Dear Readers,
As all of you surely know, the season is a changing.  The clouds will soon retreat, the bears will soon come out of hibernation and eat crazy people who try to be a part of their society, and the suicide rate will steadily drop in places like Chicago least until the Cub's first pitch of the season.  That's right ladies and gentleman, in at least one of Bill Murray's relived Ground Hog's Days this year the ground hog didn't see its shadow, which can only mean one thing.  Spring is almost here.

And, while the advent of spring means different things to different people, it can only mean one thing to members of the Motion Picture Industry like myself (Hey if you'd written the first 9 1/2 pages of a screenplay about compulsive masturbation, mailed it to Judd Apatow, and found out later that he was using it to mop up his own masturbation spew whenever he was out of'd have earned your spot in Hollywood too).  It's Academy Award Season.

So in preparation for Sunday's big award ceremony, I recently took the time to parooze this year's nominees, in hopes of being able to whittle the list down to a select few before applying the Bad Boys II test of movie quality I introduced you to last year in order to claim one film this year's ultimate champion.  However, after I looked over the nominees brought forth by my fellow members of the Academy I discovered one thing.  I had only seen one of the movies.

Granted I didn't need to see films which featured Borat suddenly being child appropriate (Hugo), any woman married to George Clooney leaving him for any reason other than the fact that he's a communist (The Descendants), a horse not named Seabiscuit (War Horse), Woody Allen still being alive (Midnight in Paris), or minority cast members who do not laugh at Eddie Murphy jokes and act like Ricky Gervais is some British racist (The Help), to know that they were not real contenders in the race for the Best Movie of 2011.  That's a given.

But what about the other three films?  What about Tom Hanks playing a dead guy and Sandra Bullock a way less hot version of her Oscar winning self in the Blindside?  What about a movie about silent movies that doesn't feature Charlie Chaplin getting a hand job (and all of us discovering whether he was always truly silent)?  What about another Brad Pitt film, where he costars with an inanimate tree?

Yeah I think we've heard all we need to.  So grab the popcorn on Sunday night folks, and enjoy hearing about a lot of crappy movies that could literally put Christian Bale from the Fighter to sleep no matter how much crack he'd smoked out of that soda bottle.  It should be a hell of a show.

Why Moneyball Wins
OK so I just established that Moneyball is the only Academy Award nominated film that more than 0.293% of the nation has seen, so it kind of wins by default right?  Yes, that's true.  But that doesn't necessarily mean that Moneyball isn't at least somewhat worthy of the honor that I, the Sack, am going to bestow on it.  Now...let me show you why.

1) Jonah Hill is Still Fat-This is perhaps the biggest thing that Moneyball has going for it.  Look we all know and love the fat, sloppy Jonah Hill who stole our heart in Knocked Up/Grandma's Boy/Superbad and also probably hadn't seen his dick since he was 8 years old/was going to die of a massive heart attack by the time he was 40.  That Jonah Hill was funny, charming, morbidly obese and got to bang Emma Stone before anyone knew who she was.  Not a bad resume if you ask me.

But now, Jonah Hill is fairly skinny, looks weird, and is offending fat people everywhere (myself included) more than that show the Biggest Loser for basically saying that he is too good for us Old Country Buffet loving folk.  I mean have you seen the 21 Jump Street Trailer?  Yeah it looks hilarious, but how much more hilarious would it look if a fat Jonah Hill was paired with one of my 456,219 go gay guys? (Channing hot. Not that there's anything wrong with that). 

So how are you going to remember Mr. Jonah Hill?  I am going to remember him as the tubby slob who was significantly slower than his partner (and fastest kid alive) Michael Cera.  I think that's the way he would want it.  And Moneyball may have been our last chance to see the man for what he truly was.

2) It's About Sports-Look it's no secret that sports are the most important aspect in our society, far surpassing things like politics, the economy, oil, and even the ongoing Cold War.  Why else do you think Kenny Powers, Jeremy Lin, and Tim Tebow are bigger news stories than Barrack Obama, Mit Romney or Jesus Christ?

And our love for sport's certainly crosses over to the big screen.  I mean can you name a bad sport's movie?  Rocky IV/Miracle?  Taught me that Americans always beat the Soviet Union because we are smarter, better looking, and don't talk with funny accents.  The Replacements/Hooisers?  Taught me that Gene Hackman may be the best motivator of men to ever live.  The Sixth Man?  Taught me to believe in something bigger myself (not to mention a Wayans brothers) again.

Because that's what sports do.  They inspire us.  They bring us together.  They show us that nerds reading a spreadsheet and directing a baseball team which hasn't made a postseason appearance in 5+ years are still worthy of their story being told in a major motion picture.  Basically sports brings out the best in each and every one of us (besides Coach K), and that's why sports movies never, ever disappoint.  Go watch Slap Shot 2 (starring the more talented/famous of the Baldwin brothers, Stephen) if you still somehow don't believe me.

3) It Teaches Kids Math-It's no secret that American kids are struggling to learn that 1+1=2.  Why?  Well lead paint for one.  Southern inbreeding for another.  But also, I think kids are struggling to see the real world application with mathematics.  I mean when are kids ever going to need to know trigonometry or geometry or addition or subtraction when they grow up and get into the real world?  I asked my high school math teacher this exact question one time and she said, "Well, what if you work at a gold mine?"  Gold mine?  What is this the Yukon trail?  That game sucked.  The Oregon trail was much cooler.

But now kids are saying "hey, what if one day I work for a semi-professional baseball team in an economically depressed city with no money or fans and I need to figure out a way that we can compete with, then lose to, the Yankees in the playoffs?" Well shit better get crackin on that math homework, cause there's a good chance that exact scenario could play out one day.  So thank you Moneyball, cause you've done more to improve education in this country than those freeloading, overpaid public school teachers could ever dream of...or something like that.

4) Hippies Look Like Douchers-Imagine you were Brad Pitt's ex-wife in the movie, and you just left him for this guy, a far worse looking/less successful hippie who has no job, money, ambition or personal hygenie.  That's like leaving Brad Pitt for,  Yeah...that lady has probably killed herself by now, and I for one don't blame her.  Which brings me to my next point...

5) Brad Pitt-Look, am I attract to other men?  No.  But let me kick you a scenario.  I'm at a beach cabana, and Brad Pitt approaches.  He tries to lean in and kiss me.  I would definitely resist, like at first.  But if he was persistent?  I think I might give in a little bit, just to see what it...felt like. 

Nuff said.

6) No Racial Stereotypes-And now let's get to the only problem in the world of sports right now...the racism towards Asian people.  Just look at the youtube video below and know...Saturday Night Live is the first (and only) people to step way over the line on this thing.  I mean it's one thing for ESPN anchors or editors to say Lin has a "chink" in his armor, or for a well respected sports journalist like Jason Whitlock (eh...what?) to make fun of Jeremy Lin's tiny Asian penis.  That's journalism.  But for SNL to do a skit where they make racially motivated jokes about a phenomenon in pop culture?  That's way, way over the line...and probably why most of society always preferred Mad TV to begin with.

So, with that being said, it's very refreshing to see a sports movie that doesn't make racially biased judgements, or even really mention Asian people at all.  That kind of equality is what America is all about. 

So there you have it folks. Moneyball is a wholesome, educational, and Pitt style sexy film that probably will not stand the test of time, which I, for one, would vote for as the standout movie of 2011 any day of the week...especially if Pitt ever choose to make that beach cabana fantasy happen in real life.  See ya in Cabo there Brad. Can't wait.

Text Update and Big Ups
My official text message popularity score since February 12th is +374 (302-inbox, 231-sent, 1 from females), and yes the one lady who did text me was my mom so...the ladies clearly love me.  Also my Twitter popularity score has taken a little hit (losing 2 followers), but is still holding at 230 followers so...I guess I can't complain.

I also have a very special big up to extend in this edition of the blog, which of course goes to Mr. Brad Pitt.  What a handsome devil.

Back next week with more on a Sack Artist tradition...peeing my pants at Mardi Gras.

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

Dear Readers,
As all of you should know, a once in a lifetime moment flashed before all of our eyes last night.  You know what I am talking about.  The kind of moment that forces you to remember where you were when it happened.  The kind of moment that becomes so seared into your memory that it gets woven into your very fabric as a human being.  The kind of moment that either makes you so elated that you go streaking through your neighborhood without feeling self-conscious because you're white and your penis is exposed on a February night, or so depressed that you come home and attempt to hang yourself from that rod in your closet with the only belt that you own without realizing that you weigh almost 300 pounds and your rotundness is capable of snapping the branch of a 1,000 year old redwood like it's a twig (not that this happened to me last night). 

Basically I am talking about a moment that we will always remember, no matter how hard we try to forget.  I am of course talking about Duke University win over the University of North Carolina on the basketball court last night.  That's right ladies and gentleman, evil overcame good in their constant struggle for Tobacco Road supremacy.  And it sucks.  Not so much because of what happened, but because of how it went down

But this post is not about sour grapes.  It's not about UNC giving up a 10 point lead with 2 and a half minutes on the clock, or the likelihood that Tyler Zeller gets murder for putting the ball in his own basket like that Colombian soccer player did for scoring on his own goal.  Hell, it's not even about my desire to choke Austin Rivers out with his retarded shooting sleeve and reprogram Kevin Garnett's artificial intelligent so that he now only aims his inappropriate cancer jokes towards his own head coach (and Austin's father). 

No this post is about moments, seminal moments like the one last night.  Because, for as long as I live, I will remember that moment when Austin River's hit that shot.  I'll remember sitting at McGee's Tavern in stunned silence.  I'll remember trying my damndest not to start blubbering like a gigantic, neck-bearded infant, which was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do in my entire life.  I haven't had a very hard life.

But you all know that by now.

Seminal Moments
As I've said 19 times in the previous 5 paragraphs, last night was a seminal moment in my life.  But it was hardly the first.  There are more moments that get seared into your memory (like Duke's win last night) than you might think.  They happen in sports (Tim Tebow completing a pass, a Cleveland sports team winning any athletic contest), politics (Every day Newt Gingrich isn't divorcing someone, people being racists by disagree with Obama), and even popular culture (Seth Cohen and Summer Roberts doing it Spider-Man style in The OC, driving all over New York City once you realized Julia Roberts was a hooker).  Each one of us has our own moments, our own distinct memories.  So let me share some of mine.

Moment #1: Dressing Up Like Barney For Halloween
Do you know how embarrassing it is to be the only Kindergartener who cannot spell learn to spell there own name? I do, and weeks of leaving my class to take "special reading lessons" during nap time broke my soul.  Now, do you know how embarrassing it is to go to school as a 6-year-old retard dressed up as a gigantic purple dinosaur who kids are already calling "gay."  Now do you know how embarrassing it is to soil your purple dinosaur suit because a kid roughly 1/16th your size asked the teacher whether certain reptiles in the room are born as homosexuals (not that there's anything wrong with that), or if environmental factors made them that way

Yeah my kindergarten class was pretty advanced when it came to coming up with clever insults.  And I didn't have a hardass teacher to put the other kids in their place so...yeah.  Although I'm still a Barney fan so...take that for what you will.

Moment #2: Kid "X" Pissing Himself in My 4th Grade Class
I'll never forget what my teacher told the class after this happened.  She said if we ever mentioned this to anyone outside who wasn't in the room even one time throughout the course of our entire lives that we would go to hell and/or her spirit would haunt us for the rest of our lives.  And she was a nun so I was pretty scared...until she had some sort of nervous break down a few years later.  Now I finally feel comfortable getting this news off my chest.  But I will still never play with a weegie board as long as I live.  Shit just typing "weegie board," scared the shit outta me.  I've seen The Exorcist. (And yes both the student's and the teacher's names were not shared to protect their identities, which I think was a pretty nice move on my part. Looks like I am not going to hell after all).

Moment #3: Seeing the Bimp Pimpin' Music Video/Pretending It was Cooler than the Backstreet Boys
I'll never forget watching TRL when Big Pimpin' went to #1, and being so aroused by all the African-American women's cabooses/that weird dude dancing around in the horns. I'll also never forget pretending to be happy that someone had finally knocked off the Backstreet Boys, because only girls liked them.  Did it matter that the Boys were my favorite band, or that me and my next door neighbor/co-best friend Sam spent every night singing along with their CD/pretending to be them (I was AJ which seems spot on...based on his future debilitating drug addiction), or that the Larger Than Life video made me want to move to outter space?  Of course not.  I was a man...and I was like 11.

Moment #4: Pearl Harbor
Look there's no question that Pearl Harbor was a momentous event in American history that had a significant impact on any person that was alive to see it.  But I wasn't.  Until Ben Affleck and Kate Beckinsale's unrequited love hit the big screen, and made me appreciate what it was like to be a true American hero.  And people say Affleck can't act. Get real.

Moment #5: The Debut of Mountain Dew Code Red
You know how when you were a kid and you would drink Mountain Dew by the case even though you knew that the chemicals in the soft drink made your penis smaller?  Yeah that really happens.  Trust me I know. 

But Mountain Dew Code Red? Same great taste, no resulting side effects that make chicks look at your junk and say "Really?" once they finally see you naked. 

Moment #6: Looking at Paul Walker For the 1st Time
I don't care if you are gay, straight, transexual, bisexual, or that weird thing were the woman talks like a parrot and tickles you with a baloon.  If you weren't popping a half chub when Pauly first hit it big on The Fast and the Furious...there is something wrong with you.  That man is simple physical perfection. 

Moment #7: Discovering Porn Trailers
Look we all know that we are in a golden age of Internet porn.  I've said it.  You've thought it.  Countless of young men have taken advantage of it.  But, back when I was a kid, no one knew what the Internet could become. Ask Jeeves was the golden standard for search engines.  And porn came at you in quick 30 second clips that took roughly 6.3 days to load.  I was just thankful to have what I did.  I went to all-boys high school so...30 seconds was more than enough for me to do what needed to be done.  Jackpot.

Moment #8: Prom Night
You know how it's an American tradition to "score" on prom night?  Thousands of teenages bring their prom dates to fancy hotels to do the dirty, maybe for the first time, and enjoy themselves for a few moments before realizing that there is an 99.5% chance that this will result in an unwanted pregency that will ruin their lives.  Well that's exactly what I did, if you consider my right hand my date, my family's computer room a fancy hotel, and the inconvience of having to go to the bathroom and wash my hands an unwanted pregnancy that will ruin my life.  All I can say is...thank God I had discovered porn trailers already.  Or else this probably would have never happened to me.

Moment #9: The Advent of Dick Pics
The main thing to consider when taking a dick pic is what do I want my penis to say?  Am I portraying strength, sensitivity, intelligence?  Well...the key is effort gentleman.  And not drinking too much Mountain Dew when you were a kid.  And not being a washed up QB who still hawks Wrangler Jeans to inbreds in Mississippi.  And not being a US Senate who think that Twitter is his own sexual playground.  Check the video below to learn how to craft your own masterful dick pic...and thank me later.

Moment #10: Typing the word "Vouldermort"
There I finally did it.  And nothing bad has ever happened to me...besides all the stuff I just wrote about.  I think I spelled Vouldermort wrong anyways so, yeah...Looks like I'm still a pretty big pussy after all.

Text Update and Big Ups
My current text messaging score since February 3 is +386 (302-inbox, 238-sent, 20 from females), which means that I've received over 20 texts from at least 3 different chicks...none of whom want to have sex with me.  However, my Twitter popularity score is still holding steady at 225 followers so...why doesn't anybody else wanna read the semi-offensive Internet comments I make? Shit.

Anyways I have a couple of Big Ups to extend in this edition of the blog.  First to true fans Jayboy Leonard and Dboy Flynn keep on, well...keep truck.  Also to my man Ace fresh from his trip to the Coov...I better get some kind of British Columbia t-shirt that does feature the Vancouver Canucks. I'm not sure, but I'm pretty sure, that there is other stuff up there.

Back next week with more thoughts on Mountain Dew, little penis, and texting pics of those penises to chicks.

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

Dear Readers,
As all of you know because, well I wrote about it, college is the best time of our lives.  This is an undeniable truth even if you went to a school in an economically depressed, Wisconsin shanty town where 89% of the female population is either a-a stripper, b-pregnant or c-a pregnant stripper.  It's true even if you went to a school where no one knew you had a football team because they were too busy tailgating for the big ultimate frisbee or qudditch game.  Hell it's even true if the only porn your shitty Internet connection could get looked like this.  I know cause I lived (and jerked off to) it.

However it's also undeniably true that once our 4 years (or 7 if you are a doctor/Chris Farrely/this guy) of glory go by in a wink of the eye.  One day college will end, we will all get divorced multiple times, and our lives will suck.  Those are just the facts do with them what you will.

And even though we will always be able to visit our old collegiate stomping grounds and live vicariously through our former lifestyle (in fact any of you who took the time to click on the first link in this post will have the blueprint on how to do exactly that) that still leaves us with one serious unanswered question...what in the hell are we supposed to do all the other times?  You know when we are all stuck being poor and lonely, simultaneously crying and jerking off to Eat, Pray Love using only our tears as lubricant?  Why do our lives how to turn out like this?

Well I am here to tell you that they don't, that there's a light at the end of the tunnel.  I'm here to say that whether you live in New York, Nome, Alaska or Moscow you can turn back the clock, throw on a pair of Sperry's and frat down just like you did in the old days. You just gotta want it.

So whether you are 24, 54, or 124 it's time to call up the bros...and f'in rage.  You can still do it.  I know...I've lived it.

The Sack Returns to Epicness
I spent last Friday raging with one big dog (This Ya Boy D-Love) and one 6'8" semi-retard in unabomber boots (b-wim, and yes...he seriously wears those things in public).  Among the highlights was D-Love and my attempt to double team a chick by telling her our names were John and Jeremy Ryan (Are you guys brothers? No...yes.  But seriously we aren't), an undercover Home Land Security agents trying to buy drugs off us (entrapment anybody?), and b-wim passing out on the bar at 11 P.M. after getting hammered off of 1.35 beers and being molested by that very same Home Land Security agent (who said it wasn't illegal...cause b-wim looked like he wanted it.  I'm not going to argue).  However, I don't want to bore you with the details so let's skip ahead to Saturday...where the story really gets interesting.

Saturday, January 28th
3:15 P.M.-Dboy has joined me, D-Love and b-wim. We've decided to go out for a nice linner when Dboy gets denied service by 3 different restaurants...cause he's a ginger.  Turns out discriminating against gingers is a right given to all American citizens through the 14th amendment.  I'm never been so damn proud of my country as I am right now.

3:23 P.M.-I finally convince some place to let us in by telling them that Dboy is just a kid with down syndrome who spilled ketchup all over his head and doesn't know how to wash his hair.  Should have tried this way earlier. No one questions it at all.

4:01 P.M.-Michael has joined us and I've finished my lunch, which consisted of a burger topped with a fried egg.  Look I'm not saying that I spilled egg yoke all over my power beard...but I'm not saying that I didn't either.

4:02 P.M.-Chicks swarm me.  Turns out nothing is sexier than egg yoke covering the hairs which cover your entire face and neck.  Write that down kids.  What you don't have a pen? Well...just remember that then.

4:11 P.M.-We pay the bill and walk out of the restaurant, when some homeless guy walks up to me and begins licking the egg yoke out of my beard.  Best meal he's had in years.  And people think Mother Teresa did a lot for the poor.

4:30-8 P.M.-Nothing cool happens.  In fact I am pretty sure I just sat on the couch, watched TV and called my parents who told me that my life was a disgrace.  Welcome to a regular day in the life of the Sack.

8:39 P.M.-I pick up my boy Joey from the airport and return to me apartment.  By now Ace, Seal, Matty and the Booman group have joined the party.  Likes look we're about to have a good old fashioned orgy, uh...I mean party.  We've got to think outside of the box and inside of the box.  But there are no girls here so...anyways.

8:46 P.M.-My boy stunt texts me and asks if he and his black friend Jeremy can come over.  I say of course...there are no Jim Crow laws in my apartment.  Besides I voted for Obama so that means that I can't hate black people.  Or it means that I really hate white people.  I'm not sure, I don't really follow politics. I just had that Young Jeezy song stuck in my head when I was voting president was black son.

9:01 P.M.-Stunt and Jeremy arrive, and I quickly discover that Jeremy is left handed.  So I do what anyone honest American would...and tell him to get the F outta my apartment.  Anyone who needs a special desk to take the SAT is not welcome here.  But I need a special, titanium reinforced desk when I was taking the test after the regular wooden one was crushed under my weight so...I just hate left handed people.  That's what I want you to get from this joke.

9:06 P.M.-Joey tells me that his broadcast partner for NCAA bball games is non other than former Wake Forest head coach Dave Odom.  I say hey, it ain't an orgy (uh...I mean party) until Tim Duncan's college coach is naked.  Jackpot.

9:23 P.M.-I just realize that Stunt and Jeremy brought a chick with them.  Looks like the orgy is off.  Suddenly I'm just not that into it (not that there's anything wrong with that).

11:22 P.M.-Michael, Ace, D-Love, Seal and Dboy leave to go to some bar, while the rest of us wait for Hort and Joey's buddy Wayne. 

11:23 P.M.-Joey is walking down the street yelling for Wayne, when hundreds of people pop their heads out of their windows and yell back "Hey I recognize that voice?  Is that guy the voice of the Sun Belt Conference on ESPN3?"  Maybe it is, and maybe it isn't.  I'll never tell.

11:31 P.M.-Hort and Wayne show up and we head out to Maeve to meet up with the dudes who left.  I don't know if Maeve is a person, a bar, a Turkish bath or some sort of weaving technique.  All I know is that I've been down with the brizown all my life.

11:41 P.M.-We arrive at Maeve and me and D-Love instantly begin spittin game.

11:54 P.M.-I got two chicks believing that I am really Paul Walker wearing a beard as a disguise.  At first they are skeptical, but then I say "hey, have you ever seen Paul Walker with a beard?"  And when they say no I say "Well now you have."  Works every time.

Sunday, January 29th
12:02 A.M.-Turns out these chicks have a party trolley and would love for the bearded version of the guy who starred in the modern classic Eight Below and his friends to ride it with them.  Looks like we are in there like swimwear son.

12:04 A.M.-I enter the trolley and immediately the one fat virgin chick tells me to get off.  I say hey I'm Paul Walker.  She says that I'm not.  I ask her if she's ever seen Paul Walker with a beard.  She says she has and shows me this picture.  I have no response.  Turns out a woman can outsmart me after all.

12:19 A.M.-We've left Maeve and headed over to Red Ivy, where D-Love and I are telling chicks that we were extras in the classic Kip Pardue film Driven, and of questions us.  Man if that can't get me laid...I don't know what will.  (Spoiler alert-nothing can get me laid).

12:38 A.M.-Joey and D-Love start talking to a couple of chicks.  Turns out one of them is engaged.  They ask her how her fiance popped the question and she says, "He put the ring in the mailbox and when I went to get the mail it was just sitting there." They tell her that that is the dumbest thing they have ever heard, read about, or seen on TV/in real life.  She immediately calls off her wedding, cries in the corner and says she will sleep with the next guy she sees.  I walk in front of her.  She immediately calls her wedding back on.

1:14 A.M.-Matty and b-wim tell me about a private party in the back bar and say that anyone can just walk back in.  Me and Booman walk over there.  10 seconds later I am standing outside a curtain by myself.

1:17 A.M.-I notice that the bar has Golden Tee.  I text every person in my address book to tell them that I found one of the 13,941,372 bars in the US that has Golden Tee.

1:39 A.M.-I notice that D-Love is making out with some chick on the dance floor.  I walk in between them and tell her that I was an extra in Driven too.  She begins making out with D-Love again.  I am stuck in the middle of their embrace.

1:59 A.M.-Michael leaves the bar without telling anyone and heads down to Boystown for a little "night cap" (not that there's anything wrong with that).  He later tells me that leaving without telling anyone and ending up in a Turkish bath in the gay section of town (once again...not that there's anything wrong with that) is called a "French Goodbye."  From what I know about the French...I don't doubt it.

2:44 A.M.-Red Ivy is closing so we walk outside to get a cab.

2:48 A.M.-Booman gets in some dude's cab without realizing that anyone else was in there.  I walk over to get him out.  Next thing I know some chick walks up to me and slaps me in the face.  Thinks are really starting to heat up...if you know what I'm saying.

2:49 A.M.-Clay Aiken walks outta no where and gets into my face.  I have no idea what is going on.  Clay Aiken head butts me in the chest.  I don't budge.  Next thing I know Clay Aiken is gone.  And seriously...none of this is made up.  I'm pretty sure that the frosted tip d-bag who head butted me actually was Clay Aiken.  In fact, I'm pretty sure that the next day I was featured on in the thread entitled "Clay Aiken head butts bearded Paul Walker/extra in Driven."  I've finally made it!!

3:16 A.M.-We are now in Big City Tap.  Someone tells Joey and Wayne that this is a big transvestite bar.  We can't wait to get onto that dance floor.

3:29 A.M.-Some "girl" is sticking her tongue down my throat.  I'm as hard as a dime in an ice storm right now.  The lights flash for a second, and the tranny gets a look at me.  She can't run away fast enough. 

3:41 A.M.-The hottest rap song in the screets starts bumping and the BAR IS GOING CRAZY!!

4:13 A.M.-Next thing I know I am laying in my bed.  Booman walks in and gets under the covers with me.  Soon he's the big spoon, and I'm the little spoon.  I'm not saying that he was as hard as a dime in an ice storm...but I'm not saying he wasn't either.  Bout time we got around to the orgy.  And we all not there's nothing wrong with that.

Text Updates and Big Ups
My current text messaging score since January 27th is +294 (226-inbox, 179-sent, 21 from females), which means that more and more chicks are hearing about how I am the bearded Paul Walker/was an extra in Driven so...nice.  Also my Twitter score is holding steady with 222 followers so...looks like I am doing something right sucks.

I also have a couple of big ups to extend in this edition of the blog.  First to Ace, Booman, b-wim, Dboy, D-Love, Hort, Joey, Matty, Michael, Stunt, Seal, and Wayne way to go for being my friends.  That says more about you than any Internet blog ever could.  Also to Dorial Green-Beckham, arguably the greatest football player of all-time, way to go on becoming just another cat from Ol' Mizzou.  Now you just gotta be featured on the "We Are Mizzou...REMIX!!!" DGB...please. Only you can prove that my home state isn't compromised 100% with dweebs.

Back next week with more about Kip Pardue and the greatest film of the past half century Driven.

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