So why are we knocking the remnants of our stomachs back into our throats you may ask.
Here's why: because of Mike Tyson (aka Mikkie "Can You Hear Me Now, No Wait, You Can't Because Your Ear Is In My Lower Colon" Tyson, that is). Tyson, once the baddest mad hatter standing on Atlas' shoulders, is now an actor, a bonafide Bobby NoEaro (and the ear puns-shun is now called into effect).
In 2010, we can expect to see the former heavyweight champ starring in Hollywood Renegade, a film, and Andy Roddick Beat Me with a Frying Pan, a television show. Uh-oh, I think my gag reflex is tingling.
And here's a gem: apparently, Tyson was actually a presenter at this past Golden Globe Awards show. I had no idea. And I was a better man for not knowing.
Remember when Tyson used to be someone worthy enough for The Simpsons to satirize (in case you've forgotten, Drederick Tatum is Springfield's version of Iron Mike and the dude Homer fought in an episode titled "The Homer They Fall")? Ah, the good ole days, when men were men and Tyson was both a hard-hitting brawler and a delicious brand of chicken.
Now, the lines are blurred.
Go ahead and check out imdb.com if you don't believe me. Tyson has 60 credits to his actorial resume; as a fighter, he only had 50 wins. Something doesn't compute.
You tell me, in 50 years, what will we remember Tyson for: his ferocious, merciless fighting style, his epic loss to Buster Douglas, or his appearance as a character named "Himself" in five dozen movies and TV shows.
The Hangover, which has catapulted Tyson into the thespian ether, was hilarious, but unfortunately prophetic. Like all of my hangovers, I think I'll feel better after some careful regurgitation.
Let's just call it an ear infection (Ok, so I lied. Ear-pun shun removed).
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