Then I realized: by abandoning the people who actually enjoy this, I have been being a turribe douche. Although I have struggled with finding the time and patience to crank out blog posts in a world where I am employed, I should not ignore the only people who support my interests.

And perhaps there is a solution. Like Kim Kardashian grasping a swarthy penis, or Casey Anthony peeling off that first piece of duct tape with her semen-encrusted hands, I believe I have found the answer to my dilemma: Twitter.

I know it’s a departure from the blog’s long-form past, but we’ll see how things go. Follow ol’ karl on Twitter at http://twitter.com/karlthoughts.

And to kick things off, I’d like to begin our foray into the world of tweeting, twits, and twats with a special live Tweeting event: my friend Brolin’s bachelor party (For more on Brolin, see our adventure involving gag-inducing jam bands, malodorous trustafarians, and fungal psychedelics of questionable origin)! That’s right, Brolin is getting married. To celebrate the occasion, we’re throwing him a bachelor party at a lake house in BFE, Wisconsin, that starts tomorrow (Wednesday) and runs until Sunday. Thatsalottapartyin, folks.

Stay tuned for five days of gettin’ weird.

He stopped and gave me the thousand-yard stare for a beat, and then he bellowed, “I’m going to f–k your mother in the ass tonight!!!”

I really admire outgoing people.

I apologize for my lack of posts for the last several months. Unbeknownst to you, my turrible experience in sales and ensuing fruitless job hunt created a relentless wave of disgust, horror, and depression in my life–worse than watching Sandra Bullock and Mo’Nique win Oscars. As I struggled with the cold realization that I have no purpose upon this Earf, I lost the will to blog. I did eventually find a job, but it was the incessant pleas of the Krew that brought me back. You begged, cajoled, and insulted until I finally realized what an irresponsible douchebag I was being by treating you like Sarah Palin treats an elected office.

So I have returned. And like Chuck Sheen standing at the door with a bouquet of roses clutched within his bloody knuckles said, “I’m sorry, baby….I’ll never do it again”

Although it shames me to acknowledge what I missed while I was gone, I think a brief selection of highlights from my hiatus are needed (in no particular order):

• The Madden experiment finished with me only being 6 games down overall, after betting of thousands of dollars on hundred of games…and the Saints topped it off by giving Peyton Manning a big fat CP in the Super Bowl;

• My father decided to initiate an alpha-dog footrace in the middle of winter, which ended after 1.5 seconds with a bloody 55-year-old laying in the street;

• Speaking of dogs, I successfully renamed a 12-year-old’s puppy from “Stryder” to “Spider” in less than four hours–and his family still calls him that;

• BP crapped the bed and invited us all to roll around with them in the sheets;

• Speaking of excrement, I took a trip with my bookie to Vegas, which culminated in him assaulting me in our hotel room whilst covered in his own urine;

• Dio finally decided that we didn’t have the balls for the job and went to down to fight Satan and take over Hell by himself;

• Speaking of death, Gary Coleman did what should have been done decades ago, and Bret Michaels almost did too;

• The other tranny from The Golden Girls also died, but nobody cared.

• Speaking of nobody cared, I think we had a Winter Olympics.

• The greatest reality show of all time, Jersey Shore, molested our eyes and treated our minds like Ben Roethlisberger treats 20-year-olds

• Elton John managed to give every queer person in the world a big, fat middle finger when he sold out faster than Toby Keith tickets in a trailer park by playing at Rush Limbaugh’s fourteenth wedding.

And speaking of Limeys: just this weekend, some brown-tooth Brit muffed a World Cup goal and subsequently managed to shorten his expected life span by decades. Watching him fruitlessly claw in desperation after the ball provided me with a burst of schadenfreude not seen since Lindsey Jacobellis deserved her just reward for being a hot-dogging twat in 2006. Soooooooooo good! Goddamn, I hate me some Brits.

Pip-pip-cheerio, everyone. I’m back.

The score so far: 1 push, 34 losses, 27 wins.

You may ask yourself why I’m still doing this. The answer is simple: because I said I would. I’m a man, I’m 28! come after me! The matchups for this week are very, very dangerous. The favorites are heavily favored, and that is always a bad sign. On top of that, Madden has me picking the favorite in 8 out of 14 games. I feel like a kid in church where the priest just said, “Open your mouth and close your eyes, and you will get a big surprise!”

1) What am I thinking?
Oakland vs NY Giants -16
Tampa Bay vs Philadelphia -15.5
New England vs Denver +3

2) Could go either way
Cleveland vs Buffalo -6
Washington vs Carolina -3.5
Jacksonville vs Seattle -1
Houston vs Arizona -5
Atlanta vs San Fransisco -2.5
NY Jets vs Miami pick em

3) Maybe this isn’t such a turrible idea
Cincinnati vs Baltimore -9
Pittsburgh vs Detroit +11.5
Dallas vs Kansas City +9
Minnesota vs St Louis +11
Indianapolis vs Tennessee +3

Here is where we stand now: 1 push, 26 losses, 21 wins.

And so, we forge on into Week 4 of the NFL season. I hope this week catapults me into the “W” column. I hate this mediocrity. I either want to win big or end up a bigger loser than Todd Palin. Below are my picks for the week. Please make note that Madden has made me bet on Detroit three out of four weeks. Also, he has me picking the underdog in 9 out of 14 games!!! This could be worse than watching the Verne Troyer sex tape.

The job search was rough, and thank Dog my buddy Bridge got me this position at his company (May Jeebus bless his little Jewish heart). My money is tight, and as we know, I have been flushing my savings down the drain in my misguided Madden/NFL betting experiment. Uh…just kidding, law enforcement entities! Anywayz, like a methed-out stripper on the MILF Hunter’s casting couch, I am grateful to Bridge for the opportunity to make some money to fuel my own ignorant and self-destructive existence. You’re the man now, dog.

Of course, despite the fact that this is not my optimal career path, this new job has shown me that it will be a bottomless pit of material to amuse you, Karl Krew. When it comes to the world of sales, I am more out of my element than a black guy at a Jimmy Buffet concert–and I am already stunned, enthralled, and perversely captivated by what I have seen. This whole experience should be ruthlessly entertaining, especially the part where I go into random neighborhoods and knock on strangers’ doors trying to sell them internets. Oh, the places we will go! Here is a sample of my first-day experience:

1) We kicked the day off with a motivational sales meeting. I had heard of these from my friend who used to work at Best Buy, but I had no idea how equally bizarre and compelling they actually are when you participate in them. My bosses had M.I.A.’s “Paper Planes” blaring while they danced around the meeting room. There was also a red emergency light spinning wildly. I didn’t know whether to back away slowly or do a Jägerbomb. One guy got so amped up, he did a handstand in the middle of the room. With all the applause, throbbing music, and pulsating lights, I got sucked directly into the faux emotion.  Now I know what it was like for the Germans during a Hitler rally: with all the viscerally-stimulating pageantry and excitement, you just can’t help but get swept away.

2) One of my new coworkers was wearing BLACK CARGO JEANS! When I saw him walk in, I did a spit-take with my own saliva. The sight of cargo jeans sent my brain reeling back to the 1990s, but then I realized that nobody wore cargo jeans even then. It was all about the carpenter jeans and douchebag sweater vests. This poor guy…he was trying to hearken back to a fashion era that never even existed. Maybe, though, he comes from an alternate past. Perhaps he is the like the Reverse-Terminator: he comes from a possible past to alter the course of our future. I wonder what his mission is and who he is trying to kill. Like the guy stepping on the butterfly in “A Sound of Thunder” or Lorraine trying to make out with Marty McFly before the “Enchantment Under the Sea” dance, his actions could have inconceivable repercussions. I will keep my eye on this potentially catastrophic situation.

3) My first day was consumed almost entirely by an online sales training. I sold internets at a fake mall, in a fake neighborhood, and at a fake retail outlet. The only thing I didn’t do was knock on a fake door and smell the fake dog feces rotting on a fake couch covered in fake plastic at some fake geriatric’s house. The whole experience was worse than being forced to eat out of the dumpster at an abortion clinic. I hope the real door-to-door experience is much more demeaning and exciting.

So come along on this grandiose quest into an unfamiliar world of quotas, pitches, and endless rejection. We’ll search for tomorrow on every shore…and I’ll try, Oh Lord, I’ll try..to caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarry on!

1 push, 18 losses, 13 wins.

At this rate, my bookie will only have to smash one kneecap at the end of the season.

I don’t have much time to write right now, because The Lady is forcing me to go on a Bataan-esque bike ride. So here are my/Madden’s quick picks for the week. Let’s hope that, unlike poor Beetlejuice, things start looking better. As always, our picks for the week are in bold:

The outcomes from this past week’s NFL games had me screaming, “Nein! Nein! Nein! Nein! Nein! Nein!” like ol’ Adolf. John Madden, the man who has inspired generations of fans with his luminous football knowledge and experience, betrayed me more heinously than Brett Favre going to the Vikings. Although I reveled in every second of the NFL’s opening weekend, it was punishing to watch the scores unfold. It was bittersweet…like watching Patrick Swayze finally kick the bucket. Although he did give us amazing movies like Point Break and Road House, he committed unforgivable cinematic atrocities like Ghost and Dirty Dancing that deserve eternal revulsion. R.I.P. 4 lyfe.

Only one of my four “Maybe this isn’t such a turrible idea” bets, the Seahawks over the Rams, actually paid off. The Patriots and Cardinals games were more disappointing than seeing a full-grown man put on a Rascal Flatts T-shirt. And the Giants and Redskins pushed because the G-Men won by exactly six points! My “What am I thinking?” bets ended predictably with only one win, and the games I thought could go either way went mostly in one direction: running away with my money like Konerak Sinthasomphone from Jeffrey Dahmer. Oh, the humanity.

The final score for NFL Week 1: 1 push, 5 wins….and 10 losses.

But if you think this ominous start will deter me from continuing this potentially ruinous experiment, you are sorely mistaken. This financial 9/11 has in fact strengthened my resolve to see if letting a video game determine my betting is a smarter idea than making the picks myself. Let’s see what Mr. Madden has in store for me this week.

To review, the minus sign indicates the favorite and the plus sign signifies the underdog. For example, Carolina vs. Atlanta -7 means that Atlanta has to win the game by over seven points. Conversely, New England vs NY Jets +5 means that New England has to win by more than five points. My/Madden’s picks are in bold:

1) What am I thinking?

Carolina vs Atlanta -7
Houston vs Tennessee – 8
Pittsburgh vs Chicago +3
Indianapolis vs Miami +3

2) Could go either way

New Orleans vs Philadelphia -1
New England vs NY Jets +5
Oakland vs Kansas City -3.5
Arizona vs Jacksonville -4.5
Tampa Bay vs Buffalo -4.5
Seattle vs San Fransisco “pick ‘em” (this means a spread of zero)
Cleveland vs Denver -3
NY Giants vs Dallas -2.5

3) Maybe this isn’t such a turrible idea
St Louis vs Washington -10.5
Cincinnati vs Green Bay -9
Minnesota vs Detroit +10.5
Baltimore vs San Diego -3.5

This week, Madden has made a much more balanced set of picks by choosing the underdog in only 8 out of 16 games. There are still some outrageous choices, like picking Carolina over Atlanta at home a week after Jake Delhomme committed his 11th turnover in two games. But…ugh I hate to say it, but I feel a lot better about my chances right now.

Famous last words, I guess.

For the next 30 minutes, I watched Ali G kiss his girlfriend’s stretched-marked arm while she bellowed away on her Sidekick. She was completely ignoring him, and yet he seemed determined to seduce her by licking her shoulder. At one point, he even put his jacket, which he was wearing despite the fact it was 80 degrees, over his head to disguise whatever he was doing to her lipid-swollen brazo. It was more disgusting than watching Grandpa Loves Cream Pie #2. After an eternity, these two finally disembarked. As he got up to leave with his narwal, Ali G’s Yankee hat fell onto the seat–and he didn’t notice!

As most of you know, for people like Ali G, the flat-brimmed Yankee hat with the stickers still on is an all-important symbol of faux street cred. Even though I would bet my scrotum that he is from Chicago, Ali G probably regards his precious New York Yankee hat as more important than his new Jordans. And yet his prized possession was now left behind like Kirk Cameron.

I could have stopped him, but my own rage would not let me. Ali G had subjected me to the strangest and most disturbing display of PDA I have ever seen, and now was my chance for revenge. Through the window, I watched him and his beluga walk across the street. Ali G had noticed his missing hat and had begun searching through his puffy jacket in desperation. As the bus pulled away, he swiveled his head with a look of unrestrained fear not seen since Auschwitz. I laughed.

When I got off at my stop, I brought Ali G’s Yankee hat with me to ensure that it didn’t end up in a lost-and-found where someone could use it to boost their own faux cred. To deny anyone the pleasure of wearing this piece of poop, I tossed it into a nearby garbage can. Yes, it was childish and petty–but it felt good.

Respek.