So many thoughts and emotions going through my head right now. Will try to sort them out and compose more coherent thoughts later, when I’m not so tired and on the verge of ugly-crying happy.
But how can you not love baseball, where a team that had no business being in the playoffs ends up winning the whole goddamn thing?
Doesn’t matter. Can’t believe I’m actually typing up this as fact:
World Series Champions, Atlanta Braves.
Catching up on this season of 90 Day Fiance: The Other Way, I had a thought that I’ve had multiple times but never really brogged about: what’s the possibility that there are some people on the show who are deliberately doing things knowing that it’s juicy television and will ensure their continued participation on the show?
Now I could be like 50 years late to the party and everyone else in 90 Day Nation is already aware that this is going on, or it can be more of a real question, in the sense that I’m watching the show, and I’m suspecting that some of the people or couples, are deliberately manipulating their storylines in order to remain on the show, where they can continue to hoover in participation money, get television exposure, and stay (in)famous and fresh in the eyes of viewers.
Case in point: Ariela, the girl from New Jersey who got knocked up by an Ethiopian guy, and moved to Ethiopia to have the baby and live there, hoping to actually grow and marry a relationship with the baby daddy, Biniam. Her original tour of the show was pretty straight forward, dealing with the culture shock, Bini’s family, her family’s resistance to moving, and then the eventual arrival of the baby.
But with this recent season, she brings her ex-husband to come and visit, insinuates all sorts of unfinished business with him, and then goes back to America for a routine medical procedure for her son, and then supposedly goes full dark side, gets a bunch of laughably gross plastic surgery, and refuses to return to Ethiopia, which is actually something that had happened to Bini in the past, where a former baby mama abandoned him.
Like, these are all things that I can’t help but feel are a little too orchestrated, too conveniently inflammatory for the show to exploit, and all the reasons in the world to keep Ariela on the show. She seems fairly bright and cunning, and I wouldn’t put it past her to do it, in order to keep TLC money coming in, and to potentially springboard all this cable tv exposure into something in the future, or to become a mainstay in the 90 Day Universe and get tapped all the time for spinoffs or specials.
I think Corey and Evelin, or the cuck and the bitch in Ecuador, are also gaming the show as well, because they need the money, and as doomed as their relationship is, I think they’re smart enough to realize that they need to keep the cameras rolling long enough to bilk as much money from TLC as they can before they can have the break up they’re destined to have.
However, this doesn’t apply to all cast members of the show; like the case of Jenny and Sumit, both of them are dumb as rocks, and Jenny can’t seem to understand that Sumit will never marry her, as he has an endless bag of excuses and reasons to never move forward. I never laughed harder than when he has suggested traveling to Nepal to circumvent Jenny’s visa issues, because his own passport was absconded by his ex-in-laws and he doesn’t seem to understand he’s a grown adult and can get a replacement.
Kenny and Armando are the layup of the season, Steven and Alina are too young and stupid to game the show, and Ellie and Victor are living too real of a situation, dealing with hurricane cleanup to be in a position to be gaming the show.
The point is, I’m just not coming to the realization, that there are clearly a lot of participants in the show’s history, where they’re gaming the system and artificially injecting plot lines and twists in order to remain on the show. Some more obvious than others, but there are obviously sometimes gamers amidst those seeking foreign love.
Blowing the dust off this ‘ol category here . . .
Good thing I don’t drink Hennessy, because this is the kind of shit that would make me stop if I did: some hokey campaign or promotion called “Original Odyssey” supposedly meant to feature Asian culture. First episode, the one being pushed to the moon to help boost the awareness of it, starring two hafus, Henry Golding and Liv Lo.
Yeah, going real super Asian there, Hennessy.
Yes, it’s shitty to go all Asian-on-hafuAsian criticism because Asians in general don’t need any more bullshit piled on top of them, but this is more to criticize Hennessy for trying to do some sort of Asian awareness, but still being racist and superficial enough to only draft guys like Henry Golding to be their spokespeople. The guy is about as Asian as Chinese food in America and has a fucking British accent. His wife is half Italian, and between the two of them, they have the gene pool for a single Asian.
But then they go blathering on about just how Asian they are and pretending to make Singaporean rib soup, chasing it with some shitty spirits, and I’m rolling my eyes wondering on whether or not to brog about this or not. But the frequency in which I keep getting these ads in social media, and the right circumstances hit, here we are, with me hating on a bullshit campaign intending to be for Asian awareness, but coming from a company that doesn’t have the courage to actually feature any real Asians.
It’s like that episode of King of the Hill where the Laotian country club that Khan keeps getting denied membership to, talk about a golf tournament they’ll have where the greatest Asian golfer of all time is slated to show up: Tiger Woods. It really is kind of like that joke.
Recently, I got an eBay alert on a very specific search query, which doesn’t happen very often, so when I got it, I peeked eagerly to see if this was something that might be attainable. T’was an official Figures Toy Co. replica of the WCW Television Championship blet that I had mild interest of getting if I could get a decent price for it. And seeing as how I am whittling away at my short list of remaining blets that I might actually want, it has climbed up the priority.
The best part about the listing is that it was from a Canadian seller, so no matter what the dollar amount was showing on the listing, the CAD next to it meant that I would basically be paying 79¢ to the dollar which meant I was rich, bitch, in comparison. I low-balled the guy, mostly already deciding that I was going to buy it now no matter what but I had to try, and when they declined the offer, I went ahead and just hit Buy It Now to cut the suspense and not miss out on another Figures Toy Co. original.
So with the acquisition of the WCW TV title, this brings my personal collection of replica blets up to a cool twenty, 22 if you count the two women’s tag blets that I’m holding onto for my daughters until they inevitably decide that they want them for themselves. Literally ten (12) more blets than I once said that I would get, since ten was a nice round number.
And because I never made a post about it because one, I never had the time to, and two, it is technically a Pakistani bootleg because there are no official replicas made anywhere, I also got a replica of the NWA Television Championship, ironically because I was tired of being unable to get a WCW one, that I went after its predecessor since it was available at a ridiculously low, bootleg price.
Now I have both TV titles, and get to deal with the first world problem of once again having to reconfigure my blet rail, to accommodate the two new additions, knowing that there are still other blets out there that I’d want and acquiring them would require more adjustments then too.
The best part is though? Of the last five blets that I’ve purchased, they’ve all come from money made by doing surveys. The NXT United Kingdom blet, two WWE Women’s Tag Team blets, the NWA and WCW Television championships – not a single cent of these came out of my pocket, and came from money earned by doing silly surveys for cents at a time, over the span of the last year.
And I still have a substantial amount left, enough to purchase even moar blets, as they maybe come to fruition. After all, there are still more unicorns for me to hunt down, and knowing me, I’ll probably bite on a good deal fallacy when Black Friday rolls around and WWEShop drops a lot of their blet prices to more reasonable numbers.
Without fail, #2’s number twos have been blowing out, at least once a day, for like the past week. At first, we figured it was just a sign that it was time to graduate her out of size 1 diapers and onto size 2 diapers, since she was blowing the literal shit out of the 1’s, but it turns out that even in spite of the size-up, she’s still blowing out of the 2’s as well.
Now it’s easy to suspect that we’re being neglectful parents, and that #2’s poops are gradually seeping out of diapers long past noticed or something, but I’m actually a very vigilant parent when it comes to blowout prevention, and given how hands-on #2 is, always wanting to be held, she’s definitely pooped while in my arms quite a good bit.
No, #2’s bowel movements are basically like, when you hear it happen, it’s already too late. It’s almost as if her exhaust pipe were installed upside down, and even if I’m holding her completely upright, when she goes, the poop somehow manages to elevate up the backside of the diaper, and the feeling of moisture soaking through the waistband is an unmistakable feeling.
Literally, this is all happening in a matter of seconds, and there are just some poops where it’s going to blowout no matter what anyone is doing to try and mitigate the damage. It’s partially annoying given the frequency in which I have to change diapers and outfits on her, and give baths when they’re really bad, but at the same time, it’s partially amusing, because then I get to write about it and use an animated gif from The Fast & The Furious of flames shooting out of exhaust pipes to try and illustrate a proper analogy for the whole situation.
Regardless, it’s not that big of a deal because #1 went through a blowout phase as well, and she would blow the shit out of numerous diapers and outfits, and almost with certainty while riding in the car seat, so I have to chalk this up as kind of a phase or some sort of rite of passage for kids, that their poops just become really explosive for a while.
I mean, if I took the time to research and actually look, I’m sure I could find a countless number of things, but serious question here, is there anything more unnecessarily needed than mugs made out of baseball bats?
This is actually a topic that brewed last year that I never got to, but seeing as how we’re in the thick of the World Series now, advertising for this bullshit has reached fever pitch, and I’m getting targeted ads and seeing auto-playing bullshit videos for this crap all over again, and now I’m bragging about it.
Seriously, when I first saw this shit last year, I’m thinking to myself, “hey, the world is in a fucking pandemic, and I’m thankful my daughter is too young to realize just how fucked up everything is outside our doors. You know what I need? A fucking mug made out of a baseball bat.”
Maybe if it were any other year than 2020, I would’ve rolled my eyes and ignored just how much bullshit Dugout Mugs are, but the timing of them being pushed to the moon in the middle of a pandemic, I had a hard time swallowing why anyone would want a fucking bored out baseball bat, instead of like I dunno, some PPE or maybe a fucking vaccine?
It just epitomized the ridiculousness of American capitalism and the existence of all sorts of shit that doesn’t need to exist, and Dugout Mugs just made me mad every time I saw them getting shilled.
Like, I googled them just to see how much they’d cost, and a single fucking pint is $70. Seventy fucking dollars, for a hollowed-out bat head. Maybe it’s slightly oil-treated, and has a laser-engraving of my favorite team’s logo on it. But it’s still a fucking piece of wood, which also means it’s not dishwasher safe, and by the looks of it, cleaning the inside of it will require a brush, since any adult human’s hand would probably not be able to wedge inside the bowl to clean with a sponge.
No fucking thanks, I’d rather drink out of cans or bottles, or the litany of novelty pint glasses that I’ve collected throughout the years from my favorite locals or microbreweries, that I can then throw in the dishwasher and clean and dry it without worrying about it warping or rotting.
I hate these so much that it might do the Braves a solid if I say that I’ll buy an Astros Dugout Mug if the Braves can win the World Series, just so I can tempt fate and control the universe into delivering me a Braves championship, just so I can suffer the punishment of having to plunk down $70 I’d rather spend on anything else, on something I really abhor.
Not that I would’ve had any objection to have had a son, I low-key was hoping for a second daughter, for the explicit purpose that I could purchase a set of women’s tag team championship blets for my two daughters to become the lifelong tag team partners they were meant to be.
Anyone who’s seen the modest gender reveal video my wife and I did with a balloon filled with blue or pink confetti, when we popped the balloon and pink confetti rained over my kitchen, you better believe that within at least 3-4 minutes, my mind was already thinking about the tag team blets that I would have to inevitably get for my girls.
It took a few months, but I just so happened to be vigilantly on watch when the day came where the WWEshop dropped these specific blets to the price threshold I was awaiting them to hit before pulling the trigger. I couldn’t have been more excited when they arrived, and not just because they made mythical wife’s eyes roll like Marble Madness.
Y’see, there actually was an endgame in mind for these blets, and I’m going to share it here, because it’s really going to be a toss-up if my brog lasts long enough for my kids to eventually read this, and that’s even if they’re even remotely curious to want read about dad’s online dear diary for the better part of what will probably be like 35-40 years old by the time they might be curious.
Continue reading “2 Under 2: the endgame for the girls’ blets (#069)”
