Listen and Listen Good, Fat Man...

When the higher ups at D&D asked me to submit my letter to Santa, it was on me to go retrieve it from him as I do not recall what I wrote.

I sauntered on down to the local mall and bullied my way to the front of the Santa line via all manner of elbows and cuss words. After some intense enhanced interrogation, he finally gave it up.

I carefully uncrumpled and attempted to decipher the random lines on the paper (Seriously. Random lines. In Crayon. On manilla paper... what was I drinking!?) and this is what I think it said:

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Dear Boo -

In my yearly missive to you, I have decided not to ask anything for myself. I have everything a man of 33 can ask for. A deserted building to squat in, a stolen bicycle to haul my ass around, and a Commodore 64 to bang out random thoughts on.

No, this year, I have decided to use my three wishes on you, kind sir. Maybe next year if I find myself still working for D&D for $1.20 an hour, you can grant my wish of a seedy death curled up behind the dumpster at the Big Lots with that male stripper I left bound and degraded last week (I should really go check on him...) with a needle of bleach in my arm.

I have done a lot of thinking about your personal and working situations and I hope you don't mind me wishing better for you. In doing so, I am going to be making assumptions about your life and judging you oh so hard. Please don't take this the wrong way.

Your Living Situation

It's cold where you are. So cold, in fact, that the natural weight that women put on in the winter happens year round, so there is no "swimsuit season" to work towards. This has adverse affects on both you and your wife. Time to dump her, the climate, and/or both.

Nobody is happy in cold climates. Look at the folks in North Dakota. There is not happiness there, and when is the last time you saw a hot chick from the Dakotas? It is depressing, really.

Your Work Situation

You surround yourself with elves who, while might be the right height, are never portrayed as particularly attractive.

You may not really be able to improve your employee situation and that is OK. I understand that midgets have mystical powers that can’t be found in normal portioned humans and these powers are used to make wooden trains and whistles and such. They may not fall under the child labor laws of our land, but you have got to distance in case someone finds it questionable, or before you catch something from them.

But Santa, I want you to know that I have the answer and that these are my wishes for you. Relocate and surround yourself with appropriate staff to make your life easier. I mean, you have been around forever and a change of scenery might do you good.

Wish #1: Get yourself an executive office in the tropics:

Wish #2: Hire a capable onsite office manager to make sure shit gets done back at the factory:Wish #3: Get yourself a proper elf assistant to serve as your companion. Utilize that “Naughty/Nice List” that you have to find one that is a little of both, you know?

I hope I have helped you think about some things, here. I will be back next year with my normal list of selfish wants of cash, hot cars, and fast women. If you decide NOT to take my advice, however, consider the picture above as my complete Christmas List.

Yours in Claus,

The Pickled Mick

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'Twas the Night Before Christmas in the D&D Office....

“Whew! Long day finally coming to a close. Can’t wait to join the Down and Distant boys at the bar for our last get together before Christmas. I couldn’t have asked for a better year with a better team than I have had this year. Honestly, I don’t think that Santa could even think of anything to give me that I don’t already have. Sorry fat ass, no need for you this year.”

Poon shuts down his computer by hitting ctrl+alt+delete, but then accidentally locks it instead of shutting it down.

“Fuck”

Unlocks the computer and then shuts it down the proper way. He continues to pack away his paperwork from the work filled day into his brown satchel…NOT A MURSE – A SATCHEL! As he stands up from his mahogany desk, he hears a faint rustling in the background.

“Hello? PK? You still here?”

A tall shadow casts across the floor of the D & D lobby outlining a large built man carrying some sort of item on his shoulder.

“Hairy! Did you bring in that three legged emu with a stiffie you were talking about handling up on? If so, I can leave…..or join…..your call.”

“HoHoHoly shit you are an idiot.”

“Santa.” Poon said with a glazed over look in his eyes. “I thought I said I didn’t need your fat ass around here this year.”

Santa turns the corner from the lobby and comes into full view staring Poon directly in the face. “I don’t think I asked your fucking opinion you perverted shit!”

He then walks slowly through the office turning over desk by desk; shattering lamps and dismantling computers in the process. Poon sits idly at his desk watching the fat man unravel at a rapid pace before his eyes. Once Santa has finished demolishing the D & D office, he stands at the open door of Poon’s corner office pulling two semi automatic assault rifles from his large bag on his back.

“Now it’s time for you to meet my two friends…Naughty and Nice. Which one have you been?”

Poon grabs his 9mm from his chest strap and unloads his clip as Santa fires back with a barrage of short spurts of fire from his rifles. Poon dives across the floor of his office while dodging bullets to crouch behind his couch. Santa stands at the door continuously firing his rounds at Poon.

With a crazy stare the fat one yelled, “MEET DASHER, DANCER, PRANCER, VIXEN, COMET, CUPID, DONNER AND BLITZEN!!!! HAHAHAHAH!!!”

Poon pulls his last grenade from crotch (which he doesn’t need at all to show that he’s got something down there…..seriously, it’s just for emergencies…..seriously) pulls the pin and chunks it right at the door. Santa grabs it mid-air and throws it out of the now shattered window to the ground below. Poon then realizes that he is done for and begins singing the theme to his favorite show to comfort him.

“The world don’t move to the beat of just one drum. What might be right for you….”

At that time he hears a loud yell. “HEY FAT ASS!!!”

The gunfire stops and he glances from behind the couch to see Savant standing right behind a now nervous and fearful Santa. Savant pulls his knife to the fat man’s throat and whispers, “You forgot Rudolph fucker.”

Savant slices through Santa’s throat and softly lays him down at his feet as he bleeds.

“You forgot Rudolph? That’s the best thing you had?” said Poon.

“What would you have said? By the way, a thank you would be in order if you don’t mind”

“I mean I know it was in the moment or whatever, but that was kinda gay. I think I may have rather him just keep shooting at me instead of hearing that crap. How are you going to retell this story with a straight face?”

“Ok dick. You want to sit here and dwell on this and explain to Rosa the maid why there is a dead fat man bleeding to death or do you want to meet up with everyone and not tell them you were singing Different Strokes while Santa Clause fired bullets at you?”

“Why you gotta call me out like that? I suppose you have a deal. First round’s on me. And by that I mean first beer, not that beer-shot-cocktail combo crap.”

“Jew.”

Merry Christmas to all and to all a Poon night!

d&d Letters to Santa - Buckeye Savant

Arkansas Civil War reenactors don't play fair. Hicks!

Dear Santa,

We've always had a pretty good relationship...I still believe in you and I never lost faith through the "virginity years" or the dark days known as the John Cooper Era of Ohio State football. Eventually, I got some regular justice and the Bucks won another national championship - so it's all good.

Recently, I have tried my gosh-darn best to be good...well, apart from the sexual deviance, drinking to excess, and jokes about ethnic minorities or handicapped people (are they still considered people?). [Ed. They're super!]

Anyway, let's cut to the chase, what I really, really want this year is a victory over Arkansas for my Buckeyes in the Sugar Bowl. You see Santa, if we don't beat down the red-neck, inbred, stinky, Southerners once in a while, they might forget who won the War...and we really can't have that now, can we?

Jim Tressel has been good...he's a God-fearing, military supporting, leader of fine young men at The Ohio State University...and, by golly, he deserves a Sugar Bowl win for his team!!

In order to keep it fair, I promise to put-out a nice bottle of Bourbon for you this year - along with some hash browns (that aren't made from potatoes), and just for good measure, a couple copies of Leg Show and Shaved Orientals (which I borrowed from PK). Feel free to enjoy, but don't take them with you ...and I wouldn't go shining any black lights around them.

I am not asking for too much...let's just say Buckeyes 30 Razorbacks 21.

...and Santa, I'll owe you one!!

Merry Christmas!

Buckeye Savant

The Pickled Mick is in the house

Hi kids! A few months back, PK asked me about contributing to Down & Distant. You will, no doubt, be honored to hear that after drinking on it for a few months, I have decided to crawl out of the gutter, swish some lake water to get rid of the $5 bottle of whiskey on my breath and give this blogging crap a whirl.

As with all bad ideas, I was approached under the spell of alcohol because that is really the only way anything ever gets done around here. It is also the only way ideas from this group sound any good.

PK : Hey man, you're moderately funny and can really take a donkey punch, wanna write something for our blog?

Pickled Mick: Gotta check my schedule. You see, I do a lot of volunteering for the rich showing them the proper way to wear live kittens as shoes.

PK: Great! But, don't use that line, it’s not funny and kittens are my favorite food. All you got to do is be raunchy, touch the sports base occasionally, and don't be funnier than me. You also have to service Poon regularly with your mouth. You will find your D&D kneepads in your staff locker.

So, after reading through posts here and after having a few intense sessions of furious sweaty self gratification to some of the pictures, I decided to “give it the old college try”.

Speaking of, there is one picture that I would like to call out. That picture that Poon posted along with his post of his diva like contract rider that he sends to every hotel prior to checking in is captivating. I currently have that photo as my wallpaper on my cell phone, computer, and am actually having it made into real wallpaper for my man den. Every time I see it I immediately begin to work myself like a Shake Weight.

Yours in Christ,

The Pickled Mick.

I Miss You.....

Not in a gay way, but more in a caressing my underboob kind of way. Of course this is going out to my brothers from Columbus and fellow D&D contributors. It was a hell of a weekend filled with blackouts, minivans and a whole lot of anal.......retentive guys correcting each others vocabulary. After returning to Dallas, balls swelled and 15 additional pounds of water weight (water used loosely), I realized that I have to get my shit together.

No it's not the fact that I realized that I could never be a star in a midget western, but the pure shitty feeling I have had all week. Would I trade it? Fuck your mother......and no I wouldn't. I would go back right now and destroy anything close to a liver that I may have left in a heartbeat. That is an open invitation for someone to buy me a ticket, FYI.

What do I do about this? Well, I sit around on the last day of November and have a nice drink and think of the stupidest fucking thing I could ever imagine. Next I write that down and sign this so called contract so that I have to abide by it. Before I get to the meat of this taint, let me tell you how I believe that I came to this.

During the first day/night/morning in Columbus, I had a few too many and maybe muttered something that I do not remember such as "Why you gotta call me out like that?" Memory FAIL. Retelling that story when I returned back to Dallas arose the question, "How much whiskey had you had by that time?"

"Oh, I didn't drink any whiskey. Just beer and some vodka on the plane."

Hmm....funny because in multiple pictures I am seen with a tall glass of a dark substance which I can only assume is bourbon and coke or whiskey and coke. This has since been validated by PK. Thanks......dick.

So let it be known that from this day forth during the month of December in the year of our Santa Jesus 2010, Poon shalln't consume the following until the fortnight is nigh upon us. I don't know what the fuck a fortnight is, so let's just say until January 1st, 2011.

1. No red meat

2. No bourbon

3. No whiskey

Bring on the meth bitches.

Declaration of IndePOONdence

Clap, Clap, Clap...

No I am not referring to the respective diseases staffers Poon, PK, and Hairy Carray picked-up on a recent staff road trip (read "bender") to Ann Arbor, where, incidentally, the woman are fat and the football weak, but they make up for it by having the worst cocktail in the world!*** Instead, I am simply listing what follows the "overrated" chant. And when it comes to overrated in sports for the year 2010, I can think of no more deserving team than the Dallas Cowboys.

Now I have cheered for some bad teams during my lifetime - including some REALLY bad Cleveland Indians squads - but never has a team with so many advantages been this fricking lousy. Homer Simpson may have been referring to the 2010 Cowboys when he uttered his famous phrase "the suckiest bunch of sucks that ever sucked." Of course, he may have been asked to critique the authors of the witty prose posted on this website. On second thought, that's pretty unlikely because I, not unlike the rest of our crack staff, like to rock out with my caulk out.

OK - back to the Cowboys...

Fabulous new stadium? Check. High-priced roster? Check. Fanatical fan-base? Yep. Tradition? As good as any in the National Football League.

Results? Results? Anyone...anyone...results?

One win...one win!?!? That's all they have is one God damn win.

America's Team, my ass. Overrated is more like it.

My name is Buckeye Savant. I love hot Indian - you know "dot" Indian - women, an occasional Washington Apple shot, the Cleveland Indians...and I am out!


***Ann Arbor Highball, the worst cocktail EVER = 2 parts Cutty Sark + 2 parts Tab Cola.

Elvis was a Bad Ass

Having recently parlayed my "Paul Stanley" hairy chest, prescription sunglasses, and $100 jumpsuit and wig into my own personal spin on The King of Rock-N-Roll, I feel somewhat compelled to blog about Elvis. I mean this dude was the definition of bad ass...when you can eat peanut butter and banana sandwiches, burgers, and BBQ pizza and balloon-up to nearly three bills - and still get super-model p*ssy, you really are The King. Ann Margaret? Tapped it! Natalie Wood? Knocked the bottom out of it!

Elvis could wear whatever the f*ck he wanted too. If I could pull wool like that wearing an open chest bedazzled white jumpsuit, I'd probably never wear anything else. (Editorial note: remove the word "probably").

And what about the Memphis Mafia? Keeping your cronies close is always a good idea (note to Poon: remember the little people on your way to the top). Elvis even had a dude who carried a cigar box with everything he might need at a given moment in time (thin cigars, Viseine drops, gum, hard candy, chocolate, uppers, downers etc.). Although pure speculation, I am pretty sure the d & d staff cigar box would contain the following: rodent nail clippers, gum, roofies, industrial size bottle of knock-off cologne ('cause you never know when a gas station will run out), ball gag, beads manufactured for an as-yet unknown purpose...you know - just the basics.

To further illustrate how bad ass he was, let's recall his trip to Nixon's White House to visit the president in order to discuss anti-drug legislation...while he was stoned to the Bejesus Belt. Balls of steel on that King of Rock-N-Roll, I tell ya.' Nixon even gave him a stinkin' badge - despite the fact that he really didn't need it.

Aside from the whole impacted bowel heart attack on the toilet thing, I think I'd walk a mile in The King's shoes.

Thank you...thank you very much!