I'm back... bitches

Dear General Public:

You've been waitin' and debatin' for oh so long, just starvin' like Marvin for a "Thanks, Management" post... Okay, I took some liberties and decided to change that verse of "Rock the Bells" to adhere to what the hell I wanted. I just pray that Lip Lickin' Cool James doesn't kick my ass for that.

So, the post is back. I'm bogged down with a helluva bunch of real life shit. So what does that mean? My ass has decided to create a second blog. Yes, I know it's crazy, damn near insane. Therefore, I like it... A lot. So what does this mean for you, oh fair reader? Well, I know there's like 6 of you, (and that's counting the one person out there with five multiple personalities who reads this daily while in each of the five personalities) and I know you somewhat enjoy my bullshit antics. You will still get the pleasure of reading such bovine induced antics, but you'll have a more laid back choice as well. Not a shitty version of smooth jazz, which needs to go to hell along with that "We Are the World" remake, but a clever day to day look into the life of me, Tommy Gibbs.

It's in essence going to be me. It's going to be a bit all over. I'm going to have writings, reviews, music, pictures, podcasts, vodcasts, recipes, clothes, videos, boosters, links, hot links, vodka, ribs, chicken wings, collard greens, and travel tips. But there will be no sex.   Why not? Because I think God has somethings against me having sex. Oh well!

So get ready kiddies! "The Tommy Gibbs Project" is coming very soon. Until then, "Thanks, Management" will have two updates a week. If you have opinions or a million bucks just laying around, contact me. Until the next time....

Thanks,
Management

I need to call SAMPSON!!

Dear TM Readers:

I need help! As you've probably seen, I haven't updated since dumb ass balloon boy. I haven't been inspired much lately to create a long enough rant worthy of your consumption.
What I have put down though is about as crisp as Bobby Brown out of rehab. Therefore, not crisp at all.
So this is an appeal much like Sir Smoke-A-Lot in "Half-Baked" called profusely for Samson's crazy ass through music, I appeal to you guys for some letters of comical darkly tinted disdain.
If you want to post some stuff here, honestly let me know! I'll even do what I used to do in high school, but not charge $20, and rewrite it for free and keep your name on it!
Hope to see some stuff real soon.

Peace!

Thanks,

Management

Ballon Boy

Dear Balloon Boy:

First I want to ask your hippy-ass parents something. What the fuck was going through your mind when you decided to name your baby Falcon? What part of the game is THAT?! Do you not realize you set  your baby up to do some dumb ass shit like this? Should've just gone the whole nine dumb ass yards and named your baby Orange to match Gwenyth Paltrow's crazy naming ass, Apple. Get the Fuck Outta here!

Okay back to you Balloon Boy. Just to make shit clear, I refuse to refer to you as Falcon. That shit is just dumb, boy. Therefore, I'm just going to call you BB, like BB King. Only I doubt you'll break a chair or have the capacity to keep your rambunctious ass in a seat. Fuck Outta Here!!

So, BB. As of right now at 4:45 PM EST, ya ass is hiding somewhere in Denver like a runaway slave in Maryland waiting for Harriet Tubman. My advice to you, BB, don't go the fuck home! Ya momma will kick your ass!! You done fucked up daddy's balloon! Do you realize your pop has neglected the poom-poom for that balloon? Your mother is dryer than the Mojave in July because your pops promised her this shit was gonna make yall RICH!! BB! Do you realize what sexless women will do to you? They'll hurt you!! How do I know? I went to Catholic school! With nuns as teachers!! Them bitches could play baseball or a sick game of cricket!! They will take all their sexless angst out on your ass with a paddle! That shit hurts!! I say that though BB so that you understand, you fucked up, B!

Not only will Death Valley, aka Momma, kick your ass, but you have crushed your daddy's dreams. I know you love him, but as of right now, in his mind, you are his biggest mistake! Even bigger than naming your ass Falcon. Dumb mothafucka!! Do you realize before that balloon he had no other major goals in life! Like really, who the fuck decides they're going make a fucking helium balloon and keep that shit in they backyard. REALLY?! Is shit that fucked up Falcon Crest, aka dumb ass daddy? If your life sucked that bad that your biggest want in life was to create a big ass balloon, couldn't you have just asked the Army for a transfer, to Texas or something? SHIT!!

I don't wanna go on BB, cause pretty soon I'm just going cuss out your parents for having sex. So my advice to you BB, stay in the fucking bushes and wait for Harriet. And if you wanna bounce, just go to the Denver Airport. That shit's just big for no reason and everyone is too depressed in that bitch to notice you're unattended. So run to freedom, BB, or your ass will get lit the FUCK UP!!

Thanks,

Management.

That Dude, Tego

Dear Tego Calderon:

Thanks for showing the world that those of us who don't look like Usher are still talented. You, Seal, and Forrest Whitaker give those of us without the greatest looks in the world that there is success at the end of the road. Even if we do look better than the three of you.

Thanks,

Management
(Okay that one was kinda evil).

The Pad Story

As some of you know, this was the piece I did on Twitter last week that had a few of you keeling over ready to throw up, but saying, "yo, you really need to compile these things together." It is a tad bit unsettling, but if you're used to social networking, you've probably seen profile photos like this one I'm about to describe and said to yourself, "that shit's nasty." So without further ado, here's the Pad letter with a few more addtions to the complaint...

Dear Booty Picture Girls of Social Networking:

First and foremost, we as men would like to thank your skanky behinds for classlessly showing your ass on social networking sites. We even applaud your inventive nature of taking your granny panties, stuffing them inside your butt-crack, and making those normally unattractive undergarments into saggy thongs. NICE! However there are a few things we ask of you as we stare at you're pox mark rear-ends. First, if we can connect the dots with your butt bumps, please just show us your face.
Next, as we look at your photos because it's easier to play off looking at a social networking "friend" rather than porn when our insecure girlfriends are looking over our shoulders, please refrain from putting sparkly gifs over your butts reading messages such as "the baddest bitch" or "don't you want a taste" or "sexy bitch".
Third, we simply ask that when you decide to take your world-famous "backshot" photo, please refrain from doing so during your cycle. Yes, THAT cycle. Seeing bloody pads or a string coming out of the homemade saggy thongs? Not a good look. We know some of you take the pill, have the patch, or might even chew a special type of gum to shorten your "cycles", but when red is in the wash, please keep it to yourself.
I hope these ground rules work for you, and we chauvinists thank you in advance.

Thanks,

Management

THAT Letter

Dear Readers:

Some of you are familiar with the "pad" letter. Well I plan on putting it up with some additions that I couldn't get on Twitter. It'll probably be 3 sentences and gross. However it will DEFINITELY be funny in a crude manner.
If you remember some of the others, just remind me and I'll definitely add them to the list as time goes on. If you like the letters, cool! If not, kick rocks and enjoy your day. No hard feelings.
If you do enjoy what read, and want to add your own letters let me know, I'll add them and give you the correct attributes.
Ultimately the plan is to put this on a site of its own with more bells and whistles. Thanks for your support and please continue it.

Thanks,

Management

Mystic River Rugby Club

Dear Mystic River RFC:

Clean your fuckin' artificial surfaced field somehow. QUICKLY! Staph infection?! YUCK! Really?! How in the hell do you get staph infection on your field? Did you call the Cleveland Browns or something? Eww, there's no joke behind that. It"s just gross. Clean that up quick.

Thanks,

Management