Greetings, bitchez! Subcommandante Wayne rappin’ strong at the mic and wanting you to know one thing loud and clear right now:

OHIO STATE IZZ NUMBAH ONE AGAIN BITCHEZ!!!111!!!

Too strong. Too long. Down to get some friction on. That’s Ohio State, which rhymes with hate. Like hat-erz. You were all down on us after the cheesedick refs busted us in the national champion ship game. I mean, did you see the holding penalties? They held on every play. That’s why they scored. All that holding and shit screwed Troy over. I guess that’s what all that Florida oil money will get you, man–refs bought and sold and ready to go roll in the swimming pool full of hookers you have waiting for them at the Residence Inn.


That’s me at Chili’s getting my drink on and watching Tressel beat the world do death with his sweatervested dick. Ohio State rules and you suck.

(Those places are AWESOME. I crashed at one my friend Randy had for a party on the interstate. They’ll be talking about what we did to that carpet for years, man.)

Anyway, same day, new shit. Ohio State is undefeated, which means they’ve been kicking ass, taking names, and haven’t given up shit yet. And Todd Boeckman pwnz you. His real name is Cockman, because he’s laying pink lincoln to all your women and you don’t even know it how bad they want his luscious lumber again. He laid so much wood to your team’s beaver lodge Fish and Wildlife wardens got after him, and he had to change it again to Coeckman, but even then that wasn’t enough, because they were still after his ass, so he had to put the B in there and let him lay low for a while. He doesn’t even take off his towel in the locker room, because his penis is considered a weapon of mass destruction, and Dick Cheney will get all upset and bomb him.

Speaking of, I should tell you about all the personal growth and development I’ve been going through lately, man. Getting the finger up the ass from fate like we Buckeyes did (cheesedick holding penalties, man) will make a man want to put his own face in his own ass and choke to death on his own farts, man. But I followed my man Woody Hayes lesson: when life sucks, punch the shit out of something. So I did that and one better, man.

BOOM! I’ve started my P90X odyssey towards must-fuckedness. I’m four days into it and I feel totally different, man. You don’t even need a gym, just some weights and shit. I sit in front of the television and just work it, man. I had to skip yesterday, because it feels like someone’s shoving spikes into my abs and I’m having trouble breathing, but that’s recovery, man. No pain, no gain, and then no running of trains–that’s what I say. I’ll totally pick it back up tomorrow.


I’m gonna make the guy in the after look like Jack Osbourne when I’m done.

I’ve also been doing mad amounts of shit thanks to all the herbal supplements my mom’s got around the house, man. She’s got a side gig selling this shit, and I get all the free samples I can handle. I’ve got this Chinese shit called “Shanghai Stallion” that gets you all the shit all at once: the label says “She cannot ask more lucky fine!” I agree, man–I’m dropping pounds like crazy, mostly because I can’t stay off the shitter for more than two hours. It’s like I’m stuttering with my butt, man, but Wayne’s looking good. Totally worth it and the constant buzzing in my right ear.

So what has Wayne been doing in between getting ripped like the Transporter and balancing his chi by shitting like a mighty mastiff? Two things, dude.

1. Florida road trip. Jacksonville, to my cousin’s house, which was totally empty because he was in jail until he could get a court-appointed lawyer to help him make bail. So being the awesome guy I am, I drove the Grand Am down there and helped a brother out. Except he’s my cousin.

Anyway, I got in touch with the great outdoors and with another fine animal: Vanessa, who totally fell in love with the Subcommandante one day while we were out fishing. Gentleman don’t kiss and tell, so you won’t be getting any details from me, man. But we totally did it.

Oh, and I didn’t shoot a manatee with a spear gun. Not on purpose at least. Vanessa’s like, “Hey, look over there!” So I did what natural killing machines like myself do: I wheeled, turned and fired. It looked like a fish, dude, but it wasn’t. It was a manatee, which is some kind of dog that lives in the water and eats old tires and license plates for food. (It’s Jacksonville, man. It’s got to be like manatee heaven there.)

Turns out someone snitched on me, and pretty soon Wayne’s looking at a $2,000 dollar fine. I didn’t even hit it, mostly because I was distracted by Vanessa’s ass, man. The only thing that keeps me from bringing home meat to the cave is the sweet whiff of ladysmell, man, so I fired wide and TOTALLY ONLY GRAZED IT.

Anyway, BLAH BLAH BLAH spear in the gas tank of a $230,000 boat BLAH BLAH BLAH attempted manatee murder BLAH BLAH BLAH ol’ Wayne’s got to pack up and beat the fuzz out of the land of the ref-bribing state and leave Vanessa begging for another hit of Wayne’s sweet manstick. I won’t be going back there until we kick Florida’s ass in the Orange Bowl someday, and even then I’ll have to lay low. Fish and Wildlife get ruthless down there, man.

Oh, and Wayne’s big discovery numero two?

BOOM AGAIN!

TEAM FORTRESS TWO, BABY! I picked the player most like Ohio State: Heavy Weapons Guy. He’s like Todd Coeckman. You’re like, “Oh, no, don’t kill me with your big dick, gun, whatever!” And we’re like BLAMMO! SUCK BUCKEYE DEATH!”

Had to switch games from WoW because I’m getting to be a man, now, and I’ve got to put away childish things like elves, fairies, and Murlocs, man. Also this Shanghai Stallion’s got me awake too many hours of the day even for my most dedicated clan members, and they’re pussies who kept saying “Wayne, get some sleep,” or “Wayne, it’s been 36 straight hours, I’m concerned.” Pussies.

Hit me up–I’m Coeckman2001, babee. Eat hot death 24/7 from my huge metal gun all day, n00b.

GO BUCKS!!! AND I’M GONE LIKE TED GINN ON THAT ASS!!!