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I don't have much of a clue about life, the universe or anything that matters, but one thing I do know is that most athletes are cheaters. It doesn't matter if they're men or women, in the professional ranks, college or high school, to paraphrase Chris Rock, an athlete is as faithful as his or her options. Naturally, the ease (and therefore likelihood) of infidelity is often directly proportional to the athlete's status, skill and renown.

So when news broke about Tiger Wood's International Cooze Tour, my only surprise was that people were, well, surprised. The shocked were divided in two camps:

1. "How could he cheat on Elin Nordegren? She's a goddess!" Yeah, she is. But show me one woman that no man would think of cheating on and I'll show you twenty that only the strongest of men could resist.
2. "I don't understand. He was such a focused family man!" No, he's a billionaire, larger than life athlete whose best friends are Michael Jordan and Charles "Around the Corner for a Blow Job" Barkley, two men whose four interests are money, sex, glory and the annihilation of anyone who interferes with that short list.

Unless you were a child or a naive fool, learning these things about Tiger shouldn't have been shocking. The only real surprise here is this:

These are some nasty bitches.

When a man has the ability to not only sleep with 98% of the women on the planet but also be permitted to have degrading, dehumanizing sex with 80% of them, why opt for the paper baggers? And this isn't just a problem that afflicts Tiger. A lot of men cheat with uglier and/or skankier women than they have at home. Maybe it's self-esteem, maybe ugly girls are freakier and easier, maybe these guys are addicts who don't mind dipping their puckers into toxic, cavernous wastelands. I really can't say. The one thing I know for sure is if a man disgraced me with random infidelities, the broads on his ho stroll had better be top shelf tail whose natural beauty would cause even me to nod begrudgingly with understanding. It's the least that cheating bastard could do.

At least then I could rationalise his behaviour. At least then, I could salve my wounds with the false belief that his fidelity was only compromised because a seductive temptress and her hypnotic vagina got in the way. But I tell you this. If he dared rub salt in my wounds by having sex with a woman whose face looks like a foot (see 3rd row, middle), I wouldn't take it out on him with an ironic 6 iron. I'd have a fucking weapon. You want to disrespect me with other women? Fine. Pack your bags and go. But if those women are gutter sluts who look like they just got bukkaked at a truck stop, I'm gonna fuck you up and then call a couple of hard, pipe-hitting fellas to go to work on you with a pair of pliers and a blow torch. What's that? I don't need to get medieval? Oh, well you must be confused. You see, this is what happens when you cheat with a bitch who looks like a fried running shoe.

So a much delayed bravo to Elin Nordegren for taking action. Maybe next time, she'll knock Tiger out on her own instead of having a tree and a fire hydrant handle the end game for her.

Awesome picture from: dlisted

So my fella and I were laying around yesterday when the subject of porn came up. It was my doing, really, as I was telling him about this lech I once worked with who spent more time cranking off in his office than actually working. When Phil resigned, IT discovered that his browsing history was full of nothing but XTube, PornHub, cam girls and email. A well-rounded chap.

After the mockery, the conversation took its course and the boy shared that he watches porn when I'm not around and his imagination isn't enough. "That doesn't bother you does it?" Why would it? He's a dude and dudes watch porn. They're visual creatures who like to get off, and as long as his liking to get off doesn't turn into some crazy addiction where he's more interested in porn than me, I don't care. Maybe next time, we'll even watch together.

Well according to Revolutionary Man, a site that helps male personal and spiritual development, I need to care because it's likely that my man has a serious problem, and, sadly, so do the rest of you.

Even though every second sees 28,258 people surf porn (72% of whom are men), you all deny it and even go to extreme measures to cover your scandalous tracks. Why? Well, you're repressed and confused by "oversexualized imagery and messages" from society. This sad state of affairs creates stress at home because it means you might have to admit to a partner that you don't "know how to manage the sexual life forces raging through [your] body."

Perhaps I'm acquainted with the wrong type of men, but I was pretty sure that about 98% of you were little more than raging sexual life forces. That you get through the day with only a few physical manifestations of that fact is a testament to your managerial skills.

Men get mixed messages about sex, and with all the conflicting information, and nowhere to go to sort it out, it can end up coming out sideways in the form of strip clubs, constantly objectifying women, porn use, hookers and much more.

Repression + confusion = porn, hookers, strippers, late nights, blow. Porn is the ultimate gateway drug. Remember that.

Surfing porn is a symptom of some underlying discomfort a man is experiencing... surfing porn becomes a way to 'get rid of' the discomfort. It is very much like a quick high, a jolt of energy that feels great for a microsecond during orgasm... But much like getting high or even taking a nap, reality has a way of creeping back in and, almost without fail, seconds after ejaculation shame and guilt set in as a guy attempts to hide his tracks and close his computer’s browser.

Of course the guy closes his browser. It's not like cuddling after sex. There's no reason to linger. There's no semi-delirious, romantic afterglow where he reminisces about his 7 minutes with images and videos of big jugged broads with spunk dripping down their faces. When the brain finally clears out the inevitable clouds and fog that come along with masturbation, you close the browser and find something else to do - take a nap, watch sports, mow the lawn, hit the store.

But if, after this period, a man is mindful of deleting the evidence, then it's probably for the best. Maybe he lives with an insecure pit viper who will give him hell him for it. Maybe he shares the computer and doesn't want roommates knowing that he's into pregnant trannies and black guys. Or maybe he's doing this at work and doesn't want evidence on his computer. People cover their tracks so they can cover their asses, not because they're wracked with guilt and shame.

Even I watch porn every now and again, and while there's no shame in my game, I will admit to one porn-related fear: that I'll die in the middle of it and porn will be all over my screen. It's the same reason it took me ages to get a vibrator. I'll tap out and the first responders will clown my dead, half naked body because my heart couldn't handle the combination of thug love videos and my OhMiBod. Who wants to go out like that?

But not wanting to die with porn on blast doesn't mean I scramble to erase the traces when I'm done. In fact, I have favorites bookmarked because I don't want to waste time looking for something new. For me, porn is like fast food. Could I really treat myself? Yeah. But I'm hungry and I want to eat NOW. So I hit the drive up, order a combo and in 6 minutes or less, I'm good to go. Thank you. Come again. Sure, it's not good to be eating like that all the time, but it's efficient and effective.

However, now that I've admitted to being a sucker for voyeurism, I'm in the same boat with the rest of you sex maniacs. Luckily, Revolutionary Man gives us self-help steps:

1) Tell someone.

This is a hotly debated subject with men who are willing to have this conversation. One option is to come out of the closet with your porn behavior. You kept it a secret for a reason, now break the ice by telling a close, trusting male friend that won’t judge you... Next, determine how your partner might react to your porn use if you told her/him. For some folks, it helps, others it hurts.

The first step is admitting you have a problem, but unlike other shameful afflictions, you'd be just as well off telling a random man on the street than any of your boys because 99 times out of 100, he'll identify with you. In fact, he may even have a free password you can use.

2) Start paying attention to when you surf

If porn is a symptom of being “off” in your life, the “off” feeling is what you need to address. If you surf porn occasionally, start taking note of when these times occur. Did you just get in a fight with your wife recently? Do you have a lot of free time and this helps you pass the time? Why is it so hard to just be with yourself? What is going on in your life right now that feels so off? What time of day do you surf?

The "off feeling" is your body telling you that it's done messing around and it wants the sweet release of an orgasm. It's not that deep.

"Say Flash, if you wouldn't mind swinging by Wahoo's for fish tacos - like right now - I'd appreciate it. I'm starving."
"No problem, Buddha, that sounds tasty. I'm happy to oblige!"

Surely you're having a similar conversation with your cock and balls from time to time. 

3) Porn fast.

No more porn. Commit to no porn for at least 3 months and then observe yourself and your behavior. Of course, if you’ve never done any self-inquiry, this is going to be challenging for you.  What you may find is by removing porn from the equation, you start to notice that you used porn to deal with some discomfort in your life. What do you replace it with? How do you cope?

BAHAHAHAHAHA. Please.

Everyone needs a little visual entertainment every now and again (some of us more than others). As long as you do porn and don't let porn do you, there should be no guilt or shame attached. The only people who should feel ashamed are the saps over at Revolutionary Man, who get two enthusiastic thumbs down for trying to pawn this garbage talk onto unsuspecting, impressionable, repressed blokes. If they're on your site trying to find their way, the last thing they need is your fearmongering rubbish about porn being crack in disguise.

Boo, Revolutionary Man. Boo and hiss.

While having my senses abused by Joe Morgan during the Yankees/BoSux game last night, I noticed that Peter Gammons' teeth are an amazing shade of butter. I know he's this legend and all but he's not so big that someone at ESPN - or maybe even his bloody wife - can't force him to put a tube of Crest and maybe even some of those fancy White Strips to use. Being a Hall of Famer shouldn't mean that you can get away with having teefuses that, if pulled out and sold, can put Parkay out of business. Unacceptable.

--- 

But to the story at hand. It's well known that huge sporting events like the World Cup, Olympics and Super Bowl are boons for the skin trade. After the host site is announced, girls from far and wide grab their chinchilla coats, head to the destination like birds flocking south and get prepared for the influx of indiscriminating, drunken chumps with money to burn on cheap ass. You'd think they'd be unbiased about the fans coming in to cheer on their teams but it seems that when you're in the game of blowing and blanking as many men in possible, the nationality of your punters can be an important factor. At least, that's what these South African hookers believe. 

Meet Levola, Yolanda and Samantha [Note: moments before the interview, the trio was fined by police for exposing themselves to drivers] - three prostitutes from a South African shanty town that link England's success in World Cup qualifications to the prospects of escaping prostitution. According to them, the Army of the Three Lions (that's really what we should be called, you know) will bring in a wealth of cash:

“We just can’t wait. We only get paid about £10 for sex when drivers stop for us here. English men will pay a lot more...

Why, because they can't do better at home?

"We’ll probably have to fight over them with the girls who already have pitches in that area, but it will be worth it." - Yolanda Lorika

Now, a part of me thinks, "Hey! Maybe it's time you raise your games, you filthy mingers! Work harder, blow faster, incorporate something new. There are three of you - maybe you can put on a show! If you get creative over the next two years, you may not have to worry about having the jackhammer taken to you 1,800 times over by insane Englishmen and getting your hips broken. Besides, if that happens, then how will you make money??" But then I realize I'm just being a a foul asshole. So let's look at this realistically:

Assuming England actually reaches the World Cup, we'll most assuredly have two uninspired, nauseating showings before going down 2-1 to some sad sack side like Poland. One of these matches will feature a controversial performance by David Beckham that not only reflects how talentless we are as a nation but also shows that he's 8 years past his prime, remains the source of too much agony and must die. Under the circumstances, it's only good manners to be looking forward to servicing thousands of drunken reprobates for a tenner apiece, right? Ease the pain? A little salve, so to speak, for the perennial wound?

But when those good feelings come with a side of HIV, that's no good for anybody. You see, one in every two South African hookers is dogged with that pesky, fatal occupational hazard and no matter how much bad I wish upon our stupid hools, all that will happen is that these diseased bints will infect them and they'll bring the bug back to the Isles. How delightful.

Our only hope is that every single one of them chooses to forgo the hordes of toothless women lining the dirt roads and opts instead for 3 or 4 minutes with the chicks in this interview - modern marvels that have beaten the odds thus far by stealing heaps of condoms from the free clinic. 

“They would give us some for free, but not enough for our work,” said Lavola, who spurned paid sex with a Somalian man because a Nigerian man was willing to have sex in the comfort of his own home (and give her £7).

How very classy of the Nigerian man.

It's fantastic that these chicks are eager to get drilled into oblivion by the debauched nutters in our fanbase but let's be real here --- The Three Lions have left England in a state of perpetual pain and heartache since the 1960s, with each year more shameful than the last. The more people depending on this team's success, the worse they fail. So why these dumb bitches really think England is going to come through and help them get off the mean dirt streets is beyond me. If anything, we're more jinxed now than ever.

Thanks, South Africa! 

After the A-Rod/Joslyn Morse business last week, I started to wonder about an issue that I've spent some time mulling over in the past. And since I'm fairly certain most of you are males, I think this is the appropriate forum for this question --

What's so great about strippers and strip clubs?

I just don't get it. At the close of initiation after my freshman year, the seniors on our team got us these traveling strippers from Chippendales. And while I thoroughly enjoyed these random blokes waving their junk in my face and giving me lap dances, once it was all over, I couldn't help but be a little annoyed - where's the bloody payout??? What am I getting out of this?

I expressed my concerns to one of my upperclassmen, who promptly told me, "well, go find a boy and work out your frustrations." And I did, of course, but something about that whole scene just seemed patently unfair and wrong. Why should I be frustrated in the first place? Why should I (or my upperclassmen, in that case) pay money for some guy to get me all worked up and then be forced to put out effort finding an object for release? That's a load of bollocks!

As I see it, here's what happens at a strip club:

1. Horny person wants tits or junk in his/her face. Waves dollar bills.
   
2. Stripper's insincere affection causes person to essentially give up pin number for ATM card under the delusion that sexual contact could result if things are played correctly
• Exceptions: You are A-Rod or a professional athlete, and/or you pay more at a club with "special" services.
  
3. Stripper teases until the well is dry and goes away
4. Blue balls/ovaries
5. Sadness
   

Doesn't that result (and your diminished wallet) cancel out any good that came of parts 2 and 3? I understand why a guy like A-Rod hits more strip clubs in a week than he gets hits per game - he gets to sleep with the strippers, mannish though they may be. But if you're not at Scores or Crazy Horse Too or some other high-priced, high-quality club, do you really want to take the risk on those girls? Your local talent probably has more stab wounds and track marks than teeth and that's no good for anybody... well, at least, not for some people.

Don't get me wrong - I understand that a woman's body is a work of art and that there's a natural desire to get up close and personal with it (or a man's body, if you prefer). Though it's not my thing, I can't say I see the crime in a person putting some bills in a girls g-string and having her put her bazooms in your face. I just don't understand why one would pay a lot of money, consistently, to get teased. Perhaps this question is more for the guys that are always at the strip club rather than the one that go with their boys every once in a while to let off some steam. I'm not really sure. A couple years ago, a group of my guy friends actually went on a cross country, summer road trip of the best strip clubs in America. I still don't know what that was about. Then again, if I did, I suppose I wouldn't be asking this question.

"I intended to hold it behind my back and knock. But I froze and instead, what happened happened."

That's understating the issue just a tad, don't ya think? When you burst into an apartment and a guy is standing there with his dick in his hand, the natural reaction is to freeze and then walk away. You don't run around his apartment! "I had the sword extended. But that was all," he said. Imagine this scene -- a Dwight Schrute type brandishing a sword and poking through closets while April Showers moans obnoxiously in the background from taking it cowgirl, sideways, bareback, and every position in between. It's almost too good to be true.

What do you want to bet that Van Iveren, a 39-year-old man that lives with his mother, rolled his 20-sided die in hopes of determining his level of success before attempting rescue? If that was the case, I can totally see why he didn't bother to call the police. I mean, come on - guns are cool and all but when going up against the armor class of a rapist, they don't do the job quite like a natural 17 rocking an attack bonus and a +5 strength modifier.

"Now I feel stupid," said Van Iveren, who has been charged with a multitude of misdemeanors as a result. "This really is nothing, nothing but a mistake."

Ya know, I can't help but agree with him on that point. I mean, look at the guy. Look at his life situation. It's a true stretch of the imagination to believe he knows what a woman sounds like in bed let alone in porn. Anything short of laughter probably sounds like rape. The closest I imagine Mr. Van Iveren has ever come to a sexual situation with a woman is the Night Elf that he has cyber sex with while playing World of Warcraft and Christ, that's probably a dude.

Hit cnn for the video interview with Stieghorst who intends to keep watching porn... just with sound down.