It's become clear that you're all a bunch of jack wagons. Each week, we give you a poll and each week you answer it like you have an IQ of less than 4. For some reason, we gave two sh*ts about your feelings, so we asked how you felt about our stadium tour plans changing. You turned around and spit our kindness in our faces. This is the last time we care about you. Consider this our giant middle finger extended in your direction. Long story short, 2 of you d*ckheads chose "burp." You literally suck. No more joke options for you. You can't be trusted. Don't you realize that these joke options are us testing your intelligence? You've failed every single time. That's impressive. No one fails anything 100%, yet you have. We're not going to even bother discussing the rest of the poll choices. It's just going to make us more mad. We're considering taking away your power to vote.
In just a few short weeks, we'll be participating in the Cupid's Undie Run for the Children's Tumor Foundation. Any of you local TBB fans (and you're probably just an urban legend because it seems that only California residents like us) that are on the quest for epic stupidity should consider joining us before the run is sold out. You're looking at two members of the team "Can You See My Knickers?" The theme of the day is Wonder Woman. Buy these socks and wear them. If you're a bro who is not secure in his manhood, we will accept Superman since he matches the color scheme. In that case, buy these socks. The afterparty is at the Brass Monkey. Let's all go party in our undies together, shall we? It's for the children. To prepare for running in public while wearing minimal clothing, we've stopped going to the local bar for beer and wings every Monday night. We haven't exactly stopped going to Chipotle or Taco Bell, but we figured removing the "every Monday night" factor was a step in the right direction. Besides...there's no more Monday Night Football, so who gives a sh*t besides the Hot Wing Arbitrator?
In keeping with the bizarre "wellness" theme, we've also managed to be convinced by Serena's cousin, Joel (who is in infinitely better shape than the two of us combined), to register for the Spartan Race at Citi Field on April 13th. We've created an amazing team called The Fear Boners and Joel has yet to sign up. We're starting to suspect that he's bamboozled us. If you're interested in watching our final moments, you should join our team and laugh at us as we die a slow, painful, and miserable death in a mud pie like the animals stuck in the La Brea Tar Pits. Choose the Morning Wave (9-12:00 pm). Besides having the opportunity to watch our out-of-shape failure, you'll also get to run an obstacle course built at Citi Field! Pretty cool, no? The event is trending to be sold out way before the actual event date, so be sure to join sooner rather than later. Don't you want to be a part of the magic that is The Fear Boners? We think you do.
As you can see, neither one of us are really built for speed. Comfort, yes. But speed? No way. Joel has promised to email Serena the workout program that he created for his wife so that she can be ready to run the race with, as she says, "your [Serena's and Joel's] freakishly strong and athletic family." Serena would then forward the aforementioned program to Lisa. Has this happened? No. Joel has not only failed to register for this race, but he's also failed to share his secret obstacle course training program with us because he wants us to die...alone and muddied. Our trainer friend, Greg, who we have affectionately dubbed "Call Me Maybe" has promised to train with us on the weekends. This will most likely prove to be one of his life's biggest mistakes because we're pretty annoying. We trust him because we climbed a mountain with him, did yoga on top of that mountain with him, and when a giant snake crossed our path, he allowed Serena to physically push him in front of the snake's path in order to protect ourselves (it's every man for himself, we always say). He didn't even get mad at us for being selfish like that.
Reality: what's probably going to happen is that we'll meet Call Me Maybe a few times, goof off, piss him off to the point where he'll never want to see us again, let alone train us, and then we won't do anything remotely similar to preparing. We'll prepare like we've prepared for every race we've ever run (drink beer, eat wings and Taco Bell, and talk about how "tommorow will be the day that we'll start training"). Joel won't send us an exercise program. In fact, he won't get around to registering until the event is sold out, which means we'll be stuck running alone, which also means that we'll have no one to perform CPR when neither of us can climb our fat a$$es over the wall that will most definitely be there. Plus, the race requires that teams have a minimum of 4 people to qualify as a team, which means The Fear Boners will no longer be recognized, which is basically a human travesty. Thanks to Joel and his desire for us to experience failure, we won't finish the race and as a result, we will not get another medal. Another travesty. Afterwards, we will legally change our middle names to Failure Pile and become banned from all future Spartan Races for as long as we live.
Don't miss the opportunity to witness this in person. Join The Fear Boners today!
TOWSNBN, Mark Teixeira, Robinson Cano, and Francisco Cervelli are all New York players who've been named to World Baseball Classic rosters. Who cares? We think we'll go wet ourselves now with excitement (*said sarcastically*). In other Yankees news, Alex Rodriguez's surgery on his left hip has gone swimmingly. The Rick DiPietro of baseball will be out of action until mid-season. And speaking of TOWSNBN, he and Molly Beers are officially engaged. If that wasn't a giant f*ck you to Lisa, we don't know what it is. There is no joy in New York-ville.