Back Like Cooked Crack

Many of the DR faithful have been sending me kites wondering where I disappeared to after my introductory - dare I say legendary - post. Well, now that the various legal proceedings have been taken care of and my lawyers, affectionately referred to by Curtis Jackson as the 'Jew Unit', have cleared me to discuss with my DR brethren. I could explain, but I'd rather let the good folks of YouTube do it for me:








A good night indeed.

Drinking the Kool Aid

Before the baseball season began, your Dalembert Report editors sat down over some Kiwi-Strawberry Special Brews to discuss the Phillies chances for the upcoming campaign. One and all concluded that Phightins would win somewhere between 86 and 89 games and finish one game out of the wild card, just like they do every year, and as such we shouldn't get out hopes up and in fact we should probably just ignore the fact that Philadelphia even has a baseball team and focus instead on Team Dalembert's (Canada) campaign to beat Puerto Rico in the FIBA America's championship.

Even as the season wore on and we were bored stiff by lack of interesting Sammy D news and our inability to get in touch with Britt Reid's pharmacist, we swore there would we no Phillies until they reached 10 games over .500.


4 days ago I changed my mind. Game 1 against the Mets led me to believe I should at least watch, and maybe, in a limited way, hope. The improbable win in game 2 had me mixing up a sugary pitcher Jim Jones-sponsored yumminess. Last night clinched it.

I'm drinking that goddamned fucking Phillies Kool-Aid again.

We all know what's gonna happen in the end: 88-74, losing to Washington on the last day of the season to blow a chance at the wild card. But fuck it. I'm drinking anyway. And when the Kool-Aid runs out, well, then we can all start smoking meth instead.

Gems of the Week

- Does this look like a cheesesteak to you? If your answer is yes, then you my friend have never been to Larrys. Home of The Belly Filler

- Have you ever been looking through your closet wondering to yourself "Why in the good name of Owen Wilson do I own all of these random jerseys?" I have the answer to this question...right here.

A History of Violence

Are you scared of the man in this picture? Be honest. It's okay if you are. Seriously Fintan, you can admit your scared. We won't judge you.

Ha! Fooled all of you. The man in the picture is DEAD. But, were he still alive, it's almost certain that a certain 6'11" Haitian born naturalized Canadian center would not be afraid of him, even if he did point a finger in said naturalized Canadian's grill and threaten him with bodily harm.

One would think other local athletes would follow SD's lead and be unintimidated by those frailer, older, less physically imposing and more paraplegic than they. Sadly this is not the case. Example A being Phillies closer Brett Myers, who threatened to kill an aging and mustachioed beat writer by the name of Sam Carchidi during a postgame presser the other day.



Carchidi, as you can see from his photo, is slightly more nerdy, older and less intimidating than the Phillies closer. He also has nothing in common with Christopher Reeve (at least that the Dalembert Report is aware of). And yet, the two are inextricably linked through the vagaries of Google image search. Cosmic.

Anyway, here's a transcript of Myers' and Carchidi, thanks to the magical power of Bill Gates. There's audio of it somewhere but I'm too lazy to go searching for it. It's much more hilarious to read anyway.


Sam Carchidi: “You thought they both were pop ups?” (ed. note: these were the two home runs Myers had just given up to lose the game.)

Brett Myers: “Yeah, didn’t you? You think they crushed ‘em?”

SC: “The first one I thought was out, the second one no.”

BM: “Yeah, cause you’re a retard, you don’t know shit about f***in’ baseball. You’re filling in for somebody.”

SC: “How do you spell ‘retard’?”

BM: “You know how to spell it, it’s in your f***in’ vocabulary, I’m sure you know.”

SC: “You are classy, I’ll tell ya.”

BM: “Go on. [Get] outta here, you f***in’ idiot.”

SC: [pointing at Brett Myers] “You’re the f***in’ idiot.”

BM: “Hey! You pointin’ at me motherfucker?! I’ll tell you what, dude, I’ll knock you mutherf***ing out! FUCK YOU!!! You’re tough when f***in’ people are standing in front of you, aren’t you, you piece of shit! Come on! You fucking idiot. Yeah, you’re tough when f***in’ people are standing in front of you, you stupid ass.”

SC: “I’m a retard?”

BM: “Yeah, that’s right, YOU ARE, you’re a fucking idiot. You ask stupid ass fucking questions!”

Keep on Hats Like Adebisi

Do You Like Fried Cheese?

This man likes it as much as anyone I know...except myself. Note: Do not eat 8 fried cheese sandwiches in a 40 hour period, it makes you feel less than stellar.

Now that we have the serious stuff out of the way, on to the really serious stuff.

Q: Am I racist for not ever wanting to be in the same movie theater as black people?

A: No, I actually want to enjoy the movie I paid to see.

I found myself in the newish Pearle theater on Temple's campus this past Saturday night, everything was going well until the last quarter of the movie. At approximately 11:45 PM EDT a family of 16, who coincidentally were sitting directly in front of us, decided that "Superbad" was indeed Superlong and all got up to make their slow move toward the isle. Leaving Early? Fine. Leaving early and screaming about how:

"This movie is too fuckin long! "

"Yeah, what the fuck"

"This shit super shitty"

This equals ignorance at its best. If ignorance is bliss, these douches must reside in Shangrala. Without giving anything away, there are some scenes at the end in which the costars express their happiness with their friendship, to which the dudes sitting behind me had this gem to say:

"Yo son, this shit just got mad gay"

"Yeah MAD GAY son!"

Thanks you fuckin ty voles I finally know what constitutes "mad gay". Needless to say none of the above even comes close to the time that the guy sitting next to me left the theater only to return 8 minutes later with 4 Styrofoam containers of wings and bleu cheese. I enjoy wings, but smelling another man eat them in the movies is awful.

Whew...now that i got that off my chesticles, on to the-

Gems of the Week

-Can you say Best Movie Ever? (watch the trailer)

-I love Philly!

I Also Love the Eagles.

Memories from the Land of the Empty Orchestra

Many weeks have passed since I departed on a Dalembert Report-funded scouting jaunt to Japan, in search of talent, vistas, and blog fodder. Safely home I now realize that internets allow us to blog from anywhere in the world; "The DR-Live from Japan" sadly will have to wait a year(at least). Instead of wasting time filing scrupulous reports and meeting insane editor expectations and deadlines I chose to relax and investigate the beach.

Between sunny days in the sand and humid nights on the town I had plenty of time to contemplate and absorb my surroundings. I played basketball with a local squad of 20-somethings who taught me the simple pleasures of warm-up drills and a scorekeeper. I waited out a typhoon by closing all the shutters and watching season 1 of 24. I blended in to my surroundings like Waldo in a peppermint factory, Britney at a Penn party, or Pacman at Delilahs. Besides my exclusive use of English, the subtle wardrobe entirely built around Sixers, Phillies, and Eagles shirts, and my 8-inch height advantage over nearly everyone, I barely stood out. I'd like to pass along some of what I observed.

People think of Japan and dozens of predictable images pop into the minds eye: sushi, karaoke, samurai, karate, atomic explosions, sumo, Mt. Fuji, geishas, rice, crazy television, keen fashion, and many other things, some flagrantly racist and others simply sexually disturbing. I'll try to tackle the list one by one:

Sushi: yes they have sushi here. Yes it is good. Yes it is probably much much better than the sushi you eat at the nearest Teriyaki Boy in the mall. Personally I didn't eat much sushi in Japan. There's a lot of other great food that I'd never seen or tried before and I also ate way too often at the nearby Hokka Hokka, a chain in Japan that serves up meat and rice on the fast and cheap. The food here is delicious. If you go to Japan I seriously recommend eating yourself into a disgusting fat stupor.

Karaoke: Karaoke is damn fun. I'll qualify that by adding I sang in tiny bars with almost nobody I knew while respectfully sauced. Would I be equally inclined to offer my version of Bohemian Rhapsody in a crowded American bar with dozens of familiars in attendance? I'll cross that bridge when I reach it. Until then, Karaoke is great. Try it and see.

Samurai and Karate: Stunningly I didn't see any swordsman or karate kids in my time there. I guess they vacation like everybody else in the summer.

Atomic bombs: We bombed the motherlovin' crap outta Hiroshima and Nagasaki in August 1945. Check that new HBO documentary and feel the weight.

Sumo: I didn't get to see any sumo in person but I am sure it is cooler than anything ever. One aspect of small-town Japanese life I appreciated was that according to my contacts, basically all the fatboys you see are training to be sumos. Isn't that a wonderful system? Replace the stigma of fat and lazy with the honor of fat and sumo and no young boys will worry about body insecurity again. I'm not sure they have a system to displace the negative body-image problems of the fat girls with positive ones but I'm sure they don't.

Mt Fuji: Big famous mountain tourist trap. Never got close top it. Also a big famous female wrestler from G.L.O.W. who filled the Asian role.

Geishas: As with sumo and Mt. Fuji, sadly I was not lucky enough to spend my time with any geishas. I did find Japanese woman to be both attractive and effusely deferential. Oh yeah, no fluoride in the water there(at least where I was) so lots of bad teeth.

Rice: Fuck Uncle Ben's dry shitty rice and get yourself some Japanese sticky rice. Seriously, invest in a rice cooker and live to be 100.

Television: Ridiculous. Most shows tend to revolve around at least 5 people sitting around tables eating food, discussing bullshit, and quipping dramatically about nothing. Big emphasis on drama and intrigue. For my own sanity I watched close to no tv but from what I did see I would say the Japanese took the View and added men, more tables and food, and put it on every channel for 18 of the 24 hours a day.

Fashion: forget about modern styles and sharp cuts, the best fashion tool in all of Japan is the sweat rag. Where I was(Shimizu) was so hot the sweat rag was THE accessory of the summer, coming in all shapes and sizes and even morphing into a do-rag piece that ties in the back and soaks up sweat while knocking down trend-setter jaws.

Before I end I want to thank my tour guides, my cat Gay-Gay, and Bunno sensei.

Gems of the Web

Allow myself to introduce myself...I am the newest contributing member of the DR, Tha Bul Bubak. I am a professional at this thing they call the internets and also enjoy long walks on the beach, rough sex, and demoralizing/defiling others. Now, on to the Gems of the Week.

-By now all of our three readers have seen the Chocolate Rain video on youtube, but have you seen this?

- Has there ever been a better time to be a pinko commie ruskie bastard?

-No explanation needed

-Email conversation of the week: (names have been altered to be much better)

Tavarious Pounds: coincidentally, yesterday, i found the end of the internet.

Nate Newton: if it involved poop and asians, then I think I found it too....

Canadian Bacon

The dog days of summer means that the Dalembert Report takes a break from bringing you the workd of Sammy D in order to engage in exciting summer vacation endeavors. These include recieving handjobs from Ukrainian strippers (eldiablogrande), puttering about in a rural Japanese garden of Daikon radishes (tutkwon), and giving out obligatory courtesy wipes (flintskins).

But unlike us lazy pieces of shit, Sammy D has been busy this August.

Samuel Dalembert of the NBA’s Philadelphia 76’ers became the latest member of Canada’s Senior Men’s National Basketball Team today after becoming a Canadian citizen earlier in the day at a swearing-in ceremony in Hamilton, Ontario. Dalembert, was born in Port-Au-Prince Haiti, but moved to Montréal where he won a Quebec High School Championship and played on Quebec’s provincial basketball team before completing his schooling in the United States and attending Seaton Hall on a NCAA scholarship. Dalembert has kept his strong ties to Canada, with his family continuing to live in the Montréal area.

That's right...Sammy will be following in the illustrious footsteps of Bill Wennington, Jamal Magloire and Mike Myers and repping team Canada in the Olympics.

I'm feeling a little conflicted about this news, kind of like when I found out about Pat Burrell fisting Giuliano. On the one hand, I'm excited for Sammy to get some more practice, and thrilled to hear that he lives in the Munt (just like i was titillated when Giuls was able to confirm my longstanding suspicions as to Pat the Glove's sexual deviancy). On the other hand, instead of being the NBA's only Haitian player, Sammy is now just one of three Canadian ballers, and there's a long history of players sucking after spending their offseason with the national team (ie: learning that a close friend let Philly's most hated baseball player massage his prostate in the mens room of Bar Noir).

Department of Non-Frivolous Lawsuits

You don't know Jonathan Lee Riches. Michael Vick says he doesn't know Jonathan Lee Riches. The Dalembert Report, with the possible exception of flintskins, (who spends his free time engaged in pursuits about which we have no idea) doesn't know Jonathan Lee Riches either. But judging from his latest legal filing, the guy is definately someone we would love to share a 40 of Coqui 900 with.

Riches is suing Michael Vick for the amount of "63,000,000,000 billion dollars" which as far as I can tell is somewhere in the neighborhood of googolplex dollars, which according to Wikipedia is more dollars than molecules exist in the entire universe.

He's suing Vick because he says Vick stole two of his dogs, then used the proceeds from the dog fight where said dogs were involved to buy missiles from Iran and give them to Al Qaeda. Which is obviously true and makes me wonder why they're even bothering to send Vick to trial and not just shipping his black ass straight to Gitmo.

So when Fox News is broadcasting a breaking story tomorrow about Mike Vick being extraordinarily renditioned to Syria, you'll know why.