Tales From the Crypt

We haven't paid any attention to the NFL in about five years and seeing this picture of Al Davis today scared the hell out of us. He's always been freaky looking, but damn!!!

Is there another owner in professional sports who personifies everything about their franchise? The Oakland Raiders play in the worst stadium in the league, they play in easily the most dangerous neighborhood of any team, their players are usually old as the hills, those players seem to always lead the league in penalties (especially of the unsportsmanlike nature), their mascot and logo is a pirate, we're pretty sure they're the only team who's kicker has a criminal record, and don't even get us started on their fans.

However come to think of it, Jerry Jones is a face-lifted pretentious fuck, and those sentiments pretty much sum up everything about the Cowboys.

The Monday Ogle - Nostalgia

We are the sentimental types. When asked of favorite this and favorite that, the majority of the time our answers reflect something that either happened in our childhood, or makes us remember fondly, those childhood days (hence Mr Bueller behind our blog's title). Tonight instead of ogling a beautiful person we offer up a beautiful peace of literature for you to read.

Where once was a platform for many a talented scribe, the world of sports writing, like most of the world today, has been "dummied down" so that focus groups are appeased and the masses are drawn in. This in turn leaves the intelligent reader marginalized, and left searching.

Tonight we stumbled upon an ESPN.com article about growing-up and growing-old that touched us. It made us envious of the authors stories and memories, got us thinking about some of our own, and left us nostalgic for good sports writing.

Even if you're not a sports fan, it is a beautiful article that's about much more than sport. Here is the link: http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=moehringer/080929&sportCat=mlb&lpos=spotlight&lid=tab5pos1

And our favorite paragraph:

All love is indefensible, especially stadium love, which has nothing to do with aesthetics. The first stadium you see is the one you love, end of story. Maybe not see, but enter, since every baseball stadium is a complex delivery mechanism for that first view of its inner pastoral utopia. You leave the hot gritty streets, you walk through the long dark tunnel, you burst forth into that vista of sunlight and cool grass -- that's the moment you become a fan. It's as irrevocable, as seminal, as when you come through that other long dark tunnel, into the arms of a doctor who grabs your ankles and slaps your ass. And you have just as much choice in the matter.

National Stay at Home Week

We don't watch much television, well that is TV from an actual television set. We don't even have a set. We'll watch an occasional episode of The Daily Show or maybe a Conan episode here or there, but we usually do so through the Series of Tubes.

Saturday's however, are a different matter, because of college football. This weekend was different because of the music festival, but usually we start in the morning with the early Big Ten game and remained parked in front of the box until about midnight with the conclusion of the late Pac 10 game. It's over twelve hours of college football, and it's glorious!

On Saturday, while watching the first half of the Arkansas vs. Texas game on ABC, we were informed by the network that this week is National Stay at Home Week. Hooray!!! National Stay at Home Week!!! Who knew?

So the TV networks have not only created a holiday, but a holiweek, and the only tradition is to watch TV. How novel, errr sitcom of them. Yes, gas is too expensive to go anywhere, and everyone's 401K has vanished, so lets all listen to the TV and watch more of it. Excercise, pish-posh -- read a book, what are we Amish? (If we were Amish, we'd be a crunk Amish like Harrison Ford in Witness.) So we decided to take TV's advice, and we stayed at home to watch some TV tonight.

To get into the spirit of the holiweek, we decided to start things off by watching "America's most watched comedy," Two and a Half Men. We had never seen the show, but with the acting tour de force that is Topper Harley and Duckie, how could the show not be awesome.

Well, surprise surprise, it wasn't awesome. That's thirty minutes of our lives we'll never get back (to wander the Internet looking for things like this). Watching "America's most watched comedy," mostly just reinforced that most people really suck.

ACL Part 2

Nine acts jumped out at us this weekend, some were expected some not. Here's a quick rundown in descending order:

7c.) Band of Horses - This is the group we had highlighted before the festival as the show-to-see for Sunday, and they didn't disappoint. They've got this great mix of Southern rock and eerie crooning. You may know them from Funeral, which if we're not mistaken, was on a car commercial not long ago. Bonus points for how happy they were to be performing, it's a quality that always resonates with the audience. Deduction because their show was at 7:30 on Sunday and our backs were screaming and mounting a mutiny.

7b.) Jamie Lidell - This dude looks like a hobo, but damn!!! He is funky. We had never heard of the scrawny Brit prior to Friday afternoon, but as we were driving to the festival, one of the local radio stations profiled him, played a few of his tunes, and we were sold. He sounds a lot like Jay Kay of Jamiroquai (which is never a bad thing), but the music differs. Many of his songs had the strange feeling of 1980's sitcom themes, that had been funked-up a bit. Bonus points for band members wearing jump suits and robes. Huge bonus points for giving us the opportunity to drop some Perfect Strangers jokes to those standing in our vicinity.

7a.) The Kills - They were the definition of "Too Cool for School." It was 1:30 Sunday, the heat was blazing, the sun was high in the sky, and this minimalist lo-fi du0 was none-to-pleased. They cursed the sun, cursed their hangovers, and cursed their agent for booking them in such a "suicidal" time slot. For most bands this type of behavior would've been just that, suicide, and the crowd would've turned, but for The Kills, it worked. They play loud, dark, stripped-down, in-your-face rock, and their "Fuck You" attitude just amplified the performance. It's hard not to compare them (favorably) to The White Stripes, what with the girl/guy combo and on-stage sexual tension, but while they're clearly not the Stripes, they do bring it. Bonus points for Alison Mosshart being so damn fine.

To be continued...

ACL Part 1

Nothing in the world smells anything like it. The inharmonious amalgam of sweat, pot, beer, sunscreen and more pot, hits each of the sixty-plus thousand noses in attendance at the annual Austin City Limits Music Festival with a surprisingly pleasant punch, and leaves each anxiously waiting for next year, when they can smell it again.

It's now Sunday night(actually Monday morning), and we feel like we do each year after the festival. We're exhausted and sun burned, our lower backs are screaming, our collective feet throbbing, we stink to high heavens, our ears are ringing, we've got that prevailing uughhh feeling thanks to copious amounts of mind altering substances, and yet we feel fantastic...it's the best weekend of the year, no doubt.

Yes the music is wonderful; there's a terrific combination of established stars, niche performers with cult followings, and up-and-comers, but it's the entire music festival vibe that gets us going. First off, there's an inordinate amount of good-looking women dressed in very little (the silver-lining to the dark cloud that is the blistering Texas heat), and how can anything with this many hotties be anything short of awesome. But eye candy aside, we love the culture. Soft-sided coolers full of trail mix and bottled water, flags collected from vacations of yore waving high in the sky so parties remain in-tact, middle-aged accountants and school librarians dancing like maniacs, too-cool-for-school teenagers making certain their bandannas look just so, and of course the ironic t-shirts.

In a bohemian city such as Austin, interesting/funny/trying-too-hard t-shirts are pretty much the norm, but during ACL Fest it's like convention week. In the three days, it's not uncommon to hear, well over 800 times, "Dude, that's an awesome shirt...where'd you get it?" We spotted this year's best around 3:00pm today -- a lanky man on the wrong side of 50 with a lot more salt on his dome than pepper, was sporting a black shirt with the, now immortal, phrase "Sluts Love Me" printed in simple block white. Honorable mention to the guy with the white t-shirt with a naked Abe Vigoda screened on the front. Thankfully the man parts were blurred.

Musically we witnessed some incredible performances this weekend and we'll give a quick review of our favorites sometime tomorrow. Perhaps you haven't heard of a few of the acts, and next time they're in your area you'll check em out, and have as much fun doing so as we did.

Side note: Maybe another reason for our overwhelming feeling of goodwill towards men this weekend was because we saw hundreds of Obama shirts, buttons, stickers, etc. and not one single sight of the name McCain. We'll give the handful of Ron Paul Revolution folks a pass...they're so cute.

Arrested Development

That same reader who sent us the email from his cousin, also recently told us a story of a recent event that had us rolling. A story that hit so close to home that we feel obliged to share it here. A story of three 27-year-old men...and by men, we mean three dudes stuck in a state of Arrested Development somewhere between boy and man.

So our reader, for the sake of anonymity, we'll call him Mapma, was helping his aunt and uncle move from one (legendary) house into another. However the size of the house, and the amount of stuff within it, called for more than just the back of Mapma, so he got two of his friends to come help.

With the first day of hauling and unloading done, the Aunt and Uncle retired to their new digs, agreeing with the three young(ish) men to reconvene the following morning. The three young(ish) men decided to stay behind and clean up a bit before calling it a night.

After a quick clean, Mampa and his two buddies go upstairs to one of the back bedrooms, they shut the door behind them, and proceed to crank up the Zeppelin and fire up the bong. After awhile, with Robert Plant crooning and the herb beginning to seize the senses, Mapma decides to play a little show-and-tell with a recent purchase of his.

On a trip to the Pacific Northwest, our man had stumbled upon a quaint little boutique that specialized in vintage Playboys. What a novel, we mean "porno-rag" idea (pinky out, Dahling). Well Mapma had an equally "porno-rag" idea, and decided to buy the issue from the year and month of his birth. It might be a good conversation piece someday.

That day had arrived, so Mapma pulls out the old Playboy and begins showing of the goods, so to speak. With all the furniture suitable for sitting on, having already been removed from the room, the three young(ish) men sat in a circle around the literature, happily inspecting the retro-bush. Down stairs the front door opens...the uncle had forgotten to leave Mapma with one last bit of important information.

The uncle, following the sultry sounds of I Can't Quit You Baby, made his way to the back bedroom and opened the door. The aroma of ganja smacked him in the shnoz and his eyes were hit with the sight of three grown(ish) men sitting Indian style on some empty carpet, around a porno magazine, equipped with a smoking bong, wide eyes and sheepish grins.

(And now the reason why uncles will always be cooler than dads.)

The uncle, with arms raised over his head and fists clinched, grinned widely and released a stentorian, "Party!!!"

A Fine Line

A regular reader of ours sent us this email from his cousin. He had asked his cousin to provide him with his email address. That's it, nothing more nothing less.


Sup Biotch,

Dis is me e-male. Everlast! Check it, check it out. Playboy, see
what's de hump. Neva know til see yo. Ounce piece de maily due. Pence
fa a pence. Know wha I mean. Shit biotch. Chooka Chooka. Bunny n a
makin. Nevermind da time. peace.

Slap it. Curleee be.


We've had the pleasure of knowing (not well at all, but still knowing) this cousin for many years, and we knew he was strange, strange in that artsy-eccentric kinda way, but we had know idea that he was, fine line genius/mad. Spell check almost exploded.

The Monday Ogle - Get a Brazilian

We can't help but feel a little down. Combining today's numeric-induced panic attack with the knowledge that we'll never find another job where we do so little, we've been better. But nothing assuages (fuck you GRE!!!) a poor mood like ogling a beautiful lithe young female, mmmmmm. So to attenuate (arrghhhhh) our melancholy, this week's ogle goes out to ourselves.

We bring out truly one of the heavy-hitters this week. This is Brazilian stunner Izabel Goulart. She is of the newer crop of Victoria's Secret ladies and we've gotta say, our favorite of all-time, sorry Heidi (sweet lord, maybe not). Bus as seriously fine as she is, it's not just her crazy good looks that do it for us. No, we've seen Miss Goulart on Conan twice, and both times she couldn't have been sexier. She's quite an enchanting flirt.

Work Update

There's nothing really all that eventful or news worthy about it, but since we write about work so much here, we feel it important to note that we got iced Friday. Apparently when The Man found out we weren't really doing much of anything but watching Internet TV episodes on Hulu, He wasn't happy.

We gave our standard, "These fish have manners!!! We're taking the fish!!!"

Test Anxiety

The NLNC is sitting at desks in a large room staring at monitors. The computer screens have a math problem on them. Sweat is dripping from the NLNC's foreheads. The question has something to do with factory machines making widgets, a train going 45 mph, a jar of yellow marbles, and another train going 50 mph. The NLNC's hearts are now pounding at a rate of 8,000 beats per minute. At this rate what is the greatest possible outcome?

A. They're unable to finish the question after the keyboard malfunctions following their vomiting fit.

B. They're unable to finish the question after their hearts beat through their chests and they die.

C. They're unable to finish the question after they say, "Fuck it!!" Then proceed to run roughshod through the ETS Testing facility leaving computers dismantled and tiny Asian kids screaming with fear.

D. They take a deep breath, remember that rate=distance * time, but forget to convert minutes to hours, and get the question wrong.

We talk a lot on this here blog about our arch enemy being Team Hair Gel, but really for much longer our worst enemy has been math. We were bad ass at arithmetic and were consistently one of the top mathematicians in elementary school but that day in middle school, when algebra was introduced...well the hamsters in our domes done checked out. When we were first taught about variables it went a lot like when The Simpsons went into the witness protection program and became The Thompsons.

Math Teacher: Now when I say 2+x=5, you say x=3, OK?
NLNC: Check
Mather Teacher: So if 2+x=5, what does x equal?
NLNC: Dude, that's a letter.
(Math teacher gives up.)

We took the GRE (it's an entrance exam for graduate school) this morning and we're a bit disappointed. We scored in the 85% of all GRE takers on the verbal section (this despite running out of time and automatically losing three question), but being the wordsmiths that we are, we kind of expected a strong verbal score. The problem was on the quantitative section.

We know we suck at math, we've always sucked at math, so for the last three months we've been studying. We bought books, went to a class, got help from our friends, dads and even our sisters boyfriends, ughhh, and were feeling pretty confident. Our confidence jumped out the window as soon as the first question popped onto the screen...it was a disaster.

Apologies

No real posts today or tonight. At work today, someone finally confronted us with the question, "So what exactly do you guys do here, and why are we paying you?" We acted fast with a frightened look over the woman's shoulder, a frantic point, and then ran away and hid in an unoccupied office. It should buy us a few more weeks of employment, but the daytime posts will be fewer and farther between. As for tonight, we're frantically cramming for the GRE. We take it on Saturday, and don't really have time for this drivel. A graduate assistantship (meaning free school) is on the line.

Obsequious...Asian women
Specious...everything out of our mouths at work
Soporific...everything out of our last date's mouth
Pearl Necklace...a badge of honor

We Know What's Going on Our Business Cards

You can have your CEO, COO, VP, MD, e-t-c.

We've never been big fans of titles. They don't impress anyone except for the titleholder themselves, and if by chance you run into someone who is impressed, they are either your mom or they probably suck. For this reason, we've always promised ourselves that no matter how high we climb in the world, someday when we have business cards made, in place of a title they will just read, "Human." This was until now.

Earlier today we heard an interesting NPR story that included polling conducted by the Pew Research Center. Interested in learning more, and not knowing the proper spelling, we just now performed an Internet search for the Pugh Center on Wikipedia. Having quite a few Pugh related entries, Wikipedia provides searchers with an initial Pugh list.

If you clicked on the Pugh list, near the middle of the entries is Mr. Pepe Le Pew, of Looney Tunes fame. His title, you can read next to his name, is the greatest title of all time...LOVER EXTRAORDINAIRE.

We think it would look great on our cards in raised black ink right above the watermark.

We had forgotten how hilarious Pepe is:

You are ze corned beef to me, I am ze cabbage to you...

Wagner at Vork

The NLNC is not just about fun and games. We also view ourselves as life coaches to the masses, so here's a little tip for helping the workday go by a little quicker.

When faced with a mindless remedial task that seems to have broken the office clocks, and sent them spinning in reverse, it's time to add a little music to the equation. Now this is nothing revolutionary. Thanks to Marry Poppins (mmmmm) and Snow White, everyone knows that music is the key, but today we rocked some Wagner in the old iPod and it was different, it was incredible.

As we moved files from one cabinet to another, the beautiful and haunting sounds from the master of the German opera, transported our minds to another place. Time became irrelevant and before we knew it, it was time to leave. However, the downside to over two hours of Wagner, is that you'll be exhausted. Since his music is the backdrop to so many cinematic classics (or at least they sound like they should) it makes you feel as if you've fallen in love, had your heart broken, defeated an invading army, won a prestigious award, and been involved in some form of montage where hard work over a long period of time was needed to accomplish a dream.

If you want, no matter what your doing, to feel like the most important and bad ass task of all-time, then listen to this one:



If you'd rather have your soul touched:

Deadspin Featured Comment of the Day

On well-established blogs, the postings are just the foundation for the fun and the funny. Comments and commenters are truly the lifeblood. Here is a comment from a Deadspin post that left us in stitches.

According to this story that ran a few days ago, two regular dudes (pictured below) showed up at a public golf course and one of the two other guys assigned to their playing foursome was Denver Nuggets shooting guard JR Smith who was rolling solo. One of the regular-guy duo, nailed a hole-in-one, and in the recount of the day, said that Smith, who has a bit of a bad reputation, is more than pleasant.


From: Weed Against Speed @ 4:40 PM on 9/15/2008

And who was the fourth golfer, you ask?
You guessed it. Frank Stallone.

Problem Solved

If you're like us, and angrily lay awake at night asking yourself, "Why the hell hasn't a band come out yet, who mixes old school video game sounds with lyrics (kind of) and pulsating techno bass lines!!!" Well you can rest easy now.

In a chiba-induced Internet hunt for new music, we searched high-and-low through myspace and iTunes for something to cure our 12-bit music need -- the one that longed to be reminded simultaneously of both Tecmo Bowl and getting our laps danced upon by a Texas A&M psychology student named Cinnamon.

We've found just the band for our ales with Toronto's Crystal Castle. Now if you'd like to see (and hear) the actual video of this song, it's here. If you'd like to watch this curious young man cut a mad rug in what looks to be a dorm room:



We can't hate too much, what with all the robot-envy we're experiencing right now, but C'MON SONNN!!! The Reverse Flying Dove (at 1:35)??? That's the most ridiculous thing we've ever seen a human do. Liberace thinks you're a flaming queer.

The Monday Ogle - A Poem

Oh Mudflap Girl.
You temptress of the American highway.
We love thee for thy disproportionate bombs and tiny waist,
We loathe thee for that family road trip to Disney World when we were 15.
What color are thine eyes?
What color are thine lips...No you slut, not those lips!
(We probably should have married that marginally hot, granola girl who liked all the same bands as us...)

The downside of celebrity

So with the growth and success of our blog, we've begun to get noticed a bit around town. From time-to-time while fondling melons in the produce aisle, or jogging in the neighborhood, a stranger will come up and begin asking about The NLNC. Of course, not wanting to be bothered by everyday people, we stick with the standard, "Thanks, we're flattered, but no we just look like them."

However, Friday night while waiting for Tokyo Police Club to take the stage at Emo's, one of our staff members was meekly approached by R.E.M. who too was anxiously awaiting the start of the concert. Being that they too are celebrities, our staffer decided to talk with them, and grant this picture.

They were very inquisitive about StErica, wanted to know the status of the black girl quest, and agreed with our assessments of Sara Palin's duties to her children. We are impressed that they drink Lone Star, are fans of Tokyo Police Club, and rocked sport jackets despite it being a 100 degree night.

From our staff member's account of the encounter, it was a pleasant conversation for about 10 minutes, but then turned terribly awkward when during a time of dead air, our man having run out of questions, asked the ragingly homosexual Mr. Michael Stipe, "How's that gay thing working out?" His response was an unpredictable mentioning of one of our first ever postings...our staff member then hastily bid the band a pleasant evening, and side-stepped away.

CCCP ?

Sorry we're getting to you so late today. We're still a bit winded from that Monster Java post from yesterday. No Friday rap lyrics or music videos this week, but we did find a good movie clip to inspire as the weekend draws ever-nearer. To our Houston readers, first we're sorry that you live in Houston -- we've traveled to many places and none is as shitty as Houston -- but second, good luck with Ike. Hopefully it won't destroy all your lovely Applebees. We suggest you do what Lieutenant Dan does, and give it hell, especially if you too can be dubbed into a Russian sounding language.



Have a good weekend everyone, and we'll see you Monday morning.

NLNC

No One is Safe!!!

At a suburban software company in Central Texas, a storm is raging out of control. A storm unlike anything we've ever witnessed before. Hurricane Ike you ask, No!

SalesSlapDick 1 and SalesSlapDick 2 have discovered a new energy drink, and with it's aid are wreaking havoc on the office and destroying everything in their wake. THE HORROR!!!

Their standard power source of choice, Monster, has released a new line called Java Monster, and from a distance it appears to be an amalgam of the chaos-in-a-can that is regular Monster and coffee. Empty cans, showing signs of key holes, have been laid-to-waste all across the intricate patterned office carpet, and it appears that SSD1 and SSD2 have been shot-gunning them .

With the pure excitement of their two favorite things being combined, mixed with the massive amounts of caffeine and crack-cocaine in each over-sized can, there's a good chance that at any moment their hearts will explode from their chests, but until then everyone is being forced to take cover. Thank heavens we have a laptop and can write this from underneath our desks.

Five minutes ago, SSD1, (the one who anytime he says anything to us, we yell, "Tough-actin-Tenactin!" because his voice sounds just like John Madden…he doesn't seem to like this) smashed a picture of his poor children and then slammed his head through his office wall. On the other side, poor Juanita was vacuuming the neighboring office and dropped dead when SSD1's head came crashing through and he screamed something at her. It ironically sounded something like, "Boom, Tough-actin-Tenactin!!!" (It's clinically proven...Use only as directed.)

Two minutes ago, SSD2, (the one with the ridiculous fourth grader haircut) finished of his latest can…and then ate the can!!!

Now they're on a tag team sales call, pacing furiously and screaming into the air at what looks like no one in particular (gotta love those Blue Tooth headsets). It appears they've both pissed their pleated pants but have yet to realize it thanks to the sensory overload brought on by all the Monster Java. One of them just mentioned Newark. Lord help those poor bastards up in Jersey…if they don't buy, the SalesSlapDicks are liable to refuel and sprint all the way to the Garden State to beat the shit out of them.

Who's gonna drive you home tonight?

We went to the local grocery store today for lunch and bore witness to something truly remarkable. As we walked the aisles in search of a can of EZ Cheese, perhaps the greatest song of all-time began playing over the HEB store speakers. The reaction was amazing.

From butchers, to stock boys, to produce fondling MILFs, everyone in the store slowed their pace (of whatever they were doing), put on their best "sexy face" and started singing along. Despite the rather depressing lyrics, each time we passed a new person there was a knowing glance exchanged that seemed to say, "Everything is gonna be alright."



If prior to battle, world leaders would gather and listen to Drive by the Cars, this world would be a better place.

Side note: Paulina Porizkova is top five all-time...YOWZAHHHHH!!!

Doomsday

In case you haven't heard, according to the never sensationalist media, our home state of Texas is going to be destroyed this weekend by Hurricane Ike. Other than the only University of Texas football game we were going to get to attend this year getting postponed, we're rather enjoying the hysteria. Something about knowing of your immanent destruction days in advance has everyone in a tizzy. Call us crazy, but something tells us that the 300ish miles of land in-between the coast and our fine Bohemian hamlet will weather the weather.

One of our cousins, and hopefully the only family member who knows of this here blog, sent us this:

For our younger readers, the African American smiling at you from the eye of the hurricane is Ike Turner. The musical savant, Ike Turner, who used to "Slap the Shit" out of Tina Turner. That's why it's funny.

Rolling on the River...

We Thought This Was Very Funny...

If like us, you grew up watching Sports Center but have since shifted your sports following to fan-run sports blogs, you might find it funny too.

On the left is longtime Sports Center talking head, Linda Cohn (it's absolutely appalling that she's been employed this long--she's always been annoying at best), and the gentleman on the right is new Deadspin editor, AJ Daulerio. This picture was posted on Deadspin yesterday evening, and the following comment was so good we almost cried:

From: Matt Sussman @5:50pm on 9/10/08

There goes the 154 day no wanking streak.

Insert Foot Into Mouth

We've extended our Summer deadline for having relations with a comely young woman of Sub-Saharan family heritage. At first our deadline was Summer as it relates to the school year, but now we've decided to get all scientific and go with the Summer solstice, equinox, Toyota Tercel, or whatever it's called. That should give us about two more weeks.

So with this being the eleventh-hour and everything, we've begun to get desperate. In the office next to us at work is a young African American woman named Smichelle, and the other day we decided to ask her if she had a sister, cousin, friend, etc., who was African American, and who would be up for going out with us. It didn't go well.

We had never really talked to Smichelle before. She always has headphones on blaring late 90's R&B, wethinks we heard The Thong Song once, and is generally unapproachable, so when we entered and asked her if she had a minute, she was quite surprised. We're never ones to beat around the bush so we just dove right in:

NLNC: Do you have any sisters or single black girl friends?
Smichelle: How come?
NLNC: Ummm, well, ummm, we'd like to go out with them.
Smichelle: On a date?
NLNC: Ummm, well actually kind of as a, umm science experiment.

Immediately, before we even got the "t" out in experiment, we were slammed with finger snapping, some mmm-hmmm's and at least one "No you di-int!!" With wide eyes and a quick pace to our backward walk, we went back to our desks and put on our own headphones.

Looking back now, to quote Ricky Gervais, "It's funny...because it's racist."

Public Enemy No. 1

Recently we encountered a new Guy who has shifted our rankings of the worst Guys around, and natural enemies to The No-Look, No-Catch. We've outlined our distaste for Cocky IT Guy and Guy Who Likes to Sing Karaoke, and made it known that the only Guys worse than them are Team Hair Gel and Softball Guy, but this all has changed. There is a new king of the douchebags and he goes by the name of Wingman.

He thinks he's Team Hair Gel's best friend, and they love to hit the town together, but really Team Hair Gel doesn't give a shit about him. He has given himself the job of helping his buddy "score chicks" because thanks to his physical limitations and annoying personality, he won't be "scoring" any for himself. For some reason he takes pride in being the sidekick who's main purpose is to be worse than the guy next to him, and who's ultimate goal is to go home alone -- without his friend or a girl.

We faced a classic Wingman last weekend and were crushed. He was a short, fast-talking, five-headed, Son-of-Abraham who left us angered and confused. We just do not get the culture of predatory calculated conversations; Be them to "score chicks" or to help friends "score chicks" by building him up and heading-off the competition. Now we are no saints in regards to our dealings with the fairer sex, but we have never wanted and Wingman, needed a Wingman or been a Wingman. (exhale)

Jack Handy has nothing on us.

We were just thinking...what happened to 2nd World Countries? Is there such a thing?

The Family Name

I was standing in line to get my mail when I overheard this conversation.

Guy 1: Physics is kicking my ass!

Guy 2: Man that class is hella easy.

Guy 1: I don't know what you're talking about, Professor Kite is really tough.

Guy 2: I hear his son is going to start teaching here.

A girl walked by about this time and I lost focus. But the important part is that at least someone is trying to do something with the Kite name....

(and yes there is a direct relation between Professor Kite and a certain NLNC staff member)

The Monday Ogle - Part 2

Here is the prettiest picture we've ever seen of recently crowned US Open champ Serena Williams. We are fans of the Williams' sisters, for their tennis ability and affable personalities, but had planned to poke a bit of fun at Serena here. We had planned to crack a joke about how unfair it is of the USTA to allow centaurs to play on the women's tour, but thought better of it after seeing this picture of her winsome smile, cute hair, and well...mammoth bombs.

But seriously, sweet Odin's Raven! this thing is out of control!!! Being the lame white guys that we are, it's frightening.

The Monday Ogle - Part 1

Tonight's first ogle goes out to the sexiest VP candidate since our main man, The Great Nullifier, John C. Calhoun. We're 99% sure that this picture is Photo Shopped, because of course, who has a backyard pool in Alaska, but if by chance it is real it wouldn't really surprise us. That right to bear arms, Second Amendment shit, totally had pool parties in mind. The foresight on Jefferson, Franklin, and Adams...wow!!!

What you call a sausage attack we call Friday night...

Sometimes a headline will reach out and grab us so much that no matter what we're busy with, we have to stop and read the article.

To say that about this headline from CNN would be the understatement of our lives.

http://www.cnn.com/2008/US/09/07/sausage.attack.ap/index.html

We were in California this past weekend too, and in sharing a hotel room with three other guys, we strangely went to sleep Friday night with fears similar to what actually happened to those poor bastards up in Fresno.

There are so many potential jokes here involving the rubbing of spices, scantily clad assailants, and of course the "whacking" and "smacking" of eight inch sausages, that our heads are spinning.

Cum Shot?

If you read the last post you'll know that we just filled-out our blogger profile. Under our favorite movies we listed North Poles 4-10. To be perfectly honest, as renowned as they are, we've never watched a single North Pole. We actually like to keep our pornography viewing strictly to Logjammin'. We've just always found it funny that the series is named North Pole, that the hero of each installment is named Peter North, and that there are so many of them.

For fun, we decided to do a little research and as we dug, we uncovered a few gems we feel compelled to share.

From Mr. North's Wikipedia page, which is chalk full of good stuff, we were especially drawn to this nugget of information:

North is most noted for his ability to produce very large amounts of semen and for his powerful cum shots; he has averaged 8-10 ejaculations per climax since the start of his career in the porn industry three decades ago.

There's a lot going on in that sentence. First off, good for him, well done sir. But more importantly, who is in charge of keeping the porn stats, and how do they do it? Does Peter keep track of his ejac averages and we're just all supposed to take his word for it? This is not the look of a guy who can be trusted with the honor system. Or is there a statistician who some how measures and takes count? We must know this!!!

Also, as Odysseus had his Sirens, we have our "Cum Shots." When we read those two words, and saw that they were blue and underlined, we were drawn in like a moth to a flame, and had to click.

Too much!!! How good is that picture?!?!?! We haven't seen an artist's representation that good since this. The poor young lady is so sad, and rightfully so. She is obviously not only distraught about not listening to mom and dad's advice about Tyrone, but also is regretting her bad haircut.

Side note: When looking for a good picture of Peter North we found this, and at first thought it was him with Wade Boggs. It's a good thing it wasn't -- we would not have been able to handle such a thing, and would've spontaneously combusted right here at our computer.

Legitimacy

With four months and 200 postings under our belts, we can't help but feel all hard, errrrr warm and fuzzy. With a sense of legitimacy gained from a weekend of props, passed on from our legions of readers, and of-course by that we mean, two people at the wedding said they liked to read it when they had nothing else to do and it was raining outside, but hey, that's enough for us.

With this new-found sense of worth, here are a few changes:

1) We now have a blog specific email address, thenolooknocatch@gmail.com , you know for the fan mail and shit. Also if you have a funny link or tip please use the new address.

2) We've received a number of requests for us to fill-out our blogger profiles, and so we broke down and "Kite" now has some statistical info.

3) We're going to sign-up for Google Ad Sense and start generating a little revenue around here. We decided to allow the not-for-profit ads to run a long time ago (you may have noticed the solicitations for Hurricane Relief and Chinese Earthquake Aid) but we noticed tonight, above our "Blog Archive," that where once our statement of goodwill resided was now a How Well do you Know 2Pac Quiz. If Google is going to sell-out their charity ads, we might as well too. So as soon as we figure out how to place the little monstrosities of e-capitalism on the blog, please feel free to click on them as much as you'd like. We will definitely appreciate the 36 cents at the end of the month.

Landmark

Sweet!!! 200 postings!!!

We apologize for the recent inactivity, last weekend's holiday coupled with this weekend's travel has thrown off our writing schedule a bit, but fear not, we've been doing a lot of living lately and have few tricks up our sleeves once we return to The NLNC headquarters in a few days.

For now, as we gaze out our 11th story hotel window onto the fuzzy LA night, we'll leave you with our favorite joke...

A man called Old Man McGregor has taken his grandson outside to look over his Irish country estate.

Old Man McGregor: Ehh boy, you see that fence over there?
Grandson: Yes, grandfather, I see the fence.
Old Man McGregor: I built that fence with me own two hands...but they don't call me McGregor the Fence Builder, now do they, boy?
Grandson: No grandfather, they don't call you McGregor the Fence Builder.

Old Man McGregor: Ehh boy, you see that barn over there?
Grandson: Yes, grandfather, I see the barn.
Old Man Mcregor: I built that barn with me own two hands...but they don't call me McGregor the Barn Builder, now do they, boy?
Grandson: No grandfather, they don't call you McGregor the Barn Builder.

Old Man McGregor: But you fuck one goat...

Drinking Alone -- 40's

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."

Tonighlahga;akw nfKWJEF;IUHFkj dhfeyugjfg UEYGJLFASDJFF alsdflhafghka dsalkjfhgggliaw laiuhfalgrwirkidsafdewih flaihflaiughl.

This is the best they could do?

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Oh Man...

...this might be the funniest actual news story of all-time. The quote is absolutely out-of-control!!!

And since the story comes from the Romanian hinterlands, of course one must wonder what type of meat it was.

(On a side note, as you can see above, we just accidentally learned how to use words that we typed as links to other articles. WATCH OUT!!!)

Maybe We'll Give Her a Cashmere Sweater

Believe it or not, we're still at work. You see, since we're going to be out of the office for Thursday and Friday of this week, and we're working hourly, The Man offered us extra hours today and tomorrow. Normally we'd say thank you, as we chuckle and sprint out the door at 4:57pm, but with this job it's different, since we literally don't do anything. What's incredible, as we're here snacking on peanuts and watching reruns of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia on the Series of Tubes, is that every time someone comes past our office they give us a thumbs-up and that look of approval that says, "What a worker, those guys are really going to go places in this company." We don't get it...but we're not complaining.

So, to the point here, for better or worse (mostly worse) our lives have been compared, a few times, to that of the legendary sitcom Seinfeld. It seems that through our work and relationship history, we have taken on an amalgam of some of Jerry, George, and Kramer's less-than-finer qualities. Must have something to do with life imitating art.

Well the cleaning lady just came in, and she's rather fetching...

These Pretzels are Making Us Thirsty!!!

As we begin our fifth month (Can you fucking believe it!!!) here at The NLNC, we'd like to bring to light a landmark event that occurred this morning.

You know that guy who thinks he's ridiculously funny because he's clever enough to drop famous movie and TV lines at somewhat opportune times? Well around the office, we're those guys...kind of. We've taken Thinks He's Funny Quote Guy's lead, and regularly whip movie and TV lines into business conversation, however we've added a new twist -- we like to throw out obscure quotes that really have very little to do with the context. For instance:

If someone walks into a meeting late, we'll blurt out in our best Gob Booth voice, "THE AZTEC TOMB!!!"

When we're in a Lebowski mood and someone asks us a simple question, we'll reply with a simple, "He fixes the cable." Or sometimes a subtle, "You mean coitus?"

As the FEDEX guy leaves each day, we'll bring it oldschool with a little Clerks action and shout, "TRY NOT TO SUCK ANY DICK ON YOUR WAY THROUGH THE PARKING LOT!!!"

Well as you can probably imagine no one else really gets it. As we're hunched over in the corner, clutching our sides, and laughing uncontrollably, the rest of the office usually just looks confused and mumble things such as, "What are they even doing in here?"

So today was a watershed moment, because someone finally got one of our quotes!!! We were in a meeting full of clients, and said clients were wearing name tags with not just their names but also their companies and titles. This one dude, was from a defense company or some shit, and his title was "Scientist." Just "Scientist!!!" What luck!!! As we picked ourselves off the floor and tried to stop laughing, Half Baked quotes began to rush into our minds. Which would we choose?

We could walk up to him, introduce ourselves, and then when his name was given, yell out, "AbbaZabba your our Only Friend!!" A part of us just wanted to start rattling off, "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, You're cool...we're out." In the end, we were so excited we just asked loudly (in accent of course)to no one in particular, "WHAT PAAAAART OF JAMAICA?"

You could've heard a pin drop...until off in the distance this homely youngish Indian woman gave a resounding (well kind of, she came over a mumbled to us), "Right near the beach...Boyeeeee!" We pointed to "Scientist's" name tag, and she asked if we were "Janitor."

We think we're in love...B!