An Afternoon of Glorified Pop Warner

Evin "The Locomotive" Murphy finds time to belt out taint-tingling prose for LBMS from his real estate office in Santa Cruz, CA. Ed. Note: Loco is a recovering golden domeaholic.













"I looked the man in the eye… I was able to get a sense of his soul” -Bush on Putin

To test my thesis that James Clausen is the most overrated celeb since pop revolutionary Che “motorcycle diaries” Guevara, I traveled to Palo Alto to take in the Stanford V Notre Dame game Saturday.

Pretty simple back story on this clash of the kittens; both teams are awful, un-athletic and unable to recruit consistently because smart kids don’t play football, or football players aren’t smart…

I slept for twenty percent of the game, watched five percent and perved the stadium for ass during the remaining seventy-five.

Despite my best efforts to ignore anything happening on the field I had to notice Clausen making his QB decisions like a power-drunk fourteen year old in a backyard two-hand-touch melee grudge match. It looked like his brain had been outsourced to India, his synapses weren’t firing. Probably he was doped up on valium, vodka-grapefruit, and taquitos in proper OC style.

Decision-making highlights included: running out of bounds for a nine-yard loss instead of throwing the ball away, and throwing an interception to a defensive lineman while being wrapped up by a blitzing linebacker.

James ended the game by taking a knee, pretending like he was going to throw the ball into the air, then sprinting away from his team to dance, arms akimbo, towards the NBC cameras and some hand-slappin' fun with the 3-8 opposition. Candy-Ass Clausen has begun his reign of dumbness so take heed all ye who dare declare your golden domer loyalty. The eyes of this weird dumbo are filled with bleak narcissism. Grief will surely rest on those who him show favor.

The Jimmy Clausen Story

Evin "The Locomotive" Murphy finds time to belt out taint-tingling prose for LBMS from his real estate office in Santa Cruz, CA. In this edition, The Loco chainsaws through the curtains of JC's future, and the results unveiled... sound about right.

College washout turned “Surreal Life” cast member, Jimmy “James” Clausen expounds on his oft-questioned, shifting moral philosophy and world view. Sporting heavy, black eye liner, a shaved head, a Scott Spezio-style goatee and some gothic arm tats, young James begins:

“I never wanted to play football anyway. Yeah *tear*. I did it because I thought it would make my dad love me.

I’ll never play again. James Clausen is a grown-ass man and he does as he pleases. So motherfuckers better start to recognize and respect that.

You know, everyone always told me how I was supposed to act. I was the All-American QB with the girls, the cars, the frosty tips. It wasn’t me, nah man. I’m hard. I’m hard as nails. Like Marilyn fucking Manson. That cat digs it. He gets the times man, modern times. Billy Corgan? Another of my idols. Melancholy man, that’s real. That’s feelings.

Yeah, you know, I just don’t care about the pigskin anymore. I’m more into transcendental meditation. I pray to the moon. Touchdown Jesus? Not for me dog, not for me. I don’t believe any man is holier than the next.

Now the moon, the moon controls the tides, the calendar, the nature cycles, all that shit. *shuffles in seat* And you know what? The moon doesn’t have a bitch. Nah, that’s why I gave up women. Does the moon have a lover? No, that’s because the moon loves itself. Self love, that’s what keeps it spinning man, like me. I just want to keep spinning, watching the world turn, dancing with the sun, sleeping with the stars. You know. I’m a star and, like, mad women want to sleep with me but I just say ‘nah, bounce that’ I got bigger things to connect with than a loosey goosey slouteger. Feel that! I’m telling you. Music… my shakra, that’s how I keep that shit regulated. Manson… outside, at night, under the moon, by myself… that’s when I really feel it, you know? The James Clausen vibe, life’s equilibrium.

No more frosted tips for me. Nah, that was Jimmy, this is James. Some people, they think I’ve lost it. They say 'James, what the fuck is wrong with you? You had it all: the arm, the girls, the scholarship, the frosty tips! Why did you throw it all away, man, to listen to some fag with titites? What the fuck is wrong with you?' But, they just don’t get it man. They don’t get young James Clausen.

I saw this Navajo sage… up at the Pikoni Casino. He told me he saw into my heart… saw my identity, the “young ghost dog.” You know and maybe one day I’ll be, like, an older ghost dog, or like the fucking Moon dog, you know? ‘Cause that’s what I really want to be. The Fucking Moon Dog! BOW WOW WOW mother fuckers! But you know, until then I’ll just be spreading my message. Spreading the truth. That’s right America, truth is about to be coming into your living room. Gear up soldiers. Gear up.”

The End