Put a Skip in Your Step Video

To kick-off the weekend we're going to start posting a music video that'll put a skip in your step as you bounce out the office door and head off to paint the town.



Have a great weekend Readers!

Your Friday Afternoon Rap Lyrics

Next Friday will be in Los Angeles for a wedding and there's no guarantee that we'll be near a computer, so today's Rap Lyrics reflect our future travels back to the land of our college years. Today's selection is from the vaunted wordsmith, The Notorious B.I.G., and his classic Going Back to Cali. It's a great song, but we've always been a bit confused by the lyrics in line eight.

Going back to Cali, strictly for the weather,
Women, and the weed -- sticky green
No seeds bitch please, Poppa ain't soft
Dead up in the Hood, ain't no love lost
Got me mixed up, you drunk them licks up
Mad cause I got my dick sucked...
If I got to choose a coast I got to choose the East
I live out there, so don't go there
But that don't mean a nigga can't rest in the West
See some nice breasts in the West
Smoke some nice sess in the West,
y'all niggaz is a mess

To Catch a Predator...in your office

When we're working, our minds are rarely actually on the task at hand. Instead we're usually thinking about who would win an office Royal Rumble, which decent female would moan the loudest, do the Cubs really have a chance at The Series, or what kind of sauce should we go with for our nuggets. Today we made up a new game -- who in the office is most likely to get busted on that show, "To Catch a Predator?" We created a checklist in our heads and spent the entire afternoon talking to ourselves in a British nature show host's accent, breaking down the competition.


After an exhaustive search, we settled on this guy. He works waaaaay down the hall from us, and we didn't even know his name was SDoug until today. He definitely has the classic look, doesn't he? We asked around and apparently, along with looking like a child molester, he steals pens from the supply closet, and regularly talks about a scheme to move the decimal place over one column to fuck with accounting and collect the change into his offshore bank account.

Get this, we doug (rim shot) deeper and found his band's MySpace page. Oh, man!!! We love The Series of Tubes so much.

http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=408165940

Please click on this link and listen to the song...it's too good...our ribs hurt...

We're On Board

We've wanted to like him since the first time we heard him speak four years ago. We've wanted to feel all warm and fuzzy like everyone else does when they hear his speeches. We've wanted to like Barack Obama for a long time, and tonight was the first time we've been able to honestly say, we like him, we're in. We've been critical of him for not showing any cards to this point, but really did he have too? We've been critical of his timing, when really, there's nothing wrong with striking while the irons hot. Tonight, he could have mailed it in with a perfunctory pandering political-pep-rally (mmmm alliteration) speech that would play to the adoring crowd, but he layed it on the line. He called McCain's ass out, said he was Bush lite, rebuked him for questioning his patriotism, and challenged him to debate.

The No-Look, No-Catch is officially endorsing Obama for president...we're probably going to have to be interviewed by CSPAN now...fucking CSPAN!!!

Four Wheels of Fury

At least two of our faithful readers knew us in high school and will therefore no doubt remember the above car, or at least one that looked just like it. One of them in fact should have quite vivid memories of at least the miniature backseat design of this little Japanese beauty (damn we were limber back then). The above car is of course the vaunted 1989 Toyota Celica, and it is the same make, model and color as our very first car. We had just wrecked our dad's 1984 Renault Alliance, better known as Napoleon, after a motorcycle decided to play with fire and get in our way, and what do our parents do to reward our safe driving? They buy us the only car on the road smaller than Napoleon. We think it was $2,000.

It looked just like the one above only it was waaaaay cooler. Ours was much sportier. It had a rusty sunroof, some subtle racing strips over the rear wheels, and of course a foam spoiler we had attached after painting it with $2 black spray paint. It kicked serious ass!!!

Well today, when driving at lunch we saw the old bastard driving on a local highway. 19 years after rolling off some assembly line near Osaka, the Blue Bolt was still ripping up the streets of Central Texas. Spoiler still intact.

It was kind of like seeing that hot student teacher from third grade at the supermarket 15 years later. You remember the teacher, the one who caught you looking down her shirt in the produce section last year and then got all hot and bothered when you told her it hadn't been the first time you'd sneaked a peak. It was great to see it/her and you remember all the good times, but with all the body damage, discoloration, and a trunk that was much much bigger than you remember, you just couldn't help but feel a little sad.

Another NLNC Dramatic Production

The building is the headquarters of an international Product Portfolio Management software development company. The room is a corner office with an expansive view of a beautiful freeway overpass and a Linens and Things. Three men dressed in pleated pants discuss the future of the company. All three are drinking coffee, not from a disposable like the minions drink from, but rather a mug from home. One man's mug reads -- World's Greatest Dad. One man's mug reads -- I'd Rather be golfing. One man's mug reads -- The NLNC is Fucking My Trophy Wife.

Man #1: Profits were down in Q2, way down. What are we going to do?
Man #2: It's the economy. Every one's hurting these days.
Man #1: You're right! Damn you Bin Laden!!!
Man #3: No, the problem isn't the terrorists. We've all got our American Flag lapel pins on. We're immune.
Man #1: You're right, and we support the troops too, so that can't be it.
Man #2: If it's not the economy, what can it be?
Man #3: It's production, the proles are just not putting out the product like they were earlier in the year.
Man #1: How can we fix it? Can we just fire them all and hire some Mexicans?
Man #2: Yeah Mexicans!!!
Man #3: No you fools!!! We already have that temp that sleeps at his desk, we can't afford any more siestas.
Man #1: We have to think...think out...what's that fresh new term that they're using at all the MBA schools?
Man #2: Ooh, I know! THINK OUTSIDE THE BOX!!!
Man #1: Yes, think outside the box...I love it.
Man #3: Perhaps what the proles are lacking is proper motivation...
Man #1: Yes, we need to light a fire under them. Let's threaten their jobs.
Man #3: No, I mean we need to inspire them.
Man #2: We already have Hawaiian shirt day.
Man #3: What if we ordered a shit load of those motivational posters?
Man #1: You mean like the kind that have some fucking mountain on it...and the label AMBITION?
Man #3: Yes exactly. The proles love that kind of shit.
Man #2: I like where your head's at.
Man #1: This is going to be great!!! Number three, you get a raise.

Seriously, the company I'm working for got a huge-ass shipment of those ridiculous things today. Everywhere I looked minions were hanging up the black-bordered atrocities. So to honor their efforts, we're going to start putting some of our favorites up here on The NLNC. You know, to keep ya'll motivated to keep reading.

StErica is Back in the News

Apparently all the ganj is making StErica testy, because she's been killing us this week. Today she actually got upset with us for watching TV shows from our laptop instead of building some spreadsheet. Does she know who we are?!?! Maybe we should have had her speak with DRC to keep expectations down. But anyway, she got upset, we popped-off (that was a first), and she (kind of between the lines) told us to straighten-up or else. As much as we need this job for the next five weeks (before we take-off on our first NLNC field trip), if we were to get iced, this could potentially be a legendary exit. We've had some good ones, but we've never had an ace-in-the-hole like we do now, and by ace-in-the-whole, of course we mean -- our manager has never bought narcotics from us from their desk before. Just a hunch but there's probably something in the Employee Handbook about that...We might not wear pants for the rest of the week.

The Monday Ogle - Random Hottie in the Park

Oh Man!!! Her walk is nice, her jeans are tight, her bombs are BOMBS, and the little kiss at the end (from that beautiful face) is the kicker.

Farewell

Another Summer Olympic Games has now come and gone and we have to admit, we feel a little empty. It was a fortnight of true entertainment and it will be missed. (Now we go back to late nights of Bob Ross painting nature scenes with garden tools.)

With the vast majority of American athletes carrying themselves with pride and class, we found ourselves cheering on the good ol US of A more than we have in years, and it felt good.

Probably with little surprise, we again found ourselves drawn to the obscure sports--our favorites being team handball, kayaking, and weightlifting--but with Phelps, our two little gymnasts, and "The Redeem Team," we even got caught up in the big name sports too.

So thanks Olympics, you purveyor of thrilling competition, goodwill, artistic beauty, amazing feats of strength and speed, tears of joy, tears of disappointment, cultural enlightenment, and smoking fine Paraguayan javelin throwers.


To bid the games adieu, below is the long version of the spectacular Nike commercial for Team USA hoops. Thanks to the wonderful performances of our nations competitors, we find it fitting to play the best ever version of our National Anthem.



(When we first saw this commercial we went nuts. It combines perhaps our two favorite things -- basketball and African American soul singers. We've had Mr. Gaye's version of The Star Spangled Banner on our iTunes for years now, and it is one of our most played songs. We know it's the National Anthem and all, but we often just groove to it. DAMN!!! If anyone could claim more conquests than Chamberlain, it had to be Marvin Gaye. If we had been slutty white chicks back in the late 70's/early 80's we would have totally...)

Your Friday Afternoon Rap Lyrics

We're going to take a bit of a respite from the Friday Haikus. They'll probably come back at some point, but we're going to try a new way to poetically send you fine ladies and gentlemen into the weekend. In place of the Haikus, we'll be posting rap lyrics that we find both whimsical and inspiring. Today's selection is from the rapper Hell Rell and his opus, Paperboy.

And your bullets can't touch me, your words can't reach me.
I'm mista know-it-all, you niggas can't teach me.
I asked her if she fuckin or not, as soon as she read me.
She thought it was apple juice, but now she drinkin pee-pee.

Better watch your ass Thoreau.

Employees of the Month

Good morning NLNC family. We've told a few stories of our famous work ethic, or rather the lack thereof, and in case anyone repudiates our claims, and thinks that we've been making this stuff up, or that they're just a bunch of tall tales, we offer up the following evidence.


This is from the job we were working when the NLNC was born, and we can't really believe that someone took the time to write us a personalized letter that states each offense. Didn't they have a HR form letter somewhere. We apologize for it being so small but we've had a hell of a time trying to make it bigger, have given up, and will just write it out for you. It reads:

Dear No-Look,

Upon close review of your reader evaluations from your recent employment with DRC, we are unable to offer you future work. Your reading rate was below average, in addition to your unwillingness to adhere to the rubric and the fact that on more than one occasion you were sleeping on the job.

I wish you the best of luck in your search for future employment.

Sincerely,

Vicky Sherman
Human Resources Representative
Data Recognition Corporation



We're going to have it framed.

Hey Winning Isn't Everything

Our dream girl finished second to last in the Olympic Javelin. For some reason none of us seems to care.

The Fletch

We're not really certain as to the sex of these two wrestlers? But that's beside the point. We're just pumped to see the old Moooooon River move being brought out in Olympic competition. If performed correctly, it can't be stopped.

Public Enemy Number Four

A few months ago, when our blog here was but a young pup, we outlined our dislike for Cocky Computer Science Guy. He came in a close third in Guys we feel malice towards following Team Hair Gel and Softball Guy. (By the way Softball Guy currently sells software down the hallway from us at work, Red Bull bitches!!!) In case you missed it: http://thenolooknocatch.blogspot.com/2008/06/public-enemy-number-three.html, well we have recently discovered a new Guy, his name is Guy Who Likes to Sing Karaoke. Due to time constraints will call him Karaoke Guy.

Saturday night, after teaching SpArielle to tuck-n-roll and then kicking her to the curb, following the date from hell. We decided to go to a bar because it was still two hours till closing...she of-course had a curfew. Now the Canary Roost is a bar across the main thoroughfare from Mom's house, but we had never taken the plunge and gone in. It always seemed like the kind of neighborhood bar populated with mostly peroxide divorcees and sad insurance salesman types desperately trying to cheat on their obese, teased banged wives. But with nothing to do and the gas tank running on E, we, acting as Julius Caesar, crossed the Rubicon into the world of Karaoke.

We didn't know it was a Karaoke bar, but it didn't take long when we were greeted by a monotoned rendition of Free Bird sang by Hawaiian-shirt Larry. "Shit!!!"

After ordering a $2.75 gin and tonic, always the sign of quality, and surveying the patrons, we quickly learned that Mexicans love Karaoke. Eight out of ten people in there had a surname ending in z. Being a Karaoke virgin, and with the name and all, we figured Asians pretty much had a corner on the market but no.

We stayed for five songs, and if you'd have asked us to pick five songs that would be sung at a trash Karaoke bar prior to our adventure we probably would have gotten all five:

Freebird - Skynyrd
Some Nickleback thing
The Joker - Steve Miller
Simple Man - Skynyrd
Baby Got Back - Sir Mix-a-lot

Each was sung by a dude, or dudes, and what struck us the most was how prepared they were. Not only did they not need the words projected on the big screen, because they knew them all, but most of these gentleman had worked in some choreography. The two clowns that tag-teamed The Joker, worked in spins and (actually a pretty incredible) microphone toss. More than the showmanship, what drew the most ire from us however was the witty banter they through in to keep their adoring fans entertained. Because really, during guitar solos there's not a lot to do when there isn't an actual guitar. So these fucks were actually dropping lines like, "How ya'll doin tonight, don;t forget to tip your waitress...(eye wink)" and of course the eyes closed, fist clinched, "Oh yeah..." With his Blue Tooth ear piece blinking(because of course this fuck needs to be able to take all his Saturday night calls hands free), when Baby Got Back Guy got upset after the "white boys" failed to "shout" loud enough for his liking, we lost it and had to go.

If you've sung Karaoke before, and it wasn't while being held at gun point by the Khmer Rouge, then please stop reading this blog.

The OM Plan

The day Freshman move out of the house and into their dorm is often a reason for parents to cry and for students and colleges (especially ones that charge 47 grand a year) to cheer. 

But cry not mom and dad, for I have found the purpose for all your spending. Education? No. Friends? Wrong again. BLONDES? Hell Yes! 

You can start calling me the new OM because I'm on the eight year plan.

Oddly Enough - Speed Bumps

Here's hopeing for a bumpy ride:

http://www.reuters.com/article/oddlyEnoughNews/idUSWEL11843920080819?feedType=RSS&feedName=oddlyEnoughNews&rpc=69

The Monday Ogle - Citius Altius Fortius

Citius, altius, fortius, is the Olympic motto and we have never felt personally more Olympic than when we first laid eyes on Leryn Franco during the opening ceremony -- for our manhood has never responded faster, higher or stronger.Miss Franco created quite a stir when she entered The Olympic Stadium. Understandably, cameras could not get enough of this very moderately successful javelin thrower, and her image has repeatedly popped up throughout the games. Turns out Leryn is also a model...shocker. Here are some of her (incredible) pictures:
HOLY SHIT!!!! She is the hottest woman in the world, hands down (into our pants). We shouldn't have skipped Paraguay when we were in South America...Fuck!!!

Red Flags

When out on a date there are red flags, and then there are RED FLAGS. The first date or two with someone is basically an interview, where you ask a bunch of questions trying to find out why no one else has taken a serious interest in them. As we get older we feel we should just start with, "So, what's wrong with you?"

We understand that no one is perfect, look at us, try as we might, we can't quite turn our six-pack into an eight, so we've developed a bit of a red flag sliding scale. Here are some examples.

Bad taste in music => you better dress well and have cute hair
History of mental illness in the family => no problem if you've got nice legs
Smoke cigarettes => you better brush your teeth often and give mad head
Been married before => you better be SUPER fine and not totally crazy

It's give-and take, and all about evening out. If you fall short in one place but you've got extra credit in another, then what the hell let's give it a shot.

This past weekend we had date number two with our co worker's daughter, you remember, the smoking hot teen-aged Halle Berry look-a-like. Well our first date didn't go well, yes seeing The Dark Knight on IMAX was completely badass, but prior to that, dinner conversation was painful at best. As there wasn't much to talk about other than, "So what's your favorite ______?" Here are some of her rather peculiar answers.

Favorite Restaurant - Applebees
Favorite Musical Act - The Pussycat Dolls
Favorite Class - "Oh I'm not in school, I'm a checker at HEB (grocery store)."
Favorite Movie - Scar Face (If you could see this girl this would baffle you.)
Favorite Hobby - watching TV

Some other kickers: she shares a room (and bed) with her mom, she found our undying love for Harry Potter disturbing, she had never heard of Ferris Bueller's Day Off, and when she complemented us on our looks and we responded by saying we were going for a bit of a Bohemian thing, she asked if Bohemian meant something like a Viking.

But despite all this, thanks to her stunning features and figure, and that whole white whale thing of ours, we were planning on suppressing our laughter and frustrations until we could...well we think you know. But alas, she planted a red flag in our dating mind that left us with wide eyes, white knuckles, and desperately seeking the nearest exit.

Through her mother, we had learned that her father had died about a year ago. We felt that this, while tragic, was probably none of our concern and might actually work in our favor -- daddy issues tend to bring certain benefits. So we're sitting there and for some reason she brought up her dead dad, we nodded respectfully and she asked, "Oh did my mom tell you guys about my dad?" Thinking this meant, we had been told simply of his passing, we gave her a sorrowful "yes."

She then broke down and started talking to us about all kinds of details she thought we knew. Stuff like -- she witnessed her cop dad attack her mom with a stranglehold and punch that broke her dome and put her in intensive care for a month. Then the dude made a run for it, was a fugitive, and when the law was closing in, iced himself.

Umm...Check please!

Influences

Good morning readers, and Happy Monday!!! Yes it's another five-day work week, so grab your coffee, or 32oz Monster Electric Slam Burst energy drink RRRAAAAHHHHH!!!!, compliment the boss on his new pleated pants, and get your alt+tab set up with your most intricate spreadsheet. We've got a good feeling about The NLNC this week and you're not going to want to miss a day. We've got some good material from this weekend, we've been sand-bagging a piece of legendary mail we received that we will share with you, and we should be able to garnish with our usual smattering (yes we said smattering) of pithy (yes we said pithy) postings.

To kick things off, here is a link to one of our favorite pieces of literature. It's an older article from The Phat Phree that if you've never read, you're in for a treat. As you read it, when you get to the paragraph (towards the end) that starts, "Something in here stinks." Think of us, it leaves us rolling each time we've read it.


http://www.thephatphree.com/features.asp?StoryID=534&SectionID=11

New Word

We remember one thing from our freshman Poly-Sci 190 class -- The most important thing in competition is not whether you win or lose, but rather if you surpass expectations. In an age of hype, ridiculous hype, where thanks to 24 hour niche programming and instant Internet access, everything seems to get overexposed, over analyzed and over hyped, Michael Phelps has done the impossible -- he surpassed impossible expectations. The gold medals and records are immense, but the fact that according to the media he was supposed to do it, and then did makes it even better. Then you add the intense drama from two or three of the races and you get something that even NBC Sports, the biggest hype machine of them all, has been flabbergasted. Every one's running stories about Phelps and his Olympics, all the superlatives look to be taken, so we offer up, Phelpsian. We think it'll catch on.

OUTRAGEOUS!!!

Friday Haiku

EPL begins.
Gunners kick-off at 7:00. (actually 6:45am)
Guinness for breakfast.

Sales Tales

It is no secret that we detest the sales team at our office. Their arsenal of pleated-front khakis, golf shirts (for some ridiculous reason often buttoned to the top), hair gel, and large Ford trucks makes us cringe. They speak too loudly, chug 16oz energy drinks all day, refer to everyone that passes them as Bro (fucking Taco Shack), Chief or Boss, and start at least half their sentences by saying, "So what you're telling me is..." then just repeating whatever it was they just heard. It probably doesn't help things that each time any of them say anything to us, we give them our patented, lip-curled brow-raised, "fuck you" look, and that their nickname for us is "Murse." Apparently this is because the word Man starts with M and they think our llama backpack is a purse.

So, the other day, caught up in Olympic fervor, two salesslapdicks were right outside our janitor clo-errrr office, and they were discussing synchronized diving. While not exactly word-for-word, this dialogue is not fabricated.

Emerging from their international sales call with new client, Soluciones Bolivar, two Planview Software salesman begin talking as they reach the hallway. In a nearby office The NLNC is furiously typing--their monitors look to be showing some sort of blog.

Salesdick 1: Dude, did you catch that diving shit last night? The wife made me watch it.
Salesdick 2: You talking about the one with all the Chinese dudes?
Salesdick 1: Yeah, the Chinese dudes won but there were some Koreans and Japanese too.
Salesdick 2: Whatever, they're all Chinese to me. (laughter)
Salesdick 1: (laughter)
Salesdick 2: Is it me or did those little bastards kinda look like chicks?
Salesdick 1: Yeah, 13-year-old topless chicks. (laughter)
Salesdick 2: (laughter)
Salesdick 2: Yeah, so does it make me queer that I thought they were hot. (laughter)
Salesdick 1: (laughter, then an extended pause to recover from the comic genius)
Salesdick 2: Did you see that email that the Soluciones Bolivar guys sent over during the meeting?
Salesdick 1: Yeah it's cool that they play sports at their company picnic.
Salesdick 2: Do you think they were joking, or do they really not know how to spell football?

What really sucks, is these asshats rake in six figures.

The Perfunctory "Bro"

Nothing pisses us off like being called "Bro." You're called Bro when the person doesn't know you, but wants to make you feel like the two of you are friends. It's usually said without them even looking in your direction, and depending on the environment, usually said to somehow give you some false sense of camaraderie or customer service. We just got "Bro'd" at Taco Shack so heinously that we almost feel like joining the sales fags for a rousing morning of energy drinks and desk smashing. We would but knowing those guys, we're certain before too long they'd be calling us "Bro."

And speaking of the sales team...(somehow this doesn't work that well when the next posting is going to end up on top of this one, oh well.)

Gymnastics Interview Update

Since we commented on the deplorable questioning form the little girls team gymnastics final, Deadspin has run two great stories. They're both quick, and much funnier than anything we can come up with:

http://deadspin.com/5036888/andrea-joyce-makes-tiny-gymnast-cry-enjoys-it

http://deadspin.com/5037405/andrea-joyce-got-off-easy

We cannot punch like that.

Hitting (it) for the Cycle

Hitting for the cycle is one of the greatest feats in baseball. Since some of our readers are from countries that don't play baseball, and some might be US residents without much knowledge of America's pastime, hitting for the cycle means that within one game a single player hits a single, a double, a triple, and a home run. When it happens it's a big deal because it so rarely happens. In a typical game a batter usually only gets four chances to hit, and since a good batter only reaches base safely at a rate of 30%, just getting four hits in a game is pretty damn impressive, much less getting each of the possible types of hits. (OK file that bit of knowledge away.)

Save for workplace drug deals, our Summer has been rather tame. We haven't gone on any trips, we haven't fallen in love, we haven't gotten a haircut. Our only goal for the Summer was to have sex with a black girl. It is now the middle of August and Nubian coitus has escaped us. We are getting nervous.

We have kissed two, one at a club and one at her doorstep saying goodnight after a date, but for reasons unknown to us we've been unable to go further. Perhaps we've built it up too big in our minds and we've tightened up at crucial moments, perhaps they've been offended by our constant stream for racist jokes, or maybe they've been put-off by the pen and note pad titled "Blog Stuff" that we're always scribbling on while they're speaking. Who knows.

We've got a second date coming up with our co-worker's daughter this weekend. She is very young and very very hot, and she seems to like us, but there are some definite red flags (that will probably be discussed later). We are feeling the pressure.

We've nailed white girls, Hispanic girls, and Asian girls, but the black girl remains our White Whale. To go back to the Cycle analogy from the top -- white girls are like the single, by far the easiest (especially if they hate their dad), Hispanic girls are the double, living in Texas and having traveled throughout much of Latin America they're always available and tend to like our blue eye/green eye thing, the Asians are of course the home run, no real explanation needed there, and then the black girl is the triple, by far the hardest of the hits to get in baseball.

So it's the bottom of the ninth and we've got our single, double and homer. And to make things worse, Lee Smith is pitching.

To be continued...(maybe)

Drinking Alone - H2O

Alcohol related advice so good, that if you take heed, you won't need anyone else around to enjoy the experience... You can even be alone in your parents house, where you are "temporarily" living, while you "save money."

On our lunches this week, we've found restaurants with TVs showing the Olympics. Before today, MSNBC showed weightlifting over the lunch hour and it has been awesome. In case you've never watched weightlifting, it involves short dudes in spandex taking weights as heavy as three times their body weight and lifting them from the ground to overhead. There are two types of lifts, the snatch (insert vagina joke here) and the clean-and-jerk (insert masturbation joke here). Each competitor lifts as much as they can using both lift styles, and the lifter with the highest cumulative amount of weight wins.

Feeling inspired by these modern-day Hercules'. We went to the gym last night and proceeded to barely bench press our own weight. Humbled, we went to bed early (after our own clean-and-jerk competition of course) failing to write the weekly DA column, and will be drinking water for awhile...at least until the weekend.

Shame

If anyone else caught the little girl's, errrr we mean women's gymnastics last night, we hope you felt as angry as we did at the television coverage. The analysis and interview questions were heartless and disgusting. Nothing was about how Team USA won the silver medal, it was all about how they LOST the gold. Words like "Devastating" "Choke" "Disastrous" were all they could come up with. Instead of of showing compassion towards the poor girl who fell twice, the interviewer just kept asking the same question, just worded differently, over and over again. "How do you explain what happened when you fell?" How did it feel when your back was on the mat, twice?" "What do you think was going through your teammates minds as you were falling down?" The questioning put the poor girl in tears, and when her teammates came to her aid in the group interview, the bitch reporter tried baiting them into ripping her. We're curious if other countries feel that silver medalists are just losers, like this country does.

MGMT-Rick Astley

This wasn't my planned first post but I thought it a good way to pop my blogging cherry.

An old flame had left her MGMT cd at my place and after the exchange of things left at each others house I had managed to hold onto the cd without her noticing. She called today and asked if I still had it. Im not an ass by nature but this cd is way too good to give back. So I took out the real cd and replaced it with one that had the infamous Rick Astley singing his most famous song with a sticky note instructing her to play it. I went by and gave the "MGMT" cd to her and told her I was sorry that it had taken so long for me to return it. She never opened the case to check and make sure it was the real deal.

10 minutes later I got a text from her telling me to fuck myself.

Harsh? Yes. Worth it? Absolutely!

If you're not sure who Rick Astley is then watch this. Hot Babes NSFW.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eBGIQ7ZuuiU

Enigma

In honor of his recent engagement, and since we have nothing to do right now, we have decided to do a Wolframesque post -- something related to both male genitalia and bathrooms!!!

An enigma is something that baffles understanding and remains a mystery. The following question is one that has always left us scratching our heads...well, after we wash our hands of course.

Why are there always stray hairs in men's urinals? Has anyone else ever noticed this?

Who is ripping their junk out of their drawers with such speed and force that it tears out some curlies in the process? Why is this necessary? We can think of no reason.

RIP Wolfram

Attention ladies, and Pennypacker, longtime friend of the blog, and rare contributor, Wolfram, is off the market, sorry. Our main man, recently proposed to his longtime girlfriend on a sunsetting hike through the Northern California mountains, and she of course said yes. She's a Sooner, they take what they can get.

We applaud both Wolfram and his bride-to-be, and can already tell that their marriage will be a success. The fact that she has come to accept his enormous head, and that he can look past the fact that she has never learned to read, is a true testament to the depth of their dedication, and demonstrates that true love disregards petty flaws.

Please don't have her lick the envelopes.

NLNC Dream/Flashback - What's in a Name?

The place is a classroom in Japan. The day is the first day of school each year. A Teacher is taking attendance. Two girls are starting to sweat.

"OK class quiet down, I'm almost through. When I'm done with roll we'll start differential equations (yes each first day of school, this is Japan). OK, where was I...right.

Stover?
Here!
Suanders?
Here!
Taggart?
Here!
...

http://www.nbcolympics.com/athletes/athlete=65730/bio/

http://www.nbcolympics.com/athletes/athlete=57166/bio/

The Monday Ogle - Blast From the Past

We took a long lunch today to watch some Olympics. In between a rousing archery duel between S Korea and Italy, where the S Koreans sealed it on the final arrow following a Greasie choke job, and some bomb weightlifting, we were reunited with an ogle of the past. It was like seeing the hottest senior girl from when you were a freshman in highs school. You know, the one with the long dirty-blond hair and long tanned legs named Meg Burton. Meg, seriously if you're reading, we don't have braces anymore and the acne has kind of cleared up, please call. Oh yeah, back to our thing here -- the broadcaster back in the studio between sports, was none other than Melissa Stark. Yes, that Melissa Stark from Monday Night Football of yore, and Scholastic Sports America (If anyone remembers that show you get in the NLNC Hall-of-Fame on your first ballot). Nowadays everyone goes nuts over Erin Andrews, and while she'd hot, she's no Stark. We don't know where you've been all these years, Melissa, but what's important is that you're back.

A Hearty Welcome

We would like to welcome another member to our staff. He's been an attentive reader for awhile, proven his worth on one of our past creative ventures, and now has been charged with a special assignment here at The NLNC.

We need to start attracting a younger following, so we made a few phone calls and pulled some strings over at our beloved Alma Mater, and got the skinny little bastard accepted so that we can have a college correspondent. He has gratefully decided to enroll.

Now reporting from a land of HOT females aged 18-22, all the while peering out over the pristine Pacific from his hill-topped campus, is going to be yeoman's work, but we have confidence that he is up to the task. With style, class and taste beyond his years, we feel that he will do a fine job reporting on the college experience.


So without further ado, we welcome Dormeo to The NLNC staff. May the freshman girls swoon for him like Romeo, and he write for us like Shakespeare.

Americahh, Fuck Yeah!!!

Coming again, to save the mother fucking day yeah...

We will probably never be confused with having flag-waving patriotism, but we couldn't help ourselves tonight during the Men's 4x100 meter freestyle swimming relay.

Our biggest beef with the Olympics is all the judged sports. It's one thing to have a referee watching to make sure rules are adhered to, such as basketball or soccer, but it's totally different, and it totally blows, when competitions are decided completely by judges. We have no time for gymnastics, diving, etc. Therefore in our minds, as far as the Olympics are concerned, nothing measures up to races and lifts. Competitors are either faster, or they're stronger, or they're not.

That relay earlier tonight was incredible. It kept our man Michael Phelps on his Spitzian quest, the fact that they came from so far behind, that they came from so far behind on the world record holder, that that world record holder had talked mad shit about them, and that that that that that shit talker is French and swims for Team France!!! The story lines here are off the chain!!! We love exclamation points!!!






How this isn't our national anthem yet is beyond us. We know it's not because G-dub doesn't want it to be.

Prepare(d) for the Invasion

Like most twenty-somethings, we had places to be and people to see this past Friday evening, so we didn't watch the Olympic Opening ceremony when it aired. We did however tape it, and that was a good decision. HOLY SHIT!!! We've never seen anything more awe inspiring. SHIT!!! It was spectacular and yet at the same time humbling. Massive in size, ambition, and numbers. Perfectly organized, wonderfully innovative and creative, yet filled with mechanical precision. And on top of everything there always seemed to be a prevailing feeling that the whole was always more important than the individual. So really, the performance was China in the proverbial nutshell, or bamboo shell, or whatever.

Yes we were astounded by the beauty and pageantry, but through it all we couldn't help but think, if they can do all this for a glorified pep-rally, what the fuck would they bring to the table if they ever decide to fight someone. The night after watching it we dreamt a dream of a billion little Chinamen armed with shovels and chopsticks coming across the Pacific and just kicking the shit out of...Mexico, just for fun, and we joined in too, just to be dicks. "This Taco Bell shit sucks, you bastards!!!"

But in all seriousness, we took a Chinese Culture and History class in college (thanks liberal arts education) and so that pretty much makes us experts on China (it would for FOX News) and according to what we studied, China is so insular in everything that they are and do, that spreading their boundaries will always be of the least of their interests. Too bad they pretty much feel that Taiwan is China and someday they might just decide that they want it back. After that opening ceremony, we say just let em have whatever the hell they want.

But on the bright side, we imagine the Aliens have satellite, and so they probably watched it too, and if so they want none of China either. You've got lasers and anal probes...shit bitches, we've got 1 billion Chinese dudes with synchronized drums and shit. Hell, just send a few thousand of these box/typewriter guys to wherever the spaceship lands and the aliens will be so freaked out, that we'll all be able to go on speaking Mandarin in peace.

A NLNC Play - Opportunity Knocks

Below is a loose interpretation of actual events. Here is the cast of characters:

The roles of Co-worker and NLNC Conscience are played by - Opportunity
The role of the NLNC is played by - Us
The role of Mom is played by - Mom

Setting: Alone in their room, sitting in their handcrafted rocking chair and enjoying a quiet summer eve at home, The NLNC is reading Hemingway's For Whom the Bell Tolls, when suddenly there's a knock at the front door.

NLNC - Hark! Who raps upon our door?
Opportunity - It is I, Opportunity.
NLNC - What doth thou want?
Opportunity - Thy comes with an offer, an offer that will pleasure thee(s) eyes and thee(s) touch.
NLNC rises, walks to the door and opens it
NLNC - Speak forth, out with thy proposition.
Mom - Who's at the door?!?!?!
NLNC turns back towards the inside of the home.
NLNC - Sir Opportunity has cometh to offer something.
Mom - You're letting out the AC, and why are you talking like that?
NLNC turns back towards Opportunity
NLNC - Pay no attention to the old woman, good sir. Now commence with thine words.
Opportunity - There is a fair maiden who fancies thee(s), and I reckon thou should asketh her out. For if thou did, she would certainly say I.
NLNC - Who be this fair maiden.
Opportunity - Why it is SpArielle, the nubile daughter of one of thou's supervisors at the mill.
NLNC - Glory be to thee!!! Her beauty brings a fire to our loins and a rise to our...uhh, "spirit." What be-eth her digits?
NLNC grabs cell phone from pocket
NLNC - Mom!!!! Meatloaf!!!
Mom - Close the door!!!
Opportunity -Wait, good man! and lower thou, uhhh "spirit." For yes, SpArielle, with her brililliant smile, lithe figure and skin of chocolate, is full of beauty--but involvement with her does not come without risk. For yes, she is of legal age, but just barely, and the mill is a small place, and even though the maiden's mother is downeth with thee(s) now, knowing thou's track record with the fairer sex, it is of good chance, nay it is certain, that this will all end badly. For all parties involved.
NLNC - Sorry, what were you saying? We were having problems getting the "contacts" screen up on our phone. What's her number?

And Scene

You Can't Make this Stuff Up

Guess who was going to buy a glass pipe last night and smoke marijuana for the first time?

Guess who has called in sick today?

Here's a hint, her name rhymes with Bearica. Sometimes this shit writes itself.

Drinking Alone -- Bebiendo Solo

Alcohol related advice so good, that if you take heed, you won't need anyone else around to enjoy the experience... You can even be alone in your parents house, where you are "temporarily" living, while you "save money."

It has been hot as balls this Summer. Texas is always hot, but it's been melt-your-face-off hot, this year. Temperature records have been broken almost daily, today was like 138 or some shit. To fight this ridiculous heat we've decided to start drinking earlier. Now instead of waiting for mom to go to bed, we just come through the door with a cold one straight after work. As the sweat drips from her brow, her once looks of shame and sorrow for what her sons have become, have transformed to looks of understanding, often accompanied with a thumbs-up.

After much taste-testing we've found that the best cure for beating the heat is a Tecate, or as we say, Te"Kite"eh. Now for some reason Tecate has the reputation as the shit beer of Mexico and we don't really understand why. Yes, it's no Bohemia of Negro Modelo, but those two are a different animal. We think a Te"Kite"eh brings it just as well as Corona and Dos XX, and at half the price. And like are main man, and fellow drunk, Ben Franklin always said -- "Cash rules everything around me, C.R.E.A.M. Get the money, dolla dolla bill ya'll!" Or maybe it was, "A motherfucking penny saved is a motherfucking penny earned." We get Franklin and Raekwon mixed up all the time.

So next time the heat has got a hold of you and just won't let go, we recommend buying a Te"Kite"eh tall boy (or a Grande as NoCal wiggers call them), smearing a lime around the rim, dipping the freshly limed-can in salt, and commence the drinking.

!Viva Mexico!

In Response + Venting

We're sorry about the length (if we had a nickel for every time...) of that last post. We are beginning to wonder whether or not it was a wise decision to allow Mr. Pennypacker, access to the blog. At least his inaugural posting was better than what we expected -- either a quick review of Central Texas's best tanning salons or a how-to on brushing your hair to maximize volume.

Yes, our hubris has been slightly dented with his recount of our lost love (we neither verify nor deny any of it), but we remain undaunted and will keep bringing the posts with as much gusto and panache as always. So without further ado...

The place where we work has about a 50/50 split of men and women employees, however we are surrounded by woman all day. It is becoming more and more apparent that each of them wants to have sex with us, but that's beside the point today. Our issue today is with the way in which the women of our office express their frustrations.

We thought we were for women's lib, feminism, and breaking the proverbial "glass ceiling," but we're not so sure anymore. Each time a woman in our department has a problem (with a co-worker, boss, husband, boy friend, Pablo the pool boy) they have to talk about it. They like to call it "venting." Somehow by giving bitching another name, and by treating it like it's some sort of mental health bullshit, it makes it ok to do at work, and to not do any work.

Over the last week we've become the go-to listener for many of them, and it's starting to drive us nuts. We thought that by never acknowledging their heartfelt gushings -- either with words or even looking at them -- that they'd go away, but apparently not giving a shit is what makes a good listener. Who knew?

Why can't women just keep their anger and frustration to themselves. You know suppress it like men, and then let it out on the golf course, on the dog, or on a blog.

He Shoots!!! He Scores!!! He Has STDs!?!? (huh)

Greetings and salutations to the NLNC blog. Let me start with thanking the guys that run this thing for the opportunity to express myself. That being said, I feel you, the readers, are not getting the entire scoop about the author(s) of this here site. Yes, we all know that they are trendy dressers, talented dancers and well-versed in international politics; but did you know about their hated arch nemesis? No, I didn't think so, and if you the readers are to know the real NLNC, you should see it from other angles. This requires a little background info for the set-up, so please pull up a chair, grab your bong and try not to zone out to the Saved by the Bell episode in the background. (The one where Johnny Dakota comes to Bayside and smokes a doobie in the restroom is classic! Too bad, he never drilled Kapowski.)

Here goes...
My memory gets a little hazy; but I believe this is late 2006/early 07. Our heroic future author(s) have apparently just reunited with a girl they vaguely knew from high school. I remember these guys calling us and telling us about this blond enchantress that could be "the one." As I listened to her positive qualities rattled off in succession, I was just waiting for the baggage to unveil itself. Well it did, and it was in the form of a full Louis Vuitton 12 piece set. Apparently the leggy vixen had a seven-year-old son and had recently become unengaged. Ouch! Now our fearless bloggers were okay with all this and their romance blossomed for over a month. Bodily fluids were exchanged; weekends in San Antonio were filled with snuggling, walks along the river and I'm assuming voluminous quantities of Tex-Mex cuisine (what the hell else is there to do in SA? shank someone, i suppose). Then out of nowhere, she bolts and goes AWOL. Our blog editor(s) are dumbfounded, "Where could she be?" "Did we really knock her up?" "Are we having a ginger kid?" All sorts of queries were permeating throughout their over-analytical, 15-year-old girl (between the Timberlake, the Potter, and the incessant she loves us/she loves us not) minds. She resurfaced a few days later and unbeknownst to him, it looked as if they would be parting ways. What went wrong, you may be asking..Well, it's easy to explain...Because a sweet, badass dude named Mike Green was back in the picture (the ex fiance) and the authors of this blog, are NO MIKE GREEN!!

99% of you all are asking, "Who the fuck is Mike Green?" Fair question, I wasn't even familiar with the legendary Mike Green, and I'm the biggest (only) hockey fan in Texas. Well, here's some info...Mike Green (born October 23, 1979 in Victoria, British Columbia) is a Canadian ice hockey player, who played in 2007 for the Hannover Scorpions in the Deutsche Eishockey-Liga (Yes ice hockey is eishhockey in Germany, fucking Germans). And no, he's not the famous Mike Green of hockey, he's the other one. Kind of like the other Adrian Peterson that plays RB for the Chicago Bears. In his heydey, he competed in a grand total of 24 NHL Hockey games split between the Florida Panthers and New York Rangers. He scored one career goal, had three assists, and collected four penalty minutes.

So let's get this straight. Some hot, buxom blond was deciding between the other Mike Green and the guy(s) that keep this blog? Tough call, I wonder who she eventually went with?..

http://doskiwis.blogspot.com/2007/07/denay-mike.html

Well, did she make the right decision? Other than the (alleged) rampant infidelity, Mike Green's a total keeper!! However, I will give the bloggers here this bit of credit.....Apparently their revenge-fucking abilities are off the charts!! Let's just say I believe there was a late June 07 rendezvous that left someone having second thoughts at the altar...Then again, I shudder to think about the types of step-dads these authors would have been to young Paco...Que pobrecito nino!

Stay tuned for more updates on the 5'11 Mike Green, his 195 pounds of pure brawn, and his trials and tribulations of competing for the EHC Wolfsburg Grizzly Adams (no shit, that is the team name) in the Deutsche Eishockey League for 2008-09. Hey, does anyone know if Mike Green has a blog? I bet he does. And if so, his Uber-blog would unequivocally kick the shit out of this one after checking it into the boards.....That would be sweet!! GOOOAALLLLL!!!!

Just Call Us Pablo

We like to think of this as a measure ensuring job security, and not that our morals have degraded to an all-time low...we just made our first drug deal. Well is it really a drug deal if you don't turn a profit? We're not really sure, but we did just exchange an undisclosed amount of an undisclosed substance to our boss Star(e)ica, in her office, for an undisclosed amount of money. We wonder if it was in the least bit conspicuous, that the temp sporting the two-week stubble and braided llama backpack (that smells of cannabis) was in there with the door shut. Hopefully this will keep us employed without having to jump her...shiver.

Cell Phone Etiquette

We take pride in our deference. We are many things lewd, vile, without conscience, etc., but common courtesy is rarely ever lost on us. Our phone manners are unparalleled and being equipped with an arsenal of compliments regarding female dress, hair and shoes, rare is the mother who does not like us. (That is unless the mother is a single-mother who we've dated.)

Anyhow on a recent trip to the men's restroom we noticed that a man was chatting on his cell phone, conducting what sounded like a business call, while sitting in the first stall. How is this acceptable behavior? It's incredibly disrespectful to whomever he was talking to. We don't call anyone unless we can give them our undivided attention and try to make an effort to speak in private so as not to disturb others.

So to teach "The Shit Talker" (clever, no?) a lesson, we flushed all four urinals in quick succession. The next words out of his mouth were both predictable and priceless, "No I'm not the bathroom!!!"

Chinese Menu Items

With the Ancient Kingdom gearing up for the Olympics, a number of websites and news programs have run stories in regards to the often bizarre translations that come about when Chinese eating establishments translate their menus into English. Apparently the software used has trouble deciphering some of the minute differences between Mandarin characters that possess quite different meanings. In case you haven't seen any, here are some examples:

http://rahoi.com/2006/03/may-i-take-your-order/

http://languagelog.ldc.upenn.edu/nll/?p=423#more-423

Well this morning we came across a similar story but for some reason we haven't been able to link the site, so listed below are some of the translated dishes. Honestly we didn't make any of these up.

Hard Meat Masturbate ex-girl friend Picture
Lonely Man Cowboy Meat
Angry Father Fire Soup
Blog Writer Cream Sauce
Prickly Runway Tuna Pond Sandwich
Drunk Boggs Red Mustache Chicken
Sleepy Forest Nap-time Boss Mad Monkey
Duck Dick

Your Highness - Sticky Toes

Thoughts, reflections and ideas from your NLNC staff while we're bombed out of our domes from smoking cannabis.

It's not that we can't feel our toes tonight, it's that they keep getting stuck together. It's as if they want to become one giant toe (which, come to think of it would be pretty bomb) and it feels pretty fucking weird. Every two or three minutes we have to stretch our toes out in all directions for fear of waking tomorrow with one massive, size 12, toe. Where would we buy flip-flops?

How fucking great are olives? We're crushing an olive/feta salad right now, and next to a pair of athletic 34-Ceeeeeeeees, we've never put anything better into our mouths. And speaking of olives, we really need to get our legs over. There's a bar across the street from the new office, and closing time isn't for 30 minutes, so to borrow a term from a good friend, who still hasn't even acknowledged our wedding present to him, and yes the video was probably slightly inappropriate with all the drinking, balls, dicks, homoeroticism, animals, etc. we still put a ton of time and effort into it and think a simple "yeah we got it" isn't too much to ask for, oh yeah back to the post -- we're off to snag a "wounded buffalo."

Hopefully she'll be black.

Tonight's Stoned Listening Recommendations: Tokyo Police Club- A Lesson in Crime, Violent Femmes- Add it Up

Friday Haiku

Sarcastic Email.
Always risky, date is off.
She thinks we're creepy.

Office Space Moment

On good days at our current place of employment, we use our creative sides to write whimsical prose for the company website. On bad days we get sent to a closet, off in the office hinterlands to organize stacks of paper, move boxes from one place and then back to their original location, and take naps between the large filing cabinets. Today is a bad day; we are building boxes, and then shipping user guides to customers...as you can imagine it has our dendrites really firing. But what is interesting about today thus far is not what we're doing per se, but whom we're doing it with.

For anonymity purposes we'll call her Spelinda, and she is the spawn of the "Case of the Mondays" lady from Office Space. She refuses to stop smiling, and to everyone who passes by this room, and it is in a high-traffic area, she literally screams (with eyes bugging out of her dome), "Happy Friday!!!" She's said it almost 30 times...yes we're keeping a tally.

She is absolutely driving us nuts! We're going to either punch her in the neck or slam our heads in the door. Something's gotta give.

Interesting caveat to this tale is that Spelinda looks like the five foot, long-haired, female version of Eduardo Najera. So by us thinking she's kind of cute...does that make us kinda gay?