Author: The Centaur

Sweet One, Syracuse

Wow, thanks to Vermont upsetting Syracuse, I am now mathematically eliminated from winning my office pool on the second day of the tournament. The second day! I think I actually did worse than the girl in Payroll that picks teams based solely on the color of their uniforms. Sadly, she even warned me that Syracuse’s orange uniforms were really more of a fall color. Damn. I now face the daunting task of going into work on Monday and trying to convince people that my wife actually filled out my bracket.

While Vermont played an outstanding game, they couldn’t have pulled out the win without some magnificent point shaving by Syracuse’s Gerry McNamara. Kudos on a truly first-rate performance. I’m sure there’s a bookie having his thumbs broken as we speak. Seriously, it was like watching the movie “Blue Chips” with Jim Boeheim starring in Nick Nolte’s role (and regrettably, without Shaq as a supporting actor.)

Truthfully though, I like seeing a smattering of upsets this time of year. It’s just that I’m usually on the “Called it!!!” side of these games, smugly gloating to coworkers like the outcome was obvious. “Well, Southwest Missouri Tech has won their last 11 non-conference games on the road… And Kansas tends to shoot under 50% when the opposing coach has a mustache. It was really a no-brainer.”

There’s more to this story though. With their win tonight, Vermont has unwittingly created a second major upset within our office pool. With me out of the tourney in the early rounds, my coworkers (all of which are #16 seeds to my lone #1 seed) now have a legitimate chance to win it all. Let me say right now, I can’t wait to use that analogy on Monday…

And so there it is. Let the madness begin… I can honestly say that my happiness in life over the next three weeks will depend almost entirely on how far Gonzaga goes in the tourney… (By declaring that, I almost assuredly have jinxed my way into another upset. Standard.)

Go Zags!

Gun For Hire

Consider this a classified ad:

Wanted: Reliable mercenary interested in joining a semi-winning team. Must have flexible schedule and be willing to work late nights and weekends. Applicants should demonstrate a tireless and insatiable appetite for killing. Ability to taunt opponents with juvenile insults a plus. Sniper skills a definite plus. Please post resume and/or personal qualifications in the comments section below:

Sadly, this is what it has come to. The Zillionaire platoon of Krusty, Solo, DA and I have been busy spilling the blood of our pre-teen opponents across the outer reaches of the Xbox Live cyberspace. Please understand, these hordes of pre-teens are bloodthirsty and relentless, as most of their life is spent being shoved in lockers and rejected by girls. In other words, picture us 15 years ago… (Alright, fine… five years ago.) Anyway, all of these juveniles are looking to make their mark by knocking off a few Zillionaires. Naturally, we match the ferocity of our opponents, as we take pride not only in annihilating the other team, but also in displaying less maturity in the process.

So why the classified ad? As you might guess, it is becoming extremely difficult for all four of us to get online at the same time. Whenever we fail to field a full squad, Microsoft selects a random player from a select group of social misfits to fill out our team. Guess how this turns out. First off, it is guaranteed our new player will have zero charisma. And most of the time they don’t even talk at all. Believe me, we’ve been matched with a staggeringly disproportionate number of mimes, mutes and silent film stars in these games.

Second, provided our newly assigned teammate doesn’t abruptly quit mid-game, he usually sabotages our team by demonstrating the killing capacity of Spongebob Squarepants while combining it with the dying capacity of Kenny McCormick. The only good thing that comes out of teaming with a random player is that it gives the rest of us someone to blame unequivocally for our defeat. Immediately after the loss, the three of us in the platoon grab our cell phones and make another frantic attempt at reaching our rightful fourth teammate.

And so here we are. We need some reliable gunners that can consistently show up, notch a few kills, and help represent the clan of Zillionaires in our ongoing quest for Halo 2 supremacy. To help applicants get acquainted with some of the people they’d potentially be working with, I’m providing some declassified profiles on our team members…

The Chizzler:
Occupation: Web Designer
Weapon of Choice: Laser Sword
Strengths: Team leader in kills. Handles a laser sword like a Jedi Knight (thankfully without the mind tricks or befriending of Jar Jar Binks).

Jon Solo:
Occupation: Musician
Weapon of Choice: Sniper rifle
Strengths: It’s surprising to those that have seen him shoot a basketball, but Solo is our best marksman.

Velvety Krusty:
Occupation: Campground Manager
Weapon of Choice: Shotgun
Strengths: Never avoids a firefight. He will fight a tank with a Super Soaker if that’s what it takes. Also, his quality of play increases dramatically when intoxicated.

However, to be fair to potential recruits, I should probably disclose some of the weaknesses our team possesses…

I’ll begin with The Chizzler. For starters, The Chizzler has a pathological predisposition to rebel against any form of organization or team strategy during game play. Usually it is benign, like casually wandering away from the team while we take position in a bunker. Apparently, The Chizzler will suddenly realize he left his car keys by the warp zone or forgot to put the dust cover on the machine gun turret, or some other random errand that is more pressing than covering his teammates.

Unfortunately, it’s almost become pointless to even attempt to develop any sort of team strategy, as The Chizzler will ignore it completely on the grounds of not being labeled a conformist. Sadly, the only way to make The Chizzler follow a game plan is to implement reverse psychology by instructing him to not follow the game plan. For instance, if I want The Chizzler to help guard our position, I might instruct him thusly:

McSex: “Alright guys, let’s hold position behind the small fortress. Krusty and I can guard the perimeter, and Solo will cover us with the sniper rifle. Chizzler, you should wander off like an Alzheimer’s patient and sever communication with the rest of the team… and be sure to take several phone calls during game play.”

And then there’s Solo. As I alluded to above, he is lethal with a sniper rifle. When he gets into a killing groove, few can survive his onslaught. Unfortunately, this also includes his teammates. Essentially, Solo turns into the Manchurian Candidate and begins killing everyone, especially those he’s supposed to protect.

Finally, there’s Krusty. He has the most unreliable Internet connection on the planet. Seriously, the Amish mock his lack of technology. Because he lives on a campground, he is apparently forced to dial into Xbox Live via a telegraph in a nearby ranger station. While the rest of us hold conversations, Krusty is beeping at us in Morse code. And while the rest of us worry about hackers interfering with our Internet connection, Krusty’s primary concern is of raccoons and horseflies. Unfortunately, Krusty’s poor connection can cause the rest of our screens to skip and lag, creating an effect similar to trying to make out a picture on a scrambled cable station. For most of us, this is something we were more skilled at in our adolescent days… (Alright, fine… I’m still good at it.)

So as you can see, it takes a special kind of individual to join our team. We’re looking for a few good men willing to sacrifice their marriage and possibly career in the noble pursuit of hardcore video gaming. You’ve got to pretend to believe your wife when she says “nothing’s wrong” and things are “fine” while she angrily turns the pages of a magazine on the adjacent couch while you play video games all night. You’ve got to be willing to show up late and do a really half-assed job at work because you played past midnight the night before. And you’ve got to be willing to drop everything at a moment’s notice when called upon to join your platoon online. It’s not an easy life. Do you have what it takes?

Valentine’s Day Massacre

Valentine’s Day, 11 am:

Well, it’s here again: The Valentine’s Day gun to my head. I decided to write a post today that is continually updated with increasing levels of desperation as I scramble to find a suitable gift for my wife. Please post suggestions, as I can honestly state that any idea will be given my full consideration.

I’m really hoping I can deliver a clutch performance when the pressure is on. I’m looking for some last minute heroics, a real buzzer beater here, instead of the epic choke that appears imminent.

Of course, if I spent a fraction of the time I will spend writing about how I can’t come up with a gift idea actually researching some gift ideas, none of this would matter in the first place.

And on that note, I’m going to wander over to the vending machines and Lost and Found box in our office to see if there are any suitable gifts to be had…

Valentine’s Day, 12:02 pm:

Well, the Lost and Found box was a big disappointment, although I did find some Star Wars action figures that I thought were stolen. My file cabinet felt naked without a recreation of the battle for the Moon of Endor sitting on top of it.

And the vending machines were equally lackluster. It was a long shot to begin with, but I thought that maybe if they had a peanut butter Twix I might be able to pass that off as an acceptable Valentine’s Day gift. No luck though, just regular Twix. We all know that won’t fly.

This probably goes without saying, but vending machines are generally not a good place to do your gift shopping. This is especially true of vending machines in men’s rooms. Trust me, despite claims to the contrary; a novelty condom will not drive her wild.

I can feel the first twinge of sweat proliferating on my brow…

Valentine’s Day, 1:53 pm:

Finally, the first stroke of good luck: I’ve got dinner plans taken care of. It was hectic there for awhile. First, I was calling restaurants offering to tip well, bus my own table, provide my own candlelight, eat standing up, whatever it would take to secure a reservation… No dice.

Then I started dialing restaurants pretending to be a celebrity hoping it would cause a table to suddenly open up. So, I began calling restaurants delivering my dead-on impersonations of Mayor Quimby (from the Simpsons), Pee Wee Herman, Chewbacca, former president Bill Clinton, and Kermit the Frog. Not surprisingly, this plan backfired as well.

It wasn’t until a Chinese Restaurant fell for my “regional health inspector” routine that I landed a table… suckers. As long as my wife doesn’t mind me carrying a clipboard to dinner and excusing myself periodically to inspect the kitchen for health code violations, this has all the makings of a romantic evening…

Valentine’s Day, 2:46 pm:

Thanks for all the suggestions… Good work gentlemen.

Gabe suggested that I get my wife her own Xbox for Valentine’s Day. I’ve actually thought about this from time to time. Every so often though, she asks if she can play “MarioKart” on the Xbox. Obviously, she’s clearly not ready for an Xbox.

Solo, thanks for the advice. Although, I’ll need to find a “Hip-Hop to English” dictionary to translate it.

Booth, also provided some solid advice. Next year I’ll begin laying the groundwork weeks in advance to get out of finding a gift. I really should have set aside some of the gifts I purchased for her on Groundhog’s Day…

Valentine’s Day, 3:58 pm:

This is starting to shape up like an episode of “24.” Although I kind of doubt Jack Bauer would switch spots with me. Battling terrorists and stopping a nuclear apocalypse is nothing compared to scrambling to find a last minute gift on Valentine’s Day.

I’ll admit, things are getting desperate. I may even have to stoop to calling the International Star Registry. This is the last ditch effort for many pathetic men. For $39, this organization allows you to name a star after someone special and place it in the International Star Registry. Believe me, this is a horrible gift idea. First off, anytime a trip to the local observatory is required to actually see your present, you know you’ve given a pretty crappy gift. And when it comes to gifts, in general, if it’s not visible with the naked eye, it’s not worth giving.

Finally, it is said that there are as many stars in the universe as grains of sand on earth. Think about that. There’s literally a zillion stars out there. So, I’ve decided to take it one step further. I’m going to name a grain of sand after my wife as her Valentine’s Day gift. I’ve already picked it out too. It’s located in the backyard, near the mailbox. It’s kind of brownish in color… Happy Valentine’s Day Sweetheart!”

Well, I’m heading out to meet my wife for dinner. Good times. While I’ve spent the day writing this post, I’m sure she’s spent the day filing divorce papers. I’m sure she knows me well enough to know I always have a trick up my sleeve…

Valentine’s Day, 6:32 pm:

I hope you didn’t think I’d leave this post with a cliffhanger like that… I know you all need closure to this running diary.

The truth is, all along, I had planned to surprise my wife with tickets to the Gonzaga game on Thursday. Honestly, the list for tickets for these events surpasses organ donor waiting lists in length. In other words, surprising my wife with Gonzaga tickets was harder than surprising her with the Holy Grail.

So how did I pull off this fourth quarter magic? Aside from having a dominant “Elway” gene, I also have a friend with connections to the Gonzaga athletic department. A relentless campaign of groveling emails and phone calls over the last week to the aforementioned connection eventually ended with a pair of tickets that saved my marriage.

Valentine’s Day, 7:08 pm:

Well, it’s time for me to join my wife in the hot tub with a bottle of wine. Unfortunately, I won’t be updating you on the rest of the evening… (unless it ends up involving the Xbox, which is likely.)

In Defense of Costco

I can’t believe I have to write this. There are just certain things you don’t expect yourself having to defend. For instance, I doubt I’ll ever have to write a post entitled “In Defense of Mother Theresa” or “In Defense of the Xbox.”

Unfortunately, every so often someone with a dominant “Grinch” gene comes along to attack that which we all hold most dear. Let’s face it, aside from the part about the bulk quantity of “air freshener” he possesses, there was very little accuracy in Dave’s post about Costco .

Please consider the following:

  • To be fair, I agree with him on the whole membership idea. Why should I have to pay for the right to be your customer? Costco sticks us with a cover charge without providing any live music or karaoke. The only way I could look past this whole membership thing is if everyone had to wear a “Members Only” jacket to get into the store. At least this way it would feel like it was 1985 again.
  • Three words: Champion Duffle Bag.
  • Costco sells all kinds of magical products that up until now only existed in the make-believe world in my imagination. Things like a double pack of cereal containing both regular and Honey Nut Cheerios. I challenge you to find that item in any other store in the universe. It’s only available in the fantasy world of Costco. Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise me if Costco also sold unicorns and Leprechauns.
  • The pizza slice for $1.99. Admittedly, it’s not Sbarro quality, but it’s still foldable with ample cheese and pepperoni and it usually has a reservoir of grease sitting on top of each slice. These are the things I look for when making a pizza purchase.
  • Outside of school cafeterias, who else gainfully employs more old ladies in hairnets?
  • I like how there’s no customer service. I seriously do. Don’t even try and ask someone for help, because there’s nobody around. You’re on your own. Figure it out. I’m sick of how all these other stores try to coddle their customers by greeting them, answering their questions and assisting them with their purchases. The Costco system keeps out all those high-maintenance and emotionally needy customers other stores cater to.
  • Finally, here’s a partial listing of the many diverse items I’ve purchased at Costco in the last year: 32 inch Panasonic Television, my second wedding band, the faucets currently in use at the Zillionaire’s Lounge, our dual Sonicaires, ski goggles, and enough frozen buffalo wings to sustain an army of Zillionaires.

    That’s just scratching the surface, you can also get your home loan through Costco, and book a vacation, and get photos developed, and get warehouse pricing on a mail-order bride (they sell them in two-packs). I’m telling you, they’ve got everything.

A Zillionaire Milestone

While everyone else in the country was busy today celebrating Groundhog’s Day, an important milestone almost went unnoticed. Sadly, it’s not the first time we’ve been upstaged by a trained rodent. In case you didn’t know, today marks the one year anniversary of the launch of InternetZillionaire.com.

Our mission was simple: Present the world with a new way to kill time at work. Competition was tough at first, as people clung to their traditions of building rubber band balls and creating massive chains of paper clips. Gradually, people began to find that reading about save the date cards can be just as rewarding as photocopying their butt on the Xerox machine.

Anyway, I thought I’d use this space to share a little about our readership over the past year. Dave installed some tracking software to monitor the visits our site receives. The following are actual statistics about visits from other countries.

Here’s the top five:

1. Canada (282): When you factor in the exchange rate, our zillions are worth ba-zillions up North…

2. Bahrain (103): I couldn’t find Bahrain on a map if my life depended on it. After this many hits though, I think I owe it to them to buy an atlas.

3. Germany (65): This is even more astounding considering we have zero references to David Hasselhoff on our site.

4. United Kingdom (60): I feel honored to give something back to the country that gave us Def Leppard.

5. Bulgaria (56): This isn’t a surprise. Dave and I are like rock stars in Bulgaria.

As you might expect, not everyone came to our site intentionally. Many visits came via a search engine. Here are some actual words and phrases that people typed into Internet search engines that ultimately led them to Zillionaire:

Christbox (2): I’m sure there was a smattering of evangelical Christians disappointed when they found that “Christbox” is our newly adopted slang for an “XBox.”

Maleah McPherson (8): Seriously, Maleah… can you explain this? There are a lot of people googling you.

Eddie Van Halen Capri Pants (2): Actually, my beef was with Sammy Haggar’s Capri pants, but you get the idea.

Celebrity hit in the groin (4): See, I told you there was a huge market for this.

Camo Cumberbun (2): No tuxedo is complete without one…

Tango Neutralized (9): This proves there are other grown men out there speaking in an esoteric language rivaling the nerdiness of Klingon.

What will 2005 hold? Well I don’t want to give anything away, but you can expect to hear about my Sonicaire toothbrush at some point. And possibly some thoughts on remote controls. I might even tell you about the time I saw Dustin Diamond (Screech from Saved by the Bell) at a comedy club.

So stay tuned. And thanks to all the readers that have visited Zillionaire in the past year, and especially those who have commented. We’ve had fun killing time together…