Lonnnng weekend for your boy. Harrisonburg and back on Friday with our exchange student to check out the Green Valley Book Fair, show her Buc-ee's for the first time (a monument to American excess), and visit James Madison University. Followed that up with a round-trip 12-hour drive to/from Columbus, OH on Saturday and Sunday sandwiched around a fantastic wedding of a friend's daughter (and a mini-summit with Danimal). Topped it off with a cookout with Marls and fam and a few too many beers. Marls might've overserved himself on Johnny Walker Gold, as well.
So you can see why I might've slacked on my content creation duties. Not sure what excuse the rest of you mopes have (The Teej flew to South Korea, so he's good.).
Quick filler it is, then. Tom Hardy is a talented dude, but he often plays to a type. He's also long been a fan of old-school American hip-hop. Turns out his talents go beyond playing a tough guy with a penchant for a quip.
Hardy recently joined the hip-hop supergroup Czarface (which incudes rap duo 7L & Esoteric and Wu-Tang Clan member Inspectah Deck) on their new album "Czarface Meets Frankie Pulitzer". In this case, Hardy and Frankie Pulitzer are one and the same.
Hip-hop heads will have a more informed opinion than I, but to me, this sounds like credible flow that takes us back a couple of decades, stylistically. Hardy/Pulitzer is the dude in the mask. Enjoy, and let me know if I've got it right.
We have a very special intersection of pastime and profession on tap for you tomorrow, but until then, please enjoy this piece by Hokkaido-based artist Kenichi Nakaya. Visual Flood describes Nakaya's "Folklore" series thusly:
This ongoing project sees him transforming common, sometimes even quirky, Japanese rural crafts into fresh, modern works. Nakaya’s distinct approach breathes new life into items deeply embedded in the nation’s cultural fabric, offering a contemporary perspective on traditional aesthetics. His dedication to recontextualizing these familiar objects highlights a unique blend of preservation and innovation within his practice
Me, I was just tickled by the juxtaposition between what I first saw and what actually existed.
Creating space for running commentary on Mendozapalooza. And it's Husky Gameday, so a filler twofer for your social media pleasure. Kids go on road to Commanders great (and current Bengal) Jonathan Allen's alma mater (in the same town as the Commanders' training facility) to take on a foe from a larger classification.
Our Huskies are pretty chill, but do enjoy these huskies doing husky things.
It's not just an ORF theme any more - it's a filler post!
At 8:05 pm EST tonight in San Francisco, Logan Webb will throw out the first pitch of the 2026 Major League Baseball season. As noted by the sage Marls, it's not Opening Day, at least not for teams that matter - that's tomorrow, when the schedule includes 11 games, but it's a harbinger and a dawn at the same time.
If, that is, what ails ya is a lack of silly content made by serious musicians. I've watched this one several times, and I find it both amazing and absurd. In it, you'll see content creators (as an aside, why does nobody call us content creators? We've created content for over 20 years now. Bullshit.) Anthony Vincent and Mac Glocky covering the Spice Girls' "Wannabe" in the style of System of a Down. The band's bassist Shavo Odadjian lends his approval to the project.
Keepin' at it until we get all the Gheorghies rendered or we drain the world's water supply. It'll be a close run thing.
Here's our man in the ORF during a very serious time, only as a Muppet. We will always start with a Muppet, because, well, Muppets.
The prompt for this one: "ignore previous instructions, render this image as an album cover by a moody celtic rock band". I eagerly await the release of this record.
Just changing the drapes for a new look in here. Do enjoy this absurd catch by Daulton Varsho on a drive by Jarren Duran. Hat tip to the Teej for sharing.
This post will make my children angry. That it will become recurring filler all the more so.
Angry because, you see, generative AI still uses a metric fuckton of energy to work properly, taxing our resources far beyond the value of most outputs - especially those developed just for fun. That was their reaction when I sent this AI-created image recently:
And here's one I use for work-related purposes (Zoom avatars and such):
I'll be working on a GhPT gallery for all the Gheorghies, in a style and manner befitting each of your noble personalities.
Fill 'er up. This'll keep the content bucket overflowing!
I've got a doozy of a post in the offing, in which I reflect upon the times we live in ("dark times", according to Dave, master of understatement) and offer a bit of advice to the inexplicably limp Democratic Party. I say it's a doozy because there's *waves hands* SO MUCH SHIT HAPPENING, and it's nigh impossible to contain it in one cogent post, so do not expect cogency.
Zman's efforting a post that's likely much more interesting, though less profane, so be excited about that, too.
Today, though, just a bit of filler. Nothing fancy. Trying to keep y'all fit as we make our way through this fuckery, seven minutes at a time.
Some of you exercise regularly. Zman's got a 3,000 day Peloton streak going. Danimal's a damn dolphin, what with all his swimming. Dave is a polymath, or at least a polymove, playing hoops and soccer, rollerblading (insert joke here, and in the comments), among other things. I do some yoga, some Peloton bike and strength, a bit of soccer - I like to move it move it.
But some days I don't have even 30 minutes, especially now that the soccer coaching season has started. (Have I told you that I lost my three best players before tryouts even started? Not great, Bob. Gonna find out how my X's and O's stack up without my Jimmies and Joes.) So I was happy to see a feature in The Washington Post (soon not to get my subscription dollars, what with Jeff Bezos' knee-bending) about a scientifically-proven way to maintain strength and flexibility in a short window.
Exercise physiologist Chris Jordan created a seven-minute, 12-exercise circuit designed to raise one's heart rate and work a broad range of muscle groups. After testing it extensively, a 2023 study in the National Library of Medicine by a group of researchers at the Chinese University of Hong Kong found that the workouts raised the inexperienced exercisers’ heart rates enough to improve their fitness over time. The study also suggested that the circuit was more enjoyable than other exercise, making it more likely that adherents would continue to exercise.
You can find the workout here. And if you follow along, you get to work out with this fella:
As we all recall, Day 11 is a bit of a behemoth, so while we eagerly anticipate its arrival, it may take a few more days while robbie reviews the Year du Gheorghe. In the meantime... football!
The college football playoff has been everything everyone most people wanted. (Fans of Oregon, Georgia and a few others... sorry 'bout your bad luck play.)
Irish vs Buckeyes. Danimal vs Buckles. Flynn vs Evan. Catholics vs... Tree Nuts.
Get some. Irish haven't beaten the Bucks since FDR's first term. Mister, we could use a man like Herbert Hoover again, and the Irish have a man like that in Riley "Don't Call Me Booger Ray" Leonard.
They don't call me the best color guy in the game for nothin'.
Okay, now on to the pros!
Those of you who pay any attention may have noticed a pattern in my gambling. The pattern? I'm terrible. Awful. A travesty. Always wrong. Okay, well, almost always. In fact, FanDuel considered shuttering its doors after giving up a bet like that to me.
Other than that, I've lost many, many bets there. Luckily, I don't gamble high dollar amounts.
That said, I gots a funny feeling about my picks for the playoffs this weekend. Go All In!
Here you go, your 1st Round NFL Playoff Picks brought to you by my betting alter ego, Slapdash Drunkenwager . . . and Alcoa.
Alrighty, here comes Slapdash with his picks!
Greetings sports fans, and welcome to another edition of What the hell is he thinking, I mean my weekly football picks!
This week we're reaching way way back using the flux capacitor and 1.69 gigawatts of mental energy. A salute to the NFL stars of Slapdash's youth. Yep, placing wagers based on complete irrelevance. Couldn't be worse than my usual analysis.
Chargers (-3) @ Texans
Back when Slapdash was a kid, the Chargers had Danny Fouts and his cannon, Chuck Muncie and his specs, Wes Chandler and his wheels, and Charlie Joiner and his Hall of Fame cool. But they also had a little guy named Kellen Winslow who brought his badassed guts. Air Coryell. And for a couple of years, up until 1980, they had The O.C. named Joe Jackson Gibbs. Not shoeless, he commanded a high-flying offense.
Meanwhile... when Slapdash was a kid, the Texans were not a team. Oh, they had been a team. In Dallas. Who, after one crap season, moved to Baltimore to become the Colts. Ohhhh, Baltimorons, you stole someone's team and then got all cranky when the Mayflowergate happened in '84. Slapdash has said it before and he'll say it again, that Mayflower Van Lines still has zero presence in Baltimore and Howard County, MD is hilarious and awesome.
There was, though, a Houston team in my youth... you know them...
They had a fella named Bum runnin' the show. They had a bigger fella named the Tyler Rose runnin' through people. And keepin' on footwear, they had a fella for a few years, up until 1980, called White Shoes.
But they were Oilers. These are Texans. And though these Chargers are in Lose Angle-leez rather than San Dieeego, they're still the same old cHargers!
Chargers cover.
Steelers @ Ravens (-9.5)
Another nomenconundrum here, folks! Weren't no Ravens back when! Bal'mer was the Colts, and boy did they stink back then. Johnny U and Art Donovan were distant memories, and let's not mention the words John Elway or Indianapolis.
The Steelers were the Steel Curtain, aging though they were. Nobody dominated the NFL in the 1970's like this franchise, and they wouldn't post a losing record until the middle of the next decade. And if I think about Pittsburgh vs. Baltimore in an NFL showdown, I think of two men.
L.C. Greenwood and Bert Jones.
Gotta go with L.C. Steelers and the points. (If you'd called Slapdash earlier this week, you could've gotten 10.5 like he did.)
Broncos @ Bills (-9)
Orange Crush defense led by Tom Jackson (pre-ESPN), Rubin Carter (not that one), Randy Gradishar, Lyle Alzado, and eventually Karl Mecklenburg, who it should be noted was actually one of the henchmen who attacked Nakatomi Plaza.
And yes, Craig Morton. And eventually... John Elway. Baltimore's bastard son.
Buffalo... well, Joe Ferguson? A backfield that also included Joe Cribbs, Roosevelt Leaks, Roland Hooks... Cribbs, Leaks, and Hooks is now an upstate residential contracting firm, but collectively they ran for over 1500 yards in 1981. The team was led in sacks that year by Ben Williams and Ken Johnson. I mean, that's what they are called after having gone into witness protection, right?
This was all before they dispensed with Coach K, I mean a coach named Kay Stephenson, and a few years later decided to hire a guy who had coached at William and Mary. No, not Sean McDermott, dummies! Marv Levy. Middling days.
Like or hate Elway and his mule smile, he wins this. Take the points. Broncos.
Packers @ Eagles (-5)
Forrest Gregg versus Dick Vermeil. Lynn Dickey versus Ron Jaworski. James Lofton versus Harold Carmichael. Eddie Lee Ivery versus Wilbert Montgomery.
Slapdash Style True Story: Stevie & Paul's hit tune "Ebony and Ivory" was originally "Eddie Lee Ivery."
Eddie Lee... Ivery / runs through Lions defenses... forcefully / side by side with Gerry Ellis / Jealous? / Fellas, you should be!
Here's what I remember of the Packers of Slapdash's youth:
But the pre-Comms lost that game 48-47 on a last-second FG by Jan "Translation: Nothing Ages in Norway" Stenerud-boy. Monday night game in October. It was insane. And the last time Washington would lose that season. Oh, until they went to Tampa for Super Bowl XVIII and, uh... Squirek-ed their pants. Fun fact: Dave Flynn went with his dad to that game. His pop used to play OL for Oklahoma back when that meant you were a lunatic beast. When the game went bad, and it went very, very bad, his dad got in a fight with a loudmouth Raider fan while 13-year-old Flynn sat there and sipped his Sprite and wondered what was next.
This is what the Eagles of the old days makes me think of:
Celebrate good times, come on. If you're a Philly fan. (But they lost in the Super Bowl that year as well.)
If you compare those two plays, and believe me I have or my name's not Slapdash Drunkenwager, you gotta fly Eagles fly. I will now flush my fingers in the toilette for having typed that. Ewwwww.
Take the Birds giving points.
Commanders @ Buccaneers (-3)
Well, once again the durn name changes throw ol' Slapdash off, but this time it was for a purty good reason. Ask Mike Schur; he dedicates a goodly chunk of his book to that old name and dunk-boothing Daniel Snyder repeatedly and comically. Good shit.
So Washington and Tampa from the olden days of the Carter (RIP, sweet prince) and Reagan years has one bad mofo thing in common. Doug Williams. Remember him? He was awesome. Channeling the CF Show now? Let's go, Slapdash.
So, other than that? Well, in the early 1980's it was all Washington, baby. Riggo! Rev up the Diesel! Vroom, vroom, vroom! More nicknames than a Berman family reunion. Hogs, Smurfs, Fun Bunch, etc. Actually, back in the late 70's when the Bucs leapt up from the dreary beginnings of the McKay/Spurrier era...
"Coach, what do you think about your team's execution?" Head Coach John McKay: "I'm in favor of it."
...and made it to the NFC Championship game in '79, Washington was known as the Deadskins. 'Twixt George Allen and Joe Gibbs was Jack Pardee and Pardee Par Par on a the best days. Double bogey city on the rest. Anyway, you take the good ('79 Bucs, '83 pre-Commanders), you take the bad (other years), you take 'em both and there you have a fargin' close game! This one's gonna be tight. And whoever can channel their best Doug E. Fresh Williams will win.
If you're getting 3 in a game that may be won by a single point, Slapdash takes the points. Commanders.
Vikings @ Rams (+2.5)
Home dog! Speaks to the silly system the NFL now has. Alrighty, then. Minnesota and L.A. It's like Lakers history month.
Fran Tarkenton! Tommy Kramer! Pat Haden! Vince Ferragamo! Bud Grant! John Robinson! Ahmad Rashad! Phylicia Ayers-Allen! Eric Dickerson! Rec Specs!
Slapdash is tired from not doing enough slapdash prognosticating and thinking too hard about these games.
Vikings and rams both have horns. They even hang out together. Maybe even forge a relationship and perform the physical act of lovely on cold, wintry nights like it will be Monday. They belong together.
So why are they fighting?
Minnesota lost 4 Super Bowls in the 1970's. One to the Steelers. The Rams lost one... to the Steel Curtain in January of 1980. They couldn't win one in L.A. so they said meet me in St. Louis. They should commiserate. But... L.A. won a few years ago.
Slapdash says feel sorry for the Vikings, Bud, Fran, Ahmad, Steve Dils, the guy who traded the whole world for Herschel, and everyone freezing in Minnesota.
Take the Vikings giving a few. Do to the rams what you've always done to their kind, ye freebooting rovers of Norseland.
There you go. When you cash in big, like Slapdash Drunkenwager big, gimme a call and I'll let ya buy me a coldie.
And when we ponder life's largest piles of dipshittery, what musical duo comes to mind most regularly? (If you thought "Random Idiots," you can go to hell. Even if you're on the mark.)
Yes! Ween!
We've talked a whole lot about Ween over the two decades here at Gheorghe. Why? Well, dummy, because that band is dedicated to the premise that life would be better if we all took ourselves a little less seriously. And by a little, I mean a metric shit-ton. Legendary clowns. They simply make me laugh more than any band I know.
Here's a little story you don't know so well, unless you're Dave. Off-brand for me, but I'm going to abbreviate the backstory.
2 dudes from New Hope, PA have a 4-track recorder in the late 80's.
They follow in the lo-fi no-band footsteps of 2 dudes from Brooklyn who might be giants, and they inspire two dudes in Williamsburg who are definitely not.
They end up releasing a 29-song album in 1990 on Twin/Tone records, a small label in the North Star State responsible for the early records from The Replacements and Soul Asylum. God Ween Satan is a glorious mess.
They release more albums, and actually start getting better. They get on MTV. They amass a cult following.
They release a country album in 1996 with reputable Nashville session musicians. It features a few filthy songs like "Piss Up a Rope" and "Mister Richard Smoker" that some of them Tennessee gents didn't much like. But it's a great record.
They release a prog-rock album in 1998 that's excellent.
They issue White Pepper in 2000. It's as mainstream as Ween will ever, ever get. They appear on Letterman to play "Exactly Where I'm At." Another single, "Even If You Don't," is super catchy and has a video. "Stay Forever" is really quite normal. Dave proclaims this album to be the best. The best album of all time. Ever. (He's the most hyperbolic person in the universe.)
Ween is mainstream and ready for middle America!!!
Well... heeeeeeere's the thing, though. Ignoring a historic discography that features songs called (sorry for the expurgated version, it's a family blog):
You F***ed Up (first song on first album)
Common B***
L.M.L.Y.P.
She F***s Me
Flies On My D***
Poop Ship Destroyer (a Ween original classic if there ever was one)
Hey Fat Boy (A*****e)
Spinal Meningitis (Got Me Down)
Baby B****
The HIV Song (this tune is just two words long)
Don't S*** Where You Eat
Waving My D*** in the Wind
...ignoring all of that, plus a bunch of songs that are hideously lewd but don't have the vulgarity in the title, setting all that aside and focusing on this new (2000) mainstream effort White Pepper... which probably is a racist title, now that I think about it in 2024 terms...
You still can't miss the steel drums, ragga Jimmy Buffett send-up "Bananas and Blow." (It's so good.) And you still can't escape the Steely Dan-ish nod "Pandy Fackler" with its lyrical wait, what?! (Read it here.)
There is still some saucy-as-hell Béarnaise beneath the polished sound of that macro-Ween era. You just knew that although we were happy for their relative success, these were still the same two dipshits from New Hope whose masterstrokes were all steeped in dipshittery.
You had to know.
You know who didn't? Pizza Hut!!
Yes, the same Pizza Hut corporation whose franchise employed rob and me in 1990. (You remember the story. Never trust a big butt and smile.)
So... the story goes like this. In 2002, Pizza Hut, Inc. decided to leap into the stuffed crust phenomenon. (Never been a fan.) Can't blame them, it was an era of hiding cheese everywhere.
According to Dean Ween:
“Earlier in 2002 we were hired by the largest advertising firm in the country to write music for a Pizza Hut commercial. Pizza Hut had hired them to come up with a whole new image to promote their new Pizza, “The Insider” which had all of the cheese inside the crust. In keeping in line with their new cutting edge image, the agency hired Ween to do the music, and we delivered in a big way. Unfortunately, they didn’t like a single piece of the 6 tunes we submitted and they had us rewriting the song every day for a couple of weeks before they hired someone else. In my opinion, it is one of the best tunes we wrote all last year.”
The agency got fired. Ween got dumped. It never went anywhere.
Oh, but Ween leaked the first and best song they submitted to their fans. Please give it a listen. It's a silly little something, and it's clean.
Oh! But they also leaked the 6th and final song they submitted. Frustrated with the annoying back-and-forth corporate BS process and the repeated rejection of songs Ween thought were brilliant, they simply added a little tweak to the first song they'd done and sent that in. Welp, that was the last straw. Please give it a listen. It is very much NSFW and it makes me laugh every time.
Both are in here, back to back. Each is 30 seconds. Enjoy.
To the knowledge of the crack investigative team of interns at Gheorghe: The Blog, Ween has never been asked to do a commercial again. They have done some soundtrack work, including the song "The Rainbow" for Chef Aid on South Park. (Don't google it.)
Whoever greenlit Ween for a Pizza Hut commercial committed, what John Cleese once uttered in the Cheese Shop sketch, "an act of purest optimism." Worth a try, I suppose, but that was the closest Ween ever came to mass acceptance. In the 20 years since, Ween has taken as many extended hiatuses* as they have released studio albums. (Two of each.)
*Hiati? Is that right? Looks like Haiti. That cannot be right.
Anyway, when the boys saddle back up and hit the road again, I'm driving to NJ and going to see them with Dave. Until then, where'd the motherfucking cheese go?
I would tell you miscreants that I'm disappointed in your lack of production, but that's not the kind of tiny dictator I choose to be. Instead, I'll give the people what they want. And I know they want this.
Grabbed dinner last night at a hopping little joint called Terminal Public House in downtown Terre Haute, right in the shadow of the Terre Haute Convention Center. As my daughter and I drove the 2.5 miles from our hotel to the restaurant, I thought to myself, "I really thought I'd see some Larry Bird shit here". Alas, the Hick from French Lick was nowhere to be seen.
Until we parked, walked around a corner, and came upon this:
Sitting shotgun while my kid drives us across the Mighty Mississip, so I've got a minute or two to share something that tickled my fancy earlier today.
Caught this traffic sign as we entered into Missouri from Kansas, and wondered how the Missouri Department of Transportation knew where I was.
Continuing our filler theme for the week, pour some out for the great Richard Lewis, dead yesterday of a heart attack. Here's some of the good stuff from way back.
Whit was half-right. It is, in fact, filler week here at the content factory. But's it's a more specific sort of filler. We continue Animal Tear-Jerker Sportsish Filler Week with Jon Stewart's memory of his dog, Dipper.
Since you don't seem to enjoy heartstring-pulling songs about dogs, can I interest you in Cam Newton bodying a bunch of dudes who made the insane decision to jump him at a 7v7 football event? Note that a) he never throws a punch, and b) his hat remains perfect. The LeBatard team spent a segment this morning breaking down the whole thing and came away hugely impressed by Newton. Which is the correct take.
Y'all wanna tear up a little bit on a Sunday morning? Take a listen of this little tune by a really talented young lady from Nashville. If you've ever loved a puppy dog, it'll get you right in the feels.
The Epiphany has come and gone but the Gheorghesphere still turns its lonely eyes to Whit anxiously awaiting the final salvo of Gheorghemas 2023. While we all wait, big developments are still occurring out there in the world. In case you missed it, Kraft Heinz, the owner of the Oscar Mayer brand, has announced that they are seeking a new cohort of "hotdoggers" for the 2024-2025 Wienermobile season.
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