Last week, either Thursday or Friday, I had the unpleasurable experience of not having the little device that allows you to plug your iPhone 7 into a normal auxiliary cable. You know what I’m talking about, the little connector doohickey that you lose 800 times a week and makes you CURSE THE GODS that Apple has no idea what their consumers want.
Rather than being left alone with my tortured thoughts for 20 minutes, against my better judgement I turned on the WIP morning show (and secretly hoped it would be in the middle of a commercial break so I would come to my senses and turn off the radio) and was BLASTED by Angelo Cataldi’s shrill voice, cackling about his plans for a trip to the west coast to watch the Eagles take on the Rams in a “complete and utter lock” of a game.
Al Morganti temporarily roused himself from his paint-huffing induced stupor and asked Cataldi if he remembered the last time he actually attended an Eagles game in person.
“Not since the Vet,” Cataldi grunted into the microphone.
No. NO. NO NO NO NO NO. You stay away from him, Joel. STAY AWAY FROM HIM ::gets out spray bottle and sprays water on him when he walks over to Lavar Ball::
Embiid, god damnit, you can not become all chummy with anyone in the Ball family. Everyone enjoyed it much, much more when you were lobbing horrendously funny tweets at that melonhead’s futile efforts to keep his sons relevant and in the public eye.
This Instagram post…
I’m back baby! Dandy Don Tollefson is a free man, just like that. They just opened the doors of the prison for me, said I was free to go and pushed me through. Didn’t even give me a psych evaluation before turning me loose….huh, seems like something that should be standard procedure, right? How about that?! You learn something new everyday in this wackadoo life!
I really feel like they should have given me my medications, though, before putting me back on the streets of Philadelphia. I’ve been off of them for a few weeks now, but I don’t feel too bad. I have been hearing high pitched screaming every night while I sleep, causing me to wake up in a freezing cold sweat…and I’ll be honest, I am starting to hear that screaming while I’m awake as well…even when nobody is around.
It tortures me…it would make a lesser man go crazy.
But the midnight fox that is set adrift on the Winter winds stays a hop and a leap ahead of insanity, that’s what I always say.
Did you see me on NBC 10 the other day? I thought I came off quite well, I really did. Take a look for yourself:
(I wrote this last week after Trump took part in the turkey pardon…never got around to posting it. Enjoy!)
Every year, while thousands of turkeys are killed for Thanksgiving, the president pardons a turkey of his own to be spared the ax during the holiday season. It’s a delightful piece of pomp and circumstance where children are taught a valuable lesson that the most gorgeous and appealing of us are rewarded, while the rest of us slobs are doomed to live out the rest of our days wallowing in our filth, with only the reprieve of death to look forward to.
President Trump continued the tradition yesterday and pardoned Wishbone and Drumstick, two lovely turkeys who will no doubt levy sexual harassment charges against the president in the near future.
It’s an interesting tradition…wiping a turkey’s slate clean and sparing them from any harm. But other than being delightful to look at, did any of these turkeys actually DO anything worthwhile to be pardoned? Who is ever worthy of a pardon?
Is anyone worthy of a pardon that Philadelphia and its fans have sentenced to death? This city has sentenced so many of its own athletes, coaches and media members to the gas chamber over the years…but are any of them worthy of a call from the governor before midnight strikes?
I’ve just started this column at 2:15 p.m. My 19-month old kid typically naps from noon to 2 p.m., and he has decided to grant me with an EXTRA-LONG nap on this glorious Friday after Thanksgiving, so why not scramble and write a very slapdash, loosey goosey column on the fly to tell our Coggin readers what we’re thankful for this Thanksgiving season.
DID YOU HEAR THAT?! OH GOD IS HE WAKING UP……no, no thank goodness. It was just the cat licking his own asshole and hatefully glaring at me as he does so. Fuck you cat. You will NOT be on this list.
Here is an all to inconclusive list of things we’re thankful for at The Coggin:
- Thanksgiving scotch, as this tweet so eloquently points out.
Four likes! That is an en fuego tweet, ladies and gentlemen.
- Howard Eskin blatantly passing off Ringer memes as his own.
Oh Howard…you couldn’t figure out how to crop out the massive Ringer logo from the meme? You are the heel we deserve, King.
- Doug Pederson selling his soul to Satan, or so I assume since there is no other possible explanation for his sudden brilliant coaching. Thanks Doug, I hope it was worth it, we all appreciate it.
- The cat, who is no longer licking his asshole in front of me and is now simply glaring at me with every ounce of hate in his black heart.
- The commenters on Crossing Broad, who have taken such a shine to my columns that only 80% of them now continue to urge me to commit suicide for being a poor writer. Thanks gang!
- Everything about the 76ers. I have no snarky rebuttal or joke for this. They’re just fun to watch now, FINALLY. Also, they have mercifully limited Bryan (with a Y) Colangelo’s appearances at media events so I don’t have to look at his smug, punchable face.
Fuck, FUCK….2:26 p.m. and he’s up. That’s an 11 minute column, people. THAT’S HOW YOU DO IT.
Did you not make the cut for what we’re thankful for? Well, then just let me say that I’m very disappointed in you. You’re bad and you should continue to feel bad throughout the holiday season.
Hello, I’m Sarah McLachlan. Right now, the Lakers need you more than ever after what happened last night against 76ers. Your call says, I’m here to help. Please call, right now.
Ben Simmons and Joel Embiid should be locked up after the severe beatings they doled out over 48 minutes. It was so cruel, so brutal, the duo had to flee the state and the premises of their crime before local law enforcement officials could apprehend them.
Please call to put a stop to the violence you can see after the jump.
I’m not a huge fan of looking back at old predictions or player analyses and mocking them for how incorrect they turned out to be (unless they come from @OldTakesExposed, then they’re just hilarious).
Everyone is wrong once in a while, and when it’s your job to be in the prediction business you’re going to vomit out a clunker every now and again.
Fuck, the other day I looked back at some old Facebook memories where I was VEHEMENTLY defending Evan Turner to a friend, claiming that his “world class defense” made up for his “struggling, but growing offensive capabilities.”
OH, and also claiming that Evan Turner would have a “much, much more accomplished career” than Demarcus Cousins.
The moral of the story is, and always will be, that I am a complete moron.
But I found one analysis written about Ben Simmons after the 76ers selected him as the #1 pick in the 2016 draft. It’s so horrendously wrong that it boggles the mind. Did the author get the numbers of the jerseys incorrect? Did he think he was watching Simmons the entire season, when he was really watching Tim Quarterman or Keith Hornsby?
Here’s what David Gardner, a Staff Writer for Bleacher Report, said of Ben Simmons: