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Fried-ay: Kareem Hunt, Netflix Docs, and Jon the Fish

Guys, guys, guys! It’s yet another edition of Fried-ay, but on Sunday because I virtually had no access to my computer Friday due to a long day of yoga and eating Bugles. As always, Fried-ay blogs are where I just scrap together a bunch of ideas I had during the week that I didn’t devote to full blogs, and dump them into a smorgasbord of bullshit at the end of the week. Anyway, let’s get into it.

So yeah, TMZ just released a tape of Chiefs’ running back Kareem Hunt going Super Sayan on some ditzy chick in the hallways of what I can only presume is a Best Western that guarantees a Continental Breakfast, which is essentially just mini muffins, some “as seen on TV” waffle maker, and nearly expired Greek yogurt.

All of this is just a bad look. I guess the Chiefs finally did the right thing and released him on the spot but yet another situation like this begs the question: How hard is it to avoid beating the shit out of women? I’m on the back end of my 20s and I’ve been in a multitude of relationships—I’ve even bagged a few chicks who could’ve played Left Guard for Chuck Knoll—but the one thought I can guarantee has never crossed my mind is “this seems like a good time to throw the left.”

A lot of people are giving him excuses on Twitter because it’s Twitter and our society, when given a voice, forces me to contemplate the efficacy of democracy; however, you have to be one primitive son of a bitch to pull a stunt like this. For example, whenever I hear the name Greg Hardy, I think of that old Evolution of Man chart that’s Scotch Tape’d to the concrete wall of every 7th grade science class since we discovered fire. Personally, I think Darwinism’s a farce because everyone knows Jesus created the world but back to my point: Greg Hardy’s roughly the second one from the right in that chart.

I just watched this documentary called Searching for Sugar Man and I HIGHLY recommend it. It follows this music artist by the name of Rodriguez who, at least I think, grew up in Detroit. Anyway, I’ve never heard of this guy before watching the doc and if you haven’t either, don’t feel bad because nobody has.

Evidently, this dude dropped two albums in either the 60s or the 70s—both of which flopped—but one of his records made it’s way to South Africa during Apartheid. Long story short, his music had been circulating around South Africa to the point where he became more famous than Elvis, but he was just waltzing around Detroit working blue collar jobs.

I won’t go any further because i don’t want to spoil any of it. For the record, I hate spoiling films, even if they’re based on true events. My mom once got mad at me for spoiling the end of American Sniper, so I made sure to promptly email my 9th grade history professor, chastising him for ruining Pearl Harbor for me.

I’ve become oddly addicted to dog training shows. I’ve never had a dog, but I can’t help but be consumed by the likes of Cesar Millan and company. I literally almost missed work yesterday because I needed to see if this Dobermann pinscher stopped shitting on the linoleum floor.

I don’t know why, either. I think it’s because my parents never allowed me to have a dog. I always wanted one, and one Christmas, my parents got dangerously close and gave me somewhat of a “parental” test. They splurged on a fish, who I named Jon. Jon was a good fish. He lived a solid two weeks until, one morning as I waited for the bus, I heard a splash.

When I walked over to the fish bowl, I noticed Jon ripping around the bowl like Dale Earnhardt Jr. or something, literally sending water splashing out of his little makeshift ecosystem. After 15 more seconds of racing, Jon stopped and floated on his side to the bottom of the bowl, in response to what I presume was cardiac arrest. I most likely shouldn’t have poured all that laundry detergent into his tank. Lesson learned, but I never got a dog.

– Joey Boats (@joey_boats)

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