Jerks of the Week - Nov. 29, 2010

Jerks of the Week for Nov. 29, 2010


JERK OF THE WEEK NO. 1: QB Dog Killer Supporters

As you may know, I refer to the person formerly known as Michael Vick as "QB Dog Killer." Based on what he's done - drowning dogs and taking bets on how long they'd last - I feel like he's lost all right to having a name.

The feedback on this has been mixed. Half the e-mailers love that I refer to this scumbag as QB Dog Killer. For instance, Scott S. wrote the following:

I enjoy the fact that you still to this very day have never called the starting Philadelphia Eagles QB by his English name, but yet by the title of the man he is, which is a DOG KILLER. At any rate, I can't believe that the media has been sucking his c*** about how amazing he is. The DOG KILLER has never been consistent in anything in his life, other than of course DOG KILLING and oh yeah, lying about DOG KILLING.

Scott F., meanwhile, had this to say:

Hey Walt, it's not fair to call Vick "QB Dog Killer." I think "QB Dog Drowner" would be much fairer.

The anti-QB Dog Killer people like the two Scotts have sent funny e-mails. The people who support that sick psychopath, however, have maintained a much angrier tone.

For example, I had the following e-mail exchange with Terry M:

Terry: How about we start referring to you as Jesus Killer, you pious b****. The man paid his dues - now f*** off.

Me: I'm disappointed to hear that you support a deranged psychopath who drowned dogs and took bets on how long they'd last. But I guess that's your choice.

Terry: I happen to know Vick personally as I am a Surry County native. Everyone is entitled to mistakes, paying for them, and moving on. Must be nice to be so pure. By the way - my pit bull likes Mike too.

Me: I highly doubt you know QB Dog Killer. Maybe you met him once and he signed an autograph for you or something. That, however, is irrelevant. Thanks for your input.

Terry: I give a s*** what you doubt. I'm a VT alumni, landowner in Surry County, and have spent most of my life in the Tidewater area. One of my best friends and I hauled the rock for the driveway of the house that Vick built on Moonlight Rd. But you're right - the relevance is that your a pious a**hole who won't give a man a second chance. Good day to you and your piss-ant site.

Me: I'm not the one e-mailing a random person and cursing at them. Pot calling the kettle black, much? Your calling me an a-hole indicates that you are one too.

I didn't hear back from Terry. Either he realized that he was a hypocrite, or he was busy hauling a boulder across another celebrity's driveway.

But this exchange was way too hilarious for three reasons:

1. This guy "knows" QB Dog Killer because he rolled a boulder or something near QB Dog Killer's house? So if I stalk Katy Perry and steal her garbage, does that mean I can know her too? If I mow Tom Brady's lawn, are we suddenly best friends?

2. "Rollin' a boulder" sounds like the name of a bad country music song. "Rollin' a boulda... Across the driveway... Michael Vick's my best friend... He loves my doggie!"

3. Who calls themselves a "landowner?" I own a house, but I don't call myself a "landowner." I also have a couple of boxes of Pop Tarts in my kitchen. Should I go around telling people that I'm a "Pop Tart owner?"

Meanwhile, Facebook friend Jimbo C. also criticized me for the QB Dog Killer nickname. He asked, "Your telling me you've never kicked a dog?" Yup. These are the people who support that sick psychopath.

Jimbo and another Facebook friend, Nicolas S., then got into a hilarious heated exchange. Here it is:

Nicolas: Jimbo ya party monster go put some cats in the microwave.

Jimbo: I would Nick, but I'm busy with your mom at the moment.

Nicolas: I'd say the same thing about your mother but I don't want your sloppy seconds, you inbred hillbilly f***.

Jimbo: Yeah come talk to s*** to my face..

Nicolas: I just need your address. But I'm sure I'd be able to find it based on the amount of vehicles on your front lawn.

So, I think we've established that if you support QB Dog Killer, you either roll boulders on random driveways or sleep with your own mother.

I think I'll keep using the "QB Dog Killer" nickname.

JERK OF THE WEEK NO. 2: Canned Laughter

I've been making fun of the show the Big Bang Theory on my NFL Picks page recently. If you haven't read about it, I've been pretending to be someone named Mister Compassion Chuck Norris when responding to this spam e-mailer named Miss Kindness, whose parents were allegedly killed by rebels in Senegal.

In my responses to Miss Kindness, I claimed that I, Mister Compassion Chuck Norris, am a black-ops mercenary who specializes in torturing criminals and robbing banks. I told Miss Kindness that I found one of her killers. After beating him senselessly, I forced him to watch five episodes of the Big Bang Theory, upon which his brain exploded.

I bought the first season of the Big Bang Theory recently because I heard good things about it. After watching the first two episodes, I want those 40 minutes of my life back. The show sucked. Maybe it'll get better, but I have my doubts.

If you haven't seen the show, I'll get to how it works in a second. But first, I'd like to rant about canned laughter (also known as a laugh track), which is the fake laughter you hear during some comedies.

I really hate canned laughter. Two reasons: First, I don't need to know when I'm supposed to laugh. Great shows like the Office and Community don't need a laugh track.

And second, Chuck Kloisterman, a frequent guest on Bill Simmons' B.S. Report, made the best point ever - studios have been using the same laugh tracks since they first recorded them in the 1960s. So, if those people were 30-40 years old at the time, we can assume that most of them have passed away by now. So in essence, whenever you hear a laugh track on TV, you're listening to dead people laughing.

Ever since I learned this grim fact, I haven't been able to watch any show with canned laughter. The one exception is How I Met Your Mother, only because Barney is my hero.

With that in mind, here's a typical episode of the Big Bang Theory (at least in terms of the small sample size I've watched):

Nerd 1: Oh boy, oh boy, our hot neighbor just came home.

*** Canned laughter ***

Nerd 2: You still don't think you have a chance with her, do you?

*** Canned laughter ***

Nerd 1: Oh boy, oh boy, I stole some of her mail, so I'm going to walk over there and give it to her.

*** Canned laughter ***

Nerd 2: Just know the possibility of you sleeping with her is less than the square root of Pi divided by the limit of X as X approaches infinity.

*** Canned laughter ***

Hot Chick: Hi, guys! I work at the Cheesecake factory, yet I can afford the same expensive Pasadena apartment as two genius physicists!

*** Canned laughter ***

Nerd 2: That is improbable as an equilateral triangle suddenly having an angle greater than 60 degrees.

*** Canned laughter ***

Creepy Nerd: I'd like to put my equilateral triangle in you, babe.

*** Canned laughter ***

Hot Chick: OK...?

*** Canned laughter ***

Nerd 1: Oh boy, oh boy, do you need your furniture rearranged again?

*** Canned laughter ***

Hot Chick: No, not really.

*** Canned laughter ***

I'm cringing just thinking about it. And Mister Compassion Chuck Norris doesn't cringe often.

JERK OF THE WEEK NO. 3: Fancy Shmancy Downtown Places

Last weekend, I went out for my friend Schmidty's 30th birthday. It was at Ruth Chris, a fancy steakhouse in downtown Philly.

I never eat at fancy-shmancy restaurants. In fact, my favorite restaurants include Red Lobster, Subway, IHOP and Nifty Fifties, a 50s-style burger joint. So, I had never heard of Ruth Chris. Apparently, I was the only one. Here was a typical conversation I had multiple times in the preceding week:

Me: I'm going out for my friend's 30th birthday Saturday. It's at some restaurant called Chris Paul or something.

Other Person: Chris Paul?

Me: Something like that. It's called Chris Paul, or Paul Ruth, or something.

Other Person: Oh, you mean Ruth Chris? That place is amazing and expensive!

See what I mean? Ruth Chris is also downtown. I hate downtown Philly - click the link to read all about it - so I asked my friend Melissa (her sister is Schmidty's girlfriend) to drive me down because I can't parallel park or navigate through one-way streets.

That wasn't all I asked Melissa. Though Ruth Chris had terrific food, I felt completely out of my league. One of the items on the menu was "stuffed chicken." I asked her and a few other people, "What is the chicken stuffed with?" Everyone just laughed and seemed to dismiss my question.

Later, the waiter brought several bottles of wine around. He read off three different names of wine to me and asked me what I wanted. My answer?

"Umm... I don't know what any of those mean."

The waiter laughed at me, and said some other things I didn't understand.

"I'll just have whatever wine she's having," I told him, pointing to whatever was in Melissa's glass.

Now, I've never had wine I've liked before, but this was good stuff. I still don't know what it's called, even though Melissa told me the name of it like five times that night.

The stuffed chicken was also great - I still don't know what it was stuffed with - and later, I ordered an apple tart that was topped with vanilla ice cream and cinnamon NOM NOM NOM NOM.

Suddenly, downtown didn't seem so bad. Sure, there were still dozens of bums passed out on the sidewalk on every block, and I still saw some artsy-fartsy new-age hippies when I went into a Starbucks to go to the bathroom, but at least I found some food I liked!

Unfortunately, my feelings regarding downtown soured when we arrived at a club called Whispers everyone planned on going to after dinner. There was a huge line, and a fat bouncer who looked like he thought he was super important informed us that there was a $20 cover charge. Someone else said that beers were about $8 apiece.

What the hell is that? Why would anyone want to pay $20 to get into some crappy club and $8 for a beer? Unless you're guaranteed to bang like three chicks at once, there's no reason you should ever pay that much money for a fun night out.

But that's just the norm downtown. Everything is ridiculously overpriced. Maybe that's why there are so many bums passed out in the gutter. Poor bastards spent all their money at Whispers.