Relativity

How I’d go about preventing someone from jumping off a building:

“There is no real meaning to life, only patterns. The adventurous type, the boring type, the quiet type, the flamboyant type, the cynical type, the geeky type, the perverted type, the suicidal type and so on and so forth. No matter who you are or how you identify yourself, you’re not the first to do what you’re about to do, and chances are, you’re not going to be the last either. No matter how different we perceive ourselves to be, we really are all the same. Everything is relative to everything else. Could you imagine what would happen if Kevin Bacon decided to jump off a mountain? The six degrees of Kevin Bacon would no longer exist.”

“And that’s a bad thing? “

“Hmmm, good point. I’ll see you in another life, brother.”

Okay, so maybe suicide prevention isn’t my thing. But you know what? I think White Castle burgers aren’t my thing either. I should have realized it after having to use the bathroom less than two hours of having my first White Castle burgers ever. I should have also realized it after having three more of those burgers after clearing out the inaugural set. Instead, the realization hit as I was running late to work this morning because my ass didn’t want to leave the toilet. What felt like a never ending stream of the squirts was actually excess burger, cheese, onions and steamed buns – the catalyst for a smooth ride out the hole. Pepto-Bismol, now that’s what I craved.

The time sitting on the pot wasn’t entirely full of waste though. I started to think of the previous day’s good times being in the company of great friends, and then it hit me.

The cheese sticks. The onion rings. The answer to the Bobby Brown question.

If my lovie was constipated and had asked me to take my hand up “there” to literally clean her system out, I would have to respectfully decline. If she then offered to sing that Whitney Houston song from “The Bodyguard,” I’d point to her and sing, “That Girl is Poison.” That’s right Bobby, let me put it this way: If Bel Biv Devoe busted a cap in your ass, do you honestly think Whitney would fist you to get that bullet? Shit, not if that bullet was filled with crack. “If It Isn’t Love?” What the fuck are you smoking dude?

I could see the comic right now in tomorrow morning’s newspaper:

“Love is...plopping your woman on the toilet and shoving White Castle burgers down her throat for instant constipation relief.”

Buffalo Rock State Park

Cleared for Takeoff

March 29, 1987 – The only light in my bedroom is coming from the television that is on channel nine, WGN news. I look over at the bottom bunk where my sister is sleeping peacefully, and I yawn, thinking that it’s past my bedtime too. It’s only around 9:30 at night, but at seven years old, 9:30 PM is more like midnight to me. My eyelids are heavy and I just want to lie down, but there’s something driving me to stay up and keep vigil, because there in my youth I truly believed that something big was going to happen. And it did.

“WGN news, tonight’s sports is brought to you by…”

As the commercial plays, sleepy weariness is replaced by an adrenalin rush. The light from the television seems brighter and I’m squinting because my pupils are trying to adjust. My heart appears to be beating faster. I have awoken.

The commercial ends and we cut back to the sportscaster at WGN news, but in what felt like not even a second, there it is:

I’m seeing Hogan vs. Andre. I’m hearing the words of Gorilla Monsoon, “The irresistable force meets the immovable object.” Both of them look at each other look at the sea of humanity, all 93,173 people at the Pontiac Silverdome for WrestleMania III.

The rest of that night is history. For me personally, that’s where it all began.

WrestleMania: WM3, Detroit – Where it all Begins...

Again – WM19, Seattle – Childhood dreams can come true...

And again – WM22, Chicago – Two words: Home City, One word: RINGSIDE...

And again – WM23, Detroit – The childhood dream comes full circle

It’s confirmed. April 1, 2007. Ford Field, Detroit. Silver package. I’ll see you in the lower level.

Touched by a Writer

Chuck Palahniuk (author of Fight Club, Invisible Monsters, Choke, Haunted, etc.) is one sick f*ck.



Chuck, thanks for agreeing with me. To all you in the Pacific Northwest, it's Ore-Ah-Gone!

A Modern Day Samson and Delilah

To all the fellas out there, I know you’ve heard this before, but I am going to officially join the millions (and millions) of guys before me and say that you cannot win against a woman. There’s just no way. It’s not possible, especially when it comes to making bets.

Men win bets simply because women let us. Women play to our needs knowing that we need instant gratification so they give us the quick and easy wins.

“Haha, you have to sing “I’m a Little Teapot” in public and you have to do all the motions.”

“Hizzah, make me a banana cream pie. Wait, why don’t you make that twoooo...and three quarters.”

“Heh heh, that’s right girlie, get underneath the table and do your thang while I have a nice conversation about politics and religion with your parents over dinner, yeah, yeah"...

...Okay, so not all these really happened. A second banana cream pie would have been nice...

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned though. To a woman, a guy winning a bet is like a tremor undetectable to the most sensitive of seismic equipment. It’s not really a big deal.

“‘I’m a Little Teapot?’ How about I wear a backpack with fake explosives and do it in Arabic in the middle of synagogue on Passover?”

But women are cruel like that. They toy with our emotions and monitor our happy meter; eventually all the little tremors build up into something catastrophic that blows up in our face:

“Wear that pink shirt, bitch.”

Or in my case earlier a few weeks ago,

“Stop being a wuss and lift up your arms so I can shave your pits.”

Yet another example of how a man’s misery can bring about a woman’s happiness.

Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore

Click here for more pics.

The Art of Storytelling

At my favorite place to go for lunch on a workday, the person at the register takes notice of the book I have in my hand and asks what I plan on reading in the sixty minutes I have to get my head off of work. “It’s Invisible Monsters,” I say, “the most fucked up book I have ever read.”

The person at the register grins and asks what the book is about. I tell him that it’s about the most fucked up story I have ever read. I tell him that it’s “Fucked up, man.” I tell him that the book is written by the guy who wrote the book Fight Club before it ever became a movie. I tell him, “And if you thought Fight Club was fucked up, you should check this book out.”

If Mr. Chuck Palahniuk was a porn star, he’d be Ron Jeremy. And Invisible Monsters would be his greatest fuck.

Jump to the next book in my reading queue, School for Stingers, recommended so much by two friends who took turns reading chapters to each other as bedtime stories, they decided to give me a brand new book free of Albani-Jew glue for my birthday.

From a fucked up book to a book of nothing but fucking, this is going to be interesting. While the cover of Invisible Monsters left something for people sitting next to me on the train wondering what the book was about, the busty chests on the cover of School for Stingers will have people doing more worrying than wondering if there’s anything else besides my monthly train pass I’ll be whipping out on the commute to or from work.

Jump to the next time I’m at my favorite place to go for lunch on a workday. The person at the register takes notice of the book I have in my hand and asks what I plan on reading in the sixty minutes I have to get my head off of work this time. “It’s The DaVinci Code,” I say, “the most heart pounding, fast moving, suspense thriller that will leave you breathing hard and gasping for air.”

Looking at my watch, I tell him that I’m actually a minute late today because I had to take care of something really quick.

I tell him, “No worries though, I’ve already got my head off of work.”

I tell him that the next fifty-nine minutes are going to be like the moment you leave work on a beautiful sunny Friday afternoon heading into a stress-free and worry-free weekend.

Nothing but pure relaxation.

I tell him to have a good rest of his day, and then I find a table for me to eat my lunch, and start reading my book with both hands clearly on the table for everyone to see.

During this post I Google'd: Venice Cafe, Chuck Palahniuk, School for Stingers, Perverts in Public

Push

One of my self mottos has always been “Push”.

The word itself has connotations of moving forward or making some type of progress, but if you actually look up the definition, there is so much more meaning:

- Ambitious drive
- To sell (another one of my mottos, “Sell or be sold” could be translated to “Push or be pushed”.)
- Strive to achieve a goal
- An effort to advance

“Push” defines who I am as a person. So it shouldn’t come as a surprise that for someone who is constantly looking forward, one of the things I don’t do a whole lot of is look back. I’m not saying I don’t enjoy doing it. I just don’t do it as much as I probably should. There comes a point in time in everyone’s life where one’s memories become more important than their dreams and aspirations. That certain point in time is called a mid-life crisis, and I’m still light years away from having one of those.

That being said, given how the day of my birth coincides with the celebration of Christ’s rebirth this year, I feel that now’s a good time to reflect and look back at the path that brought me to where I am today...

...You really thought I was going to just give you the story of my life? Sucker!

Happy Easter!

Here are a couple free notable quotes to live by:

“A true champion is not necessarily defined by how much they’re admired, but instead their ability to stand up in the face of adversity.”

“If you can dream it, you can do it, and there’s no better place than here and no better time than now.”

WrestleMania 22!

What a weekend! My voice is still hoarse and my body is constantly reminding me that getting less than ten hours of sleep in the last three days is not a good idea, but it was so totally worth it. If fate is on my side, I will do it again next year, this time in Detroit, Michigan – Ford Field.

Now for some notes:

- Holy shit! Holy shit!...Ringside seats, camera side, row 6...Holy shit! Holy shit!

- From what I remember, the people that I met came from: Boston, Detroit, San Francisco, St. Louis, Alabama, Tennessee, Oregon, Wisconsin, Texas, Indiana, Florida, Louisiana, New York, Ireland, Germany, England, Scotland, Australia, New Zealand.

- You know it’s time to go to bed when it’s two in the morning and you’re outside with an Australian and an Irishmen talking about being in a river with a crocodile, and an Englishmen who kept on shouting out, “Booze” and “Broads”.

- Hey Carl, you were right: people from Tennessee skip the middle syllables of any word that has more than two, speaking only the first and last (i.e. Shelbyville is Shelville).

- WrestleMania 22 set a record as it became the largest single day event in AllState Arena history, grossing more than $2.5 million. Glad to know that my $1,400 travel package, $60 jersey, $40 hooded jacket, $30 long sleeve t-shirt, two $25 short sleeve t-shirts, $20 program, $20 hat, $10 dog tag, and $5 ticket holder was all part of history in the making.

- When was the last time you shouted and screamed for joy? Seeing where I was sitting after a 402 day journey was a bittersweet ending. I felt like Frodo Baggins winning the WWE World Heavyweight Title.

- A few rows ahead were two people that kept on pissing people off because their Israeli flag was blocking people’s views. Why do “those people” always have to be in other people’s business? Dumb Jews...

- The WrestleMania 22 DVD comes out May 23. I figure since I was on TV, there's a good chance that I'll be on the DVD. If that's the case, I will be accepting bookings for autograph appearances shortly.



Click here for WrestleMania 22 album.

Eugene and Mickie James Autograph Signing

The question I asked Mickie James: So...is Trish a good kisser?

The question I should have asked Mickie James: So...what was it like having your head in Trish's crotch?

Perfect Timing

First off, fuck the House of Blues! They really need to state on their tickets that no cameras are allowed in their crappy venue. What exactly is the harm? They allow drinking so that people can walk out belligerent, and before Chicago’s smoking ban went into effect, they allowed smoking so that people can come out wreaking of cigarettes, but you can’t take pictures so that you can take your sentimental mementos home? I’m never going there again.

All in all, other then spending $30 on a ticket that I didn’t use and an extra $15 to cab me to and from that shithole, I still can’t complain. Everything happens for a reason, and I guess I wasn’t meant to be there. I know because I really was meant to go to the Triple H book signing instead...because I’m special…

After being rejected at the House of Blues, I somehow managed to take the train back to my car and drive to Blooming –bufu – dale in about 30 minutes. Getting to Tower Records was a little discouraging seeing as it was 10 minutes before Trips was to arrive and there were over 200 people waiting in line for his autograph. So much for the effort…

I decided to see if I can get into the store as a shopper to at least check out his book when out of nowhere a black limo - Triple H’s limo – comes right at me and almost hits me head on. While most people would have their life flash before their eyes, all I could think of was living out one of the storylines in the career mode of Raw vs. Smackdown (that should come as no surprise - I’m also the one who fell into an ice cold river screaming “Camera!” instead of screaming for help).

Knowing that Trips was now in the area, I ran into and then around the store frantically searching for his book. No book. Like a dumbass, I was searching in the CD section and then the DVD section when I asked myself out loud why Tower Records, a place that sells music and movies, is having a book signing when the friggin store doesn’t even sell books. Someone must have heard my thought because a cashier said that the books were up at the register.

I was going to leave the store to hopelessly wait in line just so I could get back into the store within the next two hours to meet the man who slept with the boss’s daughter and is still living and living well when a store employee said that all the people in the store would have to make way for Trips. I noticed that all the people that were in the store grouped together in what looked like a line so I joined them. Another employee headed toward the door and turned the latch – the store was locked down, no one could enter, but no one could leave either. I was going to meet Triple H…and I didn’t have to wait in line!

Trips walked into the store, did a quick interview, and started the book signing. The first person was a kid in a wheelchair with his parents. The next person in line was another kid, this time with downs syndrome, and was also with his parents. After realizing that the first two kids were “special,” I began to notice the 10 other people who were in front of me – they were either kids with disabilities or the parents of these kids. I also noticed that all of them were wearing green wristbands. To make matters worse, I was the only one not decked out in wrestling apparel, which made me stick out even more like a tall Asian Filipino.

When I finally got to Triple H, he shook my hand and gave me a funny look. It was like he was trying to figure out what was wrong with me, the thing that made me “special.” It didn’t take very much thought because as he was signing my book, the only thing I said to him was, “Hello Mr. H.” I felt really, really special at that moment.

Oh well, it beats having to wait in line for hours.

Tyson Tomko and Trevor Murdoch Autograph Signing

Candice Michelle Autograph Signing

WWE Diva, Godaddy girl and April 2006 Playboy cover person Candice Michelle at the Virgin Music autograph signing.

What WrestleMania Means to Me

In a way somewhat similar to how the television show “24” began each episode in their first season,

My name is Erwin, and this week will be one of the most memorable weeks of my life.

Like “24,” the twists, the turns, and the buildup that have occurred throughout the past WWE calendar year will finally reach its climax this Sunday in the pinnacle of professional sports entertainment…WrestleMania!

“Wrestling is fake. Wrestling is scripted. Why would you spend all that money to see that shit?”

Why? Because going to WrestleMania has been a childhood dream of mine since I was seven years old. To all you haters out there, when was the last time you had an opportunity to achieve something that you really wanted since you were a kid? I’ll tell it like it is: If everyone lived out their childhood dream, there’d be a hell of a lot more doctors and astronauts than there are today.

WrestleMania is where bitter feuds come to an end, while the seeds for even greater battles are being planted. In some cases, WrestleMania is where good finally triumphs and overcomes the obstacles that have been in its way. It took Hulk Hogan several tries to body slam Andre the Giant at WrestleMania III in Detroit, Michigan in 1987, and with every attempt that passed, all 90,000+ people in the Pontiac Silverdome were asking themselves whether or not the irresistible force could really defeat the immovable object.

Watching the body slam seen around the world on WGN news later that night, that’s when I knew I wanted to be there.

I had a chance to live out my childhood dream, going to my first WrestleMania four years ago in Seattle. It was an experience being in a baseball stadium with close to 50,000+ wrestling fans, many of whom die-hard like me. In the airports to and from Seattle, I met people from London, Germany, Australia and Japan. I met people from the States that lived out east in New York and out west in Hawaii. This Sunday, over 15,000 people from 16 countries and 41 states will pack the AllState Arena and more than 90 countries will watch the grand daddy of them all. How many single day events are out there that are truly global in nature? There’s only one that comes to mind: WrestleMania.





This WrestleMania will be just as memorable as my first but for completely different reasons. One, this year’s WrestleMania is in my home city, Chicago! Two, I’ll be sitting ringside! And three, when WrestleMania is finally upon us, the 402 day road to WrestleMania that began on February 24th, 2005 will come to a bittersweet end. Aside from getting married, I can’t think of another reason why anyone would countdown that number of days for anything else.

On that day, I know there will be a moment where I take a step back like I did at my first WrestleMania four years ago, and it’ll finally hit – I did it. I’m at WrestleMania!

I may not have the opportunity to main event for the world heavyweight title, but being there live and witnessing the matches between those who can is enough of a championship win for me.


We are all mortals. Our bodies, though strong, cannot defy time. One day, we will die... What matters most is the legacy we leave behind....

Did we become all that we are capable of becoming?

Did we make the difference we came here to make?

Did we pursue our dreams when all around us thought we were chasing illusions?

Only those who dare to rise are able to lift themselves above horizons...

Only those bold enough to chase dreams are the ones who catch them...

WrestleMania: The Showcase of the Immortals

A Chance to Rewrite History

Around this time in March of 2003, I was counting down the days until my very first trip to Seattle, where I would be living a childhood dream and attending my first ever WrestleMania. At the same time, I was torn apart and stressed out about the job situation, having to choose between two great companies knowing that I would be burning bridges with one to go to the other.

Flash forward to present day March 2006: Three years and so many frequent flyer miles that I’ve earned a free trip to anywhere in the United States later, I embark on another weekend trip to Seattle. In 23 days, I will be living that childhood dream again by attending my second WrestleMania which I truly believe will be just as memorable as the first not only because it is happening in the best city in the world, CHICAGO (cheap Mick Foley pop), but also because I’ll be sitting ringside at the big event, the pinnacle in sports entertainment.

As the joy and excitement has been building, however, so has the stress and anxiety about my current job situation. Again, I am faced with the choice of working for either of two great companies knowing that the announcement will surely burn a bridge with one of those companies.

Notice the eerie similarities?

While I’m pretty good at not second guessing my own decisions, when it comes to the choice I made between the two jobs three years ago, I can’t help but ask myself more and more, “What if I chose the other job instead?”

By no means do I regret the decision I made. Working for the largest private company in the world is a pretty smart choice (but then again, working for one of the top Fortune 500 companies would have sounded good as well). And if it wasn’t for the place where I worked, I wouldn’t have met so many people who are now my friends even after the sad events that took place in the later part of last year.

Although the more I think of the order of those events, from the announcement to the eventual demise, I still can’t help but ask myself if I had made the right choice. Would my situation now be any different if I had chosen the other job? Hopefully that question will go away with my acceptance of an offer at the new job that I will start on Monday. After three plus years of wondering “What if,” I finally get a chance to see what the other path would have been like, and I definitely plan on making the most of that opportunity.

WrestleMania 22: The Home Stretch

30 Days Away...

What happened 371 days ago? Relive the announcement...Relive the excitement....

Click here to read the announcement that marked the official beginning of the Road to WrestleMania 22 journey.

Booger

After a week of waking up in the morning with a bloody nose, I’ve come to the realization that I need a humidifier in my bedroom. Here’s my deductive reasoning:

-I’m too accident prone to keep a blade somewhere near my bed just in case I want to snort up any white powder I don’t have in my sleep.

-My fingers are free of blood which means that in my sleep I wasn’t thinking of inserting (two finger quotes) an appendage into (two finger quotes) a small orifice and proceeding to (two finger quotes) rip it apart...which in turn means that I wasn’t picking my nose you sick, sick perverts! Seriously, besides Carl, whose freaking penis fits inside someone’s nostril?

-As a result of the warm, dry air generated by my heater, my nasal membranes must be drying out and cracking.

I hate to admit it, but the dry (no pun intended) and boring answer is the most logical one.

If I needed another reason to purchase a humidifier, I got one today. I was in a meeting going over some paperwork when the person I was meeting with slid a sheet of paper in front me. As my attention shifted from the person to the sheet of paper, I effortlessly breathed out a nice noticeable crusty crimson red booger that had a little piece of nose hair in it.

If this meeting were between Batman and Robin, Robin would have said, “Holy hairy bloody booger, Batman!”

To make matters worse, when the nose crusty rocketed out, it just didn’t hit the table and stay there; the thing skipped like a rock hitting water onto the sheet of paper which both of us was now staring at. And even worse than that, the booger was on her half of the table, and since we were going over this sheet together, I couldn’t just grab the sheet to wipe the booger off.

So the colorful textured booger stayed on the plain white sheet of paper for the rest of the meeting.

...Rack up another awkward Erwin moment provided by yours truly.

Happy Hallmark Holiday!

Lyrics from You and Me by Lifehouse:

What day is it
And in what month
This clock never seemed so alive
I can't keep up and I can't back down
I've been losing so much time

Cause it's you and me and all of the people
With nothing to do, nothing to lose
And it's you and me and all of the people and
I don't know why I can't keep my eyes off of you

All of the things that I want to say
Just aren't coming out right
I'm tripping on words, you got my head spinning
I don't know where to go from here

Cause it's you and me and all of the people
With nothing to do, nothing to prove
And it's you and me and all of the people and
I don't know why I can't keep my eyes off you

Something about you now
I can't quite figure out
Everything she does is beautiful
Everything she does is right

Cause it's you and me and all of the people
With nothing to do, nothing to lose
And it's you and me and all of the people and
I don't know why I can't keep my eyes off of

You and me and all of the people
With nothing to do, nothing to prove and
It's you and me and all of the people and
I don't know why I can't keep my eyes off of you

What day is it
And in what month
This clock never seemed so alive

Happy Valentine's Day...

-Do not send flowers to anywhere in Washington state. After two years of sending flowers (or at least attempting to) on Valentine's Day, the only one who gets surprised always seems to be me:

Me: So...did you get anything today?
The Chosen One: Nope.
Me: What! Nothing in the mail or on front of the door???
TCO: Nope.
Me: (in my head) Awwwww, (madlib), son of a (madlib), piece of (madlib), not again
Me: (out loud) Ummm, ok. I'll talk to you later.
Me: (in my head) Heads are going to roll...

I digress...I think TV should replace the "bleep" sound with the voice of the guy that you always seem to hear in movie trailers saying "madlib". With bleeps you know it's gonna be some fucking ass shitty bitch swear word. By saying, "madlib" it makes for more interactive TV.

-Before I go any further, Valentine's Day is indeed a Jewish Hallmark holiday. It's just another way to line the pockets of those money grubbing Hallmark bastards. The only reason why I recognize Valentine's Day is, well, I believe in the Holocaust. Wait...before I get e-mails from durkah durkah organizations to join their terrorist cells, let me clarify...I believe that the Holocaust did happen. However, I do not believe that all those people should have been killed. Just some.

-When I was looking for a card, there was this guy also looking for a card. While I was looking carefully and reading what each said for the perfect one, this guy looked at a few card covers, made a seemingly hasty choice and walked off to the register. I do not have a wedding band around my finger; he did. Is there a rule out there in the guys' handbook that states that if a presumably married man is in the act of purchasing a Valentine's Day card that was selected in the section where the card recipient is a man (specifically, "Love: For My Husband"), that another man should warn him to at least take a look at the card to make sure that it's appropriate? Heh, in this day and age, you never know...

-What's worse than spending Valentine's Day alone? Spending it with your parents. In a casino. And listening to them talk about slot machines like they're people. (Example: "The slot machines don't give you anything until 9 PM because there aren't enough people who give them money before then")...Thanks for the enlightenment, I get it now. You give the slot machine enough money, and at night it gives you something back. And I take it that when it gives you something back, you're very excited and happy. Wait a minute...are we talking about slots? Because this sounds more like we're talking about sluts.

-About the card I picked out...I guess Hallmark did some card analysis and there's one card in particular that was picked out the most in different cities around the country. It was the same card I picked out! After spending a good 30 minutes looking at cards, it was like they knew what I was gonna pick all along. It's kinda like that number game where you pick a number and then you add a number to it and then multiply it by some factor, then subtract a number, how everyone ends up with the same number. David Copperfield's Jewish, maybe it's like magic.

Camera!

Karma’s a bitch. Case in point:

After a night of Super Bowl celebrating three years ago, a drunken Carl tripped over himself on the way back to the car. Clumsy Carl…

Bar hopping on President’s Day two years ago, Eric lost his balance and also tripped over himself. Silly Eric…

Last year was supposed to be my turn to trip and fall, but nothing happened. For some reason, I was spared. Or was I?

Karma’s a bitch. And Karma will eventually make you its bitch. And Karma will call you Susie in the process of bitchification (I digress…Or is it bitchisynthesis? No, bitchisynthesis is the onset of menstruation when women go from plain crazy to psycho nuts).

What goes around does indeed come around, and if it doesn’t come right away, be afraid…be very afraid…because all The Powers That Be are doing is stroking themselves a few more times for an even greater money shot between the eyes, your eyes, all for the sake of some divine shits and giggles at your expense.

Karma’s a bitch. Trust me. I now know.

It’s the morning of Super Bowl Sunday, and Carl, Eric and I go fishing. Even though the sun’s out, it’s still February and it’s freaking cold. The river where we are to go fishing is higher than normal, and because of that, we get from one side of land to the other by crossing on a fallen tree trunk.

This is not where I fall. One Power That Be must have told another Power That Be to stroke slower for the time being…

We all cross safely, and a few yards up ahead, Carl says to head to higher ground because the muddy river bank is too slippery to walk through. But in my case, his advice was too little, too late.

Karma’s a bitch. And here comes the money shot…

Kerplunk.



Like the giant turd you dropped this morning from last night’s bean burrito dinner, I slipped on the muddy bank and fell into the river. From the shoulders down, I was submerged under ice cold water. From the neck up, I was feeling the frigid weather more than ever. I don’t know about all those levels that Dante’s hell had, but I do know that there are at least two levels of hell in Tennessee.

Karma’s a bitch. And at the moment, Carl and Eric are its best friends.

This is where the comedy begins…

As soon as I hit the water, I was thinking about the piece of expensive gadgetry around my neck, my non-waterproof 30X zoom digital camera. While most people in freezing waters would scream, “Help!” I couldn’t help but scream, “Camera!”

And being the good friends and quick thinkers that they are, Carl and Eric turned around, saw me in the water, and…grabbed my hand their cameras and started taking pictures of me struggling in the water to get out. I yelled, “Camera!” again, this time raising it up so that Carl and Eric saw it and would hopefully understand to take it up to higher ground. Instead, Eric reached for my camera and tried to take pictures of me with it still in the river trying to get out. It wasn’t until I yelled, “I can’t feel my nuts,” when they finally tried to get me out. I guess a man’s life isn’t in danger until his manhood is being threatened.

Yet another memorable Carl, Eric and Erwin Three Amigo moment…

Super Bowl celebration at The Playing Field


BTW - my camera no longer works. Help me preserve the good times through taking pictures by donating to the Erwin Needs a New Camera Drive by clicking the button on the right. Thanks for your generosity!

Three Amigos in Tennessee: Day Two

Jack Daniels Tour in the morning



Three Men and a Baby in the afternoon


Some observations:

-Carl's bare ass in your face will get anyone in a coma out of bed

-You can't make good French toast from wheat bread. At least Eric can't

-Tennessee mountain men are direct descendants of Gimli from Lord of the Rings

-There's always at least one German tourist on the Jack Daniels tour

-Bringing a baby into a Tennessee restaraunt attracts nothing but the ugliest women Tennessee has to offer

-Chess pie is good. Too bad no one in the entire state of Tennessee knows what's in it

-Number of people who invited us to their grandma's for dinner in one restaraunt sitting: 2

-Using restarunt road rules type rules, what movie do three flaming hetro's randomly choose from Carl's library? Highway Men

-To stink up a car, ask Eric to fart. To stink up a shirt that someone's wearing, ask Carl to fart. To have an entire floor of a house rebuilt - that's my alley

For pics of the entire trip, click here.