Bags’ 2018 Official Mock Draft

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Now, anyone who knows me knows I’m not a huge college sports guy. I think March Madness is the best product in formal athletics but outside of that, I could give a fuck about bowl games or what Mel Kiper’s ass is up to… until now.

Why? Because people who also know me also know that I’m an opportunist. I jump at the prospect of success. I come, I see, I conquer. And with the calendar on the verge of flipping to March, it’s officially “Mock Draft Season.” That said, I’m getting into the mock draft game because there’s money to be made so without further adu, here’s my Official 2018 Mock Draft.

  1. Cleveland Browns: N/A
    I actually have Cleveland just conceding their pick here. I feel like they’ve tried virtually everything to be competitive over the last 3 decades except avoiding the draft altogether. Think of it this way: No one can say you drafted a bust if you don’t draft at all.
  2. New York Giants: Baker Mayfield, QB, Oklahoma
    This is a no-brainer. Mayfield won the Heisman this year, which is awarded to the best player in college football. Why wouldn’t you draft the best player in college football if you had the pick of the litter? I’ll wait…
  3. Indianapolis Colts: Calvin Ridley, WR, Alabama
    Anyone who has watched IND play over the last 1.5 decades knows they’re consistently a good defense away from a long championship run. Look for them to go with the best WR in the draft at 3.
  4. Cleveland Browns: N/A
    Once again, John Dorsey avoids draft criticism and withdraws his organization from consideration.
  5. New England Patriots (via Broncos): Chris Laviano, N/A, N/A
    In a “Win Now” move, Denver makes a blockbuster deal and moves their 5th pick to New England for Tom Brady. The Patriots use their pick on the ex-Rutgers quarterback and future college lacrosse transfer because it’ll end up working out.
  6. New York Jets: Sam Darnold, QB, USC
    The Jets need a long-term guaranteed franchise starter so they go with Darnold because USC quarterbacks always pan out.
  7. Philadelphia Eagles (via Redskins via Buccaneers): Lamar Jackson, QB, Louisville
    Tampa Bay trades down their pick to the Redskins, who then trade their pick to Philadelphia for DE Chris Long. Given the recent controversy regarding Redskins’ name controversy, Dan Snyder adds some much needed White guilt to Washington’s defensive front and Philadelphia gets a second viable QB option to motivate Carson Wentz.
  8. Dallas Cowboys (via Bears): O.J. Simpson, RB, Lovelock Correctional Center
    Chicago trades down to Dallas for royalty rights to Cole Beasley’s rap single. Jerry Jones uses the pick on 70-year-old OJ Simpson to compliment Dez Bryant’s experience/leadership.
  9. Oakland Raiders: Saquon Barkley, RB, Penn State
    In his first official move with the franchise, Jon Gruden adds insurance at the RB position for when Marshawn Lynch inevitably/inexplicably stops showing up to practices and games.
  10. Miami Dolphins: Josh Allen, QB, Wyoming
    What better way to assure future success than a quarterback who’s tall, has big hands, and sucked at quarterback in college?

Planet Fitness is For Alphas

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So for those who are unfamiliar, I’m a world class athlete. I demand perfection from my body so I’ve flirted with several thousand outlets over the years. There was even a time when I did CrossFit for a week. It was alright. Most people would ask me, “Joe, what’s the hardest part about CrossFit?” And after thinking for a bit, it wasn’t the rigorous workouts or the early AM classes. No. The hardest part of CrossFit for me was just coming to the terms with the fact that I was a complete douche.

Anyway, I moved on from CrossFit and was looking for another platform from which I could disperse this testosterone. I thought about getting a BowFlex or doing Tae Bo but then I realized I’m not just your average soft serve cuck looking to blow off steam for 20 minutes on a Wednesday afternoon. I’m a man. A man that fucking moves plates. Everytime I walk into the gym, it’s another episode of Man vs. Iron; and 9 times out of 10, it results in another bad day to be Iron.

So I eventually decided to join Planet Fitness, otherwise known as “The Purple Gym” and so far, it’s been unreal. It’s basically a Bernie Sanders rally with treadmills.

All my friends shit on me for going there because they’re fucking losers who have low self esteem and think they’re training for the Olympics or something. They act like it’s impossible to get a workout in there. They “need more weights.” Like yeah, whatever guys. It’s $10 a month opposed to the $45 a month you’re paying to take pre-workout, text on workout benches, and look at yourself in the mirror for two hours a day. I digress…

The best part of Planet Fitness is that it’s a judgment free zone, which is dope. I often find myself being judged on occasion at the gym so it’s great to be in a place that doesn’t send off a giant, ear-raping siren whenever someone drops a weight (wait…). Also, it’s a gender inclusive gym. Most places would call me out for jacking off in the women’s locker room but it’s my body, my choice there.

The worst part, if we’re being honest, is this thing they do once a month called “Pizza Friday.” It’s an event where Planet Fitness orders like 50 pizzas to the gym and a bunch of beta slobs slam about 5 slices on their way out the door. It’s ridiculous. The GYM serves PIZZA. That’s like if a rehabilitation clinic gave out dime bags of coke on the second Thursday of every month. WILD.

Also, there’s this one savage Asian dude who spends roughly 2-3 minutes blowdrying his feet in the morning. I’m not joking. He literally spends 2-3 minutes a day torching his feet with a blowdryer and if that behavior persists, I may have to say something.

There’s a New Pop-A-Shot King and Thy Crown Wears Heavy

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So last night, my company (which will remain nameless until they agree to sponsor this blog) had a corporate outing at this place called PINZ. It was essentially just this giant bowling/restaurant/arcade type place. Basically a drunk, degenerate 26-year-old’s paradise.

So anyway, I normally wouldn’t go to a company event. It’s nothing against the people I work with, it’s just I hate everyone. Anyway, I ended up going for three reasons: one, I’m new to the company; two, I basically spent the last month setting it up; and three, I was asked to host.

Now, I didn’t find out I was hosting until about 2 hours to the event. It’s a big responsibility and could serve as the perfect opportunity to ingratiate myself to the culture. Naturally, I said “I’ll think about it,” then whipped to the nearest liquor store, emasculated a pint of McGillicuddy’s and confirmed I’d be good to go when the doors opened later that night.

So yeah, none of this matters but I thought you would need a little context to truly appreciate how great the rest of this story is.

Anyway, I show up and the place is HOT. Cosmic bowling strobe lights are going bananas and the arcade was bumping. I finish my hosting job, grab a Bud Light, and navigate to the arcade before feasting my eyes on the greatest arcade game of all time: Pop-A-Shot.

Anyone who knows me knows I’m one of those blue-blooded, middle America, dig in your cleats, 9-5, tooth and nail, steak and eggs competitors you used to read about in those Matt Christopher books. I live for the big moments. I live for the lights. I live for the sights and sounds of greatness.

As you probably know, I could’ve been the greatest quarterback to ever play. I sprained my ankle in eight grade and haven’t had that same drive off the back foot because I never rehabbed properly. But yeah, I was third-string but everyone knew what the deal was. They knew where the cannon could be found every day at practice. They knew who they wanted on the line in a big spot and I’ve been chasing that rush ever since.

When I saw Pop-A-Shot last night, I knew I had an opportunity. I knew I had a chance to re experience that rush of greatness again. I just KNEW it. So I embraced it.

I walked up to the stripe with confidence and called my shot. “I’m smashing this record” I declared in a loud, boisterous tone. People started to gather. They could sense the electricity in the air in the same way that certain animals can sense a storm is coming. People gravitated to the machine as I slid my game card across the card reader.

Then… it was silent. The world was watching and the once reprehensibly noisy arcade room was subdued. You could hear a rat piss on cotton in that place and although I couldn’t hear anyone, I knew what their eyes were focused on. I knew they were honing their senses on the kid.

So I pushed the start button and time slowed down. The adrenaline kicked in and those rubber balls were released into the pit below my torso. I started shooting. I remember vividly the first one rimmed out but the second dropped like a prayer. As I continued to pour in shots, I could sense the crowd was inching closer and closer. My circle of influence was closing and I knew the pressure was only getting greater.

As I got closer to 68, my heart raced. My palms sweated. My legs began to twitch. But my shot remained true…

Long story short, the final buzzer went off to the tune of a roar. And that roar wasn’t stemming from the Lion King game located to the left of the Pop-A-Shot machine. That roar stemmed from a crowd who just witnessed a passing of the torch. People were cheering. One woman cried. The heavens shined down upon Milford.

There was a new king crowned last night, and he goes by the name of “Bags”. Joey Buckets has arrived and that blinking 72 on the lower right hand corner of the machine is all she wrote. What a rush…

Bags’ Movie Reviews: The Shape of Water

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Before I begin, I would like to clarify that I planned on blogging this yesterday. I should’ve, but I didn’t. My whole plan was to see this movie on Wednesday, but unfortunately, Wednesday was Valentine’s Day. It’s a holiday devoted to chocolate and half-assed blowjobs so I thought heading to a romantic movie alone would be an all-time low moment for me.

That said, I have a job to do. I’m the White Knight of the internet and, as so, I need to provide my fans (both of you) the best coverage of everything and anything—and yes, that includes movies.

The Oscars are coming up and a lot of your may not watch. I understand the White Guilt Awards come around only once a year but understandably, I assume most of you don’t enjoy listening to overpaid celebrities narcissistically spew their sociopolitical agenda for 5 straight hours in high definition; thus, here’s where I come in.

I’ll give you the REAL on these movies. The good stuff. Everything you need to know and nothing you don’t. So with that said, let me begin…

For starters, I went to the movies alone—which is fucking dope. If you haven’t experienced this because you’re some soft serve, insecure cuck, than you’re missing out. I literally had the ENTIRE theater to myself. I could’ve jacked off in the middle of one of the aisles if I wanted to but I didn’t. Why? Because you guys deserve to know the truth about these movies.

So to clarify, The Shape of Water is basically a sci-fi romance about a mute janitor that falls in love with an imprisoned sea creature. If that’s not a top shelf log line than I don’t know what is…

The film was directed by Guillermo Del Torro (probably spelled that wrong but I’m not Googling it). For those unfamiliar, he was the dude who directed Pan’s Labyrinth. For those unfamiliar, that’s a movie about some chick who ends up developing a relationship with this 12-foot forest dwelling faun who leads her into this different world where she does something that helps save her mother or something. I don’t really remember. I watched it the morning after this past New Years Eve and understandably, the details are a little foggy. That said, it was basically Alice in Wonderland on bath salts. Very fucked up, a lot of blood, with a hint of fantasy.

This film was sort of the same. I think it took place in France. A lot of old French music throughout the thing and that’s essentially what I’m going on. That said, no one spoke French in the movie, nor did anyone have a French accent so you know what? It probably didn’t take place in France. Carrying on…

So this woman’s mute. She can’t talk to save her life so she falls in love with this “creature from the black lagoon”-looking cocksucker because, well, she can resonate with the fact the creature sees her for what she really is.

This was my favorite aspect of the movie because I, like the creature, do not see color (or gills). I judge everyone the same. I have sea creature friends. All lives matter. Moving on…

So she falls in love with this thing but alas, there’s a problem. There’s this evil dude (who happens to be White and male) who gets his rocks off by torturing and kicking this thing’s ass for no reason. He’s basically Hitler if a sea creature denied Hitler access into art school instead of some preppy Jew.

Long story short, everything works out because her roommate (some 50-year old gay dude) helps her remove this sea creature from the confines of the prison (not sure if it was a prison but whatever) and they eventually ship his ass back to the sea.

It was okay. A lot of blood. Like, A LOT of blood. Almost too much blood. It’s as if some chick just spewed her period all over the film strip but it’s cool because women are just as equal as men and shouldn’t be period-shamed because their bodies are beautiful.

Anyway, here’s the final score: 8.4

I’m Starting to Love Comcast

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So my office recently switched our business phone provider from Comcast to some other provider that will remain anonymous until they agree to sponsor this blog. Long story short, Comcast somehow managed to fuck up the disconnect so I was appointed as the White Knight who needs to figure this shit out.

Anyway, I called up Comcast and, after a grueling 2.5 hour on the phone, they finally came to the shocking “Oh you’re right, we fucked up” conclusion. It was amazing, and the experience sort of gave me a new found respect for the company as a whole.

Comcast GENUINELY just doesn’t give a fuck. Like, people always bitch and moan about how Comcast and its customer service doesn’t care about you but you can’t truly conceptualize such a declaration until you actually have to play in the mud with these people. It’s like that park bench soliloquy that the late Robin Williams gives to Matt Damon in Good Will Hunting: “You can talk about how frustrating Comcast is, but you can’t tell me what it’s like to spend three hours on hold, listening to Dave Matthews Band’s back catalog as three shitheads cackle at the fact your Internet sucks.”

It’s unbelievable. Speaking to Comcast’s customer service is like navigating Wonderland. You end up hopelessly talking to 50+ people, with every “answer” getting you nowhere closer to your objective.

Me: “I’m looking to disconnect my lines.”
Cheshire Tech Support Guy: “Why?”
Me: “Because I don’t use them.”
Cheshire Tech Support Guy: “Well it seems to that you’re already disconnected” *insert creepy grin as he disappears*

Like no dude, just shut my phones down or put someone on the phone who can! And I think that’s the genius behind Comcast—I literally don’t think there IS anyone who can help. I feel like Comcast has no corporate hierarchy whatsoever. It’s just a CEO and 50,000 people with no clearance whatsoever so, instead of transferring my call to someone capable of actually solving my problem, they just keep pinballing your call to different interns who “Really appreciate your time and understand your concerns.”

So yeah, that’s my rant. I could honestly blog for days about how much I hate Comcast but I’ll stop because, with the end of net neutrality, there’s a solid chance they could prevent people from reading my blog anymore. Gotta pick my battles now…

The Winter Olympics is Here and I’m JACKED Up

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Anybody who knows me knows I “get up” for three things: cargo shorts, new Taco Bell menu items, and the Winter Olympics. It’s literally just a revolving door of random competitions you’re guaranteed never to see again until 2022. It’s appointment television and if you can’t get down with it, than you flat out can’t have fun.

Like, who the hell came up with that event where you have to cross country ski while periodically stopping to shoot targets with a rifle? How about Skeleton? Hell, do you know any good short-track speed skaters in your neighborhood?¬†Probably not, but that’s exactly why these events are the shit.

When you turn on the Super Bowl or the NBA Finals, you’re seeing actual athletes—people who have spent their entire lives being athletic, popular, and damn near perfect. When you watch the Olympics, you’re watching a bunch of scrubs throwing it all on the line in the name of absolutely NOTHING. These people have devoted themselves to a life of obscurity, and for one fleeting week in February, we get to see if it was all worth it in crystal clear HD.

In other words, you watch the Winter Olympics for the same reason you watch a sword swallower or that dickhead who tightrope walked across the Grand Canyon—you want to see them crash and burn. You can pretend you’re watching the tight rope guy because you want to see him achieve a lifelong dream, but really you just want to see him catch a gust of wind in front of a bunch of tourists while CBS frantically switches the broadcast to some shitty rerun of Kevin Can wait.

Simply put, you want to see some weirdo flush 4 years of blood, sweat, and tears down the toilet and you want to see it happen in a matter of seconds.

Final Note: NONE of this blog applies to curling. Curling is captivating. Curling is life. Once every four years, I find myself glued to the television screen, praying the US can find a way to generate some chaos in the dance.

Yesterday, the red White and blue absolutely CUCKED Russia. Matt and Becca Hamilton rolled up on communism’s doorstep and dragged their dicks all over the place. Point blank, they set the tone for the tournament and I’m looking for big things the rest of the way. This is our year. Don’t let us win this one.

P.S.  NEED North Korea to make a run this year. The only thing better than a Cinderella or a clear villain is both in the same entity. PyongYang wants that hardware.