 24-year-old dudes who publish corny and played jokes on the internet are destined to be forever unemployed, which is why we grow beards and wear sweatpants with noticeable ketchup stains around the crotch in public.

Step 7: Never Learn How Footnotes Work-Do you really know what footnotes are? I've been going to school for 21+ years and I have used a total of 3. Two of which cited Wikipedia. One cited Perez Hilton. What, those aren't scholarly sources?

Step 8: Post 2-Second Videos of Small Asian Men From Semi-Canceled Yet Hilarious NBC Sitcoms in This Blog Post-Check below. Done and done.

Text Updates and Big Ups
My current text messaging score since May 11 is +222 (202-inbox, 180-sent, 0 from females), which once again says a lot about how chafed my hands are right now. Uh...what? Anyways my Twitter popularity score is also at an all-time high of 285 followers so...I am clearly more popular on computers than I am in real life.

I don't real have any big ups to extend in this edition of the blog...besides to myself for not really being funny or good at writing stuff. Way to go.

Back next week with recycled jokes about NBC sitcoms that no one watches. That's right ladies and's time for a Whitney Cummings blog.

In Hoc,
Sachary L. Poelker
"The Sack Artist: Jack of All Trades"