Performance-Enhancers in Fantasy Football

If I catch you using PEDs in fantasy football I will fine you.

I am a tremendous fantasy football commissioner. Teams loves playing for me in my fantasy league. I had the whole league begging me to be the commissioner. Why? Because I am a great commissioner. I am very successful at it. I always email funny graphics. I send out clever polls. People love my polls. I’m saying that fish-faced Roger Goodell should be fired. Roger Goodell, you’re fired. With him in charge, fantasy football is dying. Roger Goodell is ruining fantasy football. He’s absolutely ruining it. Only I can make fantasy great again.

The only way to make fantasy great again is to make people pay. Listen, money talks. I should know, I have a lot of it. And when money talks, people listen. So this is it. If you break the rules, I will fine you. It’s as simple as that. No one is above the game or the rules that govern it. My job is to protect the integrity of fantasy football and to make sure the game is as fun as possible. And if you aren’t having fun, I’ll fine you. It’s my job.

Finable Behaviors in Fantasy Football

So let’s make it absolutely clear what behaviors will warrant a fine. I want to be really clear on this.

  1. If you don’t pay your league dues by draft day, I will fine you.
  2. If you don’t start a complete lineup no matter the week, I will fine you.
  3. If you don’t send a trash-talking email each week, I will fine you.
  4. If you mention your “work league”, I will fine you.
  5. If you don’t answer my polls, I will fine you.
  6. If you get caught using PEDs, I will fine you.

Finable Performance-Enhancers in Fantasy Football

A lot of people say to me, “I know what a performance-enhancing substance is for professional football. But what is a performance-enhancer for fantasy football?” It can be a lot of things. Let me tell you.

  • Incessant mock-drafting – It’s Friday night and you are in your mancave mock-drafting a 12-team league with 2 QBs while your wife is crying in the bedroom because she thinks you don’t love her or the kids anymore. That is a finable offense.
  • Following Matthew Berry’s fantasy advice – If I catch you listening to his podcast, browsing his Love/Hate column, or reading his book, you’re dinged.
  • Home-made Excel spreadsheets – If you are creating CELL functions for identifying PPR sleeper picks, you will get fined.
  • Watching the “All-22” game film on NFL Game Pass – You clearly have too much money to spend. I will take some of it for myself in the form of a fine.
  • Childless unemployment – If I wasn’t the commissioner, I would have to fine myself on this one.

Granted, I don’t have the resources or staff to enforce any of these fines. I’m not going to know if you download Matthew Berry’s podcast and listen to him bloviate on your commute. But I trust that fantasy football is a gentlemen’s game and all those who break the rules will fine themselves accordingly. Just make sure you send all that fine money to me, the Tremendous Commish. After all, only I can make fantasy great again!

Current Reflections on High School Yearbook Quotes


My 20-year high school reunion is coming up. As I’ve thought about those formative years, a whole host of emotions have bubbled up from deep within. (As you know, a Zillionaire’s heart is a deep ocean of secrets.)

First, of course, is curiosity. What have my classmates been up to? What stories have shaped their lives? Where has their journey taken them? If stranded on a deserted island, what Vanilla Ice song would they hum as they whittled coconuts?

Second, I get nervous because I wonder what they think of me. I feel far removed from the skinny Mormon boy they used to know. Granted, we all have Facebook so I’m hoping my physical appearance won’t be a complete shock. Besides, they couldn’t have known my life’s ambition has been to have facial hair like Charlie from the TV show “Party of Five” and a body like Shrek. But we all have opinions, memories and misconceptions we’ve locked away for the last 20 years that will suddenly be dug up like a time-capsule and put on display.

In a last-ditch effort to process these emotions, I feel compelled to find out just how much I’ve changed since high school. The only way to answer that question is to go back in time and try to understand who I was twenty years ago and juxtapose that with who I am now. So I’ve dug out my old yearbook supplement and present to you my current reflections on high school yearbook quotes. Keep in mind, these are actual quotes people wrote to me back in 1996.

Current Reflections on High School Yearbook Quotes

“You are the best 4-wheelin’ dude I know.”
I sincerely appreciate the positivity oozing from this comment. I had no idea those two times I rode a 4-wheeler at my friend’s farm demonstrated such skill however.

“I’m glad we kicked ass in golf this year.”
Again, I love the enthusiasm and I hate to be a stickler, but I’m pretty sure we lost almost every match and my personal golf scores dragged the team down like a set of concrete shoes on a dead mobster.

“I pledge allegiance to Powell Peralta of the United Sates of Vision Street Wear. And to Caballero for which it handplants, one nation under Tony Hawk with too many kickflips and freestyle boards for all.”
This is one of my favorite quotes from my yearbook. I don’t know who left it but it is pure poetry. Whoever you are, I hope you are winning some Def Jam Poetry Slam somewhere as I type this.

“Well I never know what to say except that Disco rules & you’re the “Dancing Queen.”
Despite not knowing what to say, you’ve led with some very strong opinions of music that I can reflect on. Not to mention, you’ve unknowingly left the best backhanded compliment a heterosexual 17-year old boy never wants to get.

“Best of luck with your professional rapping career. Hot tip: I bet you’d be huge in Latin America.”
In hindsight, this stings a bit. Had I gotten a few breaks, I’m basically Macklemore and I even have my own Ryan Lewis named Jon Solo! I should have listened to your hot tip and recorded a version of Blacktop and Chains in Spanish.

“I don’t care what people say, you still are and always will be really lame and immature!”
Let’s forgive the use of “lame” as it really wasn’t meant offensively 20 years ago. In today’s parlance, I am being characterized as “uncool and childish.” My good friends will recognize how true this remains. I will forever be Peter Pan with a neckbeard.

“Good luck, maybe you’ll grow up to be a guy who writes articles that piss a whole lot of people off.”
Holy crap! Apparently I went to high school with Nostradamus. The only thing this person got wrong was they overestimated my influence. I did grow up. I still write. I still piss people off. But it isn’t a “whole lot” and it is almost never intentional. Maybe this article will prove them right, however.

“Always remember the single most important thing to life; nudity.”
Thank god I got this incredible advice when I was still young and naive enough to see its true beauty and wisdom without being jaded by its frank(and beans)ness and vulgarity. It has served me well over the years. From playing basketball with the fellas to important job interviews, my fondness for nudity has set me apart. In fact, you should picture me naked right now writing this blog post. Now, hold on to that image in your mind. Turn it over in your head a few times. Let it sit there for a few minutes. Just a few minutes more. You’re almost done thinking of me naked but not quite yet…

Area Man Sees Headline And Tells Everyone He Read Article

I read an article...

After telling friends about a fascinating article he read online detailing a new scientific breakthrough in solar power, local man Dave Allen was forced to confess he only read the headline when his knowledge of said article buckled under casual questioning during dinner conversation.

“When Dave started talking about this new advancement in solar technology, the whole table was intrigued and all turned their attention to him. I mean, we’re all concerned about climate change and reducing our dependency on fossil fuels, so hearing positive news on the subject from a knowledgable source was exciting,” said Matt Neshound, friend and host for the evening meal.

“But when my wife Kate asked if it was a US-based company or research team that made the advancement and Dave took a bite of his lasagna and mumbled he ‘couldn’t recall exactly,’ I knew something was fishy. And it wasn’t the lasagna because it was vegetarian.”

According to another dinner guest, signs of the deception were evident from the very beginning when Mr. Allen didn’t source the originating publication responsible for his recent wisdom. “Even though I was listening, I was skeptical at the onset when Dave said he read this scientific article he saw on Facebook. We all know Facebook isn’t an accredited outlet for publishing well-researched academic papers. It’s basically Huff Po with pictures of your friends’ babies and beers mixed in. I actually hate Facebook,” lectured James Seville, friend, online curmudgeon and fellow meal partaker.

The duplicitous nature of the fraud was revealed in its entirety under a simple line of inquiry from out-of-towner and infrequent supper companion Arge Wood who, unbeknownst to Mr. Allen, works in the alternative energy sector. “Poor guy,” said Mr. Wood. “I knew he was full of it from the get go but I didn’t want to seem rude so I let him say his piece. Then I just politely started digging. Nothing too hard. Just lobbing softballs really. I wasn’t trying to humiliate him. I just didn’t want him wasting everyone’s time with his nonsense. I only have dinner with this group of friends once or twice a year.”

Under the mounting pressure from the brief interrogation, Mr. Allen became agitated and uncomfortable. He recalled the lights in the room seemed especially bright and focused on him in that moment. Trapped in a web of lies of his own making, he was forced to finally come clean. “Ok, so I only glanced at the headline as I scrolled through my feed,” he explained.

Later, upon reflection, Mr. Allen opined, “Everything would have been fine had Mr. Wood not been invited to dinner. I have quoted from hundreds of articles I’ve never read in the past. Nobody ever had a problem with it before.”

The Next Evolution in the Dad Bod Craze

Dad bod unicorn pissing a rainbow

Men have it good. Maybe too good. We grow old, we’re more “distinguished.” We go bald, we’re better looking! We lose our chiseled physique, we have a sexy Dad Bod! It’s all rainbows and unicorns for us guys.

How far we can take this Dad Bod craze? Where will society draw the line? Of course, some enterprising (albeit unimaginative) Internet Zillionaire-wannabe has already cornered the “Grandpa Bod” market with this t-shirt on Zazzle.

Grandpa Bod Shirt

A true Internet Zillionaire can do better than that. In fact, for the last few years I’ve been hard at work perfecting the next evolution of the Dad Bod. I’ve put myself through an insane regimen. I’ve been skipping weights at the gym and instead going for personal records (PRs) at the all-you-can-eat buffet. I’ve cut out all broccoli from my diet and doubled up on croissants and gummy candy. I drink the recommended 64 ounces each day but I substitute Mr. Pibb for Mr. H20 (water, if you call it by its less formal name). I liken it to the body transformation process movie actors put themselves through when preparing for a role. So, of course, I found the inspiration for the next male body type in the title character of a well-known movie. I call it Shrek Bod.

Shrek Bod is the new Dad Bod

If women thought Dad Bod said “we like being the pretty one” and “good eats”, Shrek Bod pushes the envelope even further. It screams “you aren’t the person I fell in love with” and “you ate all the donut holes in one sitting?”

While a little belly fat and some love handles are the major distinguishing features of a dad bod, the defining characteristics of Shrek Bod are a huge, protruding gut and a really flabby neck which completely swallows the chin.

The movie character Shrek has a green complexion, but Shrek Bod is more of a pasty white. Lack of sun, extreme shame of putting on a swimsuit, and general fear of going out and being recognized contribute significantly to this coloration.

Who loves the Shrek Bod?

While men do have it good, it turns out society has drawn a line. Shrek Bod crosses way over it. Truth be told, Shrek Bod has some unforeseen yet major flaws. Heterosexual women want nothing to do with it. And, among its practitioners, it slowly and silently erodes all self-confidence. Thankfully, the process can be reversed and the effects will wear off.

So if you see me eating carrots sticks and broccoli soup this summer, don’t mind me. I’m just working on my Dad Bod.

The Salad Bar

Worst bar: salad bar

The salad bar is the worst kind of bar.

How did they even get “bar” status in the first place? They have nothing in common with all the other “bars” out there. Most bars serve hard liquor and beer. Wine bars pour wine by the glass. Cocktail bars have hunky actors behind the counter spinning drink shakers, tossing bottles in the air, and groovy Caribbean theme songs. Sounds fun! Salad bars have wilted lettuce, stale croutons, and slime-covered sneeze-guards. Total Debbie Downer!

But what of the clientele? Is that where the similarities begin? Let’s investigate. Lots of “normal” bars attract a vibrant singles scene, where men and women of all types can meet someone they might consider dating or even sexting. The only things attracted to a salad bar are flies, maggots, and the occasional vegan. No one goes to a salad bar to flirt or find romance. You might find a hair in the olives or a booger on the sunflower seed scoop, but no love connection. Clearly, salad bars don’t appeal to the same crowd.

I’ve also noticed that the service is different at a salad bar compared to other bars. Most bars have a bartender, a knowledgable person who can prepare, serve, and effortlessly conduct the monetary transaction for your drink of choice. They are often personable and try to make your experience in their establishment as enjoyable as possible. At a salad bar, things are almost the opposite. No one greets you when you walk in the salad bar. No one knows your name.

From there, it is up to you to find the teetering stack of industrial-grade plates, pick the least dirty one out of the top three, and then belly up to the salad bar to serve yourself. Joy! But remember, you only have a few minutes to fill your plate with all that germ-infested goodness because the plate itself weighs close to 15 pounds and your untoned arm muscles will give out shortly. Once you’ve fingered every fruit and touched every tong, your plate is piled high and you sit down at your table. No waitstaff will ever come refill your water. No busser will ever clear your plate. In fact, if you are still hungry after that first trip, you take your dirty plate back to the salad bar and reinfect it with all your newfound fungi. The circle of life! When it comes time to settle up, you have to track down the one employee who knows how to use the cash register and regurgitate your order to them before you go outside and regurgitate the contents of your stomach. There are no winners at the salad bar. Only losers.

But maybe I’ve got this all wrong. What if we look toward the some other types of “bars” to better understand the salad bar? Dive bars are just a subset of the traditional alcohol-serving bar just with dirtier bathrooms and older, uglier customers. So I guess salad bars have a bit in common with them. Tapas bars serve food and no matter how much you eat you always leave hungry, so salad bars are similar in those ways. Cigar bars smell like rotting flesh inside so there is that. Is it conceivable the salad bar is included in the pantheon of bars for these coincidences?

After this exhaustive inquiry, my original thesis stands. The salad bar is the worst kind of bar. Don’t you agree?