One half of BEls' blog is Milk. Let's not dance around the truth. Milk is the Devil's drink of choice, so let me explain why we must join together to destroy it.
Milk is the primary culprit in lactose intolerance. What results from this? Sick stomach, gas, diarrhea, and swelling in your stomach. The impact of lactose intolerance is pervasive. You can't eat ice cream, cheese, yogurt and butter. Think of how delicious all these things are. No more pizza. No more chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream. No more croissants. And what is to blame? That's right - MILK.
Think of all the horrible things that are done to cows, goats, and yaks in order to extract their milk. They are pumped full of hormones and caged into small spaces, with complicated machines attached to their private parts in order to extract the white gold. And guess what Milk is full of? That's right, Calcium, the number one culprit in Kidney Stones. And, not surprisingly, high Calcium intake is one of the suspected causes of Prostate Cancer. That means a finger in your butt, fellas. Milk is also full of cholesterol, which, incidentally, is the number one cause of Heart Attacks. Men who drink large amounts of milk significantly increase their risks of Parkinson's Disease.
And consider all the awful things that have developed around the Milk Industry. Ovaltine? Quite possibly the nastiest chocolate milk powder ever invented. Chocolate milk powder could be made from ground elk horns, bark, and mulch, and still taste better than Ovaltine. In an effort to expand it's dominance around the world, Milk has created the most disgusting drink on Earth - Soy Milk. It's horrible, but also horribly addictive. MILK has placed several addictive chemicals into Soy Milk that target the brain, and have an increased effectiveness against Vegans.
But any good discussion must include the positives of milk. Sometimes it tastes good, like when it's in cheese and butter. And it makes cereal better.
But that's it. MILK is clearly, indisputably, BAD.
MILK MUST BE DESTROYED - DEATH TO MILK & BOCCE BALL!
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Bad Television Announcing - Why BEls is Wrong
Americans think they want a lot from their announcers. But they don't. Really they don't. BEls writes that if Reggie Miller is only going to say somebody's name as he's lying there on the ground, then don't say anything at all.
I respectfully disagree. BEls is a turd-sniffing monkey. The best announcers have mastered the art of subtlety. They are minimalists. They understand that sometimes the best thing to do is give us a small amount of information and let us do the rest on our own. David Ortiz hits a monstrous home run to win game 4 against the Yankees? We say "David Ortiz!", watch the ball fly away, watch him round the bases, and then follow it up with "We'll see you tonight!" Great stuff. Simple, to the point, it says everything.
British football announcers are the best at this. They don't tell you interesting facts about a player's drug-smuggling uncle. They tell you who has the ball, and occasionally they tell you what they're doing with it. They keep editorializing to a minimum. A typical play might include a pass from a defender to a midfielder, to another midfielder, who passes to a forward, who shoots wide. A British announcer would say this:
"John Terry.......Lampard.......Cole......Cole finds Drogba......Drogba.....Drogba......lackluster effort"
An American announcer, of the type BEls would like, would sound like this:
"John Terry has the ball, he's a Scorpio and his mother was imprisoned for selling green brownies in order to raise money for a new car... Terry passed the ball to Lampard a few moments ago, Lampard has a funny name, he's French. I don't like the French.... Joe Cole has the ball now, not to be confused with Andy Cole who used to play for Manchester United, although both men are from Grimsby Town and grew up playing footie in the street together. Joe Cole recently regained his spot in the lineup after recovering from injuries sustained when trying to escape from a mob of crazed women who tore off his clothes while at a bar in London. Minor scrapes and bruises, but a scratched cornea.... Drogba just missed a shot..."
That is what BEls wants from his announcers. I think that is stupid. We're not that stupid. Tell me about Joe Cole's escape from a near group-rape by doing a story on it at half-time. If you're going to talk during the game, I want to be entertained. I liked Dennis Miller. I like Bill Walton. Say something entertaining, or say very little.
I respectfully disagree. BEls is a turd-sniffing monkey. The best announcers have mastered the art of subtlety. They are minimalists. They understand that sometimes the best thing to do is give us a small amount of information and let us do the rest on our own. David Ortiz hits a monstrous home run to win game 4 against the Yankees? We say "David Ortiz!", watch the ball fly away, watch him round the bases, and then follow it up with "We'll see you tonight!" Great stuff. Simple, to the point, it says everything.
British football announcers are the best at this. They don't tell you interesting facts about a player's drug-smuggling uncle. They tell you who has the ball, and occasionally they tell you what they're doing with it. They keep editorializing to a minimum. A typical play might include a pass from a defender to a midfielder, to another midfielder, who passes to a forward, who shoots wide. A British announcer would say this:
"John Terry.......Lampard.......Cole......Cole finds Drogba......Drogba.....Drogba......lackluster effort"
An American announcer, of the type BEls would like, would sound like this:
"John Terry has the ball, he's a Scorpio and his mother was imprisoned for selling green brownies in order to raise money for a new car... Terry passed the ball to Lampard a few moments ago, Lampard has a funny name, he's French. I don't like the French.... Joe Cole has the ball now, not to be confused with Andy Cole who used to play for Manchester United, although both men are from Grimsby Town and grew up playing footie in the street together. Joe Cole recently regained his spot in the lineup after recovering from injuries sustained when trying to escape from a mob of crazed women who tore off his clothes while at a bar in London. Minor scrapes and bruises, but a scratched cornea.... Drogba just missed a shot..."
That is what BEls wants from his announcers. I think that is stupid. We're not that stupid. Tell me about Joe Cole's escape from a near group-rape by doing a story on it at half-time. If you're going to talk during the game, I want to be entertained. I liked Dennis Miller. I like Bill Walton. Say something entertaining, or say very little.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
The Captain Hilts Blog Manifesto
1. I reserve the right to post only one blog. Ever.
2. Any of B. Els' friends are fair game. Including myself.
3. The University of Washington Football program is great and good.
4. I am a fair-weather Mariner fan. I will only write articles in favor of the team when they have won several games in a row or are clearly successful.
5. Portland has the highest incidence of Meth use in America. Therefore, I will make fun of Stampy.
6. Idaho makes potato ice cream. I will thus make fun of Adam.
7. Joe is shorter than me. That is rare and must be ridiculed.
8. MLS needs to place an expansion team in Seattle.
2. Any of B. Els' friends are fair game. Including myself.
3. The University of Washington Football program is great and good.
4. I am a fair-weather Mariner fan. I will only write articles in favor of the team when they have won several games in a row or are clearly successful.
5. Portland has the highest incidence of Meth use in America. Therefore, I will make fun of Stampy.
6. Idaho makes potato ice cream. I will thus make fun of Adam.
7. Joe is shorter than me. That is rare and must be ridiculed.
8. MLS needs to place an expansion team in Seattle.
What Really Matters - Seahawk Season Tickets
B. Els is responsible for the worse decision ever made in the history of sports fanhood. He and I had Seahawk season tickets for two years. Things were great. They only lost three home games in two years. There were amazing comebacks, jell-o shots, punt returns for touchdowns, and lots of Shaun Alexander laying down in front of tacklers. Life was beautiful. Then a funny thing happened. The Seahawks lost a home playoff game to the Rams. B. Els couldn't handle it. I wanted to renew, he didn't. I didn't have the money to renew two season tickets on my own, and I couldn't find anybody else to go in with me. So we dropped our season tickets.
Fast forward a year. The Seahawks tear through the NFC like Elmo in a jealous rage. Like Evil Bert terrorizing Sesame Street. They secure homefield advantage throughout the playoffs. And guess who doesn't have season tickets? You guessed it. Us. Captain Hilts had to pony up $240 to buy 2 of the crappiest tickets ever to the NFC Championship game. For $120, I could have paid 1/3 of the cost of season tickets. Then I went one step further and got so drunk, I couldn't remember most of the first half of the game. We won. And we went on to the Super Bowl. I quickly put my name on the season ticket waiting list. As a lawyer in training, I was suddenly flooded with disposable income.
Last week, my spot on the waiting list came up. I bought two season tickets. And guess who now wants back in? Guess who wanted to be Reunited like Peaches & Herb? That's right. B. Els. I couldn't say no - he was right - I can't imagine season tickets without his pessimistic ass sitting next to me. I will forgive him, but I will never forget.
Fast forward a year. The Seahawks tear through the NFC like Elmo in a jealous rage. Like Evil Bert terrorizing Sesame Street. They secure homefield advantage throughout the playoffs. And guess who doesn't have season tickets? You guessed it. Us. Captain Hilts had to pony up $240 to buy 2 of the crappiest tickets ever to the NFC Championship game. For $120, I could have paid 1/3 of the cost of season tickets. Then I went one step further and got so drunk, I couldn't remember most of the first half of the game. We won. And we went on to the Super Bowl. I quickly put my name on the season ticket waiting list. As a lawyer in training, I was suddenly flooded with disposable income.Last week, my spot on the waiting list came up. I bought two season tickets. And guess who now wants back in? Guess who wanted to be Reunited like Peaches & Herb? That's right. B. Els. I couldn't say no - he was right - I can't imagine season tickets without his pessimistic ass sitting next to me. I will forgive him, but I will never forget.
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