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My Bucket List
By Mike Brown
mikebrown@slugmag.com
Whenever there is a prediction that the world
is ending, like what evangelical fuckstick
Harold Camping was pulling last year, I
rarely think about my bucket list—otherwise
known as “some shit I want to do before I
die.” Instead, I start smoking again and ruin
any potentially great relationship I have with
a female. This year, since the end of the world
is supposed to come right before the holidays,
I’m definitely not Christmas shopping
for anyone.
While researching for this article, I decided
to put my actual list on paper and hang it up
with some check marks, like what the yellow
ninja lady did in Kill Bill when she had to
beat up and murder all those other ninjas. I
realized then that my bucket list is relatively
short, which could mean one of two things:
I’m either extremely unambitious or
extremely content.
I’ll leave the boring stuff on my bucket list
out of this article, like learning how to surf (I
know that sounds kind of lame, but it’s still on
my list) and writing a book or drinking 100
Budweisers in 100 hours. I’ll also leave off all
the sexual stuff—I’m sure you don’t want to
read an article about me trying to bone three
Eastern European chicks at the same time on
the roof of the new Tabernacle.
I will, however, include that I really want to
beat the shit out of the drummer of The Brian
Jonestown Massacre at some point in my
life. Reason being: They played a show at
Urban Lounge a few years back while I was
working there, and he was trying desperately
to fuck my girlfriend-at-the-time, saying shit
to the other junked-out band members like, “I
can’t wait to fuck the shit out of her, that girl is
ready to go!” within earshot of me.
Mike Brown’s
Monthly Dirt
write about for the month of December, the
opportunity to check off one of the tasks on
my bucket list unexpectedly presented itself. I
got to meet Jerry Sloan and John Stockton.
If you know me at all, you know how
much I adore and respect these men—two of
the toughest motherfuckers to walk the planet.
It started when marketing rep Beverly Stachowiak,
who also acts as my agent for my
official beer sponsor, Budweiser: The King of
Beers, called me and asked if I would like to
attend a speech Karl Malone was going to
give. Duh, yes. My first question for her was,
“Is Stockton going to be there?” She
wasn’t sure.
Turns out the speech was in honor of John and
Karl getting inducted into the Utah Sports Hall
of Fame, along with three other dork athletes
from BYU. I had no idea such an organization
existed, but whatever. I was at a table
adjacent to Coach Corbin and about 30
feet away from Orrin Hatch’s table, which
was where Karl Malone was sitting. I thought,
“What the fuck?” until I realized that they both
really like the NRA. Needless to say, I hope
I’m never in the same room with our creepy
senator ever again in my life.
After the boring speeches, I made Beverly
hold my phone and follow me around as I
tracked down Jerry Sloan and the elusive John
Stockton to get a picture. I didn’t need any
autographs—pictures are the new autographs.
I even made an effort to dress like Jerry a la
early ’90s: a cheap, shitty suit with a Utah
Jazz tie that Abu got me at the DI a while
back. Top button undone, just like Sloan used
to do, which I truly believe helped him put
some extra vibrato into the times he would
call a ref a cock-sucking motherfucker in the
middle of Jazz games. Sloan acknowledged
that he liked my tie, which I can only interpret
as his appreciation of my tremendous sense
of fashion.
Photo: Beverly Stachowiak
Jerry Sloan appreciates Mike Brown’s
flawless fashion sense.
But given that everyone who bought a table
there was either a super rich season ticket
holder or sponsored by a big cooperation that
makes the Delta Center money (I refuse to call
the house that Stockton and Malone built the
“Energy Solutions Arena”), all the players had
to be really nice to everyone.
This being known, I made it a point not to
take up a lot of John’s time. All I wanted was
a picture and a firm, respectable handshake.
I got both. I also got pictures with Jeff Hornacek
because he is the favorite player of
many of my family members, and I wanted
to rub it in their faces a bit, and some sweet
screen shots with Karl, who, for the record,
was super nice to me.
Besides beating up overrated hipster scumfuck
band members, most other things on my
bucket list are basketball related, mainly Utah
Jazz related. Right after I picked my topic to
Then we tracked down Stockton as he was
trying to leave early. Stockton is notorious for
shunning the general public and being a dick
to fans. When you are the all-time steals and
assists leader, I think that’s completely OK.
After I beat up The Brian Jonestown Massacre,
the only other thing left on my bucket list is to
sit courtside at a Jazz playoff game. I would
say NBA Championship game, but I’m realistic
with my life. So, if anyone can make this
happen or wants to give up courtside tickets
for the night before the world blows up or the
polar icecaps melt and drown all of us in our
little pathetic sorrows, I’ll buy you a beer
or something.
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