Talkin' With Tewks: Random Musings

This week, in lieu of writing a fully developed, high concept column I’ve decided to spread my journalistic seed around to a variety of ovulating topics in the hopes of creating an embryonic blog entry miracle.

(I apologize; my parents gave me “The Talk” last night, so I’m afraid I have intercourse on the brain. I learned a lot. For instance, what in the hell is a clitoris? It sounds like the name of one of Jupiter’s moons. However, my unfamiliarity with the term could be the reason why my bedroom performance is so unsatisfactory. I always thought it was because I have—uh, moving on.)

The Canadian film and television industry is a beguiling mistress. I absolutely rocked my last two auditions and yet was unsuccessful. It may be time to make an appearance on the casting couch. For example, at my last audition the director described my character to me thusly: “You think you’re the smartest person in the room. You think you’re God’s gift to women and are irresistible to the opposite sex.” I’m not entirely sure where the “acting” part was supposed to come into play there.

The conspiracy theorist in me believes Lance Armstrong is embellishing the severity of his collarbone injury. Methinks he’s either not prepared to race in the Tour de France and does not want to risk embarrassment or he messed up his PED cycles and is afraid of tarnishing his legacy with a positive test. I hope I’m wrong; any friend of Matthew McConaughey is a friend of mine.

Tampa Bay is my pick to win the World Series. Any team that puts a talent like ALCS hero David Price in the minors to start the season because they have a plethora of arms is a good bet to play October baseball.

The anticipation of the rumoured Arrested Development movie has given me an erection lasting longer than four hours. I will consult a physician.

Speaking of movies, my early pick for Best Picture 2011 is The Expendables. What’s it about you ask? A group of mercenaries go to South America to overthrow a dictator. Who’s in it? Stallone, Jet Li, Jason Statham, Arnold, Mickey Rourke, Randy Couture, Dolph Lundgren. Boom. Oscar.

American Idol is fast becoming a two horse race. Adam (my new favourite gay guy, eclipsing Tom Brady) and Allison will battle in the finals for the season eight crown.

It’s getting harder and harder (that’s what she said) to admit I’m friends with Gretzpo. His latest column is almost beyond belief. First, he posts a sleeveless picture of himself (he might as well be wearing a sign saying “I don’t want to get laid again ever”).

This sentence confuses me “Let's just say that Gretzpo met a lovely young co-ed down there ... and a part of him still swims in that pool.” So, he got turned down by yet another woman and then self-gratified himself in the hotel pool?

He denigrates Hooters girls which I equate with blasphemy. Plus he’s a hypocrite. I know for a fact he’s paid $10 for a handie in a No Frills parking lot.

Given the chance, he would shiv (or is it shank?) me in the back for the chance to press up against a human female. Let’s be honest, the guy needs every advantage he can get against me.

I am really good at volleyball. Gretzpo and I are making a return to the Caribbean to defend our beach volleyball championship and I’ve been playing weekly for the last six months to prepare myself accordingly. My blocking and setting, coupled with my grit and hustle, are unparalleled. The only time I’m not at my best is when this sexpot prances around on the adjoining court in these barely there booty shorts. I lose control of my fine motor skills whenever she passes my field of vision. Now I know what Muhammad Ali feels like.

News that Paris Hilton is planning on procreating with her latest jerk boyfriend has me concerned for mankind as a whole. The fact Ms. Hilton has been stuffed more than a Thanksgiving turkey will mean this devil spawn won’t travel a down birth canal so much as it will travel down a birth bay.

A-Rod’s photo spread in Details magazine has finally killed what little admiration I had left for the man’s talent. He was kissing himself in a mirror for Chrissakes!! What the FUCK is wrong with this guy? I mean I kiss myself in reflective surfaces all the time, but I sure as hell don’t let someone take my picture while I do it.

Any self-respecting sports and pop culture fan should make Bill Simmons’ Sports Guy website mandatory reading (I only mention this because I’m hoping the link will boost the blog’s readership. Yes, I’m trying to sell out as soon as humanly possible).

I had a dream that I had a threesome with Taylor Swift and Miley Cyrus. I wish Terrence Mann and Ray Kinsella could take me to a place where dreams come true.

On a related note, four years ago I made a $20 bet with Gretzpo that I would sleep with a celebrity by December 31st 2010. D-day is rapidly approaching and the only thing I have to show for myself is a sloppy makeout session with an “actress” (probably on Skinemax) at the club Privilege in Hollywood. The criterion for me to win the bet is that she must have appeared on a show like ET, Access Hollywood etc. or in a magazine like US Weekly, People, Hello!. My best shot will be some reality show reject.

Gretzpo and I will be staying in residence at Wilfrid Laurier University this weekend to recapture our youth. Based on my actions last time I was there, I may have a problem with Campus Police. There’s a 90% chance I will have to wear one of those Hannibal Lecter masks while on the premises. We plan on being clean shaven so that we can skew younger, in the hopes that it will lead us to screw younger (Hey-O!!!!!!)

Tewks is a frequent contributor to Gretzpo’s Sports Blog.

Extrava-manza

Seeking a refuge from the monotony of my daily life, I have just returned from an 11 day road trip travelling from London, Ontario to Tampa, Florida, with a brief stopover in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. Here are my observations:

1) Twenty Two hours (each way) is a long time to spend in a car - stopping only for gas, chex mix and energy drinks

I'm positive that during a stretch of highway in West Virginia at 3am my buddy Ron (driving) and I (navigating) both fell asleep at our posts: but we managed to avoid catastrophe because we'd fall asleep in alternating 5 second intervals:

Ron (as he's falling asleep): ... am I asleep?

(I wake up)

"No. You're fine. You're fine, right?"

(Ron wakes up)

Ron: Yeah. I'm good.

This happened for at least 10 minutes. But the resulting nap enabled us to drive for another three hours accident free. So only a fool would say we were endangering our lives and the lives of other motorists.

2) Golf is fun to watch live

Sure: I was drunk while I was watching it, which makes everything more enjoyable - except for sex, as many of my unsatisfied partners will tell you - but golf is a great sport to watch live.

3) There is no such thing as free beer

For an extra $25 at the PGA Tournament we were at you could sit in what is called the "Hooters Owls Nest": which includes about a half dozen wings, a Hooters visor and all you can drink beer. Yes... it's just as amazing as it sounds. But these Hooters girls walk around raking in tips hand over fist - a lot of guys would tip anywhere from $2 to $5 for each of their FREE beers. I probably drank 35 beers over two days while in the Hooters Nest: and I tipped $5 for both of the days. It's amazing how bright and bubbly they are the first couple times you come around: then when they realize you're cheap and Canadian the service isn't exactly so friendly. Oh yeah sweetheart? You're going to be begging me for that $5 when your looks have faded and you're giving out handies in a Wal-Mart parking lot.

4) Americans get a bad rep

We went through an obscene number of states during our travels - I'd estimate at least 15. Even though there were certainly some "American" moments - such as the cashier at Arby's thinking that Canada and the US had a unified currency - everyone was extremely polite and friendly: much more friendly than those you'd find on the streets of Toronto. Granted, the majority of the time we were in Florida where the weather was 85 degrees without a cloud in the sky - so really, what could anyone be grouchy about? But I still wanted to make the point that Americans are courteous, friendly people.

Oh ... there was also the nice chap in Savannah, Georgia with the dew rag and low jeans giving the gas station cashier intricate details about how he was going to "pop a cap in the ass" of one of his fellow colleagues. I'm sure he meant to say how he was going to pop a cap on his head featuring the logo of one of Atlanta's popular sports teams. Either way, since I wasn't looking too intimidating in my "Meatloaf: Bat Out of Hell" commemorative concert t-shirt, I didn't stick around to witness the outcome.

5) The quotient of (attractive American girls/attractive American guys) is very numerator heavy

Countless times during my travels I would notice an extremely attractive woman with an ordinary looking guy. But this is not a slight of my American brethren: treat this observation as praise. Clearly you have all banded together and decided that you will not be in competition for women: instead, you're just letting them work around your habits and routines. It's ironic that the great American Capitalism attitude does not apply to wooing the fairer sex: whereas in Canada I would knife Tewks in the back for even the remotest chance of cupping a woman's breast.

6) I'm getting old

Life was sweet when I was a 19 year old at the bar who looked 25 - girls probably thought that I was some sort of mature student who had to delay his education by a few years in order to support his starving family. Now I'm a 25 year old who looks 31 and the situation is reversed - girls probably think that I'm a divorced father of two who funds his partying by welching on the child support he owes ... to his starving family.