The Title Run Begins Next Year.

Well. The Chicago Bulls' season has come to a disappointing close. A bad decision by CJ Watson at the end of the game will be the talk of the town for the next few days and then hopefully people will get back to their regular lives. Of course, we should (always) be disappointed in the biggest chach to ever put on a Bulls jersey (there have been plenty), Carlos Boozer. I'm not even going to do him the courtesy of looking up how many points he had in this last game because I know it's lower than the average number of shits I take a day (so what if my average is unusually high at 4.83?).

But I'm not overly upset about it. Because I have it all figured out. Let me share.

The Bulls suffered tragic injuries this postseason. It was difficult to watch (repeatedly thanks to a million replays) but it had to happen. Yes. It had to happen. We will never know if the Bulls would have beaten the Heat in the Eastern Conference Finals but it doesn't matter. What matters is what happens next playoff run. This year, I almost want the Heat to win. Because if they do, LeBron James is doomed.

It goes like this. The Heat win this year. Fuck. Shucks. Goddamn. Oh well. Next year, the Bulls will get Rose back halfway through the season. He'll be shaky and a shadow of his former self at first, but we'll still cheer him on and get (nervously) excited when he blows past the defense for an easy layup. I don't expect Rose to be what he has been the past few years. Not yet. (It'll take time but Rose will be amazing again.) The Bulls will not have the best record in the NBA but they will play hard and give us plenty to be proud of. During the playoffs they'll play a couple of tough series before they run into LeBron and the Heat. Let's face it. LeBron has beat the shit out of the Bulls for many years now. Even when he was on the Cavs he chopped it up against the Bulls. If you don't remember this, then I envy your faulty memory that forgets all the bad stuff. (I once farted at my grandfather's wake. Not just a fart. A family of farts that smelled horrible and that everyone (maybe even my grandfather) heard. My brother made fun of me until I cried. So imagine some priest saying religious words then having to pause because a little chubby kinda yellow kid is lightin' up the back of the room like it's America's Birthday. Not sure who came away from the whole experience more traumatized. Anyways, I'd like to erase that from my memory and everyone else's. I'm sure the priest talks about it with all his boring priest friends and they giggle over it while they're drinking wine and staring at the wall.) The Bulls will play the heavily favored returning champions Miami Heat in a 7-game series that will come down to Derrick Rose and Joakim Noah outplaying LeBron James and Dwyane Wade. The Bulls will win. LeBron will forever be remembered as the guy who won a championship only because Derrick Rose was hurt. Rose proved it when he came back as a lesser version (for now) of himself and still managed to get the better of the Heat through solid fundamentals and with the support of a hardworking, close-knit TEAM. There will be less of "LeBron isn't mentally strong enough to lead a team to a championship" and more of "LeBron only won because Derrick Rose was hurt." And doesn't that sound better? Derrick Rose. The loyal, humble hero of Chicago, wins it for his city. The good guys win. For once.

So let the Heat win this year, who gives a shit. Think of this year as the setup and next year as the punch line. When the Bulls trample them in the playoffs next year, everyone will have something to smile about and something to laugh at.

3-peat. Then repeat.

Josh got me this for my birthday. I'll be wearing it on every article of clothing.

Your neck bone is connected to the...love of your life.

I was once told, "If you can't bench press her, she's too fat." I'd hate to be the first guy in history to succumb to that death. A weakling suffocating under his fat disgusting girlfriend. Can it get more embarrassing? Either way I think it's simple advice. The only problem is, I'm pretty small and adult women usually weigh over 85 pounds. So if I was to take this advice I'd be standing outside middle schools wearing sunglasses and handing out Tootsie Rolls (while doing the Tootsie Roll). That's a totally disgusting life.

Now watch this video.

                           
                         

Are you totally blown away? You better be. That one dude was playing the accordion while balancing that other dude who is playing the accordion on his head. I watched this over and over and told myself that it couldn't be real. But then the guy gets down and I can't see any way around it. And of course I dissected this the way I dissect everything. (Seriously.)

1) Who was the first person to do this and why?

2) How can this help me pick up chicks?

I got to thinking. I could find a partner to do this with, preferably somebody bigger than me because (again) I'm small and don't think I have the neck for most of my friends. Also, if I was upside down on a friend's head, chicks wouldn't be able to tell how short I am. Win win. We could stand around staring at people then I'd casually pop up onto his head and wait for the chickadees to flock. Sure we'd hear cheesy jokes like, "You must have a lot on your mind." But we'd get over it.

Having this talent would be revolutionary for me. I could go to a bar (or the library, wherever), sit next to a pretty girl and say, "I bet I can balance you on my head." She'd think I was being a pervert and I'd have a smooth reply like, "Girl. Don't get a head of yourself." (Doesn't make any sense but chicks usually just like stuff that sounds smart.) Then I'd pop a stranger on the top of my head and balance them for a minute and she'd beg for me to give her a try. So I'd pop her up on my head and she'd never want to get down. And it's not like she could anyways. Falling straight on your head from 5 feet 6 inches (unless I'm wearing my good heels) would result in a cracked skull. No woman would want that. I'd just walk straight out of the bar (or library) with her on my head and take her home. Easy as pie. 

Plus. You'd have proof that all those friends you have that supposedly get all the girls, are really just bringing home whatever they find at the bottom of the barrel. Just look at their necks. It's like rings of a tree. A bigger neck with more "rings" only means one thing: Fat bitches. Those guys at the gym doing those ridiculous neck exercises with the weight strapped to their head are just gearing up for battle with the big mamas. More power to them. More importantly, guys would have to stop putting gel in their hair. How the hell are you going to balance a chick on your head if your hair is all gelled and spiky and shit?

So not only have I cured my loneliness. I've rid the world of hair gel. You can thank me later. I have to go practice balancing some shit on my head.