Tag Archives: everyone wants the hangover

Athlete Christmas Lists: Barry Cofield

(sotto voce)

um, hey santa. my name is barry. um. cofield. barry cofield.

how are you? i hope things are ok. because at christmas-time, things should be ok for you.

/laughs nervously, coughs, clears throat

sorry. um. i’m kinda nervous, like, talking to you. not that you’re mean or anything, no, uh, that’s not what i mean. it’s just, um, i get a little shy around celebrities. it happens a lot, i guess. like, um, when i met the real estate agent lady from the bus stop ads. i got real shy then.

even though she’s, um, on all these bus stops, she’s talking to me and holding my arm, just because i have a two-pound ring. i couldn’t believe it. it was so great.

i mean, not great like talking to you, though. um, you’re a different kind of great. oh, man.

/laughs nervously, coughs, clears throat

anyway. um. there’s really just one thing i want, if you don’t mind, santa — i mean, if it’s ok to ask you, um, sir. i know, uh, a lot of the guys are asking for expensive things or the hangover on dvd, or, um, even to try to kill you and stuff. but if you could get the guys to stop making fun of when people do cosplay, i’d like it. it’s nice to feel like someone else sometimes. less, um, scary.

like when you make your own aquaman costume and pretend like you’re the ruler of an underwater kingdom and you get to make all the decisions, and there’s no osi or strahan or justin or antonio or coach steve or coach tom or anyone else to tell me to just be quiet and push the pocket, barry, I’M NOT A MACHINE I’M A MAN AND SOMETIMES I’M BETTER THAN A MAN I’M AQUAMAN.

/laughs nervously, coughs, clears throat

um, that’d be nice, santa.


Athlete Christmas Lists: Tyson Chandler

Hey, Santa Brah! So stoked that you’re all, like, “giving people presents” and crap, dude. If there’s one thing that Tyson “Halfpipe” Chandler suuuper digs, it’s presents and Christmas, y’know?

Well, I guess that’s two things. And also, I totally dig halfpipes more than either presents or Christmas. But I guess fat old dudes don’t always “get” the siren song of SkateStyle and SkateLife — or, at least, not in the same way that 7’1″ CaliBeardBros get it.

See, Boom, like, kinda gets it? On account of being a CaliBeardBro? But not fully, because he’s lil’ler than 7’1″.

But you prolly knew that already, on account of being all-seeing and all-knowing, like a totally chill fat God. DUDE YOU’RE LIKE A WHITE BUDDHA! But not like that Keanu Reeves Lil’ Buddha? Because you’re mad old. You’re, like, Oldie Hawn.

I mean, no offense or nothing. You seem like a good dude. Matter of fact, you know what, brah? You want to skate my halfpipe with me? Or smoke my fullpipe with me? Or go to Ampipe with me? Or wield a leadpipe with me?

Whoa, Santa. Pretty lame that you don’t want to go halfsies on a pipe fight. Whatever, bro. Guess I’ll just “give you my wish list.” Pffffffffffffffff.

  1. I mean, I could prolly use some Sector 9’s. Keep my board’s bearings tyte.
  2. I “wish” you would’ve wielded some leadpipes with me, but you had to be all Father Bitchmas. Sucks, dude.
  3. Maybe, like, a $2,000 donation in my name to the Northern California Downhill Skateboarding Association? Those guys just really have the right idea, y’know? Clip the strings, move for yourself an’ just SKATE, Santa Claus. For once? Totally.
  4. Hangover on DVD.
  5. Maybe, like, a plane ticket to NOLA? Just kinda miss some of my bros.  Well, this one bro, especially. Never “got” SkateLife, but he was pretty dope at FriendshipOllies.

Señor later,

Athlete Christmas Lists: Roger Mason Jr.

Good morning, Santa Claus. I trust you slept well — all guests at the Mason compound lie upon the finest high-thread-count sheets, pillow-top mattresses that cradle and cushion, and even double egg crates for additional luxury while slumb’ring.

And don’t worry about oversleeping — as you seemed very tired, I thought it best to instruct my servants not to wake you.  You see, I wanted you to be rested, refreshed and invigorated, of sound mind and body and in perfect condition to fulfill my lone Christmas wish.

What do I want, you ask? An interesting question with an all-too-simple and satisfying answer, Mr. Claus:

I want you … to die.

Look into my eyes, Claus. See deep into my soul. Do you not understand? LOOK AT ME!

Surely my dispassionate gaze has chilled you to your very core. Mine has been a life of grand accomplishment, unthinkable pleasures and, at times, uneasy alliances. Such a life of leisurely luxury has allowed me to accumulate a vast fortune, as well as the time to pursue more … fantastic endeavors, such as the dark science of alchemy and the mystic art of telekarate.

Yes, it’s karate times telekinesis. Ha. Of course you wouldn’t understand. Your compatriots didn’t, either.

The Easter Bunny. Frodo Baggins. Andre 3000. El Chupacabra. Zach Galifianakis, from The Hangover on DVD. All of your fellow supernatural figments of contemporary popular culture scoffed at the notion of telekarate.  That was before I vanquished them — first in Mortal Kombat for Genesis, then in mortal combat for reals — and stole their lifeforce.

Amid the easy perfection that is being Roger Mason Jr., one prize has eluded me. But no more. Here you are, trapped in my underwater castle, with only one way to escape.

That’s right: I am your Apocalypse, and I am come. Face me, Claus. Stare into the cold, dead eyes of your reckoning.

Athlete Christmas Lists: Darko Milicic

What’s the point. It doesn’t even matter. Presents don’t make you feel better. Nothing makes you feel better. Whatever. I don’t even care.

  1. That Deftones CD that has their cover of the Smiths’ “Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want” on it. It’s darker.
  2. Gift card to The Black Angel. I don’t care for how much. Whatever. Like it matters.
  3. Johnny the Homicidal Maniac: Director’s Cut. Right, like you get why it’s cool. So lame.
  4. Hangover on DVD.
  5. Admission ticket to Disneyland Paris for when I get back to Europe. “Why?” You wouldn’t understand.


Athlete Christmas Lists: Daniel Murphy

Hey Santa, man … I don’t know if you can do this for me, but I don’t really know who else to ask.  Ever since I was a kid, I’ve had this dream burning a hole in my head — I see it every night when I go to sleep, and it stays with me all day, every day.  It’s all I can think about.  And I’m thinking maybe you’re the guy to help me out with it:

I want to be a herald of Galactus, Devourer of Worlds.

I know what you’re thinking: “Hey, man, you gotta talk to Galactus about that.” But hear me out, Santa. I know you’re the kind of guy that can make magic happen, and they always have such kickass powers and weapons and costumes!

And The Power Cosmic. Holy shit, The Power Cosmic. Don’t even get me started on The Power Cosmic.

Do you even realize what my BABIP would be if, every time I stepped to the plate, my body coursed with the raw furious matter-transmuting-and-obliterating energy of The Power Cosmic, just begging to be directed through my cosmic bat toward any rawhide-encased projectile? Significantly higher than .286, I’d wager.

Also, um, fucking FLYING? Through SPACE?!? Uh, yeah, dude. Sign me the hell up.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’d have to sacrifice the life force of my world and the existence of everyone I love to make this happen. I get it. But most people are bastards anyway. And if you’re asking me whether I’d rather be soaring through the Milky Way with a bat that directs The Power Cosmic or in a platoon with Carlos Delgado, keeping the seat warm for a kid named Ike? I think we both know the answer to that question.

Bet Firelord is a pretty decent guy, once you get to know him.  Maybe I could make my name like his name, kinda.  Like “Heatking.”  Or “Flameduke.”  Yeah, “Flameduke The Hitter.” So sick.

So, listen, I know that’s kind of a tall order, but I’d really appreciate it if you could set this up.  And I guess, failing that, Hangover on DVD.  Thanks, friend.

Fly safe,
Flameduke The Hitter ;)

Athlete Christmas Lists: Mike Bibby


  3. Hangover on DVD.

Warmest regards,

Athlete Christmas Lists: Esteban Loaiza

Heeeeeeeyyy there, Nick.  How they hangin’?

Oh, come on, old timer.  No need to be shy with me.  Hell, I’ll tell you about how mine are hangin’.  Ask anybody, and they’ll tell you — I’m very, very open about how mine hang.  Just dig talkin’ ’bout ’em.  Always have, I guess; ever since I could remember, I’ve just kinda dug lettin’ folks know about m’balls.

Sure, I’ve got my hand over ’em now — but that’s just to draw your eyes down there.  So now you’re lookin at ’em.  And you’re thinkin’ about ’em.  Am I right?  Of course I am.

Admit it: You can’t help but think about Esteban Loaiza’s balls, Santa Claus.  Know how you feel.  I can’t either.

  1. Two cases, Gold Bond Medicated Powder. Because obviously.
  2. A ticket to the premiere of the new A-Team movie. Always loved Hannibal. Not sure if you knew that about me.
  3. Seven pairs of How Ya Hangin?, the best boxers in underwear history.
  4. Mary Murphy, the loudmouth ballroom judge from So You Think You Can Dance? For one night. That’s all I need.
  5. Hangover on DVD.

Hasta Loaiza,