Tag Archives: Nice name … dick

And this is why it always pays to watch the mixtapes in their entirety before you post them

Because if you did, you’d catch this:


Knife fail, Misiek.


Devine’s Got TBJ Beef

It especially solves everything if the problem is, My path is obstructed by a douchebag in a camouflage shirt.   1 2 fight u.

It especially solves everything if the problem is, "My path is obstructed by a douchebag in a camouflage shirt." 1 2 fite u. 4 realz.

When the shit goes down

Ya betta be ready

– Cypress Hill, “When The Shit Goes Down”

(NOTE: The music starts around :40, but the dramatic fervor and Latin flavor of the first 40 seconds are both inspired and inspiring, so you should watch.)

That was my mistake: I wasn’t ready. It almost escaped my notice when the gauntlet was thrown down earlier this week.

As has been the case since the start of the basketball season, I was a couple of days behind on The Basketball Jones — I used to listen to the audio podcast at work, but since they moved me into an office (that’s right — the kid’s IMPORTANT) without an easily accessible headphone jack (OK, maybe not) and I suck at remembering to update my iPod before work, I usually trail a bit.  So it was a nice surprise when Brian informed me via Twitter that Skeets and Tas had answered my question on the Jones’ Inauguration Day episode.

Psyched to have worked my way onto the netwaves again, I waited until the coast was clear at the office, cranked up my shitty monitor speakers and set about watching the Jones.  My e-mail was a follow-up on a previous show’s discussion of the league’s greatest post-shot celebrations, and I was pleased that they’d decided to voice my choice: Patrick Ewing’s uncontrollable sweating.

Wanna know the secret to Pat's healthy glow? NEVER BEING CONFIDENT HE'D MAKE AN IMPORTANT SHOT.

Wanna know the secret to Pat's healthy glow? NEVER BEING CONFIDENT HE'D MAKE A BIG SHOT.

So imagine my surprise at the 13:51 minute mark, when Skeets read “my” e-mail:


Hmm.  That’s not what I wrote in about.  Weird.

No big deal, though — I just figured that in the rush of putting together a top-notch daily broadcast while also hustling to do Canadian stuff (you know, like figuring out Fahrenheit-to-Celsius conversions, proudly nodding and smiling at one another while listening to Rush-Bryan Adams-Snow mashups, never littering, etc.), the boys got my e-mail mixed up with someone else’s.  Not wanting to steal someone’s moment of glory, I fired off an e-mail to make the powers that be aware of the mistake.  Here’s the reply:

Did we type that out as ‘Devine’? It was meant to say ‘Divine’. Someone signed off their email that way…

Simple enough.  Question answered, problem acknowledged, crisis averted.  Now chuckle at the coincidence, take a hearty sip of coffee, cue up “Good Life” in your head and recline in your office, baby!

… your TBJ identity has been stolen.

/spits coffee on valuable reports while in mid-chuckle and briefly chokes, turning laughter to choke-induced tears and causing internal brain needle on “Good Life” record to scratch, which brings the strains of T-Pain to a halt


Now you listen here, fellow-Basketball-Jones-fan-who-either-shares-my-name-or-a-variant-on-my-name-I’m-not-entirely-sure-which-since-the-e-mail-wasn’t-super-clear-but-nevertheless-is-totally-not-me: I almost kind of EARNED my Basketball Jones identity.  And I’m not going to have some Johnny-Come-Lately start horning in on my nameturf.

I’ve paid my dues over the last two seasons. I’ve posted comments that no one found funny or insightful.  I’ve e-mailed in a woefully off-base tip about a Simmons column that included an insult of the Raptors’ starting five that was actually an obvious joke, leading to an embarrassing retraction that’s best left forgotten by all.  I’ve called the Jones Line to leave messages about Jason Maxiell’s jump shot that never had any prayer of getting on-air.  And occasionally, once in a blue moon, I’ve contributed something that made JD take pity on me, and let my stuff get on the show.

I called the Jones to admit that I had a hard time deciding between sex with my girlfriend and watching the fourth quarter of Game 4 of Celtics/Lakers.  What have you ever done?!

I’m gonna find you, Jones-e-mailer-whose-Twitter-handle-should-really-be-NOT_THE_REAL_DEVINE/POSSIBLY_THE_REAL_DIVINE.  I’m gonna get Vinny Del Negro, and I’m gonna find you, and we’re gonna assassinate your confidence.  I’m gonna patch things up with Jerome James, and we’re going to eat your self-esteem.  I’m gonna buy Antoine Walker a drink, and we’re gonna DUI your coping mechanisms.

Then, once me and a slew of basketball outcasts have eviscerated your sense of self, you’ll finally know the answer to the age-old question: “What’s beef?”

Beef is innocently and inadvertently usurping someone’s generic commenting handle and getting made fun of on the Internet for it.  Boom.

At least one pervert loves this blog, and I have incontrovertible proof

So there I was last night — sitting in my apartment, minding my own business, listening to The Bar Exam 2 as I checked this site’s traffic stats.  Imagine my surprise when I saw this:


That’s right: “Baby dick.”

As of about 8:30 p.m. Eastern time on Jan. 14, 2009, “baby dick” was the top search term for this is the city line. (EDITOR’S NOTE: Still true at 10:30 a.m. on Jan. 15, 2009. Dope.)

Now, there are perfectly logical explanations for why this humble site showed up in the search dragnet when Baron Von Kid Trapp set his likely knifenailed, certainly forever unclean fingers to the keys:

  • One of the first posts I wrote prominently featured Boston Celtics “point forward” Glen “Big Baby” Davis;
  • A video post ostensibly written to make fun of a fucking crazy person included the tag, “this is my baby”;
  • The site’s second post, which explains this blog’s title, included the tag, “Nice name … dick.”

See? A perfectly cromulent explanation.

Still, one thought keeps scraping at the base of my skull … that there’s something AWESOME about being a completely non-sexual Web site that turns up when an inveterate creep Googles “baby dick.”  So, in the interest of trying to ensure that this happens again:

NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM (Image courtesy of 2TheAdvocate.com)



The venerable Dick Stockton.





The estimable Dickie Thon.

The estimable Dickie Thon.


Hott stuff, comin thru.

"Hott stuff, comin' thru."


Former U.S. Rep. Dick Armey, R-Texas.

Former U.S. Rep. Dick Armey, R-Texas.


Now, come on, horrific, horrific freakshows.  Let’s get this baby dick train rolling!

P.S.: My fiancee’s pep talk on doing more legwork to increase this site’s visibility: “You can’t just hope that people will search for ‘baby dick’ on the Internet and find your Web site!”  Um, yeah, actually, I can.

about the title

From whence does the name come?

This blog’s name comes from a lyric in “Silence Kit,” a phenomenal song by a phenomenal band called Pavement. Full lyrics are available here.

Where can one find this song?

The song is on a phenomenal album called Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain. The album came out in 1994, when I was 11 years old. It remains dope today. The album looks like this:

There's no photo here. That stinks.

Want to sample the whole record? You should, because it’s great. You can listen to it here.

But why, Papa? Why is this blog called this is the city line.?

Because my name’s Devine, and I always thought it’d be awesome to have “The City Line” be the name of my backing band when I became a lounge singer (not unlike Barry Jive having the Uptown Five). But since I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket and am as agile as a bag of shit (thanks, Dad!), me leading a band doesn’t appear too likely, and I didn’t want this slick idea to go to waste. Also, I’m a jerkoff who intentionally ditched the initial cap on “This,” as well as a grammar douche who added a period at the end to make the site’s name a complete sentence, lest my editorial OCD go into hyperdrive every time I visited my own blog.

Hence, you’re here. Welcome.