The Snake Pit Is Dead, LONG LIVE THE SNAKE PIT

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I have nothing to support this, but if you were born in Indiana between 1975 and 1983, there was a 48% chance you were conceived in the infield at the Indy 500. Such was life back then, in that magical time and place, when the world made sense & pretty much everyone was naked/smoking mescaline under the heavy vibes of marshal law. Just a bunch of dirty, naked people running amok doing dirty, naked things. Because if every single old Snake Pit photo we’ve ever seen is any indication, the infield of the Indy 500 was a wonderful, filthy hellscape of boobs and debauchery and brass-knuckled mayhem.

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'Honest-to-Goodness Indiana'? THAT'S HONEST-TO-GOODNESS POTTY TALK

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Oh hey would you look at that? Indiana went all NEW-AGE HIP-HOP ILLUMINATI FANCY PANTS with its new tourism slogan, to which we — the fair-skinned pearl-clutchers of the state — say NO THANK YOU, GODLESS HOOLIGANS, TAKE YOUR VAGUE DEVIL-TALK BACK TO THE SODA FOUNTAIN FROM WHENCE IT CAME!!!!

No, sir, that will not stand. Please forgive my language, but it is a daggone CRIME against our sense of morality & aversion to risk-taking. You want to be “cutting edge” and “think outside of the buttermilk jug?” DO IT ON YOUR OWN TIME, MISTER! This is Indiana. We tell it like it is and do not think outside of the buttermilk jug — for that is where danger and/or minorities lurk. 

So pick a new one, please. Any of the following will do:

Indiana: It’s a State!™

Indiana: Latitude 37° 46′ N to 41° 46′ N!™

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Science: David West Is a Badass

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Protons, as we understand them, are made entirely of three quarks and erratic energy. They do as they please for the most part, bouncing through their nucleus with erratic bursts of speed and A.D.D. — or sometimes not at all. 

Paul George is a proton — albeit a brilliant & refined one. Roy Hibbert and George Hill are protons too, prone to fits of electric proficiency, yes — but also capable of wandering off into nothingness when the mood strikes. Lance Stephenson is certainly a proton. He is the mutant KING HELL proton to rule all others in fact, crazed with 9,000 up-quarks and a howling V-12 and a tsunami’s overbite. (#BORNPROTON!)

But the Pacers have been overloaded with protons for some time now. What they lacked was a neutron.

David West, of course, is that neutron.

Biochemically speaking, with a mass larger than that of a proton, a neutron is the necessary element that binds protons. Keeps them together. It is the stabilizing force of the nucleus, the brawn and brains and the keeper of order. It is the particle whose wallet says BAD MOTHERFUCKER.

*       *       *

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Blue’s Colts Wrap-Up: Week 10

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STEP RIGHT UP, FOLKS!! OL’ PEP’S GOT WHAT YER LOOKIN’ FER, ONLY TWO BITS A BOTTLE!!!

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Sports Illustrated‘s Peter King had a chat with the Colts’ Pep Hamilton Wednesday as part of the national columnist’s Monday Morning Quarterback RV training camp tour and came away convinced Hamilton isn’t just giving lip service to his throwback idea of giving his offense glyco-heroin to heal/prevent their physical ailments.

The Colts are committed to making it an integral part of their rehab program. Sprains … concussions … typhoid — Pep’s Glyco-Heroin will take care of it all!

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Two down, one to go. HALFWAY THERE!! #Math! (via Instagram)
Today’s the first day of school — one’s starting 2nd grade and the other kindergarten, and on the real tip, I’m a bit conflicted. On one hand: I’m proud & they’re all grown up and all that & blah blah blah haha jk THEY’RE YOU’RE PROBLEM NOW, TEACHERS LOLOLOLOL!!!! [drinks a celebratory screwdriver with the Mrs.] On the other: getting them dressed & off to school every morning — and not having them look like homeless river people, I might add — is the WORST KIND OF PANDEMONIUM the world has ever known and it gives me irritable bowel syndrome in my brain.
Whatever. Let us simply take pause and rejoice & be thankful that with this, football season in earnest is almost upon us. Amen.

Two down, one to go. HALFWAY THERE!! #Math! (via Instagram)

Today’s the first day of school — one’s starting 2nd grade and the other kindergarten, and on the real tip, I’m a bit conflicted. On one hand: I’m proud & they’re all grown up and all that & blah blah blah haha jk THEY’RE YOU’RE PROBLEM NOW, TEACHERS LOLOLOLOL!!!! [drinks a celebratory screwdriver with the Mrs.] On the other: getting them dressed & off to school every morning — and not having them look like homeless river people, I might add — is the WORST KIND OF PANDEMONIUM the world has ever known and it gives me irritable bowel syndrome in my brain.

Whatever. Let us simply take pause and rejoice & be thankful that with this, football season in earnest is almost upon us. Amen.


The baby cage, for hanging babies out of the window for families without a garden, 1937. pic.twitter.com/VRoIggxMt8
— History In Pictures (@HistoryInPics)
August 4, 2013

Wife: Where’s the baby?
Me: In its cage, of course.
Wife: Outside?
Me: [takes quick glance at the baby cage staple-gunned to the windowsill, sips Scotch nonchalantly] Kinda.
Wife: Okay great.
OLDEN TIMES WERE DREAMY!!!

Wife: Where’s the baby?

Me: In its cage, of course.

Wife: Outside?

Me: [takes quick glance at the baby cage staple-gunned to the windowsill, sips Scotch nonchalantly] Kinda.

Wife: Okay great.

OLDEN TIMES WERE DREAMY!!!

In the quarterbacks room here at Anderson University hangs a poster of philosophers. ‘Ivan Pavlov and Sigmund Freud and all of these other guys you haven’t heard of,’ Hasselbeck said. ‘We’re quizzing each other on their names. [Andrew Luck]’s smart. He keeps me on my toes.’

Andrew Luck, Indianapolis Colts aiming to top heights of 2012

Oh good grief.

(As a point of reference here, to perfectly illustrate how far this team has risen from the grim tarpits of LIFE-SUCKING INEPTITUDE, in 2011 Curtis Painter hung a blacklight poster of Jim Morrison high-fiving a puma.)

[my untitled screenplay] ACT 2, SCENE 2

FADE IN:

INT. HOUSE DRIVEWAY - DAY

Hero-dad lugs the final 450-pound bag to the already packed minivan. It is FILLED TO CAPACITY with all manners of vacation supplies/needless shit. He is sweating profusely. Hands on hips, he pauses and bows his head momentarily, clearly cognizant of the fact that what lies ahead is fraught with chaos. But with a steely gaze of determination, he begins to GEAR UP.

     [**cue intense reggae/steel drums beat**]

Camera cuts to close-ups, in rapid succession, of each of our hero’s actions:

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theclearlydope:

FUN!!!!
via itmakesnosense

This is EXACTLY what I want my funeral to look like, complete with the chill LOLZ! vibe hanging heavy in the air and me waving at everyone while lying in repose, or possibly I’ll be raising the roof — we’ll see.
Pastor: “And now a reading from ‘Whoomp There It Is!’”

theclearlydope:

FUN!!!!

via itmakesnosense

This is EXACTLY what I want my funeral to look like, complete with the chill LOLZ! vibe hanging heavy in the air and me waving at everyone while lying in repose, or possibly I’ll be raising the roof — we’ll see.

Pastor: “And now a reading from ‘Whoomp There It Is!’”

Father’s Day Done RIGHT: A Sluggard’s Tale

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When Jesus or James Madison or whoever invented Father’s Day, a vision was born. A movement. A call to arms, really, which was never intended to involve cookouts or effort or otherwise doing shit with our kids. (THAT IS NOT HOW YOU HONOR ME, YOU HEATHENS!!) Because for one glorious day, all decent & non-deadbeat dads get to do that which we secretly cherish: become gross, slothful pieces of couch gristle slowly murdering our innards in the basement, in solitude, where our every whim is attended to — and where it is very, very quiet.

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