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You like me.  My writing style. Or the hotties I include in my posts.  Whatever it is, you like it.  And you’d like me to post more.  Or hell, post SOMETHING.  Especially since the Packers won the big game.  Right?  I mean I haven’t even updated the header with the 4th Lombardi trophy.

And I didn’t talk about the labor battle.

Or the neck tattoo of the Superbowl ring.

Or Charles Woodson making good on his promise to visit the president.

Or Adrian Peterson, like Prince before him, both in MN I might add, claiming he was a slave.  A spoiled, coddled, millionaire slave.  Sign me up for that shit.

And I’d love to tell you that I’m going to make it up to you by writing the best writing that’s ever been written, and do it just for you.  But that writer’s guilt is like a fish that’s been caught, cleaned and turned into fish tacos. It’s dead is what I’m saying.  And I ate it.

But I’ll write.  I’ll get back in the swing.  And you’ll like it.  Oh, yes you will.  Don’t ev- Yes you wil- JUST SHUT UP, OK?  I’ll write. You’ll read.  Everyone will be happy again. Sort of.

Oh, and I give away some shit I never got around to giving away last year.  Like my dignity.  Where the hell did I leave that, by the way.

Anyway. Talk at you soon.

Heterosexual hugs and kisses,


I’m Gonna Punch You in the Twitter


I know.

You think I’m late to the party, right?  Half the Packer squad, a group of gentleman not known for their MENSA credentials, are all on Twitter, so why the hell is this highly-ranked Packer blogger dude not on Twitter?


I am on Twitter, bruthas and sistas.

The thing is, I have many irons.  In many fires. The iron in this fire is small.  Practically pitching wedge.  I’ve got my big lumber in other fires. And yeah, what you’re thinking is true.  Holding your wood in a fire fucking hurts.

Anyway.  I’ve decided to start putting a little effort into @JPFootball, my Twitter handle for this blog. Follow me. I know where all the good strip clubs are.

You can expect the same stat-averse, punk-ass snark there that you find here. X’s and O’s are for your grandmother when she sends you a birthday card. And for hot chicks who like me. The only X’s you’ll see from me on Twitter will be followed by two more X’s. (Go ahead, do the math. I’ll wait.) And the only O’s are the O faces I’ll be giving your wife. (*offer excludes any women capable of gutting and dragging their own deer from the woods. I like my women like I like my cupcakes: without a penis on them.)

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Boobs, Headbands and Back Flips


If NFL franchise markets were boobs, Green Bay would have trouble filling out an A cup.  And she’d be standing in a roomful of Jugs Magazine centerfolds.  Big, full, bouncy, exciting…

Where was I?  Right.  Market size.

Green Bay is small.  Roughly a quarter million in population.  Probably the same number of people as inhabit the John Hancock building in Chicago on a weekday.  But the Green Bay Packers organization?  If NFL franchises were men, the Packers would be a player.  A ladies’ man.  Someone that knows his way around the female anatomy.

The Packers know how to squeeze their market.  They can get every last drop out of those A cups.  I told someone in another big football market recently about how the Packers sell worthless pieces of paper they call “stock” in the team, $750 apiece of paper, to generate revenue.  When he stopped laughing, I told him about how the Packers sold 4″ x 4″ chunks of frozen turf from Lambeau one year, again to finance their operations.  He lost consciousness.

So when I heard about the Packers having a day for kids at the Atrium, I was sure it was going to cost a fortune.  $25 a kid, I bet.  Nope.  It was free.

So we loaded up the truck and we drove to Green Bay.  Lambeau.  Hallowed fields.  Football stars.

As we cruised up highway 41 I said to my wife – “I bet they’ll charge us $20 for parking.  I mean, this is the Packers.  Nothing’s free once you’re inside the yellow gates at 1265 Lombardi Ave.”  I could see the air leave the lungs of wife, ever the skilled bargain hunter, as she considered how this apparent freebie might quickly turn into something very expensive.

We got to the gates.  Nobody was tending the ticket booths.  Drive right in.  We parked, unloaded the reasons for our grey hair, then walked to the Atrium’s front doors.  We were greeted by friendly people handing out free NFL Play60 headbands to every kid that walked through the door.

And there were inflatables.  For those without kids, those are the air-filled bouncy things.  Not your last-ditch Friday night date.  And to top it off, there was a group of jumping gymnasts, showing off their amazing abilities to soar and do back flips while flying ten feet in the air.

The kids loved it.  The parents loved it.  And it was all free.

Thanks, Packers.

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