By The Intern
Page 2 (Adam O.) -- For $7K, you can receive VIP treatment from the Utah Jazz, including lunch with Jerry Sloan. I'm sure he can be an amiable guy at times, but I envision any meal with Jerry going down like dinner with the Fockers -- lots of uncomfortable silences, disapproving head shakes, loaded questions ("I have nipples, Kevin. Could you milk me?"), etc. I'd probably have to show up drunk just to take the edge off. (Christopher H.) -- Be an extra in the climactic "Rocky VI" fight scene. Seriously, you can watch Antonio Tarver go from decimating Roy Jones, Jr. to trading punches with a geriatric Little Mac. A once in a lifetime opportunity. -- Borat vs. Kazakhstan is heating up. Even if ill-advised, his defiant in-character response is hilarious. -- Back when I was on the Bar Mitzvah circuit, you were lucky to have two, maybe three, performances by chart-topping musicians. These kids today have no perspective. (Clay J.; note: immediate sound) -- Dear Amare Stoudemire,

With all due respect, you will never be as sick as Seattle Shawn Kemp.

Still a fan,

Kevin Cott

(If you make it to the end, try and tell me that Kemp's crouched finger-point isn't the greatest reaction in dunk history. I don't think you can.) -- Details on Manny Ramirez's $6.9M Boston condo. Impressive as it sounds, I think the most fascinating item is his two-foot tall bobbing-head statue of Pedro Martinez. I bet he treats it like a wackier Jobu.

Manny: (tapping on the top of the statue) "Bobble-Head Pedro, should Manny go commando tonight?"

Bobble-Head Pedro: (nodding)

Manny: (walking out the door) "Yes, of course he should. Sleep well, little buddy."

TUESDAY -- Nikki Sixx's custom '57 Chevy on eBay. The same Nikki Sixx who was once pronounced dead from a heroin overdose, miraculously revived by two adrenaline shots, and then promptly hitchhiked home to immediately overdose again, right? Yes, yes I will by this man's car over the internet. -- By the looks of this page, owning an ABA franchise is easier than joining a fantasy league. And as Peter M. in the Bronx points out, "kudos to the guy who named his team the Charlotte Krunk." Imagine how hard it is to take those games seriously:

Wife: "Honey, where you going again?"

Player X: "Charlotte, baby. Got a big game against the Krunk."

Wife: "The WHAT?"

Player X: "The Krunk, baby. I told you about them. The Krunk ain't no joke."

(awkward silence)

Wife: "I need some time to think about things ... " (Casey J.) -- Some would say that mass-marketing vibrating blue replicas of your manhood constitutes selling out. Other people would say ... well, probably nothing. It's a pretty airtight argument. (Matt B. in Syracuse, NY; note -- immediate audio) -- Don Gibb, a.k.a. "Ogre," wants you to buy his beer. And yes, he looks frighteningly similar to Captain Lou Albano these days ( -- Having a rough day? Watch this for five minutes and enjoy the healing power of laughter.

WSOCTV -- This is 100% accurate:

Victim (on cell phone): "What the ... I don't believe this. Some white-haired maniac is all over my tail. Wait, he's getting out of his car. What? No, I'll be fine. The old man's gotta be pushing 70. Hold on ... here he comes ... HOLY @#$%!!! IT'S RICK FL ... AHHH! GET OFF OF ME!"

2nd voice: -- "WOO! WOO! WOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

(phone cuts off)

In honor of the late Pat Morita, here is one man's story on the Power of Miyagi …

A couple years back, I witnessed what was quite possibly my favorite drunken argument of all time. For reasons no one can actually recall, my friends Connor and Jeremy got into a ridiculous argument over who would win a fight between Mr. Miyagi and Superman. It was the typical drunken banter of guys caught somewhere between college and adulthood, but this time it inexplicably snowballed into a near-brawl. All I remember is a whirlwind of obscenity-laced insults, incredulous hand gestures, something about rotating Earth on its axis to go back in time and change the fight's outcome, old tensions arising that had nothing to do with the argument whatsoever, and both parties ultimately having to be physically restrained. Easily one of the dumbest, most entertaining displays I've ever seen.

I guess my point is: Pat Morita passes on, but the legend of Mr. Miyagi remains immortal. (Devon P.) -- Blogger Jalen Rose gives us words to live by: "I thought Ron Artest was crazy until he got pushed by Ben Wallace and went after the little guy with the plastic cup. When you're crazy, you don't pick your battles. He picked his battle." I still think Ron's nuts, but I get the message. (Randy S.) -- I had fun going through this list of the Top 100 college point fuards and seeing who I had forgotten about. For instance, I don't think Adonis Jordan's name had popped in my head since the last time I watched "Blue Chips." I wonder if his parents were disappointed that he turned out to be a diminutive point guard. With a name like that, they were probably expecting Dwight Howard 10 years earlier.

And, for the record, guys I would have ranked higher: Scoonie Penn, Randolph Childress, Bobby Jackson and Kenny Anderson (my all-time #1). -- According to teammate Troy Vincent, Bills wide receiver Roscoe Parrish fears snow to the point of refusing to leave his home. If I was Troy, I'd use the winter to slowly build a gigantic snowman right outside Roscoe's bedroom window, occasionally waving to Roscoe as he peeks through the blinds. I'd even name the snowman after Roscoe and put his jersey on it. This would continue for about a week or so. Then one day, when I knew Roscoe was watching, I would break out the snowmobile and fly right through Snowman Roscoe. He probably wouldn't leave the house again until July, but the look on his face would be worth it. -- More insight into baseball's questionable scouting practices in the Dominican Republic. If you listen carefully, you can actually hear Drew Rosenhaus making plans to become a "buscone." (Jon in Boston) -- Actual headline: "Ronald McDonald charged with stealing from Wendy's." Says Hamburglar: "Oh sweet irony! Rabble, rabble, rabble."

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