For those of you who just jumped on the Club Trillion bandwagon, you may have missed when I outlined how Kyle Madsen and I are currently campaigning for the title of "Whitest Guy on The Team." This is an award that focuses on personality/culture and not on actual skin tone. As a reminder, the poll on the side of the blog will open whenever I decide to wake up on March 1st and will close at noon on March 2nd. Here is the first campaign opportunity for one of the candidates. Mark Titus The Blogger will now turn it over to Mark Titus The Politician.
I feel like I should first use my campaign opportunity to respond to the claims Keller made about me in his guest post. After I defend myself, I will clearly explain why you really have no other choice in this election.
I never watched TRL
I’m not going to deny this claim because it is 100% true. However, my reasoning is absolutely justified and is surely your number one pet peeve with the show. For whatever reason, TRL decided that listening to unsupervised pre-teen girls scream at the top of their lungs for Sum 41 (or whoever Carson Daly’s one painted finger nail decided to interview on that particular day) was a much better idea than showing the entire duration of the top ten videos. If I remember correctly, TRL would show about thirty seconds of each video and cut the video off as soon as it fully captured your attention. This means that every time I watched the “Hero” video, I would be left wondering whether Enrique or the bad guy won the fight, and more importantly if Enrique ever made it to second base with Jennifer Love Hewitt (not to mention the fact that I would have missed Jenny Love rocking that wet t-shirt at the end of the video). It’s unacceptable to tease America with clips of music videos, especially considering that some music videos can’t have their complete greatness captured in a thirty second segment.
I hated WCW
This isn’t entirely true, but I understand why it was brought up. I was a closet wrestling fan because my parents insisted that I not “pollute my mind with that junk”, meaning I had to do my wrestling watching in secret. My dad used to always say that if he caught me watching wrestling he would perform on me whatever move was being performed on TV, which would have been funny if he wouldn’t have actually lived up to that threat. Nonetheless, when the WCW became relevant, I was faced with a crisis. Following the WCW and WWF doubled my opportunity to get a DDT from my dad, so I was forced to choose one or the other. When it came time to make my decision, I went with the WWF with the sole reason being that it was broadcast on USA, which is the country I love. So fault me for not entirely following the WCW, but if you fault me for loving this country I will be forced to join Toby Keith in his efforts to put footwear up your rectum. It is, after all, the American way.
I know rap music – lots of it
Find me one person who has played basketball for more than five years of their life who doesn’t know some rap songs. That’s what I thought. Next topic.
I gave myself a nickname
After Evan Turner successfully nicknamed himself “The Kid” (because “Evan Turner is chillin”, I suggested “The Villain” but it didn’t stick), I was enthralled. I wanted to see how hard it is to nickname myself. Apparently, it’s actually not that hard at all. Consider this my prank on The Trillion Man March. I wish I could defend myself on this one but I can’t. I not only nicknamed myself, I came up with about as unimaginative of a nickname as possible. I would apologize if I hadn’t already embraced the nickname.
I look like K-Fed
I’ll let you decide if I look like K-Fed or not, but while you are figuring that out, consider this. K-Fed went from a nobody to marrying arguably the biggest sex symbol of my generation and becoming filthy rich in the process. Plus, his overall lack of contribution to society is exactly what Club Trillion is all about. When you consider that K-Fed pulled off a trillion in the entertainment industry while being romantically involved with pre-crazy Britney Spears, I kind of envy the man a little bit.
Now that I’ve addressed Keller’s attacks on my whiteness, it’s time for me to charge forward and convince you that I not only represent white culture very well, I AM white culture. My life as a white man can be summarized into five categories—Music, Sports, Recreation, Appearance, and my Heroes.
Close your eyes as you read this and consider this scenario. Country music never happened. Now open your eyes. Pretty scary thought isn’t it? This is a recurring nightmare I have that always ends up with me in a puddle of sweat belting out the chorus to “Country Club” by Travis Tritt. It’s the only feasible way for me to remind myself that country music lives.
To fully understand my love for country music, you have to turn back the clock. When I was in fourth grade, I was invited to the first boy-girl party of my life. I was unsure of what to bring to a party of this magnitude, so I did what any smart young boy would do in my situation—I brought my John Michael Montgomery CD and insisted on playing it at the party (I honestly wore cowboy boots on a regular basis at this period of my life). When “I Swear” came on, I practically had to just snap my fingers and the beautiful babies of South Elementary were lining up to slow dance. It was in that moment that I knew I would always turn to country music in the clutch situations in my life, and thus far it has yet to let me down.
My passion for the greatest music in the world inspired me to ask for an acoustic guitar a few Christmases back. Even though I have no idea how to play it and I swear I am tone deaf, I actually plan on forming a country band someday. The only thing holding me back at this point is that I am yet to think of an awesome band name. Oh, and the fact that I can’t play the guitar. My idea for a heavy metal band name, “Razor Burn on My Private Parts”, would totally be frowned upon in the country music world, so it’s back to the drawing board for the band I have yet to form. (For the record, “Razor Burn on My Private Parts” would be the sweetest heavy metal band to ever come out of Brownsburg, Indiana. That’s a guarantee.)
If you watch me play basketball for more than five minutes (so basically take my entire career at Ohio State), you will quickly realize that I am the stereotypical white player times a trillion. I fake a pass to make a pass, I have range to at least 30 feet, I will not hesitate to sacrifice my body/life for a possession, and I keep Windex in business with the amount of hand prints I put on the backboards throughout America. At one point in my basketball career, I honestly wore (out of necessity) two ankle braces, two knee braces, and an elbow pad. I am everything you would ever associate a white basketball player with, sans the Rec-Specs.
Beyond basketball, I have a burning passion for all things auto racing and professional wrestling related. I grew up ten miles down the road from Jeff Gordon and about ten minutes from the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. If there is one thing all (white) Hoosiers love besides corn, basketball, and Rik Smits’ hair, it’s auto racing. It is a statement of fact that I suffered second degree burns at the Indy 500 last year because I forgot to put on sunscreen with my wife-beater. As far as the wrestling is concerned, I shouldn’t need to explain my love at this point. I spent $300 for Wrestlemania 22 tickets, I dressed up as Shawn Michaels for Halloween my senior year of high school, and I routinely Ric Flair chop anybody who is out of line. That’s all you really need to know.
Besides blogging about absolutely nothing of any importance whatsoever, I like to kick back and play video games from time to time. The greatest testament to my whiteness is that I own many games that are not made by EA Sports, something absolutely zero un-white people can claim . My game of choice is any of the Tony Hawk games. I have actually caused people I’ve played Tony Hawk against to want to throw down in fisticuffs, as if I am supposed to apologize for their inferiority at landing the Christ Air with Rune Glifberg.
Other than video games, I amuse myself by doing laps in Wal-Mart with the kids bikes, fishing with my bare hands, and chest bumping anyone and everyone I see at the Indy 500 with a mullet.
I have a pretty simple look to me. During the season, I usually let the hair grow out (switched it up this year) and keep a little stubble beard so the ladies know what level of man they are dealing with, yet Coach Matta doesn’t get upset with me for looking like a hippie. The off-season, though, brings out an entirely different animal. I will grow out just about any kind of facial hair anybody wants me to, mostly because I can. I plan on rocking a solid mustache during this off-season because it’s been awhile since I’ve just gone with the plain ‘stache. But I’m open to just about any ideas. And when I say any ideas, I mean any ideas.
I’m known to rock tank tops/throwback basketball jerseys/wife-beaters during the summer months and most absurd looking faux fur hat ever made during the winter months. I do nearly all of my shopping on eBay and am currently looking for any Ohio State clothing with Looney Tunes on it. If you have anything, I will be more than happy to make you an offer. Simply put, my fashion sense is that of a man who knows what’s important in life—a nice set of tan lines and an appreciation for all things vintage. It’s hard to get that perfect farmer’s tan when you are constantly wearing a cashmere sweater isn’t it Kyle?
An obvious choice for heroes would be God or my parents or that one teacher who half-heartedly told me I could be an astronaut if I really wanted to be, but I’m a man of deep thought and therefore want to share with you the heroes in my life that nobody else would ever think to classify as heroes. First and foremost, Tux Burke is everything any and all Americans should strive to be. With nothing more than a cowboy hat and a karaoke machine, this man pumps out classic country covers like you wouldn’t believe. Tux, if you are reading this, I am begging you to come to the Ohio State athlete talent show in May and tag team “Mamas Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys.” I’ll even let you pick whether you want to be Waylon or Willie. There is no way we don’t win. Just let me know, Tux.
Another hero in my life is none other than Rod Farva from “Super Troopers.” The movie is easily in my top five comedies of all-time, mostly because of the genius of Farva. With his perfectly sculpted mustache and his ability to pull off the flawless prank of putting a bar of soap in Rabbit’s coffee, Rod Farva is one of the fine Americans of our time. (I can’t stress enough that if you are under 30 years old and haven’t seen “Swingers”, “The Big Lebowski”, “Super Troopers”, or “The Weatherman”, you are cheating your life.)
Other heroes who just missed out on getting a paragraph written about them include Chris Mullin’s chest hair and flat top, Stone Cold Steve Austin, Happy Gilmore, Kenny Powers, Bryant Reeves, Hank Hill, Marv and Harry from “Home Alone”, Burt Reynolds, and Wilford Brimley.
I honestly don’t see how I can’t win this election. I trust that the Trillion Man March will make the right decision on March 1st, because you all are intelligent people who know a white man when you read about one. America needs to see Kyle Madsen win this election like I need to see another person make their Facebook profile picture a picture of them making out with their significant other. Election day is coming shortly. Do the right thing, America. If I get elected, I vow to do absolutely nothing of significant importance and I’ll do it the best way I know how. That’s what a vote for Mark Titus will get you, America—a continuation of the Club Trillion way of life.
By the way, Kyle’s campaign entry (should he choose to write one) should be coming in a short period of time. We will then do another bipartisan rundown of the candidates in the days leading up to the election. I want you to be fully informed when you make your decision, so that I don’t feel like my victory is tainted.
I’m sure a lot of you have been itching to know how the handshake thing went down. Since I introduced my new counter/prank/another dumb thing that I do that will probably upset a few people, we have played games against Purdue and Minnesota. The Purdue game yielded one solid embracing handshake from a semi-member of the Purdue chapter of Club Trillion. Bobby Riddell (or as the Purdue fans like to call him, “Bobby Buckets”) fully engaged himself in the handshake like a true champion. But before you get excited, understand that Bobby and I have a history. We played in the same conference in high school and have a mutual respect for each other’s trillion obtaining abilities. Also, I’m pretty confident Bobby reads the blog and there is a decent chance that he read it before the game, so he may have known the whole time what I was about to do. Nonetheless, I’m counting it.
As far as the Minnesota game, the Director of Basketball Operations for Minnesota, Joe Esposito, hit me with the one arm hug/handshake/what do you call that thing? right after the game. As I mentioned in the classic “Love In An Elevator” entry, Joe reads the blog, so like Bobby he probably had a heads up about my antics. Again like Bobby, I’m counting it. This brings our total to two in two games. Not bad really.
One Armed Embraces: 2 to date (1 last game)
Bone-Crushing Screens: 1 to date (0 last game)
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Club Trillion Founder