Editor n' Chief's Note: Farting in Public is Fun.  You know what else is fun?  Mocking successful and talented people who write about other "successful" people.  So, on that note, I present to you an excerpt from my upcoming anthropological masterpiece, tentatively titled "The 12 Habits of Almost Complete Failures in Life: Counterintuitive Non Sense Based on Empty Rhetoric," which--based on its title--will likely never be published, purchased, or even elaborated on further. Hope you enjoy.

There is nothing you can do that is good
If there is no one who saw it and can tell you that it is good
-Someone, somewhere, at some point in history

In my almost 25 years of breathing oxygen, masturbating to Internet porn, and guzzling a delicious mix of Jim Beam and Budweiser (blame my mother’s breast milk for getting me hooked), I have come in contact with many people who have an iron-clad commitment to moral virtue and a deep sense of personal ethics, but have found themselves struggling; struggling to get layed, struggling to not drive a 1986 Honda Accord, struggling to tell people about their lives without the listener bursting into uncontrollably mean-spirited laughter.

I suspect that some of these problems, which I am just now making up in my brain, sound familiar to you:

I’ve set my career goals, and woke up one morning determined to accomplish them.  Then I realized that I didn’t even have a job and before I could start looking for one I discovered a Ren and Stimpy marathon on illegallypiratedTV.tv. It’s now 4 years later and my mom just bought me a super pack of boxers from the American Eagle outlet store.

I’ve started a new diet—for the 18th time this year.  I know I’ve overweight and I really don’t want to be.  I also know it’s January 18th, and my McDonald’s frequent Big Mac’s buyers punch card has already been marked 37 times.

I’ve taken course after course in time management, which is ironic—because taking a four-hour class about how to brush my teeth in 17 seconds instead of 28 is a giant waste of time.

My teenage son is rebellious and loves to party.  I’m only 22 and I have a teenage son. I haven’t partied since I was 9.

I see my friends or relatives achieve some measure of success.  Actually I don’t see them do anything of importance because I am out smoking drugs in the parking lot during all of their graduations, weddings, etc.

My marriage has gone flat.  My wife is Persian and I spent my lifesavings to bring her to America.  Now she is banging every dude in California and starring in low-budget softcore porns on Showtime.

These are deep problems.  Some are painful physically.  Some are painful emotionally.  Some, like watching Ren and Stimpy or smoking drugs, really are designed to take away pain—and usually do a damn fine job of it.  But all of them are, in one way or another, problems.  All of them make you a failure in the eyes of other people, which therefore makes you a failure in the real world.

Now I am not trying to put anyone down here.  In fact I can empathize with this very predicament. I know what you all are going through, because I am almost a failure as well.  In fact if I didn’t have possession of my parent’s credit card, and they didn’t work very hard so they could buy me Qudoba and then chastise me about my lack of independence every second of every day, my life would probably look worse than your’s.  My “success” is not my own—my parent’s still put a roof over my head, feed me, do my laundry, pay for my cellphone, car, gas, insurance and PS3 games, and allow me to drink any alcohol which may be in their possession—but that doesn’t mean I will not take credit for it.  I am upper-middle class, and I do not have a pure enough heart to want to earn that distinction on my own.

Even if you do however, that desire alone does nothing for you.  Like Andre Agassi once said: Image is everything.  If you aren’t wearing ballin’ ass suits, drivin a fly whip, or taking enough money out of the ATM to buy yourself a high class ho’ every Tuesday and Friday night, then you haven’t made it.  You can have all the inner peace you want, all the charitable characteristics that can fulfill your need to help others, and that, by itself, will never be enough.  Andre Agassi (arguably my favorite athlete of all-time) may have smoked Angel Dust and wore a strange mullet wig, but he went on to use all his money to become one of the most philanthropic famous people who ever existed.  And he still said that image is reality.  He still understood the meaning of “success”

My point here is that being a good person does not make you a success or a failure in our world, other people’s judgements do.  Realizing this, and deciding to be unsuccessful anyway, is the first step into being an almost complete failure, which is what I am; a youngish man-child who has yet to become a grown up.  I am someone who, by any objective measure, could be called at least somewhat of a disappointment.  I could be called lazy, immature, or desensitized.  I could be called politically unaware, unconcerned, or unsympathetic.  I could be called a moocher, a financial pariah, or someone too willing to live off his parent’s money.  I could be called a failure.

Which doesn’t mean that I am one.  It just means that I am close. I enjoy my life.  I do not want to change and grow up and become a productive member of society. That’s why I am trying to peddle this Internet site, despite its potential financial earnings of $0/fiscal quarter.  Because, in lack of better words, getting drunk on a weeknight is more fun than selling life insurance to people who are too fat to ever qualify for it.

And that's the difference between me, and the others in my stead, and the people I have completely made up in my brain and quoted above.  I know that getting drunk on a Tuesday because I have no job to get up for the next morning and no money of my own means that I am, by the definition of the word, not a doing “well” by any stretch of the imagination.  But I also don't care.  I am not a complete failure because I decide not to chase success, while the people above did and ultimately failed. That, their inability to either achieve at least a modest amount of "success" or embrace their own failure, is why they suck. That may sound blunt and overly honest, but it’s also true. Those are just the stone, cold facts homies. 

Look in the end I do not think that you need to drive a Mercedes to be a success, but you do need to have the keys to at least a relatively new Ford Focus.  You don’t need to go on a shopping spree in the Armani suit department to be doing well, but you do need to be able to buy your own cargo shorts at Old Navy.  You don’t need the whole world to pat you on the back or bend over and take your every whim up the b-hole to be a productive member of society, but you do need them to look at you and acknowledge that you are doing no worse than “just fine” for yourself.

Perception is reality.  Success is what we determine it to be.  You are not doing “just fine” for yourself if no one else can say that about you with a straight face.  And that’s OK. Because doing “just fine” is for mature people who want to live in the suburbs.  That’s not me.  That’s not the people who live their lives like I live mine.

Which is why we are here.  This is not meant to be an anthropological study into success.  This is meant to be an anthropological study into almost complete failure (otherwise known as complete failure for people who care) and what makes it what it is. 

This is an anthropological study, based on no facts or research other than me living my own life and not reading enough books while doing it, about myself and people like me.   People with no jobs and not enough money.  People who may want to be writers, artists or movie stars yet have either no discernable talent, or no discernable talent that anyone else can recognized.  People who embrace capitalism without making it their bitch yet.

People who are ineffective, and don’t want to change it.  People who want to be drunk and lazy and maybe one day find their way to success with little or no effort all at the same time.

That is who I am.  And this is the beginning of the story as to why.

We Are Almost Complete Failures: A Manifesto
We are sons and daughters; brothers and sisters; more than likely accidental fathers and mothers to alcohol and PCP abusers.  We are everything but husbands and wives.  We will never be able to afford a diamond engagement ring, or even afford to wear one without hawking it at our local Pawn Shop or using it as our entry fee when we sign up with a new prostitution ring.

We are men and women who, like our bastard children, consume alcohol, and maybe hardcore drugs if we found Uma Thurman’s overdose in Pulp Fiction to be arousing instead of a terrifying warning not to do awesome stuff.  We feel better we when are inebriated, and we should.  Getting drunk must be fun or no one would be doing it.

Besides getting hammered, we also masturbate and watch TV and sometimes we do them at the same time.  Kelly Ripa is hot.  We don’t have anything else to do all day.  Sometimes the Internet porn is cranking just a little too slow.  You do the math on what happens when our hands and down our pants and we are watching daytime television.

The only reason we may not be watching daytime television is that we are asleep.  We like to sleep. We like to sleep a lot.  Like 10 hours a day.  Or 12.  Or 18.  We probably need at least a little more time in the sack than the 195-year-old queen of England.  If we don’t get our two-digit plus hours every single night, we are monsters.  If God won’t let us drift off into our dreams on our own, we chug Nyquil.

We chug everything we drink.  Whiskey at night.  Gatorade in the morning.  Cheap coffee and monster energy drinks when we are tired from our 9-5 "lay down on the couch and don’t move" session.  We do not sip green tea with a sprinkle of lemon.  We have never stuck our pinky out awkwardly from the handle of the cup as we do it.  We are not British.  People who we claim as ancestors, yet have absolutely no biological ties to us whatsoever, beat the God damn Lobster Backs’ asses in two wars to ensure that.  We clearly don’t understand history very well.

We may have gone to college; we may not have.  We may be able to pass the GED test; we may not be.  We may know how to read good; but we probably cannot.  But we, the jobless, the drunk, the uninformed, the pretty dumb, the lazy, the guys who spill sauce all over our crotch every time we eat spaghetti, we, the people who do not know how to work washing machines or spell the word "immeiadetly," we, the men and women who buy breakfast, lunch and dinner off the McDonald’s value menu because we cannot work a stove or afford to pay a gas bill, we will be heard.

Our lives will be investigated.  Our patterns will be dissected.  The world will learn why we are the way we are.

The world will hear our story because, at some point in the future, I will tell it to you.   And at that point you will discover one thing: you will want to be more like us, not less.

We may not be successes.  We may be almost complete failures.  But we don't care because we know that we will have our day in the whiskey soaked sun.

And you, my rich and well-to-do friends, will be very, very jealous of us when that time finally comes.

We may not be productive members of society, and that’s OK. Because, everything we do, is productive enough for us to get drunk and sleep in our parent’s attics until we are 29.  Everything we do is productive enough for us to live life the way it is meant to be lived.

Fat, drunk and stupid may be no way for you to go through your life. 

But that will never stop us from going that way with ours.

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 hey...it'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 Artist.com 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 almost all of you surely know, Albert Pujols has decided to piss in the Mississippi River, dump on the Arch and basically teabag the St. Louis community on his way out the door and onto to the land of the worse Disney world.  That's right ladies and gentleman Albert Pujols, arguably the 4th most famous resident of the StL (behind myself, Cedric the Entertainer, and Nelly Nell) has skipped town and headed west to Anaheim to play hockey with the kids from The Mighty Ducks...who are apparently grown ups playing in the NHL together now.  Not bad considering where they came from.

But the fact that winter sports are somehow played in the same county where Seth Cohen sailed on "The Summer Breeze" aside, this doesn't make sense to me.  As I wrote earlier in my more dramatic, compelling, and pulitzer-worthy piece on Pujols I think Albert will regret this decision.  But forget about baseball (and the fact that Albert will now always play second fiddle to Adam Banks and Charlie Conway in his own market) for a minute.  There's an entire other set of reasons why Albert's decision to go all "Hollywood suburbs" on us is the wrong one. 

And that's because St. Louis is just better than Anaheim.  Yes Cali may have the sun and the beach and surfing and Disney Land and hot chicks and Julie Cooper hooking up with her daughter's ex-boyfriend and all that, but that doesn't tell the whole story.  St. Louis may not have Albert Pujols anymore, but it still has Imo's Pizza and Ted Drew's and poor people and drug abuse.  And isn't that, overweight people and poverty, what gives a city character? 

Of course it is.  And that's something St. Louis has in spades.  Something that those pot smoking hippies can never, ever replicate.  So good luck Albert, and remember it's not where you came from...it's where you are.  And where you now are is a place that pales in comparison to the bastion of Western Civilization...St. Louis, Missouri.

St. Louis > Anaheim
So now that I've made this declaration about Albert, his terrible decision, and his future crippling exctacy addiction, let me back it up...and look at how and why St. Louis is just a much, much better place than Anaheim could ever dream of being.

Reason #1: Beer-Look I know that Albert doesn't drink alcohol (the first sign that his character is indeed flawed), but last time I checked one of these cities has the world's largest brewery brewing the world's best beer which is now the official beverage of Jesus Chris.  And the last time I checked Albert was a Christian so...looks like his lack of drinking/leaving the home of Jesus' favorite beer finally caught up to him.  Good luck in the afterlife there Pu Daddy.  After all...we all have to atone for our sins at some point.

Reason #2: Charity-It's no secret that Albert and his charitable efforts have had an incredible impact on the St. Louis community.  And even a lowlife like myself can commend him for that.  However, the question now becomes how can those efforts continue in Anaheim?  I mean who is he going to help?  Sea lions?  Cartoon characters?  People who don't like sunny weather?

A quick google search discovered that 10.4% of families in Anaheim live under the poverty line.  Meanwhile, 26.7% percent of people in St. Louis are poor as f.  So, looks like Albert has turned his back on the people who need him most for amusment park executives and Pluto.  Welcome to the 1% Alberto.  Me and my family will just stay in the 73.3% of St. Louis residents who have taken a shower in the past month and aren't protesting anything.

Reason #3: Rap Music-It's also no secret that St. Louis is the home to the most banging gangster rap beats on the planet.  What is a secret to everyone though is that this is Anaheim's most badass gangster shiznit.  When Malibu's more g'ed up from the feet up than your town, well...then you know what Anaheim feels like.  And the world Albert is voluntarily walking into.  Don't see any J-Kwon's gettin tipsy out there anytime soon.

Reason #4: Cost of Living-As I already wrote, no one in St. Louis really has any money so...everything is really cheap.  Also there are pawn shops on like every corner, and they basically give stuff away so...yeah.  My parents furnished their entire living room for like $13.41.  In Anaheim, after inflation, that woulda cost roughly 6 million dollars.

Reason #5: Better With Machines-Everyone knows that Albert Pujols is, in fact, a machine.  So I understand why the emotional appeal wouldn't work on someone who is, for all intensive purposes, a RoboCop.  However, I also understand that St. Louis is home to one of the nation's largest Boeing Plants so when Albert begins breaking down, as all robots eventually do, who would be able to fix him?  The city with a gigantic airplane plant, or the state who elected the obsolete version of Terminator as governor?  Yeah...this one might actually be a toss up.

Reason #6: The Rams-Hey, remember when the St. Louis Rams played in LA and never won a super bowl?  Now, do you remember when Isaac Bruce caught this.  Cause I do.  Now, I know it takes a real moron to use a team that's been outscored 530-12 this year as an argument for why one thing is better than another.  But hey, if the shoe fits...then I'm going to wear it.

Reason #7: StL N*****-Check out the youtube video below to see exactly what I am talking about.  Also note that the video contains some offensive language.  But hey I didn't say it...I just condone it.  And dance at the end of the video.  Hey...white boys got moves too.

It should also be pointed out that the St. Louis Blues beat the grown up Mighty Ducks of Anaheim 4-2 last year so...looks like everything I've written so far is just a stone, cold fact.  Thanks hockey for backing me up.

Text Updates and Big Ups
My current text messaging score since December 2nd is +236 (186-inbox, 139-sent, 3 from females), which shows exactly why I have so much time to write all these blog posts that offend people who don't realize what jokes are.  Also my twitter score has dipped down to 209 followers because, well, a lot of those robots that followed me apparenty malfunctioned or something.  Oh well.

I also have a couple of big ups to extend in this post.  First to my main men D-boy, Willie and JJ...thanks for the continued love, support and feedback.  It always fills my days.  Also I have some very special gratitude to share with my friend and fellow blogger Clare Brady who shared my other Pujols related work on her facebook wall and her blog, proving once and for all, that she is much, much more popular than I am.  Also, feel free to check out Clare's blog about living healthy and doing other stuff that is the opposite of what I am all about here.  And noticed her acknowledgment of how talented I am.  Sweet.

Back next week with more useless information that 3.4 people cannot wait to read.

In Hoc,
Sachary L. Poelker
"The Sack Artist: Jack of All Trades"
Dear Readers,
As I'm sure all of you know the Sack has hit another milestone in his quest to be well-liked by the Internet community while contributing absolutely zero value to it in any way, shape or form.  In a tale as old as time I have overcome ever single obstacle the computer world has thrown in my way, including Google and Urban Dictionary describing me as "a scam artist, idiot, moron asshole or useless person who does nothing but collect unemployment or disability benefits,"  (although to be fair...this description is pretty accurate) to once again reach a new peak of popularity the likes of which the Sack has never seen before.  That's right ladies and gentleman...I now have 200+ Twitter followers.

Now you all may be asking, how did the Sack reach such a prestigeous milestone?  Well how did Barrack Obama become president?  How did Jay-Z get Beyonce to marry him?  How did Urkel from Family Matters provide Emmy nominated performances year after year?  How did Will Smith overcome his parent's lack of comprehension to make the defining song (Miami) and film (Wild Wild West) of two separate geographic regions?

Well as it turns out, me and these great men all have a lot in common because those men, like myself, are neat guys...and people like us.  Also we all get what it's like on the screets.  We handy with the steel if you know what I mean, earn our keep.  We're not business men, we're a business...man.  Basically what I am trying to say is we've all risen above our obstacles.  We've all overcome our suffering to rise to the tops of our professions.

Barrack Obama the politican.  Jay-Z the rapper.  Urkel the hilarious dork.  Will Smith the rapper turned actor.  And Sack...the man with 200 twitter followers.  God it feels damn good to be mentioned in that sentence...even if I am the one writing it.

Get Like Me...On Twitter
Well, now that we have established that I am more of a social media expert than Shaquille O'Neal, Ashton Kucher, and First World Problems combined, let me tell you how you can raise your twitter game, get chicks to like you, and become as respected in the real world as the black people I listed above.  Because after all, that's what social media is for...right?

1) Offend People-This may be the easiest step to take towards improving your social media presence on the Internet machine.  And it may be the simpliest too.  Look on Twitter, as in real life, no one is going to respect you or think you are funny if you are saying things like "Happy birthday to Samantha...she's my bestie :)))!!!" or "My parents are good people who taught me everything that I know!!"  On Twitter, once again as in real life, nice guys finish last, and don't get high-paying Wall Street Jobs or smoking hot girlfriends (or boyfriends) with fake boobs (or calves? I'm sorry...I can't think of a male equivalent.  This is going to cause me to be called sexist for the second time in my life).

Now the key is to say offensive things, without using offensive words or being racist (are you listening D-boy?).  In fact by "offend people" I really mean offending people who are looking for a reason to be offended.  You know, the people who think that Anne Frank jokes cross the line or that Tyler Perry's shows only made it onto TBS because of their high-quality production value.  These people are just looking for something that they can claim is offensive.  They live for it.  So give it to them. 

2) Don't Hold Back...or Think-This directly ties in with #1.  Look if you type something into your Twitter, then it must be something that you want to say.  Don't reread your tweets and think about how people might interpret them the wrong way.  Just hit send.  And don't worry, in the long run people won't care.  No one I've ever known of has lost their job or ruined their reputation by using Twitter.  Trust me on this.

3) Shameless Self Promotion-Let's be honest the 15 of you who are viewing this post (and the 4 of you who are actually reading it) aren't doing it because this is quality writing or because of the Sack's sterling reputation for insightful commentary on the human condition.  You are doing it because, out of the hundreds, or even thousands, of people who view the many, many updates I post on Twitter and Facebook you are the only ones who are dumb enough to click on the link.  I didn't get to where I am today by having dignity or caring how other people feel.  I got here because I am my own (and only) biggest fan. That much is clear at this point.

4) Flattering Pics-If that link I posted on Congressman Weiner taught me one thing, it's that if you are going to post naked pictures of yourself, then you better be, uh...well equipped.  If you aren't hung like Ron Jeremy...then no one is gonna want to see what you're packing.  I mean...isn't that why softcore porn exists in the first place? To hide unimpressive pieces of male gentalia?

5) Be Hilarious-This is a good way, perhaps the only way, to get ahead in any aspect of life.  I mean think about it.  If Twitter was around in 2003 then Dane Cook would have millions of followers rolling around laughing about his commentary on the Kool-Aid man.  Instead it's 2011, and Dane Cook has already made this movie.  The Twitter damage has already been done.  (By the way, why is Jim from American Pie in this movie?  What Finch or Tara Reid weren't available?  By the way #2 the three things I will always hope for as long as I live are 1-Dane Cook will return to being funny, 2-Dane Cook's character in Mr. Brooks will come back from the dead for the sequel, Mr. Brooks 2: Dane Cook's Zombie Is Looking for Payback and 3-Tara Reid will be hot again.  That's all I really want to see before I die.)

6) Lie-Look it's Twitter, so no one has to know if what you are saying is the truth.  You can't live up to #4?  Fake it.  You aren't funny enough to pull off #5?  Carry around a notepad and write down the hysterical stuff that other people say.  You are a cast member of The Bing Bang Theory?  Well then...I can't help you there.  Cause you don't, and can't, do any of these things.

7) Set Low Expectations-I've found that if you have a goal that you might not reach it.  But, if you don't have a goal, then you are never disappointed.  And I gotta tell you...it feels phenomenal.  Alright yeah...this line isn't original.  But then again, nothing I write is so yeah...I'm not that talented.

8) Drink Alcohol-I know that this seems to be a staple of any advice I've ever given...and there is a good reason for that.  Because it makes everything better.  Tweeting drunk, without any inhibitions, is the easiest way I know of to 1-Offend people, 2-Not think, 3-Shamelessly promote yourself, 4-Tweet dong pics, 5-Be Hilarious, 6-Lie and 7-Set low expectations for yourself.  Now chug some Jack Daniels, get your smart phone out...and make the magic happen.

Text Updates and Big Ups
My current text messaging score since only November 9th is +99 (76-inbox, 66-sent, 3 from females) which isn't too bad considering that it's only from the past 2 days, but is too bad when considering that most of them are about the tragedy at Penn State.  Not even I can make a joke of that yet. 

Also I have to extend a very special big ups to all my twitter followers, and to myself for being funny and clever enough to make the dream happen.  200 twitter followers...what a special day. 

Be back next week with some more discussion, insight, and offensive remarks.  Now everyone watch this documentary I found on Lady Gaga's brother.

In Hoc,
Sachary L. Poelker
"The Sack Artist: Jack of All Trades"
Dear Readers,
As surely all of you know, the Sack is America's foremost Jack of all Trades.  And, as such, I am also America's foremost master of every type of art.  Now you may think the term "art" is limited to drawing or painting or sculpting different kinds of penises (yeah...that is what high society is all about), but in many ways...you'd be wrong.  You see the form of art I am talking about is more subtle.  It's more pleasureful.  It's more sexually charged (well...depending on how flaccid you sculpted your penis).  Really...it's the art of seduction.

As you may realize, the art of seduction is as old as time itself.  It's how Eve f'ed over the entire human race so she could eat one GD apple.  It's how Marissa Cooper convinced Ryan Atwood to throw away a life of luxury in Chino for a life of despair in Newport Beach.  It's how Kim Kardashian married, and supposedly was already cheated on, by the 4th best player on a NBA team that was a combined 36-128 (22% winning percentage) the past 2 years.  Basically, it's what makes all the retarded things in the world happen...including Tara Reid (and me being the only man in Western civilization she hasn't smanged).

However, the Sack has recently mastered the art of seduction so...hide your sisters, mothers, and female pets (yeah gender matters for me with animals too.  After all, I'm not a gay beastialitist...not that there's anything wrong with that).  Cause I just tested positive...for G-A-M-E.  Now sit back, relax, and zip up your pants while I tell you how to get the ladies...and not do that kinda stuff to yourself anymore.  Welcome to the (Sack) pick up artist, complete with all the swag of Paul Rudd, and none of the emotional attachment.  I know you'll thank me later.

Slayin the Chicken Heads...Sack Style
As I said earlier, I have discovered a new formula for picking up chicas at your local bar, tarvern or rave basement (although this would probably be a better spot to pick up the chicos...not that there's anything wrong with that).  And now, like that lice infected doucher on VH1, I am ready to share my secrets with America.  So...here we go.

Step 1: Don't Dress Like Your Homeless-This was perhaps the hardest step for me to take.  Look I know that we all love to wear our Cosco brand sweat pants 7 days in a row.  I also know that we all really, really love to cover ourselves in garbage and pass it off as some sort of high-end fashion statement that Owen Wilson hasn't heard about yet.  But, the sad truth is, chicks are usually afraid of guys decked out in see through cotton sweats and used cat food containers filled with urine.  So visit your local Fubu or Vokal outlet store, and let today's hip new style wash over you.  After all, if you look good you feel good. And, if you feel good...then chicks with low self-esteem will feel worse about themselves in your presence.  And (as you'll see later)...that's exactly what we're going for.

Step 2: Groom Yourself-I am going to use myself as an example for this one.  What do you think chicks see when they look at the perfect crafted lion's mane sitting on top of my head running down to my impeccably maintained Amish neck bearded running down to my lucious V of body hair that goes from my chest pubes to my ball fro?  What do you think they see when they look at my strategically placed acne breakouts that tells them "hey I know about proactive, and maybe I've tried it...but I don't care enough to use it on my entire face"?  Well, I'll tell you what they see.  They see a guy who is devastatingly good looking, but still doesn't give a F. And that ain't random.  Trust me...it's all premeditated partna.

Step 3: Act Like You are Better than Everyone Else-Now that we've covered your physical apparrell/appearance, let's take a look at the mental aspect of the pickin up chicas game.  This might be the single most important element to your game, since it is by far the easiest way to separate yourself from the millions of d-bags out there with equisite premeditated style and/or gelled hair.  And how exactly do you do that?  Easy, look down at everyone else around like they are just a gigantic waste of space that is so far beneath an important man about town like yourself.  Look if there is one thing chick's respond to it's arrogance (are as I like to call it "confidence on steroids that also demeans other people's self worth). 

Now simply acting like you are better than everyone else might not make it true, but believing in it with all your heart definitely will.  After all it's not a lie...if you believe it.

Step 4: Tackle Drunk B****es-First let me clarify for all 2 of my female readers (my mom being one of them) that this is a movie quote/a code written in every man's DNA, not simply a chance for me to refer to women in a derogatory fashion.  So, if all you ladies out there have a problem with this, take it up with Judd Apatow...or God.  Whichever one is easier for you.

And there is a good reason for this.  Because, like a lion taking down a gazelle, men prey on the weakest women in the herd.  It's simply in our nature.  And despite the quote above, weakest doesn't necessarily mean drunk (but it can.  And remember guys there's nothing immoral about hooking up with drunk chicks...as long as you are drunk too).  "Weakest" can also refer to chicks who are lonely, self-lothing, have issues with their parents, have just broken up with their significant other, have recently suffered some sort of devastating loss in their lives (grief...nature's most powerful afrodisiac) or watch PBS for fun (which means all the previous descriptions probably apply to them as well).  The key fellas is to keep your head on a swivel, scout your target, and then go in for the kill. Just like a lion tackling a gazelle.  After all...that's what God intended.

Step 5: Lie-Who exactly is Sachary Poelker?  Well sometimes I'm a venture capitalist from Vermont who recently invested in a successful maple syrup start up.  Sometimes I'm a pimp from Oakland who can offer economic and emotional stability or a cowboy from Arizona who is only afraid of rattlesnakes and badass Navajo Indians.  And sometimes I'm the founder of the world's 7,300,293rd funniest/most viewed internet blog (oh shit...that last one is true).  It all depends on who I am talking to and what they want to hear.  Once again it's not a lie...because I always believe it.  Never been a truer statement in the history of man kind then that one right there...or something like that.

Step 6: Don't Wear Deodorant-Come on fellas, own your scent.  After all, Matthew McConaughey doesn't wear deodorant and he seems to be doing alright.  Actually based on the second youtube video below, he recently had a 4 way with Will Arnett and the Olsen twins so...looks like he's doing better than just alright if you ask me.

Step 8: Did I Mention I Like to Dance?-Look if major motion pictures have taught me two things it's 1-Black people always die first when facing murderous attacks (unless they are Samuel L. Jackson fighting of a plane full of serpents) and 2-Dudes who can dance get all the chicks.  Why do you think that dude from Stomp the Yard is always cleaning up with the ladies?  Cause he's black? Naw...cause he can shake his tail-feather with the best of them (the two are clearly unrelated).  Now that I've made my point, just watch the youtube video below, hit the dance floor...and watch the females flock to you like a hungry bear smelling their menstration.

Step 9: Try Your Hardest not to watch The View-Guys who watch The View have emotions and feelings.  Guys who have emotions and feelings don't get chicks.  1+1=2.  All of these statements are equally as factual as the others.

Text Updates and Big Ups
My text messaging score since October 14th is an astronomical +478 (304-inbox, 251-sent, 125 from females), which is my highest score/most text from females ever...once again proving my slayin chicken heads method works.  Also my twitter score has shot up to 198 followers (at least 5 or 6 of which are females) so...that should be all the evidence you need that I know what the hell I am talking about.

However, in an unusual move, I am going to hold big ups for this week.  Something tells me I am going to accumulate quite a collection this weekend so...I'll save all my mentions for my next post.  Sorry everybody, but this might be telling you that...you got to step your game up. 

*I will extend thanks to Michael Kovach for introducing me to the "Did I Mention I Like to Dance Video"

Back next week with more writing that is too long/shitty for anyone to actually read in it's entirety.

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

Dear Readers,
As all of you know the summer of Sack is now officially over, which is not good news for anybody.  This may be especially true for my readers in Siberia/Minnesota who now must endure 9 months of complete darkness and threats of vampire attacks/terribly acted Josh Hartnett movies.  But never fear all you suffers of Communism/the Minnesota Timberwolves because you aren't the only ones who are petrified by the coming seasonal change.  After all if misery really does love company, then you Stalin/David Kahn oppressed souls out there should be ecstatic...because you now have plenty of it.  That's right...it's back to school time.

This very week millions of students around the world are being forced into an environment of learning against their will.  And, for all you illiterates out there who want to know what school is really like, let me help you. First imagine a prison then...don't change anything.  In fact my high school experience, with it's all male occupants, GED equivalent educational system (at least according to the state of Missouri), strong homo erotic tendencies, often poisoned food (why else would I throw up after eating just 100 pizza rolls?), 45 minutes/day of free physical activity and tobacco based currency system is probably as close to an actual prison as any institution that charges $470,329 a year for tuition can possibly be.  And people really thought we all had privileged upbringings? Come on society.

Now you are all probably saying "hey Sack if your school experience sucks worse than Edward Norton's prison time in American History X...then why the hell are you still there?"  And while that may be a valid question, the answer is really very simple.  You see, like Brooks in The Shawshank Redemption...I am terrified to leave and live in the outside world.  After all, school itself hasn't really given me or prepared me for much of anything.  It's given me no confidence.  It's given me no knowledge.  It's given me no skills or ability that can ever lead to me getting a job/becoming a productive member of society.  In reality all my time in school has given me is fear.  In fact it's given me the very real fear that, just like Brooks, I will be unable to adjust to a life of freedom, become overwhelmed in the real world, and eventually hang myself at a halfway house.  At the end of the day school may be for fools, look at me (or the guy from Mr. Deeds in youtube video #1 below), but it is the only life I know.  I just hope all of you out there don't follow in my footsteps. Or if you do, that you at least end up like Tim Robbins does in Shawshank...a rich white dude chilling on the beach with Morgan Freeman. Then, and only then, all the pain and suffering might be worth it after all.

How to Survive Forced Education
However just because I have exposed our educational system for the penitentiary that it really is, that doesn't mean I cannot enlighten all you students out there with my knowledge about schooling itself.  Now whether you are forced into continued schooing by the liberal government commis in D.C., some sort of BS pressure from parents who don not want their children to be truly happy, or your own ill-conceived notions about what can make you a financial/spiritual success, listen up as I drop 22 years worth of schooling without parole on you fools...and tell you all how to survive in the classroom/hallways/cafateria.

1) Play Dumb-You know how all criminals claim to be insane so they can serve their time in a mental hospital instead of the state pen?  Well school is no different trust me...I know.  You see, when I started 1st grade my  teacher agreed to sent me to the "special" reading class because she thought that I couldn't spelled my name.  However what she didn't know was that I could have spelled my name if I had had any idea what it was.  At this point in life I honestly thought my name was either 1-"Get me a fresh beer" or 2-"The chunker who couldn't walk till he was 34 months old" because those were the only ways my dad would talk to me/describe me to other people.  And when I wrote these terms under name on my school work my teacher treated me like I was just some janitor at MIT trying to solve genius level math equations. 

So she decided to put me in class with the Simple Jacks of the world, and let me tell you...it was the most glorious experience of my life.  I mean instead of learning how to read all I'd do for entire class periods was eat cookies, run around in circles and fart in the bathtub (and think it was hilarious) until I eventually passed out shirtless in a gigantic pile with the other slow children.   That apparently was what special ed at St. Margaret of Scotland was all about, and I must say...I wouldn't never trade those couple of weeks for anything. 

2) Stay With Your Own Gender-Look I know you are all probably thinking that the worst part about prison is never being able to interact with the other sex right? Wrong.  In fact being in an all-weiner (or all-vajayjay) environment is probably one of the best things about being incarcerated and, if you play your cards right, being in school too.  I mean think about it.  When you are trying to shank a member of a rival gang or smuggling a few cigarettes into your butt hole or dropping an extra loose deuce in the prisoner toilets, do you really have time to have to worry about impressing Martha Stewart and her fellow girlfriends in jump suits?

Of course not, and school is the exact same way.  I guess it's all about what you want from your schooling experience.  Do you really want to spend your time in the slammer trying to talk to chicks or do you want to spend it farting in your buddy's face?  Do you really want to have to worry about a lady walking into the unisex bathroom when your digestive system is unloading or do you want to be able to relax, light some candles and read the sport's page while you let nature take it's course?  And do you honestly want to have to comb your hair every morning or do you want to show up to school every day sporting Cameron Diaz's hair style from There's Something About Mary  like my main man Chuckles Schlafly did?  These are easy questions to answer, and they can only lead to one conclusion.  A school (or prison) with no vaginas (or penises) equals a more fun and carefree environment for its students/inmates.  And that's just a God damn fact.

3) Try Your Best to be Good Looking or Good at Sports-This kind of flies in the face of conventional prison knowledge, where being an attractive man can often mean a life of sexual enslavement and/or zero personal hygiene (Although I hear sports stars such as Michael Vick and Plaxico Burress actually never went to the pen, instead being forced to live in a La Quinta Inns and Suites in Wichita, Kansas for 2 years. This may or may not be worse than serving your time in a federal prison...I'm honestly not sure). 

However, the opposite is true in any sort of school.  I am not sure when the good looking kids/athletes start to distinguish themselves from the rest of the pack, but they start getting special treatment pretty f'in soon.  I mean if you don't either A-dunk or B-get compared to a young Paul Walker by a semi-attractive female teacher by the time you are in the 3rd grade...then you are definitely behind the 8 ball.  This means that you may actually have to do your homework, study for your tests and earn your grades based on your own merit.  And let's face it that sucks.  After all nothing is better than getting things like money, power or academic achievement (that you could never actually attain using your own brain) through nothing other than your good looks/agility.  Just ask Anna Nicole Smith about that one.  Too soon?  Naw...too late if anything.

4) Snitches Get Stitches-Do you know what happens to snitches in prison? No you say.  Well try turning in Joe Blow for cheating on his Latin Worksheet in the 11th grade, and you'll find out pretty f'in quick...and it's not pretty.  In fact it may or may not involve you being naked, a bucket of ice cubes, a 9 iron (and possibly some sort of 19th century bear trap).  That's all you really need to know right there.

5) Always Wear a Belt-I can vividly remember when Mr. Finan, the Dean of Students/Warden at St. Louis Priory School, told me I was going down the wrong path in life because I had broken the dress code by not wearing a belt.  Did it matter that Mr. Finan was a crotchety, middle-aged man who still rocked the 1970's mustache he may or may not have grown while he acted in pornos to help pay for his Harvard education?  No because, at the end of the day, he was right.  After all if you don't wear a belt, then your pants are gonna sag.  And everyone knows what wearing your pants around your ankles and showing off your bare ass means in prison.  Well everyone besides certain Rap stars.  Pants on the ground, pants on the ground...looking like a fool with your pants on the ground.

6) Don't Assume Females Carry Around Naked Pictures of Themselves in Their Purses-At one point in time there was a young, female math teacher at St. Louis Priory School, let's call her Ms. Vandavere.  Now Ms. Vandavere was a decent looking, fairly cute woman out in the real world.  However, once she entered the all-male confines of Priory...she became hottest woman this side of Xena the Warrior Princess.  I mean every guy, students and teachers alike, fawned over her 24/7.  I've honestly never seen a woman get so much attention in my entire life.

Now one time Ms. Vandavere just happened to be subbing in a 7th grade algebra class when a young male student, let's call him James Dolmes, decided she might be carrying naked pictures of herself on her person.  "Only one way to find out" said James just as he rose from his seat, began rifling through her purse and eventually got caught trying her lip stick once Ms. Vandavere returned to the class.  Now imagine if a fairly unattractive female, let's say Sarah Jessica Parker, became a prison guard.  Would the prisoners go wild?  Of course they would.  Would they break into her purse in search of nuddy pics?  Absolutely.  Would they then get put into solitary confinement for the better part of the next decade until they started imagining themselves having conversations with Dennis Rodman in a wedding dress?  Alright that convo actually probably would happen eventually, but hopefully you get the picture I am painting here.  If not then...I guess I just can't help you.

7) Don't Drop the Soap-Alright this one is fairly obvious.  My question is, why can't we just put liquid soap in the prison showers so this whole "dropping a bar of soap" thing wouldn't really be a problem anyway?  I mean I know the federal deficit is skyrocketing, but this has got to be a worthwhile expenditure right?  Too bad I haven't paid my taxes for a longer period of time than anyone this side of Happy Gilmore's grandma or I might actually have a say in protecting prison inmates...and their butt holes.  Now that's a charity worth donating too right there.  Protect Inmate's Assholes, and Give them some Old Spice Hair and Body Wash.

By the way my insistence on liquid soap for prisoners does nothing to change my favorite cheer at any high school sporting event.  "Don't drop the soap...cause we're coming from behind!!" will always have a special place in my heart...even if the analogy isn't exactly true in the prison world anymore.

Text Updates and Big Ups
My text messaging score since September 2nd is a strong +262 (193-inbox, 156-sent, 22 from females) which once again proves that going to an all boys school for 6 years did nothing to hamper my ability to interact socially with members of the opposite sex.  Also my twitter score is pretty stagnant as I am stuck on 186 followers.  This number is down from the 190 followers I had at one point yesterday...until I made an inappropriate joke about Reese Witherspoon and her car accident that led to me being shunned from society.

I do have a couple big ups to extend in this version of the blog.  First I gotta give it up to Danny boy Flynn who will always be mentioned as long as he keeps texting me excitedly every time he reads his name in here.  Also to Michael Kovach for showing me the 2nd youtube video below, this time one featuring him wearing a retarded mascot suit and being chased by killer squirrels/a slow kid with a jar of peanut butter.  Finally I also gotta thank Nelson Suarez (who I'm not sure has ever read this piece of poop) for liking my facebook status in which I referred to myself as a racist.  Way to go Nelson, you have made me so proud...of myself.

Back next week with a look at something that isn't very funny to anyone but myself.

In Hoc,
Sachary L. Poelker
"The Sack Artist: Jack of All Trades"
Dear Readers,
As many of you may know, this past Saturday was suppose to be the day of reckoning.  However, the rapture (or raptors if you are in Toronto) came and went, with no harm being done...or did it?  Think about what really has happened in the past week.  The Miami Heat are heading to the NBA finals.  Oprah is leaving television, and possibly American culture, for ever.  And now...two of our nation's greatest icons pass away, each leaving us with gigantic holes in our heart.

If you've ever eaten a Slim Jim, or had one garnish your Bloody Mary, then you know how much Macho Man Randy Savage meant to society.  You know how he dazzled crowds, brought the first super hot playboy bunny to the WWF, made the elbow drop one of my favorite moves to pull when jumping off the frame of my parents bed and crushing my little brother, and inspired Bill Simmons to become the first virgin millionaire journalist in history (see Simmons column on Macho Man at espn.com).  But Macho Man wasn't the only societal game changer to pass from the pop culture world recently.  That's right I am talking about Cali Swag District rapper M-Bone, who was shot and killed a week ago at the ripe age of 22.  Now you may be saying the only group of pseudo-celebrities with more occasions of premature deaths than wrestlers are rappers, but you still can't deny the trend.  I mean the man who sold America on saturated beef jerky and the rapper who made the "The Dougie" the coolest dance phenom since "The Berney" dying in the same week?  This makes the Mother Theresa and Princess Diana death week seem like Spring Break in Panama City.

And it can't be a coincidence.  During this entire "world is ending on Saturday so I am gonna tweet about it" period, my roommate informed me of something we failed to consider.  Saturday wasn't necessarily the end of the world, but it was the beginning of the end.  No Macho Man.  No M-Bone.  No Michael Scott.  No Oprah.  Foot-long Chicken breasts subs costing $5.50 instead of $5 even at many Chicago Subway locations.  I could go on and on, the evidence of the apocalypse is everywhere.  So sit tight America and wait for the anti-Christ to come and end everything. At least we will get the chance to see The Hangover 2 before it's all over. And hopefully God will have Hulk Hogan and that 4 year-old doing the Berney in that youtube video join Macho and M-Bone.  After all...I think they've earned it.

Class Notes
I know I promised you all a look at The Hangover 2, but since Zach Galifianakis stood me up after inviting me to be his date at the premier...I am going to have to wait till Thursday to see it just like everybody else.  So, since I know you all can't even dream of going a week without some insight into my mind--I've decided to share my class notes from Monday.  These notes were taken during a English and language style lecture on a writer who may or may not be a dead, female, lesbian that lived in Texas during the Alamo (literally I have no idea if any of that is true).  Lets take a look.

-It was perfectly fine for my grandfather to drive me to school, despite that fact that he pooped himself every 5 minutes and couldn't go 30 seconds without taking a giant pull from his oxygen tank...yet it's illegal for me to have 3.5 beers and drive 4 blocks to get some McDonald's on a Sunday night? Yeah...that makes a lot of sense.

-Was Doogie Howser (the character) gay (like the actor who played him), straight, or just sexually aroused by medicine? I mean he spent his entire adolescence in a hospital...so that's got to be a legitimate question.

-Does liking Beyonce's "Who Runs the Wold? Girls!" song make me a lesbian..or just a raging feminist?

-What offends you more Joakim Noah's gay slur...or his face?

-Is taking a 9 lbs. shit the male equivalent to birthing a gigantic baby?

-Listening to a British rapper has got to be a lot like listening to Lil' Wayne at a tea party with the Royal Family.  At least once he passed around the syzzurrup and eventually had sex with Kate Middleton.

-What do I really want to learn in grad school? How to blow shit up with my mind.  Let's start with my professor's head.  I focus intensely, staring deep into his eyes.

-If they make a 4th Godfather movie, and have Paul Walker play Michael Corleone's son...movies as we know them would cease to exist.

-Forget about having sex.  All I want to do is hold a girl's hand, take her to Home Depot to shop for flooring and then head to KFC where she can watch me eat a 10-piece bucket.  That's true love...and the lyrics for Train's next hit song.

-I am all alone in the classroom and have access to wireless internet.  This just gave me an idea for McCauley Culkin's next hit film...Home Alone 4: It's A Lot More Fun Now That I'm Finally Old Enough to Masturbate.

-Did all the performance enhancing drugs Lance Armstrong allegedly took help him grow his testicle back? Probably not...which means he was still at a 50% disadvantage.

-Why don't they show Will Smith's music videos on Nickelodeon?

-How old do you have to be before people just accept that you are going to pick your nose in public?

-It's not gay...when it's in a 3 way!! But what if it's a 4-way where Lady Gaga brings both the third weiner and the only vagina to the party? Bet you didn't think about that Andy Samberg (see youtube video below).

-Did the Japanese confuse Russell Brand for Gilbert Gottfried when they kicked him out of the country?  I bet all famous people look the same to them.

-Is the love child Arnold Schwarzenegger supposedly had with his mistress really the baby he gave birth to in Twins? And if so...where the hell is Danny DeVito's?

-Who's more famous, the pitbulls Michael Vick fought...or Pitbull the rapper?

-Sadly wrestlers die too soon.  Happily Shawn Michaels doesn't count.  HBK will live forever...SWEET CHIN MUSIC!!!!

And that's it.  Sick.

Text Update and Big Ups
My text messaging score is currently sitting at a +449 (332-inbox, 262-sent, 57 from females) which represents the demographics of a guy who only wants to have a female watch him devour a semi-live chicken at the local KFC.  However, with a 168 followers my twitter account is blowing up faster than the rise and fall of M-Bone himself.  Also I would like to introduce a new segment to the text update, which is the ridiculous text of the week.  This week's winner was something I sent at 12:49 AM last night...and it should tell you everything you need to know about how hard I party on Wednesdays.  I randomly texted "No offense...just gotta piss" to someone I hadn't spoken to all day with absolutely no context.  Hopefully I was actually pissing at the time.

I don't have a whole lot of big ups to extend in this crappy post, but I will say way to go to Joey Schlafly and the fellas for helping me have a little Sunday Funday this past weekend and to Zakk Tapp for sending hilariously, borderline racist, Irish inspired texts to me.  They really brighten up my morning.

Back next week, I promise with a look at The Hangover 2.

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