I love April. THERE’S SO MUCH GOING ON! Major League Baseball regular season games, NCAA tournament basketball, the stretch run of the Mavericks’ season, my daughter’s birthday, Wrestlemania, my wife’s birthday/4-20, and don’t forget MOTHERFUCKIN’ EARTH DAY!!! Don’t you dare besmirch Earth Day, it would break Captain Planet’s heart, and it’s illegal to break the heart of a guy that has an 8-pack and an impeccable green flat top. Hold on…it’s not illegal? Well goddamnit, it should be.
Quick aside: My wife not only was born on April 20th, a/k/a the Big Weed Smoking Day, but also attended college at Texas State University, a/k/a the Big Weed Smoking College. Despite this, she has NEVER smoked marijuana; not once. She says she doesn’t even know what it smells like, which I believe because I used to smoke out in the front bathroom of our old house on the reg and she never said anything she’s a very honest person. The odds of her having THAT birthday and attending THAT school and NEVER smoking is roughly 734,535,552,250,000 to 1. Totally inexplicable.
Sorry, what were we doing? Right, April. A month containing a robust potpourri of shit that matters to me. To top it off, on April 22nd I’ll celebrate my two-year sobriety anniversary, which is pretty big time (unless you’re a drug dealer or purveyor of fine spirits like Skol vodka and Ezra Brooks bourbon). To celebrate, today I’m dishing out a cornucopia of thoughts from my Prozac- and green tea-powered brain, and also announcing that ArmSideFun.com will go live on Monday, April 22nd, 2024, at precisely 9:15 AM. Why that time? Visit ArmSideFun.com on 4/22/24 to find out! (Dude, how stellar a tease job was that? I’m ready to be a semi-hot girl in Young Life that LOVES dry humping.)
Today’s Playlist: Grab Bag
Gonna hit shuffle on my entire library of songs and see what happens.
Song of the South (Alabama)-Whoa, straight heat to kick us off. Big time leadoff hitter in this particular lineup. Like, Rickey Henderson big time. Speed, power, elite eye, the whole package. Randy Owens and the boys’ song about hard times, sweet tater pie, Freddy Roosevelt, washing machines, and Chevrolets is one of my favorites.
Crazy in Love (Beyonce feat. Jay-Z)-Beyonce’s first solo single, this song is spectacular. But not nearly as spectacular as watching a bunch of white folks get butt hurt that a black woman decided to dominate the country charts, as Bey has done with her album “Cowboy Carter.” I’ve done a lot of drugs in my life, but few have provided a dopamine blast like seeing and hearing a bunch of racist shitbirds try to explain why they’re mad about this.
Here We Go Again (DMX)-Rest in peace, Earl. I fucking love DMX, and this song is one of my favorites. It’s a story song, about a drug dealer trying to coach a kid up about how to make a living in that particular profession, and it inevitably ends with the mentor killing the mentee. DMX was great at a lot of things, but I always felt he excelled at narrative-type songs like this one. So, so good, like almost everything Mr. Simmons created.
Free Smoke (Drake)-I’m kind of over Drake now, but for a while I bought everything he put out. Included in that is the album this song appears on, “More Life,” where he REALLY went in on using Jamaican/Caribbean patois. In retrospect, probably the start of me turning the page on Mr. Graham.
We Be Clubbin’ (Ice Cube)-I promise I’m not manipulating these. By sheer luck, just banger after banger; sometimes the algorithm knows. This song was huge in the spring of 1998, near the middle of Cube making the transition from “Fuck Tha Police” guy to “Are We There Yet” guy. I was a first-time varsity baseball player at that time, a roughly 6’5”, 155-pound high school sophomore and, despite maxing out at 74 miles-per-hour and having less than zero ability to spin a breaking ball, was our team’s #2 pitcher. The lesson, as always: Throw a shit ton of strikes with your fastball, and coaches will keep running you out there. BTW, my favorite part of this song is when Cube says, “She got ass for days,” and one of his compatriots says, “I’d put a week on it.” That’s the type of both junk AND wordplay I can really get behind.
Lines on my Face (Live) (Peter Frampton)-In a past life I needlessly paid for so many tunes because, in an opium and Natty Light induced bout of mania, I felt that I just HAD to purchase certain songs. What would ultimately happen, though, is that I’d buy the whole album. An example: Peter Frampton’s “Frampton Comes Alive.” One time, years ago, I wanted to be able to listen to “Do You Feel Like We Do,” and ended up paying for the entire record. It’s a great live album, and I’ll listen to it every now and then, but I could have just bought the single and saved a few dollars. As my wife likes to tell me: I’m not good at money.
The Tank Goes On (TRU)-TRU, short for The Real Untouchables, was a hip-hop group comprised of various artists from ‘90s juggernaut No Limit Records. However, its most famous iteration consisted of the Miller brothers: Percy Miller (Master P); Vyshonn Miller (Silkk the Shocker); and Corey Miller (C-Murder). The double album this song was on, “Da Crime Family,” was released in 1999 and was a testament to just how powerful the No Limit brand was in this era, peaking at #2 on the Billboard Top R&B/Hip-Hop Albums chart despite having just four good songs out of the 29 featured. If Master P would have released an album in the late ‘90s consisting of nothing but wet farts for 40 straight minutes, I promise you that motherfucker woulda went Gold.
Freak Me (Silk)-A staple on the “Venice Beach Greatest Hits” mixtape (others are “Dunkie Butt” by Duice; “Tootsee Roll” but the 69 Boyz; and “C’mon and Ride It (The Train)” by Quad City DJs). For those of you unlucky enough to be a hornt-up youngster in the Metroplex in the ‘90s, Venice Beach was a teenager only dance club in Arlington (on Lamar Boulevard, between Collins and Cooper just north of I-30) that my friends and I frequented in high school. If I was going to rank the places where I’ve learned the most about life, and the best way to approach it, it would look like this:
1) Pitcher’s mound
2) Substance abuse rehab
3) Venice Beach
Seriously, Venice Beach was such an important part of my development as a person. I learned that confidence and swagger can overcome a lot of things, especially having the muscle mass of a toddler and the complexion of Freddie Krueger. I learned how to take “No” for an answer, as you hear that word a lot when trying to mash your loins into the backside of a total stranger. I learned that as easy as it is to talk to girls in a dark club on a Saturday after a couple beers, it’s equally awkward chatting with them on the phone while hungover on a Sunday afternoon. I learned that girls get just as horny as dudes, which was a real game-changer. I learned that most young ladies really do mean it when they say the most important quality in a guy is the ability to make them laugh. And most importantly, I learned a lesson that continues to serve me well: Go big or go home. The only way you’ll dance with the hottest girl in the club is if you try to dance with the hottest girl in the club, so shoot your shot.
Cherish (Madonna)- “Cherish” put me to bed so many times in college. It was the final song on a 40ish-song playlist I made called “Snappa On” that, for one summer, I listened to every night (it was mostly stuff from the “Karate Kid,” “Top Gun,” and “Rad” soundtracks, with a generous sprinkling of Billy Ocean mixed in). Snappa (rules/explanation here) is a beer drinking game that’s kind of like beer pong, but you throw a dice instead of a ping pong ball. It’s awesome, and I probably played more Snappa with my teammates in college than I did baseball. If we weren’t playing baseball, practicing baseball, skipping class, playing poker, singing karaoke, or chasing trim, we were playing Snappa. That was especially true in the summer of 2003, when my good buddy Ted and I lived in the same apartment complex. For eight straight weeks, my days looked like this: Wake up around 2:00 PM; flip my mattress over ‘cause I almost certainly peed the bed; apologize to random skank for peeing the bed; clean up the beer cans from the night before; swing by Jack in the Box for some tacos and egg rolls; take a nap around 5:00 PM; wake up around 7:00 and go pick up a 30-pack of Keystone Lights; and play Snappa until I passed out, usually around 3:00 AM. It wasn’t the most productive way to spend a summer, and it was undoubtedly a harbinger of things to come for both Ted and I (he died of an opioid overdose in 2010, I struggled with active addiction for a couple decades), but in the moment it was glorious.
Playing With the Boys (From the “Top Gun” Soundtrack) (Kenny Loggins)-Fun fact: If you name any kickass song from a popular ‘80s soundtrack, there’s a 71% chance that Kenny Loggins created it.
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The random shuffle went much better than I was expecting. I could have been saddled with a few of the various songs I’ve purchased for my kids over the years (“Who Let the Dogs Out” by the Baja Men, or “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails), or stuff from that awful U2 album Bono roofied onto our iPhones a few years ago. All in all, good sesh.
Now onto some of the stuff going on right now that I’m stoked on:
The Texas Rangers Baseball Club-I wrote an entire edition on the Strangers last week, but goddamnit it’s good to have the 2023 World Series Champions back in my life. Corey Seager is inching closer to Alex Rodriguez for first place on my list of “Most Skilled Baseball Players That Have Suited Up for Texas” with each game. The dude is electric, and the stoic way he murderlizes baseballs is so gangster. Nate Eovaldi looks like he’s decided to switch on Post-Season Mode a few months early; his splitter is unhittable right now. Wyatt Langford is going to be a problem for MLB pitchers for a long, long, time, and I think we’ll look at him falling to the Rangers at the #4 spot last summer as one of the most fortuitous draft moments this century. If the Over/Under on careers MVP awards for Langford is 0.5, I’d smash the over. It does suck that Josh Jung will be out for 8-10 weeks with a fractured wrist, but that’s the game; you never make it 25 weeks without a big piece or two going down for a spell. Bally Sports Southwest and the Diamond Sports Group can, of course, go fuck themselves with a fungo, but other than that all is right in Ranger Land.
March Madness-I used to be all-in on the NCAA Tournament. Young me was never a big arts and crafts kid, but every Spring Break for a few years I would get a couple poster boards, a yard stick, and a Sharpie, and meticulously create a bracket for each region. Then I’d wait patiently for the Selection Show on CBS and fill in the teams as the bracket was released. I loved it. I still enjoy it, and I do watch the Men’s Tournament, but I’ll tell you what’s been on my TV more and more lately…the Iowa Lady Hawkeyes. Caitlin Clark is a fucking terrorist on the court, and I mean that in the best possible way. She’s very clearly wired the same way that legends like Wayne Gretzky, Michael Jordan, Kobe Bryant, and Lionel Messi are/were, in that the only thing she cares about is being the greatest of all-time. That’s it. Then she goes and rips the opposing team’s soul out of its body by burying 32-foot threes. It’s enthralling, and a shit ton of fun to watch, especially with my 5-year-old daughter. UCONN/Iowa in the Final Four Friday night is going to be a must-watch. Pack a lunch, Geno.
While we’re here talking NCAA Women’s hoops…how about Kim Mulkey? I don’t mean from a coaching perspective. I have a ton of respect for her accomplishments as a head coach, as she’s a four-time NCAA champ and the only NCAA basketball coach to officially win titles at two schools. And although she’s clearly homophobic/transphobic and probably not a great person, most of her players do play hard for her and seem to respect her, which is like 90% of being a coach. No, what I’m talking about in terms of Kim Mulkey is how much of a smoke show she was in her early days at Baylor. Dude, look at that picture at the top of this post. I was totally sleeping on how fire young Mrs. Mulkey was. My bad, Kim. Quick thought exercise: If Kim Mulkey, circa 2003 while coaching at Baylor, was interested in monetizing her looks via an OnlyFans type of subscription service/website, what would she call it? Four ideas come to mind: 1) Got Mulk? 2) Waxed in Waco; 3) Grin and Bear It; 4) Box and One. I dunno, maybe a couple of those are good? I think “Box and One” plays. I’m just spitballin’ here. Email your best Kim Mulkey porn-adjacent names to armsidefun@gmail.com.
My Daughter’s Birthday-My little girl turns six in a few days, and she’s having a Bath Bomb party. I don’t even know what the hell that entails, but it’ll be awesome ‘cause everything about her is awesome. She’s the best, an absolute dynamic combination of personality, intelligence, loyalty, and empathy, and I’m so glad I get to watch her grow up. My only job: Don’t screw it up. The only way that young lady doesn’t do incredibly beautiful and meaningful things in her life is if her old man fucks the dog on raising her. And even that might not stop her. I love you, little girl.
Luka Dončić Plays for My Team!!!-This really doesn’t need much of an explanation, does it? Luka Dončić is just stupidly skilled at playing the game of basketball, and he plays for the Dallas Mavericks, my favorite team. It’s a joy to watch, especially here lately as, since the trade deadline, the Mavs have seemingly cracked the code for winning with Luka and Kyrie Irving: Give them some super-athletic big men that will devour boards and lobs, put a couple of 3-and-D wings in the rotation, and LET THEM COOK! I was at the Mavs/Nuggets game a couple of weeks ago (the one where Kyrie hit what was basically a 20-foot left-handed hook shot over a 7-footer to win the game), and it was ELECTRIC inside the AAC. I don’t know what this team’s ceiling is, but I promise you that 0.0% of Western Conference teams want anything to do with the Mavs in the playoffs right now. Bally Sports Southwest and the Diamond Sports Group can, of course, go fuck themselves with a shoddily wired shot clock, but other than that all is right in Luka Land.
Wrestlemania 40-Live from Philadelphia (obligatory “Fuck the Eagles and their mouth-breathing dipshit fans” goes here) on Saturday and Sunday night this weekend, it’s Wrestlemania XL! I love pro wrestling, as does my 9-year-old son, and both of us are JACKED for ‘Mania this year. (Example: He’s asked me every day this week who I think is going to win the Andre the Giant Memorial Battle Royal match, which isn’t even taking place at Wrestlemania this year; it’ll be Friday night at Smackdown. Kid is locked in.) WWE’s showcase event is going to be a humdinger this year, as The Rock, (a/k/a Dwayne Johnson/Flex Kavana/Rocky Maivia) has been back in the mix for Wrestlemania season. He’ll join his real-life cousin and current WWE Undisputed Champion Roman Reigns in a tag match Saturday night versus Cody Rhodes and Seth Rollins. So far, in just a handful of recent appearances, Rock has: ran down the denizens of Phoenix, Arizona for their meth and crack consumption; slapped the piss out of Cody Rhodes, the biggest babyface to ever babyface; donned a cowboy hat at the Mesquite Championship rodeo and talked shit about Cody Rhodes and Seth Rollins for like 20 minutes; roasted Grizzly guard Ja Morant, in Memphis, about all his gun stuff; bloodied and belt-whipped Cody Rhodes, respectively, in consecutive episodes of Raw; and bragged about making some little kids cry on account of Cody bleeding. Ass Hole Heel Rock is back, and better than ever, and I can’t wait for this weekend. There’s a hundred ways they could take this story, and I have no idea what they will choose, but I’ll tell you this much: If the glass shatters at any point this weekend and Stone Cold stomps his way down the ‘Mania stage and starts dishing out Stunners to Roman, Rock, et al., just know that I appreciate everyone reading Arm Side Fun, but it will unfortunately be coming to an end because my head will have exploded. CAN’T!!! FUCKING!!! WAIT!!!
My Wife’s Birthday-So…two summers ago my wife and I were planning to go to Hawaii for our 10-year wedding anniversary. What actually happened, though, was that in April I resigned from a great teaching/coaching job because I was stealing drugs from a co-worker, I went to rehab for 31 days, then got my teaching certificate suspended. Shit, who hasn’t that happened to? It’s a story as old as time. Because of all that, we didn’t go to Hawaii. Fast-forward a couple years, and it’s now nearing my wife’s 40th birthday. She wanted to go on a cruise to celebrate, and since I had zero leverage (y’know, due to the whole “getting the Hawaii trip cancelled ‘cause of rehab” thing), I said yes. We’ll knock that trip out this June, and I’m already anticipating the edition of Arm Side Fun where I power rank the various people you meet on cruises. For her actual birthday, we’ll probably make a sushi run with the kids, which we’ve done for several years now. Mrs. ArmSideFun, you’re my favorite and I love you very much. You’re the sexiest and classiest broad I know, and I can’t believe you still choose to be with a dipshit like me. Rather be lucky than good, I suppose.
Earth Day-Eh, I’m not really that stoked on Earth Day if I’m being completely honest about it. Mainly I wanted a reason to include a picture of Captain Planet in the intro. “By your powers combined, I am Captain Planet!” Good dude, CP is. But, while on the topic: Climate change is real, folks, regardless of what your aunt posts on Facebook. I think we’d all be wise to remember that Earth has been adjusting, often violently, to the actions and behaviors of its inhabitants for billions of years. And she’s still kicking, so I’m guessing she’ll find a way to survive whatever our species does to her.
Other Stuff-The Masters is next week, which is always a good time. I’ve kind of missed Jim Nantz’s brand of schmaltzy corniness this NCAA Tournament season and look forward to hearing it for a few days. Honest question: Has Jim Nantz ever blown a load on any of the grass at Augusta National? And I’m not just asking that because I’ve got a good joke lined up. I’d genuinely like to know if Jim Nantz has ever busted a nut onto the turf of the country’s most sacred golf course. The answer’s gotta be yes, right? At least once. And when he did, he almost assuredly narrated the moment with a pre-written line. “Here it is folks…one final stroke at Augusta…and Nantz…SEEDS THE GREEN ON 18!”…Big news for me on the TV/streaming front: “Sherlock” is now on Hulu. The BBC classic (again, Diddy, I’m referring to the British Broadcasting Corporation, not the other BBC; I promise, when it's that one you’ll be the first to know) starring Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman is one of my favorite shows, but I haven’t been able to watch it in a few years. Huge development. The game is on...College baseball is in full swing, and the SEC looks to be as chock-full as ever with great teams and top-of-the-draft talent. I’m calling it now: Four SEC teams will get to Omaha…How about the Dallas Stars, huh? As of Friday, April 5th, they’re just one point behind the New York Rangers in the race for the Presidents’ Trophy, and they’re almost certain to be the top seed in the Western Conference. With Miro Heiskanen, Wyatt Johnston, Thomas Harley, Jason Robertson, Logan Stankoven, and Roope Hintz, the Stars have an uber talented and exciting young nucleus and should be good for a long time. Playoff hockey is the tits, and I can’t wait to watch the Stars partake. Bally Sports Southwest and the Diamond Sports Group can, of course, go fuck themselves with the rusty blade of an ice skate, but other than that all is right in Stars Land.
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I’m done…3600 words takes it out of a fella. But before I go…thank you for reading. Most of you reading this I know, some I don’t, but regardless I really appreciate you taking a few minutes a week to digest the absolute nonsense that spills out of me. This is still the best and cheapest form of therapy I’ve found and knowing there’s a few folks out there looking forward to it each week is better than (most) drugs. Again, thank you.
The email is armsidefun@gmail.com. Feel free to send me anything, at any time.
Tell your people you love them, and don’t be an asshole.
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