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Friday, April 29, 2005

The Time I Got 'Felt Up'

Here I go again on my own
goin' down the only road I've ever known.
Like a drifter I was born to walk alone.
An' I've made up my mind, I ain't wasting no more time.

So ah…

You guys want to hear about the time I was ‘felt-up’ by my old friend’s mother (?).
**blank stare**

What-do ya think it’s going to be penthouse type material?

Alright. **frowns**

I must start out that it’s not easy living day after day knowing that you’re buddy’s Mother felt you up. I mean everyday is such a struggle and no one ever understands.

I spend my nights crying and masturbating simultaneously as a daily reminder of this one unforgettable day (which I forgot until Hog reminded me).

No one understands that lying down on the couch in tighty-whities, eating Doritos, all while watching public access TV every Saturday afternoon is the way I cope with such an emotional scar.

Those eating contests--yup, related to D’s mom feeling me up.
Peeing off that balcony--felt up
Befriending Hog--felt up

I’ve always wanted to tell people, but…I figured I just deserved it.

I was going to tell my parents, but it’s just to humiliating. What am I gonna say,
“Dad, D’s mom felt me up and now I’m emotionally fragile.” ?

It all starts out in 1997 when I was cleaning dishes from some spaghetti fund raiser where the scouts (H, I’m warning you!) were serving people spaghetti at $10 a plate (the money was going to fund our troop).

So it’s all wrapped up and I’m washing the mountain of dishes from everyone that attended. I’m totally in the dish cleaning zone until I feel a short little tug on my right back pocket.

I’m an ignorant sonofabitch, so I didn’t even turn around at first, but the tugging continued and was becoming more aggressive AND DEEPER. I turned around agitated and blurted out angrily,
“What the hell?” It was D’s Mom fumbling around in my back pocket.
“What are you doing?” I asked irritated.

“I’m just ah, I just gotta make sure you receive your mint” and she continues to fumble around in my back pocket.

I was completely stunned and looking around to see if anyone else was watching Ms. F coping a feel off of me.
No one.

I finally turned completely around and angrily asked,
“Are you all right? You could’ve just given me the mint!”

And that was that.

I washed the rest of the dishes weeping like the prototypical man’s man. I was humiliated and my emotional scars still remain to this day.

The scab was peeled on Saturday.
How’s that?

Did that give ya all the info you needed?

Moral: Don't let you're friends parents feel you up. (The more you know)

Good weekends everyone.

Thursday, April 28, 2005

Idea: Personal Pamphlets

Yes, I'm dead loose
from the noose that's kept me hanging around.
I'm just, uh, livin' on the side 'cause it's gettin' me high,
forget the hearse cause I never die.
I got nine lives, cat's eyes,
each and evry one of them is wondrin why

Let me explain.

I must come right out and say it. For those of you that know me you probably don’t know that you're on probation. Everyone I know of (friends AND family) currently is on a one-year probationary term, which is iron clad. The probationary term never ends unless a full year has gone by and we have not contacted each other in any way. In this case you have been filed in the “old face” category.

Lets face it, if we haven’t seen each other in a year then we don’t value our current friendship because if we did we’d get together and have scones or something. I firmly believe this because it pains me to talk to the people that have been filed away. In fact, I will go out of my way NOT to talk to these people.
Like so,
Last Saturday before that concert I had to shave my head. Everything’s going fine until I turn on the razor and it’s not working right. I just shaved half my hair until I realized that I need to purchase another shaver from Walgreens.

So I put on the one pair of sweatpants and the closest t-shirt I could find just so I can look like a decent burnout as opposed to a terrible looking junkie.

I get to Walgreens wearing my cap so no one can see the masterpiece beneath it when I find my old buddy Steve. Steve has been a life long pal and although we don’t talk as much as we used to, we still catch up every three months or so to see what’s new. We’re talking in front of Walgreens and everything is comfortable and listenable until I saw the most frightening person I have possibly ever seen.

The feeling of complete shock wrapped in horror and terror left me with the urge to come up with something, anything that would get me away from this situation. I saw her shut her car door when my wind was knocked out like someone punched me in the back.

Suddenly I wasn’t interested in the conversation with Steve anymore. I was fixed on the two-legged hell that was about to come and suffocate me in the verbal form of the worst, longest and most annoying Christmas card ever received.

It was the mother of a friend from a LONG time ago and I knew she would want to hug and ‘catch-up’ seeing as we haven’t seen each other in over five years. Time was in slow motion as I watched her walk toward us and finally recognize both of her “kids”.

She used to call me and Steve her “kids” from back in the nineties because the three of us were in scouts for so long and she would play the annoying mother and tag along with everything. It was annoying.

Should I run? Ugh, I can’t it would be too obvious and I’m talking to Steve.
Should I try and ignore her? Can’t she knows Steve and she would recognize me in no time.

I was trapped. There was nothing I could do.

I watched her pacing toward us when her face brightened up and she started to make a scene in front of Walgreens and says this,
“TOM! Oh wow what a surprise! Huh huh, Whoa, looks like you put on a couple pounds!” To

which I rolled my eyes and replied,

On the outside it was more like,
Berg: Oh ha ha, (rolls eyes) yeah I guess I am. So…

At this point Steve was long gone after his quick greeting and I was stuck talking to her for about 10 minutes. Ten minutes I can’t ever have back.
None of that awkwardness was necessary if I had a pamphlet and the acceptable behavior of me walking the fuck away.

Oh how I hate talking to old faces. This woman’s probation has definitely been up for awhile now and I would kill a little baby deer just to avoid talking to her.
Instead of talking to her I could’ve just handed her a personal pamphlet to get the same point across with less emotional distress.

The pamphlet is brilliant! It gives all the annoying information that you have to tell old faces and you don’t have to sit and talk to them.

In this pamphlet will be,
-Where you live
-Where you go/went to school and date of graduation
-Who your gf/bf/spouse
-A very brief line about the other people in your family
-Where you work
-Future plans

Throw in a couple pictures and you have a introverts masterpiece.

So when you see someone you really don’t want to talk to, just hand them a personal pamphlet and walk the hell away. You save the time and awkwardness of having to talk/greet them and the general message comes across.

Back to the probation talk.
The clock is ticking and every time I see you guys, the year is automatically reset from that day. Once the year ends and still no contact, then it will take a series of steps for which I will talk about another day.

Throughout the year the status of the person changes from good friend to friend to strong acquaintance to a genuine acquaintance to weak acquaintance and finally the old face.
Once the ‘old face’ status is set, the pamphlets start coming out and there’s never any conversation given-NEVER.

Life would be a little easier and I would be leader of the introverts!

Wednesday, April 27, 2005

A New Beginning

You better run all day and run all night.
And keep your dirty feelings deep inside.
And if you're taking your girlfriend out tonight
You better park the car well out of sight.

After days and days of research, driving, and frustration I have finally found my laptop. For the last couple weeks I have I driven to Best Buy only to be shut-out by my conscience. I pretty much know half the geek squad in Best Buy by now and I could pretty much run a better service than those guys.

I pretty much had to “meet”--as in shake hands and greet--almost everyone in the computer department because apparently with all my stops at Best Buy, I must be a bit of a celebrity by now.
“Hey that’s him. Over there with the 5 o’clock shadow yelling at the gatekeeper--that’s him!”

So I take this bad boy home and dropkick my other comp in my hallway so I can start toying around with it‘s replacement. As I’m playing around with my new toy I happened to glace at my old computer thrown haphazardly in my hallway. Then I looked longingly at my balcony.
All the times before when I talked about throwing my computer out my balcony was a joke because what kind of barbarian throws cheap-ass Gateway computers out of a third story balcony?

This time I really was considering it. If it wasn’t for the ultimately crappy day we had and my conscience telling me that there’s hazardous materials in there, it’d be in a thousand cathartic pieces.

The worst part about it is that I didn’t buy the BEST laptop out there either, more of a mid-lower end unit and this computing experience is just apples and oranges compared to that old thing.

I even got the backpack, so now I can act like I am putting together some spreadsheet that contains millions of dollars of input when I’m really just rating other people’s poop.
It’s the glasses that tip people off because what kind of person rates poop that wears glasses all while tapping away at his laptop?

Yeah, this thing is smarter than I am. I keep getting these Terminator-like fantasies where my lappy get’s all pissed off and starts chasing me while chomping down continuously. Then there’s the nightmare of this thing turning into a buddy, but then turning on me by taking over my body and eventually my lifestyle! So if you ever see a laptop suckling my nipples, you might want to start asking questions.

If such situation came true, I’m sure my old trusty Gateway would try to ward off the evil HP 1000. That is, if that whole mess took longer than 34 minutes--the time it takes for the Gateway to load properly.

One thing I noticed is that I probably wont be using floppy discs anymore. Hey, it was the only way I could transfer files back home from work.

Oh, it’s too painful. Where did all the time go?

Monday, April 25, 2005

Concert Review: Patty Griffin

You're clean as a widow woman's washboard, son,
stick it in the wind.
Put the mountains to your back
the great plains on your grille
time to take a little spin.

Over the past couple months I have been strung out on the musical equivalent of heroin that is the music of Patty Griffin.

I have the unusual tendancy in music to latch on to a particular group or artist and hold on until something new comes out or I lose interest. I had my huge B.A. phase which led to Def Leppard (which are basically the same musician), then it was a long, LONG 4 year hardcore phase of Pink Floyd.
Then came the hippy years of Sarah Mclachlan, Sinead Lohan, Cowboy Junkies, and Pearl Jam, which eventually led me to P. Griffen.

Unfortunately through my “phases” all I ever want to hear is that particular ‘band of the month/year’ and it usually takes months after months of constantly hearing the same albums when I finally choose another one.

Patty Griffen is definitely the taste of the month since I eventually picked up all four of her albums and only the Junkies have been able to infiltrate my play list.

After reading the tour news on her website, I found out that the closest she’ll get to the Twin Cities is Madison, WI. I thought about it for a long time on whether I should go or not.
I figured…
-It was on a Saturday and I don’t ever have that many open days to see a concert
-I haven’t seen a concert since S. Mclachlan in September
-I always enjoy touring 4th world countries like Wisconsin.
-I haven’t had a long road trip since Sodak.
-It was going to be a beautiful moonlit night
-It was probably going to be a “smart crowd” with a small chance for drunken idiots
-It was a small venue (less than 1000 seats)
-I needed some beer

-Tickets were only $25.
-I haven’t seen those crazy psychos from Illinois that race through Wisco at 90mph for a long time now. (God bless them crazy bastards!)
-Traveling in Wisco is definitely a character building adventure

So I decided to take a little Saturday night venture to Madison.

Never again.

When I got to Madison (I was making great time, GREAT TIME!) I sat down and started brainstorming on how the crowd was going to act because I want to prepare myself for any dumbasses…whatever--I explained it all yesterday.

Then it hit me.

Wait, I’m in Wisconsin (home of beer), on a Saturday night, in MADISON which is always home of one of the top three party schools in the US

(Congrats UofW **clap……………………………………………clap**).

The warm up band started, which was just an accordionist in front of Griffin’s band (it’s funny now that I think of it). Once the lights went out the ambiance of the place was in full effect. They have twinkling stars in the theatre ceiling that gives the venue more of a surreal feeling.

After the warm-up came about 45 boring ass minutes of…nothing. Usually this time is to prepare the instruments and the setup on stage, but….all the warm up act was, was one lone accordionist. I just figured it was going to be a good twenty minutes for a prompt start at 9pm.
Nope, more like 9:25.

Griffin’s percussionist was what stood out at first because he had a silly fresh beat (sorry I had to say it) and he wasn’t using the traditional drums. Then I was afraid that I would get this half-assed version of Griffin’s voice because some performers simply don’t care or their voice is a shredded mess after months of touring. Nah, Griffin’s voice was awesome and she was belting out some good stuff like “throw love a line” “Standing” and “When it don’t come easy”.

The crowd was great until one drunken female fanatic wouldn’t shut up in-between songs. Griffin even was a little uncomfortable by the yelling.

Then Griffin would say stuff like, “It’s really great being here in the land of beer and cheese”, which everyone starts screaming over the OBVIOUS common ground attempt. It’s interesting going to concert away from home because the artist will say something and I’ll be like, “pfff, yeah Madison… woo-fuckin-hoo”.

The show went great, but it was a little short ending at 10:40pm, which is pretty damn weak givin that she has four albums out. It’s especially weak given that she didn’t even play ‘Mary’. Then I was hoping she would stay afterwards for a meet and greet so she’d sign my cd, but no. Usually the smaller acts like a lil’ bullshittin in the lobby.

Wade in the Water / solo
No Bad News
When it Don't Come Easy
Love Throw a Line
Useless Desires
The Long Ride ? / solo
Up or Down / piano
The Kite Song / piano
Making Pies
Top of the World
Silver Bell
Tony ? / solo

Tears of a Clown
Getting Ready


Whatever, then came the ride home…. **sigh**. I didn’t realize how long four hours is until that night. Wow, there came a time where I had so much Mt. Dew in me that I was screaming for a good two minutes. Then I had an emergency trip to the restroom because that Mt. Dew was about to blow out my urethra like Mt. St. Helens.

Then about 100 miles from home I pretty much felt like a zombie. I was fully awake, not a yawn to my name, but it was like I could step outside my body and sit in the passenger seat—So I had to stop again.

I finally came through my door at 3:15pm without hitting a deer and ready for bed.
Twas a pretty good concert experience all together though.

I’ll give it a solid A-

Berg's NFL Draft Grades

Red lights are flashing on the highway
I wonder if we're gonna ever get home
I wonder if we're gonna ever get home tonight

Minnesota Vikings: F
Green Bay Packers: F
Los Angeles Raiders: F
Mel Kiper Jr.: F; Chris Berman F; Torry Holt F; ESPN F;
Cardinals, Aaron Rodgers, NFL, Scooter McGruder, Jumpy Gathers, Paul Tagliabue, 6 goddamn hours: F! F! F!!!!!!!!


I HATE the stupid NFL Draft. It’s the most boring piece of over-rated crap I have ever heard of. I spent 1.5 hours sitting in front of the tv just too see endless amounts of speculation and only five guys being drafted. FIVE!

Oh my sweet lord, how can anyone stand to watch that? How can 4,000 people enjoy themselves at Winter Park? It’s scary.

The crap list for today is dedicated toward concerts because music concerts are the source of endless amounts of crap. For me, the more anticipated the artist, the more annoyed I get.

1. T-shirts
Talk about gouging the fans. You have a band or performer that clearly wouldn’t be where they are without their lifeblood: the fans. So the fans finally get to see their performer of choice and T-shirts are $30, $40? These T’s are also made with the cheapest material from some slave labor camp in Asia--s’cuse me, the BEST slave labor camp in Asia.
I especially like how the shirts date themselves by putting the current year so if you wear it next year, people know how old the shirt is.
When I’m a performer, T’s are only gonna be $15 (start saving!).

2. The crazy drunk’s that can’t shut up
Once the first couple notes of a particular popular song are played all the girls start screaming and the guys start hooting.
If you like the song some much, wouldn’t you want to listen to the whole song? Even the first couple notes? This is especially annoying during acoustic songs because, dammit, SHUT UP!

I will be the first to admit that I hate audience participation because I didn’t come for the audience, I came for the performer. When the crowd starts singing Wish You Were Here, I wanna tear everyone’s throat out because the crowd sounds terrible. You have these women who are over anxious and drunk guys both combining their loud vocals and when the numbers are in the thousands, I just want to throw up.

3. “Thanks everyone! We’ll see you again!”
When you know they’re just going to grab a beer, smoke a deathstick, or lie down for a bit.
I hate it! They blow kisses to the crown and the band members follow suit only to return in about 3 minutes to play their ‘best of the best’.

I would feel much better if they could just say,
“yeah, thanks. I gotta go rest for a couple minutes. I’ll be back in three minutes. Keep cheering though!”

Instead everyone’s cheering them on for the obvious encore. Now if the houselights were on and the encore didn’t seem as obvious, I would be all for it!

4. Identical setlists
How the hell can an artist day-in and day-out play the same damn songs in the same rotation over and over again? Maybe I’m just too used to Pearl Jam’s daily setlist switchup, but it just seems appropriate to change things up on a nightly basis.
How can a concert not be “canned” if the same order of songs are performed?
I’m sure the artist has the concerts length down to the minute.

5. “Please step on back and buy some CD’s”
Wow, what a damn whore! People paid twenty bucks to see ya and you tell people to buy your shit.
I find that appalling!

Tomorrow I’ll give you the scoop of Patty Griffin live from Madison. Not that any of the above has anything to do with it.

Thursday, April 21, 2005

I'm Losing My Love of Sports

Hey, hey, mama,
said the way you move,
gonna make you sweat,
gonna make you groove.

For the first time in about fifteen years it appears that sports has surpassed my general attention. I don’t know what happened or where my marginal interest is going towards, but specifically the sports of baseball and football are passing me by.

I say this because the NFL draft is coming up and everyone is treating this like it’s the damn Superbowl. Whereas I feel it’s just completely over hyped, boring, and mildly stupid because in football the most highly touted players can easily be nothing but wash-ups. I mean I enjoy the NFL and especially the Vikings, but I couldn’t care less about who they’re going to draft on Saturday.

This year there are mock drafts EVERYWHERE and a mock draft is nothing more than a string of predictions and make-believe because who really knows who’s going to be drafted? Then you have the huge draft experts whose mock drafts change on a daily basis because…I guess players lose their stock while they’re watching tv or living their life?

I think next year I will design my own website where I will have “exclusive” mock drafts and load the site full of fantasy football crap. That’s the business to get into: fantasy football.
The most dumbassed football rube would actually pay $20 to see some other dumbass’s guesses on the upcoming year.

It seems like the last two months have been nothing but NFL draft talk about these here parts. HOW MUCH CAN SOMEONE TALK ABOUT NOTHING, ABOUT SPECULATION?

It’s WAY beyond me.

Then fantasy baseball—this is a topic where I am more disappointed in myself. When did this start becoming a fad? I always remember those complete sabermetric nerds always playing fantasy baseball in high school but now everyone’s playing. I know I can’t pay attention to the Twins everyday let alone how Timo Perez is doing.

Then the NBA playoffs are starting and I…have nothing to add after that.

I may be turning into an adult?

Pffff yeah right.

Wednesday, April 20, 2005

Pope Boof I

And after a while, you can work on points for style
Like the club tie, and the firm handshake
A certain look in the eye, and an easy smile
You have to be trusted by the people that you lie to
So that when they turn their backs on you
You'll get the chance to put the knife in.

July 2048 Sistine Chapel, Vatican City

After forty years of spiting my mother by climbing up the ladder of Catholicism, I am now ever so close to being the next pope. For forty years I have clawed my way up the Catholic ladder using tradition as the center of all my teachings. I have had my share of lucky breaks I call personal miracles and I even performed a miracle along the way.
I am now one miracle short of being a full-fledged saint. My other fellow cardinals have chosen me number one in the fantasy cardinal-to-saint draft held each year before Christmas.

I started out despising the religion for the first 26 years of my life after my mother insisted that I attend church regularly and participate in year after year of religion class. As hard as teachers tried, they couldn’t make me sit still and keep me quiet.

After I was confirmed I would never to return to church again until I saw the light in February 6 of 2006. It wasn’t until about 9:42pm when I saw the unbelievable 85 yard pass from Daunte Culpepper and the even more incredible catch in the end zone by Kelly Campbell, which clinched Superbowl XL for the Vikings. The game was the miracle of miracles because the Vikings were down 54-0 heading into the forth quarter when somehow God shed his light into the domed Ford Field and onto the Vikings as they came back for the 55-54 triumph over the Patriots.

From that day on, I rediscovered a supreme faith that had been misplaced for some time. I immediately went into theological study with my newly found mentor, father Hershel. I remember the first time I met Father Hershel when he stepped in the library as I was reading the Bible and asked,
“My son, I have never seen anyone reading the Bible in this library before. What’s the occasion?”
“I am studying to become a priest like yourself. Would you have any advice?” and the friendship started from there.

My mental strength and potential in my newly found faith was very strong and I figured since I was already celibate (not by choice), the battle was halfway won.

I remember the oneday I asked him about his name,
“Say, isn’t Hershel a Jewish name?” He was surprised by the odd—but honest--question. His eyes frantically looked around the room and he calmly said,

”No it isn’t.”
I never asked again.

I made my final vows and was finally a priest, and quite a successful one at that. My congregation was the only one to be taught by the music of Pink Floyd and I was the only priest to ever use the word ‘sucks’ during ash Wednesday service.

My congregation was a wild success and I raised well over 20 million dollars in the nine years I was at the helm.

Eventually I was appointed bishop by Pope Pius XIV.

My crowning moment as a bishop was promoting my “slap a queer” movement that dramatically decreased confused youths of “coming out”.

I was then appointed a cardinal by the same Pope Pius XIV in 2039. As I new cardinal I was quickly compared to the new Canadian cardinal Lycradog (who was appointed the same day as I). Everywhere I went, cardinal Lycradog would watch and try to one up me. When I was chief of the censorship committee, he would then beg to be on the cardinal committee of condemnation. It all was for the Catholic grand prize, to be the head of the faith.

It was competitive for about four years until cardinal lycradog was, hands down, the more supreme cardinal.

I was as down and out as a cardinal could be. I thought it was hopeless until I met one little boy in the small town of Laculo just outside of Rome. The little boy was very sick and the townspeople asked me to pray for the little boy with a noticeable bulge on his head. It was believed to be a cancerous tumor and as I approached the boy I didn’t know what to do except pray and flick his forehead…because—hey, why not?

The next day the bulge was gone and the child was playing in the streets of Laculo. The townspeople started shouting, “A miracle has been achieved!”
Soon the word spread like wildfire and with it I became a wild celebrity in the cardinal circle. I even made it onto the front page of 'Cardinal Weekly'!

Cardinal Lycradog wasn’t fazed though, he already had his huge success heading the committee of condemnation.

Unfortunately Pope Pius XIV passed away a short time later in 2048, just about a week ago and now all 214 cardinals are filing into the Sistine Chapel to elect the new leader.

Cardinal Lycradog is the favorite with all the popularity he’s had over the years and I am nowhere near the top 20 on the list.

Before the official conclave, cardinal Lycradog is prancing around the Chapel like he’s already the new Pope. He’s already been fitted for the gown and it’s almost a done deal.
A done deal that is, until the actual election.

As the cardinals sit in their thrones underneath the famous work of art the ballots are placed in front of us.

“Eligo in summum Pontificem Rev. mum D. Meum D. Card [Berg]” I write on the ballot because—hey, I wanna be Pope!

Little did I know that 134 fellow cardinals would share that sentiment and I would be crowned the next Pope.

As the canopies over the thrones are lowered, I figured my canopy was broken since it wouldn’t’ go down. Then the Dean came over and asked if I wanted to be pope.
I reply with a “Good Lord YES!” and I’m immediately escorted into the room of tears where I am pumping my 68-year-old fists and using numerous hockey celebrations that I remembered from 2004—the final year of the NHL. Cardinal Lycradog is now all red in the face and is fuming over losing this election.

After I dress in my new attire, I immediately sent to the window overlooking St. Peter’s square where a couple billion people are anticipating the new Pope.

I choose the name: Pope Boof I which is already receiving major criticism but I don’t care, I’m the damn pope!

I step outside the window with the weight of seven continents and a couple billion Catholics cheering on their new Pope Boof I.

Hey, it could happen!

Tuesday, April 19, 2005

Some Movies Shouldn't Be Made

And he says, "What do you love to do?
Outside your world,
Who spends time with you
From whom do you learn when you're not working... Sweet Girl....

I had to run backwards into a couple different brick walls in order to gain back the humility I had before yesterdays post.

I’m alright now.

At midnight when I get home from work I usually grab a beer, restart my computer, shout quiet and insulting profanities towards my comp in the half hour it takes for it to load, and turn on the HBO.

Last week I saw a movie that has left my consciousness for years. This was a movie that –8 years ago—I regarded as a “good” movie and now…well it’s not the same.

This is a movie that was riding the huge wave of one of John Travolta’s comebacks.

This movie is called Face/Off and it's complete dogshit.

Where do I begin….?

John Travolta is the protagonist: A struggling family man, big shot cop, and has some emotional issues.
Nicolas Cage is the antagonist: a screwed up murderer who wants to kill people.

Cage knows about a bomb and is in a coma. Travolta needs to know where this bomb is.
Here lies the problem.
Solution: Change the faces. Put the comatose Cage’s face onto the body of Travolta. Then Travolta will be able to play the role of Cage hence Face/Off (get it bwahaha).

With such a transformation, voice boxes reflecting the original voice is implanted. Sounds like something I made up!

Anyway as Cage is lying comatose, he wakes up and starts calling his posse….because they just leave cell phones in hospital rooms with minimal security for highly dangerous murderers—I don’t know.

He calls the doctor in and the doctor changes his face to Travolta’s.
Meanwhile Travolta is playing Cage’s part inside the maximum-security prison and no one can tell the difference. (because we wouldn’t have a movie otherwise)

So as the two are living in each other’s worlds, none of their loved ones can tell the difference because—Hey, if the face is right it’s all good!
I guess Travolta has Cage’s exact love handles and Cage has Travolta’s dingle berries. And they both must have the exact same body type because no one, NO ONE can tell the difference.

Alright so this movie has an annoying plot hole.

Travolta breaks out of the maximum-security prison and gaurds are gunned down as if Travolta is playing Time Crisis II or something. Travolta kills a bunch of guards, starts a riot with prisoners, and breaks out.

Then comes the big shoot out between Travolta and Cage with the slow motion camera shots and the doves flying as the black dressed Travolta enters the scene. (NICE symbolism btw. Might as well just tell everyone in subtitles what the scene is alluding to).

So during the gunfight we see tons of choreography, slow motions slides, and the glorious poses by Travolta.

That wastes a good fifteen minutes and then they find a couple speedboats in a near empty harbor on a pretty decent day—go figure. Now they’re chasing each other with these high-powered speedboats that just happen to be absent mindedly tied off somewhere.

It was at this point where I jumped to my computer and was looking to see what sort of part Jerry Bruckheimer had in this movie because if you need to make a completely horrible fucking movie, Jerry B is the guy to talk to. Bruckheimer has a glorified history of producing turd-burger movies like Coyote Ugly (minus the women) and his crowning achievement in Pearl Harbor. Need I go on?

But no, this movie had nothing to do with Bruckheimer, it was John Woo who directed it. Now THAT makes sense--the guy who directed the crap known as Mission Impossible 2. The movie where, in terms of plot, ANYTHING can happen!

Back to the movie: now they both end up on one boat while the other careens over toward another stationary boat and ends up blowing up sky high…because we all know a spark justsohappend to ignite the fuel tank.

Blah,blah,blah The end.

Apprently no one cares that the real Travolta killed a bunch of guards breaking out of prison and he even adopts Cage’s kid…because--fuck, I don’t know.

I think this movie will make my personal list of Stupidest Goddamn Movies Ever alongside: Reign of Fire, Rules of Engagement, Mission Impossible 2, and The Day After Tomorrow.

Now I am watching Phone Booth and, although I haven’t watched the first 25 minutes, this could make the list someday as well!

Monday, April 18, 2005

By The Way...

Buying bread from a man in Brussels
He was six foot four and full of muscles
I said, "Do you speak-a my language?"
He just smiled and gave me a vegemite sandwich

I have actually had Vegemite before. It's like ass paste.

Nicolas Cage will need to wait because…

If I was a humble man—a man that could take something of notoriety and not tell anyone because ‘I don’t need the press’.
If I were a man to achieve something as brilliant—no, heroic as to find Internet superhighway notoriety and walk steely eyed past a posse of ‘hotties’ without even using the obvious lines.
If I was so dignified as to not even tell my loved ones of great—no, spectacular accomplishments that would allow me to barely even give a grin if I was the Citypages “Minnesota Blog of the Day” (4/15/05) for my "About a Dumbass" post.
If I were a quiet man I wouldn’t tell you of such critical acclaim.
I wouldn’t need to.
Good lord no.
If I was a true man of wisdom, I wouldn’t need to brag about such accolades.

But I’m not so,


**raises arms out wide and grins in the most arrogant way possible**

Wud up now bitches?

Now I wouldn’t be making a stink about this if it were Cat Fancy or “Look Who’s Doing the Wave Weekly!”, but I will actually read the Citypages whenever I venture deep into Maplewood. I mean where else can I find single women who have a smorgasbord of venereal diseases AND likes to have bologna slapped on their ass? (It’s usually one or the other.)

Citypages is the ultimate wrapping paper for Cd’s and DVD’s too.

Go back to “Great Moments in Gift Wrapping History” and you will note that I used the Citypages (with a link!).

Will I let this get to my head? Probably.

When my boss comes up to me and asks ‘why the hell my project is late and over budget’, I’ll reply with,
“Do you understand that you’re talking to the blogmaster of the MBOD 4/15/05? Now shut the fuck up and give me a goddamn raise you horses ass!”

Then I would get that raise and he’d never tell me off ever again.
The end

Did Dick Trickle ever get “Minnesota Blog of the Day 4/15/05”?
Did Leonardo Da Vinci ever get “Minnesota Blog of the Day 4/15/05”?
Did H ever get “Minnesota Blog of the Day 4/15/05”?

I rest my case.

Tomorrow, I’ll talk about Nicolas Cage. I swear!

Sunday, April 17, 2005

Networks O' Crap

Whatcha doin' with a suitcase
Tryin' to hit the ground with both feet runnin'
Aren't you trippin' on your shoelace

I was sucked into watching the Sureal life on VH1—the one with the brady, the GoGo, and Da Brat. In every episode these ‘has beens’ have to either get drunk and make out with someone or follow an activity already put into place by the VH1 production staff.

This one episode I was watching involved every person (7 in all I think) to pitch an idea in front of the VH1 executive for a new VH1 show with the winner actually having the show go through.


Does anyone else find this interesting? Interesting in terms of “How long can VH1 continue on with this crap” type of interesting.

They had all sorts of ideas: celebrity chariot racing; marrying a Brady in two weeks; and tag team fucking or something. The winner was Da Brat’s Brutally Honest show where she would ‘tell it like it is’.

Why doesn’t VH1 and/or MTV both just put a hot teeny-bopper girl and a pack of hungry wolves in a small room for 24 hours with Mariah Carey’s music behind it and call it reality tv. That’s just about how cheap things are becoming.
“Ah since we can film a show and pay a celeb creator a fraction of what a real creator would demand, let’s kill two birds with one stone!”

Why not have a show where you take all the popular, celebrity woman and have someone wash their face to see what they really look like. I call this show Two Faced!

Why not show a hottie pigging out at a buffet? I call it ‘Hottie Pigging Out at a Buffet’.

Speaking of bad channels…

I remember when ESPN was the actual leader in sports. When they did seem to have objective reporting and analysts. When they wouldn’t make up their own stories.

A. The NBA coverage
When NBC was in it’s last years covering the NBA I was glad because I was getting sick of how they would always have the Lakers and Blazers on just about every Sunday unless the Knicks and Pacers were on. That and the subtle kissing up they would do to the league.
I was glad because I liked ESPN’s baseball coverage at the time and I thought they would do a good job.

WRONG! ESPN with Steven A. Smith and Bill Walton is flat out, unbearable. Smith has to be hard of hearing because he can’t just talk, he yells. Then when it comes to Walton, every game he announces he has his new “best player in the history of the world” playing and he literally talks out of his nose. Also he’s the ugliest motherfucker east AND west of the Mississippi.
Plus, ESPN seems to be the national affiliate of the Cleveland Cavaliers because LeBron is the second coming of Jesus (I swore I heard someone say that one time). LeBron, whos team is currently OUT of the playoffs.
What was especially classy is how they used the Pacer/Piston brawl to sell the rematch on Christmas Day. Nice touch!

B. The Baseball coverage
How many goddamn times do we have to see the Red Sox and Yankees play? Twice is enough for the first two weeks because I understand the rivalry and what happened last year but the season is just two weeks old. I mean April baseball is only a notch above spring training because managers are afraid of their pitching staff, hitters are still finding their groove (or hitting everything coming to them), and we still don’t know much about any of the teams yet.

So maybe, just maybe instead of showing the fifth straight game of Sox/Yankees maybe show the inaugural game of the Nationals. I don’t know, to me it sounds interesting when our nation’s capital--that has been without baseball for 34 years--is now hosting a baseball game.
I was really surprised that THAT particular game was not televised, but maybe LeBron was on or they had to blow up a story about how fans are out of control now.

2. People who don’t get out of the way
You got these fat-assed retards who have to **need to** walk side by side even if there are a half dozen bike riders coming at them; a dozen bike riders who want to pass them; and my badass self when there’s nowhere else to go.
Nothing is going to stop these stubborn fat fucks from talking about how lil Billy can finally take a dump properly or how Earl has a rash on his ass.

What’s worse is WHEN THEY DON’T EVEN TALK!!! What’s the need to walk side-by-side in everyone’s way if you’re not even expressing the need to talk?

3. Billboards around town with an extreme close-up of this mug!
It’s a ridiculous close-up! I try not to call someone ugly unless they’re in the spotlight and they are highly regarded as Hot, or when they are anchoring a news program. Reason being that whenever one is giving the news, they have to be somewhat decent to look at.

This woman is the lead anchor and she is **not** easy on the eyes—in fact she looks like a hunchback on the news desk and…AND she has a deep, DEEP Minnesotan accent. It’s totally Fargo type material. I mean Jesus Christ; I know people do talk exactly how it is portrayed in Fargo, BUT DON’T PUT SOMEONE ON THE NEWS LIKE THAT?
“In tooodays news, dere was a firrre in dat dere Roooseville yah yuuu betcha!”

Going back to that billboard though, talk about keeping your eyes on the road. It’s like you’re driving around the corner and—SWEET MOTHER OF GOD keep those eyes on the double yellow lines!

That or someone should spray paint underneath her mug (if they can withstand being that close) “BIG UGLY SISTER IS WATCHING YOU!”

Tomorrow, I’ll talk about Nicolas Cage and his movies.

Thursday, April 14, 2005

Yup, I'm A Dumbass

it's hard to rely on my good intentions
when my head's full of things that i can't mention
seems i usually get things right
but i can't understand what i did last night

There are certain subjects that are full proof for finding a goldmine of jokes; topics where you could spend hours having the best of times with just about anyone; points of interest that will actually make time fly.

I’m talking about poop and how us, guys, love talking about it. We use it in our everyday speech with,
“Man look at this shit!” or “Man, I just about shatted myself” or “The Civil War was just a complete shit storm”.

Then there was that one time when you were 7 and you were at Disneyworld with your family. You had these awful stomach cramps from eating a pound of cheese curds that your conniving Father bought back at the hotel. You can only walk in agony for so long until you finally persuaded the family to stop everything because you had to roll a heavy deuce.

Twenty minutes later you run out of that shitter with all the joy a seven year old can have because you just survived “The Perfect Storm” (Thanks Hog for reminding me of that shit-tastic movie btw).

There’s always the references to ‘making bears’ or having to take a load off.

Then there’s my personal favorite: The Thunderbucket.

Last night there was a job at work that involved the hardcore cleaners—The same cleaners that clean up homicides, murders, anything and everything.

So it’s 11pm and I have the escort the guy in and I show him the “site” where he should go about his business (zing). In walks in the custodian (a real talkative guy) and we just shoot the shit (zing) for a good half hour in the bathroom while the guy is cleaning it as if it just hit the fan (zing).

Then walks in another custodian (another talkative guy)--basically you could be talking to someone anywhere in the building and these guys will find you like flies on shit (zing).

Now here we are, three grown men hanging out in the restroom watching another guy scooping poop (zing). I tell ya what, it was like a bottomless pit of jokes:
“Hey, did the guy have any corn?”
“Do ya then send that stuff to your ex?
“I usually just stop at one burrito but good lord”
“I bet the dude won the lottery!”
“I bet his wife is preggers!”
“Hey, I gotta poop. Mind if I use the stall next to you and keep you company?”
“You know how people in Ireland say shit, they say shyt!”

Each ending with the most childish laughter you could imagine.

All we needed was some brewski’s and we’d be living it up watching this guy clean the toilet.

What was even more weirder (other than three guys watching another clean a bathroom stall) was that we were giving each other the sickest, funniest anecdotes in between one-liners. Oh man, the stories would make you vomit with laughter. Both of the custodians had children and… good God the stories!

Finally the cleaner was done and he admitted that it was the first time he had an audience (we even applauded the guy afterwards).

And I wonder why I’m single—wait I know, it’s because I’m next in line to get Britney pregnant!

Wednesday, April 13, 2005

About A Dumbass

Another habit says it's in love with you
Another habit says it's long overdue
Another habit like an unwanted friend
I'm so happy with my righteous self

So imagine you’re a guy who dances for a living. You know all the latest moves and the women love you for it. You wear all the John Deere hats, you’ve danced for all the big dancing entertainers and now you’re just the king shit of the dance floor.

Then you make it really big by staring in the movie “You Got Served”, which is probably the dancing equivalent of Rudy or Eternal Sunshine or The Big Lebowski—I don’t know, I don’t watch dancing movies.

So then he meets a woman and starts dating…
Bang, bang… AND SHE’S preggers.

All right, regroup make a note for next time to use something, anything for birth control and embrace your new family and keep working to support this family.

Couple years later,
Bang, bang AND THERE’S another bun in the oven. And now you have another surprise (unless these kids were planned for…which.**shudders**). Now you already have a kid, with another one on the way when you decide,
“Ya know, I need some more space in this relationship. I can’t handle all this stress of maintaining a family with my stellar dancing career.”

(Keep in mind that I don’t know how powerful the Local Dancers’ 2934 Union is, but I doubt they have much of a pull in the market.)

So you take leave from your longtime, pregnant girlfriend of (at least) four years when you meet the new woman of your dreams.

-She’s kinda hot
-She likes dancing
-She’s kinda dumb
-She has that whole ‘I NEED to have a family and NOW’ thing going for her
-She’s kinda hot
-She’s potential job security
-She’ll make me forget about my other two kids with…whoever that girl was.
-She’s the hottest thing in show business (as of 2004)
-And she’ll make me a super popular dancer! “I’ll be the Tony Hawk of dancing!”

So you hang out with her and show her a bunch of bar games, tip your truck drivin’ cap ever so gracefully to the side, and ask her to come up and listen to Maroon 5. She obliges and you sweep her off her feet with these crazy, tricky, funked-out dancing moves when she shows you her crazy, sweet, nasty-girl dance moves until a full fledged ‘dance off’ pursues.

You go first and start dancing as if Satan is coming tomorrow.
Then it’s her turn and she’s dancing like her career is coming to an end.
Then it’s your turn again and you’re onto your “best of” dance routine.
Then, with her amazement, she starts giving you her “best of” routine, which is basically just a bunch of half assed stripper moves.

Since you are a guy—and one that dances no less—she kicked your ass because she’s got a vagina backed up with an ass that you crave.

Bada-bing, bada-boom AND married…because she want’s a family…whatever, woman things, yadda, yadda.

So you’ve already have gone eight months without knocking up a woman and you’re thinking one of a couple things,

A. “pfff, I’ve had such a good run that I bet I can cut a few corners in the birth control department and give it a whirl just this once”
B. “Ya know, I would really like to have a kid with this woman. God, knows she’s been pestering me about a kid. I know I already have two and I probably couldn’t afford it because I’m a dancer and all, but the first two times I blinked when whatshername gave birth”
C. “I need this bitch’s fortune. Having a kid pretty much solidifies my dream of interrupting the World Series game 7 at Yankee stadium and having 57,000 fans cheering me on as I am dancing their brains out in the outfield!

So ya get her preggers now and now you have THREE goddamn children.

Has the guy ever heard of…
-a condom
-encouraging the woman to take birth control
-handing out diaphragms (I’m sure he could buy them cheaply if he bought them in bulk. Possibly at Sam’s Club.
“Hello, can you take me to the diaphragm aisle?”)
-Shrink wrap (if nothing else)
-abstin—ha yeah I’m sure he’s thought of that.
-that new press ‘N seal stuff for Tupperware (if shrink wrap is not around)
-saran wrap (if you don’t have that cool press ‘N seal stuff)
-jam a pencil in your ‘urethra Franklin’ (**shudders**)

Honestly I don’t know the whole story but good lord some people are fertile as hell. People like him and Larry King are like human dandelions.

Do ya really need that many kids?
And you know he’s gonna dump her ass during the third trimester and find Advil lavegne or Pink to have some more kids with.

Some genetics shouldn’t be continued. It’s not like the guy’s a Sultan or anything.

Tuesday, April 12, 2005


Well I guess there's nothing wrong with what you say
But don't sell me, "There can't be better ways"
Tell the captain "This boat's not safe, and we're drowning"
Turns up he's the one making waves. Waves. Waves

Living away from home has been one of the best freedoms since I can remember. The thought of going home and doing whatever the hell I want without worrying about being quiet or exerting terrible smelling gas at will is awesome!

At first when my parents heard that I planned on living alone they were desperately trying to think of others I could live with. Others that…I would never EVER live with and it’s been my experience that living with others the least bit different from me (100% population) is difficult for me.

I remember my first roommate back in Marshall. He was a little twerp who’d never been away from Wisconsin his whole life. He looked like the everyday computer nerd who’d walk and talk like a nerd. The one thing that bugged me about him was how he’d slap his knees after something funny.


Now I do that.

The only thing was he had this “I hate the damn world” hidden mentality and it took college to unlock that mentality.

Oh yeah, he transformed from a harmless nerd to a Chinese star throwin, samurai sword whirlin’, ‘fuck authority’ motherfucker in a matter of months. Soon he never gave a damn about being respectful to anyone.

I remember coming back from New York opening up my/our door to find a great big table taking the whole room so one couldn’t possibly get anywhere. Then everything had a fine dusting of cigarette ashes. That and the place smelled worse than your chain-smoking aunt’s Buick.

I rarely get thoroughly pissed but I was about to use those Chinese stars to cut him a new asshole! The smell never really left and I was counting down the days until I could come back home.

Then I lived with my cousin in Roseville and that was better, but I think my own ego set in. We would argue like an old married couple for days and weeks in front of the TV about religion, apartment stuff, and overall everyday things. Then one day I was watching tv when he would constantly stare at me with the goofiest clown-like look until I gave him his desired reaction. That was it, I was outta there at that point!

Not to mention how weird family-wise it was because he grew up with our grandparents where as I’ve seen them only a handful of times in my lifetime.

It was always especially awkward when relatives would call and talk to him instead of me.
What was even more awkward was that the feeling was mutual.

Then I lived with 2 women and H back in the hizzy, which, generally, wasn’t too bad. With H around it was easy to ignore the nagging women and it actually gave us some common ground to build a decent kinship.

Now H and I are like a divorced couple. Damn judge gave him everything and he left me with three kids!
H, you owe me child support you ass!

Anyway, I wasn’t to keen on roommates and my parents (actually Mom) was worried that I would get lonely.

**shakes head and grins**

Me? Lonely? The guy who would rather attend movies alone just so I don’t have to deal with conflicting opinions afterwards.

Leaving the theatre
X: Man, the fire breathing dragon, the special effects, and the plot was AWESOME!!
Berg: That was complete dogshit.

Nah, I don’t get lonely. I love the solitude. I love how I can watch public access without someone walking in saying,
“So are you planning on driving to—Why the hell are you watching public access?”

So now my Mom is calling me up whenever I receive junk mail or my Mom found some old stuff of mine at the house. Still, despite a family that is non-phone friendly, my Mom will call me at the craziest times to ask me something completely stupid, which ends up with me saying,
“Well…..alllllllllriiighhhht, I supposssseee I’ll letcha goooooo.:” Hoping she’ll get the hint and finally send me off to computer porn or sleep or work or whatever.

And then uh….

The end (?)

Ahem… no point in this post at all. Ah…just wanted to waste your time is all and if you’ve come this far,


How’s hump day going?

Also I just wanted to point out that the Twins beat the Tigers yesterday.

Ron’s Tigers.

God, I'm an ass!

Monday, April 11, 2005

All American Komputer Dumbass

Sittin here resting my bones
And this loneliness won't leave me alone
It's two thousand miles I roamed
Just to make this dock my home

My personal computer is on it’s deathbed. In the past couple weeks it has been struggling to maintain any kind of functionality (if that is a word) and last night I had to give its last rites.
**tear** Little guy has taken me to heights both unimaginable and imaginable.

-I remember the time when it was making funny noises and I had everyone from Casa Futura dorm come in and listen.
-I remember I named it “Fat Hole” when I first set it up
-I remember when I got that speeding ticket after purchasing a 56K modem.
-And I’ll always remember how the monitor would haphazardly shut off and blink over and over until you beat the piss outta the thing. Then it would work like a charm.

I suppose the reason for this death is due to one of many things.

-64MB of memory (but I have upgraded it to 320MB since)
-3.99 GB’s of hard drive space
-Pentium…1 (I think)
-been beaten around for a good six years
-contains windows 98 which the CD is lost
-Office 98 without the CD and with all sorts of fun Error messages when I try to load it onto my computer.

I remember a couple weeks ago I was talking to our company computer guru because I was having a hell of a time with it.

Berg: yeah so I still have tons of spy ware despite using spy bot.
R: Have you been updating your anti virus software?
Berg: Oh you mean like repeatedly updating MacAfee?
R: yeah
Berg: Oh hell no. Never have in six years.
R: Well, that would be a great start and what do you have for a firewall?
Berg: firewall?

Right now after you leave it on for 5 hours the memory runs out and ya can’t do Jack. So I attempt to shut it down when it just stays on the “YOUR COMPUTER IS SHUTTING DOWN” for about three hours until you give up, drop kick it, and force the thing off. Keep in mind all this is during me attempting numerous hockey-like celebrations with middle fingers directed to the computer instead of fists.

Then I turn it on and it takes a good half hour for it to load up.
I’m not exaggerating, 34 minutes until I can do anything!

So with all this frustration that mounts up, I believe it’s time to throw this problem over my balcony.

So I head on over to Best Buy to take a look at computers. I have determined that I would like a laptop because the thought of having easy access porn on-the-go brings warm fuzzy-like chills up my spine.

I walk in when the Best Buy “gatekeepter” looks and says,
“Hi sir, how are you?”
“Good” and I walk two steps when another blue shirt sees me and says,
“Hello, how are you today?”
“Good” I turn to my immediate right toward the “HOT CD’S” are when another blue shirt says,
“And how are you today?”
“pfff GOOD! Damn, I just got three greeting within ten seconds!” I reply pissed off.
He didn’t listen and proceeded toward the TV’s.

I eventually headed on over to the computers when again,
D: Can I help you?
Berg: Actually yes-er maybe. I’m looking for a laptop because my home computer is a big, fat, brown turd. I use a word processor, the internet, and I am a pretty big gamer.
D takes me to a particular laptop and clasps his hands together and is trying to remember his schpeal: This one here is pretty decent. It’s got the 40gigs—
Berg: Jesus…CHRIST!!!!!
D looks at Berg in slight shock: What?
Berg: Good God that’s HUGE!!!! My computer at home only has 4gigs!
D immediately figures out how much of a dumbshit Berg is and moves to the cheaper brands: You say you’re a gamer eh? What do you play.
Berg: Well right now I play solitaire, minesweeper, and I really love free cell. I would like to broaden my horizons into other games like Space Subtraction, Oregon Trail, Number Munchers, and that crazy one with the turtle and commands like Pen Up (PU) and Pen Down (PD). You can make really cool designs with that crazy turtle!
D in shock: That was for Apple IIGS and it’s almost 20 years old!
Berg like a dork: I freakin love Oregon trail! “Boof just lost his leg!” “Boof has malaria” “Boof has elephantitis” haha oh man that’s good times! Then you go and shoot as many buffalo as you can because everyone needs to eat. Man, I remember this one buffalo I had in South Dakota…

Of course I never said that, but I was surprised at how ‘out of the loop’ I have been on computers.

When it comes to Windows, I can hang in there with some decent company. Windows is pretty much retardproof. If you know Word then you can easily figure out excel and **shudders** PowerPoint.
I’m also pretty much the best right clicker I know of and I am willing to challenge even Bill Gates himself at a right clicking competition.

I have also mastered the CONTROL+TAB combo like a brain surgeon and I have been able to copy and paste from web pages that don’t even allow such capabilities.
I can even work the number pad like Ron Mexico works his herpes into unknowing broads.

I can cut and paste like a motherfucker--like a MAD motherfucker!

When it comes to inside the computer, I am no better than my parents at what is what and stuff like Megahertz and gigawats and kilos and processors, and Intel inside, and motherboards, and ounces, and megabytes…It’s like a microwave: I use it all the time but I don’t know what the hell is inside it. Nor do I care as long as that spoon is making cool noises.

As I peruse through numerous brands of laptops I keep on trying to remember what I grew up with.

In elementary school I we had the Apple II GS and I have been itching for years to play space subtraction again.

Then in middle school we had newer Apples where you had to tear the sides off of documents from the printer. I don’t think it had any games on it though.

Then in High school we had these Macs where one can surf the web and play that puzzle game. I don’t know what the hell it was either.

Then I remember growing up and all my computer guru friends would always slide Mac’s into some joke like,
“Wow she is as stupid as an Apple” and I would go along with,
“Yeah like a big RED apple! Haha”

I didn’t know why Mac’s were considered dumb. I didn’t even know Mac’s and Apple were the same thing until I bought a computer.

Despite that, I think I may end up going with an Apple Ibook G4. It sounds really damn cool and it’s reletively inexpensive.

Than again I am just an all American Caucasian dumbass and any advice would be appreciated.

Unrelated, but I would like to pimp out a site that has been around for awhile now.
The dude’s funny as hell and he’s rapidly gaining popularity
Check it out! and/or

The Alpha Dumbass

I walk these streets, a loaded six string on my back
I play for keeps, ’cause I might not make it back
I been everywhere, still I’m standing tall
I’ve seen a million faces an I’ve rocked them all

Taupin and John
Page and Plant
Lennon and McCartney
Nick and Boof

That was definitely the case on Saturday night when we sang “Dead or Alive” to about thirty people—and rocked them all!

Before our best Jon Bon Jovi/Richie Zambora impersonation, we attended the Twins game. A game that was a bit annoying in many ways.

Early on the game was relatively close and there was a decent crowd of 41,000.

I flat out cannot stand crowds. I can't. The bigger the audience the more annoyed I get.

I think that the propotion of idiots, morons, and dumbarses is about 6:1—meaning that with every six people there is bound to be an idiot, moron, or dumbass in the bunch. With a small group it’s it’s tolerable. Even with a thousand people I find it tolerable, but with 10,000 or more it gets to be an infection.

Lets say we have 10,000 people, which would have 1667 people that fit into one of the three categories. During a game, concert, or any event these 1667 people will actually drag the others into their world of stupidity.

If you were to put two of these dumbasses right besides someone who is halfway sane, the halfway sane person will eventually succumb to being a dumbass because of the “dumbass sandwich” he or she was partaking in.

So once the numbers start growing you’ll have the leader (or leaders) of the dumbasses come down to the front of the stands where he or she will be wearing some stupid-ass hat and start yelling.


This will be taking place during a crucial at bat where runners are at second and third with two out and a 3-2 count to the lefty (who is being pitched at by a righty) at the plate.

I believe my theory is right because this Alpha dumbass will actually get about 60 people to partake in the wave. Then the people in the stands adjacent will be watching the whole wave thing as opposed to the interesting game (the game they paid to see) and proceed in trying to jump-start this wave.

Then you have the “drunks” who always need beer and never know when to purchase it. They don’t understand that you wait until the END of the at-bat/inning so you’re not blocking the game from anyone else. Throughout out the game is seems as if they’re practicing the stair climber because they’re constantly running up and down the isles needing, WANTING that beer because they don’t know anything else. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy a good brew every now and then, but not when it’s $6 a beer.

Crap List

1. The price at the concession stands.
I purchased a dome dog and the smallest beverage one could find—$8.75.
I had to do it because you haven’t been to the dome until you’ve had a dome dog. Just like you haven’t been to the dome unless you’re blown out the doors. Its not like ‘crapping your pants’ exciting but it’s worth it!

With $6 beers it’s pretty evident who the market is going for. To me, no one in their right mind will play $6 for a cup of Miller Lite.
No way man!
One could sprinkle some pepper into a glass of water and even that would be stronger than most beers at any sporting event.

However, people still do buy gallons and gallons of the stuff despite the price.
These people are
So rich that they don’t care what the beer costs
So bored that they NEED a beer just to have something to do. People who really shouldn’t be at the game
Complete slap-happy alcoholics.

We were sitting in the “cheap seats” at the time so A probably doesn’t apply.
Also, I consider 90% of the population to be alcoholics so I know C is indeed involved, but I think B is the overwhelming factor because of the overall crowd.

2. People who turn on their air conditioners in April
Are people so ‘indoorsy’ that they need the air running already? It hasn’t been above 75 yet and people are closing their windows and yelling at their kids for leaving the bathroom door open.

If they think it’s uncomfortable already…hehe be prepared to peel newspapers off your arms in July.

I know some people in SW Minnesota that don’t even have air conditioners and are perfectly all right without air conditioning.

I have a better idea, lets just burn a big pile of money!


3. The idea that ‘Annoying’ makes for a popular song.
It seems that there are a whole bunch of songs our now that have some sort of annoying melody in their songs.
Jlo’s latest song features (whatisit?) a sax that sounds like high-pitched woman farts.
Who produces this crap and how does one determine that an annoying sax sounds awesome when playing constantly and in annoying ways.

I mentioned it last week but Mariah Carey has her “it’s like that chall” OVER AND OVER AND OVER!!! I especially like the “tha-tha-tha-tha-like that chall” line.

It’s very cathartic actually. Her dog must’ve died.

4. Little foofoo dogs
I hate how people like Paris Hilton bring their damn dogs everywhere they go. Little dogs like hers should watch out because they might end up falling in her bottomless crotch…a crotch that seems to have been exposed on more than one occasion.
Then they make their little foofoo dog wave to the cameras.
Dogs are dogs and even the foofoo ones shit in your yard and piss on your leg

Whoever has said this in the past two weeks deserve a hefty boot in the temple. I’ve heard the local media, peers, and other bloggers talk about how the Twins have an ungodly amount of catchers.

First of all one of the four is Matthew LeCroy who is a catcher just like Chili Davis was a catcher just like I am a construction manager. So yes, we have technically have four catchers, but I’m sure Torii Hunter and Jacque Jones could also catch. Then we’d have like six catchers.
SIX CATCHERS!?!*&*)*&*(^&^%)*&_*? Good lord!
What are the Twins going to do with SIX CATCHERS?

Tomorrow, I’ll talk about how stupid I am with computers!

Saturday, April 09, 2005

A Bonus Saturday Post!

Da Da Da
Da Da Da
Da Da Da

I used to like Burger King fries but I had the Dairy Queen ones
and they're better.

Friday, April 08, 2005

A Tender Topic of Mine

[Saturday 3pm: This was my actual post for yesterday if blogger wasn't such an assholeo]

Well I hardly knew ya baby
And you were comin' on
Mama told me there'd be days like these
I shoulda known better maybe
Woulda seen right through ya
I needed you like a disease

Because I’m so god damn pissed right now and it’s a Twins off night (I promise, this site is not going to be 100% Twins…) I’m gonna write briefly about a topic that is very dear to me.

A topic where people step back and think “OK, this dude is 25?”

A topic where people will slowly back away and, when they can, they jolt away from me out of the room.

A topic where people wonder about if I have indeed suffered drain bamage.

No, I’m not talking about Bryan Adams.
I’m talking about my love for old school Transformers.

I spent six years of my childhood looking for the complete version of the movie because I would always miss the first ten minutes. I would spend a good ten minutes every Thursday after school skimming through the TV Guide looking for a replay of Transformers: The Movie.

I even remember going to the theatre to see the movie. I can even remember the feeling of seeing brand new characters and actually watching Autobots land a hit against, the Deceptacons.

I was five years old at the time and if my parents didn’t take me to see this movie, lets just say I would’ve spent my teenage years standing outside the local Dairy Queen annoying people if they were planning on buying penisbuster parfaits and running around in the parking lot trying to chase my own ass.

My parents knew this and they took me and my bro to see this movie; a movie where someone says “shit”, a movie where characters die, a movie where Optimus Prime dies.

I almost left the theatre in tears because I couldn’t believe that Optimus was dead. I didn’t want to believe it either.

Despite the sudden “life sucks” message, the characters of Hot Rod (see avator), Kup, and especially Springer had me wiping my tears because they were so new and there was so many questions up in the air about these characters.

Who is Kup supposed to be?
If he’s so old, why haven’t I heard of him before?
Is Springer and RC dating? If so, where would the baby come out of?
Berg 1986: There’s something about Hot Rod that I can’t quite put my finger on it…(Berg 2005: Is he gay?)

The movie was perfect in 1985 and I eventually went in and out of my Transformers phase (I’m currently stuck in it). Now when I watch the movie, it doesn’t make a lick of sense.

For instance,
Why did everyone stop fighting when Optimus and Megatron were on the brink of death?
Why the hell did they bring that annoying little kid, Daniel, with them?
How could they kill some autobots and piece together others back to life?
To say the least.

Not to mention the “regular” questions,
Where the hell does Optimus’ trailer end up?
Why can decepticons fly when autobots cant?
And how can Earth possibly support humans that use oil when Transformers are using them as well?

A couple years ago I finally saw the whole movie and even bought the DVD and it’s been a staple to my DVD collection.

What’s really crazy about the movie (besides…the obvious) is that it’s based in 2005.
2005! And no Cybertron, no energon cubes, and no bumblebee.

What the fuck? Seriously

Wednesday, April 06, 2005

The Story of Boof

is misery
made beautiful
right before our eyes
will mercy be revealed
or blind us where we stand

Seriously, I was this damn close to a hundred hits yesterday.

I’m worried. I’m taking bets on my survival at this point-I got $50 says that I don’t last the weekend! Any takers?

Just to add to yesterday's topic, anyone have this card?

I’m someone of that near hundred was stumbled on the web address of this blog and said something like,
“Ok it’s titled ‘bergblog’ but the actual address is ‘boofberg’, which makes no sense at all. Then he talks about regretting Ruben Sierra’s autograph when he obviously meant Derek Jeter’s. This kid is screwed up.”

Ah but am I? See, I tried to twist things around with the Ruben Sierra remark because you thought I meant Derek Jeter, but I said….

As far as the screwed up remark, I agree.
And I don’t think that many people know the deal behind Boof. In fact I’m sure 90% of yall’s thought I made it up.

I wish!

The story of Boof

(gather ‘round everyone)

‘Twas November 2003, I was in school and needed something to do after school and before work so I gave into temptation and played video games. When it came to ‘usernames’ I would always type in tomberg or Berg or Tberg or thrillho. Nothing all that unique and memorable.

Then the Twins traded A.J. Pierzynski to the Giants for Joe Nathan and two minor leaguers. One of those two minor leaguers went by the name of Boof Bonser. The instant sadness of losing (what I thought was) a top five catcher instantly turned into intrigue about this particular individual.

I never heard a name like it, but I was fascinated.

For all my life I have been called a goof because I am. Who else admittedly tap dances in the freight elevator, steps on large tiled floors hoping that they’ll light up like they did for Michael Jackson, takes pride in their own ignorance, dreams of the local courtside reporter, and gives **themself** a nickname.

That and it was perfect: Berg + Goof = Gorg—I mean Boof.

So from that day on I would have my username as Boof.

Whenever I’d play Tiger Woods Golf—Boof
Whenever I’d play Medal of Honor—Boof
Whenever I go bowling—Boof
Whenever I have my own blog—Boof

Not exactly Hamlet, I know, but it's got a better ending than Romeo and Juliet.

Which leads my to the address of this blog.

Basically it’s a fuckup because if I wasn’t the product of a Wisconsin man and an Iowan Woman, I’d be wiping my ass with my tiny, wittle, Bachelors degree and giving people deadly paper cuts with my doctorate instead.

If I only had a brain, I would have bergblog.blogspot as the main address instead of the confusing boofberg.blogspot. But after I initially got those two people to stumble on the page, it was too late. I couldn’t do that to my own two readers (if they even read it. They were probably more like, “WTF” and left.)

Boof Bonser is currently playing for the AA team and I’m hoping he’ll make it to the big leagues so I can buy his jersey.

That would be damn awesome!

Tuesday, April 05, 2005

Baseball Collectables

Oh you speak to me in riddles
You speak to me in rhymes
My body aches to breathe your breath
Your words keep me alive

March 27......18
March 28......24
March 30......31
March 31......31
April 2........ 40
April 4........ 49
April 5........ 52

And already today as of 1am, I have 16 people!


So….where the hell are you “newbies” coming from?

Have I pissed off a demographic that I am unaware of?
Are Catholics pissed off at my “Pope Selection Tuesday”?
Is “the man” finally bringin me down?

Anywho, I was talking to the security guard today and it was the usual conversation about baseball. Despite me being a bad “phone talking person” I’ll always talk to G about baseball on the phone for hours on end.

Yesterday I came to him bitching about the Washington Nationals and how their jerseys’ remind me of a National League All Star jersey. That’s when we got into the subject of old baseball apparel.

G: Oh Tommy boy (that’s what he calls me) about 30 years ago I had this Senator’s letter jacket. Oh it was great Tommy, I had the leather sleeves with authentic patches on each one. On the front had ‘Washington Senators’ written in fancy cursive writing. Then the back had a huge patch of the Senator’s logo. The torso was all wool so it was the warmest jacket I had. Oh it was sweet Tommy, Tom, Tom

Berg in awe: Wow! Do you still have that?!

G with glazed over eyes looking off into the distance: (sigh) No, the ex-wife destroyed it about ten years ago

G and I both held each other and had a good cry.

Actually this was the second most horrifying story I heard yesterday with the first involving one of my workers having their Achilles snapped **shudders**

Also my real reaction to G’s jacket was one of extreme empathy because I know the feeling all too well.

I grew up collecting baseball cards. My bedroom floor was filled with sorted baseball cards and I would memorize the stats on the back. Topps ’93 were good cards because they had the stadiums on the back! And don’t even think of mentioning bullshit brands like Fleer Ultra and especially Topps stadium club—the brands that killed card collecting.
The earliest cards I had were the 1988 Topps complete collection…until one day when half of the cards were gone. Mother threw them away.

I was spazzing out like Alex Sanches without his roids until my Dad sidled up to me.
Dad: Yeah I know what it feels like. I had numerous Warren Spahn cards, Hank Aaron, Mantle, Maris, and Koufax cards.
Dad with eyes glazed over looking in the distance: Thrown away…
Lil’ Berg: Christ Dad, is there a moral to the story? That makes me even more frustrated. What the hell is wrong with women?
Dad: I don’t know son, I just don’t know.

Then I attended Twins spring training in ’95** where I met tons of ball players. I left Florida with a pennant signed by Molitor, Puckett, Aguilera, Knoblauch, and Tom Kelly. In two weeks that pennant was folded up and stored away after being pinned on my bedroom wall.


So with that I ask,
What the hell is wrong with women?

**It is worthy of note that my family stopped over at the Yankees spring training site where I was also trying to get autographs. I noticed one player along the third base line signing autographs with only two people waiting in line.

Berg: Who’s that guy over there?
Yankees fan: That’s the new guy. Someone by the name of Jeter
Berg: Oh pfff, I’d rather wait for Ruben Sierra.

From that moment on, I’ve always regretted not being able to land Ruben Sierra’s autograph.

Berg's selection for Pope

Mama says god tends to every little skinny sheep
So count your ribs and say your prayers and get to sleep
Nothing is louder to god's ears than a poor mans sorrow
Daddy is poor today and he will be poor tomorrow

Man, do I feel GREAT! It’s like I just drank a dozen Dewski’s and am talking to Karen Sisco.

Last Sunday I found myself in a state that I never thought I’d imagine.
I was sitting on the couch (okay not surprising), watching tv (yeah, I know), watching wall to wall reports on the Pope.

It was the best tv I have seen in a long time. I love how completely insane people get when tragedy happens.

“Of course this is not the only Pope to have passed away”
“Millions of people shocked at the news coming from the Vatican this night in Rome.”
“The Vatican wants everyone to know that whatever happens, the church will live on”

That last one really cracks me up.

As if the faith would really crumble because the Pope passed away.

Then I wonder why people are shocked whenever someone over 70 passes away. The way I see it, bets are off with anyone over 70 especially with John Paul II being in the condition he’s been in the past year.

I totally understand the mourning, but the complete insanity is a bit much.

Anyway, another thing that interested me was the thoughts on the next pope.

1. The next Pope will not be American
That would ultimately answer the “globalization” question with a stern NO. Of course with an American Pope I just think of a typical American wearing the whole Pope get-up saying,
“Now pray with me brothers and sisters…GITRDUN!”

Yeah, I’m sure I just offended a couple people with the sheer thought of a Californian Pope. Wow, that’s just downright scary!

2. The Pope will probably be Italian
Apparently most of the historical Popes have been Italian and a Polish Pope (especially at the age of 58) is unheard of.

3. The next Pope will be old
…As in over 70 because the cardinals won’t want the next Pope to live as long as John Paul II did.
This, makes no sense to me at all. Picking someone because they’ll pass away sooner seems…Well, there’s something wrong with that thinking.
You pick a world religious leader to be old so he dies fairly soon?
That’s like something that only I could come up with.

So with all that in mind, I will bring you my nomination for Pope.

If there was a chance that the cardinals came together and decided to let me decide the next Pope—Me, the one who holds a bit of a grudge with my Mom for forcing me to go to church. Me, who pretty much doesn’t understand a lot of Catholic core issues. Me, who once farted so loudly in church that I couldn’t stop laughing. Me, who badgers my Mom with the unanswered questions about religion that only “faith” answers.
Me, who represents Catholicism as well as MTV represents music. Me, who got knocked in the head by the priest during my own baptismal. Me, who would always get a headache from holy water.

If they allowed me to come up with a Pope I would select….

Sara Evans.

I select Evans because she believes in Catholicism (I think) and all that other stuff.
She’s woman, which would help the religious women’s movement.
When she speaks, people listen or at least pay attention.
If she was giving out a prayer, I would sure as hell listen!
She seems like a good natured woman—I don’t know, probably.
She’s got a great voice!
She’s HOT!! Not that a Pope has to be hot or anything, but it helps.

Of course she’s
Not Italian
Not old
A woman
A country singer
Someone that I came up with
Someone who is not even close to being smart enough to be the Pope.

But, if they wanted my advice...

Now if I were Pope…..

Sunday, April 03, 2005

Opening Day!

It’s like that ch’all
It’s like that ch’all
It’s like the-the-the-the-the-the-a like that ch’all
It’s like that ch’all

Another stroke of lyrical brilliance by one, Mariah Carey.
**stand and applauds**
How do they come up with those kind of lyrics?

Mariah, you are a genius!

Today is opening day (and not yesterday) and this is as close to a national holiday as it gets. Today is probably the best Monday of the year.

I remember back in school I would greatly anticipate coming home for the first Twins game of the year. I even remember a lot of them.
I remember playing the Brewers in ’92 and just barely beating them (from the arm of John Smiley, I believe)
I remember how we got stuck playing the Tigers (sorry Ron) for about five years in a row.
I remember how a couple years ago while playing the Royals, Jacques Jones and David Ortiz started the season with back-to-back homers to kick off the season.

I also remember hanging out at my bus stop in the Spring of ’91 telling everyone that I the Twins would win the World Series that year (based off of spring training). That na├»ve thought process earned me a lot of inner praise and I haven’t lost that naivety yet!

Seriously though, I love opening day--It’s the only day of it’s kind. Football has been trying to pimp up “kickoff weekend” but it’s just week one of sixteen. Basketball, it always seems to open in Zimbabwe or Tokyo and the games are on at 4am. NHL, nothing either.

So here, today, is my baseball edition of a Crap List

1. The Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim
This is actually what they’re calling themselves!
Why the hell can’t we come up with a name for the Angels? California Angels (wouldn’t that title include everything in Cali?). Then it was the Anaheim Angels because Anaheim wanted to be on the map, now it’s that long ass title.
Why not call the Seattle Mariners the Seattle Mariners of Japan or the St. Paul Twins of Minneapolis.
Better yet, just call ‘em the Earth Angels. That way people in London could root for the Angles because they represent (repre-ZENT!) the world.

2. The Texas Rangers
Because they wont give up their “Senator’s” label.

So ah, Texas, now that you’re calling yourselves the Rangers and could not possibly ever call yourselves the Senator’s, WHY THE HELL WONT YOU GIVE UP THAT NAME?

I believe the Rangers organization owns the rights to the Senator’s name (because they are the second incarnation of the Senator’s team) and they wont give up the rights because—I don’t know, maybe they want a cut of the profits or something?
It just seems extremely generic to have a team named the Washington Nationals when we could have the senator’s back.

Because of this, I will never root for the Rangers.
It would’ve been so sweet to have the Senator’s back but, NOOOOOO.

3. Metrodome
Speaking of the former Expos, now that they’ve left the billion-dollar Olympic Stadium, the Metrodome is now, without a doubt, the shittiest baseball stadium around. It was before, but we always had Olympic stadium somewhere in that category to take some of the heat off.
Yes, we still have to deal with a fucking huge milk carton in right field and more of the worst and most confusing mascot in baseball with TC the bear (why a bear?).
And also,

4. The First and Third Baseline Seats.
Easily the worst seats in baseball. I would much rather buy a cheap seat (that is what they’re officially calling them this year too. Nice touch) than having seats that face Jacque Jones in the outfield while Johan Santana is trying to strike out Manny Ramirez (not that it’s hard or anything).
I mean these seats may be worth it. I can imagine a father/son going to their first game…

Lil’ Billy: Dad, this sure is the ugliest stadium ever!
Dad: yeah sure is Billy, it can only get better at this point. Say Billy, you know these seats that we’re sitting in right now?
Lil’ Billy: yeah Dad?
Dad: These seats are the worst seats of all time and I paid about $30 for them!

5. The Loss of Humiliation With Striking Out
So a guy hits 40 homeruns and strikes out 180 times in the process. Great season right?
WRONG, anyone that strikes out more than 162 times in a year should be laughed at. What the hell ever happened to the embarrassment of striking out? Why is it no longer a big deal if anyone strikes out? Why are players allowed two strikeouts a game when they hit a homerun every five days?

People should stand up and point and laugh at any hitter that strikes out three times in a game.

6 Sunday Night games starting out the season.
You know, if baseball was smart enough or had anyone running it with a brain they’d start the season on a Saturday or even a Sunday.

Yeah ok I know, I know that will screw up scheduling and it’s traditionally started out on a Monday since… whenever, but wouldn’t a weekend game just be better?
Wouldn’t it be that much more of a treat to have nonstop baseball on TV where you could actually watch it instead of coming home from work and seeing the last couple innings? Plus, the schedule is already screwed up with the Monday start and their 3 days off in the first ten days.

Oh but the Final Four is on! Oh BS, the Final Four isn’t going to stop Opening Day. It’ s not even stopping the Championship game on Monday either.
The only other days days that come close to Opening day are Memorial day, Independence day, and Labor day.

7. Pools, Arcades, Activities, and Other Crazy Things in Stadiums
Ok, what’s the need for any of this? If you don’t care in watching the game, then DON’T GO!!! If you’re all stoked about swimming out in right field during any game (let alone a playoff game) you deserve to be shot!

Then arcades are another thing, why would anyone pay the price of admission just to play video games?

Tell ya what, those people should just give me half their money, I can go back in the ally and kick them in the nutz, and we can call it even! (yeah, I just saw Vegas Vacation)

These are the same people that leave in the 7th inning to beat the traffic during a tie game.

Man, I can’t wait for this season to start. It seems that since Boston is no longer the wishful pick ESPN has climbed onto the Twins bandwagon. Peter fucking Gammons even predicts a Twins WS ring! Ugh

Tomorrow I’ll have my picks for the new pope.

I call it Pope Selection Tuesday!