Waterlogged Phones: Who's To Blame?

I was recently informed that yet another broad that I know drunkenly dropped her phone into a toilet, killing it immediately. This makes roughly 150 young ladies that I know who have done this exact same thing in a drunken stupor. I'm not alone here, either. Everyone in the nation knows approximately 150 drunk chicks that have broken their phones by waterlogging them. On a related note, there are roughly 300 million people in the United States. If we do the math, this means that 45 billion drunk chicks have toileted their cell phones in the United States alone. And if that math doesn't make sense to you, then ask yourself: did you represent your middle school in the Math Olympics? Well, L Tray did. Now shut up.

This post was originally intended blast women, but upon further review, I was forced to reconsider. I initially thought that the inferior brainpower of the weaker sex was to blame for so many toileted phones. But perhaps the explanation is a bit more tangible than that. To explain, let's try some role playing.

You're a college girl, out for the night. You are with your friends, determined to have a good time despite the plate of nachos you had before bed last night, which you're convinced added about 8 pounds to your frame. To make up for this lapse in self-control, you punished yourself at the rec center with 6 "Look at my love handles" miles on the treadmill and 400 angry "I'm a fatass whore" crunches. Thus cleansed, you are ready to get your drink on. And I've gotta say, you're looking good. Have you been working out?

Countless guys feed you identical lines, followed by identical drinks. With all those calories you burned from earlier today, the alcohol is hitting you quickly. You need to go to the ladies'. There's a line, but you put the urge to pee out of your head by comparing your legs and boobs to the other girls in line, following the grading sheet that states that big boobs are good, small boobs are bad. Small legs are good, big legs are bad. You realize you are one of the best looking women in line. You decide to reward yourself with a plate of nachos when you get home.

You finally find a stall, and you quickly lock the door and build a nest. You drop your pants, and all of a sudden, you hear a small sploosh. It was tough to hear over the blaring techno and cookie-cutter hip hop that you love oh so dearly, but you definitely heard something solid hit the water. You immediately think that you pooped your pants. Here come the tears. In between spasming, gut-busting sobs, you reach for your phone to call one of your friends for help. The phone is not in your back pocket. But that's where you always put it! Having a rare moment of drunk chick clarity, you look into the toilet bowl, and you see your precious celly, drowned and alone. You cry harder, for every drunk chick knows that pooping herself is small potatoes compared to losing a cell phone.

Now, at first glance, it's easy to blame the drunk lady for this mistake. But look closer. The phone was in the back pocket. This is where the phone needs to go for a young woman who doesn't feel like lugging that annoying clutch around all night(and yes, I know what a clutch is. Someone kill me). The front pockets of womens' pants are not conducive to holding anything bulky, because, come on, it'd look really stupid. And if we also consider the urgency of a drunken piss, a phone in the toilet seems downright expected. Upon eye contact with your stall, it suddenly feels as if an explosion is imminent. Now imagine building a nest beforehand! Wow! I have to take a bathroom break just typing it! So combine the momentum of aggressively yanking down tight jeans with that of sitting down, and bang! Phone in the toilet. As much as I hate to admit it, it makes sense.

So who's to blame? Why, it's those bastards over at the clothing companies! You, sirs, are destroying the phones of America! Not to mention the self-confidence and self-images of our beautiful women! How dare you tell us what does and what doesn't look good on our legs? Who are you to judge? You are all fatasses! How was your Chicken Tendercrisp today, Jiggles? Did you king size it? You most certainly did! It is YOUR fault that our women drop their phones into toilets, and it's YOUR fault that we dress ourselves because of the ideals that you put into our heads!

I'm kidding, of course.

Hey drunk chicks, your fathers called. Stop being idiots. Hang on to your phones.

What Nike and Jordan Have In Common With L Tray and Halo 3

There are a couple commercials that I've seen recently that really hit home. First is a Nike commercial that has athletes such as LT and Matt Holliday telling me that their better's better than my better. Although this slogan really doesn't make a whole lot of sense, I assume that what they're saying is that when they need to push to an extra gear, they leave us normies in the dust.

Before I connect this commercial to my Halo 3 superiority, I must say that I have some problems with it. Let's take a look at its stars. All of them, at best, have taken home prestigious individual awards and forgotten to take championships with them. Oops.





1. Matt Holliday-Josh Beckett's better is better than your better.
2. Steve Nash-Tony Parker's better is better than your better.
3. LaDainian Tomlinson-Manning and Brady's better is better than your better.
4. Hope Solo-You ride pine. Everyone's better is better than your better.
5. Kevin Durant-Every small forward in the NBA's better is better than your better.
6. Numerous Little Kids, Insects, and Women: L Tray's better is better than your better. You are inferior.

Moving on, we also have a new Jordan commercial. This one is kickass.

Past champions coupled with shots of current teams and stars working hard late into the night. This is how you make a commercial. You don't win titles with talent alone. You also need to practice more and to want it more than anyone else. Now, with that being said, behold L Tray in all his Halo 3 glory. The map is Construct, by far the best in the game. Here's Picture #1:

See that crumpled blue body parallel to the floor? That's my corpse. That's TrukeLayser. I can hear all you fools now. "L Tray, you said you were good at Halo!!1 You are obviously garbage! You are a liar!!!!111 lmfao" Shhh. It's okay. Calm down. Go flog your dolphin. Take a closer look at the picture. It says I was killed by Kleeno008. See that red body above mine? See that explosion in the background? That's Kleeno, getting his shit blown up by my posthumous grenade. Halo 3 calls that a "Death From the Grave."

You see, it's always a good idea to fire grenades wildly when you know you're about to bite it. As SNL cast member Jason Sudeikis recently observed on Conan, what the teenagers like to do when they play Halo is to annihilate you, then crouch/stand/crouch/stand over the corpse. They kill you, then hump you. It's really quite degrading. That said, a well-placed grenade effectively obliterates someone who is mid-hump. Very satisfying. And it doesn't seem like much, but that one kill can be the difference between a win and a loss. It's a game of inches. Al Pacino would agree. Here's Picture #2.

Pretty easy to see what's going on here. I have a sword, and I have completely wrecked an unidentified noob. There's not too many feelings greater than the one that comes when idiots turn a corner armed with an assault rifle and a prayer. You can almost hear them poop their pants when they see the sword coming at them. Beautiful. Picture #3:

Here I am smoking Kleeno again. Poor fella. He probably had no right thumb, forcing him to use the right analog stick with his teeth. I lit him up like a suburban front yard during Christmas. Notice the Double Kill medal on the left. My better was better. I practiced more. I wanted it more. The end result was 22 kills out of my team's 50, and only 9 deaths. +13 for the game. And yes, the final score was 50-49. Looks like that grenade early in the game was worth it after all. It's the little things, friends. Happy hunting.

Boy, Was I Misinformed!

So I was at my local music store the other day, looking to make a purchase or three(I always try to support the talentless, greedy hacks that run America's record companies) when I came across an intriguing album cover: Mass Romantic by the New Pornographers. For those of you unfamiliar with the record, here's a photo of it:

Is it hot in here?

I am always very thoughtful before I make a purchase. I'm not an "impulse shopper" by any means. That being said, here's the conversation I had with the store manager. And no, I am not very proud of what transpired.

L Tray: So you're telling me that I can get this obviously fantastic piece of pornography for only $7.99?

Manager, staring at me, horribly confused: If that's what the sticker says, then yes, you absoultely can.

L Tray: That is fantastic! I mean, I'm a huge fan of phone sex, and that can sometimes cost me a couple of dollars a minute, which really adds up. I mean, my stamina is through the roof. Know what I'm saying? I hold my hand up here, asking for a high five.

Manager, still staring at me, now absolutely horrified: No sir, I surely don't.

L Tray: Well, no matter. I can't believe that I'll be getting this for roughly 15 cents a minute! I cannot WAIT to get home and go to town on myself! What about you? Are you familiar with the work of these "New Pornographers?"

Manager: Yes, I am. I think you'll be very surprised.

L Tray: Oh, I don't know about that. I've been around the block, my friend. This is gonna do it for me. Wrap it up, my good sir!

I feel so stupid. Turns out The New Pornographers aren't actually a group of people that have an innovative take on audio pornography, but they're a group of people that play rock music together. And the cd? Yeah, it's good, I guess. "Mass Romantic" is one catchy song, that's for sure. But that isn't what I thought I was buying.

I know I'm embarrassing myself by writing this, but I'm sure that I'm not the first one to be fooled by the band name and album cover. I mean, what would you think? Look at those people! They are most assuredly bumpin' uglies! And that wild herbivore in the background is obviously thinking about joining in. That's some kinky shit! And then the cd starts playing.

Mass romantic fool wears Foster Grants/

His books on tape ring true/

Like everyone wants to say "I love you" to someone on the radio (radio)

How am I supposed to "relieve" my "stress" with lyrics like that? Huh?

Oh, well. At least I still have the album cover.

An Ode To Alcohol

At last, after all this time,

(It felt like a year!)

St. Patrick's Day is finally here!

On paper, the day celebrates all those Irish fools

But let's not kid ourselves: It's all about booze!

We all know the dangers of overindulging

We hear that drinking too much is vile and disgusting.

Well listen up, reverend. Get off your high horse.

I'm about to praise alcohol without care or remorse.

You see, alcohol has its redemptive traits, sis.

What are they, you ask? Why, just look at this list!

It turns fours into sevens, and sevens to nines,

comes in beer, rum, vodka, tequila and wines.

It makes fat people skinny, ugly ones hot,

Gives confidence to introverts in the form of a shot.

It can give meek little ladies the courage to shout,

Or give frat guys the stones to finally make out.

It never discriminates among gender or race,

Yet it won't heisitate to put lushes in place.

Some of alcohol's traits that have women's devotion

Include dulling the senses and heightening emotion.

The weepy can sob, the hoochies put out,

The dancers can flail, and the drama queens pout.

For men, delicious booze also enables;

It enables fist fights and the breaking of tables.

Yes, the rage the drink gives us is awesome indeed,

We shout, spit, and swear; we're just like Rasheed!

Yes, beer is for everyone, great with pizza slices,

And it makes beer bongs and car keys vital devices.

It makes boring days crazy, beer pong games intense

It makes songs more enjoyable, and laughter immense.

So on St. Paddy's Day, let's all raise our glasses

To alcohol, the champion; the kicker of asses.

Oh, and by the way...When I mentioned car keys as a vital drinking device, I was referring to shotgunning a beer. Not driving. Do not drink and drive, you big idiot. Happy St. Patrick's Day.

Worst of the Week

It's been a while since I've written something on this fantastic blog, so I figure a little recap is in order. Two things are on my mind right now:

1. Samwise Gamgee disguised as NY Governor/Ron Howard's Twin/Sex Maniac

Too much has been said about the king of all hobbit hypocrites already, so there's no hope for me to score points for originality. I just have some thoughts based on what I've heard about Eliot Spitzer, former governor of New York.

First of all, congrats on lasting over a year! That's something. It's certainly longer than you lasted anywhere else! OHHHH! I mean, rumor has it you have a strict anti-condom stance when you're SLAMMING PROSTITUTES! Fantastic call, Frodo. Not only do you give your wife the gift of unspeakable humiliation, but you also have the chance to wrap up a nice STD for her on the side! What a man! What a "moral crusader!" You're a joke.

Look at your wife, still by your side, supporting you. Why do these wives of politicians continue to stand next to the men whose newly disgraced name they willingly adopted? It makes no sense to me. If it were me, I'd kick that piece of Spitz in the balls about 10 times(one kick for each year this has been going on), and then call it a marriage. I mean, this woman puts her extremely successful career on hold to raise her daughters and support your political ambitions. You thank her by blowing 80 grand on hookers. Flowers, chocolate, or diamonds can sometimes be more acceptable presents. Just a heads up for next time.

And good lord, your daughters! How will they ever trust men again? At least they're all teenagers; those years don't really have an effect on how someone learns to show and accept love. You are such a scumbag. It'd be bad enough if you dragged your own name through the dirt, but now the 4 women in your life who share your name have to be subjected to the embarrassment that only you alone should be feeling. You, who paid almost six figures for sex. It's not fair.

Spitzer, you think you're alone here? You think you're the only one who gets tempted from time to time? You're not. I don't know why you were too weak and gave into the temptation to cheat...over and over and over. Maybe it's your baldness. Maybe it's your huge ears. Maybe it's that dong of yours that sounds horseish only if you use the metric system. ("It's 9 centimeters! I'm Peter North reborn!") The simple fact is, you blew it. Anyone who spits on a loving wife and 3 teenage daughters effectively blows it. The position you're in just guaranteed that this would be national news, not just family-and-friends news. With your Harvard Law degree, one might think you'd have been a little smarter when it came to handling temptation. But instead, you lost your job, possibly your marriage, and 80 thousand dollars. Solid week.

2. Chicago Sports

Oh, Michael. How we miss you. Times were so much simpler then. I was a little too young to fully appreciate the 6 championships in 8 years, a fact that still makes me rage to this day. I didn't know how great we had it for a while. Well, we're paying for it now. If memory serves, the city of Chicago has had no major championships since Jordan left. The White Sox don't count. They're an irrelevant brother, like Frank Stallone. I also don't count the Sky, the Wolves, or the Fire. I'm talking about Chicago's 5 major sports teams here. We'll start things off simply:

Chicago White Sox: Garbage. Next!

Chicago Cubs: The team looks pretty solid this year! It really is looking like 2008 could be a great season. But this feeling of optimism that has come over me is somewhat diminished by the fact that history has now given us over a century's worth of consecutive mushroom-slaps. Also, Wrigley Stadium is a dump, a jinx, and it smells like cat pee. But I already covered that part.

Chicago Blackhawks: The other of the 5 teams that has me feeling optimistic. Certainly not for this year, but there's some bonafide young talent, and home games are suddenly being televised. That said, it's hockey; nationally televised on Versus. Yes, that's a TV network, folks. Hockey's not dying, though! It's "cooler" than ever! Pun!

Chicago Bears: I really don't have too much to say here. It's the offseason, last year's team was pathetic, and it's looking like this year's team will be the same way. Yet Chicago sports radio won't stop talking about the Bears. I was thoroughly amazed by the uproar caused by the statements that newly-signed WR Brandon Lloyd made. First of all...um, hi! Brandon Lloyd was this year's big free agent signing? This spells trouble, son. Secondly, he believes Rex Grossman to be the starter. (a) The fact that Grossman might start next year is effing horrifying. (b) The fact that Lloyd made it a point to mention this so quickly after signing makes me think that it had a huge effect on why he became a Chicago Bear. He signed because he wants Rex Grossman throwing him the ball. God help us. Our free agent stud is fresh from the loony bin.

Chicago Bulls: Current record? 26-38, solid enough to be a half-game out of the final East playoff spot. "The NBA: Where mediocrity happens" I keep hearing that 2008 is a fantastic year to be an NBA fan. For fans of the Western Conference, the Celtics, the Pistons, the Cavs, and the Magic, I completely agree. But we're Bulls fans. Our leader in PPG is Andres "Crazy Eyes" Nocioni, at 14.2 per game. 14.2?? What is this, high school? We just picked up Larry Hughes, inspiration for the genius Cleveland blog http://www.heylarryhughespleasestoptakingsomanybadshots.com/ . Yes, we dumped Ben Wallace in the process. Hooray. Forgive me if I'm not ecstatic over here. Every night I see Tyson Chandler devouring lobs from CP3 over in New Orleans. He was a solid double-double guy in Chicago, so we let him go for a washed up, whiny brat that cost twice as much.

Way to go, Pax. If you played like you GM, you would have taken the pass from Horace in Game 6 against Phoenix in '93, and then instead of draining the trey, you would have held the ball for a few seconds, then called timeout. And instead of inbounding the ball after the TO, you would have held it for a 5 second violation. This is what you do. You wait. And wait. And wait. You are the poster boy for the No Balls Association. Gasol or Garnett would have helped A TON, but instead we hung onto Luol Deng and Ben Gordon for too long. They're currently struggling so mightily that they have virtually no trade value. Tyrus Thomas is headed down the same road. Kirk Hinrich suddenly realized he's white. Scrap it all, Pax! We need to start over, tank a few seasons again, and wait for another LeBron to fall into our laps. The only thing this nucleus will win is a championship in the two-on-two Hideous Face playoffs. We'd be unbeatable with Joakim "Wow, This Guy Is Ugly" Noah and Andres "The Vampire" Nocioni as the core, with Kirk "Harry Potter" Hinrich and Drew Gooden's beard coming off the bench. As for basketball? No, it won't work. Time to act. Time to start over.

Time to watch my Bulls DVDs and sob uncontrollably.

Wrigley Field: Professional Sports' Senile Grandfather

Yesterday I wrote that it's a travesty that Sam Zell is looking to sell naming rights of Wrigley Field. While I still wholeheartedly believe that Zell is a moron, and while I also believe that my buddy Dan's idea to take a dump on his windshield is fantastic, some clarification is in order.

The Cubs need a new field. It's true. How am I so sure? I made a list of pros and cons; and as Tina Fey will tell you, a solid pro/con list yields worlds of information.

Pros of Wrigley Field:
1. Tradition
2. Ivy

3. Scoreboard

Cons of Wrigley Field:
1a. The aforementioned 'tradition' has given us a century of losing teams
1b. Curses and crybaby players
2a. The always-present smell of urine, perhaps due to..
2b. The pig trough urinals
3. Sitting and watching a game is uncomfortable, which is far from ideal
4. Old Style
5. Below-average food
6. Bar scene that's only enjoyable if you're wearing your frat jacket
7. Where's the jumbotron?
8. Really, the only stats you're giving me are avg, hr, and rbi? Is this 1940? Are the Germans in Poland?
9. Ok, so where do I park?
10. Seriously...WHERE THE HELL DO I PARK??
11. 7th Inning Stretch Celebrity Singers

Wrigley Stadium. What an idiot. As you can see, the cons far outweigh the pros here. The Cubs need a new place to play. Wrigley would still stand, of course. It's a historical landmark at this point. And by the way, it's officially time to get a new facility when the one you're using has already been deemed a historical landmark. Good lord.

Look, if this were the 1960s and 70s and every new stadium was a domed eyesore with astroturf inside, I'd be singing a different tune. But we are in a glorious era of stadium design. Every new construction tries to outdo the previous best. New parks are a beautiful place to watch a game, there's ample parking(hellooooo, tailgating!), the food is delicious, and the latest technology is implemented in the form of kickass jumbotrons that hold the attention spans of even the most rabid of baseball destesters. Plus, if your team blows(Washington in 2008, Milwaukee in 2001, the Cubs in 20??) a new stadium brainwashes the fans, son! It's an instant seat-seller!

As I mentioned above, there's way too much terrible history to keep playing in Wrigley Field. If you combine the old-balls architecture, the awful smell, and the horrendous events that have kept the Cubs from hoisting a World Series trophy for a whole...damn...century...well, why in the world are we still playing there? It's ugly and it's a bitch! Time to throw her to the curb!

I can hear all you naysayers now. "Blasphemy! How dare you, L Tray? What about the scoreboard? For God's sakes, what about the IVY???? WAAAAAAA!!!"

Shut up. I've talked to so many people that want to keep Wrigley open for those two reasons alone. Scoreboard and ivy. Are you kidding me? I'm fairly certain it wouldn't be rocket science to have another ivy-covered wall and a similar(aka improved) scoreboard in a new stadium. What's that? It won't be the same? That's right. As you take in the sights, your other senses won't be assaulted by the delicacies of a 96-year-old stadium.

So where do we build the new stadium? I don't care. The suburbs. The city. On Lake Michigan(that'd be sweet). Anywhere but where it is now. To clarify, I stand by what I wrote yesterday. If the Cubs have to play in Wrigley, it needs to be named Wrigley. It's tradition. It's what's kept the Cubs as sports' punch line for so long. But if a new stadium is built, I am perfectly fine with the naming rights being sold to the highest bidder. Name it Bartman Field, if possible. That'd be a nice middle finger extended to tradition.

Thorough Thursday Thoughts

It's 11 am and I have yet to eat, so if I'm a bit cranky, you can go ahead and sit on your hot mom's face.

1. A few people have notified me that the WNBA had a team in Cleveland called the Rockers because the city is home to the Rock 'n Roll Hall of Fame. Thank you. Now, here are my issues:
1a. You care too much about the WNBA. It is not fun to watch. If this is coming off as sexist, I don't know what to tell you. I'd rather watch women play volleyball, tennis, golf, softball, pool, and poker before I see them play basketball. They suck. 4 out of 5 feminists agree with the L Tray.
1b. The Rock 'n Roll Hall of Fame belongs in Cleveland about as much as the True To Your Wife Hall of Fame belongs in Salt Lake City. Off the top of my head, here are some cities that would be better suited: Austin, Denver, Seattle, Chicago. Boom. I didn't even think. Cleveland sucks. But apparently it's home to the U.S.'s 2nd biggest fashion week behind NYC! So at least there's that!

2. Halo 3 is a great game. Nothing like a couple well placed headshots and plasma grenades to get you through the day. So, on to my story. One of my brother's friends(we'll call him "Mike") was doing his very best the other day during an intense session. He was really trying. You could see the effort, even if you couldn't see the results. We were all very proud. Then 'Maddness72' showed up.

It was immediately obvious that Maddness was either a female or 5 years old. After some subtle questioning, she was confirmed to be a lady. She kept saying things like "Wait, what's this game called?" and "If I keep playing this, you promise to buy me a pair of shoes?" She obviously had no clue what was going on. And then she killed 'Mike' 3 times. What a disaster. Afterwards, in tears, he promised nothing like that would ever happen again. Oh, but it will indeed happen again, for 'Mike' is without question the worst Halo gamer of all time.

3. Sam Zell, the horribly evil owner of the Tribune Company, is looking to sell the naming rights of Wrigley Field to the highest bidder. That's right. We could soon be watching a Cubs game at Eagleman Insurance Field. If, like me, you think this is a travesty, go to http://www.suntimes.com/sports/815403,zell022708.article and voice your thoughts. Short of throwing poop at Zell, this is the best thing you can do. Go! Do it now!