I like the ideas that some people come up with for physical therapy.

So some extreme skiier was out making an extreme skiing film, and now he's experiencing extreme death. There's just no way that I can't chuckle when I see things like this. The whole notion of any of these ridiculous "extreme" sports coupled with someone losing their life over it is pretty funny to me. I also have trouble garnering any sympathy for anyone who dies doing something that they know up front could easily get them killed.

"The draw is (that) I like to get scared," Stall once told an interviewer. "It's about taking the sport to a new level -- about skiing where people wouldn't have thought possible 10 years ago."

Or how about places people wouldn't have cared about skiing ten years ago? Well, I hope it was worth it, just so you could "get scared."

I really have no qualms with laughing at these people since they're dead anyway and it's not like they're going to feel bad or something. I suppose it's pretty insensitive in light of the fact that there are always people left behind who are suffering when someone like this eats it. In the end, it's not their fault that so-and-so was a complete fucktard. I suppose you could argue that it's their fault for continuing to hang out with the fucktard, though. Okay, time to quit while I'm ahead.

Fuck, am I gonna have to watch the Oscars now, too? You know what they need to do? They need to make a show starring both Wil Wheaton and Chris Rock so that I don't have to bother with shit like CSI and the Academy Awards. Seriously, you can't tell me that isn't a great casting idea right there.

There are probably some people who expect me to be extra bitter and pissed off today, since it's Valentine's Day. Well, maybe not, because then that would imply that someone out there gave a shit. But no matter, since I'm really not going to be any more angry at the world today than I am most every other day. Well, okay, maybe a little more.

One thing I most definitely cannot be bothered with is to come up with any decent new material. As such, I punt, and just refer back to my thoughts last year, because I know that I won't be able to top that.

Luckily for me, the few people I spend time with really don't give a shit about Valentine's Day, so I don't have to feel too bad. In fact, I'll (probably) be going out to dinner with a friend who's in a relationship with someone else. They have kind of an odd relationship anyway, so don't read anything at all into those dinner plans. ETP and BOETP, as far as I know, are still anti V-Day. They had a bad experience surrounding February 14th one year, so they turned their backs on the "holiday."

Coincidentally, when they were going through that, I was having a particularly bad time as well. Even worse than normal Valentine's Days, since that was a period of time when I thought I might have cancer or something. Not kidding on this one. And, you know, not to be a downer or anything. That, of course, being a total lie, because I'm looking for nothing but excuses to kill your potential buzz today. And there's not much more that can ruin good times than cancer.

We keep the ball rolling by talking about something else guaranteed to kill the mood: my balls. You see, in early February of that year, I found myself a happy little lump. Yeah, a lump in the last place a guy wants to be finding lumps. It wasn't really attached to either of my boys, but I knew it was something that wasn't supposed to be in there. And once something like that shows up, you can't help but have the "C" word constantly running through your head. Now, luckily, it turned out to be nothing serious. Just some kind of mass that can form in there, one that doesn't hurt anything but won't go away unless if they go in there and remove it. Really no need for that; I just refer to it as my third ball and go on my way.

But anyway, on Valentine's Day that year, I hadn't yet found out that all was OK -- I was still waiting for my appointment so that I could go in and have them do an ultrasound on my sack. So, why the hell am I talking about this, other than to be an asshole and make people sick? Well, call this my own version of a public service message. Hopefully this might be useful for any guy who hasn't been through this and/or doesn't know any better, but just so you're aware: finding a lump down in your nutsack isn't necessarily bad, but you should definitely get it checked immediately. Also, be decently vigilant about examining yourself. Your hands are already down there all the time anyway, fellas, so take a few moments out once in awhile and do a quick check. You won't be happy if something seems amiss, but better to find it sooner rather than later if there's something there that doesn't belong.

So anyway, you're welcome. Have fun with your dumbass holiday, everyone. Or don't, really, because that would be better in a lot of ways.