Gene Wang is an ignorant asshole

Via Williamson, who to his credit says, "I just don't buy it," comes this piece of ignorance from some guy named Gene Wang, the Washington Post's "Fantasy Guru." In a checklist-style post, he mentions The Renegade/Second Chance factor, the athleticism, pairing Vick and McFadden in the Wildcat, and Oakland's geographical distance from Atlanta (whatever the fuck that means).

But it's the fifth and final item on the checklist that really kills it, and shows that Mr. Wang does not know what the fuck he's talking about:

Raiders fans, especially in The Black Hole, would have no trouble embracing a player with a prison record. Check.

Looks like we're 5 for 5, so Al Davis, what are you waiting for? Pick up the phone, give the man a call and get him on a plane to the Bay Area.

Um, no Gene. It most definitely DOES NOT look like we're five for five. Why don't you visit Oakland and do a little research first, before just assuming that everyone in the Black Hole who dresses up for the games is actually a criminal. The Bay Area in general and Oakland in particular is one of the most animal-friendly areas in the country. Jarrod Cooper is a fan favorite, and his charity, Help Code 597.org has been set up to help keep dogs out of shelters, and out of the hands of people like Michael Vick. It has the endorsement of the Raiders.

In short, it's the ANTI Michael Vick.

God I wish people would stop talking about this so that I could blog about something else.

Michael Vick

The MediaNews papers are all full of "What if" stories about the possibility of Michael Vick joining the Raiders if and when Roger Goodell reinstates him after he gets out of prison.

I guess these stories were inevitable, with the Falcons in town and so many of Vick's former teammates and coaches now with the Raiders.

I always thought, in the immediate aftermath of Vick's arrest/conviction/sentencing, that people who said, "Well, now Vick's ready to be a Raider" were stupid and lazy. They were falling back on that whole "criminal element" stereotype that's been a part of the Raiders since the 70s (and yes, I'm well aware that there's no small amount of that stereotype that's been cultivated by the Raiders and their fans).

Corkran's article and Monte Poole's column focus mainly on the football possibilities, with some quotes from DeAngelo Hall, Justin Griffith, and Ashley Lelie enthusiastically endorsing bringing Vick to the Raiders. Hall even offers to re-do his contract.

I have to admit that the fantasy backfield scenario, with JaMarcus standing back there looking at McFadden on one side and Vick on the other, is intriguing.

But there's only one way it work if Vick came to the Raiders:

Jarrod Cooper.

If the Raiders put Cooper on the staff (as a special teams assistant, community liason, whatever) and assigned him the main role of mentoring Michael Vick, it could work. Included in that mentoring would have to be taking him to the shelter and helping him clean out cages, patch up rescued dogs, etc. People in the Bay Area love dogs, and his first game at the Coliseum would be guaranteed to see pickets from the SPCA, PETA, and, since this is the Bay Area, probably the ALF.

But Cooper could help smooth all that out, and Vick could show his remorse is sincere.

This. Is. War.

Say Hello to Iggy Pup, skunk magnet.

That's right. Again. Tonight.

According to this website, "the stench is too powerful for most animals to bear, and serves as a deterrent against future attacks."

So that means that Iggy is either a badass who is not deterred by anything, or the stupidest dog who ever lived.

I was upstairs giving Baby Lily a bath when I hear The Professor through the floor say, "GOD DAMMIT."

The Professor's screaming Profanities and Baby Lily keeps trying to throw water on me--water she's no doubt peed in--and I'm trying to yell at her to stop splashing and listen to what The Professor is yelling at me all at the same time and it turns out I just don't possess that particular Super Power.

Since Baby Lily's busy pouring all of the water out her bath, one Giants Souvenir Beer Cup at a time, I figure the chances of her drowning while I head to the balcony to check on The Professor are pretty low.

As soon as I open the door to the balcony, it hits me. That chemical-burn stench. The next time I get in a snaps contest, your mom's vagina smells like skunk. Seriously.

Anyway, The Professor asks if I can see it, but I can't see shit because 1. it's dark down there, and 2. my eyes are closed to protect them from burning.

While The Professor douses Iggy down with the last of the Nature's Miracle Skunk Odor Remover, I get Baby Lily rinsed off and out of the tub.

The Professor comes upstairs and I say to her, "Hey babe. You're a Yale-trained historian. You've conducted research at some of the finest archives in the world. Is there any chance that while you were looking at old diaries of scabies-ridden gold prospectors in the 1850s, or Indian laborers on Mexican-era Rancheros in the Northern Central Valley, that you came across a method of skunk removal and/or repellent?"

She mumbles something, the only word of which I can make out is "asshole," and sits down and puts her prodigious research skills to work on Google.

So she found another site that suggested you line your fence with chicken wire and bury it a good six or eight inches so those stank-nasty sons of bitches can't dig into your yard.

So listen up, you foul-smelling bastard. I have a Home Depot credit card and I'm not afraid to use it. I'm putting up some fence tomorrow morning. And if that doesn't work, maybe I'll hire some day laborers to go on a skunk hunt. $15 a pelt.

And free Nature's Miracle Skunk Odor Removal.

Dan's Dog is Drunk

We celebrated Dan's boat racing victory yesterday. A good time was had by all, but especially by Maya.

Sex Panther

So the Professor is reading night-night stories to Baby Lily when I decide to head downstairs for a smoke. I bring the dog with me so he can have an evening constitutional in the backyard. He barrels down the stairs ahead of me, snarling. I figure he's after one of the neighborhood feral cats that the Professor has been feeding in the back yard.

I get down the stairs, into the garage, and start towards the door that leads to our little yard, and I smell the worst goddam smell I've ever smelt. Iggy--that's the dog--comes back inside foaming at the mouth and kind of hacking, making this sound like "spak" and I don't know what to do so I yell for the Professor to get her ass down here pronto.

"I think Iggy just got sprayed by a skunk," I say and she comes down and sure enough that's what it was.

The Professor, before she went to Yale, came from some solid Okie stock, so she called up her brother. "Ya need to git ya some incontinent wash," he tells her. His coon hounds have been skunked a time or two, and he has cases of that stuff laying around because his baby mama uses it.

I head down to Walgreens to get some peroxide and incontinent wash and as I walk in I hear the security guard say "What's that smell?" and a person answered "It smells like a skunk" and I thought "Oh, fuck, they're talking about ME." So I ask an employee if he has incontinent wash, only I said it like, "Do you have body wash for old people who are, like incontinent?" and that poor fucker had to walk me to the aisle it was on, and he was trying so hard to be polite and not just run away retching. The stuff was located near the Depends Undergarments and all they had was moist wipes with Aloe for incontinence.

So I got the peroxide and cut out of there as fast as I could.

I get home and park and the Professor has started stacking things up in the driveway so we can wash down the floor and walls of the garage with bleach. We got the formula from some hippie website I looked up while holding my breath, because now the whole goddam house smells like Bigfoot's dick.

Long story short, we scrubbed down the garage. We'll probably get home from work tomorrow and it still smell horrible.

But I wouldn't wish this on anyone. Except maybe on Marty Schottenheimer.