Talkin' with Tewks Live and Guest Column

Great comments on yesterday's Bachelor recap. As promised, here is a podcast CSzem and I recorded on the After the Final Rose special. Unfortunately, there are still some audio glitches on CSzem's end, but what he says isn't that important anyway.

Plus, if this podcast thing doesn't work out, we can always take solace in our inevitable American Idol auditions next year. Trust me, the last thirty seconds is pure magic.

Talkin' with Tewks Live - The Bachelor

My newer readers may not know this, but this blog was actually started by a friend of mine, Gretzpo. This site used to be called Gretzpo's Sports Blog and it used to suck. Big time.

Is it a coincidence that the readership of this blog has exploded exponentially since I took over the writing duties and Gretzpo went back to pleasuring himself to pictures of Gregg Zaun? I think not.

I mean, just take a look at his guest column below (chock full of egregious grammatical errors; Mine and Tewks? Seriously?). Is it funny? Yes, moderately, but it also took him 5 days to write where I can pump out something much better in less than 90 minutes.

It's great to have you back, Gretzpo.
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Garbage Time with Gretzpo: An Olympic Advertising Hangover


Where have I been? Mine and Tewks writing frequency is inversely related to our professional success. I'm currently enjoying a meteoric rise in my industry – hence the sparse amount of posts. Tewks, on the other hand, has a T4 resembling that of the guy who begs for change outside of the LCBO.

This blog was like a son to me ... I raised it. And when I couldn't give it the time it deserved a part of me died ... but now Tewks is the one ... Tewks is the one who has to make sure this site flourishes.

With the Olympics over, I find myself yearning ... yearning for the collective groan of the audience when a female figure skater falls; yearning for the chance to see said female's buttocks as she picks herself up off the ice. I also yearn for pretending to be an expert in sports I watch once every four years – I yearn to scream at a short track speed skating official for a perceived foul.

Sometimes I sit ... and yearn.

The Olympics are crammed full of sappy, human interest stories that pull at the heart strings and make us care for Olympic athletes for 17 days ... and then forget about them for the next 1443 days – until the next Olympics.

But what are the Olympics without advertising? Thirty second clips that also aim to pull at the heart strings ... and make us buy things. One day after the Olympics that's what I'm finding I yearn for the most: horrible Olympic commercials.

My favorite commercial of the Olympics is the one where we see a father and son open up a new pair of skates, and the two go to an outdoor rink to try them out. Only it's the father who has the new pair of skates ... and it's the son who is teaching him to skate. Aww...

The director's cut of this commercial was never released: flash forward a year. The child is belligerent: he is cursing out his father in the dressing room after missing a wide open net in the “D” Championship game of his Wednesday night beer league. The father has failed his son ... he'll never make it to the NHL.

How about the one that tells the story of a Canadian cross country skier who broke her ski pole – but a quick thinking Norwegian coach gave her the pole he was using, allowing her to finish the race and claim a silver medal.

“And to thank the coach, we sent him some maple syrup – three tonnes of it.”

What the fuck is he going to do with all that maple syrup? It's almost as if we wanted to send an exorbitant amount of maple syrup just to confirm our own stereotype. We've forced him to become a maple syrup wholesaler – in a country that has absolutely no market for maple syrup.

“It's big”
“It's beautiful”
"Laid back”
“Sophisticated”

It's definitely my penis ... wait... what was that first one?

The commercial that pissed me off the most was for the Coors Light Beer Coozy.

“Excuse me ... you are Olympic Champion?”

No... he's a fat fuck with a douche beard that probably has four popped collars on under that winter coat.

Beer commercials aren't funny or clever anymore... I yearn for the days of, “If I wanted water, I'd just ask for water.”

Horrible Olympic commercials – I salute you. Your sappiness and maudlinism around the Olympics are as predictable as a Jeremy Wotherspoon 12th place finish.

Gretzpo writes seldomly for this publication