In the Words of Three 6 Mafia... Azz and Titties.

Today, I took a walk and my brain, obviously, went to the topic of boobies. And I thought of Lisa's most recent blog entry. And I remembered something.

I think the male fascination with boobies has far less to do with some oedipal fantasies as Ryan and Lisa imply in the comment section.

I suppose you could do a study about men who like breasts (basically all of them) and how many of them were actually breast fed as children (certainly not basically all of them), to find exact numbers... but I think that's psychobabble bullshit.

Of course, what you're about to read is rather psychobabble bullshit, too. So sue me.

When I was a teenager I saw this show on TLC called "The Human Animal." It was a 2 hour special, as I recall. And it was amazing. They had cameras in vaginas during sex. CAMERAS IN VAGINAS DURING SEX. Most fascinatingly, they showed how, during/after sex, the cervix basically tries to slurp up the semen left in the vagina. I mean, it looked like a sea anemone or something. It would extend out and down, and then literally slurp up the spermies. It still boggles my mind. 

Ah, the miracle of life.

Anyways, the point is they had a segment on breasts. More specifically, they had a segment on the male fascination with breasts. And how that fascination is basically universal, across cultures, etc.

And they did a demonstration. They showed female cleavage of the breasts and the ass. Like, you know, the top of the ass crack. And they asked you to guess - are you looking at a woman's ass cleavage or breast cleavage. I think I got like 3 or 4 out of 10 right. It was crazy! When you block everything else out, ass cleavage and breast cleavage basically look the same. 

And that was their point. The male fascination with breasts has nothing to do with some creepy oedipal complex*. It has to do with the fact that female cleavage hits us (MEN) in an unexplainable (except for the fact that I'm explaining it now), instinctual way - when humans were mere animals, we... um... procreated using the uhh... rear mount approach. Doggystyle. We fucked doggystyle, ok?! And when you're doin your thing this way, what you see is the top of the ass. The ass cleavage. And it pretty much rules.

So when we see breasts, we see cleavage and it reminds us, unconsciously, of ass cleavage. Which reminds us, unconsciously, of sex.

*In fact, think about it, dudes. What is more awesome - a chick with a shirt on and fantastic cleavage, or a chick who is topless. Ignore the implications of what being in the same room as a chick who is topless means (you're so getting laid, bro) and just think of simply the image in front of you.  It's the cleavage, I am telling you. Cleavage effing rules.

Post-Script: I went to great lengths to find this, and I am glad I did. I hope you carve out an hour or so of your day to watch it all. In case you can't, you should specifically tune to about the 40 minute mark to see the cervix slurping the semen. Also, at around the 45 minute mark, they show that, while some sperm's task is to seek out the egg, other sperm have a different job. KILLING OLD SPERM. It's intense. Watch it. All.

More Thinks I Think

-When you flick an ant, why doesn't it kill them? I have flicked this same ant on my desk 3 times. Hard flicks, too. I mean, I really got that guy. And he keeps coming back. He is like the Terminator. But a flick from my middle finger, to an ant, is like me being hit by an 18-wheeler at 200 miles per hour. Ants, amazing creatures.

-If I turn on the TV, and a soap opera is on, I rush to change the channel like it's porno and someone is knocking at my door. I don't know why. I just feel dirty.

-I keep seeing this commerical for Assurant Health. This one woman keeps saying, "I'm healthy. I just want to see my personal doctor once a year." The way she says "personal." She means her gyno, right? How often do girls see the gyno? Once a year doesn't seem often enough. Then again, I don't have to put my legs in stirrups and have a big metal tool spread me open. Once a year is probably more than enough. I would never go.

-Reminds me. I would be a terrible girl. I am just not good at keeping schedules. I would get toxic shock syndrome at least a couple of times a year. Can you die from that? Wow. You can.

-This is also why I worry about living much beyond, say, 55 years old. I am going to need to be a big time attorney with a couple of assistants to keep track of when I need to get my colon checked and all that stuff.

-Sticking with the subject. I have never met a single woman that sees a male gyno. I guess it's not like I ask every female I meet. But still... why would you? And, unless you are just a huge gold digger, if you're a girl and you meet a dude and he is a gyno, isn't that just a huge red flag? If I met a girl and she was a urologist... I mean. You might as well be a stripper. Or even a hooker. You get paid to handle wieners all day long. It's basically the same.

-Annnnnd, that's my cue to change the subject.

-I wish I watched Scrubs from the beginning. Solid show.

-You know you've been in law school too long when someone points out that you speak in "outline form" a lot, and you realize that they are right.

-I just realized that Pushing Daisies must have been cancelled. That is a damn shame. Terrific show.

-I am tired of this Kobe/Lebron debate. Laker fans are insane. Kobe is a better shot maker. Lebron is the better player. Period.

-I think the best intro to any two movies, in terms of getting me excited for the film, are: (1) The opening seconds of Back to the Future (with all the clocks ticking in Doc Brown's office), and (2) Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory (with all the chocolate being made. Mmmm).

-This commercial popped in my head just now. It's a classic. Note Alex Mack's older sister escaped the secret world.

-About...5 years ago, I finally saw Say Anything. Now, don't get me wrong. I am a huge wiener and that is a great movie. But... after years of seeing clips of the iconic scene where Cusack is holding the boom box up for Ione Sky in the rain while it played "In Your Eyes" by Peter Gabriel, and assuming that Ione heard the music, came to the window, and then sprinted down for a passionate kiss in the rain (EDIT: It was not raining)...I felt entirely cheated by what actually happens in the movie. Ione IGNORES Cusack's romantic gesture and turns over to go to sleep. Granted, this is realistic as hell. I think most girls would even go so far as to scream "TURN OFF THE FUCKING MUSIC" and never talk to poor Lloyd again. Still. I mean, Pop Culture made me believe it was this great moment where Lloyd wins back the girl. Honestly, I felt betrayed. By Pop Culture.

-Having a brother named Sean, I have always taken notice of the many interesting ways that people spell that name. In my almost 27 years on this Earth, I thought I had seen just about every variation possible. Sean. Shawn. Shaun. Shon. Shonne. I thought I had found the winner a few years back, when I first heard of a baseball player who pronounces his name Sean but spells it "Chone." Yes, Chone. Clearly, a scholar. But today, via the power of Facebook, I came across a new one. I'm not sure if it tops Chone, but it gives it a run for its money, at least in terms of uniqueness. Schaun. Ok, it definitely does not beat Chone. But I still like it.

-I get pretty territorial about "my" holidays. "My" first holiday is St. Patrick's Day. As someone of Irish descent, I get...not quite irritated, but a little less than thrilled about people turning "my" holiday into a marketing bonanza/an excuse to get drunk. I am sure Ryan feels the same about Cinco de Mayo. As does Lisa. Since she is also Mexican. Looking. But I also am just not into Mardi Gras. As a raised Catholic, Mardi Gras has always seemed a bit crass to me. 1) I think 85% of people have no idea what it is for. 2) I've always felt that bingeing before a fast is cheating (I'm looking at you, Jews). 3) Frankly, I am not into the public-boob-flashing culture that has emerged. I always kinda feel bad for the girl. And I think about the fact that that is someone's daughter/sister/future mother/possibly current mother. I always just kinda shake my head (after wooing in excitement, natch). But so yeah. Back off of my holidays, bro. They aren't an excuse to get drunk. They MEAN something to me. Ok? Note: If you were unclear what I meant by "speaking in outline form," you got an example in this paragraph. Dangit.

-There's nothing funnier to me in politics today than the term "stimulus package."

-I wish I could give Michelle Obama my stimulus package. Hiiii ohhhh!

Greatest Game I've Ever Been Apart Of? I Say Yes.

Ok, so perhaps that doesn't mean much. But still. It was awesome.

So, tonight I decided to go play basketball. I hadn't played since before Thanksgiving because I hurt my knee. But last week I went to the doctor and got an x-ray and he said it was clean, and my knee felt good structurally. So without an MRI, I basically needed to just push it and see if maybe I can't just work through it and get it stronger. Or, it blows out and I need surgery. But I had to push it and see what happened.

So after class tonight, I went to the gym around 7:30. Lots of undergrads for pickup games. I got in a game on a good team. I was pretty tentative at first. The whole night I think I drove maybe twice. Just trying to move laterally, see how it felt. It felt kinda weak...probably from having not run or jumped for 2 months. I played about 4 games, finally losing the 4th, and decided to call it a fairly successful night.

As I'm walking off the court I see this dude named Luke from my Law School League basketball team. Yeah, it's a league of all law school people. In my 5 semesters here, I have lost exactly zero times. But I suppose I'm like Robert Horry. I just managed to get on two separate good teams and we pretty much clean house. He says some of the guys from my law school team and a couple guys from another law school team have an intramural game in an undergrad league starting in a few minutes, at 9. He says he thinks they could use me, so I figured what the hell. I was pretty tired and a bit worried about my knee, but I gave it a shot. I only played about 15 minutes. I think my line was 15 minutes, 0-1 FGs, 0 points, 2 or 3 rebs, 1 turnover, 1 assist. So yeah, I'm at least the 8th or 9th worst on this 9 man team.

Anyways, the other team is a bunch of undergrad dudes with like... 7 or 8 Scholars. We're down 50-44 with about 45 seconds left and start fouling. We manage to tie it up at 54 and have a decent final shot for the win, no good. In overtime, we are up 3. We get hosed on a horse shit call that I won't go into, and then they hit a 3 to tie. We go to double overtime. Lots of interesting to me, but not interesting to you, stuff happens to put us down 1 with 2.8 seconds left. We call timeout, but we still have to inbound the ball full court.

And then, essentially, this happened.



I'm not kidding. We threw it the length of the floor and somehow my teammate, Chris, catches it on the right wing. He takes a couple dribbles toward the baseline, shoots it from kind of behind the backboard over 2 guys, and buries it as the buzzer sounds.

The shot itself was kind of like this.




It was god damn incredible. And don't think for ONE SECOND that I didn't run around like Thomas Hill (#12, Duke, first video) when it happened. Well, less crying and disbelief. More whooping and mobbing.

I wish it was on video. Alas.


Post Script: Just because these commercials were awesome...





Post-Post Script:

Senthil points out that, as amazing as this was, it does not surpass the time I tackled a guy and ended the game with a bench clearing brawl. Touche, Senthil. Touche.

I Smell Like Cake

Earlier this evening, I helped my roommate take his Christmas tree out to be disposed of. I should say, that thing hadn't been given water in a month (at least) and was the greatest fire hazard I have ever personally come into contact with. Probably. It weighed about two pounds it was so dry. It was like gasoline mixed with kerosene.

Anyways. In removing the tree, I predictably got sap on my hands. Not much. Just enough to prove an annoyance. I tried washing my hands with soap and that did not do the trick. I went to my google machine and found that one good way to remove sap from skin is Pam cooking spray. 

I trudged upstairs and looked in the pantry for some Pam. I found some Pam, but it was Pam "Baking" spray. Apparently there is a difference. The only difference I could tell was that the stuff smells like a baking cake. Like, it is uncanny. It smells like a cake is in the oven. The smell is really fucking intoxicating. So I spray the Pam Baking Spray on my hands and rub it all around. I then clean my hands with handsoap. It worked like a charm except for two small side effects:

1) My hands still feel slightly greasy after 3 hand washings. 

2) My hands smell exactly like a baked cake. Again, even after 3 hand washings.

I am not kidding. They smell fantastic. Unless you don't like the smell of a baking cake, in which case you might as well kill yourself because you are incapable of enjoying the great things in life.

The thought occurred to me that this could be either the greatest OR WORST diet tool ever created. It depends on your reaction, I guess. If the smell of a baking cake satisfies your sweet tooth, it would be fantastic in helping you lose weight by suppressing your appetite. On the other hand, if the smell of a baking cake makes you crave a cake so badly that you actually make and consume a cake, well, I guess it'd be pretty fucking worthless.

Great Moments in the Life of: Pat O'Brien, Vol. II

*The second in a continuing series...*

On the eve of his 25th birthday, I thought it would be nice to add to the series. So...

Submitted for the Approval of the Midnight Society...I call this story:

The Tale of Gymnastics Camp and the Big, Bad Wolf

The summer after 5th grade, I went to a summer camp. I'm really not sure exactly where the camp is/was, but it was somewhere in the mountains of San Diego County. That summer, Sean went to a surf camp down there. I know, right? Why didn't I go there? I dunno. I went to a regular camp. It was fun, though. Two weeks of eating terrible food, getting filthy and not wanting to use the communal showers, playing basketball, playing aussie-rules football, playing baseball and generally having a pretty good time. 

Each week, each kid got to choose two activities...a morning activity and an afternoon activity. The morning activity I chose each week was basketball. 5th Grade Me lived for basketball. I was a really fuckin good 5th grade basketball player, let me tell you. The counselor, who played at the University of Arizona, told me to not forget about him when I'm playing college basketball one day. Yeah, I know.

After the first week of camp, my little brother Patrick came to the camp for just one week. At the end of my first week, some of the people I had gotten to know left for home, and new ones replaced them. So I was sort of a seasoned veteran at camp, and had quite a few dudes I had gotten to know. One of these guys, I forget his name, seemed like a pretty cool dude. We'll call him Lance, because that's a pretty douchey name. He was good at basketball, but not as good as me, and so we were sort of buddies. 

I was about to enter the 6th grade so I was probably not that inclusive of Pat, who had just finished 3rd grade. I mean, he was what...nine? And, to make matters worse, for whatever reason, Pat signed up for the "Gymnastics Camp." Now, as I got older I realized, gymnastics is probably pretty cool. You get really strong and chicks think you have a sweet body. But of course, most dudes from age 8-15 think gymnastics is "super gay." I think Pat's buddy did gymnastics back home and talked Pat into it. Patrick, care to chime in?

So Pat was one of "those" kids. I didn't get to see him much because gymnastics camp kids didn't get to choose an activity. Also, the cabins were split up by age group, and you sat with your cabin at meals, etc. For Pat and the gymnastics kids, gymnastics was their activity, morning and afternoon. So there just wasn't a lot of time to see him, anyways.

Middle of the week, probably Thursday night, there was a dance on the basketball courts. I mean, I was a pretty cool dude at this camp, at least among the dudes. I was talking with a group of other dudes as we awaited the ladies to make their way across camp to the dance.

I look across the court and I see my little brother Pat with some people. It appears he is sort of getting teased by Lance. Probably for being in gymnastics camp. Possibly not altogether undeserved, but still. That's my brother, and if there is one thing our dad taught us it's that you always stand up for your brothers. 

I keep my eye on the situation from a fair distance for a moment or two to see if it will just resolve itself. I should probably mention here that not only was I not inclusive of Pat during that week, but I don't think anyone other than the counselors even knew we were brothers.

Suddenly, I see Lance shove Pat. Probably not hard, although Pat can chime in on that. But just a douche bag kid trying to be a bully to the kid who wears a leotard and prances on a balance beam while we are playing basketball. Nonetheless, Pat is my brother.

Have you ever seen the cartoon "Lambert the Sheepish Lion"? If not, watch it here. It's a Disney short wherein a lion is accidentally delivered by the stork to a mother lamb. Even though he's a lion, Lambert loves his mama, and his mama loves him. He's kind of a pussyfoot of a lion, though, being raised by a lamb and all. But at the end of the movie, a wolf is dragging Lambert's mother away and something in Lambert snaps! He sheds his sheepish exterior (figuratively speaking, of course) and beats the crap out of the wolf to save his mother.

Not that I was ordinarily sheepish, but if you've seen the cartoon, I was like Lambert when his mother is being dragged away. Something snapped. Mid-conversation, I sprinted across the basketball court...probably a good 30 yards. And even in 5th grade, I was built like a little tank. Solid as a rock. I just destroy this douchebag Lance. I swear, he flew a good 20 feet into the fence surrounding the court.

In a daze, he looks up at me, bewildered.

"DON'T FUCK WITH MY BROTHER!" 

I wasn't messing around, you know.

He stammers something about not knowing he was my brother. As if that excuses his being a douche to some kid 2 or 3 years younger than he was. I think he then began apologizing profusely. He was probably crying. I don't know.

Pat seemed stoked and everyone else was pretty stunned. There were no counselors around, so not one got in trouble. And whenever the story is told, my dad beams with pride.

Ok, so maybe this is more of a story about me than it is about Pat. But so what... it's my damn blog.

This Won't Be Terrible Exciting, But It Should Kill A Couple Minutes of Your Otherwise Jobless Day (Lisa, Ryan...I'm Looking at You)

Sooooooo.

Exam Day! Such a wretched/blessed feeling. How is it possible to loathe and love the same thing so much at one time? I think the loathing part is clear. Who likes exams? Especially law school* exams. But, I also love exam day. My long national** nightmare finally ends. Four months of frustration, reading, procrastination, studying, procrastination, not reading when I should be, attending class, skipping class, and feeling miserable for skipping class all comes to an end in three*** short hours.

I think but am not sure that today is the first time in my law school career that I managed to sleep the night before my exam. Usually, in a manic state, I am up for at least 24 hours before the exam. Of course, I know it's not helpful. Nor healthy. By the time I get to the exam, everything is a blur and I am ready to tear my eyes out.

Today, though. Oh, today. Today would be different! With some helpful encouragement from a certain boo, I got a good night's rest. I took some NyQuil**** and fell soundly asleep at 1am.

Sweet dreams were had all around.

I wake up at 6am sharp. Shower immediately. For breakfast, I had some yogurt and granola, and boy was it delicious. Finally, after much procrastination, I decide to download the exam taking software I need. 

Why put it off to today? No idea. But, to take the exam, you have to use this program called ExamSoft. Basically, it's a word processor that keeps you from accessing ANYTHING on your computer besides the exam program while you are taking your exam. You start it, begin the exam, it reboots your computer, and when it reboots it boots directly into the ExamSoft program and your exam begins. 

The trick for me being...you can't use Mac OS with ExamSoft for whatever reason. But you CAN get a real copy of windows installed and use that. So at Thanksgiving, the brother who didn't bail on his family that he's known for almost 29 years****** installed Windows on my new Mac. 

I boot to Windows, plug in the ethernet cord... and there is no internet. No internet means I can't a) Download the ExamSoft program; b) Download my exam; c) Turn in my exam.

I have no idea how to fix this. It's 7am and my exam is in a few hours. OH EFFING HELL.

I jump up and head to campus. I get there around 7:15, but the Internet Help Desk is not open till 9. So I head to the library and get online to seek Pat's guidance. He says I just need my Mac OS boot disk to load some drivers. Well...I don't HAVE the freaking Mac OS boot disk with me because I had no idea I might need it.

I am flippin pissed. It's now like 8:30 and I decide to head back over to the Internet Help Desk to see if just maybe they opened early. So I walk back across campus...

Lights are on! Yay! 

Door is locked! Booo. 

But the guy comes walking out and says, "Oh sure, no problem" when I explain my sitch to him. 

And then I pull out my Mac. "Oh...this is the new one. I don't think I have all the right drivers on this Disc because it's for the old one."

My head starts spinning. My knee******* did not love the walk here this morning and it surely won't like a walk back home and back to campus even more. He decided to give it a shot... and whaddayaknow... the damn thing works. Phew. I download the program, download the exams, run the test...and everything seems to be working.

Crisis averted!

The moral of this story is simple. No matter how much sleep I get before an exam, something is bound to almost go horribly wrong for me.

The most important question out of all of this, though is:

Tommy, why are you writing this blog when you have an exam in less than four hours instead of studying for Constitutional Law? You are still unclear on the nuances of Procedural Due Process. You still don't understand when and how to apply the O'Brien Test********. 

Touche, my dear self. Touche.

*I am most certainly sticking my nose up in the air as I type this sentence

**Ok, personal. I just like the phrase Long, national nightmare. Don't you?

***God, help me get out in 2.

****Yes, I AM sick, but damn...that stuff is straight from God's lips to mine own.

*****Can I just say...that Trader Joe's French Village or whatever yogurt is the BEST!!!!!! It's got a sharp bite that I oh so love.

******Sean, I don't think you read this, but I'm kidding. Kind of.

*******Stupid god damn knee.

********Isn't it ironic, don't ya think?

The Faces of Wall Street

The economy is in turmoil! The financial system is crumbling! Capitalism is doomed!

That's true. But, alas, I am an optimist. I like to search for a silver lining, no matter how dark and ominous the cloud. So, over the last couple of weeks, nothing has amused me quite like looking at the ever-horrored faces of Wall Street traders. Call me cruel, but taking delight in the self-created misery of others is one of my favorite past times!

Here are some of my favorites. If these don't cheer you up, I don't know what will.





"I'm thinking I might take that new chick from Logistics. If things go well I might be showing her my O-face. Oh... Oh... Oh! You know what I'm talkin' about. Oh!"


What is his mother going to say? She loved that full head of hair.


Guys, guys. This isn't golf. Lower numbers are BAD.


Poor Christopher.


We only wish you (all) had before you screwed up this badly.


I think this unfortunate fellow just found his daughter on a porn website.


Hand over the mouth is pretty standard. But, look at the guy way in the back. What the hell is going on with his tie?


I...have no idea.



That guy belongs in movies. Such a great conveyance of emotion.


You'd think there was another 9/11.



Gosh...where have I seen that photo before? Oh, right!



See? It could be worse. Keep that in mind.