I'm sure we'll meet again

So after one year, one month and one day, I suppose it's time to say goodbye. It's nice to think we've had some fun a long the way. From Pat Sajak to Miley Cyrus and WWE to Matt Bazzani, Small Town Scandals bids you adieu.

Someone mentioned to me yesterday how the blog lasted longer than expected. I must agree. But to keep an open-ended, rarely updated link would be a let down. Like any big hit, it's best to go out while the twinkle is at least visible.

That's not to say some other reincarnation of putting words to a medium won't arise sooner or later, but like my previous endeavors in the writing world - all good things do come to an end. Thanks for reading and thanks for commenting.

And until next time, if you go all-in, don't forget to tell me about it.

Gonna have to do better than that, Atlantic

So I came into work the other day and read an e-mail from our director of MIS outlining the company's conversion to a new web/content/spam blocking software called "Barracuda". According to the email, "none of the current settings will change." That was a relief. After all, who doesn't like to check fantasy football, chat on Gmail and read blogger at work?

I should have seen it coming. Yahoo! Sports Fantasy Football: Blocked. smalltownscandals.blogspot.com: Inaccessible. Gmail: Good...Phew. Gmail chat: Disabled. FUUUCKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

As I scrambled to reload, refresh and rejuvenate the lifeline of my work day, I remembered a ways back coming across a "secure" Gmail page. I loaded it up and, thank goodness, chat was working. Luckily I didn't have to quit work. Returning to my desk after lunch today, my screen was frozen. I rebooted and guess what? Gmail chat: Disabled. AHHHHHHH!!!! The scrambling and reloading and refreshing did nothing. I quickly documented the death of Gmail chat and sent it to a few close chat-buddies. Gmail chat had been diagnosed with a terminal illness and just 48 hours after diagnosis, it had perished.

Then at about 2pm as nearly all hope had been lost, it started working again. Talk about joy. I don't know how much time I have left with it, as I've been told the Barracuda has intelligence and will continually search and find potential targets to block.

It was during my hysteria that the conspirator in this whole mess became apparent. What kind of species is a barracuda, I asked. Fish. Where do fish reside? Water. Well hold on there a second, Jack Hannah. What kind of water? Salt water. What are large bodies of salt water called? Oceans. The Atlantic Ocean. Of course. That mother fucker.

I couldn't find an old post that outlined it, but for those of you who don't know, the Atlantic Ocean and I have been locked in what appears will be an eternal struggle for many years now. 9th grade in South Carolina I got bit by three jelly fish. 10th grade in Florida I couldn't go in the ocean because of a Plantar's wart the size of a fucking beach ball on my foot. The weekend before Senior Week '02 I sliced my foot on glass while playing volleyball at a graduation party - One hospital visit and 11 stitches later I was advised to not enter the ocean until at least (and make sure to wear a shoe) the final day of the trip. Summer of 2005 it stole my sunglasses, almost blew out my knee and ruined my cell phone. Since those incidents I've visited the Atlantic twice with no damage to speak of. I've talked shit on its hurricanes and cursed its frigid waters.

I don't know what got the Atlantic pissed at me. Is it my superior boogie boarding skills or my complete disregard for its shitty broken sea shells? Regardless, only the Atlantic would do something this dastardly. Threaten to ruin my daily life. Leave it to this slut body of water to disguise one of its minions as a corporate web-blocking software and send it to find me.

So, Atlantic, this is how it's going to be, huh?? We are going to rage on until you either dry up or a plane I'm on crashes and I drown right? Well, I'll make sure to discuss it more tomorrow on GMAIL CHAT.

Oh, and one more thing...If you're wondering where your precious Barracuda is...



Bring it on you fucking bitch.

Wait......Wha...????

"FUCK!!!!"

Dude, they're PIRATES!!!

Alright, I can't take it anymore. I saw this story when it broke and since then, Paul has been doing a good job of keeping me updated semi-weekly. For those of you who have not seen this ridiculous situation, let me break it down. A couple weeks ago, a group of "Somali Pirates" seized a Russian vessel carrying high powered weaponry. To start, they demanded a $20 million ransom to spare the on board sailors' lives and avoid blowing the ship up.

The pirates then dropped their ransom from 20 to $10 million, laid off the threats to kill the crew, put the kibosh on the explosion, and later dropped the ransom to $8 million. Now, just today, they decided, "the crew would probably die tomorrow." Now let's put this in perspective: The crew will "probably die tomorrow" not because they especially want to kill them, but because they have just recently ran out of food and water.

Oh, and I forgot to mention that, during this entire escapade, the United States Navy has had the seized ship surrounded. The United States Navy. Ya know, the most powerful maritime force (aside from Niagara Falls) in the history of the world.

It's at this point I have to ask myself the question....ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS YOU'RE LETTING PIRATES HOLD A SHIP FUCKING HOSTAGE??? They are PIRATES!!!!!!!

When was the last time a band of ye ole Pirates did anything even remotely effective? It's like these guys were sitting around smoking a blunt while watching Pirates of the Caribbean and were like, "yea, let's go plunder some shit."

They must be keeping George Bush in the dark about this whole thing. If you haven't heard, things haven't been going real well for him the past eight years lately, and I'd figure he would be chomping at the bit to beat the fuck out of some pirates on his way out of office.

On a couple side notes, the South Park guys proved their genius once again tonight, suddenly realizing how much they hated 'Cloverfield'. Also, just saw a preview for Saw V and I gotta believe that everyone is completely over it. Didn't the guy die a few movies ago? I'd be really surprised if there was a bunch of gore and cleverly heinous situations capped off by a crazy twist ending.

I thought Habenicht was in Spokane?

So I thought Scott was currently enrolled at Gonzaga Law School? From what I can see, he was picked up on the 40th St. Bridge last week. Either that or police have finally apprehended one of those pesky Boondock Saints.

Hoop Life

The majority of the group bounded up the stairs with the typical Friday night excitement. A slim minority trailed behind them, contemplating each stair and how many times they'd climbed them. The eternity of those stairs was outdone by the narrow hallway, miles long and lit now only by a glowing red exit sign and fluorescent white seeping in under the door.

They shifted their sweats, those shorts underneath always seemed to ride up. The door swung open and a cadre of neophytes blasted through. The group, regimented, lined each wall, to these kids coming through it must have felt the walls were closing in. They were pushed, hazed and scolded until the final one passed. A voice raised above the laughter. It was the beatbox we'd all become so familiar with in the past months. Another voice chimed in, for those ten seconds, Biggie Smalls was resurrected. On cue, the rest of the group joined and they brought it together, one last time.

In an instant they were at another doorway. The swarm of people inside anticipated their arrival. Whether it was the casual conversations of adults or the immature shouts of the teens, it all subsided. For a moment, it was silent...


Some say that at death, your life flashes before your eyes. Granted, no one knows (well, almost no one) if this is true or not. The semantics of the whole thing are largely meaningless. But, if I were to see my life flash before my eyes, a small number of things would appear: My family, my wonderful girl, my friends, and basketball.

You see, for as long as I can remember, basketball has been the rock of my being. No matter what situation I've found myself in, the game has been there to see me through. Be it the death of a family member, a fight with my parents, the break up of a relationship or the disappointment of missing out on a job opportunity - I've been shooting jump shots.

Whenever Gordon Bombay reached a crossroads, he'd lace up a pair of skates and hit the ice. I grab a Wilson and shoot until I smile. Sometimes those smiles take minutes, other times hours.

Basketball and I have always shared a love-hate relationship. Breaking an arm in second grade and learning to play left-handed turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Dad locking me in the garage (granted I could've just opened the door to the outside, but it was winter!) and making me dribble for an hour every day left me in tears. Aside from an intramural league here or there, I basically shunned any previous connection to the game I loved. For some reason, sour grapes took the place of affection.

Perhaps I was bitter because my days of competitive action were through. My physical ability just wasn't enough to get me to the next level. Sure, I probably could have played at a small college, but if it wasn't the big time, who really cared?

The beauty of the game wasn't the jump shot or the perfectly executed offense. To me, it was my body parallel to the ground, five feet in the air as I dove head-first into the crowd for a loose ball. It was the echo of Coach Faulx's "Niiice Paaass" after forcing a ball through a lane no one else could even see. Above all, it was always being the "1" in the Box and 1.

The past few springs and falls I've joined a league at the local Y. I'm winded three minutes into every game. The past few sessions, I found myself in arguments and near fisticuffs with the opposing team. For what? Why should I crap on the brilliance of this game? There's no reason I should hold anything against basketball, it never has to me. My strength is helping our team, not bitching about someone calling a foul. The team is what made me a player. It showed me who I was.

Basketball took me as a child and spit me out a man. But the ability to continue those head-first dives and blind-luck passes have kept me ageless.


...the crowd erupted as the pep band fired up a rousing rendition of "You ain't seen nothin yet". The seniors came out last, Buzz the caboose as usual, and fired our Sharpie-personalized head bands into the student section, which housed our greatest fans. Our parents, our teachers, our friends all cheered while we celebrated our final game as Knoch Knights. Nothing would stop us that night. At one point I hit a shot and turned around to look at the crowd. As usual, I had found my smile.

Some say that at death, your life flashes before your eyes. Whether it does or doesn't, I don't care. Mine already has.

Could you blog any less you fucking faggot???

Oooooo this looks poopy. Poopy doopy Paul-Mall. Paaulll Maaaaallll. He ISTH Paul-Waaaaal. My homie Waaalllll. HEY WHAT IS IN THIS MOTHER FUCKER? WHAT? YEA WHATEVER. CORY GET YOUR FUCKING FAT ASS OVER HERE NOW AND SMELL THIS SHIT AND TELL ME WHAT'S IN IT. GO AHEAD, SNIFF THAT SHIT UP CORY. AH SMELLS GOOD DOESN'T IT. LUCKY YOU WAFTED THAT CORY OR ELSE I WAS GONNA BALL TAP THE FUCK OUT OF YOU.

God Boydie, I haven't had enough Jager lately. Don't even get to keep the can at this shithole. Look at that queerbait Shaffer over there. Probably suckin' cock as usual. Hey Wiley, come over here and bend over so all the guys can see how loose your fucking gaping asshole is. Fuck Wiley, get that nutslapping shit the fuck out of my face.

Started liftin' again. Ahhhhh. Fuckin sore. It'll all be worth it when the slutties are slobbin my cock though. Ha. Whores love when they get the nasty, ya know what I mean.....Ohhh boy. Here we go. Check out this shitfest walking in the door.












BLLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH Holy fuck am I a fucking douchebag faggot. So what if I'm a piece of shit, at least I got a six pack, am I right???? You are unfriendly and incredibly hard to get along with. HAHHAHAHAHA JEESSUS CHRIST AM I A FUCKER!!!

I'm done. Fuck this asshole. Let's go Purves.

DAAAAAAADDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD!!!!!!!!!!