The worst dream of my life

I don’t think I’m being hyperbolic about it either, because I don’t think I’ve ever had a dream in my life that upon waking up, it reduces me to breaking down into sobbing, I need nearly 30 minutes to bring myself back to earth, and it proceeds to ruin the entire day because I can’t stop thinking about it, and thinking about it fills up the wells again and it’s moar crying all over again.  Telling my wife about it floods the gates one more time, and I can’t even bring myself to write about it until an entire day has passed because it apparently did that much of a number on me.

So yeah, I think it’s pretty safe to say that this was the worst dream I’ve ever had in my entire life.

In a nutshell, I was dying, which I can’t really say has ever really bothered me in the past, but then I had kids, and the number one drawback to no longer living would be the inability to watch and experience their growth and now the thought of death isn’t something to be so ambivalent about anymore.

But in this dream, not only was I dying, I was basically otherwise alive and fine, but facing an impending, for lack of a better term, euthanization.  I had something that was going to definitively kill me, and for whatever reason, it would be best to be put to sleep lest I suffer a gruesome painful demise.  I had a scheduled death date and time in place, and I was basically spending my time in this dream trying to tie up loose ends, and try and make the transition into the world without me in it, as seamless as possible.

Two specific moments stood out the most that I can recall the most, which was a conversation with mythical wife, explaining that after I’m gone, I am fine if she wanted to ever remarry in the future, and obviously to just keep the girls in mind when looking for someone else.  She was more torn up about the conversation we were having than I was, which is probably not necessarily true to reality, seeing as how I probably shed tears way more than she does on the regular.

However that didn’t last long, because it was the other moment that I remember which ultimately ended up being the breaking point in my dream.  I was on my last day, and while walking around the house with my wife further discussing things to keep in mind and things that were settled, I realized that I only had about an hour left before my death appointment, and I proceeded to have a panic attack about why I wasn’t spending this time with my children. 

I frantically ran down the stairs and it was at this point in which I finally woke up.  It was 5:21 am, and I lay there for a few seconds coming to the realiazation that it was all just a dream.  I wasn’t dying, and I wasn’t going to be taken away from my wife and children.  It didn’t matter though, in the seconds that followed, I began openly weeping and the tears came pouring out, fat, hot and wet down my face. 

I couldn’t get back to sleep after a dream like that, so I went downstairs with the dog to take her out early, since she already perked up knowing that I had awoken.  Afterward, I meandered aimlessly downstairs, and gulped down some water since I had woken up with the driest mouth ever afterward.  Must been the blood pressure medication, which did state such could be a side effect; nothing was mentioned about lucid, horrible dreams though.

I sat in the media room in the dark, just replaying the dream in my head, and crying some more.  I clicked on the baby monitor to feel the most immense relief at seeing my two girls peacefully sleeping away in their rooms, knowing that I’d get to see them in just a few hours when they woke up.

Eventually I went back to bed, since rational thinking finally came back to me and I figured it would be best to at least lay down and try to sleep, even if it wouldn’t come, just so I could be warm and comfortable if anything at all.  I don’t remember falling back asleep, but I do remember being awoken by the alarm, that really wasn’t much long afterward.

My day was effectively ruined after that, and I had to make sure I kept my mind on the tasks at hand, because every time my mind wandered back to the dream, I would begin to feel tears welling up again, and crying in the office wasn’t something that I really wanted to have happen.

Point is, it’s not a difficult reach to say that this really was the worst dream that I’ve ever had in my life.  It’s like I can’t call it a nightmare, because there wasn’t anything unrealistically frightening, aside from the ability to schedule a voluntary euthanization, but the scenario of being a situation where I couldn’t see my kids ever again is something that could very well happen, and that alone puts the fear of god into me like nothing else.

AEWShop be out of their GOT damn mind

  • Get email from for some reason, I’ve never purchased anything from them before
  • Limited edition The Acclaimed-themed AEW World Trios Champions replica blets
  • Only TEN will be made
  • $5,000*

*actually $4,999

Most people know the story about how way back when, someone in marketing figured out that pricing things with a cent value of 99¢ often times subliminally tricked consumers into thinking something was cheaper than it really was, because like $1.99 was leaps and bounds cheaper than $2.00 was, solely based on the fact that all they saw was a leading $1 instead of a $2.

Yeah, I think when we’re dealing with the difference between four thousand and five thousand dollars, that single digit in the ones column really isn’t going to be fooling anyone.

But here we are, where AEW is now selling a replica blet that is, for all intents and purposes, the most expensive replica blet on the market.  Higher than WWE’s Elite series of replica blets (~$2,000 USD), and higher than New Japan’s replica blets ($2,500-3,400 USD), and not even close, butting up against $5,000 in comparison to others.

Allegedly, the old NWA/WCW World Heavyweight Championship blet that was synonymous with Ric Flair back in the olden days, was originally estimated to be $8,000-10,000 depending on whom you asked, and when the NWA refused to give Ric Flair back a collateral of $10,000 at one point, he took the blet with him, and showed up to WWF television with a rival promotion’s blet.

The point of bringing that up is the fact that an actual original championship blet, albeit in 1991 dollars, was closer to the asking price of AEW’s tribute Trios blet, than any other blet replica available in marketspace.

I know that the Acclaimed are pretty over right now, but the fact of the matter is that in the grand spectrum of the wrestling industry, they still haven’t proven jack shit, to be worthy of getting a tribute blet, much less one with so much exclusivity, that they might not actually move all ten of them but who am I kidding, AEW tribe marks are so ryde or die that they’re probably already all ten accounted for by the time I’m done with this post.

Like, WWE has a shitload of tribute blets out there, but they’re all for guys that are legitimate legends of the industry.  AEW giving a tribute blet to the Acclaimed would be like the WWE realizing the team of Al Snow and Steve Blackman were over at one point, and making a tribute tag blet for Team HeadCheese.

The Acclaimed are a pretty okay team, and they’re a good example of how actual wrestling skills aren’t as important when you have charisma and great stage presence.  I’d say Anthony Bowens is a 7 in the ring, and Max Caster is a 6 at best, but the two of them together have a tremendous amount of charisma and performance chops, and they know how to engage a crowd.  But when push comes to shove, they’re not even the best tag team in the company by a long shot, and from a promotion that values tag team wrestling as AEW does, they’ve got a long way to catching up with the Young Bucks, FTR, and Lucha Bros among others.

And let’s not forget the fact that they’re carrying around Billy Gunn, whom it seemed like a pretty slapped together union at first, but to their credit and willingness to run with whatever is thrown their way, they’ve made it work.  Obviously, Billy Gunn is in incredible shape and can still go despite being 59 years old, but the guy is mostly a legend solely by association with stronger performers. 

But in storyline, he was shunned and assaulted by his own sons, and in two seconds afterward, he was completely revitalized and renewed by putting his fingers into scissors and joining hands with a rap group team; seems a bit convoluted and silly, but then again, this is AEW we’re talking about.

Back to the blets though, we’re living in a world where a replica blet that is held in part by Billy Gunn, is the most expensive replica in the entire industry.  And it’s not even real gold like the IWGP replicas sold in limited quantities by NJPW; as absurd as it would be to drop 2.5-3.5K on one of those, they’re at least made from real 24 carat gold, and might actually appreciate in value, aside from the fact that some of the greatest wrestlers in history have held it.

My god man, I’m worked up over something so silly and absurd and I really need to stop.  AEW be out of their got-mind with this one.

This is why I don’t go to Braves games

The last time I went to a Braves game was in 2021.  The Yankees were visiting, and since mythical wife and her mother are both Yankee fans, an opportunity arose for the wifey and myself to go to a game.  I had tremendous apprehension being in such a gargantuan crowd in 2021, and the Yankees draw like gangbusters no matter where they go, but we still went, and unsurprisingly, the Braves lost.

Sure, they went on to win the World Series later in the season, but in the one and only game that I went to, the Braves would do what I’m conditioned to seeing them do whenever I see them in person: lose.

As part of trying to allow our au pair to try things out and experience the little things that makes ‘Murica America, I took her to a baseball game; regardless of if you’re a sports fan or not, the American pastime is something that should be experienced at least once.  Frankly, it wasn’t my idea since despite my distance from baseball fandom, I still want to see the Braves succeed and win baseball games, but mythical wife went ahead and bought tickets and insisted we go.

Considering the fact that the Braves were 90-game winners hosting the 60-win St. Louis Cardinals, it seemed like a good bet that the Braves might have some success on this game.  It was compounded by the fact that upon getting to the ballpark, seeing Spencer Strider starting the game, who is a legitimate candidate to win the NL Cy Young this year.  And of course, there’s Ronald Acuña, Jr. who is a very strong candidate to win the NL MVP this year, there was plenty of reason to be optimistic that maybe, just maybe, the Braves could deliver a win for my au pair to witness.

Naturally, in spite of the monumental favoring of the Braves, they would completely shit the bed and roll over and die, losing an abysmal contest 11-6, where the final score hardly tells the story of just how bad of a game it was for the Braves.

Spencer Strider would basically have his worst start of the season, pitching only 2.2 innings, while allowing six runs on six hits, with one of them being a titanic home run that happened before we even got to our seats, meaning it was 2-0 by the time we sat down.  He couldn’t find the strike zone, and for a guy whom Atlanta grew accustomed to seeing striking out 8-10 guys every start, it’s a miracle he even struck out five.

Ronald Acuña, Jr., despite being the likely MVP of the league was just as bad on this night, going hitless until the ninth inning where he finally connected on a meaningless single when the score was already 11-6.  He flew out, ground out, struck out and completing what I like to call the cycle of suck, ground into a double play with runners on base, effectively killing the one rally the team scraped together.  Him and Ozzie Albies were completely ineffective on the entire night, and it was quite surreal seeing the two of them basically being the rally killers, for whenever the team got going, they’d be the ones to snuff out any and all momentum built up by the others in the lineup.

Needless to say, when we bounced early in the seventh, it was quite humorous that no sooner did my feet touch the ground outside the gates is when Austin Riley connected on a home run, but by then, it was already too late.  I’d been to enough baseball games in my life to know the rhythm of a game like this was pointing towards an L.  It kind of sucks that the Braves would flop so badly in my au pair’s first ever experience at a baseball game, but it was still a pleasant time where she got to see the sights, eat ballpark trash food, and she did get to see a bunch of homeruns; even if the majority of them were hit by the opposing team.

All the same, this is why I don’t go to Braves games anymore, because now the Braves have lost three in a row, run the risk of getting swept by the strangely woeful Cardinals, and probably begin a September swoon which will lead to their inevitable yearly NLDS collapse, because baby luck is long past gone now, and regardless of how many regular season games and division championships they win, it’s about time for the Braves to stick to the status quo and remain being the Braves.

Toyota is determined to call everything a Corolla, it seems

Supposedly in 2027, Toyota will be making an attempt to enter what is new to me, a mini-truck market.  I guess it’s something that’s not even a Tacoma which is already their mid-size truck, and definitely not the full-size Tundra which is their answer to compete with the Ford F-series and Dodge’s lineup of Insurrection-mobiles.  Like I said, I didn’t even know such a market was even in need or demand, but then again the automotive industry is just one giant game of keeping up with the Joneses, so if one maker does it, others will feel the need to get in the game.

Regardless, it appears that Toyota might be calling this to-be-determined mini-truck, a Corolla; the same name as the entry-level econobox that has existed for centuries at this point, as well as the crossover vehicle they just launched a few years ago that they slapped the Corolla name onto as well.  So regardless of the constant name regurgitation, it doesn’t seem like that’s going to stop Toyota from making a Corolla Mini-truck or whatever these, basically El Caminos of the future will be classified as.

All shade aside, I understand Toyota’s rationale for wanting to swindle customers by calling everything they have under the sun a Corolla; historically the Corolla is a solid, safe, reliable and reputable car that there’s a reason has lasted since the dawn of time.  The Hachi-Rokus popularized by Initial D, were basically Corollas, most every kid in my generation and the generation after mine’s first cars were usually Corollas because they were safe, fuel-economical and didn’t quite yet look like the car you get when you’re ready to give up on the rest of your life.

There’s a reason why Lotus borrowed the Corolla engine for their North American Elise models, and there’s a reason why when Toyota got into the crossover game, they immediately slapped the Corolla name tag onto it.

But at the same time, it’s gotten redundant, convoluting, and it’s frankly watering down the Corolla name to basically call everything in the lineup a variant of a Corolla.  Eventually, the name Corolla will be made into a level of trim, or a spin-off brand, like their attempt with Scion, and if Toyota ever gets any bad PR, they’ll probably just rename the whole fuckin company Corolla, since it’s such a name associated with vanilla safety.

Either way, it’ll be interesting to see what shakes out of the trees as far as Toyota’s foray into mini-truck production and marketing.  Frankly, if I had the means, I’d rather get a Japanese kei-car, if I wanted the compact utility of what the Corolla Truck looks like it’ll provide.  It would probably be cheaper even with VAT and import fees, come with less of the fluff and bullshit, and actually serve a purpose, but most importantly, because it wouldn’t be called a Corolla, it would imply that I have yet to give up on my life just yet.

God Bless Rednecks, Sometimes part 2

Nope, the following picture is not a photoshop or a sports meme gone awry.  General Booty’s legal name is actually, General Booty.  There is a man living in the United States who’s birth certificate is legitimately General Booty.  General Axel Booty, and not an actual military rank.

I really hope this becomes more of a thing in coming years, because fewer things are more smugly amusing than hearing about rednecks from Texas who have ridiculous names like General Booty or Bumper Pool, whom to their credit of overcoming the criticism that silly names tend to degrade at, manage to get good enough at football to where they can actually try to make a future out of it.

Because I was quite tickled pink six years ago when I found out about Bumper Pool, and I’m quite amused to find out that there’s an actual possible starting quarterback for fucking Oklahoma, named General Booty.  I mean we’re talking about possibly being a successor to guys like Baker Mayfield, Kyler Murray, Jalen Hurts and Spencer Rattler.  General Booty has the opportunity to get his name into the annals of Oklahoma football, and not just because his name is General Booty, although I think he’s already on his way there, regardless of if he ends up as QB1, 2 or even 3.

Regardless of his chances, let’s just do a little mini-dive into this guy named General Booty, and how the hell he came to fruition:

To no surprise, his father is a former player himself, having played at LSU as a wide receiver.  I say no surprise, because it’s the meathead jock type like a guy who played at LSU whom would be so fixated on the military rank of General to where he vowed to name his son by a rank should he have one, and by god did he ever, and therefore we have a legitimate person named General Booty.

Aside from his dumbass dad, it turns out that General Booty is actually related to former USC quarterback John David Booty, who actually made it to the NFL, even if he didn’t last that long in the show, but it goes to show that there’s clearly football in the genetics of the ol’ Booty lineage.

If I’m a betting man, it doesn’t seem likely that he’s going to be QB1 for the Sooners, seeing as how fifth-year senior Dillon Gabriel seems to be the more likely candidate to start, but stranger things have happened in sport.  I imagine that with the awareness of General Booty spreads, he’ll have a Brian Scalabrine-like cult following in the world of sports fandom, and any time he steps onto the field, people will be snickering and chuckling over his name, and by proxy, probably cheer everything he does, just so that they can talk about and spread the word about a guy named General Booty.

A e-tale of two extremes

I got two emails today; one from New Japan Pro-Wrestling’s shop, and then not long afterward, one from the WWEShop, since I’m a big wrestling mark nerd who has shopped with both companies to where regardless of the checkbox I decline to receive emails, they send me shit anyway.  Normally, I delete them all with light prejudice since I never asked to receive them in the first place, but today I opened both of them, because they smartly put in the subject line, shit about my favorite thing in the world: blets.

In one corner, we have NJPW’s shop advertising the pre-sale of the undisputed NJPW World championship that I’ve made no secret to not being a fan of the design of.  But at an insignificant, paltry $3,500 (three thousand, five hundred dollars), you could be one of probably 1,000 extreme marks to get your hands on an extremely rare, official NJPW replica championship blet.

In all fairness, it is typical impeccable Japanese craftsmanship, and unlike lots of wrestling replica blets that are made from brass or some other cheap shit metal, official NJPW blets are (allegedly) made from actual 24-karat gold, to justify the drink-spitting price tag on them, so in theory, they literally could be purchased as a legitimate investment, should the cost of gold ever spike to Gamestop-like proportions, and an actual owner of one of these bad boys could flip them for some actual profit.

But yeah no, $3,500, I can think of a hundred more constructive or better things to spend that money on, mostly going towards my actual house, a real architectural structure where human beings reside in, instead of a championship blet replica, regardless of how much I love collecting them.  Alternatively, I could get like 7-8 WWE replica blets (at full retail) for that cost, or every single AEW replica blet in one fell swoop, instead of a blet that I don’t like the design of in the first place.

But speaking of WWE replica blets, it brings us to email #2, from the WWEShop.  Because the WWE has caught up to having released almost every single blet in WWF, WWE, WCW and ECW history at some point, as well as having made a legion of bullshit “commemorative” blets for cherry picked former wrestlers, and a confusing array of MLB and SEC athletics tribute blets, it should come as no surprise that the WWE has finally gotten in bed with the NFL, seeing as how there’s a considerable amount of overlap between fans of both companies.

For what will probably be a low-cost (in comparison to NJPW) of $499 per blet, NFL fans can get official WWE replica blets of their favorite team, regardless of if they’re the Kansas City Chiefs or not, seeing as how they’re probably going to embark on a dynasty and win every Super Bowl as long as Patrick Mahomes stays on the squad, but you can get a blet anyway, because if you’re a Redskins Commanders, Lions, Cardinals, Texans or fan of some other hopeless shitty NFL squad, you can get a blet anyway and feel like for two seconds what it feels like to have something that scripted winners get to hold.

UNLESS you’re a Jacksonville Jaguars fan, because in a humorous turn of events, the WWE overlooked for a few minutes that the Jags are also the owners of AEW, and pulled the option from their site, but not before smartasses on the internet made the astute observations first, and of course, got their archive of screencaps and proof of fucking up, because there’s little else the internet loves to do than call out failure.

Either way, I’m broke as fuck, so there’s no chance in hell I’m getting any of these new blets anyway.  I only like blets that actually exist or have existed, and my general cap for any blets is preferred to stick under $500 a pop.  But all the same, I do think it was amusing that both of these drops happened on the same day, and not without its own malaise by the ol’ E for forgetting that one of the NFL teams also reinforces their number one North American competitor’s bankroll.

Dad Brog (#119): Sometimes I’d rather not know

For quite some time, I’ve usually been that type of guy that just never goes to the doctor, unless something is actively wrong.  Never did any annual checkups, physicals or anything other than eye exams or going to urgent care for what always seems like prednisone whenever I go.  I often used to say this stemmed from not wanting to miss out on work on account of the long stretch when I was freelancing and contracting, and when I wasn’t working then I wasn’t earning, but the truth is that even when I had landed full-time work with actual benefits, I still didn’t go then either, even if I were paying for it.

Then I got married, and that didn’t really change, except for the fact that I now had a wife that encouraged me to go, but I still made excuses and dragged my feet and resisted going, because I just didn’t really want to.  I felt fine, I exercised regularly, and I didn’t eat like a shithead too much, so I never felt like it was worth going since I felt fine, strong and healthy.

But then I had children, and I crossed into 40, so I finally relented and made the effort to at the very least, have an annual, just to make sure things were copacetic.  And last year, it was about what I had suspected, I was pretty much fine, with no real concerns.  I had little reason to think it was going to be any different this year, but if that were the case then I wouldn’t be writing this post now, would I?

The TL;DR is that it turns out that I’ve put on a not-insubstantial amount of weight, and my blood pressure is kind of high.  The thing is that despite the weight gain, my clothes all fit the same, save for some tightness in the chests of my shirts, but my pants all still fit, I still use the same rung on my belts, and I don’t really feel any different than I did physically a year ago, or longer.

But I don’t want to be the asshole who gets all “uuhhhhhh muscle weighs more than fat brah” and humble brag that I’ve been hitting the weights, and that my weight gain is solely based on the fact that I’ve been going to the gym with consistency over the last two years, versus the nearly two-year stretch in which I dropped a lot of muscle mass because of COVID affecting my ability to hit a gym.  Of course, I did hit my share of lazy stretches where my household eats a bunch of fast food or dines out/takes out more than we really should, but I do like to believe that some of my weight gain really is having put on some muscle mass back on over the last year.

The bigger thing though, is the blood pressure reading, that was high enough to where the tech and my doctor wanted to point it out as being high.  My knee-jerk reaction was to ask just how much correlation there is between BP and stress, to which the answer was a high one, and I feel like I already know why I’m having elevated blood pressure.

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