Monthly Archives: March 2011

Dear Shore…

I once had a girlfriend, who, when I changed our weekend plans or had to work late, would decry aloud to the universe in general, “how can one man be so endlessly disappointing?” Overrated movies — yes, I just called Closer overrated, but only because it is — aside, eventually she was tragically struck by a city bus and died could endure no more such disappointments and left my janky ass. Likewise, I have reached a similar breaking point with “Jersey Shore,” (alternate title: “Well…Fuck”) in that, despite my best efforts at being patient, I don’t know if I can withstand any more disappointment in this relationship. That’s how bad the finale was. The finale was so bad, in fact, that I will do something I rarely do in this space and recap the entire episode…in the style of Brian Griffin as a seeing-eye dog (it was shockingly difficult to find a clip for that scene…so difficult, in fact, that I didn’t succeed):

They’re on the porch. Ronald and Sammitch are arguing. Sammitch and Situation are arguing. Nothing’s happening, nothing’s happening…something about making out…there’s a commercial. Now some of them are at work…something about T-shirts, I don’t know, I wasn’t listening. Nothing’s happening…Vinny and D Rex are arguing…there’s a commercial. Ronald and Sammitch are arguing again, I think about something else. They’re back home now, D Rex yells at Viper, there’s a commercial. Something about Pauly wanting to bang a dude…now it’s morning. Situation apologizes to Sammitch…nothing’s happening…nothing’s happening…CABSAREHERE, commercial. D Rex falls down, Snooki’s banging a dude, Ron’s being a biggity bitch…nothing’s happening…Ron and Sam are fighting…D Rex falls down. Nothing’s happening, Ron and Sam are arguing, commercial. Ron and Sam are still fighting, something about a tree, it’s morning again. A dog poops on the floor, Ron and Sam have their first civil conversation in history…everybody’s leaving. It’s over. Everyone in my living room looks pissed.

WHAT. THE. FUCK? That’s it? That’s all you’ve got? By my unofficial tally, that leaves us these scant offerings: 4 Ron/Sam collisions, 2 D Rex faceplants, and 1 “CABSAREHERE,” and some dog poop. Not gonna cut it, Shore. All that possibility for drama, and you deliver nothing other than the same old bullshit between the crash test dummies? Situation feuds with Sammitch…and then apologizes? D Rex cock blocks Vinny…and then makes him a sandwich? Not even Roidhead Ron could muster a punched wall or some strewn belongings.The whole thing was more disappointing than seeing the “N” for nudity rating at the beginning of an episode of “The Sopranos,” then having it turn out to be James Gandolfini’s side boob. Ugh.

Well, I’m sorry, Shore, but this just isn’t working for me. I tried to make it work with you; I really did. For two seasons, I watched every week without fail, no matter what. Once I even watched on a flight to L.A. That’s right, I was exhausted, bummed out due to a flight delay, and in public; and yet, I still remained true to you. I stuck with you through Angelina’s awfulness, JWoww’s cosmetic surgeries, and Situation’s Eternal Grenade Parade (yes, I just gave that term proper noun status). I loved you, Shore. We could have been together forever, but now…the spark is gone. Even D Rex’s lustre has worn off. It’s time for us to take a break. Let’s give each other some space, take some time to focus on ourselves, and see how we feel in Italy. I’m not saying we can’t give this another shot, but it’s going to take some work.

Hey, hey…don’t be like that. Remember all the good times we had — Snooki’s arrest, Sam snuffing Ron in the face, and every single triumphant “CABSAREHERE!” This may be the end of us, but it can also be a new beginning for you. Maybe you’ll finally have time to get your motorcycle license or take that cooking class you’ve been talking about. See? It’s not all bad. Dry your eyes. (Incidentally, that is the single best/worst breakup song ever. I do not recommend listening to it if you’ve recently ended a relationship, however, and neither Tiles in a Mosaic nor nosleeptil can be held responsible for any consequences of said aural intake. Listen at your own risk.)

I’ll see you in Italy, Shore. Maybe there things will be different, but in the mean time, remember: it’s not me, it’s you.

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The Man Who Would Be Michael Scott

If the films of Darren Aronofsky have taught us anything, it’s that life is filled with ceaseless anguish and tragedy. No matter how great the opportunity — be it an upstart drug enterprise or leading role in a ballet — seems, it will inevitably conclude with some morbid and wholly unforeseen outcome, like amputation or public suicide. Today in America, we are faced with a similar fate, and it will reach its horrific climax sooner than you expect. I am speaking, of course, about Steve Carell’s departure from “The Office.”

You needn’t have been overly vigilant with your attention to know of Mr. Carell’s intention to leave his role as Michael Scott for greener pastures, as it’s been all oer every news outlet in the universe since last July. You have to read The Guardian to get any real coverage of any national news beyond the NFL lockout, but CNN is all over a fictional character resigning from his fictional job. American journalism at its finest, folks. And, of course, along with the ambitious coverage of this epic television event has been the rampant speculation about who will take over Scott’s mantle as the chief of Dunder Mifflin’s Scranton branch. Names have been thrown out left and right, from Scott’s counterpart across the pond, Ricky Gervais as David Brent, to former prancing prestidigitator Will Arnett, to NBA Hall of Famer Walt “Clyde” Frazier. (Note: I may have made one of these up.) Now, however, thanks to exhaustive research and statistical analysis that has been found to be up to 95% accurate (+/- 98% margin of error), using an algorithm patented (no actual patent applied or pending) here at Tiles in a Mosaic, I am ready to reveal who will take over the throne in Scranton.

The actor who will attempt to slide his feet into the prodigious loafers once occupied by the near-legendary Steve Carell will be…

(Drumroll please!)

Adrian Grenier.

That’s right, Vincent Chase himself shall soon be presiding over Jim, Dwight, Ryan and the rest of gang at Dunder-Mifflin, Inc. (a division of Sabre). How dis I come to know this? What magical clarivoyant powers do I possess to allow me to make such a bold prediction? Why, it’s simple. I’ll walk you through it now, and you’ll see that not only has it been staring you right in the face for almost four full seasons, but that you are truly an absolute incompetent human being for not having seen it earlier.

Grenier has been alluded to frequently over the course of the series, each time giving a subtle hint to the audience that he will grow to have a large role in the future of the company. Let’s start in Season 3…

S03E03 (“The Coup”)
The episode opens on Movie Monday, where Michael is having everyone watch Varsity Blues (“The only cure I know for the Monday blues is Varsity Blues!”). Pam tells us that initially Movie Monday started with a training video before turning into 30 minute movie sessions. The one exception to the movie theme? An episode of Entourage, which Pam alleges Michael played six times. The star of Entourage? Connect the dots, people!

S04E04 (“Money”)
In one of the irreverent cold open sequences that eventually came to characterize the series (think Dwight’s devious death trap of a fire drill or a favorite of mine, Michael preparing for his upcoming colonoscopy by interrogating Oscar), Pam explains that Michael likes to watch his Netflix orders at the office when he’s not otherwise occupied. Michael being the impressionable being that he is, he adopts the mannerisms of the movie’s characters, as demonstrated by him yelling, “coat!” while slinging his at Pam, a la Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada. Who plays the role of Anne Hathaway’s boyfriend in that classic tale of epic proportions? Go ahead and IMDB it. I dare you. (Side note: I love that movie, and I’m secure enough in my sexuality to admit it. The way the plucky Hathaway melts Streep’s embittered heart with her persistence and winning smile just brings a tear to my eye every time. Fuck all y’all haters.)

S05E01 (“Weight Loss”)
The season premiere teaches us all a valuable lesson about the perils of weight loss — and buying Counting Crows tickets. (No offense to the Crows or their fans, who are notoriously vehement in their support. I like the band and have actually seen them live. It’s just a joke…even if it’s not funny. Please don’t harm me.) At the end, however, we see Toby, who departed Scranton in favor of Costa Rica the previous season. We soon learn he has a broken neck, but wait– what’s that? Rewind to the beginning of the scene, which opens with a close shot of a TV screen playing a show with poor reception, dubbed in Spanish. The show being broadcast into that remote Costa Rican hospital room? Entourage, starring none other than Grenier.

S05E24 (“Casual Friday”)
This episode marks the return of Michael, Pam and Ryan from their exile at the Michael Scott Paper Company. With Michael still harboring some resentment toward his former — and now current — employees, favoritism becomes the issue of the day. There are no longer enough clients to go around after Ryan and Pam are both added to the sales team, and in order to restore order to the branch, Michael must cut one of them loose from the sales team. While confronting his dilemma, Michael compares it aloud to a similar quandary at the video store: “Do I rent The Devil Wears Prada again, or do I finally get around to seeing Sophie’s Choice? It is what you would call a classic difficult decision.” On its own, this quote is humorous enough as it already not only alludes to the cold open mentioned above, but also — inappropriately — to the main character in the latter movie having to choose between her two children. Literary depth aside, there’s something more important in play here. Again, who plays Andrea’s boyfriend in Prada? What? You still haven’t looked it up on IMDB yet? Ugh, it’s fucking Adrien Grenier, dude. As if that wasn’t obvious.

So there you have it. It couldn’t be any clearer if NBC had written an announcement into an episode of “Saturday Night Live”. OK, bad example. It’s more like they put it in a show that someone actually watches, like “The Cape” “Outsourced” “Late Night with Jimmy Fallon” “30 Rock.” You will no doubt still feel some sadness when Carell leaves. You may even cycle through the stages of grief, launching into fits of berserker rage or writing letters promising your first born to NBC if only they’ll do whatever it takes to keep the only Michael Scott the world will know. Like um…some guy who’s probably dead now said, “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” I don’t know how this applies, but the point is that people generally only fear the unknown. Now that you know the identity of the masked man who will stepping into your life, you have one less thing to fear. Take solace.

Don’t let us down, Vinnie Chase. We’re counting on you to not let us wind up weeping in the depths of senile dementia or stabbing ourselves in between acts at the ballet. Damn, that’s depressing. Now I have to watch something to cheer up; The Devil Wears Prada, anyone?

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Pauly D: Discerning Connoisseur

With just one episode to go in the third season of “Jersey Shore” (alternate title: “It Could Just Be a Rash…But Probably Not”), the obvious dramatic story line continues to center around Sammitch and the question of whether she dogged Ronald by hitting up another dude when she left the house for a few days. These two epileptic guinea pigs have dominated the entire season like James Spader did to Maggie Gyllenhall in Secretary (boom, obscure analogy!). While I admit their antics have created a necessary amount of drama in the show, my disdain for their ceaseless and pervasive feuding is no secret. That — coupled with my wanting to wait to see what resolution the finale brings — means I won’t be focusing on those two this week. I’m sure you’re heartbroken, and if so, I’m sure you can find another Shore recap to check out, although I doubt it will be so captivating and fulfilling.

Instead, we’re going to talk about a man who has gone remarkably unrecognized lo these two months. This is a man who consistently finds ways to make us all laugh, who never has a cross word to say about anyone, and who requires a power drill to style his hair. Of course, I am talking about the man, the myth, the legend: DJ Pauly D. I was shocked to realize how scant my coverage of Pauly D has been in these (cyber)pages. Sure, I’ve mentioned him here and there, reiterating a witty one-liner or recapping one of his spectacular club pulls, but not once have we paused to really take a deep look at the man behind the blowout. Today, we rectify that. We will learn a little more about Pauly D– and hopefully, in so doing, we will learn just a little more about ourselves. You know, like a zen thing.

Let’s start by taking a look at a few moments of Thursday’s episode. Pauly and Vinny pull their usual twin killing at Aztec, bringing home a girl each. A short time later, the brother of one of the girls shows up, continuing Vinny’s streak of encountering the familial cock block appears to continue, as the brother of one of the girls shows up at the Shore house. Rather than forcibly removing the skanks ladies, however, dude simply offers to give them a ride home — including making himself available to come back the next morning. Pauly realizes he’s no longer down with his selection, and jumps at the opportunity to send her packing, with Vinny following suit. Immediately, two things happened: first, we again get to hear D Rex use the phrase “do sex.” Seriously, does she really think that’s a proper verb/noun pairing? Is that just a thing that she does? Did she lack oxygen during childbirth? I continue to be very concerned. Never mind that for now. Second — and more important — I come to the realization that Pauly D has such exacting standards that he’s willing to boot a sure thing than risk a subpar showing. It’s like he’s been constructed by Japanese auto engineers or German knife makers or something. In hindsight, this isn’t exactly a shocking revelation; in fact, Pauly has a rich history of kicking bitches out the condo like Pam and otherwise dodging questionable hookups.

Take Danielle, for example (although I don’t recommend actually “taking” her, unless you want to wind up on a milk carton). The stalker makes her second appearance of the season in this episode, seemingly materializing over Vinny’s shoulder at Karma. (Anybody else notice that at the moment when Vinny turns around, there’s a quick flash of a flame at the bottom of the screen? It looks like Danielle is flicking a lighter, which of course leads one to ask the question: WHAT. THE. FUCK? I’m amazed that Viper kept his composure. I would slapped the lighter out of her hand and run screaming from the club like Atreyu fleeing the Southern Oracle.) Despite her abrupt, obvious — and exceedingly clumsy — overtures, Pauly turns her down flat and removes himself from the situation (Situation!). This is, of course, the second time he has dodged the femme fatale, having bid her farewell from the Shore earlier in the summer. On both counts, Pauly D is admittedly a stronger man than I. Without question, I would have capitalized on the moment, thereby sealing my own doom. I’m glad Pauly’s still alive.

(Digression: while everyone else is at Karma, and Danielle is soliciting Israeli punches, the Dynamic Duo of Ronald and Sammitch are back at the house having some quiet time…for once. During this sequence, we get to see Ronald in the confessional announcing that he and Sam “definitely have some trust issues right now.” Really? You have trust issues now? Not last winter in Miami or even last week when she was straight up telling you she doesn’t trust you, but now? That’s some perceptive shit right there, Ron. You’re a damn intuitive genius. Also, given that extremely keen observation regarding your relative lack of trust in one another, sex was probably not the best idea. Next time, try taking a page out of Pauly’s playbook, you retarded gorilla. End digression.)

If that’s not enough for you, don’t forget the grenade horn episode, when Pauly and Situation both bring home girls. Pauly has second thoughts and sends his out the door, but not before Sitch makes a clumsy and ineffectual attempt at a threesome with her and the infamous Ugril Lavigne. In that week’s post, I remarked that I though Pauly’s actions were extreme, since that particular bar slut lady friend was (in my judgment) attractive enough, especially when compared to Ugril. Of course, little did I realize at the time that Pauly doesn’t settle. Got that, ladies? Pauly. Doesn’t. Settle.

Third, consider this: other than Ronald (who doesn’t count because he’s hopelessly enmeshed in Sammitch’s vagina), who is the only Shore guy to hook up with neither Snooki nor The Human Trashbag Angelina? Think about it. I’ll wait. If you came up with DJ Pauly D — which you should have; it’s not a trick question, you jackass — you are correct. (Vinny banged both Snicks and The Staten Island Dump in Miami, while Situation famously hooked up with Snooki in the hot tub in the first season finale and engaged in some disputed amount of sexual activity with The Rob Kardashian of Staten Island in between seasons one and two.)

A friend of mine once charmingly made an analogy comparing hooking up with girls to a buffet. His point was that when he went to a buffet, he didn’t choose just one dish to spend all his time on; rather, he was a fan of variety. He might make a plate of macaroni and cheese, chicken wings, a small salad, maybe even some green Jell-O. Some others take bigger risks, gambling on crab legs or bacon wrapped scallops. Pauly, however, heads straight for the filet, and that’s where he lives his life. He probably doesn’t even go to Ponderosa. If that motherfucker is at a buffet, it’s probably at the Wynn. He’s on top of the buffet world, and he’s not stepping down into the slums for anybody. And that, ladies and gentlemen, makes Pauly D a discerning connoisseur.

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I heard that you were feeling ill: headache, fever, and a chill…

You may be wondering why it’s Saturday and I’ve yet to publish a  “Jersey Shore” (alternate title: “The Strongest Argument in Favor of Psychotropic Medication”) post. Well, as my Twitter followers know, it’s because I’ve been rather under the weather:

Actually, that’s an understatement. By “under the weather,” I mean that I’ve been expelling substances that look like toxic waste from my body while enduring a sensation that feels something like a hot melon baller scooping out my visceral organs. This has been somewhat strange for me, as I never get sick. In fact, I don’t think I’ve had anything more serious than a sinus infection in over a decade. The last time I remember being this sick was at summer camp when I was 14 and I had to spend a week in the infirmary. I even missed the Olympics. Still bitter about that. This being the case, I was in denial about actually being ill this time around, so I tried to soldier on, but it’s rather hard to be creative under such circumstances. (I’ve got 3500 words due on Tuesday and I’ve written nary a one of them. Yikes.)

But, huzzah! As of this morning, it appears as though I may be out of the woods (fingers crossed). Yes, after a week of copious Gatorade, 12 hours of sleep a day, and Harry Potter movies (BTW, there’s a marathon on ABC Family this weekend. I’m watching Chamber of Secrets right now. Get some.), I again feel like a human being. Shore post will be up later today, and (ir)regular posts will continue as per usual. Thanks for your patience, dear readers. We now return to your regularly scheduled programming.

(10 bonus points to anyone who can complete the lyrics from the title.)

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“If it’s in BBM, you musta did him”*

(I know I’m way late with this post. The truth is I fell way behind on some deadlines last week and had to spend all day Friday — when I usually write about Shore — catching up. Then I got sick Friday night — I’m fine, thanks for asking — and didn’t have the energy to put anything decent together. Fortunately there like a dozen trite expressions I can throw in here to justify my radio silence:

Better late then never.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder.
Anticipation is half the fun.
It is what it is.
I smoke rocks.

Take your pick. Either way, today is Monday, this post is about the Shore, and girls have boobies. These are all facts. Take them or leave them.)

Slowly but surely, “Jersey Shore” (alternate title: “Side Effects Include Nausea, Loss of Vision, and Sudden Drug Addiction; View at Your Own Risk”) is crawling its way back into my good graces. Three weeks ago, I was ready to call it quits, and now we’re… well, we’re somewhere. Right now we’re probably somewhere in the Zach-Braff-and-Natalie-Portman-in-“Garden-State” zone: we know we’re in love with one another, we each recognize that the other is seriously flawed, and now one of us (i.e., me in the role of Andrew Largeman) has to decide whether to return to his normal life or stay and roll the dice on this strange romance that neither of us quite understands. By my estimate, Shore, you’ve got two weeks to convince me not to hop on that plane back to L.A. (Speaking of, all things being equal, who the fuck chooses Jersey over L.A? I get that Natalie Portman is turbo hot, and the dude was miserable in California, but it’s not like she has anything going on back home that she needs to stick around for. She can’t make the trip west with him? Why does there always have to be a realy difficult choice? Just once, can’t someone have their cake and eat Natalie it, too? That’s my only beef with that movie.)

This week’s episode brought us the incomprehensible Uncle Nini, Vinny’s first spray tan, a water balloon fight, and the inevitable return of the Ronald and Samantha demolition derby. These were all secondary issues, however, as one the episode of seeking justice dominated the episode. Throughout the show’s sixty minutes (or like, 44 minutes plus commercials…or whatever), some of our old friends were accused of wrong doing and had to face not only their accusers, but a national audience in the court of public opinion. Let’s recap some of the Shore-ites pleading their cases:

Case No. 1: The People vs. The Situation
The Charges:
Aiding and Abetting a Known Fugitive (2x), Conspiracy to Commit Public Defecation (3x), Obstruction of Justice
Evidence for the Prosecution:
Upon returning to the house from a GTL outing, the girls and Ronnie notice a distinct smell of…shit. Dog feces was discovered in several locations around the house, including on the living room rug. Situation was the only person home during this time, and one of the dogs allegedly smelled of his cologne.
Evidence for the Defense: The defendant, The Situation, a.k.a. The Snitchuation, a.k.a. The Situgaytion, maintains he was asleep at the time of the alleged events. He points out that he was in his bed when the complainants returned home. The defense also presents Exhibit A, the gate used to keep the dogs penned up in JWoww’s room, which has been broken, allowing the dogs free run of the house. The defendant claims it must have been broken by the dogs themselves.
My Take: What kind of mental illness compels someone to willfully let two dogs shit all over their house?  What the fuck is wrong with this man? I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS.
The Verdict: Since Sitch confessed to this one on camera (although not to authorities), a conviction is all but certain. Case closed. Moron.

Case No. 2: The People vs. Roger
The Charges: Fleeing and Eluding, Failure to Put Hand Up On Hip Whilst He Dips You Dip We Dip
Evidence for the Prosection: The complainant, JWoww, alleges that while she was driving along Route 37, she spotted Roger’s car. He then, according to both the complainant and eyewitness testimony, did The Dip, fleeing the scene at a high rate of speed, which obviously means one thing and one thing only: there’s a girl in the car. Clearly it can’t just mean he’s in a hurry.
Evidence for the Defense: He had to get from the gym to his hair appointment in five minutes, so obviously he drove like a reckless maniac rather than: a) leave the gym earlier, or b) reschedule the hair appointment.
My Take: I think the following expert testimony by Sammi says it all: “If you want my honest opinion, that right there looks suspect.” Right. Because if anyone has finely tuned boyfriend suspicion instincts, it’s Sam. Clearly her preternatural powers of perception served her well when Ron was dogging her in Miami, so let’s definitely go with whatever she says on this one. Reminds me of the time our neighbor called the police claiming my brother had blocked his driveway by plowing snow into it, then had his blind girlfriend tell the police that she saw him do it. It should also be noted that Sam later recanted her testimony saying she doesn’t actually know why Rogers was trying to be “cool suave.”
The Verdict: JWoww dropped the charges after realizing the Roger told her he had a hair appointment around that time, hence why he didn’t answer when she called. She added “I feel like an asshole right now.” In a surprise reversal of fortune, JWoww was herself convicted on one count of Jumping to Conclusions Like a Crazy Person and ordered to pay restitution by giving Roger “a little, like, room to breathe from now on.”

Case No. 3: The People vs. Samantha
The Charges: Reckless Texting, Creeping Without Keeping it on the Down Low, Perjury (or Per-Jersey; get it??)
Evidence for the Prosecution: Situation’s friend, Arvin, claims that the defendant has been texting him since she and Ronald broke up, asking Arvin to get together and inviting him to meet her at Karma on the night in question. He presented his BBM log as evidence, as witnessed by both Situation and JWoww. Samantha has not offered an alternate justification for the text messages. According to expert witness JWoww, the evidence “looks pretty bad on Sam’s part.”
Evidence for the Defense: Samantha admits to a pre-existing relationship with Arvin, claiming that the two are friends. She denies trying to arrange a rendezvous at Karma on the night in question. Furthermore, when Samantha confronted Arvin at the time, he offered no further comment. Further defense tactics by Samantha including shouting the word “shady” over and over again at various people over a period of time. (Quick sidebar: Vinny’s “Shaaady, shaaaadyy, aftermath” shtick was dope. I mean, any time you get a chance to quote lyrics from one of Eminem’s worst albums, you gotta do it. The only way it gets better is if Pauly D shouts out “G-G-G-G-G Unit!”…which I fully expected him to do at the time.)
My Take: Just admit that you did it, Sam. You were broken up; you didn’t do anything wrong (although that’s definitely at least a little slutty). It’s way shadier to flatly deny everything and offer no alternative explanation whatsoever than to just confess to hitting up a dude for some strange. It happens, let’s move on. Plus, who can resist a “jacked up Guido MacGyver” (whatever the fuck that means) like Arvin? Seriously, look at that eyebrow. What lady doesn’t love the Joe Flacco look?
The Verdict: According to later testimony from Arvin, the two have made out. The jury will be out until at least next episode, but one thing’s for sure: no matter what the verdict, we’re all going to be sentenced to some interminable fighting by the Tag Team Champions of the World, Ronald and Samantha.

Meanwhile, in the case of me versus a possible flu virus, I’m going to go down some chicken broth and take a nap. See you all on Thursday.

*With apologies to the late Johnnie Cochran.

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I told you so

You know what? It’s Friday night and I don’t feel like writing a post about “Jersey Shore” (alternate title: “Anyone Who Trusts Any of These Individuals in a Relationship is Seriously Mentally Ill”) right now. Maybe I’ll do one tomorrow– again, if I feel like it. In the mean time, check this out. And remember: I told you so.

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Lawrence Taylor, STFU

In case you forgot about everyone’s favorite pass rusher/multiple substance abuser/convicted perpetrator of sexual assault, fear not; Lawrence Taylor is doing just fine. Well, in a sense he’s doing fine, but in a much more real sense he’s actually up the proverbial creek without the proverbial paddle. (Yes, that’s a proverb. Read up on your Confucian wisdom and you’ll see what I mean.)

LT is currently in a dispute with his ex-wife over child support for his 13-year-old daughter, according to Gothamist. You see, Ebony Washington, the mother of one of Taylor’s SEVEN CHILDREN, requested a hearing to have child support payments from Taylor increased in order to help treat the girl’s Crohn’s disease. LT opposed the request, stating:

“My income is generated solely by my popularity as a celeb. The fact that I last played in 1993 and legal problems in Rockland County … have severely diminished my ability to obtain income…. I have no college degree or special skills other than athletics.”

Well then, I guess that settles it. Poor guy obviously got in over his head when he was playing, and now that’s he retired he’s struggling to make ends meet. He’s doing the best he can, so maybe we just leave him al– hey wait a minute! This girl is 13 (er, uh, 3 years younger than the prostitute LT admitted to having sex with). Now, I’m no doctor or anything, but I’m pretty sure that puts her birth some time in either 1997 or 1998, at least four years after Taylor retired from the NFL and his “ability to obtain income” started diminishing. So, back in the late ’90s, in spite having no job and no means of income other than savings and his NFL pension — both of which I’m sure he has managed meticulously — Taylor went ahead and acquired himself yet another baby momma, and now he’s unhappy with having to make child support payments he can’t afford. Seems like you called that tune there, Larry; time to pay the piper.

Fortunately, I’m not only a solution-focused kind of guy, but also fairly financially savvy, and therefore I have some suggestions to help LT ot of his cash crunch. Read on, Mr. Taylor. We’ll get through this yet:

1. STOP HAVING FUCKING KIDS. To be fair, I don’t actually know that he hasn’t reproducing, and I don’t really want to delve deep enough into the man’s life to determine for sure. The very idea of doing that makes me feel icky. I do happen to know through a combination of sources that at least 2 of his children are older than this girl, which leaves 4 whose ages are unknown to me, and it’s entirely possible they are all older than thirteen years. But, just in case he hadn’t thought of it, I figured I would offer up this suggestion anyway.

2. STOP FUCKING DOING DRUGS. Drugs cost money, so fewer drugs = more money. Simple inverse correlation. This one’s a no-brainer, really. In addition, this has the ancillary benefit of reducing the risk of legal complications, which brings me too my next idea.

3. If “legal problems…have severely diminished [your] ability to obtain income,” then STOP BREAKING THE FUCKING LAW. More specifically, might I suggest not having sex with underage prostitutes? That’s at least two different kinds of illegal, so go ahead and file that under T, for “Things to Avoid Because They Cost Me Money Which Would Be Better Spent Supporting My Chronically Ill Daughter.” According to some numbers from Wikipedia, this would have saved you at least $90,000 in the last 2 years alone– that’s almost 4 years of child support payments right there! I would also be willing to bet that having a better reputation would make it more likely for a TV network to take a chance on you with a broadcasting gig. You would probably make a pretty good and/or sideline guy. Hell, it worked for Keyshawn Johnson, and he’s a huge asshole. And speaking of gigs…

4. Finally, if all else fails — and this is an extreme suggestion — GET A FUCKING JOB. Do what the rest of us (well, not me, but other people) do when they don’t have any money and go fill out some applications. Do some autograph shows. Find a ghostwriter and write a(nother) book. For god’s sake, do something. I know it’s a tough economy, but plenty of people are finding ways to make it work. You can too. Quit whining.

Bottom line: this is your daughter, Larry. She’s your child and she just so happens to have a chronic illness. You knocked her mom up, you gotta help the kid stay as healthy as you can. That’s the way it works. So, until you’ve exhausted all the options available to you, I have one last piece of advice: STFU.

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